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Winter Contest (Prose) In the Mirror
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Winter Contest (Prose) In the Mirror
The them for the Winter Prose Contest is: "In the Mirror".
What it is in the mirror, or even if it is in is up to you. Good luck and enjoy.
Members are allowed one entry in the Prose contest. (You are welcome to enter our poetry contest as well.) Prose entries should be submitted as posts to this thread. The competition is open to all members of Writers Beat, including staff.
Members are requested to refrain from commenting on entries in this posting thread. Please use the Winter Contest Comments thread instead. That thread will remain open throughout the posting period and afterwards, and members are encouraged to let entrants know what they thought of their entries.
Word Limits:
Prose: 2000 Words
Once an entry has been submitted,
it cannot be altered
. Any work that is edited after it has been entered will be
. If you feel you need to make a small alteration (a misplaced comma, a spelling error), contact a member of staff. If we feel your request is reasonable, we will make the correction on your behalf.
Close Date:
22nd December 2012, 12 midnight GMT
Winners will be selected by means of a public vote, so you, the members of Writers Beat, will choose the winners.
After the closing date, a voting thread will be posted. Voting will commence on the 23rd of December and close on the 29th of December 2012, 12 midnight GMT.
* * *
The winning entries will be considered for publication in Writer's Beat Quarterly, subject to the approval of the editors. To increase your chances of getting published (whether you win or not), make sure your document is as error-free as possible!
Also, the member (or tying members) with the most votes will get to suggest the next contest theme!
* * *
If you have any questions about the contest, contact a staff member and we will happily answer them for you. Now sharpen your pencils, fill up your inkwells and get writing. Good Luck!
Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?
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The spider was spotted as she emerged from one of the many darkened pits within the fabric of the damp stone wall opposite. The single coat of whitewash was peeled and flaking. Cement from the jointsin the walls had ground to dust over decades, aided by both natural settlement inside and man made warfare outside. As the spider scurried across her web, Alice lost concentration and felt raw metal cut into her wrists again. They were sore and her arms ached deeply in all their joints as they hung limply above her. It was the restriction of movement more than the callous nature of the battered metal cuffs that Alice disliked. She had been here for thirty-seven days. Day ten had been her fourtieth birthday. A memorable milestone. The spider retreated into her hidey-hole and began her own tedious version of Alice's waiting game.
The now familiar sound of the door scraping across the wet floor at the top of the steps encouraged Alice to lower her head so as to not cast her gaze upon her captors. This, she thought, gave her a greater chance of survival. If she couldn't identify them by any other means than their voice, they may let her go eventually. The crass snort of her prison guard as he descended the steps said to Alice it was feeding time. Blissful joy. An hour of freedom, of no restraint; of movement.
Head bowed, she saw on the bent tin plate that her keeper slid toward her, her supper. Barely three spoonfuls of beans. Cold and hard. The jailer grunted as he bent down and placed a stained steel cup of water next to the plate. He jangled his keys and Alice dropped her arms. Pain shot from her shoulders through her chest, too long in one position. The jailer left her to her moment. She rose and swayed as she stepped the eight paces to the other wall; the spiders wall.
She turned and squinted up at the small cracked, filthy window that in normal positions sat some three feet above her head. Though she rarely had the chance to look through it, it was her window on the world. Through the cracks she heard the grating harshness of automatic gunfire. She heard local militia scream and swear in their native tongue. Worst of all she heard the long silences that conveyed her utter solitude.
She ate steadily but drank hastily. Her eyes had but barely adjusted to daylight when the gaol man returned. She sat back on the damp floor and waited for her arms to be yanked almost from their sockets. Returned to her captive position she watched his ragged trainers twist on the dirty floor and exit the room. The door closed with a hope crushing thud.
It was then that Alice heard something distinctive to her ears and yet alien to her circumstances, the mechanical hum of war machines. Something that meant invaders outside. She listened as the noise grew louder. She heard bustling footsteps. Different, heavier footsteps. The sound of boots, proper Army boots, not the flip-flops or tatty trainers of her captors. Gun fire spat into the air and shattered the peace that Alice felt. She winced. It was close and sounded more aggressive than she had heard before. Violent shouting erupted. She closed her eyes and prayed as a stray bullet pierced the last remaining intact pane of glass in her window and the fragments fell into her matted hair.
She prayed quietly and opened her eyes. She raised her head best she could and noticed a small mirror fixed to a long reach pole poking through the window. It lurched about before settling. Alice squeezed her dry eyes together and peered up. In the mirror she saw a soldier's reflection. Then she saw his smile. They looked in the mirror at each other. "It's okay," he called, "I've found her."
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The Tattered Muse
The Tattered Muse
The artist felt her presence before he saw her. There was heat in her diamond-gloss eyes. They were wet with a fear that pulled her lips tight. Fear she tried to cover as she stopped and produced a small, metal compact from her bag. Her back was to him as she dusted lightly beneath her eyes. She was so close, he could see the purple shadows on her thin skin there in the mirror. In the lighted reflection, he could just glimpse the terror as she wiped a tiny bead of moisture away from her lashes.
She snapped the mirror shut with a definitive click, looking somewhat more collected. He put down the black marker he used for caricatures and took out a charcoal pencil. He put his knife to the tip. Wishful sharpening, just in case she found her way to him.
Could you draw my portrait please?
She stood only inches away, arms wrapped around herself, hugging her thin white dress. Her face immediately demanded his focus, those small gray pools of her eyes pleading for him. She craned her neck and scanned the crowd.
Please? She took a step forward, and the artist cleared his throat. He only nodded, indicating she sit in the folding chair. She reached in the pocket of her sweater. Can we stretch this out? She asked. I need to stay out of site. Ill pay for the extra time.
No problem, he said. He was already planning to do just that.
The young woman held out a few twenties. His hand met hers, but only to push the money back. He felt her cool skin against his.
We can work that out after, he said. She pulled away and sat, shoulders tensed as though she waited for some dark event to occur.
The artist began. Something was off right away. To the womans surprise, he got up and moved his things closer. It wasnt often he had trouble concentrating, but he needed to see, up close, every crevice of her faded red lips. He had to know every facet of her eyebrowsto gauge the exact depth of her slightly sunken cheekbones.
He started his work and saw nothing but her. The carnival fell away, and all was dark around them. He closed his eyes to recreate her image in his mind. He opened them as he lined the womans perfect neck, her collarbone slanting into her dress, her pointed shoulder. He saw her chest rise and fall in his peripheral vision. Her skin glowed with a paleness that suggested little sunlight and too much stress. And there it was, plain as day at the base of her throather pulse point visibly jumping. Her heart was racing. His did as well.
! Why was it so difficult to focus? He wanted to reach out and touch her nearly translucent skin. Nothing in the slightest to do with lust. He wanted to get that sensation he could never quite describeto use his fingertips to translate her essence to paper. He knew just by looking how smooth her skin would feel.
The woman turned her head slightly, her eyes rolling among the crowd. There were kids at booths, couples on dates, a few circus clowns he knew personally. What was she hiding from?
You have to stay still, he told her. She snapped her head back, eyes guilty.
Its alright, he laughed. The artist saw his excuse. He left his easel and closed the gap between them. Slowly, carefully, he cupped her warm face in his hands and gently tilted her head half an inch. In her eyes he found a force impossible to pull away from. He dared to brush her brown hair behind her shoulder, taking the time to notice its smooth texture, its thickness. She flinched, raking both hands through her hair and fixing it back in place. But it was too late. He saw it alreadybruised fingerprints on her neck.
The artist took a step back, bewildered. He observed as she shrank in her seather embarrassment and shame apparent in her gorgeous features.
What happened? He knelt, clasped her hand. She didnt flinch at that. Whatever she felt toward the artist, it was closer to trust than he could have hoped for. He searched the crowd and turned back to her. Is he here?
What the hells going on? Whos this pawing at you? A man emergedhis words hoarse and bitter. He stumbled toward the woman, his eyes blazing with red rims and bloodshot veins. His large, dirty hand clamped possessively around her slender arm. The artist saw the mans knuckles whiten as he squeezed her flesh. More fingerprints for another day.
The artist experienced something that almost never happeneda loss of clarity. Shades of red and black clouded his vision as he approached the drunken offender. He reached for the mans arm and successfully removed it from the woman. She jumped up, watching with a look of sheer, unbridled panic.
Drunk as he was, the artist hadn't been prepared for the mans sudden sharp reflexes. Apparently an athlete, or simply a well-practiced bar fighter, the drunkard swiftly shifted his weight from the woman and swung at the artistthe crack of fist to jaw rang strangely harmonic with her low-pitched cry. The artist crashed into his easel, sending papers and materials flying.
The woman fell to her knees to retrieve the exposed drawing. She and the curious onlookers that had gathered at the spectacle stared at it, unblinking. The artist lifted himself from the ground, watching as his blood trickled from the page. He raised his right hand and observed the gash his knife had made when he connected with the easel.
There was no pain, as there should have been. His jaw didnt pound, the slice in his hand didnt sting. All he felt was a deep yearning as watched her study her portrait. Could she see it? The scrupulous attention to every detail of her saddened posture? The shadows blackening her eyes? Every fear and hope hed captured in the lines of her brow?
He watched understanding contort her face. It was as if she saw herself, her true self; an image as reflective and accurate as the compact in her purse. She shuddered. The artist imagined she was looking into a premonitionher face captured in charcoal, wide-eyed and unblinking, soaked in blood.
The drunken abuser, the anti-knighthe snatched up the drawing, kissed it to a lighter that had suddenly appeared in his hands. An orange glow crawled along the edge of the paper as it floated to the grass. The artist didnt flinch. He didnt stop looking at the woman as she was hurried away, tears shimmering in her diamond eyes.
The drawing, the wooden booth where he worked the artist could easily envision it all in flames. Everything could turn to black smoke and ash and death-hot amberand still he would see only her and the admiration in her stunned face, the appreciation for the beauty of his work and the grief of its scorched loss.
He swore, spit blood out of his mouth and grasped the drawing. He slapped it at the ground, suffocating the flames surrounding her blood-steeped image, saving what he could of her.
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In The Mirror
The wide mirror shows a face that stares back at me. I see the face not quite mine but almost so. I see the scars, even though my skin is smooth, a soft delicate cover, heightening my high cheekbones, ivory against the blue of my eyes.
Would he think me beautiful?
Memories of Paul invade me. I feel his body, inhale the fragrance of freshly washed hair, the spicy scent of his cologne and I am both happy and sad. Three years since the accident and time moves on. I no longer fight the unseen wounds within me. Im free at last, feel no pain as I stand, arms bare, the warm sun kissing the old grey carpet room is my reality, the bare walls the old leather sofa and Will he see beyond the mask; he who belongs to time past?
I remember the darkness - darkness that brought peace. With the light, there was pain. I refused to meet the light; ignored the voices floating about me. Soft hands raided my body; the heat of hands burned my face before I tunnelled once more into oblivion. His voice nestled against my ear, a familiar sound that warmed me. When I opened my eyes against the thickness that bound them, the light brought tears. But he was there, always there on the stool beside my bed.
Sunlight filtered through the voile drapes; I felt its warmth. I nodded as he spoke, the bandages tight against my face and felt afraid. They took away the bandages - what did he see?
His eyes avoided my face. Later, words staggered from my trembling lips. Words that brought an ending to what might have been, brought an ending to our plans for the future, an ending to my life, until they build back the face Ive lost. He protested; I turned away. His footsteps lingered long after hed gone; his cologne filled the empty room.
I shrug myself awake from reverie. A chill reaches out and I shiver. Like the glass, I may break, splinter into a thousand fragments, as fragile as the new face I wear today.
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The Eyes of A Stranger.
Sat on her chair Sonia gazed straight ahead of her. Unblinking and unaware of her surroundings. Numbed by what had happened and still went on around her. Yet it didnt touch her, it didnt happen to her. She sat in the eye of the storm while it raged around her. Words not more than angry growls, blows unfelt. All she cared for was who stared her in the face.
Come, the stranger said with a voice clear as chrystal. Extending her hand towards Sonia the woman beckoned her to lean closer. It is time.
Sonia knew if she touched this stranger there would be no turning back. In her minds eye her hand reached towards the womans. The moment their fingers touched a cold spread from her hand through her arm into her body until no warmth remained in her. A bone deep cold settled in her very soul. Rising from her chair she leant forwards until her forehead touched the strangers. She moved past the boundaries of the strangers flesh into her until she looked with the eyes of the stranger and saw herself sitting on her chair behind her vanity. It lasted only a moment. Then her body crumpled to the floor and her husband dropped to his knees besides her. Rage forgotten, anger dissolved. But it was too late. She had made her choice.
In the mirror he would not be able to ever touch her again, for that she had gladly left all she knew behind.
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Winter Prose Comtest
I have not been introspective for many years. Self-examination is a flaw in my line of work. I only contemplate my physical and mental self to the degree needed to assure that I am a cipher. I want all survivors to tell the authorities, It was a normal-looking, medium tall, medium weight male.
Before a job I always check myself to make sure I have the image right. In my office I have a sealed room, concealed by a large bookcase that moves aside. Behind the case is a large area with racks of clothes, a makeup desk, and the mirror. The mirror is one of those three panel rigs they have in department stores, the ones that show you from all views except directly behind.
The racks of clothing are as varied as can be: everything from tuxedos to overalls, sneakers to cowboy boots, slacker to formal wear. It allows me to fit into any environment. Preparing for one of my jobs is like dressing for any other work. You have to make sure the uniform and appearance match the surroundings. Sort of like camouflage, hidden in plain sight.
This particular job is to take place on a subway platform, so the other people in the field will be a range of types from aging hippies to businessmen to youngsters. Because of the time of day, the majority of them will be businessmen on lunch break. That is what I have chosen for my uniform today.
The mirror shows a man of medium height, 5 9, average weight, 160 pounds although I may have to take on some weight if the obesity epidemic continues hair-colored hair of medium length in a conservative cut, brown eyes, no facial hair, thin unremarkable face. I had gotten too much sun on a recent stay in the Caribbean so I used makeup to gray my appearance a little. It would not do to have someone say, . . .and he had a marvelous tan. January in Boston and tan skin do not mix.
I am wearing a medium-weight gray wool suit, pants and coat, with a white spread collar shirt and dark blue tie. The shoes are black loafers, not too polished. They are not the perfect shoes wingtips would be better but I need to wear these same shoes with my backup outfit, and wingtips with jeans are quite funny looking.
No hat, no pocket square, no jewelry. The uniform is perfect. Even I could not describe myself in a way that would identify me.
Even better, the visible outfit is the second layer. I have underneath the pants and shirt lightweight blue jeans and a T-shirt. A frameless backpack is collapsed and wrapped around my waist. As soon as I leave the scene, I will go into a rest room at the station and remove the suit and shirt, stuffing them and my weapon in the backpack, ruffle my hair so it stands all awry, and casually stroll out to mingle with the crowds and exit the station.
If I had my way, this would not be the way the job was done. I much prefer darkness and stealth, with the death being seen as the result of an accident. But I am just a contractor, and the principal decides how the job is done. In this case, a flashy, visible demise was mandated.
I check the mirror one last time to make sure the lightweight shoulder rig that holds the silenced .22 pistol does not show, or print as the gun carriers say. It is undetectable.
I always allow myself extra time for unforeseen circumstances. Telling my client that I was unable to do the job because I was caught in traffic is not acceptable.
I rotate in front of the mirror one last time, for a final review. I am the gray man, the ghost. Being unseen and invisible serves me well in my work. My only problem is that I can hardly get waited on at a bar or restaurant. I disappear into the background. In any case, I see no one in the mirror now. Perfect.
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the Mirror
Something strange this way comes…
Night one:
I'm a normal person mind you, a spinster, I live in the town of Hicksville, lived here all of my life, it's a small house, plain and quiet, just like I am... My parents passed away some years ago, so now there's just me. I have a black and white cat named Judycat, she is my companion, but she is getting older and is due to pass on pretty soon, but for now, she is very comforting, she curls up in my arms and purrs if I think about her passing, I will cry, she is everything to me.
Physically, I'm pretty average, brown hair, getting grey, brown eyes, medium build, and of course spectacles, if" Central Casting" wanted a librarian, they would call me.
So, last night I'm getting undressed, and I glance into my full length mirror on the back of my closet door, and I see something move in the mirror out of the corner of my eye. Something bright red almost a neon red, I turn to look back around the room to see if there is something there I didn't know about, but there was nothing, just small bed, with a yellow flower bedspread on it, my desk, and Judycat, I looked back in the mirror, another flash of red, it was something moving...Opening my closet door to look behind the mirror, I see that is nothing there, I close the closet door and look carefully into the mirror and there is :.A clown : with a white face, and smiling red mouth painted going up, with a big tear painted going down. He was wearing a red fright wig, and had a large red nose, striped suit and tiny little bowler hat, and he was standing there in front of me in the mirror. I think that my jaw really did drop Judycat strolled over to the mirror to see what this strange looking thing was; she looked carefully at it, hissed, and ran out of the room. The Clown disappeared. I was stunned, kept looking in back of the mirror, into the closet, everywhere.
That night I dreamed of clowns and hissing cats, all night long…more like nightmares, actually.
When I got up the next morning, I went to the mirror to look in, nothing, back of the closet, nothing, .Judycat was nowhere in sight
I washed my face, put on a brown short sleeve dress, white socks and moccasin shoes. Standing in front of the mirror, I look a lot like an aged Brownie scout. Next, my hair fastened back into a ponytail with a red rubber band, and I'm ready to go
Reasoning, by this point, that it had all been a delusion or hallucination or something, I went off to my work at the library and tried to put the whole weird thing out of my mind
Gracie is at the information desk, as usual, we exchange the same morning greetings we have ever since I started working here twenty-five years ago.
I walked to the back of the library, and entered the door to my office:
Dusty Smith, Chief Librarian.
As I'm having my coffee and looking at the headlines of the newspapers on my desk, "Super storm Wreaks Havoc on East Coast," Turmoil in Middleast," " Terrorism Plot Uncovered"
Gracie, or "Grey Gracie," as I think of her, knocks on my door.
"Just wanted to remind you that, that, Mrs Jenkins will be here at 10:00 with her noisy bunch of kids running all over the place"
"Thank- God, I have a room I can run into, sorry for you though Gracie"
"Well that's part of the job, I'm feeling a bit down today though, Jim' s still under the weather about having to stay in bed and all"
"That must be hard on you Grace"
"It is, Miss Smith, I feel like I'm going to explode, he's so nasty to me, it's like he blames me or something"
I hand her a tissue from the box on my table; I can see she's going to cry any minute now.
She says "Thanks, "as she returns to the main the library.
I study the small articles the newspapers to see if there are any stories about Clowns or mirrors, but of course there isn't, can't get last night's images out of my mind.
I start working on the huge pile of paperwork in my IN box, so boring, twenty –five years' worth of so boring… endlessly boring hours of it.
I hear children screaming in the library, I quickly walk out to see what's happening,
"You boys stop this right now" the hapless Mrs Jenkins was saying over the screams, "or I'm going to tell your mother"
I walk over to the two boys and they know my reputation as a" no honeymoon person," I say one word, louder than any Liberian should:
" They both stop immediately
"You both go to sit in a corner, you, the left corner, over there, if either of you ever make any noise in my library again, your parents will be called in immediately!"
I start back to my office and the hapless Mrs Jenkins walks beside me,
"I'm so sorry "she says "I just don't know what to do with them"
I have a few thoughts, which I keep in my head.
"You know several fathers have lost their jobs at the factory, that doesn't excuse this behaviour, but it is really difficult times for some of the families now, even my husband Sol might be losing his job and he's an accountant, white collar, I'm so worried…"
As she walked into my office with me, I went to the tissue box and give her, one for the tears that will start to fall any minute now.
I reassure her and say everything will work out and sit back down at my desk and look out the window.
It was bleak, dark, starting to snow, the bright face of the Clown with the neon red hair came into my mind, I didn't feel so afraid, it seemed funny now, and somewhat exciting
The day was long and so boring, paperwork, complaints, phone calls, paperwork complaints, phone calls. Finally, it was time to go, looking out the window I could see that the snow was pretty deep, so boots on, umbrella grabbed, I couldn't wait to get home. I was excited I hoped I would see the clown again. I hoped so much that my mind started to repeat a kind of children's mantra:
Run, run, don't fall down, where 's the clown?, where 's the Clown?
I felt like skipping rope!
Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my back, I had been hit with an icy snowball, by one of the boys that I had put into the corner, he was running away, he turned just long enough to yell:
"Fuckin' Bitch!"
Nothing I could do about it, I was walking quickly. Running now I opened the door, threw off my boots and coat as Judy cat leaped into my arms and began licking my face.
Night two
I entered my bedroom and, still holding Judycat we went to stand in front of the mirror. As I looked into it, the clown's face started to slowly appear, and then the entire body came into focus on the mirror.
I looked into his eyes, they didn't look at me, but into the distance, they were kind eyes, and the painted smile covered lips which looked gentle.
I spoke to him
"Can you speak?"
His eyes slowly moved in my direction, as though he was just waking up
" Hi," he said
"Hi I replied, why are you here?"
" Don't know, they gave me this address"
" Who are "
"I don't know that either"
"What's your name?"
" Salvation, you can call me Sal , for short "
" What does
mean, Salvation,
for what
"Don't know, they don't tell me very much, I gotta go, I'll see you tomorrow night"
" Tomorrow night ?"
"Yes, this is an Express Assignment"
He blew some bubbles at me, and was gone.
Judycat was still in my arms, purring.
I just stood there looking, at the mirror.
Again, I can't sleep, dreaming of salvation and being in a hamster cage, trying to get up to the top of the mountain, I almost get there and I fall back down again…I start up again and the same thing happens.
I feel claws on each side of my neck, slowly digging into my skin, Judycat has decided, in the middle of the night, that my face needs to be thoroughly licked clean.
Get up, shower, put on a blue suit, so I look more like a Head Liberian, hair back in a ponytail with a tan rubber band, and I'm back in the" hamster cage" for the rest of the day.
People speak to me at work I don't hear them, not interested.
Walk through the slush on the way home, I decide to pick-up Chinese food, Judycat likes a bit of a sparerib every now and then and I like fried rice.
I enter my front door, Judy cat is not there to pounce on me as usual, take off my coat and boots and go into the bedroom, she is sitting in front of the mirror, like someone watching TV.
Night Three
I pull up a chair and a TV table to sit in front of the mirror as well, placing a dish, with the spareribs on it for Judycat, we both settle into eating our food, when a very small dot appears on the mirror, it gets larger and larger, it is moving towards us, it is, Sal riding in a teensy red car, he stops, gets out of the car, and before I can ask any questions he says,:
" I bring you a message"
He feels the inside pockets of his jacket, then the outside jacket pocket, back pants pocket, and front pants pocket, finally smiling brightly as he takes out a wrinkled piece of paper, and reads:
"Breath "or "breathe" and…" live" or " he turns the scrap of paper trying to read what it says, or life, sorry, they don't get these messages too clear sometimes"
I reply:
"Breath or breathe, live or life, what kind of message it THAT?"
He shrugs his shoulders and smiles,
"Sorry, that's the best I can do, gotta leave.
He blows some bubbles and gets back into the teensy car and drives away into the mirror, getting smaller and smaller until he's just a dot, and then, he's gone.
I look at Judycat, Judycat looks at me, and then she returns to eating her spare ribs.
I sit there a long time, thinking. I'm not sure what it all meant, or how it happened, all I know, is that on that day, I was saved
Last edited by Elyzabeth; 12-19-2012 at
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How can you look yourself in the mirror?
I am not the monster you think me to be.
You want to know what I see, when I look in the mirror.
I see a boy of fifteen years. Just hanging around on the outskirts of the refugee camp.
My friend you need to forget images of tents and shanties. Concrete boxes stacked up. Each measuring 24 foot by 15. One per family. In ours there was My Father, Mother, Grandmother, older Brother, younger brother, my new baby sister and myself.
It was the first time I had seen that many soldiers. I was too young to remember when they took our house. My mother and sister had been raped. They killed my sister. My family fled. All I could remember was the camp.
Ah yes, the soldiers. The road was full. Tanks, Armoured bulldozers, jeeps, troop carriers . the road was painted khaki as far as the eye could see. They came the soldiers pointed guns at those lucky enough to be outside. They said not a word, but we knew to be still. The bulldozers just flattened our homes. They werent much Still, it was home. I realized, my grandmother and baby sister were still inside. The same realization had came to those whose relatives were also still inside the buildings. A few people stuck their heads out looking for a means to escape. They were shot instantly. Suddenly a large group, burst from the building. Mostly teenage boys, they charged towards the tanks and bulldozers, armed with homemade slingshots. Hoping, in vain to delay the onslaught. Just long enough to let others escape. The sons of Goliath armed with stones against the children of Davids armour plated leviathan. It was instant carnage. It was few who managed to make their escape. Most of those shot were not dead, but bleeding, maimed and left to die. The bulldozers buried those who were not gunned down in flight. In amongst the wounded . I could hear my brother screaming. I remember running, trying to get to my brother, people were holding me back. Others, grief stricken also, were trying to get to their wounded, dying loved ones. The crowd held them back. A few broke through and were instantly mown down. Those who survived were thrown onto the pile of bleeding, dying terrified men, women and children. The last thing I remembered was a soldiers rifle butt in my face.
The next night I returned I could hear many still groaning, faintly, close to death. I could hear my brother; I could hear his pain and terror in amongst all the others. I could see outlines, silhouettes of the snipers.
Thats right my friend, they had posted snipers to gun down any who tried to get to their injured relatives. I managed to make my way to my brothers side, slowly, quietly, hiding amongst the dead and the dying. I had brought him some water and a little bread. He begged me to kill him, but I could not, I left. I have no other shame greater. I could not kill my brother; I could not end his suffering. I can still hear their moaning and pleas for a merciful death.
I see a man of 25 years, burying his father. His face streaked with tears, sweat and dirt. His fathers only crime had been to draw water from the well during dry season.
No my friend it was not just an overreaction. The well is for the dry season. We have always had enough water, until they came. Look beyond their walls and their razor wire beyond the gun turrets. They have sprinklers for their lawns; they are growing tomatoes in the desert. That water comes from under our feet, but we are not allowed to touch a drop without permission. When the water runs particularly low they bring in tankers. Every now and again they send a tanker to the villages and the refugee camps. The world media shows how generous they are and that without them, we would die of thirst. When we point out the injustice, we are just being ungrateful.
I see a man of 30, a proud man. A man who has overcame all odds. A man who has raised and borrowed sufficient money. Enough to buy him, a part share in an olive grove. It was not much but it meant my children would have a better future than I I worked hard on that farm, the whole family did. At harvest season, the extended families of all those who owned a share came to get the work done. That was when the soldiers came. Many were killed, they bulldozed our olive grove. All that love and hard work . The few who survived were left without income, most of their family dead. Most of us were in debt. The loans we had got to see us through to harvest could now not be paid. I lost my son, my wife and my daughter
You will have to excuse me a moment my friend.
Its not that I had never seen a grown man cry before. I had known grief. It was only then, that it paled in comparison. I no longer had a clear sense of why I had gone there. Could I still kill him?
Im sorry my friend, But now surely you must be able to see why. Everything I have ever had of any true worth has been taken away from me by the soldiers. So that those who sit comfortably in their suburban housing. Behind their razor wire and gun turrets have room to expand their garrison of Eden.
He opened his jacket to reveal the suicide vest I knew to be there.
All that is left is for me to get as close to the checkpoint and its soldiers as I can.
Why? Because I no longer have a choice
He stared at the ceiling... Seemingly lost in a temporary silence. Which he then broke with a short burst of laughter
ALLAH AKBAR! I used to believe god was great. If he is so great why has he allowed so many to suffer. How can he allow such horror wrought by one of his peoples over another?
No my friend. I do not do this because I believe I will go to heaven. I no longer believe in such concepts. The religious extremists are the only ones still able to obtain the means to fight back. There is no one else. If it means I can end my suffering and bring forward the time when my people will be free, then it is what I must. Or so I thought.
Why did I think it would help? I believed if we could just kill enough of their families, their children, that maybe then they would begin to understand. Understand the suffering they are causing. I thought if they suffered also, that it may open their eyes. Now I realize that their suffering will be used to justify more attacks on my people. It will bring more tanks, bulldozers and armed settlers.
Because my friend! I no longer have any choice. If I could find a way out I would. I do not want anyone else to suffer. A van with gunmen will turn up in the next hour. They will take me close to my target. Then watch if I dont do as they say, they will shoot. This would detonate the bomb. It is booby trapped so I cannot remove it and it has a timer so I cannot make a run for it. I do not want to be killed in an explosion. More importantly, I dont want anyone else to be hurt by my actions.
I didnt know what I had expected to find. Certainly not a gentle and kind human being. Not someone so caring and thoughtful. I had expected some kind of monster. Somebody I would have killed in a heartbeat. Why? Well I guess youre entitled to know. My daughter was on holiday in Tel Aviv, she was killed by a suicide bomber. I went there to find out what kind of a sick monster would do such a thing. Straight from the horses mouth, so to speak. I wanted to make that son of a bitch take a long, hard look in the mirror. Recognize the monster he truly was. Then I was gonna gun that mother fucker down. I felt dreadful, for the past ten years I had been seething with hatred and vengeance. I had been financing the murder of these people. I truly believed them to be extremist scum, who would stop at nothing to destroy the Jewish race. Instead I find people struggling to survive. People who keep getting back up, only to be kicked back down and shat on, again and again. Kind people, compassionate people. I was the one who needed to take a long, hard look in the mirror. How could I have killed this man, he had suffered more than I could have thought possible.
I know you came here with the intention of killing me my friend. I hope you will not remember me as a monster.
I cannot kill you. You are not a monster. But I had become one without even realizing. I dropped my gun.
You have to kill me; innocent people are going to die. The cycle will just carry on and on.
I heard the sound of a vehicle approaching. The gun men! The one's who have used this poor mans grief to further their own twisted, fucked up agenda. I picked up my gun and told Abdul what I was thinking.
No my friend, the men who are coming are no different to myself. Their grief has been used against them by those who claim to follow the Prophet. They do not deserve to die.
You must take me outside and shoot me from a safe distance. Please my friend I beg you.
I could not. Faced with such a dilemma and the van getting closer.... I ran. The two armed men led him to the van; it still wasntt too late to help. Was it? I could have got to the check point first, alerted the soldiers. I followed the van. As soon as we had left the village and were out in the desert. The back doors of the van flew open. Abdul leapt from the moving van before the gunmen could react. I could not be sure if I heard him shout Allah Akbar before the vest exploded. Maybe I just wanted to believe, he had made his way to his heaven for doing the right thing. Maybe I was just kidding myself. The van sped off as soon as the vest blew. I screeched to a halt. The blast had not been what I was expecting. Abdul was still alive barely. I had never seen a human being in such a mess. He begged me for a quick, merciful death. I held him in my arms. My tears were flowing freely as I put my gun to his head. I killed the first person I had ever cared about since Katies death.
Now Im waiting on death row in an Israeli jail for aiding an attempted suicide bomber. I have no faith in my countries diplomatic wrangling, in an attempt to bring me home. Their efforts are half hearted to say the least. I look in the mirror and see a man who was once a monster. A man driven by grief... driven to do something horrendous. A man who has seen light. Just in time to do the right thing, before it was too late. I just hope Abdul had the chance to do the same in those moments before his death.
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She wakes up, her cool blue eyes working to adjust to the painful searing light illuminating the room. Lifting herself up from the cold concrete flooring she notes the cheap looking table and chair dominating the cell, along with the worn out leather arm choir neatly placed in the corner. Eventually she adapts to the bright light and overlooks the interior decorations of the imprisoning room.
There's a robust and secure entrance to the room, any skilful attempt to escape would be met by a solid wall of cold steel, and a vast mirror hanging from the main wall creates the classic illusion of making the place seem bigger than it actually is. The walls are high quality brickwork coated in a reflective shade of white paint, as if to intensify the brightness of the room.
Suddenly a tannoy like broadcast interrupts her line of thought "What's in the mirror?"
Ignoring the question, she gingerly approaches the mirror, presenting her slim and toned physical presence, wearing a dark green pair of shorts and matching T-Shirt, her clear skin clouded by perspiration, long platinum hair plain and unstyled, adjusting her features into a concentrated frown she notes a swelled and bruised right cheekbone, a faint sting at the back of her head and a dull headache.
Cautiously walking towards the entrance she nervously shouts "heelloo?!" …. nothing.
The thick steel door is quickly unlocked and 2 men appear, reacting to the surprise she assumes battle stance, they attack her with viscous and precise force, unable to match such strength the girl is quickly overwhelmed. The men say nothing, opting instead to bind her wrists and drag her towards the worn out armchair, sitting her down one of the men drone "don't move!" she obeys settling into the chair appreciating the relative lack of pain.
The 2 men leave the room with haste and purpose closing the metal entrance securing it via 3 different locking mechanisms.
Suddenly her headache intensifies, the source of the pain coming from the back of her head above her neck slightly to the left. Remaining still the pain gradually fades, she closes her eyes, attempting to reassemble the lost past few hours and restore her equilibrium.
Disturbed by slow casual footsteps...
The steel structure is noisily opened once more and a bespectacled man slowly enters, his eyes focused on the confused girl. He is dressed in an expensive looking white shirt with black trousers shoes and a fresh silk black tie, overlain with a full length white lab coat. His thinning black hair side parted with a spare turf forming a comma down the left side of his forehead. The whole look screams mad scientist.
Holding a folder containing at least 100 files. "Jessica Ridgewell?" he groans in a strong german accent.
"What? Is that my name?"
Ignoring the question he introduces himself "Professor Jurgen Berger, Psychologist" routinely reaching for a handshake forgetting that there would be no recipient.
He frustratingly takes the seat next to the table and places it in front of her, sits down and opens the folder reading out the profile "Jessica Ridgewell, age 32, height, 5 foot 2, weight 8 stone 12, supposed occupation, Landscape Gardner, your real occupation? Nobody knows…"
"Today's challenge Miss Ridgewell, is to work out what your occupation really is…"
"To begin with I must say sorry, my men were under orders not to hurt you, they need to be sent for hearing test" his attention brought to the freshly bruised cheekbone "That's a nasty injury, I'll have doctor come in and have look at that"
The tannoy screams "WHATS IN THE MIRROR!!"
Recoiling in pain, Ridgewell looks at the man in utter bewilderment, trying to think of something to say.
"You hear something?" the man asks.
"Did you not hear that?! Tell me you heard that!?"
The mirror starts to shimmer and liquidize like a light breeze on a still night pool, suddenly the mirror evaporates, revealing a static lifeless individual, the lack of lighting makes it difficult to make out who it is, the slender build suggests a female but she could never be sure. As if in recognition her heart accelerates, not in fear just a heightened sense of things, her eyes begin blazing hungry for information and ideas on how to escape.
The man slowly rises out of the chair, dropping the folder and retreating slowly towards the steel door, whispering german into his collar mic "she's here" which her mind translates unknowingly.
In a surge of anger she breaks free of the strapping's striking the professor with a swift elbow and fist combination knocking him clean out, there's a loud thud as as he hits the ground, searching him she locates the connected radio, and the sturdy set of keys locking the door, an intense siren is activated and the headache follows suit. Glancing momentarily at the slender figure, she contemplates what she will confront when escaping.
The tannoy whispers "it begins"
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, Thomas thought to himself as he opened his eyes to a dark bedroom,
the cycle breaks
He let out a long breath and reflected on all the implications that that simple thought had. Images of the world after flashed in his mind as he stared at the ceiling. The thought of an after came as a relief; after he stopped eating his own tail, took the final bite to break the circle and slither away. He very nearly smiled at the thought of freedom, freedom from a tormented self-destructive cycle with one final act of self-destruction. And what Thomas felt as he reflected on his last day on Earth surprised him, but revealed to himself how ready he was.
He rolled to his side to check the time and met a cold damp spot on the pillow beneath his face. No surprise, the night terrors strangled his thoughts at night. No matter how he constructed the dam in his mind during the waking hours, sleep unleashed a pale white horse to destroy it. When the gas station attendant had asked if he was okay, he stopped going outside, he couldnt hide it anymore. As if he was hiding anything behind his tortured brown eyes anyway, or more telling, his complete seclusion from anyone and anything he had ever known.
Thomas looked at the time and considered what time should even mean to him anymore. He reached for the power cord and in an instant time became infinite. He became an astronaut floating in the expanse of space isolated from everything, left only with memories and bewildering views of nothing. A landscape without a horizon to gauge ones place. Cosmically, nothing mattered. In one minute on Earth one- hundred people will die, but hope springs eternal with double the births. In one minute throughout the entirety of the universe, nothing happens; no one blinks an eye at a dying star. Everything simply is, without explanation. Time means nothing to an infinite entity expanding the very space it inhabits. Time now meant nothing to Thomas.
He sat at the side of his bed and rubbed his hands over his face thinking he needed a shave. That would, of course, be pointless, he told himself.
Get on with it
, he thought as he looked through the curtains to the sky that was still recovering from the nights violent outburst.
When he stood, the burden of the planets mass and those buried within it became all too apparent and he found himself unable to move. A burden that no one deserved, haunting him with the phantom wailing of a child that never had the opportunity to echo through this home. Not home, self-inflicted prison.
This place, the two of them built together, began eroding when Thomas came home without either him or her. Drywall crumbling away to reveal bars through which he cannot escape. Nothing leaves this place, and now he has guaranteed his eternal confinement. Or perhaps it was his last attempt to escape. The outcomes to both sides of the coin toss met the same end.
Was this hesitation or a realization that he simply was about to be not? He was about to embody the very feeling his moment of introspection imparted earlier, nothingness.
No need to shower, do laundry, make coffee, ignore the pleading voicemails from the remainders of his family, or most painful of all, walk past
bedroom. Couldnt even bring himself to say his name. The safari theme wallpaper torn from the walls weeks ago still hung, desperately clinging as if hoping the adventure might once again continue. No playtime for you Mr. Elephant. This mundane daily routine that he drifted through often without second thought wasnt what he was breaking, at least not primarily. It was the moment to moment tormented reminder that both of them were once part of his lifethe most important partand were no longer.
The fifteen-foot pace between the bedroom and the bathroom was, now that time no longer existed, an eternity. The bathroom was where he would do it. He opened the medicine cabinet over the sink and pulled down all the orange pill bottles he could find. Pouring the remainders of each into his hand he lost himself in the deadly Technicolor concoction of deadly shapes and doses.
Thomas asked himself one last time if this is what he really wanted. What thought goes through the mind of someone about to end their own life, before the jump from the bridge or pull the trigger; Thomas found solace in the idea that they were all thinking the same thing: finally free. He felt nothing.
The cycle breaks.
He looked into the mirror, and everything had changed. His eyes widened and as he collapsed to the cold tile, the pills ran a multicolored river into the sink.
, Thomas thought as he opened his eyes to a darkened bedroom,
the cycle breaks
The sunlight through the window inconveniently aligned with his eyes and he turned his head on his pillow into a damp puddle of his own drool. Cringing he looked up to ceiling hoping that the human alarm clock down the hall would hit its own snooze.
Its your turn, he said making faces and animals out of the paint texture on the ceiling.
She rolled over, touched his unshaven face and whispered into his ear, I got him last night.
Letting out a long breath ending with a groan, Thomas turned to sit at the side of his bed. So much for breaking the cycle.
What time is it? Thomas asked moving to put slippers on.
Time for you to go take care of that, she said pointing out the door from under the sheets.
He stood, stretched, and for a moment, found himself unable to move. As quickly as the frightening paralysis void of feeling came, it was gone.
Get on with it
, he thought to himself while the wailing down the hall continued on.
Jacobs room was lined with astronauts, stars, galaxies and planets. An entire universe for his young mind to explore. An incomprehensible expanse of time and space for which Jacob had all the time in the world to learn. Nothing but time for the child. Thomas imagined Jacob in an astronauts suit viewing the endless horizons of space floating in the void of the outer reaches of space.
Summoning the numerous baby books he read over the past weeks, he produced a variety of sounds and hand gestures to calm the screaming child to no avail. The childs face was bright red. A pulsating sun.
Hey babe, I think hes got a fever, he yelled behind him over the cries. He placed the back of his hand on Jacobs forehead in the same fashion he learned from his mother.
The reply from the bedroom came softly, The thermometer is in the bathroom, go check it.
Bouncing Jacob up and down in his arms, Thomas moved to the bathroom hastily assuring him the issue was moot.
The bathroom was the only room in the house that was tidy and in order; a sanctuary amid the chaos outside. And yet he imagined his home as a prison. A thought he couldnt get out of his head. This place wasnt a prison, for Thomas, it was
Honey, where is the thermometer?
Check behind the medicine cabinet.
In the rush to open the medicine cabinet, pill bottles of different sizes fell from the shelves into the sink below. With a silent swear, he grabbed the thermometer and closed the cabinet, looked into the mirror and everything had changed.
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Answers in Genesis's Creation Museum continues to spark controversy. Noting that the Northern Kentucky Convention and Visitors Bureau's website describes [Link broken] the museum as aiming to "counter evolutionary natural history museums that turn countless minds against Christ and Scripture," Daniel Phelps, the president of the Kentucky Paleontological Society, protested the inflammatory description. His protests were ignored by the agency until the story was broken in the media.
NCSE is delighted to announce the addition of two new members to its staff.
William F. McComas is the winner of the 2007 Evolution Education Award from the National Association of Biology Teachers, according to a press release issued on August 29, 2007, by the American Institute of Biological Sciences. The award, sponsored by AIBS and the Biological Sciences Curriculum Study, recognizes innovative classroom teaching and community education efforts to promote the accurate understanding of biological evolution.
As part of its efforts to encourage and support members of the clergy who acknowledge the scientific importance of evolution, the Clergy Letter Project is seeking scientists who are excited about the possibility of explaining the beauty and power of science to clergy members and their parishioners.
Nick Matzke, Public Information Project Director, is leaving NCSE to begin a PhD program at the Department of Integrative Biology at the University of California, Berkeley. He came to NCSE in early 2004, planning to spend a year here before starting a PhD program; we feel fortunate to have had him around for two extra years.
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*** (out of four)
"Goon" pulls off a trick even more impressive than asking average Americans to care about minor league Canadian hockey. Featuring many, many scenes of fist-to-face aggression, the movie not only makes you accept the institutional reason for the punch but fall in love with the guy issuing the beat-down.
That's Doug Glatt (Seann William Scott), who's not the smartest guy or the world's best hockey player, but finds his minor league career soaring once people realize his skills at pummeling members of the opposing team. Or his own team, if necessary. Rooted on by his best friend (Jay Baruchel, who penned the script with Seth Rogen's writing partner Evan Goldberg), Doug sets on a literal collision course with Ross Rhea (an intimidating Liev Schreiber), a legendary on-ice fighter who won't stand for Doug taking the title of hockey's biggest badass. Meanwhile, Eva (Baruchel's real-life fiancé Alison Pill) can't resist Doug's simple kindness (he confesses to her, "Garbage blows in my face sometimes"), her boyfriend notwithstanding.
What sounds like violent, juvenile nonsense (or a demented spin on "Slap Shot") is actually a foulmouthed comedy that's deceptively sweet--a portrait of a bruiser who knows when to strike and when he deserves to be struck.
Inspired by the true story of minor league hockey player Doug Smith, "Goon" balances the locker room's rampant homophobia with Doug's support for his brother (David Paetkau), who is gay. The script's absurdly straightforward; Doug merely does what he does, and everyone else considers whether or not to come around.
"Goon" makes no apologies for hockey violence, bottling the enthusiasm that longtime fan Baruchel has for the rougher aspects of the game. Clearly a guy employed to knock out teeth may not inspire a lot of affection; yet in Scott's endearing performance, Doug becomes a decent person who winningly embraces his task of protecting a teammate (Marc-Andre Grondin) whose concussion at Rhea's hands has left him skittish. Doug's a role player making the best of a limited skill set and, in the meantime, nearly takes the viciousness out of a punch to the face.
Hockey fans don't exactly come off as sensible, intelligent people, nor does director Michael Dowse ("Take Me Home Tonight") prove that he should join the roster of filmmakers in the Judd Apatow universe. Still, the often-hysterical "Goon" finds legitimacy in gloves-off conflict resolution and delivers enough one-liners for two good comedies. "Well," a TV broadcaster exclaims following a horrendous version of "Oh, Canada," "That was borderline treasonous."
Watch Matt on "You & Me This Morning," Friday at 7:30 a.m. on WCIU, the U
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The Sound of Sunshine PRINT
The Sound of Sunshine PRINT
Discover the joy of wildflowers captured in glorious purples and yellows. Original painting by Kellee Wynne Conrad, acrylic on canvas, now available as fine art prints.
You are selecting ONE unframed print, "The Sound of Sunshine". Museum-quality matte art prints made on thick, durable, archival, acid-free paper.
This image is also available in the Gift Shop as a tote, pillow or iPhone case.
You can order this print as a high quality, gallery wrapped, giclee canvas. Prices begin at $180. Please contact email@example.com
*New* Domestic shipping is one flat fee of $5 no matter how much you order!
All sales final. 6% sales tax in Maryland.
International sales welcome. You will receive a PayPal invoice for exact shipping after you check out. This method keeps the shipping cost more affordable.
Please allow 7-10 days for shipping.
All work is copyright by Kellee Wynne Conrad and may not be used for reproduction, copied or reproduced for any reason. Please contact the artist if you are interested in licensing the artwork.
Thank you for collecting original art. Your patronage is much appreciated!


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Chicago soon will be able to taste beers from its first "culinary-focused" brewery when former Goose Island Brewpub brewmaster Jared Rouben opens Moody Tongue Brewing Company.
Since leaving Goose Island Brewpub in January, Rouben has worked toward opening Moody Tongue, which will be located at 2136 S. Peoria St. in Pilsen. The brewery, he says, will be a first for Chicago in its food-focused approach to making beer.
"I want to take what I've learned from doing chef collaborations and farmers market series and focus that on culinary-driven beer," Rouben said in January, citing the experimental beers he pioneered at Goose Island.
A chef by training, Rouben says his beers will use cooking methods and ingredients from the culinary realm to enhance his beers' flavors.
"I'm excited about continuing my relationships with Midwestern farmers and with Midwestern chefs," Rouben said in January. "That's where this all began and where I hope to continue. Without them, I don't think I would be the brewer I am today."
But what about the brewery's wacky name? It refers to beer drinkers who have a discerning palate, according to Rouben. Moody Tongue Brewing Company plans a winter 2013 debut.
email@example.com @redeyeeatdrink


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According to the market research report "Caps & Closures Market by Raw Material (Plastic, Metal & Others), Applications (Food, Beverage, Personal Care & Home Care, Pharma & Industrial), Types (Plastic: Screw, Dispensing, Metal: Screw & Lug, Can Ends, Others) - Global Trends & Forecast to 2018", the caps & closures market is estimated to grow from $42.7 billion in 2012 to $56.6 billion by 2018 with a CAGR of 4.8% through 2018. Asia-Pacific led the global market followed by North America and Europe in terms of revenue in the year 2012.
Download Free PDF Brochure:http://www.marketsandmarkets.com/pdfdownload.asp?id=1314
Caps & closures is a dynamic sector in the packaging industry with various stake holders such as raw material suppliers, processors, packaging manufacturers, and end-user industries such as manufacturers of food, beverage, personal care products, and pharmaceuticals. As opportunities to grow in these end-use markets are immense, players are competing to launch innovative products and diversifying their product portfolio. The end-use industries and their caps & closures are interdependent markets. Shift in end-use industry in terms of new product developments, new packaging types or industry growth will directly affect the caps & closures market. Rise in the consumption of packaged products offers a strong customer base for the caps & closures market. Packaging is essential to preserve the quality of the product and it also prevents it from chemical reactions endangering the consumer's health. Hence, an efficient and suitable packaging is imperative for every product driving up demand for closures.
Plastic: dominant, exhibiting strong growth
The important materials used in caps & closures market are plastics (polyethylene, polypropylene), metal (aluminum, tin), paper, rubber, and cork. These raw materials are converted using various molds to manufacture different types of closures to be used in end-use applications. Consumer preferences, product characteristics, and material compatibility are essential in determining the type of material to be used. Plastic is the dominant raw material used due to its characteristics and various cost benefits offered. The adoption of plastic closures has been high and is highly penetrated in the important end-use applications.
Asia-Pacific: Significant market share holder and driver
Asia-Pacific has the highest market share and is estimated to grow with the fastest CAGR during the period under review. Europe is growing at a modest rate, and is driven mainly by the East European countries. ROW is also expected to experience growth in the caps & closures market in the future. The ROW is projected to exhibit rapid growth during the period under review. The four most potential nations for caps & closures market are India, China, Russia, and Brazil which are poised to exhibit the fastest growing trend
Beverage: Biggest market by applications; pharmaceutical closures exhibit the fastest growth
In the caps & closures market, pharmaceutical end-use is the fastest growing market during the forecasted period. Due to the increased awareness for public health, increasing product processing units, convenience packaging, and rising consumption of generic drugs, the pharmaceutical packaging industry is exhibiting strong gains. Following it, the personal & home care segment is estimated to be the second fastest growing market in 2013. Growing awareness, higher disposable incomes, and changing lifestyles drive the market for end-use applications ramping up the demand for closures.
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The report also studies various other important aspects pertaining to the market such as Porter's analysis, competitive landscape, price analysis of raw materials, and supply chain. In addition, 18 key players of this market have also been profiled.
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(Filling, Unscrambler, Sealing, Conveyor) & Geography - Global Trend &
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Question: We are bringing our first SAN into work and we have been presented with three options for connectivity. Which one should we be using, Fiber Channel (FC), iSCSI or Fiber Channel over Ethernet (FCoE)?
Answer: This is really an it depends question. Some of the things that the decision needs to be based on include:
- The amount of data that you'll be moving between the servers and the storage array.
- Your budget
- The number of free 1 Gig and 10 Gig ports available in your network infrastructure.
- Your experience with zoning
- What technologies does your tape backup solution support
- Will virtual machines need direct access to the storage array
- How many servers will be accessing the storage array
Some of the big benefits of these technologies also tie directly to their down sides. Let's review these three technologies one by one.
Fiber Channel
Fiber channel has been around for decades as the most well known, well baked storage solution available. Fiber channel is very quick, with a very low latency with moving data around the fiber channel network. Port speeds are increasing from 8 Gigs per port to 16 Gigs per port with Emulex's announcement in November when they announced their 16 Gig HBAs (Host Buss Adapters) and with Brocade bringing out their 16 Gig Fiber Channel switches.
Related: My SAN admin wants to put my transaction logs on FAST storage. Should we?
Ignoring the 16 Gig ports for a minute as they are basically so new that you won't have them in your shop for months or years, lets look at the 8 Gig and below systems for a minute. When you buy a fiber channel switch these days it'll support basically anything 8 Gigs / second or slower. So if you've got some machines that are older and that old support 4 Gig HBAs or even 2 Gig HBAs those will work just fine as you can simply put 2 Gig or 4 Gig SFPs into the switch (the little connectors that let the fiber cables connect to the switch).
Many of the newer tape backup solutions out there only support fiber channel connections at this point for backing up directly from the storage array.
Related: Can the fiber channel switch be a bottleneck?
Now there are a few downsides to fiber channel. These revolve around the need to properly setup zoning within the fiber channel switches, granted this isn't actually all that hard, but a simple mistake can stop a lot of servers from talking to the storage array. A couple hours of training and you'll know all you need to know about how to do this. I'd recommend getting a little training on it instead of having a consultant setup the zoning so that you know how to make the changes yourself in the future. Another is the cost of the switches. Fiber channel switches cost a lot more per port than Ethernet switches do, which means that the cost of getting into fiber channel is going to be quite a bit higher. For example I just purchased a couple of Fiber Channel switches (Cisco 9124s) which are 24 port switches (which come with only 8 ports per switch active) and they cost ~$4300 each plus support. That's about $530 per port. Now when I go to activate the rest of the ports they will cost less than that as I already have the hardware, but that's a pretty expensive cost per port.
iSCSI was introduced several years ago, not long after 1 Gig Ethernet ports started becoming pretty standard on servers. Back then if you had asked me if iSCSI was OK to use on a production network my answer was pretty simple; "No". Today that answer has changed from "No" to "probably". If you've got 10 Gig NICs and 10 Gig Switch Ports and 10 Gig ports on the storage array then iSCSI should work just fine, provided that you have the iSCSI network isolated from the rest of the network on it's own vLAN or separate network switches. For iSCSI designs where the storage IO requirements aren't all that high sharing the network switches with the rest of the network is fine, which can be a huge cost savings. However when you'll be moving a lot of data over the iSCSI network I always recommend moving the servers and the storage over to their own network switches to reduce the latency and contention on the network.
There are a few downsides to iSCSI however. The first being that it runs over TCP/IP which means that it's got the same timeouts and retries as everything else which runs over TCP/IP. While these timeouts and latencies work fine for file servers and web browsing, they aren't always the greatest for when moving storage around. The second is the ability to overload the Ethernet network causing end user performance problems. The third revolves around security. If you have which is sensitive and you are storing that data in plain text within the database, someone could capture the network packets of the iSCSI communications between the server and the storage array and use that to view your customer data. iSCSI can easily run over 1 Gig or 10 Gig ports, but it'll probably be a while before faster ports are available which means that you'll need to aggregate 10 Gig ports together to get more bandwidth. There is also the annoyance that a decent percentage of the TCP packets are header information.
Fiber Channel over Ethernet is the newest of the three storage communication technologies. It uses traditional Fiber Channel communication but using Ethernet instead of fiber cables to transfer the data. You can find some interesting reading about the standard and how it merges Fiber Channel and Ethernet here. Unfortunately not a lot of venders support FCoE at the moment. Cisco and Brocade both have switches which support FCoE (Cisco was one of the companies who started the build FCoE) but only a few server venders have FCoE cards (regular NICs aren't supported) and only a couple of storage venders support FCoE on their storage platforms. Another problem is that the FCoE spec isn't finished yet. A new version of the spec was supposed to be released Q3 or Q4 of 2011, but that didn't happen so some features of the FCoE protocol aren't supported yet. And since the new spec won't be ready until at least Q2 or Q2 of 2012 at this point it'll be a bit until these features are supported.
A problem that I have run across is that multihop isn't really supported in FCoE, yet. The basic jist of this multihop problem is that your FCoE traffic can't pass from switch to switch without going multihop and FCoE doesn't like multihop because at its core FCoE is actually fiber channel and has to follow all the rules of Fiber Channel. J Metz (blog | blog | Twitter) has a great blog post talking about what Multihop is and how all this works in a much more technical way than I possible could.
Based on all this information, my preference today is to stick with good old Fiber Channel. In fact the data center which I'm currently building for Phreesia was going to be using FCoE but with the missing features multihop issue with FCoE we had to switch back to Fiber channel. With the 16 Gig announcements that have been coming out, I'm glad that we did.
Hopefully this helps you make your decision when selecting the storage technology for your data center.


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Putin says Russia can work with Romney if he is elected
President Vladimir Putin says Russia can work with Mitt Romney if he's elected U.S. president, even though he has called Russia the United States' "No. 1 geopolitical foe."
In an interview broadcast Thursday by the Kremlin-funded Russia Today TV channel, Putin said: "We'll work with whichever president is elected by the American people. But our effort will be only as efficient as our partners will want it to be."
Putin expressed concern about how a Romney presidency would affect the long-running dispute over U.S.-led NATO plans to place elements of a missile-defense system in Europe. Russia contends the system could undermine its own defenses.
Putin said if Romney is elected "the missile defense system will definitely be directed against Russia."


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Nazmul Hasan
Lead Expert
Nazmul Hasan is a Lead Expert in the Credit Risk Analysis Division within the Economics department of the Office of the Comptroller of the Currency (OCC).
Dr. Hasan joined the OCC in 2002 as a senior financial economist and was appointed as the Lead Expert in the Credit Risk Analysis Division in 2006. He provides technical support for examinations of national banks on various areas of credit risk modeling, model risk management, regulatory capital determination, and risk analysis of structured credit products including securitization and credit derivatives. As a lead expert at the OCC, he has also worked on a broad range of policy issues dealing with model risk management, risk measurement, and risk modeling practice. Prior to joining the OCC, Dr. Hasan was a senior manager at the Customer Information Management Division at American Express (1999-2002) and also worked as an assistant professor at the Illinois State University (1993-1999). He has published his research on methodological issues in peer-reviewed journals, including Econometrica, Journal of Econometrics, Journal of Business and Economic Statistics. His current research interest includes applied issues in risk rating and credit risk measurement. Born in Bangladesh, Dr. Hasan came to USA in 1986 with a master's degree in economics and three year work experience with the Bangladesh Institute of Development Studies, where he worked as a research associate in the General Economics Division. Dr. Hasan earned a master's degree in statistics and a Ph.D. in economics in 1993 from the University of Illinois at Urbana Champaign.


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Just in time for April 1st
I smell a hoax
Rumours of a redesigned iPhone have been around since, pretty much, the day after Apple launched its 3G model. But now a drool-worthy picture has emerged of what's been dubbed the iPhone 4G. iPhone_4G_mockup Does this image reveal the next iPhone's design? It's unlikely the image was snuck out from Apple's HQ, meaning that …
I smell a hoax
And where is the headphone jack supopsed to go? Bluetooth only ? (joke!)
There is no room in that design to fit any of the required bits in.
Wishful thinking of an iTard(TM).
is now strapped to your belt since there is no room in the phone anymore
Okay, I admit it, it totally is.
The previous iPhones look obese in comparison.
If this is real, then wow, just, wow.
I expect it will be very overpriced, but hopefully prices will fall over time.
But wasn't the metal back dropped because it impeded the signals from the GSM/3G/WIFI and BT antennas?
Lack of mute button, seems odd too.
Nice mockup though, their Photoshop skillz rulez OK
Looks fairly nice, but also looks like a decent fake (some one getting their days mixed up maybe).
Also why iPhone 4G? is this suggesting it would be used on a 4G network? What 4G network? The current 3G network is barely usable by most people.
The home button looks very fake, the corners look badly rounded on the legend. Looks even worse if you compare it to a real iPhone.
For a start, the screen has been lengthened in the picture, as indicated by the talk of moving the microphone - this would result in either a modified (increased) screen resolution with a different aspect ratio, or a stretched display - both of which are clearly stupid and don't even need explanation as to why.
I thought that El Reg is supposed to be an IT News sight and not an enthusiasts blog, this crap is getting annoying
The iShuriken, any slimmer and you will need a box of elastoplast.
Words can't even begin to describe how newsworthy this isn't. If your desperation for content so outweighs the need for substantiation, I can send you some not-from-Apple-HQ renders of a cigarette-pack-sized handset that folds out to an A4 tablet running OSX Bornean Clouded Leopard.
Clearly an iPod Touch if anything, not enough room for an iPhone battery.
Paris - cuz she has plenty of room inside.
this would support the rumours of an OLED screen though, allowing for a thinner iPhone and an even thinner iPod Touch.
It's the Kate Moss of mobile phones surely, just without the drug addled boyfriend...
Surely they wouldn't lose that would they?
There's no ringer/silent switch, so it's more likely that this - if it exists - would be an iPod Touch rather than an iPhone.
I wonder if there's a headphone socket or do they expect us to use Bluetooth headhpones?
Not wishing to be rude but if El Reg suffers such ennui from Apple rumours, why does it run so many of them?
See title
where does the headphone jack go?
With the hardware iPhone has inside of it at present I seriously doubt that they'd be able to make it that thin. It's more likely that its just a fanboi vision
Slow news day then?
The menu buttons white detail is to sqaured, the corners on the 2G and 3G are more rounded that this.
Plus the phone needs a better camera. I cant see how they can make the phone smaller/ thinner, but add a better sensor to bring the camara up to the standards of other phones (5mp or 8mp)
You'd cut yourself with that and if it is real where do you plug the battery in?
I thing it is more lightly to be the new ipod touch if anything. I don't see how they can get all the tech in an iphone into a body that thin, where as the touch dose not need a lot of space. Could be wrong but i think this is not the new i phone
cause it means i can snap one in two when some apple fanboi waves it in my face
"which shows white and black versions of the iPhone – was probably created by an enthusiast." = Apple Fan Boy with too much time on there hands!!!
...then neat.
If you don't like it as a phone you could use it to shave with.
Created by an enthusiast with no brains more like. Unless Apple were to surprise the world with some miracle leap forward in battery technology, a device that thin would last a couple of hours between recharges at most. Considering how heavily the average iPhone gets used (email, web, music, games, phone) that would render it almost useless.
Clearly and totally fake.
Might struggle to plug in headphones anywhere with that razor-thin profile...
Or it it stereo BlueTooth only?!
How many iPhones have there been. Lets count them together, shall we:
1: "The iPhone"
2: "The iPhone 3G"
3: Oh dear. We seem to have run out after 2. Perhaps you would like to explain precisely which arcane method of numbering you have used to divine the name "iPhone 4G"?
"3G" is a type of cellular connectivity, not a model number. To the best of my knowledge, no 4G networks yet exist.
Why do you bother publishing it? You might as well take a photo of Jesus and stick it up here.
..I thought the reason the 3G had a solid back, and the 2G had a part-plastic rear was because of the radio antenna? Ie solid metal not being that condusive to radio signals?
My vote goes to "fake"!
Never mind about the mute switch, where's the dock connector and earphone socket?
...do fanboiz keep wasting their lives modelling and rendering these mockups and why do news sites like this keep encouraging them? Surely you're not that desperate for material?
Perhaps Cadbury's should introduce a slightly different shape of Curly-wurly every spring. Losers could then spend the winter designing, colouring and texturing plausible photo-realistic next-generation Curly-wurlies to impress each other with. If they do really really well then Cadbury's might offer them the 2011-season Curly-wurly design gig...
Paris, because she likes Curly-wurlies.
Looks pretty - but how would it work if placed on a surface landscape - it would be a right pain to type on?!?
That's my guess - someone's playing a joke on the gadget sites and it's got out a day early.
Though it would be in line with Apple's attitude to comments on their products:
"You don't give enough mouse buttons"
- we'll get rid of them completely
"We don't want a phone with a fixed battery"
- you can have laptops with fixed batteries as well
In which case this model would be the answer to complaints that the iPhone 3G doesn't have enough battery life - a version which has no battery life at all..
There was no "iPhone 1G," as the 3G refers to the network interface. Unless this iPhone is expected to use WiMax, why would it be called the 4G?
Surely this is the 3rd generation iPhone, which will also be 3G, as opposed to an iPhone with 4G cellular wireless technology (which isn't due for another few years yet)?
Come on, El Reg, get your act together!
Paris, cos even she'd know the difference between 3G and 3G!!
obvious photoshop is obvious
why would they move the mute switch, that'd make the interior design and also assembly much more complex, wouldn't it?
if this is an actual apple product, it's much more likely to be the next ipod touch than iphone
This one has an external battery, but works with induction so no unsightly cables are required.
It has no need for a earphone jack, because it works with a proprietary bluetooth dongle that has an Apple© authentication chip that degrades non DRM'ed content and conversations with non-iphone-blessed philistines.
For the enthusiast that does not want a bluetooth dongle, there will be an official internal bone-conduction version available at your nearest Apple center (minor skull surgery required, subject to an EULA).
Video calling is planned for iphone 6G. Apple has already filed all appropriate patents for phone cameras, video calling, etc.
Ms. Hilton was not available for comments.
Rear side of the device also acts as a fingerprint scanner, that shares this data with Apple for Your Own Benefit. You can be sure this data will not be shared freely ('cos nothing is free).


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|Welcome to the official site for the Historic Hannah House!
Throughout the year, we offer several events such as weddings, receptions,
Easter Egg Hunts and private paranormal investigations. Historic tours are
available to the public on a monthly basis to see the interior of the facility and
learn the rich history and its connection to Indianapolis. The house is available to
rent for private parties and corporate functions - contact us today for your
reservation needs!
What makes the Historic Hannah House different? It is completely run by
volunteers whose sole purpose is the preservation and restoration of this historic
What is the story of the Historic Hannah House?
Local legend, as well as verifiable history, say when the house was built in 1858, it
was utilized as a passage for the Underground Railroad. One fateful evening a
small group of slaves, secretly traveling northward searching for freedom came to
the Hannah House seeking solace. They were welcomed; given food to eat and
water to drink. The slaves felt for one moment they could rest before continuing
on their incredible journey. Nestled in the straw-covered basement floor the light
of a single oil lantern, they dreamed of freedom and the opportunities that
tomorrow would bring. Tomorrow would never come.
Tragedy struck that night. While the group slept, the oil lantern was accidentally
turned over. Its oil soaked the floor and flames ignited. While some of the
courageous men, women, and children burned while they slept, others were killed
from the smoke inhalation. It is believed had any woken during the accident, they
would have chosen to die as opposed to returning to the life that slavery offered.
The next morning when Alexander Hannah, owner of the house, learned what had
happened and fearing retribution for assisting the Underground Railroad, he
buried the charred bodies in the basement. In doing so, Hannah hid the secret not
only to his participation, but also the identities of these courageous people.
Some people believe when the bodies were hidden, it forever sealed their souls to
the house. These poor lost souls still wandering and searching for freedom.
Are you brave enough to venture on the grounds?
Are you brave enough to face the spirits of these lost souls.
History and Biographical Information
Want to know more about the history of the Hannah House? Visit us during one
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|Upcoming Events
|3801 Madison Ave, Indianapolis,


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A Delray Beach, Fla.-based specialty retail company is relocating its Memphis distribution warehouse within the Southeast submarket.
Levenger has inked 96,400 square feet in EastPark Distribution Center IV, 5265 Hickory Hill Road, bringing the 372,800-square-foot building to full occupancy. Levenger also has an operation at 3530 E. Raines Road.
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posted by Thom Holwerda on Wed 12th Aug 2009 23:57 UTC
Adobe has announced it is dropping PowerPC support from its next version of the Creative Suite for the Mac. "By the time the next version of the Suite ships, the very youngest PPC-based Macs will be roughly four years old. They're still great systems, but if you haven't upgraded your workstation in four years, you're probably not in a rush to upgrade your software, either. Bottom line: Time & resources are finite, and with big transitions underway (going 64-bit-native, switching from Carbon to Cocoa), you want Adobe building for the future, not for the past."


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text:
Because I certainly don't know everything about Steiff's – Their values and such, I did a little research….
Who Knew Skittles Were Worth So Much? I didn't
Set of Pre-Button Steiff Skittles Sold By Christie's
My most favorite activity is learning about antiques and collectibles, and though I have been doing this Estate Sales and Antiques Business thing for a while now, it's like almost everyday that I find myself surprised by what's collectible, and how much it's worth
These Are Pre-Button Stieff Skittles
Set Of Pre-Button Stieff Cat Skittles Sold By Noel Barrett
Date: 2004 ($8,000.00)
As usual it's scarcity that adds dollars to the value of a collectibles…these Pre-Button Steiff Skittles are scarce, first because of their limited production, and because of how they were played with. I didn't know what a Skittle was: It's kinda like a bowling toy, you tossed a wooden ball toward these Skittles in much the same way you would roll a bowling ball towards bowling pins.
It's a wonder that any of these in any condition survived.
Sometimes Steiff Skittles Hide In Atics
Steiff Pre-Button Bear Skittles Sold by Bonham's
Date: 2004 ($4,400.00)
So as we do, us pickers, or collectors, now armed with better collecting knowledge, we will be on the look out for these. I know I will. I am thinking small regional auction houses or estate sales. How about you?
Here Are 8 Steiff Skittles Hiding On Ruby Lane
For Sale Now In The Ruby Lane Shop of SteiffGal
I got the inspiration for this post while of course looking for something completely different. Somehow I landed on the Ruby Lane Page of SteiffGal Turns out she's like a Stieff Guru – Find Her on Face Book – Find her on Twitter …she basically must live and breath Steiff because she's all over the net…
Visit her and Follow Her For Information
Sign Me,
Martin Codina


text:
Painless 10127 wiring harness.
1970 Duster wiring harness.
1971 Duster wiring harness.
1972 Duster wiring harness.
1973 Duster wiring harness.
1974 Duster wiring harness.
1974 Duster wiring harness.
1975 Duster wiring harness.
1976 Duster wiring harness.
The Painless universal Mopar muscle car wiring harness works well with the 1970-1976 Plymouth Duster and is recommended for use by Painless for the 1970-1976 Duster.
This universal 14-circuit harness features Mopar OEM color codes and our unique covered micro-fuse block.
Harness also features an auxiliary circuit with 20 amp relay for accessories such as fog lights, electric seats, electric window/lock or an electric fuel pump.
Number of Circuits: 12 Fuses w/ Horn Relay, Accessory
Relay and Maxi Fuse
Harness Length: Universal
Fuse Type: Mini Blade & Maxi Fuse
Firewall Passthrough: Multiple Grommet
Color Code Based: Factory Chrysler
Circuit Designations: Printed on Wires
Headlight Switch- Power to headlight switch. Power wires out of headlight switch to head light dimmer switch, tail lights, dash lights and park lights. Includes the headlight switch connector and terminals.
Dimmer Switch wires include power from headlight switch and power out to low and high beam headlights.
Wiper Switch- Power to wiper switch. Power from wiper switch to wiper and washer motors.
Turn Signal Switch- Power into and out of your column mounted turn signal switch. Includes new terminals for the turn signal switch. You must retain the factory connector.
Ignition Switch- Power into and out of to fuse block (ignition, crank and accessory) Brake Switch- Power into and out of brake switch.
Courtesy Lights- Power and ground circuits for dome light activation.
Alternator- Charge wire and alternator field activation wires. (Most alternators can easily be wired up to this Painless harness). Included in kit is a high output alternator wire that allows you to use up to a 140 Amp alternator.
Horn- 20 Amp horn relay mounted to fuseblock
Radio- Harness includes constant B+ (for preset memory) and ignition hot circuits for any aftermarket or factory radio.
Starter- Crank signal wire for starter solenoid. Engine section wires including electric choke, coil power, coil to tach signal, oil pressure, engine temperature, and A/C compressor clutch control wire.
Headlight section wires including right and left high and low beam headlights, turn signals and park lights. This harness kit includes six two-pin molded rubber connectors to replace the factory park and turn lights inline connectors.
tail lights
brake lights
turn signal lights
fuel gauge sender
third brake light
reverse lights
oil pressure
high beam
turn indicators
gauge illumination
This harness kit includes 30 lamp socket terminals to be used with the factory lamp sockets.
fuseblock mounting bracket
rubber grommet
4 inch zip ties
70 Amp maxi fuse
large assortment of crimp style connectors
Most important of all an illustrated installation manual that equips you with the needed information to install the harness to your vehicle. If you get stuck during the installation just give the Painless Performance tech line a call. They have an immense data base of vehicle specific information.
Painless harness 10127 1970-1976 Duster wiring harness
1. If there is an applications box, click, then scroll the applications box to find your vehicle.
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We will not ship to freight forwarding - expediting companies.
PAYMENT METHODS: PayPal, Visa, Mastercard, Discover, American Express, money orders.


text:
Freida Pinto: 26th Birthday Celebration in London!
Freida Pinto, director Julian Schnabel, and writer Rula Jebreal pose together at the Miral photocall during the 2010 BFI London Film Festival at the Vue West End on Monday (October 18) in London, England.
The 26-year-old Slumdog Millionaire wore a gorgeous Christian Dior skirt and top with Roger Vivier shoes.
In Miral, Freida stars as the daughter of Hind Husseini, who wants to establish an orphanage in Jerusalem after the 1948 partition of Palestine and the creation of the state of Israel.
Freida celebrates her 26th birthday today (October 18). Happy Birthday Freida!!!
10+ pictures inside of Freida Pinto at the Miral photocall…


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For me, the biggest news about the Xbox One is not how it's more powerful (of course it is), not that it will focus on TV (which will most likely only be useful to Americans anyway), not that it will force yet another ugly peripheral down our throats that I can't place anywhere (we knew it would come with Kinect) - no, the biggest news is how Microsoft is making one of the most fundamental aspects of gaming impossible - or at least, very, very cumbersome.
Ever since I got my first console - an NES - I've done something all of us have. You find a friend who has the same console as you, and who has different games than you, and you start loaning each other your games. This practice is as old as the console market itself, and allows you to play games you otherwise wouldn't buy - and thus, expand your horizons.
The best example I know of how important this is was Japanese RPGs. I generally dislike them, and don't enjoy them at all, meaning I would never spend any money on them. However, one of my friends is a huge fan, and through him, I got to play Tales Of Vesperia - now firmly one of my best games I've ever played.
Microsoft is planning to make this age-old practice impossible or at the very least incredibly annoying and costly. The Xbox One will still have traditional game discs, but installation to the hard drive has become mandatory. Once you install a disc to the hard drive (which is, as I said, mandatory), you can play the game without the disc, but said game is now tied to your Xbox Live account. If you want to loan this game to a friend, he will not be able to play it unless he pays a fee (as of yet undefined by Microsoft).
Of course, this ridiculous system will also mean a huge, huge blow to the used games market - another venue through which many gamers widen their horizons on the gaming market. Microsoft has told Wired it will have a solution in place for used games retailers, but they are refusing to unveil just what this is. It's my guess it will be some sort of official program used games retailers can become a member of so that Microsoft gets some sort of control over the market.
Because of all this, I'm not even interested in any of the other stuff Microsoft has announced regarding the Xbox One. I'm not going to pay for loaned games from friends - Microsoft can go screw itself.


text: Paper pieced flying geese and a series of borders combine with a charming vase of appliqued flowers in this sweet 32" square quilt. The quilt shown features a collection of 1930's prints, but would look equally charming in any collection of prints or scraps. Pattern includes the full size applique pattern and paper pieced blocks.


text:
The most commonly received promotional product all over the world, the cost-per-impression for writing instruments is less than 1/10th of a cent in the United States. With more than 15 million ballpoint pens sold each day, it's not hard to see why promotional pens are the go-to ad specialty product for any event or business.
Although more women than men own logoed pens, a whopping fifty-six percent of consumers in the United States own logoed writing instruments. Used on average three to four times per day for its lifetime, a logoed pen combines sharp design with additional features to appeal to mass markets. And with the surge in tech accessories, combination ad specialty products such as the stylus pen continue to see an increase in popularity.