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Tickets are still available for the 2nd annual Art and Soul Auction to benefit Columbia Center for the Arts.
The gala event will be held at the Hood River Expo Center on May 21 beginning at 5:30 p.m. Tickets are $50 per person.
Reserved tables for eight are available for $1,000. Tickets can be purchased at Waucoma Bookstore, the Columbia Art Gallery or by calling 387-8877.
Tickets include food provided by City Market and two beverages. This year, dancing will follow the auction.
Live music is by Jason Ricci and New Blood from Nashville, a funky jazz band.
Featured auction items include a week's stay in the Yucatan, Mexico, a week at a home on Galway Bay in Ireland, and a bed-and-breakfast stay and a Shakespeare event in Ashland.
Thirty pieces of art made by Gorge artists also will be auctioned. Auctioneer Steve Talbot will be conducting the auction again this year, and "a couple of new twists" are promised for the evening's entertainment, accoring to Judie Hanel of the Arts Center board. Columbia Arts has built a room within a room for live auction and dancing, to make it easier for people to hear.
The artwork for this year's poster was created by Hood River Valley High School student Erica Castro. Limited edition posters will be on sale at the gala.
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PS3Blog.net informs us that Konami Digital Entertainment, Inc. today announced three different global events surrounding the launch of METAL GEAR RISING: REVENGEANCE. Fans of the upcoming METAL GEAR game are encouraged to attend these exciting events for a chance to meet Producers, Mr. Yuji Korekado from Kojima Productions and Mr. Atsushi Inaba from Platinum Games. Both Korekado-san and Inaba-san will be available for autographs at the times and places listed.
I'll be replaying MGS4 for trophies on the day this garbage comes out. Rising will flop anyway. It should've stayed canceled.
I just hope they don't do some stupid ****, with the story.
As a big MGS fan, I approve of what I have played and the stuff promised in the game.
As a MGS fan, won't be buying this one. Seems like a cheap spin off, with the MGS name thrown on top to generate sales.

subset: commoncrawl


text:
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Multifamily refinancing, laboratory purchase, apartment complex sale.
The West Chester, N.Y., office of commercial real estate financial firm NorthMarq Capital announced Tuesday it has arranged a 10-year, $6 million mortgage refinancing for a 53-unit multifamily property in Summit on behalf of Fortune Properties-Summit LLC and Roselle Apartments-Summit LLC.
Real estate investment trust Chambers Street Properties, in Princeton, announced Tuesday it has purchased a 110,765-square-foot, two-building laboratory and office campus in Ewing.
The Florham Park office of HFF announced Tuesday it has sold a 327-unit apartment complex in Delran Township to Hackensack-based SDK Apartments for $37.5 million.


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L.A. returns and Blazers spank NBA riffraff again
There are stretches of schedules in the NBA where good teams have a single motive:
Just win, baby.
The Trail Blazers are in that mode right now. A perfunctory 102-96 victory over Denver Saturday night at the Moda Center lifted Portland's record to 41-18, meaning the Blazers could go winless through the final 23 games of the regular season and still finish .500.
That's not going to happen, of course.
Portland has won five in a row while facing no teams with winning records, four of the games at home. That should improve to seven straight with two more home dates -- vs. the Los Angeles Lakers on Monday and Atlanta on Wednesday -- before the local quintet embarks on a very testy five-game road trip that starts Friday at Dallas.
Coach Terry Stotts called Saturday's win over the injury-riddled Nuggets -- 25-33 and losers of 10 of 11 -- "solid."
"We did a lot of good things," Stotts said. "I felt like we were in control of the game for the most part."
That was true in no small part to Denver being without three of its best players -- Ty Lawson, JaVale McGee and Danilo Gallinari, the latter lost for the entire season due to a knee injury.
Saturday's win secured Portland's first 4-0 sweep of its season series with Denver since 1996-97 and turned things around from a year ago, when the Nuggets -- who finished 57-25 -- won three of four in the series.
"I don't know how much you can read into that," Stotts said. "They're not the same team they were last year. They have a lot of injuries. Gallinari, Lawson and (the traded Andre) Iguodala were instrumental in their success last year. But I like where we're going."
Portland won despite making 5 of 27 shots from 3-point range. The Blazers, who entered the game fourth in the NBA in 3-point percentage (.382), won the game on the boards and at the free-throw line.
In Tuesday's 100-95 win at Denver, the Blazers were dominated on the glass 64-41, with the Nuggets grabbing 27 at the offensive end. On Saturday night, Portland ruled the boards 52-40, a turnaround of a net-39.
"After the game in Denver, that got our attention," Stotts said. "It was a focus tonight. For us to get 43 defensive rebounds and them 10 at the offensive end, it's a pretty impressive rebounding night for us."
Center Robin Lopez said Denver's eye-popping rebound numbers in the Tuesday encounter "was a freakish spike in the trend. Things evened out tonight."
Portland was 23 for 24 at the foul line, the Nuggets 23 for 35.
"That was the difference in the game," said Brian Shaw, Denver's first-year coach. "You lose by six points and you miss 12 free throws."
Portland celebrated the return of LaMarcus Aldridge, who had missed the previous five games with a groin strain. The Blazers' All-Star power forward had 16 points and seven rebounds in 30 minutes, looking sharp at times and rusty at others.
"My timing was a little off, but it felt good to be back out there playing with the guys," said Aldridge, who made 7 of 15 shots from the field and committed four turnovers. "I'm a little tired, but my body felt good, my conditioning felt good."
Aldridge's presence opened things up for his teammates at the offensive end.
"You bring back a 24 and 12 guy, it changes everything," Portland forward Nicolas Batum said. "We got more shots all over the court. It was big for us."
Batum was big for the Blazers, too, filling up the statistical sheet with nine points, six assists and a career-high 16 rebounds. The 6-8 small forward was only 3 for 10 from the field and 1 for 5 from 3-point range, but made his presence felt as usual.
"It's funny with Nic," Stotts noted. "Everybody wants him to be more aggressive. Tonight, he got 16 rebounds. It would have been nice if he could have gotten a triple-double.
"I don't know how many times I've said it in the last year and a half -- he does a little bit of everything, depending on the game."
"That's who I am," Batum shrugged. "When I don't score, I can do a little bit of everything. My shot wouldn't fall, so I tried to be aggressive, tried to get some assists."
In this game, the Blazers needed Batum's board work.
"After the last game (with Denver), I knew rebounding was my job," he said. "I had to play like a big man inside tonight."
NOTES: Portland moved to within three games of Oklahoma City (44-15) for the best record in the Western Conference. The Blazers are 1 1/2 games behind San Antonio (42-16) and a game ahead of Houston (40-19). Portland is 12-3 against Northwest Division rivals this season. No other NBA team has more than 10 wins with its division. The Blazers have one more division games this season -- at Utah on April 11. If they win, they'll tie the best in-division record in Northwest Division history. Portland backup center Meyers Leonard, who had missed the previous five games with a sprained ankle, had eight points and five rebounds in 16 minutes. Still missing from the Blazers' frontcourt are reserve front-liner Joel Freeland and Thomas Robinson, both out with knee injuries. Lopez scored a game-high 18 points and grabbed nine rebounds. It's the first time Lopez, who matched his season high, has led the Blazers in scoring all season. Damian Lillard was 7 for 13 from the field and finished with 17 points and five rebounds. He had two assists after getting none in Thursday's blowout win over Brooklyn. Stotts used 10 players, including Victor Claver off the bench. Rookie CJ McCollum was a DNP-CD (did not play/coach's decision).
Denver's starting backcourt, Randy Foye and Aaron Brooks, combined to shoot 8 for 26 from the field. The Nuggets shot .398 from the field, .304 (7 for 23) from 3-point range and .657 from the line. Portland has held four straight opponents to a field-goal percentage under 40 for the first time since February 2005. Shaw -- who turns 48 on March 22 and retired as a player in 2003 -- suited up and went through drills with his players during Saturday's shootaround. "Every once in awhile I try to do that to get the guys more engaged," Shaw said. "They seem to want to go harder when they go against me."
Twitter: @kerryeggers


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Billie Louise Morris
Billie Louise Morris, 88, of Wister died Tuesday, Nov. 27, 2012, in Fort Smith, Ark.Billie was born in Wister on Jan. 15, 1924, to Charles A. and Irma I. (Brown) Reed. Billie was a homemaker. She was a member of the First Baptist Church in Wister since 1957. She was preceded in death by her parents; husband, Wilbert Morris; sons, William Charles Morris and Martin Morris; daughter, Shannon Kitchens; and granddaughter, Stephanie May.Survivors include her children, Irma Morris and Kevin Morris of Wister; grandchildren, David Martin Morris, Casey May, Tara Ollie, Jessica May, Brittany Morris, Desirae Morris; great-grandchildren, Ransom May Rogers, Maylei Rogers; sister, Lila Bruce and Tatema Armstrong; other relatives and loved ones. Services were held Wednesday, Nov. 28, at First Baptist Church in Wister with the Rev. Keith Stewart and Bro. Gary Ollie officiating. Burial was in Wister City Cemetery.You may leave an online message at evansandmillerfuneralhomes.com.Evans and Miller Funeral Home, Poteau, handled arrangements.


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Prosecutors rested their case Thursday in the trial of a former RutgersUniversity student, setting the stage for lawyers to begin their defense of the young man accused of using a webcam to spy on his roommate's intimate encounter with another man.
Dharun Ravi's lawyers are expected to present an investigator and several character witnesses starting Friday. His roommate, Tyler Clementi, committed suicide by jumping off the George Washington Bridge in New York City on Sept. 22, 2010, days after his dormitory room liaison.
Ravi, now 20, is charged with 15 criminal counts, including invasion of privacy, bias intimidation and several crimes related to trying to cover up his actions.
He faces up to 10 years in prison if he's convicted of the most serious offense, bias intimidation. He also could be deported to India, where he was born and remains a citizen, if he's convicted on any counts.
Ravi's lawyers said their first witness will likely be Frank DiNinno, an investigator who worked on the case. On cross-examination of other witnesses, defense lawyers raised the idea that he was too friendly with the student witnesses in the case. A Rutgers University police detective could also be called.
Defense lawyers said he'll be followed by several students and others, some of whom will serve as character witnesses.
They'll also have to decide whether Ravi will take the stand. If he testifies, it won't be until at least Monday.
Ravi isn't charged with Clementi's death, though in many ways the suicide lies at the heart of the case.
The prosecution called nearly two dozen witnesses in 10 days of testimony. The majority of them were college students who testified about seeing the web stream or being told about it. The other man who was seen in the video — identified only by the initials M.B. — also testified.
There was brief testimony Thursday focusing on the chain of custody of evidence, including computers and cellphones.
Also on Thursday, Judge Glenn Berman said he wouldn't dismiss any of the charges against Ravi. In a routine motion at this point in a trial, defense lawyers asked that several charges be tossed, saying prosecutors hadn't presented evidence to support them.
On Wednesday, prosecutors put on the witness stand a detective who interviewed Ravi on Sept. 23, 2010 — after Clementi was believed dead but before Ravi was charged. Jurors saw the nearly hourlong video of the interrogation.
The investigator, Michael Daniewicz, repeatedly accused Ravi of lying about details. And Ravi, for his part, agreed that he had violated his roommate's privacy by going to a friend's room and using her computer to view images from his own webcam, which he had set up to accept webchat requests automatically.
He said he did not see anything graphic and turned the stream off as soon as he realized what was going on.
"I didn't realize it was something so private," he said.
He said he sent a tweet about what he saw, later, "daring" people to videochat with him two days later during the hours when Clementi had requested the room again.
But he said that he didn't mean it.
"I said that sarcastically, first of all," he said, adding that he didn't want people to watch the feed. Jurors had heard in earlier testimony, though, that Clementi had visited Ravi's Twitter page 38 times in the two days before he killed himself and saved a screenshot of that tweet.


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Gomi API
Gomi is a cloud video encoding platform. The Gomi API allows users to automate the transfer, encoding and delivery of audio and video. It features support for the most popular web video delivery formats for streaming and html5 video delivery. With the API users can encode videos as they are uploaded to their website and bulk encode large video and audio libraries. The API uses RESTful calls and responses are formatted in XML and JSON.


text:
Great video of a group of four Frenchmen cycle-touring Australia, as part of their world tour.
All riding Surly LHTs with Rohloff Speedhubs. And how do they survive on our roads - they're not wearing helmets !!!
Ah, after chatting with police later they must have decided to wear them
I'm more worried about their crazy timing for this tour - entering Central Australia in December. They must have surely already experienced the outback's extreme summer heat now, after that week of 40+C that they had in Birdsville. I was there in late September and early October and would much rather travel through in July. Wonder what they'll do in the Top End in January
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Solidream touring Australia
- il padrone
- Posts: 22931
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Solidream touring Australia
Postby il padrone » Wed Dec 12, 2012 6:31 pm
Mandatory helmet law?
"An unjustified and unethical imposition on a healthy activity."
"An unjustified and unethical imposition on a healthy activity."
- Posts: 57
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Re: Solidream touring Australia
Postby iacl » Thu Dec 13, 2012 9:28 am
Have to admit, i'm envious.
I toured (supported) for a time in the victoria desert in early summer, challenging, but so so worth it.
Sometime the risk is worth the experience, if you get your appreciation right.
I toured (supported) for a time in the victoria desert in early summer, challenging, but so so worth it.
Sometime the risk is worth the experience, if you get your appreciation right.
- WestcoastPete
- Posts: 901
- Joined: Thu Mar 19, 2009 5:59 pm
- Location: Peoples Republic of Coburg, Victoria
Re: Solidream touring Australia
Postby WestcoastPete » Thu Dec 13, 2012 2:01 pm
I imagine that on a World Tour you often lack the choice of when to go through a region. I also imagine that these guys will be used to all sorts of adversity and will just keep spinning on through. I think wet season touring in the Top End could be done, but you'd have to be pretty adaptable. I struggled on my last tour in Southern Japan during their build up, and eventually gave up a week early, but I wasn't on an endless journey.
Thanks for the share. Jealous.
Thanks for the share. Jealous.
- elantra
- Posts: 2106
- Joined: Tue Jan 13, 2009 6:01 am
- Location: Trying to avoid the Brisbane traffic.
Re: Solidream touring Australia
Postby elantra » Thu Dec 13, 2012 6:58 pm
Their photos are Really good.
Intrepid ? - very admirable.
Sensible ? - very debatable
Don't miss these photos - even the one of the snake !
Intrepid ? - very admirable.
Sensible ? - very debatable
Don't miss these photos - even the one of the snake !
"Technology gives us much more information but Education is never be able to give us the skill to evaluate it"
- Posts: 350
- Joined: Sat Oct 02, 2010 10:18 am
Re: Solidream touring Australia
Postby polishbiker » Sat Dec 15, 2012 6:16 pm
Kitebiking...could be interesting!
So cool that 3 people managed to get together for such trip.
So cool that 3 people managed to get together for such trip.
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English hotel replaces Bibles with "Fifty Shades of Grey"
And the women are reading them while the men who brought them there for the sole purpose of having sex with them are depressed that the book is getting the women hotter than the men are.
Views: 627
Good point, Loren.
really funny when you consider that hotels for the most part have some kind of pay tv porn available.
I usually just steal the gidions to hollow out for magic tricks. oh.. and I also leave the book "why we believe in god(s)" by J.A. Thompson (available through the richard dawkins web site along with DVDs of Dr. Thompsons lecture on the subject.
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text: Praise for Magic Words: A Dictionary "[A]n impressive work. . . . The 'take away' I had from this book has less to do with the amusing words and their definitions, and more to do with a thoughtful consideration of the role of the magic word in my own work." -- Brad Henderson, MAGIC, The Magazine for Magicians "I am in awe of the volume and variety of the usages and references dis cussed: the research seems monumental. . . . Yes, it will not only give you the importance of magic words, the kinds of magic words used under what circumstances, what the public (as expressed through references in literature) thinks about magic words and what are magic words, it will help you understand magic and your relationship to it. Recommended as a very useful resource for those who think and care." -- Phil Willmarth, Linking Ring Magazine "No matter how you approach it, Conley has given us a delightful resource that entertains, informs, and inspires. If only more books, especially those for magicians, offered as much." -- Gordon Meyer, author of Smart Home Hacks "Recommended!" -- Eugene Burger, author of Mastering the Art of Magic "Truly words of magic about magic words!" -- Bill Wisch, creator of "The Magic Word" program "This is a great book. Loads of fun to browse through and stimulate understandings and possibilities. . . . fascinating information that is stimulating for the creation of either tricks or presentations, being quite difficult to let go of." -- Robert Neale, author of The Magic Mirror "Too often we forget the real Magic in our lives. Craig Conley is a student of Wonder, and like all true Wonder Experiencers, he is moved to share that. Mr. Conley reminds us to open our eyes, minds, ears and hearts to the Wonder within and without. Those of us who travel along such paths are ever grateful for Those Few who travel with us in spirit. Craig Conley is one of Those Few." -- Kenton Knepper (The Mystic of Magic), author of Wonder Words "Extremely good, and shows an astounding amount of research . . . Wonderful and fascinating." -- Stephen Minch, author of Mind and Matter


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Wynne becomes third Welsh national player on ETSU's women's soccer squad
JOHNSON CITY, Tenn. (Feb. 11, 2012) – ETSU women's soccer head coach Adam Sayers announced his second signee of the 2012-13 recruiting class, with Megan Wynne (St. Albans, UK) becoming the third Welsh national team player to join the Atlantic Sun champion squad.
"I am delighted that Megan will be joining us," said Sayers, who also brought in Wynne's Welsh national teammates Ellis Parsons (Cardiff, Wales) and Jasmine Dutton (Kimmel Bay, North Wales) as part of last year's recruiting class. "She is a very dynamic player and exciting to watch. She is very good technically, skillful in possession, and will offer us width and pace."
Wynne's international playing experience includes 22 caps for her home country of Wales since 2008. Nine of Wynne's international caps came with the U17 squad, where she scored a goal against Macedonia in the elite round of the U17 European Championships. The Lady Bucs' latest addition earned her other 13 caps for the Welsh U19 national team, scoring three goals which included a two-goal performance in a 21-0 victory over Georgia and a goal in a 5-0 win over Kazakhstan.
Wynne also joined Parsons this past November as a member of the Wales women's senior team for the UEFA Women's EURO 2013 qualifier in Israel – a game which Wales won 2-0.
"Megan's vast international experience will be invaluable," Sayers added. "She has played at a high level for a long time, and we are looking forward to her applying that experience here at ETSU."
At the club level, Wynne has played ten seasons for the Watford Ladies F.C. while also spending time with the Bedwell Rangers. Coming up through the Watford ranks, Wynne has spent one season with the Watford reserve team and two seasons with the Watford first team in the Women's FA Premier League.
In the 2007-08 season, Wynne played in the U16 UK Home International Final for the Bedwell Rangers at Manchester City's Ethidad Stadium, and was named Woman of the Match.
For more information on ETSU women's soccer, please visit ETSUBucs.com and click on the women's soccer links.


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Full spoilers ahead (both for S.H.I.E.L.D. and Thor 2)
Taking advantage of an audience like this is not cool and not easily forgivable.
The entire promotional campaign for the latest episode of Marvel's "Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D." entitled "The Well" was advertised as a direct sequel to the recently released "Thor 2" motion picture. This was a big opportunity for Marvel to begin what certainly would have (and still should) become a trend with the crossing of television and movie campaigns in ways never done before. The second post-credit scene in "Thor 2" left one of the Frost creatures free to roam the streets and destroy everything in its path. This could have been a wonderful spot for the agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. to step in and clean up the mess.
Instead, "The Well" practically had zero ties to "Thor 2." Sure, the episode revolved around Asgardians, Thor's race, but it had virtually nothing to do with anything else going on. The episode could have come at any other point of the season and still make total sense.
Having said that, "The Well" was one of the best episodes of the season thus far. An accident in the woods leads to the discovery of a piece of Asgardian weaponry left on Earth, the Beserker, a source of god-like strength and rage.
The pacing and pathway of the episode is practically a love letter to the quest-driven "Indiana Jones" saga. S.H.I.E.L.D. decides to reach out to an expert, Dr. Elliott Randolph (played cleverly by Peter MacNicol), who knows all about Asgard lore and tells Agent Coulson how track down the other pieces of the Berserker staff. One piece is underneath a church within dark passageways crawling with spider webs and other foulness ("The Last Crusade," anyone?). At one point, Coulson pays respect to today's social networking language when he says "Let's see what we can dig up," then, "You see what I did there?"
For this episode, it's Agent Ward's turn as the show continues to play Ring Around The Rosy with spotlighting a character's back-story. Ward gets his hands on one of the pieces of the Beserker, which unleashes rage and also unlocks bad memories. We see a flashback of Ward as a child with his brother, who is in a well (similar to a scene from the old Batman movies). Skye, who already has been trying to get close to Ward (for romantic reasons or otherwise, who knows; she still can't be trusted), talks with him about his personal experiences, though not much is revealed yet. That continues the trend S.H.I.E.LD. has going against it. There are simply too many breadcrumb trails and not enough meat to these agents' stories.
Another rabbit hole is opened up at the end of the episode. At one point, Agent May also used the Beserker (in kick-butt fashion), and Ward tries to figure out how she handles the rage so much better than he does. At the end, May is seen going into her hotel room with a bottle of wine and leaves the door open for Ward. Quite the open invitation; there never was any romantic links between the two yet. But does this mean something is going to happen with them? Guess we'll have to wait and see, as usual.
Agent Coulson makes a nice reference to Iron Man 2 when he recommends that Dr. Randolph take a vacation to the Pacific Northwest (the place where Coulson dated a cellist).
In the final scene, Coulson wakes up in Tahiti and asks a masseuse "Did I fall asleep?" to which she replies "For a little while" (a reference to the TV show "Dollhouse," which was created by "Agents of S.H.I.E.LD." writer Joss Whedon). What really happened in Tahiti has been teased since the beginning of the show, so hopefully Whedon and company can hurry and answer some questions instead of asking more.


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Irish captain Aidan O'Shea doesn't subscribe to the theory that fatigue was a factor in their IRS second test defeat to Australia in Perth this morning.
The hosts finished strongly to wipe out the visitors' 13-point half-time advantage and get their hands on the Cormac McAnallen Cup.
"I think it was more that we started to rush things, we lost our shape a bit," the Mayo man commented to The Irish Examiner.
"Things that were working well for us, getting bodies around the breaking ball, getting our fielders in the right positions and move the ball, we were trying to force things.
"I don't think it was fatigue, I think we were so anxious to get back the lead. There were seven minutes left and we kicked a couple of balls away that we didn't need to. I don't think it was fatigue - we just got a bit anxious and started to make mistakes."
Despite the disappointment of defeat, captaining his country was an experience that will live long in the memory of the Breaffy clubman.
"I really enjoyed today. It's well documented the upset that we had coming into the first game and that really held us back.
"Having 23 players today and the right focus going into the weekend today was a really good game and I think people can appreciate the quality that was out there today. Look, I really enjoyed coming against those boys.
"They're serious, serious athletes and I think they enjoyed it as much as we did."


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WILMINGTON, NC (WECT) – If you're not in a fuel rewards program, then you're throwing away money at the gas pump.
If you think about it, we take great lengths to save money at the pump. Sometimes people drive all the way across town to save 5-cents. But there is a much easier way to save.
If you're not in a fuel rewards program, then you need to be. Sometimes stores will reward you just for doing the things you'd normally do.
For example, one store with a great rewards program is Lowes Foods. The grocery store will give you 5-cents off each gallon of gas once you spend $100. You get another 5-cents once you spend another $100.
Maybe you're thinking you don't need that many groceries. Well, that's the best thing. You can double dip with this program. Most gift cards will also count as a qualifying purchase towards the rewards program. You can even purchase gas cards towards your gas discount.
The discount at Lowes Foods is time sensitive and resets once you buy a tank of gas at Wilco Hess gas stations.
Lowes Foods isn't the only company offering a fuel rewards program. Also check out Kroger, Winn Dixie, Bi Lo, and Save Mart Supermarkets. They are just a few companies that have pump-saving programs.
Copyright 2012 WECT. All Rights Reserved.


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City of Lincoln
Mayor's Office
Mayor's Office
Lincoln City Libraries and Healing Heart Therapy Dogs, a local therapy dog organization, are providing an opportunity for children ages 6 to 12 who need to polish their reading skills. Therapy teams made up of a dog and its handler are partnered with children who can practice their reading skills by reading aloud to a dog.
Children read to dogs in 20-minute shifts once a week for six weeks. The next session begins the week of October 1 and runs through the week of November 10th. Pre-registration is required. To register, contact the person listed at these branch libraries:
For more information about Lincoln City Libraries and its services, visit lincolnlibraries.org.


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Grand Theft Auto IV Walkthrough
|Final Destination
Head over to the Perestroika on Tulsa Street. Here, you'll find both Dimitri and Faustin, and they have a rather ugly job for you. You likely already picked up on the reference in the name of the mission ("Final Destination"), but here you'll have to send a suspected rat to his very own final destination. Making matters worse, Faustin thinks that Niko might be the rat, not the guy he's sending Niko out to kill. Regardless, this is a way to prove your loyalty, and over Dimitri's objections, Faustin sends you on your way.
Your destination is in an entirely different borough, Bohan. This might in fact be the very first time you've ever left the comfort of Dukes and Broker (two boroughs which share the same island). The quickest route, as your GPS will show you, is across the East Borough Bridge, northward over Charge Island, north along the other leg of the East Borough Bridge, and onto Bohan, the smallest of the boroughs in the game.
When you arrive in Bohan, you'll realize it's not the nicest area, but you'll have to make due. Follow your GPS just like you did to get to Bohan, as Niko calls up Faustin to make sure that he still wants you to go through with it. However, when you reach the red dot representing your target on your HUD, you'll realize he's on the train platform above you. You'll have to get out of the car and head up to the subway platform yourself, where you'll automatically confront him. This guy has a mouth on him, though. He's just asking for a bullet to the head.
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Village of Hoffman EstatesHome Menu
Event List
Veteran's Flag Rotation Ceremony
Veteran's Flag 35, Robert J. Kalas, Pfc., Co. B 343rd Infantry 86th Div., Army, WWII, 44-46
- Date: 12/10/2017 1:00 PM
- Location: Police Department
411 W. Higgins Road
Hoffman Estates, Illinois 60169
The flag rotation ceremony is held at the Veterans' Memorial every Sunday at 1 p.m. The public is invited to attend. Those wishing to make a donation for the perpetual maintenance of the Memorial may do so at the Village Hall, or by mailing a check to the Veterans' Memorial c/o the Village of Hoffman Estates, 1900 Hassell Road, Hoffman Estates, IL 60169. The casket flag of the deceased veteran listed above will be flying at the Veterans' Memorial. The Veterans' Memorial is located outside the Hoffman Estates Police Department at 411 W. Higgins Road, Hoffman Estates, IL 60169.Return to full list >>


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Sean Flynn explores the labyrinth of Philippine sex clubs—a paradise for adventurers where the girls are plentiful, cheap, and have no other choice. The first installment of a three-part investigation into the global sex trade
The fat guy smoking Pall Malls, he says he almost married one of those girls. Honest. He met her in a bar one of the last times he was in the Philippines and fell in love, almost bought her a ring and took her home. It didn't work out, though, and he doesn't say why because it doesn't really matter. He shrugs.
The skinny kid with the knobby head understands. Same thing happened to him, sort of. She was 19, beautiful, didn't wear makeup or anything. She was so…what's the word? Simple. You know? "Just give her the American necessities and those are, like, her luxuries," he tells the fat guy. "Let her live like a queen."
The fat guy grins. His front teeth are missing, and he's got hair like an oil slick, long and black and greasy. Oh yeah, lots of those girls want an American husband, and they're not picky, either. "As long as you're not married and you've got an income," the guy says, "you're good to go."
It's four o'clock in the morning in a Japanese airport, thirteen hours out of Detroit Metro, on a layover in Nagoya before the last 1,700 miles to Manila. The fat guy and the skinny kid found each other in the smoking lounge as if they had picked up a shared scent, a couple of misfit white guys dragging halfway around the planet.
Then another, a fellow traveler in a red running suit, walks over. He's fiftyish and pudgy with gray hair and enough of a beard to cover a weak chin. He's never been to the Philippines before, he tells them, just heard the stories about the bars and the girls, and now that he's divorced, what the hell, treat himself. Still, he's a little nervous about the whole thing.
The skinny kid knows that feeling, too. He was nervous his first time. It's kind of weird, the way you can buy a girl for a couple of bucks, a different one every night, every hour if you want, walk around town with her and not even pretend it's anything more than a cash transaction. "I walk into this place with my arm around this local girl, you know, and there's all these guys sitting around looking at me," he says. "And I'm thinking, I'm gonna get my ass kicked, you know?"
The fat guy's grinning again. He knows where this is going.
"But then they're all like, 'Hey, American, come and drink with us!' "
"Oh yeah," the fat guy says. "And after ten minutes, you're not talking to them. You're talking with them."
They all nod, even the guy in red.
"Seriously," the skinny kid says. "They love Americans."
There's a girl on a small stage in a bar called the G-Spot Lounge in Angeles City, a sprawl of cinder block and tin about an hour northwest of Manila. She's wearing a sky blue bikini that matches the powder Mamasan swabbed on her eyelids, along with enough blush and mascara to make her whole face itch. She hasn't worn makeup since her first Communion, and then not so much.
She has a birth certificate that says she's 19. It's false, and obviously so, because she's only 13, but nobody cares, because in the dark, under all that rouge and shadow, she looks old enough. All the girls—the other ones onstage, the ones waiting tables, the ones cuddling up to customers, sweet-talking foreign men into buying them drinks—look old enough, which isn't very old at all.
An American man is yelling at her. "Hey, you!" he says. "Yeah, you. Dance! You're getting paid to dance."
She doesn't really know how to dance, and the high-heeled boots she's wearing make it even harder to fake it. Her arms are in close, holding her own bare torso in a loose hug, and she shifts her weight from foot to foot, gently twists her shoulders from one side to the other. Is that dancing? Is it close enough? Do they even care, the men watching, the Koreans and the Japanese, the Americans and the Aussies, the fat guys and the skinny kids sucking on stubby bottles of San Miguel?
Mamasan, the bar manager, will pay the girl 120 pesos to wear her bikini from six o'clock in the evening until three o'clock in the morning. She is supposed to dance for half an hour, then go work the room for a while and wait for her next shift onstage. If one of the men in the club buys her a drink, Mamasan will cut her in for fifty pesos, put it toward her debts: 1,300 for the boots, thirty-five more for a week's laundry. Or maybe one of the customers will buy her for the night, give Mamasan 1,000 pesos—"bar fine," they call it here, a term that's both a noun and a verb—to take her out of the G-Spot, maybe to another club or a restaurant first but probably just to his hotel room. The girl would get half of that, about $9 American.
It's her first night at the G-Spot. She'd gone looking for work a few days ago—up Fields Avenue, past Club Fantastic and Camelot and Stinger, past the sidewalk shops selling shirts that say I FUCK ON THE FIRST DATE and I'LL BUY DRINKS FOR SEX, past the shoeshine boys and the peddlers with their bootleg Cialis, past all the other bars looking to hire dancers and waitresses and GROs, which is short for guest-relations officers, which is long and awkward for prostitute. "Must have happy personality," the signs say, because no horny tourist is going to bar-fine a girl who isn't any fun.
The mamasan at the G-Spot asked the girl how old she was, and she said 19 and showed her the birth certificate that couldn't possibly be legit, and Mamasan hired her, gave her the boots and the bikini and rubbed makeup on her face and put her on a stage. That's how it happened, just like that: A little girl walks into a bar and gets a job.
"Hey." Big Daddy again, out there beyond the strobe of the stage lights. Papasan, the guy who runs the G-Spot. His name is Thomas Glenn Jarrell, an Ohio native who did a tour in the army before settling in a dirty little city that is moderately famous simply because it has bars, dozens of them, and girls, thousands of them, and only eighteen bucks a night. "You're getting paid to dance!"
Seriously, fat guys and skinny kids tell each other in Japanese airports, they love Americans.
The girl blinks the itch from her eyes and lets her arms fall to her sides and wiggles her hips. Is that dancing? Is it close enough?
Change her name. It doesn't matter. Make her a little younger or a little older, but never too old. Dress her in a red bikini or a slip or a pleated plaid skirt. Wrap her naked around a pole or put her in a room with a big glass window and a flock of other girls, bored and trying not to look it, waiting to be picked like lobsters from a tank. Move her down to Manila and pay her more, or move her up the coast to a shack on the National Highway and pay her less. Put her thousands of miles away, in Tokyo or Moscow, or put her on the other side of the globe, in Costa Rica or Mexico. It doesn't matter. The story will be the same, the beginning sounding like the setup to an old and dirty joke: A girl walks into a bar…
So many girls walk into so many bars today that no one even tries to count them all. Cataloging every prostitute on the planet with any accuracy is no more feasible than counting leaves in a forest: The business is by definition largely underground and extremely fluid, the workforce mostly unregistered, untraceable, and ever changing. Instead, there are only guesses, estimates, and extrapolations, worst cases and best cases depending on who's counting and where and why. Statistics for individual countries, individual cities, even specific red-light districts, vary wildly from lowball official figures to almost incredible numbers conjured by aid groups and activists. Thailand, for instance, a notorious and well-studied sexual playground for foreign men, has either 75,000 prostitutes, as the government claims, or depending on which aid group is tossing out numbers, nearly 2 million who generate up to 14 percent of the country's gross domestic product—parameters calibrated so widely as to be virtually useless as an accounting tool. The sex-trade data are so imprecise that researchers and government agencies shorthand the global total to a generic tens of millions of women and girls generating tens of billions in cash.
The actual numbers are irrelevant, anyway. A Filipino bar girl doesn't care whether she is one of 50,000 (the low end) or 800,000 (the high end), and a john in a Russian brothel doesn't concern himself with the millions of women he could theoretically be renting, because the ten or twenty at hand are more than enough. The global sex trade, as pure a commodities market as pork bellies or soybean futures, need only be measured in broad sweeps of demand, which is apparently insatiable, and supply, which is seemingly endless.
Within those uncountable numbers are stories of horrific brutality, of women smuggled into foreign lands, beaten into submission, forced to work off infinite, impossible debts. There are stories, too, of breathtaking naïveté, of young Moldovans giddy because they've got contracts to work as cocktail waitresses in Kabul, of peasants in Mindanao who believe a low-rent gangster when he promises to make them cabaret stars in Manila or Tokyo, of foolish girls who actually want to be prostitutes because they've seen a bootleg tape of Pretty Woman.
The great bulk of the business, though, is far more prosaic, a function of simple economics, the ageless enterprise of women willingly selling their most easily marketed assets. It can be condemned by feminist theory and religious mores, and the key adverb—willingly—is terribly relative, especially considering that there is almost always a middleman, a mamasan or a pimp, taking a cut. Yet oppression is also a relative term: For people with limited options, the few that remain don't seem so unreasonable. And in any case, business is booming. In an age of easy international travel, when borders are not much sturdier than lines drawn on a map, both sides of the trade—supply and demand—have become industrialized.
If viewed from above, from high in the stratosphere with the whole blue earth rolling and spinning below, the currents of the sex trade would be as obvious as the clouds, swirls of people moving from country to country, continent to continent. There are two dominant streams, intertwining, twirling around each other but moving in opposite directions. The women and the girls are swept out of poor places, from parts of South America and Asia and the former Soviet Union, into wealthier nations and cities, Moscow and Tokyo, Turkey and Dubai, Germany and the United States. The men—" 'mongers" or "hobbyists," in the fraternal jargon of the hardcore sex traveler—generally drift in the other direction, from rich to poor, from the United States and Australia and Britain and Japan and the rest of the First World into the Second and Third Worlds. There are small and curious eddies, like the Brits—"whorists," the tabloids call them—who've discovered "tottie tours" through Tallinn, the capital of Estonia, or the drip of Arabs who fly to Chisinau, in desperately impoverished Moldova, to patronize the brothels. But the strongest currents flow to the most entrenched bazaars: to the resort cities of Brazil, Cuba, and a few Caribbean islands; to Central America; and, of course, to Southeast Asia—historically, Thailand and Cambodia and, rising fast over the past twenty years, the Philippines. Many of those countries, particularly in Asia, became destinations in part because they have long cultural histories of prostitution. According to several studies, more than half of Thai men paid to lose their virginity, and more than 400,000 visit brothels each day, estimates that no one seriously disputes. The Philippines, a nation that is at once matriarchal and rotten with machismo, has a similar tradition, an indigenous demand that drives a local market. "It's simply the norm that you have two kinds of women—those you respect and those you can buy and play around with," says Aurora Javate-de Dios, the ecutive director of the Asia-Pacific chapter of the Coalition Against Trafficking in Women, based in Quezon City.
And that norm has grown into a massive service industry for foreigners. In Balibago, a few dusty blocks of Angeles City on the south side of what used to be Clark Air Force Base, there are 117 bars and a handful of massage parlors, one gaudy facade next to another next to another. "It's all here: alcohol and sexy young women," the neighborhood's semiofficial Web site (www.balibago.com) promises. "Recreational sex is the sport of choice. You can enjoy full privileges with one or more attractive young females regardless of your age, weight, physical appearance, interpersonal skills, wealth, or social class." On Burgos Street in Makati, the high-rent district of Manila, the girls upstairs at Jools wait by the door until men walk in and the lights snap on, and then they all pop up and pose, and the girls at High Heels squeeze onto a melon-wedge stage and sway roughly in sync while others work the high-top tables with red velveteen trim—you bar-fine me?—and all the girls at all the other clubs on that strip do the exact same thing. A few congested miles away, in Quezon City, is Air Force One, an enormous neon box the size of a midwest convention center, with inlaid floors and a red-curtained stage and narrow hallways lined with small rooms named for every American president (the George W. Bush cubicle is particularly popular) and girls stocked in two glass-walled displays—first and business classes for the younger and prettier, economy for the older and uglier. And along the northern coast of Subic Bay, in a speck of a town called Calapandayan, underage girls wave from a balcony in striped tube tops while across the street, in a place called Muff Divers, a dozen more girls do a limp waggle for five surly Australians.
The bars are everywhere, and there are girls in every bar. Yet none of the girls are technically prostitutes, because prostitution is illegal in the Philippines. A bar fine, in the national patois, is merely proper compensation for a club to let a girl out the door for a few hours, after which consenting adults can have at it—a ridiculous semantic wink that allows the industry to thrive with official deference if not outright sanction. ("I've had [aid workers] tell me you can't stop it because to do so you'd have to arrest half the senate," says one Western diplomat in Manila.) Indeed, much of the rest of the tourist sector is in on the gag. A guard with a machine gun at Ninoy Aquino International Airport sees a man in a suit with an American passport, grins, nods. "You have a good time, yes? You get some girls, yes?" A driver for the Makati Shangri-La, a five-star hotel, volunteers that he can procure an authentic virgin out in the provinces. Her parents will want 100,000 pesos, but she'll be a real cherry girl, guaranteed, not some university coed faking it for a night because she's short on tuition.
At this point, there is no financial incentive to enforce the laws, anyway. No one knows exactly how much the bars and the girls contribute to the $2 billion tourist trade—immigration does not ask men if they're entering the country to get laid—but it is substantial. An estimated 300,000 Japanese sex tourists visit the Philippines each year; and in 1997, a boom year for tourism, 13,000 Australians traveled to Angeles City alone, a figure reportedly second only to Americans. (And there really is no other appreciable reason to go to Angeles City, other than the bars.) Factor in the businessmen with a few hours to kill, multiply by hotel rooms and restaurant tabs and bar bills… It adds up.
Moreover, the bars and the brothels provide jobs in a country that doesn't have nearly enough to go around. Almost a million Filipinos leave the country each year to find employment, and more than 10 percent of the gross domestic product is cash sent home by overseas workers. Most go off to be domestics and laborers, a few are skilled professionals, and some—again, no one knows exactly how many—are imported to be prostitutes in wealthier countries. Until earlier this year, Japan alone granted more than 70,000 visas annually to Filipinos to work as "cultural entertainers," a euphemism so transparent that international pressure finally forced the number to be cut to 8,000. For those who remain on the archipelago, where nearly half the population lives on less than $2 a day, there are menial jobs in the city and field work in the provinces, neither of which is abundant or pays more than a subsistence wage.
Or there are the bars. There are thousands in the big cities and little villages, and dozens that sprouted next to the American naval base at Subic Bay and alongside Clark Air Force Base in Angeles City. Soldiers and sailors and airmen used to come by the thousands, flush with American dollars to spend on cheap beer and pretty girls, and the pretty girls came by the thousands, too, because the money was so much better than anything else they could do, and sometimes—not often, but with the same frequency that sells lottery tickets—a soldier or a sailor fell in love with a girl he met in a bar and married her and took her away. It went on like that for decades, so durable and so vast that it became famous, so famous that even after the bases closed, men kept coming, Americans and Australians and Koreans and Japanese, with their dollars and yen, traveling all the way into the middle of the Pacific just to hump the local women. There are so many tourists bringing so much money that a silly term is invented to make it all legal, and eventually the whole country—the hotel clerks and taxi drivers and airport guards—is winking and nodding, because in a way they're getting a little taste of the action, too.
And then it's simply the norm.
There is another girl, a woman, actually, because she's 23, who works at another club, a different kind of club in Manila, more subdued, classier, the sort that features girls with business cards. The cards are a mottled gold and pink, and they have her cell-phone number in the bottom corner and her name—Wine, that's all, just Wine—above her awkwardly translated and slightly misspelled title, CLIENT'S LIASON ENTERTAINMENT OFFICER.
Wine wears a cocktail dress, size zero because she is tiny, not quite five feet tall. At the start of each shift, she sits with all the other girls in the showroom behind a wide pane of one-way glass in one of the upholstered chairs that are set in long rows, like the littlest theater at the cineplex, and there is a small screen, set low into the front wall, playing videos to keep her from going mad with boredom while she waits. When customers come in, Mamasan draws open the curtains on the other side, and dim light filters in so Wine knows to look up, but she can't see anything on the other side, only shadows. She can count how many men are looking in and sometimes, if one of the silhouettes is especially large, she'll get up and slip out the back.
Most times, though, Wine smiles and tries to look pretty, which she is, and tries to be charming, which is difficult through a sheet of soundproof glass. If a man selects her, Mamasan will push a button on an intercom and call her name, and then Wine will come into the hallway and try even harder to be charming. She will kiss him on the cheek and slip her arm through his, like a new girlfriend on a third date. Mamasan will lead them—Wine and a client, maybe two other girls and their clients, maybe two girls and one client—through a warren of hallways, which are darker and narrower away from the lobster tank, to one of the fifty private rooms. There are banquettes along two or three of the walls, short cocktail tables, a television set, and a karaoke machine.
The club is not a brothel. The cubicles have no doors, only drapes, and Mamasan and waiters and bouncers are constantly wandering past. Some men, especially the Asian men who make up most of Wine's clients, will pay good money to have strange women sing karaoke with them, 800 pesos an hour, of which Wine collects 250. Her client will buy drinks, of course (Wine is a scotch gal), and if he's feeling frisky, he'll drop an additional 400 pesos to have Wine change into a loose and low-cut slip so he can lick salt off her body for a tequila shooter. "Not the naughty parts," Wine says. Only here—she points to her neck—or here—a spot above her left breast—or here—the curve of her hip. She always offers the body-shot option, the same way used-car salesmen offer rustproofing, because she gets paid an extra 150 when she lets a man lick her. A lot of clients paw and grope her anyway, so she may as well collect some pesos for her trouble.
If a man is particularly taken by her, he can pay Mamasan the bar fine, 10,000 pesos—$180, give or take, ten times the price of an Angeles City girl—half of which goes to Wine. But Wine says she does not leave the club with clients. Okay, maybe she does once in a while, but only for dinner in a nice restaurant or a few hours in a casino. She says she is not a prostitute. Her English gets noticeably worse. She changes the subject.
Wine has worked at that club for almost three years, which is unusual only because she admits it. (Dorothy says she has been there for two weeks. Maki says she has been there for two weeks. An astonishing number of girls say they are 19 years old and have worked at their particular bar or club for exactly two weeks, like a default code that says I'm legal and experienced, but barely.) She comes in four or five nights a week at seven o'clock and stays until three or four the next morning. On a good night—actually, her best night ever—she will spend five hours with clients. If they all spring for body shots, she will gross 2,000 pesos. Of that, Wine will owe 100 pesos for laundry, 200 for makeup, and an additional 300 or so for food. So if she's very charming and very lucky, Wine will walk out just before dawn, sticky with salt licks, with 1,400 pesos. Thirty bucks, give or take.
It is the best job she has ever had.
She has a 7-year-old son to support. Wine got pregnant when she was 15, gave birth at 16, started working soon after. Odd jobs, menial jobs. She peddled cosmetics, sold bananas from a cart, worked the cashbox at a cockpit. None of them paid well. When she was 19 she told her boyfriend, her baby's father, that she wanted to be an entertainer in Japan. He said no. But she knew someone who had a friend who knew a guy—it's always that complicated—who managed girls who wanted to go get one of those 70,000 cultural- entertainment visas. Wine needed the money more than she needed her boyfriend, so she signed up.
Her manager put her through six months of training, schooling her in rudimentary Japanese culture and etiquette, teaching her the basics of the language, explaining the mysteries of the wider world, like how to behave on an airplane. That all cost money, naturally—"credits," Wine says, when she actually means debts. So did coaching her to pass the Artist Record Book test, which required her to sing three songs—one fast and two slow—ably enough to qualify as a "cultural entertainer," a threshold Wine concedes is not set particularly high because she cannot, in fact, sing very well. Then there was paperwork to arrange, and plane tickets and housing—thousands and thousands of amorphous expenses, all on credit.
She says she spent six months in Kyoto working at a club controlled by local gangsters. That was a good job, too. The mamasan looked out for her, she says, kept her away from the yakuza heavies, never forced her to do anything she didn't want to, like go out on dates with any of the clients. A lot of the other girls did, though. The Russians and the Romanians? Total whores. When Wine talks about that part of the job, she only screws up her pronouns a couple of times, says I before she stops and says she and changes the subject. Mostly, she says, she hustled drinks from lonely businessmen and rasped Britney Spears songs onstage.
After six months, after paying her living expenses and all of her debts, subtracting everything she owed, she cleared 40,000 pesos, or about $700.
Wine got the job at her current club not long after she came back from Japan. She never meant to stay here so long, but the money's good, better than she'd get anywhere else. She could make even more, work six nights a week, if it weren't for the hangovers. She's trying to cut back on the booze, trying to switch over to fruit shakes like the other girls, which is why she's only having one magnificent tumbler of scotch tonight, not counting the two she had with the guy who was in a couple of hours ago.
Two years pass. The girl from the G-Spot is still only a girl, 15 now, almost 16, which is how old she looks in the twilight on a bluff above Subic Bay, thirty miles southwest of the bars in Angeles City where she used to work. She's wearing a red T-shirt and a thin silver chain that reflects gold in the sunset, and she has dark eyes and dark hair, but her skin is a faint shade lighter than most Filipinos' because her father was a white man, an Australian.
He was a businessman in the north of the country, and he bought fabrics, bolts of silk, from a pretty lady in a market. He kept buying her silks, and soon, maybe even in the first week, he fell in love, crazy in love, that's how the girl says it because that's how her father said it. After three years, when they were living as husband and wife, they had a baby daughter—the girl—and later two sons.
When the girl was 4, the family moved to Quezon City, in metro Manila, to be closer to her mother's relatives. The girl had her own room in a two-story house next to a garment shop her father owned, which, along with an ice plant he also owned, paid the bills. She was happy. Her father told her she would grow up to be a doctor.
Then her mother met another man. He was a bad guy, compared with her father anyway, in trouble with the police, in and out of jail, always smoking shabu, the Filipino version of crystal meth. Not long after, the girl's parents split up.
They still saw each other, though. According to the girl, her mother would go to her father and ask him for money, say it was to buy food and to raise the girl and her brothers, but she'd use it to post bail for the thief or buy him more shabu. The girl's father knew, but he gave her the pesos anyway. "My father," she says, "he is so crazy in love with her."
Until it hurt too much to be crazy in love. On December 15, 2000, the girl's father hanged himself in his apartment.
She ran back north for a while, lived with one of her father's friends, but seven months later she went back to her mother and the man, who by then was her stepfather—a junkie and a criminal sleeping in her father's bed in her father's house. He was strict, wouldn't let her out of the house, and he would hit her, hit her little brothers. "My stepfather, I think he has something wrong with me," she says. "Why does he do these things to me? Why doesn't he let me be a child?"
Her mother took the worst of the beatings. In the summer of 2002, the stepfather threw his wife to the floor, grabbed her by the hair, dragged her into the bathroom, and tried to drown her in the tub. He pulled a knife, held it to her throat, and swore he would kill her. Then the police came, swarming into the house, waving their guns. Days later, when the police said they couldn't hold her stepfather any longer, she packed a bag and headed north again.
She bounced from relative to relative for a few months before going to Angeles City. She had family there, an "uncle" who's actually her mother's cousin. She asked if she could live with his family, and he said no, he couldn't afford another mouth, but she asked again and then a third time, and he finally said yes, okay, she could stay. But she felt guilty because she knew she was a burden. And she worried about her little brothers, left behind in Manila to fend for themselves. "So after so many days," she says, "I decide to work in a bar."
That's how it happens. That's how a girl 13 years old walks into a bar and gets a job.
She worked nine-hour shifts, trying to dance in her bikini, blue one day, maroon the next, eye shadow always matching and always too thick, then coming off the stage, talking to customers, coaxing drinks out of them, fifty pesos a shot for her own pocket. She did not like her job. Some of the men who drank at the G-Spot seemed nice enough, but mainly they were old (everyone seems old to a girl of 13) and fat and horny, the sort of schlubs who read the Web site and believed it because it happens to be true: You can enjoy full privileges with one or more attractive young females regardless of your age, weight, physical appearance, interpersonal skills, wealth, or social class.
"Do you know the word blow job?" she asks. "And…I don't know the word, when you lick the pussy?" The girl blushes, looks away. "I saw some very bad, disgusting…yuck," she says. "I saw it because I have eyes."
On her third night at the G-Spot, she says, a Japanese businessman and his Filipina assistant bar-fined her, paid a thousand pesos to take her out into Angeles City. Mamasan told the Japanese guy that his date was a cherry girl, which normally would tack a premium onto the price—"cherry popping" is popular among certain connoisseurs of degeneracy—but her tone was firm, a cautionary instruction—don't fuck her—instead of a promise. And he did not try. He asked her how old she was, and she said 18, and he didn't believe her, so she said 16, and he did not ask again. Then he took her around the corner to a casino, and the girl just watched while he gambled. She was relieved when he told her to go.
Fifteen years ago, and for decades before that, most of the men in the bars were Americans, the soldiers and sailors on leave or stationed at Clark and Subic Bay. In the '80s, Aurora Javate-de Dios of the Coalition Against Trafficking in Women was in Olongapo on business as the troopships unloaded and thousands of servicemen streamed off the naval base and into the city. She could feel their eyes, all those men looking at her the way they looked at all the other Filipinas. "That was kind of a humiliating moment," she says. " 'Oh, so this is how it feels to be commodified.' "
When the U.S. military decamped a few years later, it was assumed by many Filipinos that the sex trade would go with them, that the former bases would be redeveloped with hotels and restaurants, provide decent jobs, and attract less salacious tourists. That has happened to some extent at Subic Bay, but much less so in Angeles City. "We had hoped it would end, but it did not," Javate-de Dios says. "Apparently, the culture and the infrastructure were enough reason for other investors to come in. In fact, now it's more terrible because it's international." The dynamic has been reversed, the supply of bars and girls no longer a reaction to a specific demand—horny American soldiers who were sent there by the shipload—but a self-sustaining industry that creates its own demand. Americans still wander the streets of Angeles City, but so do Koreans and Brits and Australians and Germans.
The moneymen tend to be foreigners as well. The legal papers are fuzzy (which, in turn, makes the legal responsibilities fuzzy, too), but the alleged Pooh-Bah of Fields Avenue is Richard Agnew, a former constable with the Royal Ulster Constabulary. He moved to the Philippines in the mid-'90s and over the following years started running a small empire of clubs—Nero's Forum, Misty's, and at least three others—and the nicest hotel in the neighborhood, the Egyptian- themed Blue Nile Ecutive Club. An Australian, Terrence George Matthews, and his purported partner, an American named Thomas Glenn Jarrell, apparently owned the G-Spot, Club Fantastic, and other clubs. The girl thought so, anyway. She recognizes Jarrell's picture now. "That's Papasan," she says. That's the guy who yelled at a child for not dancing well enough.
The girl worked four more nights before anyone else paid her bar fine. This time, she says, it was an Australian man with a Filipino wife. Odd, two couples bar-fining an underage girl in a club that serves single men almost exclusively. The Australian had started talking to her in the bar, and she told him how her father had been Australian, too, which was enough for the man to invite her out to dinner. They just talked, the three of them, all through the meal, and when they finished, the Australian thanked her and told her to go home.
She went back to the G-Spot instead, where another man approached her, took her gently by the arm, and asked her to point out Mamasan. The girl did. The man, still holding the girl's arm, took her to Mamasan and said he wanted to pay her bar fine, started dickering over the price, argued, wanted to know exactly how much for the girl.
Cops were everywhere after that, bursting through the door, guns drawn, yelling at everyone not to move. The girl was terrified, but all the adults were likely more dumbfounded than frightened: Police raid the bars in Angeles City about as often as Mount Pinatubo explodes, which is hardly ever. Why would they shake down the G-Spot now?
Because activists from an international nonprofit had been in town for more than a week, crawling through the bars, snooping for underage girls. This wasn't hard to do: UNICEF estimates there are approximately 100,000 minors currently working as prostitutes in the Philippines. The guy who dickered with Mamasan was an undercover cop, one of a squad put together after the activists pestered federal police for help. On November 28, 2002, the National Bureau of Investigation and the Angeles City police raided five bars. The cops took the girl and four others, all 17, out of the G-Spot, and three others—two 17 and one 13—from Club Fantastic. Jarrell, Matthews, and four Filipina floor managers were arrested. As for the other three clubs, the aid workers could have been wrong—maybe they saw some girls who only looked like they were too young to be working as bar girls.
Or maybe the clubs got lucky. Maybe the young ones had the night off.
Change the details. Shuffle the dates, stage the raid in July, when the girl was still in Manila watching a thief beat up her mother. Put the cops in a dozen bars that night, let them grab a hundred underage girls, arrest four foreign papasans and ten mamasans. It doesn't matter. The next day, the story would be the same: A girl walks into a bar…
For the girl, though, it matters. In a miserable life, she was blessed with small kindnesses and fortunate timing, by a mamasan who protected her cherry-girl status even as she sold her out the door, by missionaries who appeared like wraiths, by a raid orchestrated after she'd spent only a few nights in a bikini. If she'd been off that night, if she'd been out on a bar fine when the police came through the door… For her, the details matter.
Yet for Fields Avenue, for Balibago, for Burgos Street, for Makati, for all the other girls in all the other bars and clubs, the details are irrelevant. The girls who were swept away that night could be replaced in the morning. The six girls who were 17 when the cops came? In a few months, all of them would cross that mystical barrier, the age of consent, turn 18, and become, by the flip of a calendar page, legal adults with all the free will in the world to dance in a bar for fat, horny foreigners.
The lure is so strong. Even the youngest among them, the girl with not even two weeks' experience, couldn't stay away. After the raid, she was sent to a group home run by PREDA—the People's Recovery, Empowerment and Development Assistance Foundation, in a villa on a hill above Subic Bay—which a Columban missionary named Father Shay Cullen cofounded thirty years ago after a pimp in Olongapo tried to sell him an 11-year-old. The girl was there for a year. She had a bed in a dormitory, food, school lessons, therapy.
She went back to Angeles City anyway. Took two other girls with her, too.
"My feelings and my mind were mid-up," is the only way she can explain it. She was too frightened to go back to the G-Spot, so she scouted all the bars and then settled on Bahama Mama's because it had the chubbiest girls loitering outside and, consequently, the fewest men inside. At first she was bored, but after a few days she thought it was fun, like a game, dancing with her big sisters—the senior dancers' names are always preceded by ate (ah-teh), a familiar form of "big sister"—and any man who paid her bar fine received only the pleasure of buying her margaritas. She's still a cherry girl. Her friends left, but she stayed for a couple weeks, and would have stayed longer if Father Shay hadn't gone looking for her, handing her picture to the police and the tricycle-taxi drivers, loudly announcing that she was a lost child, shaming people with an immunity to shame into looking for her. She finally turned herself in.
No one's looking for Wine. She'd like to get out of the club in Manila where she works, open her own place, something nice down in the Malate district, near the embassies and the waterfront. She's got it all figured out, explains it between sips of scotch, how she'll have three rooms, an Internet café out front, karaoke in the middle, billiards in the back. No go-go girls. No bar fines. Classy. A nice dream. A girl can dream, right?
She takes another drink, rattles the ice in her glass. She knows it'll never happen. "How long will I work here?" she says. "Until my hair is white."
And the arrests? The foreign men hauled off in handcuffs? Change those details, too. Put them in shackles for the cameras, drag them out in chains while the missionaries watch. Shut down their bars. Accuse them of pimping minors, of hiring children to wear bikinis, all of which the Philippines has laws against. It doesn't matter. "We have laws against trafficking, protecting women and children," says Javate-de Dios. "But they're almost always breached in practice." She shakes her head. "You could say our criminal-justice system sucks. Really, really sucks." The business is simply too big, the money too good.
On paper, Thomas Glenn Jarrell—who the girl says was the papasan at the GSpot—faced an apparently serious charge of "willfully, unlawfully, and feloniously" employing a minor as an erotic dancer. His bail was set at 30,000 pesos—$600. To no one's surprise, he posted it. In the almost three years since his arrest, he has not been prosecuted for anything involving the club.
Change the details again. Have a couple of local families complain that their daughters were hired as waitresses in Richard Agnew's clubs and then ordered to have sex with foreign tourists. Make the girls young—13, 12, 11. Let one of them tell a reporter, "I was a virgin, and I didn't want to go, but I was told I would lose my job if I didn't do it, so I went with him." Let the British papers loose on him, call him sleazy, say he's pimping children. Presume him innocent, but line up all the witnesses; get his employees and get his business partner to say he's the boss, that Agnew owns all the clubs around here. Gather so much evidence that the Philippine police raid his clubs and throw him in jail. Let him sit there for so long facing such an awful charge that he asks to be deported just to make it go away.
All of that happened in September 2003, about the time the girl was drinking margaritas in Bahama Mama's. Agnew denied owning any clubs, still denies it, says he's only a manager, that other people, local people, ran the operations, that he thought all those girls were 18. And it was technically true: His name appeared on none of the clubs' legal papers. And it was true that when he was locked up, he signed papers admitting to owning part of those clubs, but he says he was coerced, that the Filipino cops were all corrupt, that he had to admit something, anything, just to get out of jail.
And yet he's still there in Angeles City, managing bars, bragging about his charity work. Those cops he swears were all corrupt seem to like him very much. The charges were dropped, and in January 2005 a chief from the Philippine National Police presented Agnew with a plaque in gratitude for his contributions to the tourist trade. It was a small moment in a bigger ceremony, one of those details that get buried in the back pages of the newspapers, and one of the only details that actually matter.
_Next: Read the second installment of "The Sex Trade," exploring the world of human trafficking, and the cops who are trying to fight it, in Moldova. _
Sean Flynn is a GQ correspondent.


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Bruno Mars: Grammys Performance with B.o.B & Janelle Monae!
Bruno Mars performs with B.o.B at the 2011 Grammy Awards held at the Staples Center on Sunday (February 13) in Los Angeles.
The two sang their hit song "Nothing On You" before Janelle Monae joined them on stage.
Bruno, who also belted out "Grenade," took home the award for Best Male Pop Vocal Performance!
"We worked so hard this year and got to work with so many artists. I can't feel any better," the 25-year-old singer said before the show.
FYI: Bruno suited up in a Z Zegna tux on the red carpet. Janelle rocked menswear with a Ralph Lauren Collection beaded tuxedo jacket on the red carpet and Dolce & Gabbana for her performance.
Bruno Mars, B.o.B., and Janelle Monae – 2011 Grammy Awards
20+ pictures inside of Bruno Mars, B.o.B, and Janelle Monae at the 2011 Grammy Awards…


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401 E. Broad St. (Mail)P.O. Box 1065 (Phys)Dunn, NC 28335
(910) 230-3500 (910) 230-3590
Please enter your information request into the form below. Spaces marked with an asterisk (*) are required for proper processing. Your request will be forwarded to:
City of Dunn (Administration).
Please enter the words exactly as they appear in the image above.


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I need a package receiving and re-shipment platform. Custom website wanted immediately.
Presupuesto $250-750 USD
Hello Freelancers,
I am in need of a package receiving and re-shipment platform that will help me to run my freight forwarding business more efficiently.
First, here is some background information about me ...
I operate a freight forwarding business based in Miami, Florida ( USA ).
This is how I operate ...
1. I receive customer cargo at my warehouse.
2. I arrange for shipment to an international destination using an appropriate shipping company.
3. I forward all shipping documentation to my customer so that they can prepare for receipt of their cargo.
Up until this point, I've mainly dealt with businesses, and the process involves much time consuming physical paperwork.
I now want to automate/streamline this process and offer my services to private individuals located all over the world.
Here is a "basic" outline of how the cargo receiving/reshipping process would work ...
1. Client registers an account at my website and is provided a "virtual address with a suite number" at my warehouse.
2. Client ships their cargo to their virtual address ( At my warehouse ).
3. When I receive my client's cargo, all related information ( weight, dimensions, photographs, scanned documentation, tracking numbers ) should be entered into the system.
4. Client is given a choice of shipping couriers and pricing based on the actual weights/dimensions of their cargo. Or they can hold the cargo for consolidation with future shipments.
5. Client pays for shipping and any related fees ( Credit Card / PayPal / Wire Transfer / Deposit Account ) and I actually ship my client's cargo based on their preference. All related shipping info should be entered into the system ( tracking numbers / scanned documentation )
*Email notifications should be sent to client at ever step to make sure that they are always notified.
Here are websites for existing companies that you can review which will give you a better idea of my goal:
- [url removed, login to view]
- [url removed, login to view]
- [url removed, login to view]
Thank you for reading this far. Now that you know my goals, please tell me how you can help me to achieve them.
I am ready to start immediately.


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Never mind the influence of CEOs, political leaders, military generals, the head of the Federal Reserve or the top economists in the academic world.
If you read the financial media like I do for a living, you can logically conclude that the most powerful and important people in the world are Wall Street analysts.
In the auto industry, analyst expectations now preside over the results of every major automaker around the world. The automakers, dealer groups, suppliers and the industry as a whole must answer to this all-powerful and unquestioned group.
And I'm not just talking about quarterly financial results, which have been dominating the news the last few weeks as companies report first-quarter statements. Analyst expectations are deemed relevant to monthly auto sales results as well.
Back in the old days — say, 10 years ago — companies often were judged on their results year-over-year. Increased profits were good. Declining profits or losses were bad. Today? Not so much.
Sometimes an objectively good financial performance results in bad news for a company that doesn't quite meet analysts' expectations. And other times an objectively negative performance, or even a loss, might be viewed positive because the company didn't do as bad as analysts had predicted.
And sometimes, even if the company actually does top the forecasts, it had better keep analysts bullish looking forward, too.
GM -- by most objective measurements, even from analysts -- reported a solid first-quarter profit of $1 billion. It beat analysts' expectations by 7 cents a share (Wall Street's Holy Grail of measuring profits). Yet the company didn't provide enough happy talk about future profits this year, so analysts expressed disappointment, and the market whacked the shares down 2.4 percent.
I realize there needs to be independent measurements of corporate performance, and many analysts are excellent at their jobs. And strictly for Wall Street investors, these analysts by-and-large do what they're supposed to do.
But there are many different constituencies in the auto industry and in American business as a whole. And they all view corporate performances from far different perspectives than Wall Street analysts and investors.
I take issue with how important "analyst expectations" have become in everyday news coverage. Wall Street analysts/investors may have views that are completely opposite to others, such as retail dealers, employees, consumers or anyone else with a stake in the auto industry.
We here at Automotive News use respected wire services such as Reuters and Bloomberg knowing they emphasize analysts' expectations. But we also view this as only one way to define success or failure in our industry. For our audience, we think it's important to temper the influence of these measurements and try to make the coverage relevant for all industry stakeholders.


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Fencing for your retreat needs to be thought out a good bit. Various considerations include questions like:
"Can a vehicle gear into this area readily?"
If that's the case then the post size of the fence needs to be bigger in that particular area, the posts need to be closer together, you need to be sure the posts are in far enough and hopefully set in concrete as well. All these little things making using a vehicle to slug an opening in your fencing harder to
Get On The Air. Usually that refers to a specific ham radio station as part of a larger set up during an event called "Field Day". Field day is when Hams practice their skills together, cook out, and have a good time generally speaking. It's a great place to pick up new ideas for your home stealth setup. As an added bonus, you may discover that some of the guys in the club may be into preparedness too!
So getting on the air is a matter of having a powersource,
I started this blog with the idea that maybe some of the other newbies would get some ideas on how to inventory what they already have. A key component to getting to where you want to be is to first determine where you are and then figure out what you're missing. I know I'm missing a lot but will make lists and plans to fill in those items over time.
About Me
I grew up in a farming community. We had 9 acres and most of our neighbors were
Updated 04-26-2012 at 01:30 PM by jimmycthemd
I got this from APN and thought it was too good not to share with all of you. I have included the original link for reference.
The Five Principles of Preparedness
Strive Towards Self-Reliance
Principle Four
The Principle of Self-Reliance is predicated by and builds upon the first three principles. They are unavoidably intertwined and interdependent. Self-Reliance
I got this from APN and thought it was too good not to share with all of you. I have included the original link for reference.
The Five Principles of Preparedness
Seek to be Independent
Principle Two
[FONT="][SIZE=3]Debt can be crippling and crushing to a family, making them unable to move forward due to the demands of making payments on things they potentially


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Let's start with the first graph. Based on Apple's recent quarterly results, it shows where, exactly, Apple's revenue is coming from. It's not iPods, it's not iTunes, it's not even Macs; no, 68% of Apple's revenue in the past quarter has come from the iPhone (47%) and the iPad (21%). For a company that has been a computer manufacturer most of its life, this is pretty amazing.
The second graph is entirely different. It comes from IMS Research (found at Ars Technica), and shows the growth in smartphone market share for several companies, comparing the first quarter of 2010 to the first quarter of 2011. Samsung saw its smartphone marketshare skyrocket from 3% to 13%, a staggering 300% rise. HTC jumped from 6% to 10%. Nokia dropped like a brick from 40% to 24%. Apple went from 16% to 19%.
Now, look at these two graphs, and tell me if you're still not sure why Apple is suing the living daylights out of Samsung and HTC. Now that the iPhone accounts for almost half of Apple's revenue, did you really think they were just going to sit idly by as Samsung and HTC eat their lunch with insane growth figures? I said it a few years ago already and the Apple faithful laughed at me in my face - but here are the cold and harsh numbers.
IMS Reseach further notes that the smartphone market is anything but saturated. Smartphones only make up 28% of the total mobile phone market, meaning there's an enormous amount of potential just sitting there. However, despite all this potential - it's the Android device makers seeing the insane growth figures, and not Apple. For a company which relies on the smartphone market for almost 50% of its revenue, that must be one scary realisation.
Of course, this isn't the entire story; the iPad is doing great, accounting for 21% of Apple's revenue, and there's little indication that Android tablets today pose much of a threat. However, the situation was the same with Android smartphones only 18-24 months ago. They were laughed away as geek toys no normal person would buy. Look how that turned out. Give it a few years - maybe even less - and we'll be sitting here all over again.
These graphs illustrate what I mean when I say Apple is afraid of Android. Apple's biggest revenue-generating machine is under direct attack, and it would seem Apple is unable to turn the tide with just new products alone - so, the age-old mantra comes into play. If you can't compete, litigate.


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DIY Plant Decor: 5 Modern Plant Stands
In anticipation of spring weather, I have been searching for DIY stands for my growing collection of plants. Here are 5 versions of a classic mid-century planter, all of which would tuck neatly into a corner or next to a window — and all of which you can make yourself.
1. Two-Tier Plant Stand, DIY from A Beautiful Mess: Mandi's collection of houseplants was growing, so she decided it was time for a plant stand that could hold a couple of her favorites. After not finding one she liked within her budget, she decided to make her own.
2. Small Wood Plant Stand, DIY from Hello Lidy: Inspired by Modernica, Lidy and her husband built this wooden plant stand to fit a plant pot they already owned.
3. Low Wooden Plant Stand, DIY from Elise Blaha: Elise wanted to put something in front of her big picture windows. She wanted something that that did not take away from the view, but added some visual interest. She decided on a plant stand that she built using mid-century looking peg legs and wood she found at Lowe's.
4. Plastic Tub Plant Stand, DIY from Retro Renovation: After seeing several planters she liked, Kate decided to make an inexpensive version of her own using a lightweight plastic pot.
5. Wood + Copper Plant Stand, DIY from Our Humble Abode: Amanda and Ben's aloe plant had outgrown their pot. After realizing it would fit perfectly in a 2 gallon bucket, they took inspiration from the plumbing aisle and build a new stand.
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