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Robert Hong boarded the ferry at Tiburon. The 90-year-old Stockton man watched from the upper rail as the boat churned towards the wooded slopes of Angel Island.
Robert Hong boarded the ferry at Tiburon. The 90-year-old Stockton man watched from the upper rail as the boat churned towards the wooded slopes of Angel Island.
Not Hong's first trip. Almost 80 years ago, when he was 11, Hong emigrated from China. U.S. Immigration officials detained him on Angel Island.
"See, the government didn't want the Chinese to come over," Hong said. "So they put up the examinations to trip people up so you didn't qualify. You can't prove you're a citizen, they ship you back."
Hong was born in 1924 in the Cantonese village of Zin Hui. His family farmed but sometimes went hungry. The father immigrated to San Francisco to work. He sent money home.
He arranged for Hong to immigrate. Since Hong's father was a U.S. citizen, under U.S. law Hong, though foreign-born, was a citizen, too.
Yet obstacles loomed large. Anti-Asian racism was ferocious. The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, restricting Chinese immigration, was still on the books.
Also, the fire that followed the Great Quake of '06 had wiped out U.S. immigration records; that created a black market in fake Chinese IDs. To verify identities, officials subjected immigrants to detainment and almost absurdly detailed interrogations.
They first questioned Hong's father. In China, were you a merchant or a farmer? How many steps up to your front door? How many windows on the west side of your house? What is the name of your neighbor three doors down?
Young Hong would have to answer dozens of such questions. His father sent him a study sheet inked in Chinese characters with a warning: If you cannot answer these questions, they will send you back.
Hong studied feverishly. "For me, coming to the United States was a way to a better life. When I had a chance to go to the Gold Mountain, I leaped at it."
One day Hong walked four hours to the mainland's edge. His sisters bid him goodbye at the ferry across to Hong Kong. There, he boarded a steamship bound for San Francisco.
He crossed alone in steerage in the ship's belly, never even seeing the Golden Gate until told to disembark.
Nor was he allowed into San Francisco. Instead, Chinese passengers were shepherded onto an Immigration Service ferry. Officials removed them to Angel Island.
The Immigration Station was on the north side of the island; residents couldn't even see San Francisco, let along reach Gold Mountain.
Hong was given a narrow bed in a three-tiered bunk in a two-story redwood bunkhouse crowded with Chinese men. There were no other kids; younger and immature boys were housed with the women.
"I just kind of stuck to myself," Hong recalled. He read Chinese books and waited for his exam.
It wasn't all bad. "Coming from a country where I didn't have enough to eat, to have three meals a day was great."
Men were allowed into an Asian-only outdoor recreation yard during day hours. Others played mahjong, pingpong, and Chinese dominoes. A few played musical instruments they had carried with them, such as the two-string Chinese violin.
But there was a dark side. Some immigrants were detained up to two years. Others who fumbled the momentous exam were deported, even though legally entitled to enter the U.S.
Some Chinese carved sad poetry into the walls in Chinese characters. It is still there. "When I arrived on the Island, I heard I was forbidden to land," one reads. "I could do nothing but frown and feel angry at heaven."
Some committed suicide. "There's some really sad stories," Hong said as we traveled to Angel Island. "That's just the history of the immigrant experience. We all felt discrimination."
The ferry arrived at the island. Though 90, Hong briskly walked a 11/2-mile trail to the Immigration Station.
That station processed 175,000 Chinese immigrants over 30 years. The average detainment period was 18 days. Ultimately 95 percent of immigrants were allowed in, though many at first were denied and admitted only after lengthy appeal.
Young Hong was summoned to his exam after three weeks' detainment. A Chinese translator relayed questions posed by a white official.
Hong aced the test. Soon, a relative was picking him up at a San Francisco pier.
Closed in 1940, the station reopened in 2009 as a museum. In the run-up, federal historians located Hong. They traveled to his Stockton home to document his story. His case is part of the museum's archives.
We came to the museum's ticket window. When the rangers realized who Hong was, they acted a bit as if the first Qin emperor had walked in. To them, Hong was living history.
"They're the ones who lived this," said Ranger Benjamin Fenkell. "They're VIPs in that they can give us glimpses of that reality."
The ranger toured Hong through the museum, escorting us behind ropes into areas closed to the public. At one spot Hong wandered ahead, pensively looking around.
"I remember this room," he said.
Contact columnist Michael Fitzgerald at (209) 546-8270 or firstname.lastname@example.com. Follow him at recordnet.com/fitzgeraldblog and on Twitter @Stocktonopolis.


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KABUL, Afghanistan (AP) — Afghan President Hamid Karzai will visit Qatar and discuss the possible opening of a Taliban office in the Gulf state, the foreign ministry said on Sunday, a development that could facilitate Afghanistan's peace process after nearly 12 years of war.
Foreign Ministry spokesman Janan Mosazai said Karzai will discuss the issue with the ruler of Qatar during an official visit whose stated purpose is the opening of a Qatari embassy in Kabul and trade and business opportunities.
Mosazai did not say when the visit will take place, but it is expected within weeks.
He said talks with the emir of Qatar will also include "the peace process in Afghanistan and the discussion will include the opening of a Taliban office."
Afghanistan has already agreed the Taliban can open an office in the Gulf state if the group breaks all ties with al-Qaida and renounces terrorism. Talks will be led by the High Peace Council, a group of influential Afghans that also includes former Taliban.
"The position of the Afghan government for the Taliban to open an office in Qatar is very clear. They should stop their relations with al-Qaida and terrorists and show their readiness for direct negotiations with the Afghan government," Mosazai said.
Despite Karzai's desire to hold talks with the Taliban, and Qatar's agreement for them to open an office in Doha, the insurgents have not yet accepted the offer.
The Taliban have long refused to speak directly with Karzai or his government, which they view as a puppet of foreign powers. They have said they will negotiate only with the United States, which has in the past held secret talks with them in Qatar. But at Karzai's insistence, the U.S. has since sought to have the insurgents speak directly with the Afghan government.
Taliban representatives have had back-channel discussions and private meetings with representatives from various countries. A senior U.S. official told the Associated Press recently that the Taliban are talking to representatives of more than 30 countries, and indirectly with the United States.
The U.S. has said it supports the opening of a Taliban office in Doha.
U.S. Ambassador Susan Rice told the U.N. Security Council that "Afghan-led reconciliation is important for stability — the best way to end conflict and bring peace to Afghanistan and the region."
"We continue to support the opening of an office in Doha, Qatar, to facilitate negotiations between the High Peace Council and the authorized representatives of the Taliban," she said.


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- Reviews


text:
Julie Davis left Miami in 1986 the same way I did, with new clothes, a halogen desk lamp, and her high school diploma beaming from a fancy lacquered frame purchased by her parents. Four years later she graduated from college the same way I did, her brain buzzing with the impractical dream of making a career out of her creative obsessions.
Some people wake up from their dreams. Julie Davis didn't. In 1996 she wrote and directed a film called I Love You ... Don't Touch Me that will be released February 20 by MGM. Julie is already the rarest and most glamorous of creatures, a successful filmmaker, and one day soon she may be a star. She may be the young indie director all the major studios court. She may grace the cover of a national magazine, proclaimed, in hyperactive text, the Next Big Thing. One thing's for sure. Julie Davis is a real live wire. How do I know?
Because her movie is about me.
They say that in love stories you should play to the endpoints, the extremes of exhilaration and misery, while in stories of friendship you should emphasize the ordinary. Given the byzantine nature of my relationship with Julie, I'm splitting the difference.
After I graduated from college in 1990, I returned to Miami and went to work as a staff writer and film critic for New Times. That fall I ran into a high school acquaintance who told me Julie Davis had been in a car accident. "Well," he said, "not really. She wasn't in a car."
Julie had been doing the film-biz rounds in Los Angeles, looking for work wherever it might be hiding. One night she was leaving the set of Twin Peaks, David Lynch's attempt to foist his eccentricities upon network TV. It was late and she was exhausted, so exhausted that she didn't see the headlights. Ten seconds later she was flying through the air. The damage? One pelvis, fractured; four ribs, cracked; one lung, collapsed; two pints of blood, transfused.
When I heard about the accident, I considered calling Julie. What restrained me was the simplest form of stupidity: I didn't know what to say. The best I could come up with was, "Hey, it's me. I wasn't driving." Instead of calling, I sent a get-well card with a picture of a cartoon cat in a hospital bed. I remembered later that Julie was a dog person.
I thought about Julie only occasionally until this past summer, when my mother, in the midst of a perfectly routine phone conversation, said, "You remember Julie Davis, don't you?"
I almost dropped the phone. After all, I had endured an erotically charged, platonic friendship with Julie for most of high school, had spent hours sitting in her silver Trans Am in the parking lot of Palmetto High School, ears cocked for the sound of her bare back peeling off the hot vinyl.
"Well," my mother said, "she made a movie." According to the two clippings my mom sent me, Julie's movie was a romantic comedy, a "delightful romantic comedy" called I Love You ... Don't Touch Me. Julie had not only directed the movie but written and produced it. In January 1997, at the ripe old age of 27, she had sold it at the Sundance Film Festival to the Samuel Goldwyn Company. The film, which starred Marla Schaffel, another high school classmate of ours, was the story of "a young woman's search for the perfect relationship and, less obviously, for a special someone to free her from her virginity."
This made sense. The Julie Davis I remembered, the girl I knew in high school, liked to talk about the sanctity of virginity and her determination to keep hers until she found the perfect relationship. I would say that she talked about these things constantly, but all I know for certain is that she talked about them constantly to me. At the time, I thought that her preoccupation was a stratagem for neutralizing my romantic interest.
That Julie had stayed obsessed well beyond high school, that she had even written a screenplay about these matters, came as something of a vindication. That she had managed to film that screenplay was a surprise. That she had sold a finished film at Sundance -- well, this was cause for celebration. I called Los Angeles information and left Julie a message.
She called back the very next day.
"It's incredible that you called me," she said. "I was hoping you would. In fact, I was just about to call you."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, I need you to sign a release."
"A release? You mean like a legal release?"
"Yeah," she said. "A letter you wrote to me in high school is in the movie."
"Well, not a whole letter. It's part of a letter. I used it because one of the characters in the movie, the best friend of the main character, is sort of based on you."
I'd like to be able to report that I reacted to this news waggishly, that I delivered a lightning-quick comeback that had Julie helpless with laughter. The truth is that I was struck dumb. I held the phone and breathed while I watched the second hand on my wall clock sweep slowly around the dial. Julie scrambled to take up the slack. "It's so good to talk to you," she said. "You have to come to the premiere of my movie. You remember my dog Pepsi from high school? I have another one just like him now. He's so cute. His head is bigger than his body."
In the basic boxing stance, you stand with your left foot out in front of you, toe pointed toward your opponent, and dispatch a series of quick jabs with the left hand, eventually shifting your weight onto your back foot, swinging your shoulders, and delivering a thunderous right-hand punch. Between punches, you can dance, slip, slide your feet from side to side. As far as I was concerned, Julie was in stance. The first disclosures -- the letter, the poem, the character -- were jabs. The premiere and dog talk was all fancy footwork. The right hook came just before we hung up the phone.
"Oh yeah," she said softly. "The character is named Ben."
Julie's movie was real. The newspaper said so. It had to be true. But I needed to find out for sure. A few weeks after speaking with Julie, I called MGM, the studio that had recently bought the Samuel Goldwyn Company and all its holdings.
"The movie will be out in early 1998, about a week after Valentine's Day," explained Larry Gleason, MGM's president of distribution. "At the moment, we're debating whether to open in art houses or multiplexes. It's not an easy call."
"Why not?"
"Well," Gleason said, "it's not really a critic's picture, although many critics like it. What I mean is that it's more mainstream in tone, more broadly comic. It's the kind of movie that would do well in wide release. If it were a Woody Allen movie, this picture would be a big hit. But it has no stars and a first-time, no-name director, so it's risky to release it wide. Movies need marketability, something to intrigue the potential audiences into becoming audiences. Julie is very personable, and she made this movie for next to nothing, so that's something to build a promotional strategy on."
Gleason noted that MGM planned to spend approximately two million dollars promoting Julie's film, roughly twenty times the movie's budget but a paltry sum in the world of major-studio releases. "The challenge with Julie's movie is to make it look like it's a big deal in the cities where it's opening," Gleason said. "If it does well, we'll move it out to other markets. If it grossed five million total, that would be great."
"Do you think it can do five million?"
"Have you seen the movie yet?"
"Not yet."
"Oh, you really should."
I knew he was right. But getting to see the film proved difficult, because Julie wouldn't send me a videocassette. I begged. She dodged. I bullied. Finally she sent along a video, but only on the odd condition that I promise not to open it. And thus it sat in a manila envelope on my bookshelf, heating up the place.
Julie's reluctance to allow me to see her film, I eventually learned, was a fermented form of a fiercer enthusiasm: She wanted to see the movie with me. "Why don't you come to Los Angeles?" she said. "Or else I'll come to New York. I would love to see you again, and this way you can see the movie."
Now it was my turn to dodge. The thought of seeing Julie set my pulse racing, but I couldn't be sure whether it was racing toward passion's flashpoint or cardiac arrest.
There was also the small matter of the character named after me. In graduate school, where I once labored excavating meaning from dead and dying texts, they'd take one look at what was happening to me and they'd give it a fancy label, something like "ontological logic remastered by onomastics." Scrape away the jargon and this is what it means: By naming a character after me, Julie had jammed a stick between the spokes of my bicycle wheel of being.
A part of me was proud, of course. At first I spent weeks jabbering about the movie to anyone who would listen. But then I started to worry that I was speaking too soon. Maybe the character wouldn't even be recognizable as me. Maybe Julie had misrepresented, out of kindness or callousness, what was in fact a composite portrait. Or worse, maybe I had intentionally misinterpreted her words to feed my ego, never a small eater.
Then I started to worry that the character would be recognizable as me, and that he would be a fool, a blowhard, a reprobate, or all three. The longer I held on to my hopes for the movie, the less certain I was whether I was holding on to a bond or a grenade. I had never felt so nervous about a piece of art that wasn't mine.
I tried to discourage Julie. I told her she wouldn't even recognize me. I told her that I was totally bald, that I had lost an arm in the war.
She wasn't buying. In fact, she was selling a new, improved plan. "I'm going to be in Miami around Thanksgiving," she said. "How does early December look for you?"
"Okay," I said finally. "But don't blame me if this weekend changes your life. You're going to meet the seed of your film."
"And you're going to meet your maker," she shot back.
Beneath this bravado, I could detect traces of the truth, and more than a little fear on both our parts. Julie could too. "I really hope you like the movie," she said. And then: "I can't sleep so well since we started talking again. All this nostalgia is making me jumpy."
"Crucial to any understanding of me is how I was in high school. I was a misfit. Always." Julie Davis, auteur, director, star-in-the-making, was speaking on the phone from her home in Studio City, California. I was in my apartment in Brooklyn. I was interviewing her about her film, weeks before we were to meet in Miami. This was one way I had decided to deal with my trepidation about that meeting. I would write a story about the whole twisted business.
She cleared her throat and repeated herself. "A misfit. A fucking misfit."
This was true. Along with 2700 other suburban teenagers, Julie and I spent the better part of the mid-Eighties incarcerated at Palmetto High School, a huge institutional building in east Kendall's strip-malled darkness. At first I wasn't friends with Julie. I was too busy indulging in the smart-alecky remarks that teenage boys trade so that they can make sense of the world. (Jon Kessler, during a discussion of William Faulkner's "A Rose for Emily," was asked by an overtaxed English teacher to define "catatonia," and he answered, "It's a pasta dish with a delicious light cream sauce." He was sent to sit in the hall.)
Julie was a different kind of clown -- she didn't mouth off to teachers, she rarely played the fool in class -- but she was a clown nonetheless, as much as you can be when you're a beautiful young woman with obvious assets and talent. Her clowning was visual. She dressed like a cartoon starlet, all plunging necklines and push-up bras. One of her favorite outfits was a cherry-covered replica of the dress Marilyn Monroe wore in The Seven Year Itch. She showed cleavage, and lots of it.
As a teenage boy, I admired cleavage greatly. I started to talk to Julie, to write her letters, to stuff those letters in her locker. The letters became more elaborate; they incorporated stories, drawings, poems. To my everlasting shock, she responded in kind. After a while, cleavage wasn't the only draw. We were friends.
Many days after classes we sat in the school parking lot in her silver Trans Am, a lean trout of a car. Behind us Palmetto rose out of the flat terrain like an aqua behemoth. The side of the building was emblazoned with the logo of our school's sports teams: the Aqua Behemoths. Or was it the Panthers?
Memory intensifies details -- makes them funnier, sadder, more ironic, or more significant than they really were. And nostalgia reupholsters memory. Still, we were there. I am sure of it. We sat in the car and talked. I flirted shamelessly, and Julie told me that she wasn't interested in sex for sport or self-exploration, that she would find her way to sex only through love. I understood what she was saying, but my libido wouldn't let up. My attempts at seduction bounced bonelessly off her resolve.
I don't remember much about our graduation. I know that it was held at Miami-Dade Community College. I know that I delivered the salutatorian's address in an incoherent mumble that was amplified to greater incoherence by the shabby sound system. I know there were tearful scenes with friends, and that I overcame my sadness with sarcasm. I remember only one conversation with Julie from graduation week, a short exchange on the phone in which she told me she was worried about college, scared that the people there wouldn't understand her any better than the people at Palmetto.
What I took away from that conversation was this: Being misunderstood was Julie's skeleton; remove it, and she would fall.
Her senior year at Dartmouth, Julie left the cold of Hanover, New Hampshire, and traveled north into the even harsher climes of Quebec, where she directed an hour-long adaption of Sartre's 1952 film The Respectful Prostitute for her senior thesis. The movie, shot on Super VHS and starring Marla Schaffel, set forth the themes that would be central to Julie's later work: the war between self-knowledge and sex, the difficulty of trusting others, and perhaps most important, the supreme importance of control.
Weeks after graduating from Dartmouth, she moved to California, hoping to make her career as a film director. She went to parties. She started to network. She got involved with an older man, a director. But she couldn't crack Hollywood. Then she got hit by the car.
"That was like a metaphor. I had been crashed into by a relationship, by my career. But the accident steeled me. At a time when I was so confused by adversity, it reminded me that life is short and that filmmaking is something I love." After three weeks in the hospital and three months of rehab, Julie was revitalized, and opportunities started to knock. She went to Germany to work on a film, and back in L.A., landed a series of gigs as a stand-in.
Julie still wanted to direct, but she was rejected from the American Film Institute's directing program two years in a row. The third year, AFI offered to admit her as an editor. Once there, she made a short film called On the Virge that was a precursor to I Love You ... Don't Touch Me. But after AFI, it was back to the grind. Julie temped, edited low-budget action flicks, directed a straight-to-video softcore horror film called Witchcraft 6, and eventually took a full-time job as an editor at the Playboy channel. Amid all of this she was trying, not always successfully, to rework On the Virge into a feature-length script. ("Here I was, working on a script about a virgin and cutting porn movies.") In April 1995, after a real-life love affair crashed and burned, she returned to the script and finished it in less than two months.
But aspiring directors with completed scripts are nothing more than serious amateurs. A year after she finished writing, Julie was still laboring at Playboy, still trying to get her script before the cameras. An old family friend, Marilyn Shapiro, donated $20,000 toward the production of the film. Rolf Erickson, an L.A. businessman who ran a video equipment rental business, kicked in $5000. Julie drained a trust fund her parents had created for graduate school. She withdrew her life savings.
With that money, she could afford a cast. She could even afford a crew. But she couldn't afford to start shooting. "There was a diamond ring my grandmother had left for me when she died. I asked my parents if I could sell it to make the movie. They said okay. The ring went around the world looking for a buyer, even to Israel." It sold just in time, for $15,000.
Production began January 17, 1996. With $60,000 in the bank, Julie could hope for three weeks of shooting at most, with no room for error.
Ten years isn't forever, but it's a long enough time to worry. Who has succumbed to time's depredations? Who has gone wide in the middle? Who has failed to keep the dreams a step, even a half-step, ahead of the disappointments?
In June 1996, I attended my high school's tenth reunion, in an antiseptic chestnut-paneled banquet room at the Sonesta Beach Hotel. Everyone looked young but tired, which is to say that everyone looked like me. I went to the reunion with my friend Harold Oster and his wife Angie. One woman wove unsteadily through the crowd toward us. "I hear you married a beautiful woman," she said to Harold.
"Yes," he said. "And then I remarried." Angie laughed at the joke, the way it put the sting of irony in everything. The drunk woman didn't pick up on the finer point. She just tipped her drink in a tipsy salute and disappeared.
Most ten-year reunions are little more than an opportunity to re-create the dynamics of a decade earlier. There are a few key reversals, of course -- the prom queen ill-used by time, the geek reborn as a master of the universe. But most of the members of my class, most of us, remained largely unchanged. The girls who made us shy then made us shy now. The boys who made us uneasy then made us uneasy now. Evolution, when it happens, happens slowly and between individuals, but these group events are a kind of shell game. The promise of maturity is held up so that the group can see, and then the sleight of hand begins. Is it here? No. Here? Guess again. Well, it must be here, right? Sorry, brother.
I spent most of the evening talking to Harold, who I talked to twice a week anyway. I also spent a considerable portion of the evening craning my neck to look for Julie and asking old classmates if they had any news of her.
We hadn't spoken in five years, only exchanged the occasional letter, and I was eager to catch up. I wanted to see how her film career was going. I wanted to see what she looked like. In the film loop I was screening even as I scanned the room, I saw us sitting at a side table trading stories about our lives -- the difficulty of a creative career, the doubts, the compromises, the rare moments of triumph. Maybe when we were a few drinks gone, we would sneak to a secluded corner of the room and discuss matters more intimately.
But Julie wasn't there. A few folks told me they'd spoken to her that summer, that she was still in Los Angeles. What they didn't tell me is that she was at the end of her rope, editing a movie she wasn't sure anyone would ever want.
The shoot that January and February had been swift but severe, three weeks of exhausting work followed by three months of editing. By spring Julie had cobbled together a rough cut. Despite the fact that she had economized everywhere -- gotten the film stock on the cheap, shot on a loaned camera, et cetera -- she had run out of money. "I couldn't get out of bed," she recalled. "Here I was with a film, and I couldn't afford to finish it. Plus, I wasn't sure if anyone liked it."
But then Meredith Scott Lynn, one of the cast members, found more investors. Julie managed to finish the film by shouldering almost the entire burden of postproduction. She was so strapped for cash that she couldn't even afford to make a workprint of her film; she had to send the original negative out for editing. "It was the riskiest thing I ever did," Julie told me. "One false cut and the original negative would be ruined. The whole time it was out, I couldn't sleep." The film came back in perfect shape.
Oscar season was beginning, but Julie managed to book the Harmony Gold Theater, one of the L.A.'s prime screening rooms. She sent invitations to distributors, acquisitions people, agents. Her parents flew in from Miami. On October 17, 1996, I Love You ... Don't Touch Me premiered in front of a standing-room-only crowd of 425. "That was the best night of my life, and also one of the hardest," Julie said. "I thought my movie would sell from the screening. But no one was interested in distributing it."
Comedy is light. Comic films should be light things. But without a distributor, Julie's film weighed on her: "It was driving me crazy that there wasn't more interest. I mean, this is a movie about an adult virgin. No one had ever done that before. And a woman directing her own script? Plus, I was only 27. I had achieved this incredible thing at such a young age, and I couldn't get it sold." In desperation, Julie shot the rapids of last chance: She applied to the Sundance Film Festival.
The flagship in Robert Redford's pro-independent-film armada, Sundance is also an indie kingmaker. Steven Soderbergh ascended to the throne after debuting sex, lies and videotape at the festival in 1987, and other years' festivals have anointed Todd Haynes, Hal Hartley, and Quentin Tarantino.
After Julie mailed her application to Sundance, she took a vacation -- first to Miami, then to Toronto to visit Marla. "When I got back I had twenty phone messages on my answering machine. I listened to nineteen of them, and nothing. Message twenty was Geoff Gilmore from Sundance. He said I should give him a call." I Love You ... Don't Touch Me hadn't made competition, but it would be screened in the festival's American Spectrum series, a showcase for new directors.
In the months before Sundance, Julie had been a one-woman filmmaking machine. Now she became a one-woman marketing machine. In six weeks, she spent nearly $10,000 emblazoning her movie's logo on T-shirts, jackets, baseball caps, and condoms. There were even boxer shorts that said "I Love You" in black type and "Don't Touch Me" in glow-in-the-dark green. On January 17, exactly a year after she had started shooting, she met her parents, her cast, and her crew in Park City, Utah, for the ten-day event.
As it turns out, Sundance 1997 was another banner year for indie films. Mark Waters's black comedy The House of Yes was the first to go; Miramax paid $1.9 million. Star Maps went to Fox Searchlight for $2.5 million. On the fourth day, Julie screened her film to a crowd that included reps from Goldwyn and Touchstone. Goldwyn showed the most interest, but with two screenings left, Julie wasn't ready to commit.
Thanks to excellent word of mouth and a glowing review from Kenneth Turan of the Los Angeles Times, the second screening of I Love You ... Don't Touch Me was packed with studio reps. Suits from FineLine, Miramax, Fox Searchlight, Warner Bros., and Touchstone all showed up, brandishing checkbooks. Unfortunately, the screening was booked into one of Sundance's worst rooms. "They're not even using that room any more," Julie explained. "It's not raked, so you can't see over people's heads. The sound was terrible. And it was ten in the morning on a Tuesday." Julie gladhanded tirelessly, but her stomach was knotted. Her rosy face was the peach around the pit of her panic. "The screening flopped. I walked out of there crying hysterically. I thought I had lost my chance to sell it."
Goldwyn, however, remained interested. After two days of negotiation, including an eight-hour overnight marathon, she inked a high-six-figure deal. For an independent filmmaker, she had just achieved the rough equivalent of winning the lottery. "I called my mom in Miami. She started to cry. I called Meredith, who had gone back to L.A. She started to cry. Then I went back to the condo and went to sleep." If selling her film had given Julie new life, she was only four hours old, and newborns need their rest.
In adolescence, every day is a car wreck -- noisy, painful, and costly. But time is more like space than unlike it, and from a distance, what was once tremendous can seem trivial. That was my hope, at least, as I flew down to Miami last month; as I met my parents at the airport; as I fell asleep in the same room where I had slept throughout high school; as I woke; as I showered; as I went out the door to collect Julie for lunch. I was driving a rental car, a maroon Pontiac Sunfire. I would have preferred a silver Trans Am, but Avis doesn't rent props.
I can describe the Julie who answered the door only by comparing her with the Julie of a decade ago. Hair lighter. Hips wider. Face thinner. She was still pretty, still neurotic, still tentative when she embraced me. Julie had said that she would be ready at noon, but when I got there she was in a bathrobe. She brought out two outfits and asked me to help her choose. One was a skintight aqua dress, the other a pair of shorts and a tiny Miami Dolphins T-shirt. I picked the dress.
"It's a ten-dollar hooker dress I bought on Sunset Boulevard," she said.
"Ten-dollar hooker or ten-dollar dress?" I said. Julie laughed at that, but was silent the entire car ride, sizing me up. "You look great," she said, when we were safely seated in the restaurant. "You look very handsome." I returned the compliment. We beamed at each other like idiots or lovers. We were neither, of course. She had a boyfriend back in Los Angeles, a piece of intelligence she had delivered over the phone the week before, presumably as a preemptive strike against the power of memory to seduce.
Julie didn't want to talk about I Love You ... Don't Touch Me. Not right away. Instead she talked about The 411, a movie she was directing for the Playboy channel. "It's a softcore film, and the scenes are really erotic," she said. "I did it partly for the money, because my check got delayed when Goldwyn sold to MGM, and partly for the work. I love directing. It doesn't matter what the project is like. You can't ever think you're too good for the work."
"So," I said. "What is your movie like?"
She sighed. "Do we have to talk about it? I mean, it's not that I don't want to. It's just that this movie isn't easy to talk about. I mean, I wrote it four years ago. I filmed it two years ago. Sometimes I worry that I'll never go on and do anything else."
"Of course you will. You did this Playboy movie."
Suddenly she came to life: "There's this one scene where the lead actress is having sex with this guy she's just met. They're on a table, and I shot her from above, and her leg bends like this --" here she crooked a finger calligraphically. "It's one of the nicest shots I've ever filmed."
"Let's talk about your movie," I said again.
Her gaze spiraled down into her wine glass. When she looked up, the gravity was still in her face. "I'm worried that the studio doesn't know how to market me," she complained. In The Great Gatsby, Fitzgerald wrote that Daisy's voice was full of money. Julie's was full of breakage. "They say there's no hook, but this is a movie about an adult virgin. Plus, there's never been a straight woman this young who wrote and directed. And the movie looks so good for a $60,000 movie." She ticked off these achievements in a detached voice, as if she were someone else praising a promising young director, and the list seemed to buoy her a bit. "Listen," she said, "I can talk about the movie, I guess, as long as we don't talk about that and nothing else."
"Okay," I said. "Say you had $30 million, or the $12 million it cost Tarantino to make Jackie Brown. Who would you have cast?"
"Let me think," she said. "I would probably cast Sandra Bullock as Katie, the lead. Definitely Richard Gere as Richard, although I'd have to consider playing Katie so I could have a love scene with him." There was a hint of a pause, and then she charged ahead. "As Ben, Jason Alexander."
"Jason Alexander? Isn't he a little squat?"
"It's his personality. That funny, neurotic energy. It's very attractive."
"It wasn't in high school," I said, in a tone that suggested I was joking. I was pretty certain that I was.
Julie seemed less sure; she stared at me with a look that mixed curiosity, care, and what I hoped was a grain of guilt.
Hoping to smooth things over, I changed tack. "By the way," I said, "I meant to ask you how my letter is used in the movie."
"You'll see," she said. "And anyway, it's not a whole letter. It's a poem you wrote about my hair."
"You're kidding," I said. Julie was laughing. "You're laughing because you're kidding."
"Close," she said. "I'm laughing because I'm not kidding."
That afternoon we crisscrossed South Miami, crosshatched the Gables, and then devised a plan to wind up in the Palmetto High School parking lot. When we got there the sun was dropping, and we sat in the car and talked. A few kids were in the parking lot, and one boy was up on the hood of his BMW, talking on his cell phone. The color of the light was pitched somewhere between salmon and scarlet.
There, in the lot, as the evening came down across the school's etiolated aqua exterior, I moved toward Julie, inching bit by bit into the past. The past was about eight inches to my right, because there I found a knee -- Julie's knee, I assumed -- and traced its contour with my thumb. Hands nearing 30 know their calling so much better than those still in their teens. Fingers found faces. A shoulder lifted itself to a pair of lips. And then there was a suggestive fade to black.
None of this happened, of course. If the scene had been in a movie, it would have, and then some. But this was real life, where propriety often shoves aside desire, where passionate impulses are predisposed to disappear. Entirely socialized, somewhat consternated, with separate lives to protect and fragile self-concepts to manage, Julie and I didn't -- couldn't -- lunge across the seat at one another. Instead she went on about her house in Los Angeles and I talked about my writing and fiddled with the radio buttons, which served as surrogates of sorts. Neither of us courted the other's eyes; we were genial. Eventually this prattle rasped against the day's earlier magic, and I drove her back to her parents' house.
The next day Julie and I drove to the Cosford Cinema at the University of Miami for the screening. The three reels of I Love You ... Don't Touch Me sat simmering in a metal case in the trunk of my Sunfire. I tried to lift the case. It weighed at least 65 pounds. "I wouldn't want this monkey on my back," I said.
"I know," she said. "They had to break it up for me when I took it to Dartmouth." Inside the theater, we quarreled briefly over who should sit where -- she was scared to sit next to me, but I prevailed -- and then the lights went down.
The movie opens in a tattoo parlor, where Katie is getting a tattoo of her boyfriend's name. Proudly marked, she goes to her boyfriend's apartment and catches him in flagrante delicto with another girl. Horrified, she runs into the street and is hit by a car. "I consider that car accident a metaphor for my love life," Katie says.
I swatted Julie on the shoulder. "Hey," I said. "You fed me that line like it was part of your real life, not part of your script."
"Shut up," she said. "I'm trying to watch the movie."
A few minutes later Katie goes to dinner with her best friend Ben. Ben seems like the perfect guy; he's interested in Katie, but she can't return the fervor. "Here," Ben tells Katie as he drops her off at home, "I have something for you." He hands her a folded piece of paper. It's a poem. My poem.
The poem begins as it began when I wrote it a dozen years ago: "When she is happy her hair bucks and crackles." I hunched down into my seat, pinching my shoulder blades, crimping my neck. It's embarrassing enough to hear old love letters when you haven't gone on to become a writer. When you have, it's like being roasted alive. And in this case, roasted alive in theaters across America.
"That's yours," Julie whispered. "Do you recognize it?"
"Now it's your turn to shut up," I said.
The poem was the same poem it was a dozen years before in more ways than one -- not only was it overzealous and overwritten, but it brought Ben no closer to the object of his desire. As played by Mitchell Whitfield, this Ben was shorter and balder than I am. But he had the same analytical bent, the same mordant neuroses. And he was a writer. It was a remarkable portrait, considering that it was painted at more than a decade's remove.
And yet as compelling as on-screen characters were, I found the real-life ones more so. When I turned to watch Julie, I found that she was watching me. When I glanced over my shoulder to make sure there wasn't a film crew recording us, I realized that I was the film crew, and that this article would be the documentary that would explain the dizzying cat's cradle of this scene.
In fact, there were so many ways in which life was imitating art, and that art was intimidating life, that I can only catalogue them in an expansive run-on sentence that will almost certainly sound like the ravings of a lunatic, or the dream of a particularly perceptive child. Here goes: I was sitting in a room watching a movie, and in the movie there was a character who was a version of me, and he was talking to a character who was a version of the woman who was sitting next to me in the room in real life, and she was the same woman who had directed and written the entire film, with the sole exception of a love poem, which in the film was written by the version of me as a show of affection for the version of her, and which in real life was written for the woman in the room by the man in the room, who was me.
If parallels were land mines, the entire room would have been live. And who says they aren't?
There was only one way to deal with this: I rose from my seat, walked purposefully up the aisle, and dove headfirst into the screen, landing in a heap at Katie's feet and leaving Julie, Katie's creator, alone in a darkened theater.
No. What I actually did was far less cinematic: I took out a notepad, jotted down some notes, and tried to treat the movie as if it were just a movie, not a beam passing through twin prisms of subjectivity -- first hers and then mine -- into infinite scatter.
I maintained my critic's pose long enough to notice that the more Katie struggled with her lack of attraction to Ben, the more Ben fought back, the more the film ripened. The plot skipped along briskly. Katie loved, lost, and learned to love again. Then the lights went up.
"Do you like it?" Julie asked me almost immediately.
It's a flat and dull word, like. But it's also elastic and durable, and it helped me bind shut the Pandora's box of things I felt. I was amazed that someone I know had created the film. I was enthralled that I was seeing it with her. I was repulsed by her imagination: What a maudlin and melodramatic thing it is. I was enraptured by her imagination: What a powerful and lyrical thing it is.
Her movie was imperfect -- there were scenes that were too talky, visual conceits that were too gimmicky, characters that were too mannered. And yet the movie was far stronger than I had expected. The script was sharp. The direction was confident. The production values were superb. Most important, Julie's movie made me laugh. This is high praise. Laughter is incompatible with lifelessness, and not to be taken lightly.
Afterward we looked at the cards from the test screenings, held the previous week in Santa Monica. The most common complaint of test-screen audiences was that the movie was predictable. What was not predictable was how many different ways educated Americans can misspell predictable -- "predictible," predictably, but also "predectable," "predactible," and even "prabictall."
I happen to agree that the movie is prabictall. But I don't think that its prabictallality is a problem. This is a film that has a constructive relationship with, almost a faith in, its genre. It is a romantic comedy through and through. If I had made this movie, it would digress into pop culture, literary theory, boxing. The characters would bounce around like superballs, discussing how the cover of Miles Davis's Sketches of Spain is slyly recapitulated in the Clash's Give 'Em Enough Rope. I would need these devices to convince myself that I could hold an audience's interest. I would never be brave enough to execute a straight love story.
"I guess I'm a simple person," Julie said when I told her this. But a simple person doesn't smile like a sphinx when she says that.
Driving back from the screening, we struggled to find something to talk about other than the movie's existential echo chamber. We finally settled on Artie Shaw, the great swing bandleader whose "Special Delivery Stomp" floats over the opening credits of Julie's film. Shortly after he became a household name with "Begin the Beguine" in 1938, Shaw wearied of celebrity and dissolved his band. He went on to form other bands, but his entire artistic career was characterized by a profoundly agonistic relationship with fame.
"It's such a cliche," Julie said, "the artist who gets famous and finds out that it's too hard. But I understand completely. This last two years has been everything I dreamed of, but these days my self-esteem is in such a weird place. There's so much to keep track of. I don't know whether this movie is going to be a big hit or whether it's going to tank. Plus, the more success you have, the more people start to pull at you." Her voice became small. "It sounds stupid, but I'm not sure who to trust." What was unspoken between us filled the car. I wanted to call her Katie in jest, but the joke got stuck in my throat.
With the Sunfire idling in her parents' driveway, Julie asked me a simple question that was the oddest thing I had heard in a day full of odd things. "What do you think of Ben?" she said. We were sitting in the car now, but it might as well have been then.
"I like him," I said. "He seems like an important part of Katie's life. Is he really based on me?"
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"Of course he is," she said. "I mean, there are pieces of other people in there -- a friend of mine from college, a guy I wrote with when I came out to Los Angeles. But he was always named Ben, because you've always been in my mind. I think you were the first boy who truly cared about me, and the first boy who made me feel those feelings -- being close to men in the ways that matter, but not being able to merge it with romance. I think he's sort of the hero of the movie."
Throughout my long relationship with Julie, I have responded to her romantic rejection in various ways. I have been hurt. I have been angry. I have smiled so broadly that it was clear that my face had nothing to do with the rest of me. I had never, until that moment, been grateful.
We hugged goodbye, and a hint of something hotter flowed between us -- not enough to make a difference, but more than I had expected. Progress. She stepped out of the car. Her hair bucked and crackled. I think she may have glanced back once, Orpheus-like, but maybe not. Then she was gone.
I didn't think I would include this scene in my article. It seemed too simple. But I'm reluctant to leave it out. If there's one thing Julie's movie reminded me, it's that life is lived, and then captured. If you don't capture it, someone else will. There's no other definition for art.


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text:
'The Final Countdown' is an epic hybrid trailer cue that builds up slowly to a huge climax. The beginning is meant to evoke a feeling of sombre reality of what is about to happen (everything going all wrong). The introduction gradually builds up with heavy drums and percussion until the break with choir and high strings.
The 2nd section comes roaring in with almost alien-like huge epic horn blasts, and a percussion/drum section that builds and builds to the climax. A huge pitch bend in distorted synth/guitar helps punctuate the end of this section before the piece calms down for a final statement of the theme.
This hybrid epic trailer-style track would be excellent for movie trailers, films, video games, YouTube projects, shorts, and feature films
This track also comes with multiple edits. Details below:
- 0:00 – 3:12 – Main Track – 3:12
- 3:13 – 4:55 – Short Edit – 1:42
- 4:56 – 8:08 – Main Track (No Distorted Melody) – 3:12
- 8:09 – 9:51 – Short Edit (No Distorted Melody) – 1:42
Thank you for listening!


text: PORTLAND, Ore. (TheStreet) -- Major League Baseball may be still be one of the best values in the land, but that doesn't mean fans are getting off light.As we've noted before, baseball hasn't had a strike since its World Series-canceling work stoppage in 1994-95 and hasn't locked out players since 1990. Even the NBA (which locked out players in 1995, 1996, 1998-99 and 2011) and the NFL (which locked out players in 2011 and referees last year) can't say the same. Fans, meanwhile, have been rewarded with ticket prices that average $27.48, according to Team Marketing Report. That's a little more than half the price of an average NBA ticket ($50.99), slightly less than half the cost of a ticket to an NHL game ($61.01) and well below the price you'd spend on any given Sunday in the NFL ($78.38). It's also 1.8% higher than it was last year and includes a few teams pricing their tickets at nearly double that average. We took a look around the league and found $10 cities where the average Major League Baseball ticket price borders on myth and looked into what each gives fans for their money:


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|2008-10-24, 17:58
|Link #1
Nothing More
Join Date: Mar 2003
Age: 39
Toradora! - Character Discussion - Kushieda Minori
The purpose of this thread is to provide a place to discuss all things Kushieda Minori related.
To keep the discussion enjoyable for all Toradora! fans, please follow the guidelines below and stay on-topic!
Note: Please don't use this for the specifics (i.e. episode, chapter, game, etc. discussion) there are other threads for that stuff.Thread Guidelines
Last edited by Pellissier; 2008-12-06 at 04:48.
|2008-10-24, 18:10
|Link #2
Senior Member
What is ADHD?
According to the 1994, Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Ed. IV, (DSM-IV) ADHD is a Disruptive Behavior Disorder characterized by the presence of a set of chronic and impairing behavior patterns that display abnormal levels of inattention, hyperactivity, or their combination.
Symptom Checklist for ADHD
A professional uses this symptom checklist to make the diagnosis of ADHD.
Criteria: Inattention or Hyperactivity-Impulsivity Behavior has persisted for at least six months and to such a degree that it is maladaptive and inconsistent with developmental level. Must present with six or more of the following:
1. Inattention
a) often fails to give close attention to details or makes careless mistakes in schoolwork, work, or other activities
b) often has difficulty sustaining attention in tasks or play activities
c) often does not seem to listen when spoken to directly
d) often does not follow through on instructions and fails to finish schoolwork, chores, or duties in the workplace (not due to oppositional behavior or failure to understand instructions)
e) often has difficulty organizing tasks and activities
f) often avoids, dislikes, or is reluctant to engage in tasks that require sustained mental effort (such as schoolwork or homework)
g) often loses things necessary for tasks or activities (toys, school assignments, pencils, books, or tools) h) is often easily distracted by extraneous stimuli
i) is often forgetful in daily activities
2. Hyperactivity-Impulsivity Hyperactivity
a) often fidgets with hands or feet or squirms in seat
b) often leaves seat in classroom or in other situations in which remaining seated is expected
c) often runs about or climbs excessively in situations in which it is inappropriate (in adolescents or adults, may be limited to subjective feelings of restlessness)
d) often has difficulty playing or engaging in leisure activities quietly
e) is often "on the go" or often acts as if "driven by a motor"
f) often talks excessively
a) often blurts out answers before questions have been completed
b) often has difficulty awaiting turn
c) often interrupts or intrudes on others (e.g., butts into conversations or games)
Of course it is debatable. To me, she struck me as one of this people.
|2008-10-24, 18:51
|Link #3
Seitenkan no Greeter
stormy: Funnily enough, I happen to have ADHD. XD
But anyway, the "Inattention" and "Impulsivity" sections don't really seem to fit Minori, but the "Hyperactivity" one definitely does (specifically, e) and f), the first part of c), and potentially d), though I don't think we've seen her playing anything that one generally plays quietly).
|2008-10-24, 23:11
|Link #6
Join Date: Nov 2007
Age: 29
Inattention could actually be part of Minori when she is happily going around giving her photos away while Ryuuji got his hands on the most controversial one. Besides she is always the one talking non-stop without caring about what others are saying (something like Haruhi).
Impulsivity could also be part of her as she would just go and take up multiple jobs without thinking about her own physical health. She also has a problem when it comes to food.
P.S Somehow I feel that her character is modelled physically after Kallen from Code Geass.
|2008-10-25, 01:58
|Link #9
Obey the Darkly Cute ...
Join Date: Dec 2005
Location: On the whole, I'd rather be in Kyoto ...
Age: 61
I'm ADD (not diagnosed until a few years ago) but not hyperactive. Minorin has a lot of ferret in her that imply ADD but not necessarily hyperactivity. It may also be that she's all over the place to both distract from deeper issues or to avoid having to confront certain things.
|2008-10-25, 04:34
|Link #10
Join Date: Nov 2007
Age: 29
|2008-10-25, 05:19
|Link #11
Seitenkan no Greeter
|2008-10-25, 19:10
|Link #12
Son of God
Join Date: Aug 2006
Apart from the fact she's hyper I don't really see much connection, but then I am sceptical about the ADHD thing anyhow, that list basically just says "some people don't fit the straitjacket that society designed for them so we're going to call them abnormal because that straitjacket looks just fine to us". (I mean people were not designed to sit still like is expected of you in class, such stuff is unnatural, of course some people will figdet and want to get on with something other than sit and stare at a blackboard.)
The main thing to me about Minori is that she appears to be trying to mask some issue in her life by keeping herself busy. Ep.3 is a good hint I think, it's like she's scared by things in life and has decided that the best way to cope is to confront it head-on.
Last edited by Samatarou; 2008-10-26 at 13:51. Reason: correction
|2008-10-26, 00:54
|Link #14
User of the "Fast Draw"
Anyways curious about how things might develop with her and Ryuugi. Lot against it with her right now not showing interest in the romantic sense. Not to mention the guy has Taiga against him on that front until he's wrapped up things for her.
|2008-10-26, 09:20
|Link #15
TsuruyaxMikuru Glomp~
But I hope something happens, like a confession, because she's getting on my nerves... Then I can know what's going on...
|characters, drama
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|March 11, 2013, 12:47 AM
Junior Member
Join Date: March 7, 2013
Posts: 1
SKS Casing Deflector
Hey all. I just ordered a choate scope mount for my sks and I'm wondering about the ejected cartridges hitting the scope. I know I'm going to need a deflector and that there aren't really any out there (as far as i can tell) that are built for the choate scope mount so I'm guessing I'm going to have to make one which, from what I've read, is what most other people had to do. I'm wondering how exactly you would make one, but more importantly, how you would fit it onto the mount? Would you just weld it to the mount itself or would you make a thin tab extending from the deflector long enough to squeeze between the scope rings and the mount? I have no idea how I'm going to do this and would really appreciate some help. Thanks to all who reply.
P.s If anyone has a Choate mount with a makeshift deflector could you post a picture of how to fit it to the mount (If possible of course)
|March 11, 2013, 11:04 AM
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Join Date: July 15, 2006
Location: Fern Creek ,KY and Metro Louisville at large
Posts: 426
A sheet metal piece screwed to mount would be the way I would do that.
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Two More Illnesses Reported in Mo. from Cantaloupe
JEFFERSON CITY, Mo. (AP) -- Missouri health officials say the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has confirmed two more illnesses in Missouri that are linked to tainted
The state Department of Health and Senior Services said Thursday that Missouri now has had three cases of listeria that are tied to contaminated fruit grown on a farm in Colorado. Missouri health officials say all three people had to be hospitalized. The state health agency says a 94-year-old died, but local medical officials determined listeria was not the cause of death.
A national outbreak has caused dozens of illnesses and more than a dozen deaths in 18 states. Most healthy adults can consume listeria with no ill effects. Symptoms include fever, muscle aches
and gastrointestinal problems.


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PINEDALE, Wyo. (AP) - Helicopters and ground crews are again searching Wyoming's Wind River Range for the brother of Colorado Sen. Mark Udall.
James "Randy" Udall failed to return from a solo backpacking trip last week. Searchers on Tuesday were looking for signs of the 61-year-old over the same 225 square mile area they've been searching since Friday.
Udall is an alternative energy advocate and environmentalist from Carbondale, Colo. He's an experienced backpacker who has hiked the Wind River many times over the past 30 years.
He signed June 20 in at the popular Elkhart Park trailhead, a well-marked trail over rolling country that starts at 10,000 feet.
Udall is also the cousin of New Mexico Sen. Tom Udall and the son of the late 15-term Arizona congressman and Interior Secretary Morris Udall.
Copyright 2013 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.


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NATICK � After listening to a talk by one of the "Lost Boys of Sudan," Grady Beauregard was determined to make a difference for people living in South Sudan.
The 13-year-old, working with several friends, is raising money to help a nonprofit build wells in the African nation.
"I was pretty inspired," Beauregard said of hearing the story of Gabriel Bol Deng, who fled South Sudan as a boy after his village was attacked and eventually came to the United States. "I like helping people."
Bol Deng, who recently spoke to Natick middle school students, was 10 years old in 1987 when militiamen attacked his village. Without his parents, he fled into a forest and "embarked on a perilous four-month long journey, crossing the Nile River and untold miles of desert; surviving disease, and devastating hunger to reach the Dimma Refugee Camp in Ethiopia," according to the website of HOPE for Ariang Foundation, a nonprofit he started to help the people from his village.
As a teenager, he fled from violence in Ethiopia and traveled on foot to a refugee camp in Kenya. He came to the United States in 2001 as part of a refugee resettlement program, according to the website.
Beauregard was so moved by his story that the Kennedy Middle School student decided to read "They Poured Fire On Us From The Sky," a book about three boys who escape civil war in Sudan, and exchanged�emails with one of the authors, Alephonsion Deng.
Beauregard said he learned that people in South Sudan need access to clean water, so he is raising money for Water for South Sudan, a nonprofit organization that drills wells.
Beauregard already surpassed his initial goal of $500 and has raised more than $1,400.
"I just thought what it would be like with no water," he said, noting some people walk for miles to find water that is often dirty. "It made me think about how lucky we are."
Beauregard, working with Robert Lewandowski, Matthew Branch and Liam Beauregard, has put up posters around school and publicized the campaign online, among other actions.
Kennedy Middle School Principal Rosemary Vickery said Bol Deng teaches students to be resilient and do the right things. He shows them that someone with a challenging childhood can go on to do great things.
Vickery said she was thrilled when Grady Beauregard contacted her about raising money for Water for South Sudan.
"As a principal you don�t say no to those kinds of things," she said. "That�s activism at its best."
For more information on Beauregard�s efforts or to make a donation, visit http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/water-for-south-sudan.
Brian Benson can be reached at 508-626-3964 or email@example.com. Follow him on Twitter @bbensonmwdn.
Natick boy seeks to give the gift of water to South Sudan
NATICK � After listening to a talk by one of the "Lost Boys of Sudan," Grady Beauregard was determined to make a difference for people living in South Sudan.


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Welcome to the city of Kalamazoo!
We have provided links to items that we believe would be most helpful for visitors to our fine city.
We offer information under the main Visitors menu to areas of interest including: arts and culture, dining, nightlife, shopping, the farmers market, our beautiful parks for recreation activities and special events. If you are looking up your past in our fair city, the cemeteries and genealogy may offer direction to find family or should you be interested in the specific businesses or activities taking place visit discoverkalamazoo.com or downtownkalamazoo.org. Our Metro Transit system is a full service system servicing the Kalamazoo areas or cool off after a day of activities in our Kik pool!
Whatever choices you make we hope you enjoy your visit to Kalamazoo and return.


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It's been a couple of years since the Tampa Bay Derby has produced a Kentucky Derby winner, but on Saturday, a field of nine horses will try to make that first step at Tampa Bay Downs.
It's been a couple of years since the Tampa Bay Derby has produced a Kentucky Derby winner, but on Saturday, a field of nine horses will try to make that first step at Tampa Bay Downs.
The heavy favorite is Verrazano, which despite only having two starts in his career, is at odds of 4-5. The More Than Ready colt made his debut in January with a 7-plus length win in a maiden special weight race at Gulfstream Park.
He came back a month later and smoked the field in a allowance optional claiming race, winning by more than 16 lengths.
Trained by Todd Pletcher, the colt could earn 50 points toward qualifying for the May 4, Derby with a win in the Grade 2 race.
Florida-bred Park City, which is also trained by Pletcher, is at odds of 12-1. The Harlan's Holiday colt also makes his stakes debut in the $350,000 race.
The Tampa Bay Derby is scheduled for 5:15 p.m. and is race No. 10.
In South Florida, the $300,000 Gulfstream Park Handicap drew a short field of six horses, including favorite Fort Larned. The multiple Grade 1 winning son of E Dubai opens at odds of 3-5.
A winner of nearly $3.7 million, the 5-year-old kept the field short and full of Florida-breds. Four of the other five entries are from the state, including 3-1 second choice Discreet Dancer., a 4-year-old son of Discreet Cat..
The colt was out for nearly a year after he finished third in the Fountain of Youth Stakes in February 2012. He made his first start back on Feb. 2, winning an optional claiming race at Gulfstream.
He was bred by owner E. Paul Robsham and is trained by Todd Pletcher.
Fellow Florida-bred Fort Loudon is the third choice at odds of 3-1. The 3-year-old son of Journeyman Stud stallion Awesome of Course won the Grade 3 Gulfstream Park Sprint Championship Stakes on Feb. 9. He stretches out a bit in length to one mile in the Handicap.
Bred and owned by Jacks or Better Farm in Reddick, the colt has earned more than $840,000.
The Gulfstream Park Handicap is scheduled for 5:35 p.m. and is race No. 10.


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President Bush announced today that he will renominate five judges who have been prevented by the Democrats from receiving Senate votes. The five are Terrence W. Boyle, of North Carolina (Fourth Circuit), William James Haynes II, of Virginia (Fourth Circuit), William Gerry Myers III, of Idaho (Ninth Circuit), Norman Randy Smith, of Idaho (Ninth Circuit), Michael Brunson Wallace, of Mississippi (Fifth Circuit).
Good. Paul has written extensively about William Haynes, and I wrote about Wallace here. But all of these fine individuals deserve, at a bare minimum, a vote.


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Galvanic necklace, Paris, France, 1880-1920
The metal chain of this necklace is made from links of brass, zinc and copper. The charms, which are in the shape of an oval and a cross, are made from brass, copper and steel. The inscription translates from French as "Health, Force Strength…oval electromagnetic". It also has the maker's name, "N Bertrand", and his place of work, "Paris". The necklace worked as an electrotherapy treatment, in a similar way to using copper bracelets to relieve the pain of rheumatoid arthritis.
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Glossary: necklace
Ornaments worn around the neck, usually in the form of chains or strands of beads, pearls, stones, or the like, and often including a suspended ornamental pendant. Use "chokers" for short, narrow necklaces worn close to the throat. Use "dog collars (necklaces)" for wide ornamental bands worn tightly around the neck.
Glossary: electrotherapy
The passing of electric currents through the body's tissues to stimulate the functioning of nerves and the muscles.
Glossary: galvanism
Any form of medical treatment that uses electricity.
Glossary: Mesmerism
Based on the theories of Franz Anton Mesmer (1734-1815). Claimed he could heal people based on his theory of animal magnetism. This fluid flowed through living things but when it became blocked, it caused disease. Treatment was holding magnets over specific parts of the body. His ideas were unfounded.


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The new Gwenevere Skinny jean works a treat in this contemporary dark wash and with our signature three studs on the back pocket label. This is an iconic jean with attitude aplenty.
Product Code: STGWESBAH. 30
Details & Care
- 7 For All Mankind's signature squiggle back pocket
- 98% cotton 2% elasthan
- zip fly
- Low rise
- All of our products are made in Europe or USA
- Average weight 700 gr.
The Gwenevere is our original skinny fit. With a comfortably low rise, it's slim through the hips and leg with a perfect length right below the ankle for a clean look. The Gwenevere features a variety of back pocket designs as well as the 7 For All Mankind signature squiggle.


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Saturday, 12 October 2013 08:32 AM
With talks having stalled between the White House and House Republicans, a bipartisan group in the Senate is polishing a measure that would reopen the government and prevent a first-ever default on the country's bills.
The negotiations in the Senate come as the chamber meets in a rare Saturday session to vote on a Democratic measure to lift the government's borrowing cap through the end of next year. Republicans are poised to reject it amid talks among the group of rank-and-file senators — talks monitored with the full attention of Senate leaders.
The group's focus is on a proposal by Sen. Susan Collins, R-Maine, and others that would pair a six-month plan to keep the government open with an increase in the government's borrowing limit through January.
House Republicans, meanwhile, are slated to meet Saturday morning to get an update from their leaders as matters come to a head.
President Barack Obama on Friday privately turned away a House plan to link the reopening of the government — and a companion measure to temporarily increase the government's borrowing cap — to concessions on the budget.
Publicly, top House Republicans said negotiations were on track. Obama called House Speaker John Boehner midafternoon Friday, and Michael Steel, a spokesman for the leader of House Republicans, said, "They agreed that we should all keep talking."
Privately, the channel between the White House and the House wasn't bearing fruit, said aides on both sides. The aides required anonymity because the talks were private and they weren't authorized to discuss them by name.
"It wouldn't be wise, as some suggest, to just kick the debt-ceiling can down the road for a couple months, and flirt with a first-ever intentional default right in the middle of the holiday shopping season," Obama said in his Saturday radio and Internet address.
On Friday, a daily briefing by White House press secretary Jay Carney was delayed until after the stock market closed, and Carney said Obama "appreciates the constructive nature of the conversation and the proposal that House Republicans put forward." Yet, the spokesman said, "He has some concerns with it."
A House GOP aide and a White House official cast developments in a more pessimistic light, both requiring anonymity because of the secret nature of the talks. Among the options to be presented to a House GOP conference was a condition-free debt limit increase for just a few weeks and a continued closure of the government in hopes of concessions from Obama.
In the face of disastrous opinion polls, GOP leaders have signaled that they will make sure the debt limit is increased with minimal damage to the markets. But they're still seeking concessions as a condition for reopening the government.
Obama met Senate Republicans on Friday and heard a pitch from Collins on raising the debt limit until the end of January, reopening the government, and cutting the health care law at its periphery. It would also strengthen income verification for people receiving subsidies through the health care law and set up a broader set of budget talks.
The Collins plan would delay for two years a medical-device tax that helps finance the health care law, and it would subject millions of individuals eligible for subsidies to purchase health insurance under the program to stronger income verification.
At the Capitol, Collins said Obama said the proposal "was constructive, but I don't want to give the impression that he endorsed it."
Related Articles:
Susan Collins: I Don't Buy 'Rogue Agents' Claim
States Make Deals to Reopen Statue of Liberty, Other Landmarks
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News & Events
For the Media
Wasenko of Ithaca Receives Clarkson University's Top Alumni Honor
[A photograph for media use is available at http://www.clarkson.edu/news/photos/jwasenko.jpg .]
Wasenko earned a bachelor of science degree in mechanical engineering from Clarkson University in 1973. In 1975, he graduated from MIT with a master of science degree in nuclear engineering. He continued his education at Albany Medical College, graduating in 1980 as a doctor of medicine.
After graduation, Wasenko combined his love for engineering with the promising field of medical science imaging to become a neuroradiologist specializing in magnetic resonance imaging of the central nervous system.
At Upstate Medical University in Syracuse Wasenko has mentored outstanding physicians and is also the director of magnetic resonance imaging. His specialty is clinical utility of diagnostic studies in the evaluation of diseases of the central nervous system. He serves on numerous committees and has co-authored 97 scientific publications, presentations and book chapters.
Wasenko is licensed to practice in five states and has been listed in Best Doctors in America: Northeast Edition in 1996, 1999 and from 2000-2008. He received the Award for Teaching Excellence at the Naval Hospital Oakland from 1985-1987, as well as at the University of Alabama in 1989-1990. He was honored with the E. Robert Heitzman Award for Excellence in Teaching from the Department of Radiology at SUNY Upstate Medical University in 1993-1994.
Wasenko is a benefactor of Clarkson hockey and students, who he supports through the Dr. John '73 and Roberta Wasenko and Family Health Sciences Endowed Scholarship Fund.
He and his wife, Roberta, live in Ithaca. They have two children, Alyssa and Gregory.
Clarkson University crosses the boundaries of disciplines, nations and cultures in order for discovery, engineering innovation and enterprise to come together. As a result, faculty and graduates grasp the full impact of their calling, direct their research to the world's pressing issues and lead with confidence and distinction. One in seven alumni is already a CEO or other senior executive. Located in Potsdam, N.Y., just outside the six-million-acre Adirondack Park, Clarkson is home to 3, 000 students preparing for rewarding careers through 50 rigorous programs of study in engineering, business, arts, science, and health sciences, as well as unparalleled outdoor recreation and life experiences beyond the classroom.
Photo caption: John Wasenko (right) receives the Golden Knight Award from Clarkson University President Tony Collins.


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3 Designs by Constance Guisset: Dancing Chair, Tri3 & Fiat Lux
We're constantly blown away by all of the amazing, talented designers out there, and seeing products such as these really keeps that fascination alive. We're appreciate great design that is infused with functionality.
Constance Guisset is a Paris based product designer and is a recent graduate of ENSCI design school. She is recently most well known for her Dancing Chair — a modern version of a rocking chair that is made from ribbon-like pieces of wood. The fluidity of the pieces of wood, craftsmanship, and over all shape of the chair is truly inspiring.
She's also pretty well known for her Tri3 - a sorting garbage can. The can has 3 pedals that open each compartment. The first pedal opens the top layer in the traditional way and is used for general discarding, the second pedal swivels the middle compartment to the side and can be used for plastics, and the third pedal pushes the bottom compartment towards you and can be used for glass and bottles.
Another great item item from the imagination of Constance Guisset is the Fiat Lux. An interactive light fixture that uses the force of a magnet to turn the light on and off. A magnetic ball plays the roll of the light switch and when moved to the base of the lamp it turns the light on. Simply move the ball to the side of the lamp and the light goes off.
Constance Guisset
39 rue du cherche-midi
75006 Paris


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BRASILIA, Brazil (AP) — A prosecutor is trying to get God off of Brazilian bank notes....
Public prosecutor Jefferson Dias argues that the country is a secular state and that the phrase "God be praised" disregards the rights of non-Christians, and on Tuesday he asked a federal court to order the phrase removed.
"The fact that most Brazilians are Christian does not justify the "violation of the fundamental rights of those that follow different religions or do not believe in God," Dias said in the motion he filed with the court.
Brazil's public prosecutor's office is separate from the executive branch of government and it is supposed to defend the social and individual rights of citizens as well as serving as a watchdog over the government. A spokeswoman for the agency said the initiative for the motion apparently came from Dias.
The Assembly of God Church, one of the largest evangelical denominations in Brazil, opposed the motion.
"God must be praised all the times and everywhere," said church official Tilza Feliciano.
The Roman Catholic archbishop of Sao Paulo, Cardinal Odilo Scherer, spoke to the Folha de S. Paulo newspaper and asked, "Why is an allusion to God a problem?"
"The phrase should make no difference to those who do not believe in God," he said. "But it is meaningful for all those who do believe in God."


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Felarya manga t1
eBook (PDF), 57 Pages
Price: $7.00
Felarya is a jungle world, full of wonders, fantastic treasures and giant, voracious predators. The naga Crisis is one of them, despite being also a kind, cheerful girl. Meet her and some other inhabitants in the first Felarya manga ! Contain mature content( nudity ) and vore. The manga is 55 pages long
Available in PDF Format
Ratings & ReviewsLog in to review this item
8 People Reviewed This Product
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Aug 5, 2014good but too short. wished it was longer
Aug 20, 2010Quite simply this is an outstanding manga, Karbo's humour and attention to detail is incredible. The story gives you enough fun and fanservice to keep you reading on and it never gets boring. I was immersed in Felarya! I highly, highly recommend it!
Oct 6, 2009Do you like Vore fantasy? It's a trilling story, with beautiful graphic that you want to finish reading ones you start. Unfortunately you can't. Volume two ends whit a cliffhanger and no volume three have been drawn yet. I truly hope Karbo takes herself together and get to work, and that she has a plan to finish the story. As a fellow writer I know the importers of a script. A continues story like this must have and ending planed, even if it hasn't been written yet. These thoughts however are only the fears of what the future issues may and may not hold. I can not truly assess the story before I know the whole store, but that part of the story that I do know, certainly deserves my recommendation.
Aug 29, 2009"Nothing less than greatness" I had been looking forward to this manga since hearing about it, and I was not disappointed. The artwork is incredible, as always, and the story is interesting so far, and shows a great deal of potential. I eagerly await the next installment of this wonderful manga.
Jul 20, 2009"Love it!" I must say I have admired Karbo's work and 'fascination' for as long as I know him, and I must say this is a wonderful manga. I most fantastic read with a great plot. The artist's style only makes it better and the sense of adventure is so clear and absolutely gripping...with a cute sense of humour as well! Felarya comes alive! I devoured the book in mere minutes after I had bought it and would personally recommend it to those into the genre. But my thought for now is this: MORE, KARBO! MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE! ~Gryphonia from deviantArt
There are no reviews for previous versions of this product
Product Details
- Copyright
- Karbo (Standard Copyright License)
- Published
- January 29, 2010
- Language
- English
- Pages
- 57
- File Format
- File Size
- Product ID
- 6306113
Formats for this Ebook
|Required Software
|Any PDF Reader, Apple Preview
|Supported Devices
|Windows PC/PocketPC, Mac OS, Linux OS, Apple iPhone/iPod Touch... (See More)
|# of Devices
|Flowing Text / Pages
|Learn more about ebook formats and e-readers
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North Carolina WWII vet to receive honor from French government
NEW BERN, N.C. (WCTI) - Morton Jacobs was a private first class for the first Canadian-American special service forces back in World War II. On Friday, he'll receive a special honor.
"It says in remembrance of those who sacrificed their lives for the cause, the ceremony to bestow upon you the award of the legion of honor," said Jacobs, who read from a letter from the French consulate. Jacobs will receive the Legion of Honor, the highest honor in France.
"Well, I think it's taken a long time but I don't think the French act that fast," Jacobs said.
Jacobs will receive the honor, established in 1802 by Napoleon Bonaparte, at a ceremony in Raleigh on Friday. The recognition is France's way of expressing gratitude to those like Jacobs who helped liberate the country from oppression in 1944-45.
"On behalf of all those who served with me and who died and who I think really deserve honors ... you know my participation was like any other good soldier. I think I did my job and that about sums it up," Jacobs said.
Jacobs said he doesn't like to talk about the war. But his story hasn't gone unnoticed. Some other Americans who have received the honor include Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower, Gen. Douglas McArthur and Adm. Mike Mullen.


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Connecting Families to Senior Living
Talk to a local advisor for FREE
Independent living communities are also known as retirement
communities, retirement homes or senior housing. For today's
baby boomers and seniors with few if any disabilities and needed
only limited assistance, retirement communities offer a broad range
of intellectual, physical and social activities to enhance golden
years' enjoyment.
The retirement years should be enjoyable. In fact, some say
they're the best years of life since you don't have to deal with
the stresses of mortgage, kids and jobs.
When a senior chooses an independent living community, he or she
has the physical and mental capacity to live independently, but
wants companionship from others his/her age. And independent senior
living provides not only socialization, it also provides fun
activities and stimulation.
Independent living communities offer specific services and
amenities that cater to senior citizens and promote active, healthy
lifestyles for the golden years. Here are a few of the active
lifestyle offerings at retirement living communities:
Many independent living communities offer a carefree lifestyle,
free of everyday living responsibilities, such as meal
preparation, housekeeping, laundry and house maintenance.
Independent living costs can vary by retirement community, based on
the size of the apartment, geographical location of the community
and the services needed at the community. According to
Genworth.com, the average cost of a one-bedroom, independent living
or retirement community in the U.S. in 2012 was $2,750 a month.
Often times there is a basic rate that covers all independent
living services, with an additional fee for special services. Here
are some typical services included in independent living:
It's important to ask each community about their individual
costs and services, as they can vary by community. For example,
concierge and guest services may include an additional cost.
Some independent living communities offer a wide variety of
non-medical services:
Get the latest tips, news, and advice on aging and caregiving.
A Place for Mom is the largest assisted living referral service. We are paid by our participating communities, therefore our service is offered at no charge to families.
Copyright ©2018 A Place for Mom, Inc. All rights reserved.


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Did you read today's front page stories & breaking news?
From the Wires
CollabRx Reports Q2 Fiscal Year 2013 Financial Results
By: Business Wire
Nov. 14, 2012 07:02 AM
CollabRx, Inc. (NASDAQ: CLRX) today announced financial results for the Second Quarter Fiscal Year 2013, which ended September 30, 2012.
Fiscal 2013 Second Quarter Financial Statement Highlights
Business Highlights
"We have emerged quickly and powerfully in the few short weeks since we formally launched as the publicly traded CollabRx, Inc.," said Chairman and Co-CEO Thomas Mika. "The agreements that we signed with Everyday Health and Life Technologies marks the entry of the Company into its commercialization phase and validates the business model in two key sectors of the health care market. We have a strong pipeline of additional strategic deals that will build on our platform and lead to significant future revenues."
"CollabRx is at the forefront of providing actionable information to physicians and patients in the cancer space, where targeted therapies are guided by genomic testing and other molecular biomarkers," said James Karis, Co-CEO of CollabRx. "We have ensured that our interpretive data and analytics are available to a wide audience of physicians and patients. At the same time, we have established a platform for significant growth and profitability. CollabRx now intends to make the most of its early position as a leader and innovator in a market that is poised for explosive growth."
About CollabRx
CollabRx, Inc. (NASDAQ: CLRX) is a recognized leader in cloud-based expert systems to inform health care decision-making. CollabRx uses information technology to aggregate and contextualize the world's knowledge on genomics-based medicine with specific insights from the nation's top cancer experts starting with the area of greatest need: advanced cancers in patients who have effectively exhausted the standard of care. More information may be obtained at http://www.collabrx.com.
CollabRx Safe Harbor Statement
This press release includes forward-looking statements about CollabRx's anticipated results that involve risks and uncertainties. Some of the information contained in this press release, including, but not limited to, statements as to industry trends and CollabRx's plans, objectives, expectations and strategy for its business, contains forward-looking statements that are subject to risks and uncertainties that could cause actual results or events to differ materially from those expressed or implied by such forward-looking statements. Any statements that are not statements of historical fact are forward-looking statements. When used, the words "believe," "plan," "intend," "anticipate," "target," "estimate," "expect" and the like, and/or future tense or conditional constructions ("will," "may," "could," "should," etc.), or similar expressions, identify certain of these forward-looking statements. Important factors which could cause actual results to differ materially from those in the forward-looking statements are detailed in filings made by CollabRx with the Securities and Exchange Commission. CollabRx undertakes no obligation to update or revise any such forward-looking statements to reflect subsequent events or circumstances.
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