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New mortgage deal criticised. Last week's announcement of Government-backed moves aimed at easing NHS staff accommodation problems in London has brought mixed reactions from nurses, health unions and management.
Thursday, November 19, 2009 Website of the Day In class today we talked about the advantages of presenting a single box search to users over the multiple boxes of most library search engines. Dartmouth college has adopted the single box search using Summon. I don't entirely understand how to describe it, so I think you should just take a look for yourself.
Andro and Tess Z. Camiling are conscientious students and researchers of Kapampangan history, language and culture. They wrote “ Pampanga: History and Culture", "Pampanga: Towns and Barangays", "The Province of Pampanga and Its People” and other articles including “Malay Relation With Kapampangan Language and Culture” , "Spanish Relation With Kapampangan Language and Culture", biographies of sixteen (16) famous Kapampangan and the history of the towns of Apalit, Lubao, Masantol, Mexico, Minalin, San Fernando, San Simon and Santo Tomas of the Province of Pampanga, Philippines. Andro is a true-blue Kapampangan based in California USA where he is employed as an accounting/financial director at the University of Southern California in Los Angeles and practices his CPA profession as a management and tax consultant. His wife and co-author of the aforementioned articles, the former Teresita Manalansan Zuniga of Lubao, Pampanga, Philippines is a public school teacher in Pasadena, California. Both of them are dedicated socio-civic-religious leaders in their community and served as long-term presidents of their town non-profit charitable organizations in the USA.
Really, don't worry about it in the slightest. Watch 'The Gathering' and then the episodes in the order they come on the DVDs and simply get immersed in the story for the first time. You won't really appreciate the nuances until the second time, anyway so just concentrate on it as presented in the simplest way possible - which is how those of us who watched it in its first run saw it. Enjoy. I envy you your first two viewings! Jan So, there is no need to watch the movies in the order JMS himself advices, between the episodes of the series? Just out of curiosity, does it make sense the suggestion to watch the season 4 finale as series finale? (no spoilers, of course... just be vague ) ....order. If you do not watch the TV movies where they are supposed to go chronologically, keep in mind when watching them where they are supposed to go, i.e. what timeframe they're from.. HOWEVER, watch The Gathering FIRST. Why? It's not correct and certainly NOT the authorised jms chronological viewing order. Oh crikey, so they weren't even filmed in either "the original order" or in JMS's order? This is the correct jms authorised chronological order from the Babylon 5 Historical Database Crusade Season 1 2267.War Zone 1st Jan - 5th Jan 2267. The Long Road. 27th Feb - 2nd March 2267. Appearances and Other Deceits. March 2267 The Memory of War. 30th March - 1st April 2267. Needs of Earth. April 2267. Racing the Night. May 2267, Visitors from Down the Street. 13th May - 14th May 2267 Each Night I Dream of Home. May 2267. The Path of Sorrows. June 2267. Ruling from the Tomb. 15th June - 16th June 2267. Patterns of the Soul. June 2267. The Well of Forever. July 2267. (Joe confirmed that Mr Jones saying Matheson had sensed the emotions of others, was indeed referring to Durkani and Lyssa from Visitors from Down the Street) Rules of the Game. July 2267 To The Ends of the Earth 1st September - 3rd September 2267 (Full script but unproduced. Dates from the script) Value Judgements. September 2267 (Full script but unproduced) End of the Line. December 2267 (Full script but unproduced) Oh crikey, so they weren't even filmed in either "the original order" or in JMS's order? Short answer: yes. This happened quite a lot on B5 -- "Chrysalis" was filmed in the middle of Season 1, for instance. (Actually, for some time now I've wondered if that was in part because JMS was hedging his bets on Michael O'Hare's health, the way he hedged by filming "Sleeping in Light" at the end of Season 4. But maybe it really was because of all the visual effects necessary.) In this case in particular, I think that the time needed was correct. JMS said in the script books: Quote: “Chrysalis” required new ship designs, the creation of Earthforce One, the Shadow vessel,36 the Shadows themselves, the Io station, the attack on the Narn fleet, and a lot of naturalistic CGI – the hardest kind to produce convincingly – including the DownBelow environments and the Maze, which for me was emblematic of Londo’s life. Each turn of the maze represents a choice he’s made, or is going to make, for good or ill. He’s in the center of that maze, just as he is in the center of his life, when Mr. Morden offers him a direction and a choice, appealing to him as a patriot but also as someone who wants desperately to be recognized, to be important again. Once he makes that choice, Londo begins a journey that will ultimately take him far from any hope of salvation. To illustrate just how close we ran to the bleeding edge in terms of delivering these big episodes in time for broadcast...and how things don’t always work out as you plan them...we were frenziedly working on “Chrysalis” until the last possible minute, to make sure it was absolutely flawless. Finally, exhausted but happy, we delivered the episode the day before it was to be beamed out to the various PTEN stations via satellite feed. __________________ "You know, I used to think that life was terribly unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair? If all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them? So now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe." ~~Marcus Cole
Ponte Vista at San Pedro is a proposed 830 home project in Northwest San Pedro, being developed by Ponte Vista Partners. This blog is intended to deal with anything and everything within the Ponte Vista site. My Email address to comment directly to me or contribute a post is; mrichards2@hotmail.com. September, 2006. All Rights Reserved. Wednesday, April 13, 2011 I am writing identical posts on two of my blogs dealing with Ponte Vista at San Pedro. The Northwest San Pedro Neighborhood Council is a great source of information dealing with the project proposed for 61.53 acres in northwest San Pedro, directly across the street from homes and a very large business in Rancho Palos Verdes. Here is a very good link to the Council's site where information can be gathered. http://www.nwsanpedro.org/pontevistaindex.asp It appears that when the new Environmental Impact Report is published, HOPEFULLY VERY SOON, everyone will have a better opportunity to view the details and begin greater discussions and debates about having a large condominium project with access only along Western Avenue, built. Expected are three 'Alternatives' that will have studies considered. The primary 'Alternative' looks to be for 1,345 condominium and/or apartment units, some 'masquerading' as single-family units, but are legally identified as condominium units. This Alternative provides for fewer than the "2,300" units published as the proposed Alternative when Bob Bisno was the Developer. There will probably be "Alternative 2" which might include a proposal to construct condominium and apartment units in the 800-850 units range. As a reminder, The Gardens is a 1,100-unit development that was first offered as owner-occupied condominiums on 80 acres of land almost adjacent to the Ponte Vista site. Using the number of units constructed and the acreage, the dwelling density of The Gardens is 13.75 dwelling units per gross acre of land. If the figure of 13.75 dwelling units per gross acre is applied to the Ponte Vista at San Pedro site, up to 846 dwelling units, maximum, to equal the dwelling density of The Gardens. It is true that many of the 'condominium' units at The Gardens are now rental or leased out units and that actually changes the traffic count numbers when owner-occupied units become rented or leased out. The new developers at Ponte Vista at San Pedro have proposed one of the building being constructed to contain "392 Apartment Units" but after they breath, they will tell you they expect and/or 'hope' that those Apartment Units would become owner-occupied units. Here is where I need to mention that I still have two acres of The Moon up for sale and if you really believe 392 Apartment Units will eventually become owner-occupied units, you are someone I really want to talk to about unloading an acre or two on The Moon I have been trying to sell for years. Alternative 3 will most likely be the legally required "No Project" Alternative. This Alternative is legally mandated to be studied and included with Environmental Impact Reports and it is the Alternative that uses the idea that no zoning changes are made to an existing site and what the current zoning on the site is, is what new construction must utilize. In the case of Ponte Vista at San Pedro, it was zoned by the city of Los Angeles to be "R1" which means single-family, detached dwellings on lots of not less than 5,000 square feet in size. The other zoning existing on some of the site is O1 or OS1 (Open Space), plus there is some land that is not suitable to have new housing constructed on it. The "R1" designation on suitable construction land at the site allows for the construction of up to 429 single-family units. Currently there are approximately 245 'duplex' units constructed for military housing purposes and when they were constructed for the military, no city zoning requirements or restrictions applied to military housing there. The current zoning would not allow for refurbishment of existing residential units on the site. The current developers have suggested and stated that they do not wish to apply for any 'density bonuses' on the 22 lots that comprise Ponte Vista at San Pedro. If density bonuses were applied for and approved, the number of proposed units could be increased by up to 35%. What they have stated in one for or another is that they will be seeking new municipal codes from the Los Angeles City Council that will change the current zoning on the site and provide entitlements on lots that they would probably try to sell to others rather than actually contracting any firm to build new housing on their behalf. What impresses me and what impressed other opponents of over development in our area is that the new development team seems to have greater understanding and they seem to be much more willing and able to sit down and discuss just about everything related to Ponte Vista at San Pedro and local neighborhoods in all the communities near the site. R Neighborhoods Are 1, the communities-wide organization that worked hard and helped by a weakening economy to keep Bob Bisno from going further with his plans, has not gone anywhere. Records illustrating the fact that more people signed petition sheets demanding that the Ponte Vista site remain R1 than Councilwoman Janice Hahn was looking for to help her decide her stance, remain on file. About Me I am finally taking to heart the following phrase: If you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything. I am a happily married Caveman and I have the two greatest sons, two greatest daughters-in-laws and a rat terrier puppy that...well what can one say about a rat terrier? On May 31, 2013 Miss Monroe Summer Wells entered our lives and we could not be happier. She is NOT the apple of her grandpa's eyes, she is an entire orchard.
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OFFICE OF THE ATTORNEY GENERAL OF TEXAS AUSTIN, Eonorable Cieo. Y. Sheppard Comptroller of Fublio Amounts Austin, Te.xas marm.Sboppsrli: t for 6a opinion lature, sutbor- antin payment to a Special Mstrl8t aoornell prior to the ; for tucuaplo, acfar , Iares The rwar Distrlet snee has msde and filed proper 717 passed at the late regular session of the 48th LegislatuGe, insoPar as pertiaent to your inquiry, Is as followst *tMotlon 1. Thst any person holding a State ot Mstrlot oStioe in the &ate of Texas, whether as a meruber of the exeout.kTe lef#elatite QC ju&ioial de- psrtments, when oalled i WO.the sdU* s)BFtiue OS dther the Btste orlatlonalWvernamts,isheNby mnorablc Cieo. ii. ,Shepparii - pwe 2 tUlthOX'iS& t0 file tit& the ~OEQtrOller of EQbliO AOcOunts Of the State, a statement or certirioate ia writing, to tbe effeot tbat be waives tbe pay- meat of his salary or pay Or the emolument5 of bf5 said officedurini; the pe~i0d ofbie5dlitary se+ vice ond authmldnk; the paymmt of euab salary, pay or 5Inoluments of his office to any other per- son, who, under t&e provi5ioxm oi any law of t.bia State io ;rppolnted or eltwted to temporlrrily ml1 such oitil offioe dur%ng the abe8noe of euob ~?f$- oer,euchwaivr or assigmasmt toternrinatelmm- dlately upon the release or discbarge of 5aid of- fleea from wch SdliterJ serece. *see. 2. 8ush waimr or assignmsnt sballbs suiiiOi6nt authority ror the mmptrollsr or public AMouat5 of the state of sexa to isuae state w5r- raata an&to pay susb jsrscm so holding susb off%- osr'opssitisndlWnghloaImmselnmlliikzy ser- rioe out OS appropriatl0ns me by the Legislature ror such office. 'Sec. 3. The filing wlth the Oomptroller o? RlbLto acoountu of State or *exe8 the of errah waiver orameignmemtpr0vldedrerin tbiolicf shall'mmrb~eoastrued~auyuourt 0r a.0 State to be a remtgaatioa fmm hi5 off300 by the person eaterlag the ntulty 6mece of the state or Yational l3wsrmnsnts or that his office is ~a- ant by reason tberbof. Wee. 4. The Up0rtance of this leglslatioa and the fact that many 21&e aul Dletriat otiiaars or the state of Texas are enterhg tbe mllity semi00 or tme state azul or the united St&se, whose OW'%oes are tlllsd by sUb8titute5, e~mlss- ionero and special Judges amI Others, and tbat apedal appropriation to pay oacb petsons 90 fill- ing the offices of those in tbe ndlitarj servloe fe insufficient anri insdeguate and, further, it is impossible to aceuratel~ detsmlne or antloipate tbe amunte or 5uc.b apprepriati0n5, creates an eaer- gamy andan%mperatirepubfio neee5sit~ tbattbs Constitutional Bule reqmkrlng bills to be read 011 three several days in @+a& Bonse be onopended, and the said Rule15 hsrew raspended,and tbatth%s dot take effect from and a?Mr its passage, and at is so taMBted.* Obviously, this Act oontemplates tbat the war- rant to a Special District Judge, whether for salary or expensea, is to be paid frm the appropriation for Ms- triot Judges. Your inquiry is liudted to the matter of war- rauts in payrzeut 0r sontbly expense accOunt8. Tbe expenses allowed te a District Judge are pro- vided for in Article 0820 , of th0 Revisal Civil Statutes, as follows8 sAl1DistrietJudgee5 5 swbes engaged in tha disohsrge Of their effkcial duties in any county of this State otba than the oormty of their residsnce, shall be allarod their actual aud noeessary expeuses while actually engaged in the discharge oS socb tit&es, not to exoeed @.oo per day for hotel bills, aail Pot to exoeed 4 a mile rhea traveling w rallroad aud no I to exoaed 20# a mile wheu traveling hy private oouveyauoe, in going to sad returaing Prom tbe plaoe where such duties are disctlmrg~, traw3ling by the neasest praoti- cai route. 2uoh 5fflo5rs shall also roaeive the actual and necessary postage, tolerpaph arm telephone expenscls incurred by them in tbe actual disoharge or their duties.* DOS, uuder tbe provisions of gcotioa 1 of 8. B. Do. 717, above quoted, tho waiver by the absent Mstrict Judge, aud therefore the authority to pay the Special Ms- trict Judge, is limited t.O~.rthopaymnt of his salary or pay or the esoluuzents of' hio said office. St does not contemplate expenses whatsoever by the absent District Judge, Por hoer course till have inourred none. In our Opinion No. O-454$ addressed to pw, under date of hpril 20, lW2, no add3ed as iolloast ****. Cc find no law nor prsotslea or itcu of uppropriation bill providiug rsr pay- mmt by t&e State of traveling expouses to IfonoraBle (ieo. Si. Sheppard - page 4 Special Dfstriot Jut&%. In the abaenee of a law so providing, you are net wfhoEieed to issue warrants for the payment of traveling ex- penses of Special D&strict Judgee.n drticle 6#&21 OP the Revised Civil statutes oavers the subjed of salaries of apwial judges, but it contains no provieioa for expenses of any kind. Itern 14 of the current bienalal appropriation for the Jidioiary se&ion - Comptroller*s Department -- is as follomSt 'Spealal Dietriot Judges' salaries and regular District Judgeat expeusee ohm hold- ing court out ot their dIntrIot," $VSOO.~ for eimh fisoal yeor. Thle approprirtien, whatever my be the amming thereof with rospeet to expezmes, can not aheage the sltua- tioo, SOr it %s thoroughlysettled that aa appoprlatlen may not ~oeast.ltutiormlZy rithcl~n~money f'rarn the treamry In tho abseuee of a prf?vlously exietiq law wthoridng tho game. (Coast., Art. III, sets. 44) Incidentally, we crall yeur attention to the faot that the oorrespom.Ung approprirtfon ior~the foFthotmdng bienxdum in Item 6 is preeloelf the same as in the current appropriation. Tram what we have s&d it iollora that haLther k. ii. Bo. VI?, nor any other statute whlah we have been able to find, authoriz6m the ieouance of a varraut w you to pp9 expenses of a 8peaial Dfetriot Judge.
Newegg.com - A great place to buy computers, computer parts, electronics, software, accessories, and DVDs online. With great prices, fast shipping, and top-rated customer service - once you know, you Newegg. If you are reading this message, Please click this link to reload this page.(Do not use your browser's "Refresh" button). Please email us if you're running the latest version of your browser and you still see this message. Cheap 03/04/2014 Other Thoughts: I have gone though 5 bases and I haven't even really used any of them for that long. The longest I had one last was 6 uses.The problems arewheel will not power on, wheel base shaft loose, makes grinding noise while turning the wheel, loses calibration wheel will be off center 30 degrees or more after a lap. This is so overpriced for what you get the rim is pure plastic and the pedals there''s no shifter or clutch pedal for $400. The thrustmaster t500rs with shifter is only $500 and it's a million times better than this plastic piece of garbage. But right now it's the only wheel for the xbox one. It's been out for 3 months now and they still haven't worked out the wheels problems. Hope that fanatec make a wheel for the xbox one soon. Do Not Buy!
UK media coverup: “White power” supermarket attacker is Muslim, wrote “The wrath of Allah is about to come down upon the kaffir” UPDATE June 25, 2015: Zak Ali has admitted to being a neo-Nazi white supremacist who was carrying out a “white power” attack. —– Last week, a young man named Zack Davies ran amok in a Tesco supermarket in north Wales. He attacked a Sikh, Sarandev Brahambra, with a hammer and a machete, leaving him with serious injuries. This story from the Mirror last week identifies the victim by name but describes him only as “Asian,” without ever saying he was Sikh, and also says: “The attacker was shouting ‘White power’, witnesses said, and detectives have confirmed the assault appeared to be racially-motivated.” So this was presented to the British public as a an attack by one of those right-wing racists that British authorities are much more concerned about than they are about Islamic jihadists, and this attack appeared to substantiate their concern. There’s just one catch: Zack Davies is a Muslim who calls himself Zak Ali, and who warned on his Facebook page on the morning of his attack in Tesco: “The wrath of Allah is about to come down upon the kaffir, I will have my revenge.” He also posted four Qur’an verses (identifying the suras as “books”) that call for violence against unbelievers: Book of Al-Anfal, verse 12 ( 8:12) – “I (Allah) will instill terror into the hearts of the unbelievers: smite ye above their necks and smite all their finger-tips off.” 5- Book of Al-Baqara, verse 191 (2:191) – “Kill them wherever you find them, and drive them out from wherever they drove you out.” 6- Book of Al-Baqara, verse 193 (2:193) – “Fight them on until there is no more tumult and religion becomes that of Allah” 7- Book of Al-Tawba verse 29 (9:29) – “Fight those who do not believe in Allah and the last day… and fight People of the Book, (Christian and Jews) who do not accept the religion of truth (Islam) until they pay tribute (Jizyah tax) by hand, being inferior.” The fact that Zak Ali is a Muslim who clearly believes in jihad against unbelievers doesn’t mean that this wasn’t a “white power” attack. As I have noted before, neo-Nazis have an affinity for Islam, based on their shared Jew-hatred. The British media, however, has not reported on the jihad aspect of this attack at all. Yet two reports strongly suggested that at least some British journalists know that the perpetrator was a Muslim, and are covering up that fact. The Mirror ran a photo of Zack Davies that appears on Zak Ali’s Facebook page — but it is remotely possible that they got it from somewhere else, and didn’t see Zak Ali’s page. Also, the Daily Post ran a story Monday with the headline, “Mold Tesco attack sparks fear in Sikhs across Wales.” Only Sikhs? But wasn’t this a “white power” attack against an “Asian,” which would mean that Muslims should be just as fearful as Sikhs? But neither this story nor any other says anything about Muslims being afraid after this “white power” assault on an “Asian” — a strong indication that the British media knows that the attacker was a Muslim, and are concealing this from the British public. “Community cohesion” must be preserved at all costs! “Mold Tesco: First picture of Zack Davies accused of ‘racially-motivated’ attempted murder of shopper,” by Luke Traynor and Steve Bagnall, Mirror, January 16, 2015 (thanks to Clayton for this link and for alerting me to the attacker’s Facebook page and identity): This is the first picture of a man accused of a racially-motivated attempt to kill an Asian customer who was shopping in a Tesco supermarket. Shoppers fled for their lives when Zack Davies, 25, allegedly ran amok on Wednesday afternoon, armed with a machete and a hammer in Mold, north Wales. Victim Sarandev Brahambra, 24, was left with ‘life-changing’ injuries after suffering deep cuts to the left hand, his back and the back of his head. He was seen being wheeled out of Tesco by paramedics towards an ambulance with thick bandages wrapped around his skull. The attacker was shouting ‘White power’, witnesses said, and detectives have confirmed the assault appeared to be racially-motivated. Rich Fay, 20, said: “It was chaotic. The staff told everyone to get out of the store “Everyone was bewildered, quite a few shoppers didn’t realise what was happening.” Davies appeared before magistrates in Wrexham today where was charged with attempted murder. He confirmed his name, address and date of birth before he was remanded in custody. Wearing a grey top with short cropped hair, he was flanked by two security guards as he stood in the dock. Comments “As I have noted before, neo-Nazis have an affinity for Islam, based on their shared Jew-hatred.” Based also on their color. (sarc/off) Did you know that Muhammad was…WHITE? “The Prophet passed through the lane of Khaibar quickly and my knee was touching the thigh of the Prophet . He uncovered his thigh and I saw the whiteness of the thigh of the Prophet.” (Bukhari 1.8.367) Great news- now i can insult this asshole without being called racist. The most funny thing maybe ,that black muslims who converted from christianity(because it’s according to them a white religion) to islam is now a jump from the frying pan into the fire converting to a religion that enslaved them(and castrated them all//death rate 80%)for 1400 years was created by a white arab supremacist 🙂 (as i know at least two ,maybe three of the 4 califs had white skin either.Seems to me more like an arab clu clux clan-just less tolerant ) “Islam is the religion of peace.” “Muslims are the best of people.” “Muslim extremists are a very small minority” “The sun sets in a muddy puddle in the West” “The mountains are pegs that hold the land in place” “Mohammed was white” Yeah. After a bit, any statement made by a mohammedan (Bukhari in this case) starts to sound suspect. In this case Mohammed’s thigh probably looked white because of the dried semen left from his latest encounter with Aisha. Actually, Bukhari was conscientious and honest. Christopher Hitchens wrote that of the 300,000 proposed hadiths that Bukhari had to evaluate for authenticity, Bukhari immediately rejected 200,000 of them as obviously worthless. In the end, Bukhari accepted only 20,000 of the remaining 100,000 as canonical. Now, one is free to believe, as Muslims do, that Bukhari was 100% accurate, and that everything he rejected was chaff and that everything he accepted was all wheat. One can believe this, but it would be an unprovable and unfalsifiable belief. It would be nothing more than an act of faith. To say Bukhari is inerrant would be an act of faith. To say Bukhari was a conscientious if biased collector of tradition is… pretty much what I’d say. I think Muslim bin al-Hajjaj the Nishapuri was better at it, myself, but that’s just me. Both Muslim and Bukhari were men of old Central Asia. Both were probable racial Soghdians. Northern Iranians. THEY were white men, with a little Asian. I’ve seen photos of late 1800s Bukhara; many of those guys looked exactly like me. So maybe the hadiths which say Mo was white were part of the anti-Arab shu’ubiya. This movement was strongest in newly-Islamicised Persia, as part of the ‘Abbasid revolution. Man, I am never going to win. I can literally count on one hand the few web sites that are functional with decent print functions. Unfortunately JW isn’t one of them. Anyway…. ….regarding Bukhari: Questions for Muslims 12-20-14 “What the horn is to the rhinoceros, what the sting is to the wasp, the Mohammedan faith is to the Arabs of the Sudan-a faculty of offence. All the warlike operations of Mohammedan peoples are characterised by fanatacism” Winston Churchill “While Hindus, Sikhs, Christians, Parsees and Jews, along with several million adherents of an animistic religion, all coexisted in relative harmony, one religion that would not accept compromise stood out from the rest: Islam.” Mahatma Gandhi About three years ago I ordered some reading material, including Taha’s “Second Message”, and a “study” Koran to find out what this “Islam thing” was all about. When I was sixteen I was chanting nam yo ho renge kyo to a piece of paper, (gahonzen?), having NO idea what I was doing. A few years later, hair down to my ass and a knapsack on my back, I hitchhiked cross country, got saved in Nashville Tenn. and went to live on a Christian farm in Mansfield Ohio. (Not the prison.) My gra’mom called me a “seeker”. As I said, there came a time when I wanted to understand this “religion of peace”. It was Humaid’s article on jihad I found in my Summarized Bukhari that decided “things” for me. “we may describe it, (jihad), as a surgeon’s lancet and not a butcher’s knife.” Mahmoud Mohammed Taha (I’m sure there are about 200 million dead people that would disagree with him. And this from the guy who’s been called the Mahatma Ghandi of Islam.) Question for Muslims 12-20-14 Jihad in the Qur’an and Sunnah by ‘Abdullâh bin Muhammad bin Humaid (Isn’t that interesting: I had two links to this article that no longer work. In any case, Google it. It should be easy to find) If Islam is the “religion of peace”, where in Sheikh Abdullah bin Humaid’s article on jihad can I find the equivalent of “Love Thy Neighbor” and “good will toward men”? Explain its prominence, and significance almost as an “Introduction”, in a book, (my Summarized Sahih Al-Bukhari published by Dar-Us-Salam), that’s described as “the most authentic and true among the books of the Prophet” Compare Humaid’s “jihad” and Emmet Fox’ Sermon on the Mount and tell me which one best represents a spirit of Love and “compassion” and tell me…. ….Why, out of all the articles, out of all the words of pearly Muslim wisdom they could have put in this, “the most authentic and true among the books of the Prophet”, this is the one they chose to submit and use almost as an Introduction? Also address “jihad” as it’s defined in Reliance of the Traveller and answer the same question. (Chapter O-9.0: Jihad O: “Jihad means to war against non-Muslims, and is etymologically derived from the word mujahada signifying warfare to establish the religion.” And explain why the “greater” jihad is only mentioned once here and never seen again in this “Classic Manual of Islamic Sacred Law”.) I’ve posted this many times to many Muslims and have yet to get a single response. Well, I did receive a response from some goofball named “Dr.” Mohsen El-Guindy asking me to read his books. Instead I downloaded a bunch of his articles. Which were pure rants. An Imam, sidestepped it by telling me I had to “study Islam” to gain a greater understanding. Question #3 for Our Muslim Friends: Why does Islam still practice slavery? (Jacob Prasch-You Tube video)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JhoXKg3dLK0 If you want a “supplement” to this video get Slavery, Terrorism and Islam by Peter Hammond. An /\ss Kicker. It utterly destroys Islam. Question #4 for Our Muslim Friends: Why does your holy book say the mother of Jesus and the sister of Moses are the same person? (Jacob Prasch-You Tube video) Hammond’s book answers this as well.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u1DT7Dqss5k Question #5 for Our Muslim Friends: Why has Islam never been able to deliver on the promise of ummah? The better question would be when he askes why is it that Democracies don’t fight each other yet Muslims slaughter other Muslims? (Jacob Prasch-You Tube video)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2jQARbiVp-g The Cliff Notes version of Islam 101 is this: 1. According to the Prophet Muhammad, the Quran represents the exact words of Allah as told to Muhammad by the Angel Gabriel. As such, no man can interpret what Allah has revealed (although at least 20% of the Quran makes no sense to scholars). 2. Any Muslim failing to believe what is written in the Quran and to comply with its teachings is an apostate-the punishment for which is death. Thus, the allegiance of all Muslims is to Allah and Muhammad’s teachings. 3. The Quran sanctions violence in order to impose Islam upon all non-Muslims. Such violence is detailed by Muhammad in the Quran, who even boasts therein about beheading hundreds of Jews who had voluntarily surrendered. 4. Every Muslim’s purpose in life is to work toward a global caliphate in which Islam reigns supreme-again using force where necessary. Africans call Arabs always white!Also the gypsies in east europe call us only whites(ok thats true but thats there name for us.So the”whites” call them blacks-and if you read the news the newspaper write it as it was racist-but thats are the names for hundred of years.) There is also something written in the Quran like-The good-the white i throb about my right shoulder and this became the whites….the bad the black i thro about my left shoulder..that became the blacks–this is also in islam to say tjats slavery is ok! Obama, and now French politicians, are pushing the idea that the Mohammedans are doing terrorism because they are not fully integrated into French, or English, or pick your society and more should be done to ensure it happens. Yet, we regularly see native converts to Mohammedanism doing the same acts as their coreligionists. Should we therefore conclude that attempts at integration or assimilation are not going to work? Aren’t natives by definition already integrated in their own society? The affinity between Nazism and Islam is a huge clue to the errant strain of psychopathology that has afflicted the world for centuries and now is festering again. The second clue to the true nature of Islam is it’s attractiveness to convicted criminals. A society that recognizes this should never allow the preaching of Islam within it’s prisons or the granting of any special privileges to Muslim prisoners. But we do and thus the problem grows, even attracting more converts due to those extra privileges. Yesterday on Breitbart I saw an article about a big explosion at a PEGIDA rally in Leipzig, Germany. Not a peep about it today and as far as I can tell the article from yesterday has been taken down. Was it a sham? Per this article, the left just keeps digging the grave for western society. They won’t learn until the knife is at their throats. I love my life. I live free in America. I may go to the Ocean and enjoy waves crashing one the shore. I may go to the hills, and climb a Mountain in the Adirondacks. We The People are Human. We have FREEDOM TO DECIDE FOR OURSELVES. there is NO NEED TO DISRESPECT THE MUSLIM PEOPLE WHO ARE BLESSED as we are BYTHAT IS MEAN/CONDESENDING/CONTROLLING/EVIL. THEY HAVE ENOUGH ON THEIR P LATES. While FREEDOM Is nonexistent with the evil extremist. They have so much stress to even be able to make the a smile of peace. I love my life. I live free in America. I may go to the Ocean and enjoy waves crashing one the shore. I may go to the hills, and climb a Mountain in the Adirondacks. We The People are Human. We have FREEDOM TO DECIDE FOR OURSELVES. there is NO NEED TO DISRESPECT THE MUSLIM PEOPLE WHO ARE BLESSED as we are BYTHAT IS MEAN/CONDESENDING/CONTROLLING/EVIL. ………………………………………. Muslims are instructed to believe just what this Jihad attacker believed and acted upon. The only reason you live free in America is because the Muslim population here is under 1%—and even here, we are increasingly subject to Jihad terror attacks. And the Muslim population is much higher in Britain, where pious Muslims are far more apt to launch violent Jihad attacks, as in the story here. And yet, Breezer would have us believe that it is “disrespectful” to point out the dangers of violent Islam. More: THEY HAVE ENOUGH ON THEIR P LATES. ………………………………………. Perhaps they should take this up with their violent corelgionists, and not with concerned Infidels. More: While FREEDOM Is nonexistent with the evil extremist. They have so much stress to even be able to make the a smile of peace. ………………………………………. They don’t “have stress”—instead, they are following the diktats of their vicious creed. Other people have to deal with stress—they seldom respond to it by violently attacking people of other faiths. And the reason freedom is nonexistent is Islam is not due to “stress”, but to the fact that freedom is deemed un-Islamic. Impossible to know whether Breezer is some sort of incredible naïf, or if he is instead a calculating Taqiyya artist. Ultimately, it may hardly matter. As I have stated elsewhwere, we will battling our own as well as against Muslims who are trying to impose Islam on us. During the Revolutionary War, American Colonists who supported the Revolution were a small number, about 5 – 12% of the total population of the Colonies. It was this small number who fought and won our freedoms. They still had to contend with British Loyalists who were approximately 50% or greater the number of Colonists that were against the Revolution and were content to follow whatever UK did. In other words, not only did the Revolutionists have to watch their backs with the British, they also had to watch out for their fellow Revolutionists. It is possible that the supermarket customers of Mold be not that well acquainted with cries of Islamic supremacism. The “-u Akbar” part of “Allahu Ackbar” can sound a little like “”White Power”: in a situation of great stress an shock the brain can supply a meaning. Heinrich Himmler, of course, was able to recruit an entire division of white Muslims for his Waffen-SS in Yugoslavia during Big Two. This was the 13th Mountain (Handschar) Division, whose slogan was “Handžaru udaraj!” (Handschar — strike!) Composed of Bosnian Muslims (ethnic Bosniaks) with SOME Catholic Croat soldiers and mostly German and Yugoslav Volksdeutsche (ethnic German) OFFICERS and NCOs, On 6 December 1942, Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler and key Waffen-SS recruiting officer SS-Obergruppenführer und General der Waffen-SS[a] Gottlob Berger approached Hitler with the proposal to raise a Bosnian Muslim SS division. Both the Wehrmacht and the Waffen-SS were concerned about the rapidly deteriorating security situation in the NDH that tied down German military personnel needed elsewhere.[6] The romantic notions that Himmler had about the Bosnian Muslims were probably significant in the division’s genesis.[11] He was personally fascinated by the Islamic faith and believed that Islam created fearless soldiers.[9] He found their ferocity preferable to the gentility of Christians and believed their martial qualities should be further developed and put to use.[11] He thought that Muslim men would make perfect SS soldiers as Islam “promises them Heaven if they fight and are killed in action.”[12] As for their ethnic background and SS requirements, it appears that Himmler accepted the theories advanced by both Croatian and German nationalists that the Croatian people, including the Muslims, were not ethnic Slavs but pure Aryans of either Gothic or Iranian descent.[9][13] ”But neither this story nor any other says anything about Muslims being afraid after this “white power” assault on an “Asian” — a strong indication that the British media knows that the attacker was a Muslim, and are concealing this from the British public. “Community cohesion” must be preserved at all costs!” In my opinion, this has nothing to do with ‘community cohesion’, neither is it really an attempt to conceal from the public the attacker was a mohammedan. This is nothing more than a cynical, gross, and blatant attempt to persuade people that we have nothing to fear **specifically** from mohammedans. That in fact, as we are constantly being told by various talking heads, government ‘leaders’, and lying, compromised and biased journalists, ‘islamist’ terrorism is just one facet of a whole conglomerate of global terrorism, which would include terrorism perpetrated by anyone, other than mohammedans. Who these perpetrators of terrorism, who are *not* mohammedans, is of course, not something they will come out and state, except in this instance, the attempt to slyly suggest we shouldn’t be afraid of mohammedan terrorists, because, hey, there’s some **white supremacists** out there ! The blatant cynicism, and even more blatant assumption, that we are all fools who will dance to their hands on the strings, makes me **vomit**. I have a feeling this fellow is a convert, since 1) he referred to anfal , taubah and baquari as “books” 2) which probably means he knows no arabic 3) which probably means that one can become a tad extremist by reading the english translation too Cheers Londonistan, There’s your wonderful english language at the service of those that which to “subjugate” you into a wonderful “Peace” Also his mosque probably has more fun news in there. Also the fact that he attacked a sikh refers to the deep ingrained hatred of the polythiests, which means 1) Islamists don’t believe in multiculturalism Sikhs are the defenders of Dharma, perhaps they’r stirring for their own demise by attacking them.(they’ve had good practice) Hope the Sikh guy recovers, they are a proud and noble people and the ones I’ve met are friendly and respectful of other religions. I’m not surprised about the journos lying an order was sent out from the Labour party and their affiliates the NUJ that all facts harmful to Islam should be covered up. I’d like to know why the obsession with supporting Israel – don’t you know your history? In 1948 Zionist terrorists blew up a hotel and killed 91 British soldiers. And they weren’t the only British squaddies to die at the hands of Zionists and yet all this support – treasonable imo. “Obsession”, eh? Why do you consider it an “obsession”? Personally, I support Israel because it’s a sliver of Western values in the midst of theocratic hellholes. “don’t you know your history? In 1948 Zionist terrorists blew up a hotel and killed 91 British soldiers.” Was it the same Zionists who formed the Jewish legion who fought alongside the British in WWI? In any case, I’m certain that more British soldiers were killed by Germans during WWI and WWII – should the British nowadays repudiate Germany because of it? You know what? Let’s go with your logic: British shouldn’t support Israel because Zionist terrorists killed 91 British soldiers. OK then, how many British citizens were killed and/or taken as slaves by the ottoman empire? You know, the imperialist, colonialist, genocidal nation that was broken down to Iran, Iraq, Jordain, etc? Should the British also stand against any nation that sometime during their history were a part of the ottoman empire? “And they weren’t the only British squaddies to die at the hands of Zionists and yet all this support – treasonable imo” I think you need to learn about the British mandate for Israel, what the British did and how the territory distributed – no wonder Zionists were pissed at the British. And once again, is support of Germany treacherous? The British fougth them in WWI and WWII. And what bout support of any nation that spawned from the ottoman empire? Is it treasonable as well? There is a new “buzz phrase” used by non-muslims to describe another non-muslims actions. It is slightly insulting but humorous. The phrase; What are you/ya, muslim? The term describes a person that is intolerant, easily offended, violent, stifles speech of others that they don’t want to hear, self righteous, superior attitude, whiner/complainer/want it their way/ play victim card, dress with no style or any other deviation from the norm. Robert Spencer FaceBook Page Robert Spencer Twitter Robert Spencer YouTube Channel Robert Spencer’s Free Speech Book Jihad Watch® is a registered trademark of Robert Spencer in the United States and/or other countries - Site Developed and Managed by Free Speech Defense Content copyright Jihad Watch, Jihad Watch claims no credit for any images posted on this site unless otherwise noted. Images on this blog are copyright to their respective owners. 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After two lawsuits, public debates and $97,500, Sahl Communications has left Northampton County's employ. After surviving a legal challenge and bipartisan criticism that it was a waste of taxpayer money, Northampton County's contract a with public relations firm ended Wednesday with little fanfare. Director of Administration Luis Campos confirmed the county's yearlong contract with Sahl Communications ended Wednesday. He and County Executive John Brown declined further comment on the topic. Brown hired the Bethlehem firm in February 2014 after some of his first initiatives in office met with vocal opposition. He withdrew his nomination of Robert Sletvold, the husband of county Judge Jennifer Sletvold, for chief public defender after council raised concerns it would create an appearance of impropriety. Around the same time, council railed against a proposed $715,200 contract Brown wanted to Four-Score LLC, an Emmaus financial consultant. After saying little publicly in his first month in office, Brown held his first news conference to fire back against the contract's detractors. Sahl Communications President Kim Plyler greeted reporters at the conference, and the county signed her firm to an $84,000 contract within a week. Plyler said Wednesday her business created an internal communications structure within the county, including a crisis communication plan. It also organized brown bag lunches where Brown would interact with employees, wrote the county's internal newsletter, created social media and held town hall meetings where Brown visited different parts of the county to hear from residents. Plyler said handling media inquiries was the most time-consuming part of the job. "We're very pleased to have had an opportunity to work with the county," she said. The Sahl Communications contract brought renewed criticism from other elected officials, and Controller Stephen Barron sued Brown to end the contract. Brown conceded he did not put the contract up for bid, forcing him to end the deal. After going through the proper procedures, Brown hired Sahl a second time, this time to a $76,500 contract. Barron, a Democrat, sued again, this time claiming Brown was breaking the deal into a piecemeal contract, an illegal maneuver in which a multi-year contract is broken into a series of one-year contracts to avoid oversight. Northampton County Judge Paula Roscioli discredited the argument, saying it didn't apply unless Brown tried to extend the contract a second year. Barron ultimately withdrew the second lawsuit. "It was a terrible waste of $97,500 of taxpayer dollars. I'm glad it's over. Honestly, anyone who gets paid to say no comment is not worth anything," Barron said Wednesday, totaling the amount Sahl received over the two contracts. Councilman Hayden Phillips, a Republican like Brown, opposed the contract, saying it was unnecessary use of taxpayer money. He hoped Brown would not do anything to legitimize Barron's concerns. "I think if John renews that, we would have to look at it and see it as piecemeal. That's what I'll be watching for," he said. Councilman Lamont McClure claimed in August that Brown was attempting to use the Sahl contract to further his own political agenda, not the county's. To bolster his claims, he produced emails showing Plyler asked if Brown planned on attending a fundraiser for former Gov. Tom Corbett, and that she encouraged him to meet with Bethlehem business owners. Brown denied the allegations, calling McClure's claims hollow and absurd. "That's a public good," McClure said when informed about the contract's end.
Makeover For Plaza May Be Bid January 12, 2014 WHEELING - It is the city's goal to have the long-awaited renovation of Market Plaza in downtown Wheeling out for bid sometime in March, City Manager Robert Herron said. Talk of sprucing up the plaza - which once was a hub of commercial activity downtown but today is home to only the Stone Center and a few other businesses - dates back to early 2009, but the city at that time didn't have the funds to complete the project. Plans developed last year by Hays Landscape Architect Studios at a cost of about $40,000 call for sidewalk repair, new brick work, landscaping and moving back the front wall of the plaza to create room for additional metered parking spaces. Though the project cost won't be known before bids are received, the city has set aside $500,000 from a 2011 Tax Increment Financing bond issue for upgrades to the plaza. Article Photos Photo by Ian HicksUpgrading Market Plaza in downtown Wheeling has been a topic of discussion among city officials for several years. City Manager Robert Herron hopes to bid the project in March. "The plaza has been a public space for many years, and it's in need of renovations," Herron said. "It will make that end of downtown much more attractive." City Council last week approved a $202,000 contract with Jarvis, Downing & Emch of Wheeling to install a new water line across the plaza, replacing an old line that was taken out of service several years ago. Herron couldn't recall exactly when the line last was used, but believes it was early in his tenure as city manager, which began in 2002. According to Herron, work to install the new waterline could begin by mid-February. The city already replaced several taps serving the plaza area this past summer. The cost of that work is being paid through the water department construction fund and is not included in the $500,000 available for the renovation project. Herron said the infrastructure upgrades will ensure the city can continue to pump water to the Stone Center and surrounding buildings in the event it has to shut down one of the main lines in the area. There are no major development projects in the works at the plaza, Herron said, but he noted activity at the Stone Center has increased of late with the recent move of Wheeling Jesuit University's physical therapy program into the building. Another tenant at the center, Williams Lea, recently announced plans to expand its operations - including hiring about 50 additional employees.
Befikre Directed by Aditya Chopra would be released on 9th December 2016, on the birthday of Aditya Chopra and Rani Mukherjee’s daughter Adira. You’ll have to wait some time for ‘Befikre Movie Official Trailer’ as it will be released on 06th july with Salman khan’s movie Sultan. Now Befikre First Look has been released only. After seven years of Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi (2008), Adi has decided to come for direction with sweet romantic movie, starring heartthrob Ranveer Singh and Vaani Kapoor in Befikre.
How Much Does It Cost To Hire a Freelance Web Designer in London, UK? Right this moment, there are 1.4 million people who work as freelancers in the United Kingdom. However, the standard rates for freelancers, especially web designers is still unknown to most people in the industry. Rates can depend on location as well as experience and quality of work needed by potential clients. However, one can ask, what they ought to pay for a full website? How would you get the best rates in terms of your business? Cost Calculations for Freelance Web Designing in London, UK Fortunately, this article is for those in need of information regarding the costs of web design as a whole. Please continue reading to learn more about it. Service prices are dependent upon price averages within each agency. These can only be used for estimates. To get accurate quote, contact your target designer. Why Should You Hire A Freelancer For Web Design in London? For Convenience Freelancers are usually hired for the sake of convenience. Getting someone who doesn’t need to sign an official contract to get the job done will have less complications and commitment from the company as compared to hiring a brand new employee. Individualized Services By working with a freelance website designer in London, UK, chances are you would be working with only a single person. This leads to a more personalized brand of service as well as the freelancer taking much of your wants and needs into consideration prior to beginning the project. This is a significant factor to consider especially when designing your very own business website. This is because it will be the first avenue for communication you will have with your potential clients. Variety of Skills Freelancers tend to have more skills and a variety of other talents to complement web design as compared to the typical agency designer which are more specialized in terms of skill. This because many freelancers do not stop learning new sets of abilities. Because of this, and they become more equipped to handle versatile design projects and customized websites. More Experience Freelancers have a wider range of experiences when it comes to web design as opposed to the common agency designer. Being able to work with different companies as well as varied sectors in society means more flexibility for the freelancer. Freelancers tend to run in the same circles as their colleagues.This means that they will be able to collaborate with others effectively in case they don’t know how to work on certain aspects of the project down the line. The Prospect of Aftercare Most agencies do offer aftercare services. However, once the site in question goes live, and when the entire project is essentially finished. This means that you are going to be most likely relegated to being a non-priority in terms of importance. You will not get this with a freelancer. They are always ready to help out whenever necessary. You can work with them on a short notice without much complaint. These benefits are all part of being individualized in terms of instruction and the help that they offer. Factors That Affect Freelancer Rates There are many known factors that can affect the amount of money that freelancers can ask for when it comes to charging for projects. If you are a freelancer, these factors can help you figure out how much you should charge per project. Here they are as follows: 1. What You Want When planning the website design, you should be aware of what the client wants as opposed to what you want to put into the site. You can do a simple design or something that can add additional pizzazz to the website. If you choose to do the former, expect a lower amount of payment as soon as the project is finished. A website with far more value in terms of design such as business functionality, the number of pages involved or created and overall design scheme can definitely provide you with a much higher income opportunity. In the same manner, a website with an HTML5 algorithm with many of the dynamic and responsive content elements will surely cost more than a simply designed website that has a content manager. The freelancer should be appraised of the situation right away. Be aware of what you want can save you time and money both as a freelancer and a client. 2. The Project Length Would you need a simple fix or a complete overhaul of the website? These will of course vary in cost. If you have a larger project at hand, it would be best to have been agreed upon amount right off the bat. This way, you will not end up paying extra for additional hours in case the project goes over the deadline. Skills and Level of Experience Just like with other industries, the freelancer skills and experience in the field can change the amount of money they charge for the project. You should expect to pay lower for junior designers and higher for more experienced professionals. 1. Tax Being self-employed, you have to be aware of how to pay your taxes effectively. This will sometimes affect a client’s costing if a freelancer suddenly decides to increase his fee just to meet the tax demands and increase his overall pay at the same time. This is pretty common however, for both clients and freelancers. They have to be aware of this especially if the company is working with a strict budget. 2. Price Generally speaking, the rates for an independent web design entity is much lower than a larger company. This is because of the greater overhead cost of working with an organization. Hourly Traditionally speaking, freelancers are paid by the hour until the project is done. However, this has been proven to be quite costly especially with the increasing numbers of extra hours piling up as a project goes on. This holds true if revisions are constantly needed because of unsatisfactory results. The cost of potential revisions as well as edits and additional changes should be added up before reaching an agreement for the hourly rates. Daily If you want to hire a freelancer who can work with you directly in the physical sense, be prepared to be charged daily. However, many web designers choose to work from home in their own space. Searching for someone to be physically present can end up adding more costs per project because freelancers wouldn’t know how your company works from the inside. They will need Internet access and additional firewall privileges. They can become a nuisance for your team. These factors may become hindrances to the success of the project in terms of progress which can therefore cost you more money. The Costing: Freelance Web Designing 1. Project Based This is one of the safest ways for you to pay a freelancer. When trying to look for a web designer, you should consider the size of your future website. For a larger jobs, freelancers can charge for the whole project. This may seem more expensive at first but eventually, the client will see how they can save more money by doing this compared to paying an hourly rate. With project-based payments, you won’t have to pay for overtime. You will also have a much better upfront rate for the whole package. Per Page This is slightly less common compared to hourly payments. It is also often connected with larger web design projects. As a freelancer, you would have to be paid for each page that you do. This means bigger payments for larger websites and much smaller fees for similarly sized pages as well. Oftentimes, you have to pay for the whole project if you have a website with a lot of pages. You can pay hourly rates for smaller jobs. What Is The Expected Payment For Freelancers? Depending on the web designer, they may offer you an hourly structure in terms of payment or a full package proposal aligned with specific objectives. Hourly rates may vary as well. A fledgling web designer can go as low as £20 per hour while an experienced designer may go as high as £50 to £75. Package prices for website delivery begin with low hundreds and can reach up to thousands of pounds. It depends on the complexity of the project and your requirements as a client. You should discuss this with your preferred provider. Finding the right fit in terms of web development companies could be extremely tricky. Fortunately, you can use this handy instructional article to find the best within the United Kingdom.
Terrain Stamps for Gaia Vol 3 Desert Areas The Desert Area terrain stamps pack is perfect for adding to your Gaia stamp collection for stamping desert areas into your terrain. This pack contains 11 stamps perfect for areas in your game similar to both southwestern United States and Middle East desert type environments. Description The Gaia Desert Areas Stamp Pack contains terrain stamps used by the Gaia stamping system to stamp features to your Unity terrains. Desert Areas is a collection of 11 stamps of areas containing a mostly flat or gently rolling terrain captured from deserts of the southwestern United States. Some have small hill features while others have mountain areas bordering at least one of the stamp’s edges. Testing was done with both Manufactura K4’s Middle-East pack (for an Afghanistan type desert) and Philipp Schmidt’s Big Environment Pack 3 desert textures, trees, cactus, and grasses (for a southwestern US type desert). Related Third Party Assets Used in Screenshots Related Related Screenshots Click on the image to cycle through our screenshot gallery of terrains made with stamps in this pack. Related Changelog Stamps Pack Vol 3 – Version 1.0.2 June 12, 2016 – Added updated Gaia eXtension (GX) script which includes the ability to play the session files which were created when the stamps were originally tested so you can have the exact same terrains as shown in the pack’s screenshots. Related Stamps Pack Vol 3 – Version 1.0.1 March 28, 2016 Updated Gaia extension script with a change that was made in stamps pack volume 1 but was missed in this pack along with volume 2 and the sampler pack which would cause errors when creating a standalone build. Related Stamps Pack Vol 3 – Version 1.0.0 March 15, 2016 Initial Release Related Related 1 review for Terrain Stamps for Gaia Vol 3 Desert Areas Rated 5 out of 5 Scott (verified owner)–March 21, 2016 These are a must have addition to Gaia. Simple to use and fantastic stamps. Only logged in customers who have purchased this product may leave a review.
using Engine.Exceptions; using Engine.Model.Client; using Engine.Model.Common.Entities; using OpenAL; using System; using System.Collections.Generic; using System.Security; using System.Threading; namespace Engine.Audio.OpenAL { public sealed class OpenALPlayer : MarshalByRefObject, IPlayer { #region fields private readonly object _syncObject = new object(); private bool _disposed; private AudioContext _context; private Dictionary<UserId, SourceDescription> _sources; #endregion #region nested types private class SourceDescription { public int Id { get; private set; } public long LastPlayedNumber { get; set; } [SecurityCritical] public SourceDescription(int soueceId) { Id = soueceId; } [SecurityCritical] public ALFormat GetFormat(SoundPack pack) { if (pack.Channels != 2 && pack.Channels != 1) throw new ArgumentException("channels"); if (pack.BitPerChannel != 8 && pack.BitPerChannel != 16) throw new ArgumentException("bitPerChannel"); if (pack.Channels == 1) return pack.BitPerChannel == 8 ? ALFormat.Mono8 : ALFormat.Mono16; else return pack.BitPerChannel == 8 ? ALFormat.Stereo8 : ALFormat.Stereo16; } } #endregion #region constructor [SecurityCritical] public OpenALPlayer(string deviceName = null) { if (string.IsNullOrEmpty(deviceName) || IsInited) return; Initialize(deviceName); } #endregion #region properties public bool IsInited { [SecuritySafeCritical] get { return Interlocked.CompareExchange(ref _context, null, null) != null; } } public IList<string> Devices { [SecuritySafeCritical] get { try { return AudioContext.AvailableDevices; } catch (Exception) { return new List<string>(); } } } #endregion #region methods [SecurityCritical] private void Initialize(string deviceName) { try { lock (_syncObject) { _sources = new Dictionary<UserId, SourceDescription>(); if (string.IsNullOrEmpty(deviceName)) deviceName = AudioContext.DefaultDevice; if (!AudioContext.AvailableDevices.Contains(deviceName)) deviceName = AudioContext.DefaultDevice; _context = new AudioContext(deviceName); } } catch (Exception e) { if (_context != null) _context.Dispose(); _context = null; ClientModel.Logger.Write(e); throw new ModelException(ErrorCode.AudioNotEnabled, "Audio player do not initialized.", e, deviceName); } } [SecuritySafeCritical] public void SetOptions(string deviceName) { if (IsInited) { Stop(); _context.Dispose(); } Initialize(deviceName); } [SecuritySafeCritical] public void Enqueue(UserId id, long packNumber, SoundPack pack) { if (!IsInited) return; lock (_syncObject) { SourceDescription source; if (!_sources.TryGetValue(id, out source)) { int sourceId = AL.GenSource(); source = new SourceDescription(sourceId); _sources.Add(id, source); } if (source.LastPlayedNumber > packNumber) return; source.LastPlayedNumber = packNumber; int bufferId = AL.GenBuffer(); AL.BufferData(bufferId, source.GetFormat(pack), pack.Data, pack.Data.Length, pack.Frequency); AL.SourceQueueBuffer(source.Id, bufferId); if (AL.GetSourceState(source.Id) != ALSourceState.Playing) AL.SourcePlay(source.Id); ClearBuffers(source, 0); } } [SecuritySafeCritical] public void Stop(UserId id) { if (!IsInited) return; lock (_syncObject) { SourceDescription source; if (!_sources.TryGetValue(id, out source)) return; Stop(source); _sources.Remove(id); } } [SecuritySafeCritical] public void Stop() { if (!IsInited) return; lock (_syncObject) { foreach (SourceDescription source in _sources.Values) Stop(source); _sources.Clear(); } } [SecurityCritical] private void Stop(SourceDescription source) { int count; AL.GetSource(source.Id, ALGetSourcei.BuffersQueued, out count); ClearBuffers(source, count); AL.DeleteSource(source.Id); } [SecurityCritical] private void ClearBuffers(UserId id, int input) { SourceDescription source; if (!_sources.TryGetValue(id, out source)) return; ClearBuffers(source, input); } [SecurityCritical] private void ClearBuffers(SourceDescription source, int count) { if (_context == null) return; int[] freedbuffers; if (count == 0) { int buffersProcessed; AL.GetSource(source.Id, ALGetSourcei.BuffersProcessed, out buffersProcessed); if (buffersProcessed == 0) return; freedbuffers = AL.SourceUnqueueBuffers(source.Id, buffersProcessed); } else freedbuffers = AL.SourceUnqueueBuffers(source.Id, count); AL.DeleteBuffers(freedbuffers); } #endregion #region IDisposable [SecuritySafeCritical] public void Dispose() { if (_disposed) return; _disposed = true; if (_context != null) { Stop(); _context.Dispose(); } } #endregion } }
A welcome reception is planned on Sunday, January 26, at 1 p.m., for the Rev. Willie L. McDaniel, the new pastor of Curry Temple C.M.E. Church, 322 West Rosecrans Avenue in Compton. Ordained in 1984 as an elder, Pastor McDaniel has led several C.M.E. parishes including Carter Temple in Dallas, TX; Central Metropolitan in Jacksonville, FL; and St. Stephen in Fairfield, CA.Locally, he served as pastor at Amos Temple in Riverside, Warren Chapel in San Pedro, and St. Mark in Los Angeles. Pastor McDaniel earned a Bachelor’s degree at Southern University, Master’s degree at CSU – Dominguez and completed doctoral studies at Trinity Theological Seminary.Among his awards and honors are Northern California Pastor of the Year in 2002 and Southern California Pastor of the Year in 1996. A member of the Public Administrator’s Honor Society, Pastor McDaniel worked more than 20 years as a municipal executive in Los Angeles, San Francisco and Dallas.He is married to Mrs. Patricia Rowe McDaniel and they are the parents of two adult children. For information on the reception, call Dorothy McMillan at (310) 631-5265.
Description: Been wearing this hair for 1 month with length just touching my shoulders. Doesn't tangle a lot. Used a latch hook to crochet it in, if not anchored right and pieces of hair aren't small enough the knots do slip and it sheds. Overall I like it though. Rating: "Love this Hair!" Shalonda on 5/15/2017 3:20:23 PM Description: The hair is very soft and doesn't have that shiny fake hair look either. So far I've noticed it's tangle free which is a definite plus! I can't wait to try a different pattern. Also the seller is great received my hair within 2 days.. thank you again I will definitely order again! Rating: "Best synthetic hair ever" Shirley G... on 3/12/2017 8:15:44 PM Description: I've watched so many reviews concerning this hair so I decided to try it, and they all were right thus is the BEST synthetic hair I've ever purchased n life and thats not joke. It looks natural, it's soft and it hasn't tangle at all. Now I have my style cut n a Bob so maybe that's the reason, I would assume if worn long it would tangle at the nape of the neck. Otherwise I'm very pleased and will definitely purchase this product again. Oh from the looks of it more than myself is crazy about cause... More details Rating: "Absolutely Love It!" S.P. on 2/13/2017 10:16:49 PM Description: I purchased the Kima Ocean Wave hair and I absolutely love it! The hair is soft and easy to care for. I bought 1B hair and the color is great. I will be buying this hair again. Rating: "Impressive" Debra on 1/21/2017 6:09:53 AM Description: You will be impressed with this hair. It looks very natural and soft realistic although it is synthetic. We used it for a crochet hair style and it looks beautiful. I will definitely purchase more.
#ifndef __CONCRETE_PRODUCT_1_H__ #define __CONCRETE_PRODUCT_1_H__ #include "product.h" struct concrete_product_1 { struct product product; }; void concrete_product_1_init(struct concrete_product_1 *); #endif /* __CONCRETE_PRODUCT_1_H__ */
Articles Master of Arts in History Six Causes of World War I The First World War began in the summer of 1914, shortly after the assassination of the Austria’s Archduke, Franz Ferdinand, and lasted more than four years, ending in 1918. The Great War left more than 20 million soldiers dead and 21 million more wounded, which can be attributed to trench warfare and the amount of countries involved in the war. For aspiring historians, understanding the causes of World War I are equally as important as understanding the conflict’s devastating effects. Though the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand was the direct precipitating event leading to the declaration of war, there were many other factors that also played a role in leading up to World War I (WWI). European Expansionism In the 1900s, several European nations had empires across the globe, where they had control over vast swaths of lands. Prior to World War I, the British and French Empires were the world’s most powerful, colonizing regions like India, modern-day Vietnam and West and North Africa. The expansion of European nations as empires (also known as imperialism) can be seen as a key cause of World War I, because as countries like Britain and France expanded their empires, it resulted in increased tensions among European countries. The tensions were a result of many colonies often being acquired through coercion. Then, once a nation had been conquered, it was governed by the imperial nation: many of these colonial nations were exploited by their mother countries, and dissatisfaction and resentment was commonplace. As British and French expansionism continued, tensions rose between opposing empires, including Germany, Austria-Hungary and the Ottoman Empire, leading to the creation of the Allied Powers (Britain and France) and Central Powers (Germany, Austria-Hungary and the Ottoman Empire) during World War I. Serbian Nationalism Nationalism was one of many political forces at play in the time leading up to World War I, with Serbian nationalism in particular, playing a key role. Serbian nationalism can be dated to the mid- and late-1800s, though two precipitating nationalism events are directly linked to the start of WWI. In the Balkans, Slavic Serbs sought independence from Austria-Hungary and the Ottoman Empire, and in 1878, they tried to gain control of Bosnia and Herzegovina to form a unified Serbian state. With the decline of the Ottoman Empire, Serbian nationalism continued to rise, culminating in the assassination of the Archduke of Austria in 1914 by a Bosnian Serb and officially triggering the start of the Great War. Assassination of Franz Ferdinand On June 28, 1914, the Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria was assassinated by Gavrilo Princip. Ferdinand was chosen as a target because he was to be the heir of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. On the day of his assassination, the Archduke traveled to Sarajevo to inspect imperial armed forces in Bosnia and Herzegovina, former Ottoman territories acquired by Austria-Hungary in 1908. While Ferdinand was traveling in an open car in Sarajevo, Princip fired into the car, shooting Ferdinand and his wife Sophie. Following the assassination, Austria-Hungary issued an ultimatum to Serbia, which was rejected and led Austria-Hungary to declare war against Serbia, with German support. Russia then came to Serbia’s defense, therefore initiating the First World War. Conflicts over Alliances In the age of imperialism prior to World War I, countries throughout Europe had created alliances. The alliances promised that each country would support the other if war every broke out between an ally and another Great Power. Prior to WWI, the alliances of Russia and Serbia; France and Russia; Germany, Italy and Austria-Hungary; Britain, France and Belgium; France, Britain and Russia; and Japan and Britain were firmly in place. The alliance, between France, Britain and Russia, formed in 1907 and called the Triple Entente, caused the most friction among nations . Germany felt that this alliance surrounding them was a threat to their power and existence. As tensions continued to rise over alliances, the preexisting alliances fed into other countries declaring war against one another in the face of conflict. These conflicts over alliances — which forced nations to come to the defense of one another — led to the formation of the two sides of World War I, the Allied and Central Powers. By the start of the war, Italy and the United States entered on the side of the Allied Powers, which consisted of Russia, France and Great Britain. The Central Powers, alternately, consisted of Germany, Austria-Hungary, the Ottoman Empire and Bulgaria. The Blank Check Assurance: Conspired Plans of Germany and Austria-Hungary The alliance between Germany and Austria-Hungary at the start of World War I is also commonly known as the “blank check assurance.” In July 1914, during a meeting between members of the Austrian Foreign Ministry, the Ambassador to Berlin, the German Emperor and the German Chancellor, Germany offered Austria-Hungary unconditional support in the wake of the assassination of Franz Ferdinand. This “blank check,” via unconditional support, sought military and political triumph in securing the Balkans. It also gave Austro-Hungarian leaders the confidence needed to embark on war against Serbia. Today, historians regard it as one of the most controversial decisions in the history of modern warfare, particularly because Germany failed to withdraw the unconditional support when given the opportunity. It is also widely recognized as one of the main reasons Germany is seen as responsible for the escalation and continuation of World War I. Germany Millenarianism – Spirit of 1914 Millenarianism is a belief held by a religious, political or social group or movement that a coming major transformation will occur, after which all things will be changed. For Germany, leading into World War I, historians report that the Spirit of 1914 was high, with support from the German population for participation in the war. The German government believed that the onset of war and its support of Austria-Hungary was a way to secure its place as a leading power, which was supported by public nationalism and further united it behind the monarchy. The success Germans saw in the opening battles of WWI provided a platform for the German government to position itself as able to accomplish more when unified and nationalistic. However, this millenarianism was short-lived, as Germany was unprepared to fight the long war, which took a dramatic and demoralizing toll on its people and later set the stage for the rise of the Third Reich, less than two decades later. Following the events above, World War I moved into full force from 1914 through 1918, ending when peace was brokered between the German and Central Forces and the Allied Powers with the signing of the Treaty of Versailles on November 11, 1918. However, this treaty forced punitive measures on Germany that further destabilized Europe and laid the groundwork for the start of World War II. By understanding the causes of World War I, historians can develop a keen comprehension of how and why this devastating conflict began. Learn More Norwich University is an important part of American history. Established in 1819, Norwich is a nationally recognized institution of higher education, the birthplace of the Reserve Officers’ Training Corps (ROTC), and the first private military college in the United States. With Norwich University’s online Master of Arts in History program, you can enhance your awareness of differing historical viewpoints while developing the skills needed to refine your research, writing, analysis, and presentation skills. The program offers two tracks – American History and World History, allowing you to tailor your studies to your interests and goals.
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If you’re not already getting your bimonthly issues of Urban Farm, you’re missing out on the guide on how to be more self-sufficient by growing some of your own food and treading lightly on the environment in the space you have. Articles include how-to projects, gardening basics, composting, beekeeping, roof-top gardening, preserving and freezing, and time and money-saving ideas. Subscribe today -- 1 year (6 issues) as low as $15.00.
And here is what we did to finish them off and how they look filled to overflowing with flowers and plants. These are the type of planters we get at our local tree nursery. The smallest we used for this project are about 10 gallon size and the largest are about 25 gallon size. The big ones measure about 24" across the top. We did not sand the boards. We just cut them to length. On the bigger planters we wedged each board under the top rim then used the brad nailer to attach each board. We also spaced the boards closer together at the bottom than the top to allow for the taper in the planters. Here is one of the biggest 25 gallon planters. It took a bit of finagling and mitering, but The Welding Man added a nice, neat frame to the top rim. It finishes it off quite nicely! I like the natural wood look but on a whim added a bit of dry brushing with the trim color from our deck. The Walker's Low Catmint fills this pot to overflowing with purple flowers all summer long. I like it alot! Here is a comparison of natural wood and dry brushed planters. For my garden I prefer the painted look! I checked online on the expected longevity of these plastic pots. Since they are made for commercial nurseries they have a high UV tolerance rating. They are made to last for years. That is good to know. We have several more pots and a bunch of pallets ready for more planters. I've already bought new rosebushes so we better get to it. And the best thing about this project? The plastic planters are less than $6 each, even for the biggest ones. About Me I've always been creative and even my current treatment for breast cancer has only slowed me down, not stopped me. At this time in my life I finally have my own craft studio where I can paint, sew, draw, crochet, design, quilt, you name it. I am creatively curious and I won't let my chemo stop me!
Thursday, January 19, 2006 Well not all was perfect for Reese Witherspoon the night of the Golden Globes. It happens that Kirsten Dunst wore the exact same dress in 2003 at a Golden Globes' after party. For more information go to ETonline I went last night to a press screening here in Kansas City for the movie "Match Point" the most recent film from writer and director Woody Allen. I was completely blown away... It is an excellent film!The performances of the whole cast of actors is absolutely amazing, especially Jonathan Rhys-Meyers and Scarlett Johansson.If you have the opportunity to see this film please do so, it will be worth it I assure you.Did I mention that there is a little scene with Jonathan wearing very sexy white boxer briefs? Tuesday, January 17, 2006 I've never been as happy as last night when all the actors and actresses that I wanted to win, actually won! And to make things better Ang Lee won the Golden Globe Award as best director for "Brokeback Mountain". Monday, January 16, 2006 A few days ago I sent an email to Steph and Alek, the guys that created the blog OhLaLaParis. This weekend I got an email from them with some feedback to make my blog better. I just wanted to say THANK YOU VERY MUCH for taking the time to look at my blog, for writing back and for your suggestions... you guys are the kings! Doing my morning web search for interesting things to post in my blog I found this photos for the Fashion Rio Fall Winter 2006 show. This took place on Saturday, January 14, 2006 in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. The clothes are part of Complexo B's collection.Cute angels don't you think?The pictures are from Yahoo News (AP and Reuters) About Gay Life Advocate.com Daily News Gay.com News Headlines Gay Republic Daily GayWired.com Note: KC Rosa claims no credit for any images featured on this site unless otherwise noted. All visual content is copyright to its respectful owners. KC Rosa is in no way responsible for, or has control of, the content of any external web site links. Information on this site may contain errors or inaccuracies; the site's proprietor does not make warranty as to the correctness or reliability of the site's content. If you own rights to any of the images, and do not wish them to appear here, please contact me and they will be promptly removed.
Channels Services Amarok 2.4.3 brings updated UI The Amarok project has released version 2.4.3 of its open source music player. The release was originally intended to be 2.4.2 but the developers skipped that version due to technical problems. Version 2.4.3 brings updates to Amarok's visual design: the status bar has been removed from the bottom of the application window in favour of "more focused notifications up top, or where they make the most sense". New visual effects have been added. Amarok 2.4.3 on Windows 7 Source: amarok.kde.org Dynamic playlists are easier to understand and more reliable, and Collections now support drag-and-drop. Other changes include fixes for some of the online services, the ability to configure the names of podcast episodes, automatic lyrics scrolling and various bug fixes. The developers say that, meanwhile, students participating in this year's Google Summer of Code (GSoC) and Season of KDE (SoK) events have been working "in git branches" on Amarok Mobile and podcast integration with Gpodder.net. More details about the update can be found in the official release announcement. Amarok 2.4.3 is available to download from the project's site. Amarok is licensed under version 2 of the GNU General Public Licence (GPLv2).
NEW DELHI: Slamming resolution of opposition parties against the Citizenship Amendment Act, Union minister Ravi Shankar Prasad on Monday said Pakistan must be happy over the move and asserted that the new law exposes Islamabad's “barbaric treatment” of minorities. “Opposition unity stands exposed as major parties like SP, BSP, TMC and AAP kept away (from a meeting convened by Congress chief Sonia Gandhi ). The resolution is neither in national interest nor in the interest of security. It is also not in the interest of those minorities who fled neighbouring countries to escape persecution,” Prasad told reporters. Congress and 19 other opposition parties passed a resolution on Monday, demanding that the amended citizenship law be withdrawn and process of National Population Register (NPR) immediately stopped, asserting that it was all part of an “unconstitutional package” that targeted poor people, SC/STs and minorities. Prasad said Congress is ready to stoop to any level against Prime Minister Narendra Modi . “Today Congress stands with the gang of tukde-tukde and urban Maoists. I am making an unambiguous allegation that Congress is inciting violence in the country,” he said. The minister said Congress should explain what is the reality about the state of the minorities in Pakistan and Bangladesh. “Rahul Gandhi and Sonia Gandhi should explain whether most of the people facing persecution on religious lines in Pakistan and Bangladesh were poor and Dalit or not?” he asked. Prasad said opposition is making baseless allegations that the bill was passed in a hurry as he added, “The bill was debated in both Houses for two days after which it was passed through voting. Now it is being alleged that the bill was passed in a huff.” Taking a dig at the absence of several key opposition parties from Monday’s meeting, he said, “The so-called resolution was passed after meeting of 19 parties. However, BSP, SP, AAP and TMC were not present in the meeting and their absence exposes the opposition unity.” BJP leader GVL Narasimha Rao took a dig at P Chidambaram for opposing CAA, saying that the former finance minister had brought his level of intellect at par with that of Rahul Gandhi . Chidambaram asked the Prime Minister to have a televised Q and A session over the CAA. The former Union minister alleged that Modi is reluctant to take questions over the Act, which has triggered widespread protests across the country. "Sonia Gandhi, Rahul Gandhi and Chidambaram are telling lies about CAA and misleading people and country," he added. "When Pakistan is being exposed in the world for persecuting minorities, those opposing CAA are furthering Pakistan's point of view," Rao said.
We left St. John's and headed south, stopping at Ferryland to take in the scenery. We were headed for St. Vincent, at the bottom of the Avalon peninsula. In St. Vincent, the water drops off deeply just off shore, and it's a popular place to watch whales, since they come in very close to shore. Only thing is, it's almost always hidden in a dense fog. We go to St. Vincent every time we are in Newfoundland, but it's always been so foggy we couldn't even see the beach, let along the water, or any whales. But today is it was clear and sunny! Locals were coming to the beach to watch the whales, and they said it was the first clear day in two weeks. Unfortunately the pain in my knee had gotten so bad that I couldn't put any weight on my leg at all, so I was stuck in the RV, watching from the window. Seabirds were diving for the caplin (small fish that the whales come here for), and they are very entertaining to watch. The birds would fly high, then dive straight down, folding their wings in close just before hitting the water with a huge splash. There were even a few whales, but they were next to impossible to photograph. Where you able to see the whales from the camper? And what type of whale were they please? That first photo is gorgeous by the way. Reply Martha 8/15/2016 04:14:29 pm Yes, they were humpback whales. There weren't that many - maybe three or four. Mostly you just saw their back fins as they skimmed the surface for air, but three times I saw one do a lateral dive, and then their tails came way up out of the water. I think it was still a bit early in the season for whales though, as the caplin had just arrived. One of the locals told Jan that there's a famous wildlife photographer who comes every year, and has been able to take the most amazing photos, especially of the whales breaching (jumping right up out of the water) Now that truly would be a sight! Reply Leave a Reply. Author Martha Boers is an award-winning Canadian doll maker and costumer specializing in fantasy and historical-style costumes.Read More...
Question 244: Asked on June 22, 2008 Mean output of solar cells of three types are measured six times under random light intensity over a period of 5 minutes, yielding the results shown. Research question: Is the mean solar cell output the same for all cell types?
Comments Voice-of-reality 4:31pm Wed 27 Feb 13 Cameron's 'change of heart' has little to do with actually supporting the measure - it is more about the parliamentary timetable. In a situation in which the coalition in broken down with the Lib Dems blocking any overtly Conservative policy and v.v., the PM has to find a series of issues with which to fill parliamentary time - as the government cannot be seen to do absolutely nothing for two years - it is of course mandated to stay in power for the full five years. In reality, of course, that is precisely what is happening - as no 'pressing' policy initiatives can be initiated as a consequence of the voting deadlock between the parties. Expect therefore two years of 'fringe' policies - smoking, devolution, gay marriage - all issues that in one sense are unimportant (though paradoxically also fundamental from constitutional and liberty viewpoints) as a consequence of the two warring factions of government being unable to 'come together' to actually address the non-fringe issues that actually matter; such as the economy and the need to cut the welfare bill so that the country can afford to live. The effect of both the coalition and the fixed-term initiatives has been to introduce into the Westminster model a form of the 'lame duck' - that vexatious of issues that permeates the American model of democracy. Cameron's 'change of heart' has little to do with actually supporting the measure - it is more about the parliamentary timetable. In a situation in which the coalition in broken down with the Lib Dems blocking any overtly Conservative policy and v.v., the PM has to find a series of issues with which to fill parliamentary time - as the government cannot be seen to do absolutely nothing for two years - it is of course mandated to stay in power for the full five years. In reality, of course, that is precisely what is happening - as no 'pressing' policy initiatives can be initiated as a consequence of the voting deadlock between the parties. Expect therefore two years of 'fringe' policies - smoking, devolution, gay marriage - all issues that in one sense are unimportant (though paradoxically also fundamental from constitutional and liberty viewpoints) as a consequence of the two warring factions of government being unable to 'come together' to actually address the non-fringe issues that actually matter; such as the economy and the need to cut the welfare bill so that the country can afford to live. The effect of both the coalition and the fixed-term initiatives has been to introduce into the Westminster model a form of the 'lame duck' - that vexatious of issues that permeates the American model of democracy.Voice-of-reality Cameron's 'change of heart' has little to do with actually supporting the measure - it is more about the parliamentary timetable. In a situation in which the coalition in broken down with the Lib Dems blocking any overtly Conservative policy and v.v., the PM has to find a series of issues with which to fill parliamentary time - as the government cannot be seen to do absolutely nothing for two years - it is of course mandated to stay in power for the full five years. In reality, of course, that is precisely what is happening - as no 'pressing' policy initiatives can be initiated as a consequence of the voting deadlock between the parties. Expect therefore two years of 'fringe' policies - smoking, devolution, gay marriage - all issues that in one sense are unimportant (though paradoxically also fundamental from constitutional and liberty viewpoints) as a consequence of the two warring factions of government being unable to 'come together' to actually address the non-fringe issues that actually matter; such as the economy and the need to cut the welfare bill so that the country can afford to live. The effect of both the coalition and the fixed-term initiatives has been to introduce into the Westminster model a form of the 'lame duck' - that vexatious of issues that permeates the American model of democracy. Score: 1 behonest 4:34pm Wed 27 Feb 13 Yet another Tory u-turn. They are utterly clueless. Yet another Tory u-turn. They are utterly clueless.behonest Yet another Tory u-turn. They are utterly clueless. Score: 0 Copley23 4:36pm Wed 27 Feb 13 I'll just bend over and they can wipe my backside whilst they are at it. I'll just bend over and they can wipe my backside whilst they are at it.Copley23 I'll just bend over and they can wipe my backside whilst they are at it. Score: 1 battboy77 5:25pm Wed 27 Feb 13 Voice-of-reality wrote… Cameron's 'change of heart' has little to do with actually supporting the measure - it is more about the parliamentary timetable. In a situation in which the coalition in broken down with the Lib Dems blocking any overtly Conservative policy and v.v., the PM has to find a series of issues with which to fill parliamentary time - as the government cannot be seen to do absolutely nothing for two years - it is of course mandated to stay in power for the full five years. In reality, of course, that is precisely what is happening - as no 'pressing' policy initiatives can be initiated as a consequence of the voting deadlock between the parties. Expect therefore two years of 'fringe' policies - smoking, devolution, gay marriage - all issues that in one sense are unimportant (though paradoxically also fundamental from constitutional and liberty viewpoints) as a consequence of the two warring factions of government being unable to 'come together' to actually address the non-fringe issues that actually matter; such as the economy and the need to cut the welfare bill so that the country can afford to live. The effect of both the coalition and the fixed-term initiatives has been to introduce into the Westminster model a form of the 'lame duck' - that vexatious of issues that permeates the American model of democracy. Yeah thanks for all that!!!!!!! cant you just be glad for a positive move towards this type of ban without all that ramble??? [quote][p][bold]Voice-of-reality[/bold] wrote: Cameron's 'change of heart' has little to do with actually supporting the measure - it is more about the parliamentary timetable. In a situation in which the coalition in broken down with the Lib Dems blocking any overtly Conservative policy and v.v., the PM has to find a series of issues with which to fill parliamentary time - as the government cannot be seen to do absolutely nothing for two years - it is of course mandated to stay in power for the full five years. In reality, of course, that is precisely what is happening - as no 'pressing' policy initiatives can be initiated as a consequence of the voting deadlock between the parties. Expect therefore two years of 'fringe' policies - smoking, devolution, gay marriage - all issues that in one sense are unimportant (though paradoxically also fundamental from constitutional and liberty viewpoints) as a consequence of the two warring factions of government being unable to 'come together' to actually address the non-fringe issues that actually matter; such as the economy and the need to cut the welfare bill so that the country can afford to live. The effect of both the coalition and the fixed-term initiatives has been to introduce into the Westminster model a form of the 'lame duck' - that vexatious of issues that permeates the American model of democracy.[/p][/quote]Yeah thanks for all that!!!!!!! cant you just be glad for a positive move towards this type of ban without all that ramble???battboy77 Voice-of-reality wrote… Cameron's 'change of heart' has little to do with actually supporting the measure - it is more about the parliamentary timetable. In a situation in which the coalition in broken down with the Lib Dems blocking any overtly Conservative policy and v.v., the PM has to find a series of issues with which to fill parliamentary time - as the government cannot be seen to do absolutely nothing for two years - it is of course mandated to stay in power for the full five years. In reality, of course, that is precisely what is happening - as no 'pressing' policy initiatives can be initiated as a consequence of the voting deadlock between the parties. Expect therefore two years of 'fringe' policies - smoking, devolution, gay marriage - all issues that in one sense are unimportant (though paradoxically also fundamental from constitutional and liberty viewpoints) as a consequence of the two warring factions of government being unable to 'come together' to actually address the non-fringe issues that actually matter; such as the economy and the need to cut the welfare bill so that the country can afford to live. The effect of both the coalition and the fixed-term initiatives has been to introduce into the Westminster model a form of the 'lame duck' - that vexatious of issues that permeates the American model of democracy. Yeah thanks for all that!!!!!!! cant you just be glad for a positive move towards this type of ban without all that ramble??? Score: 0 Voice-of-reality 5:55pm Wed 27 Feb 13 In direct answer 'no'. The whole point is that this is not a positive move - it is nothing of the sort. Had Cameron pledged legislative support in the form of a government sponsored bill or even a consultative green paper then that would have been a 'positive move' (if one agrees with the proposal). Pledging merely to 'look at it' is a promise to do absolutely nothing and without specific party backing such a proposed ban will not materialise. Thus, not a ramble, but a comment upon the absolute 'nothingness' that has actually been agreed to by the PM. In direct answer 'no'. The whole point is that this is not a positive move - it is nothing of the sort. Had Cameron pledged legislative support in the form of a government sponsored bill or even a consultative green paper then that would have been a 'positive move' (if one agrees with the proposal). Pledging merely to 'look at it' is a promise to do absolutely nothing and without specific party backing such a proposed ban will not materialise. Thus, not a ramble, but a comment upon the absolute 'nothingness' that has actually been agreed to by the PM.Voice-of-reality In direct answer 'no'. The whole point is that this is not a positive move - it is nothing of the sort. Had Cameron pledged legislative support in the form of a government sponsored bill or even a consultative green paper then that would have been a 'positive move' (if one agrees with the proposal). Pledging merely to 'look at it' is a promise to do absolutely nothing and without specific party backing such a proposed ban will not materialise. Thus, not a ramble, but a comment upon the absolute 'nothingness' that has actually been agreed to by the PM. Score: 0 NO EINSTEIN 7:12pm Wed 27 Feb 13 Any one who smokes in cars with anyone should be fined, its mild ABH if not worse...... Any one who smokes in cars with anyone should be fined, its mild ABH if not worse......NO EINSTEIN Any one who smokes in cars with anyone should be fined, its mild ABH if not worse...... Score: -1 your joking 8:40pm Wed 27 Feb 13 Its funny this should come up today. I was in my car waiting at traffic lights and looked in my rear view mirror. In the car behind me was a young woman with a child who looked under 3 in the front passenger seat (no car seat or booster) who was smoking inside the car. I have to be honest and say I was shocked that the female adult either wasn't aware of the danger or wasn't bothered about the effects the smoke could have on the child passenger. I did discuss this with my husband and noted how times have changed. As an ex smoker myself I have to admit that 20 years ago I wouldn't have thought twice about doing the same thing as the young girl. I am better educated these days and realise the harm I could bestow on my passengers. I gave up smoking about 8 years ago but obviously as today proves some people just couldn't care less what damage they do to children. I'm all for banning people from smoking in cars when they have passengers. smoke to your hearts content when you are on your own or Adult smokers but not when children are in the car Its funny this should come up today. I was in my car waiting at traffic lights and looked in my rear view mirror. In the car behind me was a young woman with a child who looked under 3 in the front passenger seat (no car seat or booster) who was smoking inside the car. I have to be honest and say I was shocked that the female adult either wasn't aware of the danger or wasn't bothered about the effects the smoke could have on the child passenger. I did discuss this with my husband and noted how times have changed. As an ex smoker myself I have to admit that 20 years ago I wouldn't have thought twice about doing the same thing as the young girl. I am better educated these days and realise the harm I could bestow on my passengers. I gave up smoking about 8 years ago but obviously as today proves some people just couldn't care less what damage they do to children. I'm all for banning people from smoking in cars when they have passengers. smoke to your hearts content when you are on your own or Adult smokers but not when children are in the caryour joking Its funny this should come up today. I was in my car waiting at traffic lights and looked in my rear view mirror. In the car behind me was a young woman with a child who looked under 3 in the front passenger seat (no car seat or booster) who was smoking inside the car. I have to be honest and say I was shocked that the female adult either wasn't aware of the danger or wasn't bothered about the effects the smoke could have on the child passenger. I did discuss this with my husband and noted how times have changed. As an ex smoker myself I have to admit that 20 years ago I wouldn't have thought twice about doing the same thing as the young girl. I am better educated these days and realise the harm I could bestow on my passengers. I gave up smoking about 8 years ago but obviously as today proves some people just couldn't care less what damage they do to children. I'm all for banning people from smoking in cars when they have passengers. smoke to your hearts content when you are on your own or Adult smokers but not when children are in the car Score: -1 Parmenion 10:57pm Wed 27 Feb 13 I wonder if there is any constitutional right to be a moron? It's a rhetorical question, but let's get to the facts... The idea that there is no safe level of secondhand smoke turned the laws of science on their head. The first rule of toxicology is that the dose makes the poison. All substances are toxic at high enough levels just as they are harmless, even beneficial, at lower levels. Most of us understand that coffee contains benzene, water contains arsenic and that televisions pump out radiation but we don't let it worry us since the levels of these highly carcinogenic toxins are too low to pose a threat to our health. Apparently only one substance disobeys this law of toxicology: secondhand smoke. "As long as the government is perceived as working for the benefit of the children, the people will happily endure almost any curtailment of liberty and almost any deprivation." Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf. I wonder if there is any constitutional right to be a moron? It's a rhetorical question, but let's get to the facts... The idea that there is no safe level of secondhand smoke turned the laws of science on their head. The first rule of toxicology is that the dose makes the poison. All substances are toxic at high enough levels just as they are harmless, even beneficial, at lower levels. Most of us understand that coffee contains benzene, water contains arsenic and that televisions pump out radiation but we don't let it worry us since the levels of these highly carcinogenic toxins are too low to pose a threat to our health. Apparently only one substance disobeys this law of toxicology: secondhand smoke. "As long as the government is perceived as working for the benefit of the children, the people will happily endure almost any curtailment of liberty and almost any deprivation." Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf.Parmenion I wonder if there is any constitutional right to be a moron? It's a rhetorical question, but let's get to the facts... The idea that there is no safe level of secondhand smoke turned the laws of science on their head. The first rule of toxicology is that the dose makes the poison. All substances are toxic at high enough levels just as they are harmless, even beneficial, at lower levels. Most of us understand that coffee contains benzene, water contains arsenic and that televisions pump out radiation but we don't let it worry us since the levels of these highly carcinogenic toxins are too low to pose a threat to our health. Apparently only one substance disobeys this law of toxicology: secondhand smoke. "As long as the government is perceived as working for the benefit of the children, the people will happily endure almost any curtailment of liberty and almost any deprivation." Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf. Ipsoregulated This website and associated newspapers adhere to the Independent Press Standards Organisation's Editors' Code of Practice. If you have a complaint about the editorial content which relates to inaccuracy or intrusion, then please contact the editor here. If you are dissatisfied with the response provided you can contact IPSO here
Q: How to remove stop words using nltk or python So I have a dataset that I would like to remove stop words from using stopwords.words('english') I'm struggling how to use this within my code to just simply take out these words. I have a list of the words from this dataset already, the part i'm struggling with is comparing to this list and removing the stop words. Any help is appreciated. A: from nltk.corpus import stopwords # ... filtered_words = [word for word in word_list if word not in stopwords.words('english')] A: You could also do a set diff, for example: list(set(nltk.regexp_tokenize(sentence, pattern, gaps=True)) - set(nltk.corpus.stopwords.words('english'))) A: I suppose you have a list of words (word_list) from which you want to remove stopwords. You could do something like this: filtered_word_list = word_list[:] #make a copy of the word_list for word in word_list: # iterate over word_list if word in stopwords.words('english'): filtered_word_list.remove(word) # remove word from filtered_word_list if it is a stopword
Top 7 Benefits of Glass Splashbacks for Kitchens Glass splashbacks are very popular for kitchen. Many people want and install it. Why people do so? There are many major benefits of using glass splashbacks for your kitchen. 1. Easy to clean Being very sleek and flat, glass splashbacks will be easy to clean. Commonly, we only need to wipe the stain or spill, and it will be clean soon. We do not need to spend more money on cleaning substance on normal cases. This is practical and amusing for people who love cooking. 2. Heat resistance If you cook for hours and your glass splashbacks are exposed to heat for the entire time, it will be just fine. It will not change the shape or colors. It enables you to more worry free cooking. In addition to it, it keeps you farther from repair and maintenance. 3. Colors choices There are many choices for colors for glass splashbacks on market now. You can make sure that yours will be matching to kitchen design, theme, and style. This is a nice thing to have. No matter what your color choice, the glass will stay clear and bright. 4. Small effort Replacing the old splashbacks with one using glass will be small effort. However, this effort will give total big impact and change. This touch will changes your kitchen look into more classy and elegant kitchen. Meanwhile you do not need to spend too much money for this. 5. Luxurious look Being clear and bright, these glass splashbacks contribute luxurious touch on your kitchen. It looks like you already spent a lot of money for it while you actually don’t. This is how you make a change on your kitchen. Luxurious kitchen surely invites people to cook more. 6. Light reflection Glass splashbacks reflects your kitchen light well. You will have less shadow, and you will also get brighter kitchen without adding anymore lighting system. It will be comfortable for you to cook or bake, even when you o it in the middle of the night. 7. Versatility Versatility is commonly just a dream. However, glass splashbacks give versatility benefit in which you can make it just as you want it even to be installed on most challenging corners. This is totally possible to make and you will not need to make too much effort for it. Those are performing benefits. Those are also invitation for you to follow the lead. If you have budget, make the improvement and add glass splashbacks on your kitchen.
ad ad ad ad ad ad ad ad ł Preprint Padova, DFPD 97/TH\ December 1997\ Introduction ============ Chiral bosons are described by $p$–form gauge potentials $B_p$ whose curvatures $H_{p+1}=dB_p$ satisfy, as equation of motion, a Hodge (anti)self–duality condition in a space–time with dimension $D=2(p+1)$. In space–times with Minkowskian signature $\eta_{ab}=(1,-1,\cdots,-1)$ the self–consistency of such an equation restricts $p$ to even values and hence the relevant dimensions are $D=2,6,10,\ldots$ Such fields populated superstring and supergravity theories, and more recently M theory, from their very beginning. Two dimensional chiral bosons (scalars) are basic ingredients in string theory, six–dimensional ones belong to the supergravity– and tensor–multiplets in $N=1$, $D=6$ supergravity theories and are necessary to complete the $N=2$, $D=6$ supermultiplet of the M-theory five–brane; finally a ten–dimensional chiral boson appears in $IIB$, $D=10$ supergravity. A peculiar feature of the (manifestly Lorentz covariant) self–duality equation of motion of those fields is that a manifestly Lorentz invariant lagrangian formulation for them was missing for long time. The absence of a Lorentz invariant action from which one can derive the equations of motion leads in principle to rather problematic situations e.g. the conservation of the energy–momentum tensor is not guaranteed a priori and the coupling to gravity can not be performed via the usual minimal coupling. For previous attempts in facing this problem and for a more detailed discussion of the problematic aspects involved, see in particular [@probl]. Recently a new manifestly Lorentz–invariant lagrangian approach for chiral bosons has been proposed in [@PST; @PST3]. The most appealing features of this approach are the introduction of [*only one*]{} single scalar auxiliary field, its natural compatibility with all relevant symmetries, in particular with diffeomorphisms and with $\kappa$–invariance [@M5], and its general validity in all dimensions $D=2(p+1)$ with $p$ even. Another characteristic feature of this approach is the appearance of two new local bosonic symmetries: one of them reduces the scalar auxiliary field to a non propagating “pure gauge” field and the other one reduces the second order equation of motion for the $p$–form to the first order (anti)self–duality equation of motion. A variant of this approach allowed to write manifestly duality invariant actions for Maxwell fields in four dimensions [@PSTDUAL] and to construct a covariant effective action for the M theory five–brane [@M5]. On the other hand, the actions obtained through the non manifestly covariant approach developed in [@schw] can be regarded as gauge fixed versions of the actions in [@M5; @PSTDUAL] where the scalar auxiliary field has been eliminated. The coupling of all these models with chiral bosons to gravity can be easily achieved since the new approach is manifestly covariant under Lorentz transformations; as a consequence it is obvious that the two above mentioned bosonic symmetries, which are a crucial ingredient of the new approach, are compatible with diffeomorphism invariance. To test the general validity of the approach, it remains to establish its compatibility with global and local supersymmetry. This is the aim of the present talk. In the next section we review the covariant method, for definiteness, for chiral two–forms in six dimensions. In section three we test its compatibility with supersymmetry by writing a covariant action for the most simple cases, i.e. the rigid tensor supermultiplet and the free supergravity multiplet in six dimensions. Section four is devoted to some concluding remarks and to a brief discussion of the general case i.e. the supergravity multiplet coupled to an arbitrary number of tensor multiplets and super Yang–Mills multiplets. The general strategy developed in this paper extends in a rather straightforward way to two and ten dimensions. Particularly interesting is the case of $IIB$, $D = 10$ supergravity whose covariant action we hope to present elsewhere. The bosonic part of this action has already been presented in [@IIB]. For more details on the results presented here and for more detailed references, see [@DLT]. Chiral bosons in six dimensions: the general method =================================================== In this section we present the method for a chiral boson in interaction with an external or dynamical gravitational field in six dimensions. To this order we introduce sechsbein one–forms $e^a = d x^m {e_m}^a(x)$. With $m,n =0,\ldots,5$ we indicate curved indices and with $a,b=0,\ldots,5$ we indicate tangent space indices, which are raised and lowered with the flat metric $\eta_{ab}=(1,-1,\cdots,-1)$. To consider a slightly more general self-duality condition for interacting chiral bosons we introduce the two-form potential $B$ and its generalized curvature three–form $H$ as $$H=dB+C\equiv {1\over 3!}e^a e^b e^c H_{cba}, \label{forms}$$ where $C$ is a three-form which depends on the fields to which $B$ is coupled, such as the graviton, the gravitino and so on, but not on $B$ itself. The free (anti)self–dual boson will be recovered for $C=0$ and $e_m{}^a=\delta_m{}^a$. The Hodge–dual of the three–form $H$ is again a three–form $H^*$ with components $H^*_{abc} = \frac{1}{3!} \e_{abcdef} H^{def}.$ The self–dual and anti self–dual parts of $H$ are defined respectively as the three–forms $H^{\pm} \equiv \frac{1}{2} (H \pm H^*)$. The equations of motion for interacting chiral bosons in supersymmetric and supergravity theories, as we will see in the examples worked out in the next section, are in general of the form $H^{\pm}=0,$ for a suitable three–form $C$ whose explicit expression is determined by the model. To write a covariant action which eventually gives rise to the equation $H^{\pm}=0$ we introduce as new ingredient the scalar auxiliary field $a(x)$ and the one–form v=[1]{} dae\^b v\_b. In particular we have $v_b={\partial_b a\over \sqrt{-\partial_c a \partial^c a}}$ and $v_bv^b=-1$. Using the vector $v^b$, to the three–forms $H,H^*$ and $H^\pm$ we can then associate two-forms $h,h^*$ and $h^\pm$ according to $$h_{ab}=v^cH_{abc}, \qquad h={1\over 2} e^a e^b h_{ba},$$ and similarly for $h^*$ and $h^\pm$. The action we search for can now be written equivalently in one of the following two ways \[S0\] S\_0\^= (v h\^ H + [12]{} dB C) = d\^6x([124]{}H\_[abc]{}H\^[abc]{} +[12]{}h\_[ab]{}\^h\^[ab]{}) dBC. $S_0^+$ will describe anti self–dual bosons ($H^+=0$) and $S_0^-$ self–dual bosons ($H^-=0$). The last term, $\int dBC$, is of the Wess–Zumino type and is absent for free chiral bosons. What selects this form of the action are essentially the local symmetries it possesses. Under a general variation of the fields $B$ and $a$ it varies, in fact, as \[dS0\] S\_0\^= 2(vh\^dB + [v]{} h\^h\^ da). From this formula it is rather easy to see that $\delta S^\pm_0$ vanishes for the following three bosonic transformations, with transformation parameters $\Lambda$ and $\psi$, which are one–forms, and $\varphi$ which is a scalar: \[bos\] &I)&B=d,a =0\ &II)&B= -[2h\^]{} ,a =\ &III)&B=da ,a =0. For what concerns $I)$ and $III)$ invariance of the action is actually achieved also for finite transformations. This fact will be of some importance below. The transformation $I)$ represents just the ordinary gauge invariance for abelian two–form gauge potentials. The symmetry $II)$ implies that $a(x)$ is an auxiliary field which does, therefore, not correspond to a propagating degree o freedom[^1]. Finally, the symmetry $III)$ eliminates half of the propagating degrees of freedom carried by $B$ and allows to reduce the second order equation of motion for this field to the desired first order equation, i.e. $H^{\pm}=0$. To see this we note that the equations of motion for $B$ and $a$, which can be read from [(\[dS0\])]{}, are given respectively by d(vh\^)=0\[emb\],d([v]{}h\^h\^)=0. First of all it is straightforward to check that the $a$–equation is implied by the $B$-equation, as expected, while the general solution of the $B$–equation is given by $vh^\pm={1\over 2}d\tilde{\psi}da$, for some one–form $\tilde{\psi}$. On the other hand, under a (finite) transformation $III)$ we have $\delta\left(vh^\pm\right)={1\over 2}d\psi da$ and therefore, choosing $\psi=-\tilde\psi$, we can use this symmetry to reduce the $B$-equation to $vh^\pm=0$. But $vh^\pm=0$ amounts to $h^\pm=0$, and this equation, in turn, can easily be seen to be equivalent to $H^\pm=0$, the desired chirality condition. This concludes the proof that the actions $S_0^\pm$ describe indeed correctly the propagation of chiral bosons. In a theory in which the $B$ field is coupled to other dynamical fields, for example in supergravity theories, we can now conclude that the complete action has to be of the form $$S=S_0^\pm+S_6,$$ where $S_6$ contains the kinetic and interaction terms for the fields to which $B$ is coupled. To maintain the symmetries $I)$–$III)$ one has to assume that those fields are invariant under these transformations and, moreover, that $S_6$ is independent of $B$ and $a$. For more general chirality conditions describing self–interacting chiral bosons, like e.g. those of the Born–Infeld type, see ref. [@PST3]. To conclude this section we introduce two three–form fields, $K^\pm$, which will play a central role in the next section due to their remarkable properties. They are defined as \[k\] K\^H+2vh\^and are uniquely determined by the following peculiar properties: i) they are (anti) self–dual: $K^{\pm*} = \pm K^{\pm}$; ii) they reduce to $H^\pm$ respectively if $H^\mp= 0$; iii) they are invariant under the symmetries $I)$ and $III)$, and under $II)$ modulo the field equations [(\[emb\])]{}. These fields constitute therefore a kind of off–shell generalizations of $H^\pm$. $N=1$, $D=6$ supersymmetric chiral bosons ========================================= In this section we illustrate the compatibility of the general method for chiral bosons with supersymmetry in the six–dimensional case by means of two examples: the first concerns the free tensor supermultiplet in flat space–time and the second concerns pure supergravity. The strategy developed in these examples admits natural extensions to more general cases [@M5; @IIB; @DLT]. 0.5truecm[*1) Free tensor multiplet.*]{} 0.5truecm An $N=1,D=6$ tensor multiplet is made out of an antisymmetric tensor $B_{[ab]}$, a symplectic Majorana–Weyl spinor $\l_{\a i}$ ($\a = 1,\ldots,4; i = 1,2$) and a real scalar $\f$. The equations of motion for this multiplet and its on–shell susy transformation rules are well known. The scalar obeys the free Klein–Gordon equation, the spinor the free Dirac equation and the $B$–field the self–duality condition $H^-=0,$ where $H=dB$, which means that in this case we have $C=0$. The on-shell supersymmetry transformations, with rigid transformation parameter $\xi^{\a i}$, are given by \[susy\] \_&=& \^i ł\_i,\ \_ł\_[ i]{} &=& ( \^a \_a + \^[abc]{}H\_[abc]{}\^+ )\_i,\ \_B\_[ab]{} &=& - \^i \_[ab]{} ł\_i. The $USp(1)$ indices $i,j$ are raised and lowered according to $ K_i = \e_{ij} K^j, K^i = - \e^{ij} K_j, $ where $\e_{12} =1$ and the $\Gamma^a$ are $4\times 4$ Weyl matrices. Since the equations of motion are free our ansatz for the action, which depends now also on the auxiliary field $a$, is \[SH\] S=S\_0\^-+S\_6 =- v h\^- H +[12]{}d\^6x (ł\^i \^a \_a ł\_i + \_a \^a ). This action is invariant under the symmetries $I)$–$III)$ if we assume that $\f$ and $\l$ are invariant under these transformations. For what concerns supersymmetry we choose first of all for $a$ the transformation $\delta_\xi a=0,$ which is motivated by the fact that $a$ is non propagating and does therefore not need a supersymmetric partner. Next we should find the off–shell generalizations of [(\[susy\])]{}. For dimensional reasons only $\delta_\xi\l$ allows for such an extension. To find it we compute the susy variation of $S_0^-$, which depends only on $B$ and $a$, as $$\delta_\xi S_0^-=-2\int vh^-d\delta_\xi B=-\int K^+d\delta_\xi B$$ in which the self-dual field $K^+$, defined in the previous section, appears automatically. Since $\delta_\xi S_0^-$ should be cancelled by $\delta S_6$ this suggests to define the off–shell susy transformation of $\l$ by making the simple replacement $H^+\ra K^+$, i.e. $$\delta_\xi \l_{ i}\ra \bar\delta_\xi \l_{ i} = \left( \G^a \partial_a \f + \frac{1}{12} \G^{abc}K_{abc}^+ \right)\xi_i.$$ With this modification it is now a simple exercise to show that the action [(\[SH\])]{} is indeed invariant under supersymmetry. The relative coefficients of the terms in the action are actually fixed by supersymmetry. The [*general rules*]{} for writing covariant actions for supersymmetric theories with chiral bosons, which emerge from this simple example, are the following. First one has to determine the on–shell susy transformations of the fields and their equations of motion, in particular one has to determine the form of the three-form $C$. For more complicated theories this can usually be done most conveniently using superspace techniques. The off–shell extensions of the susy transformation laws are obtained by substituting in the transformations of the fermions $H^\pm\ra K^\pm$. The action has then to be written as $S_0^\pm+S_6$ where the relative coefficients of the various terms in $S_6$ have to be determined by susy invariance. The field $a$, finally, is required to be supersymmetry invariant. 0.5truecm[*2) Pure supergravity.*]{} 0.5truecm The supergravity multiplet in six dimensions contains the graviton, a gravitino and an antisymmetric tensor with anti–selfdual (generalized) field strength. The graviton is described by the vector–like vielbein $e^a = dx^m {e_m}^a$, the gravitino by the spinor–like one–form $e^{\a i} = dx^m {e_m}^{\a i}$ and the tensor by the two–form $B$. The supersymmetry transformations of these fields and their equations of motion, obtained from the superspace approach [@DFR], are conveniently expressed in terms of a super–covariant differential, $D=d+\omega$, with respect to a super–covariant Lorentz connection one–form $\omega^{ab} = dx^m \omega_{m}{}^{ab}$. This connection is defined by $d e^a + e^{b}{\omega_b}^a = - e^i\G^a e_i,$ and results in the metric connection augmented by the standard gravitino bilinears. Among the equations of motion we recall the generalized anti–selfduality condition for $B$. This reads $H^+=0,$ where now $$H=dB+ \left(e^i\G_a e_i\right) e^a,$$ meaning that in this case the three–form $C$ is non vanishing being given by $C=\left(e^i\G_a e_i\right) e^a.$ The on–shell supersymmetry transformations of $e^a$, $e^{\a i}$ and $B$ [@DFR], with local transformation parameter $\xi^{\a i} (x)$, are given by \[susyi\] \_e\^a &=& -2 \^i \^a e\_i, \_e\^[i]{} = D\^[i]{} - \^[i]{} e\^a (\^[bc]{})\_\^H\^-\_[abc]{}, \[28b\]\ \_B &=& -2 (\^i \_a e\_i) e\^a, \_a = 0. According to our general rule, in the gravitino transformation we have to make the off–shell replacement $H^{-}\rightarrow K^{-}$ obtaining $$\delta_\xi e^{\a i}\rightarrow \bar\delta_\xi e^{\a i}= D\xi^{\a i} - \frac{1}{8} \xi^{\b i} e^a (\G^{bc})_\b{}^\a K^-_{abc}.$$ In the above relations we added the trivial transformation law for the auxiliary field $a$. As it stands, this trivial transformation law does not seem to preserve the susy algebra in that the commutator of two supersymmetries does not amount to a translation. On the other hand it is known that the supersymmetry algebra closes on the other symmetries of a theory; in the present case it is easily seen that the anticommutator of two susy transformations on the $a$ field closes on the bosonic transformations $II)$. The covariant action for pure $N = 1$, $D = 6$ supergravity can now be written as $S=S_0^+ +\int L_6$, where \[azsu\] S\_0\^+&=& (v h\^+ H + [12]{} dB C)\ L\_6 &=& \_[a\_1 …a\_6 ]{} e\^[a\_1]{} e\^[a\_2]{} e\^[a\_3]{} e\^[a\_4]{} R\^[a\_5a\_6]{} - e\^[a\_1]{}e\^[a\_2]{}e\^[a\_3]{} (De\^i\_[a\_1 a\_2 a\_3]{}e\_i). For convenience we wrote the term $S_6$ as an integral of a six–form, $L_6$. This six–form contains just the Einstein term, relative to the super–covariantized spin connection $R^{ab}=d\omega^{ab} +\omega^a{}_c\omega^{cb}$, and the kinetic term for the gravitino. The relative coefficients are fixed by susy invariance. In this case $S_0^+$ contains also the couplings of $B$ to the gravitino and the graviton. This action is invariant under the symmetries $I)$–$III)$ because $L_6$ is independent of the fields $B,a$ and we assume the graviton and the gravitino to be invariant under those transformations. The evaluation of the supersymmetry variation of $S$ is now a merely technical point and can indeed be seen to vanish. In particular, as in the previous example, the susy variation of $S^+_0$ depends on the fields $B,a$ only through the combination $K^-$ and these contributions are cancelled by the gravitino variation, justifying again our rule for the modified susy transformation rules for the fermions. Concluding remarks ================== The covariant lagrangians presented in this talk for six–dimensional supersymmetric chiral bosons admit several extensions. The lagrangian for $n$ tensor multiplets coupled to the supergravity multiplet, which involves $n+1$ mixed (anti)self–duality conditions, has been worked out in [@DLT]. The introduction of hyper multiplets, on the other hand, does not lead to any new difficulty. The coupling to Yang–Mills fields in the presence of $n$ tensor multiplets requires some caution. In this case it turns out that an action, and therefore a consistent classical theory, can be constructed only if the $n+1$ two–forms can be arranged such that only one of them carries a Chern–Simons correction while the $n$ remaining ones have as invariant field strength $dB^{(n)}$. In conclusion the covariant method illustrated in this talk appears compatible, at the classical level, with all relevant symmetries explored so far, in particular with supersymmetry. 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858 N.E.2d 109 (2006) Terry KINSLOW, Individually and as Personal Representative of the Estate of Marshall Lee Kinslow, Deceased, Appellant-Plaintiff, v. GEICO INSURANCE COMPANY and Lucille Taylor, Appellees-Defendants. No. 49A04-0604-CV-197. Court of Appeals of Indiana. December 6, 2006. *110 Nathaniel Lee, Robert E. Feagley, II, Lee Cossell Kuehn & Love, LLP, Indianapolis, IN, Attorneys for Appellant. Mark D. Gerth, Kightlinger & Gray, LLP, Indianapolis, IN, Attorney for Appellee. OPINION BARNES, Judge. Case Summary Terry Kinslow, individually and as personal representative of her husband's estate, appeals the trial court's entry of summary judgment in favor of GEICO Insurance Company ("GEICO"). We affirm. Issue The sole restated issue is whether the trial court properly concluded that GEICO is not required to provide uninsured motorist benefits to Kinslow. Facts On July 19, 2003, Kinslow and her husband, Marshall Kinslow, were on a motorcycle traveling westbound on 34th Street in Indianapolis. Lucille Taylor was traveling eastbound on 34th Street and attempted to make a left turn onto Rural Street. When she did so, she struck the Kinslows' motorcycle. Another vehicle struck the rear of the Kinslows' motorcycle, but it left the scene of the accident. The accident caused fatal injuries to Marshall and serious bodily injuries to Kinslow. At the time of the accident, the Kinslows were covered by two policies issued by GEICO, a general automobile policy and a specific motorcycle policy. Both policies had UM bodily injury limits of $100,000 per person and $300,000 per occurrence. Kinslow sued Taylor on her own behalf and on behalf of her husband's estate. She also sued GEICO, seeking recovery of uninsured motorist ("UM") benefits, which GEICO had refused to pay, related to the unknown vehicle that fled the scene of the accident. Taylor and Taylor's insurer settled with Kinslow for a total of $200,000, or $100,000 for Kinslow's own injuries and $100,000 for the fatal injuries suffered by Marshall. GEICO thereafter moved for summary judgment on the basis that Taylor's $200,000 payment completely set off any and all UM benefits it might have been required to pay Kinslow. The general automobile policy issued by GEICO read in part: LIMITS OF LIABILITY * * * * * 1. The limit of Bodily Injury Liability for Uninsured Motorists Coverage stated in the declarations for "each person" is the limit of our liability for all damages, including those for care or loss of services, due to bodily injury sustained by one person as the result of one accident. * * * * * The amount payable under this Coverage will be reduced by all amounts: (a) paid by or for all persons or organizations liable for the injury. . . . *111 App. p. 45. The motorcycle policy read in part: Limit of Liability * * * * * * 1. The limit of bodily injury shown on the Declarations as applying to "each person" is the maximum we will pay for all damages sustained by one person as a result of one accident covered by this Part. * * * * * Any amounts otherwise payable for damages under this coverage shall be reduced by: 1. All sums paid because of the bodily injury by or on behalf of persons or organizations who may be legally responsible. This includes all sums paid under the Liability coverage or Motorcycle Medical Payments coverage of this policy; and 2. All sums paid or payable because of the bodily injury under any workers' or workmen's compensation, disability benefits or any similar law. App. p. 32.[1] The trial court granted GEICO's summary judgment motion. Kinslow now appeals. Analysis Summary judgment is appropriate only if the evidence shows there is no genuine issue of material fact and the moving party is entitled to a judgment as a matter of law. Ind. Trial Rule 56(C); Bowman ex rel. Bowman v. McNary, 853 N.E.2d 984, 988 (Ind.Ct.App.2006). We must construe all facts and reasonable inferences drawn from those facts in favor of the nonmoving party. Bowman, 853 N.E.2d at 988. Our review of a summary judgment motion is limited to those materials designated to the trial court, and we must carefully review decisions on such motions to ensure that parties are not improperly denied their day in court. Id. Assuming that there was an uninsured motorist involved in the accident here, the question before us is strictly one of law involving interpretation of an insurance policy. The proper interpretation of an insurance policy, even if it is ambiguous, is generally a question of law appropriate for summary judgment. Progressive Ins. Co., Inc. v. Bullock, 841 N.E.2d 238, 240 (Ind. Ct.App.2006), trans. denied. Setoff provisions in UM and underinsured ("UIM") motorist policies have generated frequent litigation, often focusing on whether payment to an insured from a third party should be deducted from the total amount of damages sustained by the insured or from the limits of liability of the UM/UIM coverage. Kinslow argues for the former proposition in this case; that is, assuming (for example) that her and Marshall's total damages totaled $400,000,[2] Taylor's payment of $200,000 would be deducted from that amount, leaving GEICO liable for the remaining $200,000 in damages sustained. GEICO argues for the latter proposition, with which the trial court agreed; that is, Taylor's payment of $200,000 should be deducted from GEICO's policy limits for UM/UIM coverage that would apply to this case, or $200,000, leaving GEICO with zero liability, regardless of the total damages. In 1992, our supreme court decided two cases involving UM/UIM setoff provisions, *112 Tate v. Secura Insurance, 587 N.E.2d 665 (Ind.1992) and American Economy Insurance Company v. Motorists Mutual Insurance Company, 605 N.E.2d 162 (Ind.1992). In Tate, the UM/UIM portion of the policy had a provision stating, "Amounts payable will be reduced by . . . [a]mounts paid because of the bodily injury by, or on behalf of, persons or organizations who may be legally responsible." Tate, 587 N.E.2d at 668. The Tate court construed this language as meaning, "It is [the] amount of damages, not the coverage limit, which is the `amounts payable' to be reduced by the amount paid to Tate by or on behalf of the tortfeasor." Id. In American, the court considered a UM/UIM provision that stated, under a section denominated "LIMIT OF LIABILITY," as follows: "Any amounts otherwise payable for damages under this coverage shall be reduced by all sums . . . [p]aid because of the bodily injury or property damage by or on behalf of persons or organizations who may be legally responsible." American, 605 N.E.2d at 164. This language was found to be distinguishable from the language considered in Tate. Id. Thus, the court held that the amount already recovered from the insured by a third party would be deducted from the insured's UIM policy limits, not the total damages sustained, unlike in Tate. Id. The court gave two reasons for this holding. First, the setoff clause was found within the "LIMIT OF LIABILITY" section of the policy. Id. Second, the court emphasized the following additional language in the policy: "The limit of liability shown in the Declarations for this coverage is our maximum limit of liability for all damages resulting from any one accident. This is the most we will pay. . . ." Id. Ten years later, our supreme court granted transfer in Beam v. Wausau Insurance Company, 765 N.E.2d 524 (Ind. 2002), to address two different lines of interpretation involving UM/UIM setoff clauses that this court had developed after Tate and American. See Beam, 765 N.E.2d at 529. The policy at issue in Beam stated in part: D. LIMIT OF INSURANCE . . . 2. The Limit of Insurance under this coverage shall be reduced by all sums paid or payable by or for anyone who is legally responsible, including all sums paid under the Coverage Form's LIABILITY COVERAGE. 3. Any amount payable for damages under this coverage shall be reduced by all sums paid or payable under any workers' compensation, disability benefits or similar law. Id. at 527. The court concluded that the policy was unambiguous and provided that any reduction for worker's compensation benefits the insured had received would "be taken from the amount of damages Beam incurred rather than from the policy limit." Id. at 530. It noted that the policy expressly provided for a reduction from the insured's "damages," not policy limits. Id. The court also stated that the phrase, "`under this coverage,' is a general phrase contained in insurance agreements that refers to the scope of the initial insuring agreement, not the dollar amount of the policy limit." Id. at 530-31. The "scope of coverage" was compensatory damages the insured was entitled to recover from the owner of an underinsured vehicle. The court concluded: any reduction for worker's compensation and disability benefits should come from [the amount of damages to which the insured was legally entitled], irrespective of whether that amount is above or below the policy limits. If that amount is above the limit, this helps the insured, and if it is below the limit, it helps the *113 insurer. We think this is not only a neutral rule, but also consistent with the language of the policy and its purpose to provide indemnity for covered losses subject to policy limits. Id. at 531. After reaching this conclusion, the court also noted that the insurance policy, immediately before the setoff provision regarding worker's compensation benefits, had explicitly used language unmistakably providing that any reduction had to be taken from the policy limits when it said, "The Limit of Insurance under this coverage shall be reduced by all sums paid or payable by or for anyone who is legally responsible. . . ." Id. (emphasis added by Beam). Not surprisingly, Kinslow argues that this case is governed by Beam, while GEICO argues that American is controlling. Although GEICO argues that Beam "reaffirmed the validity of the American Economy opinion," it is not clear to us that that was the case. Appellee's Br. p. 9. The Beam court did not expressly state whether it was approving or disapproving of American. The language the Beam court considered is remarkably similar to the language the American court considered, yet the opinions reached opposite results. The only material difference between the policies is that the Beam setoff provision addressed worker's compensation benefits, while the American setoff provision referred more generally to any payments from those legally responsible. That difference seemed to play no part in the Beam court's analysis, however. Ultimately, we conclude that it is unnecessary to resolve whether Beam impliedly overruled American. We do not perceive much, if any, difference between the language of GEICO's policy and the policy language addressed by our supreme court in Beam. We also believe we are between a rock and a hard place here. As GEICO observes, there is a statute apparently directly on point that would compel a result opposite from Beam, Indiana Code Section 27-7-5-5(c). This statutory provision provides: The maximum amount payable for bodily injury under uninsured or underinsured motorist coverage is the lesser of: (1) the difference between: (A) the amount paid in damages to the insured by or for any person or organization who may be liable for the insured's bodily injury; and (B) the per person limit of uninsured or underinsured motorist coverage provided in the insured's policy; or (2) the difference between: (A) the total amount of damages incurred by the insured; and (B) the amount paid by or for any person or organization liable for the insured's bodily injury. Ind.Code § 27-7-5-5(c). Although this statutory provision has been in existence since 1987, few of the several cases decided since then regarding setoffs and uninsured or underinsured motorist coverage have mentioned the provision, including Beam.[3] The Tate court acknowledged its existence, but noted that the policy in that case had been issued before the provision was enacted. Tate, 587 N.E.2d at 668. The court, therefore, declined to consider the provision in deciding the setoff question before it because *114 when the policy was issued, "Indiana did not then require Secura to provide underinsured motorists coverage, nor did it impose statutory limits upon the nature and operation of such coverage." Id. (emphasis added). Such limits existed when GEICO issued these policies to the Kinslows. Kinslow fails to cite or analyze this statute in her brief. As a general matter, the statutes governing UM/UIM insurance are considered a part of every automobile liability policy the same as if written therein. United Nat'l Ins. Co. v. DePrizio, 705 N.E.2d 455, 460 (Ind.1999) (addressing I.C. § 27-7-5-2). Additionally, UM/UIM legislation is to be liberally construed in a light most favorable to the insured. Id. at 459-60. It is also true, however, that the first step in interpreting any Indiana statute is to determine whether the legislature has spoken clearly and unambiguously on the point in question. St. Vincent Hosp. and Health Care Ctr., Inc. v. Steele, 766 N.E.2d 699, 703-04 (Ind. 2002). If a statute is clear and unambiguous, we need not apply any rules of construction other than to require that words and phrases be taken in their plain, ordinary, and usual sense. Id. at 704. "Clear and unambiguous statutory meaning leaves no room for judicial construction." Id. The language of Indiana Code Section 27-7-5-5(c) does not provide a set formula for calculating setoffs in all cases, but it does establish maximum and minimum parameters for the amount of recovery a plaintiff is entitled to as a result of a UM or UIM claim. Gardner v. State Farm Mut. Ins. Co., 589 N.E.2d 278, 281 (Ind.Ct. App.1992), trans. denied. We also conclude that the language of the statute is clear and unambiguous and is not open to interpretation. It says that the maximum UM or UIM bodily injury benefits to which an insured is entitled as the result of an accident is the lesser of the difference between the amount already recovered by the insured less the per person limit of UM/UIM coverage in the insured's policy, or the difference between the total amount of damages incurred by the insured and the amount already recovered by the insured. Applying this formula here, assuming total damages to the Kinslows of $400,000, payment by Taylor of $200,000, and UM policy limits under either GEICO policy of $200,000, the first calculation results in zero ($200,000—$200,000), while the second results in $200,000 ($400,000—$200,000). Obviously, the lesser of these amounts is zero. To allow Kinslow to recover anything under either GEICO policy would contravene clear and unambiguous statutory language. We cannot construe either policy in such a way. See, e.g., Harbour v. Arelco, Inc., 678 N.E.2d 381, 385 (Ind.1997) (noting that contracts that contravene a statute generally are "void"). To the extent our holding today might be seen to conflict with Beam, we note the following. First, we reiterate that Beam did not address the applicability of Indiana Code Section 27-7-5-5(c). Second, the factual scenario in Beam was different from that before us today. There, the total damages suffered by the insured— $701,371—were less than the UIM insurance limit at issue, $1 million. Under that scenario, it was consistent with the UM/ UIM maximum coverage statute to set off the worker's compensation payments from the total damages, rather than the UIM limit. Here, by contrast, Kinslow argues she and her husband sustained damages in excess of the applicable UM limit of $200,000. In such a case, Section 27-7-5-5(c) mandates that Taylor's payment of $200,000 be deducted from the UM limit, not the total damages. Although the UM/ UIM statutes require coverage for such claims in Indiana, it does appear that the *115 legislature also enacted certain mandatory limits for such coverage. Kinslow also contends that GEICO is not entitled to set off payments made by Taylor or her insurer because those were not payments made "on behalf of" the uninsured motorist, i.e. the vehicle that fled the scene. She relies primarily upon the Indiana Comparative Fault Act and accompanying case law, under which a defendant is not entitled to a credit against its liability when a nonparty defendant settles with the plaintiff. See R.L. McCoy, Inc. v. Jack, 772 N.E.2d 987, 991 (Ind. 2002). Kinslow, however, fails to explain why the Comparative Fault Act, which concerns apportionment of liability among all parties, should apply in the context of a case that is governed by a completely different statutory scheme and concerns limits on an insured's recovery from an insurer. Here, both GEICO policies state that the amount of UM coverage will be reduced by "all sums" paid to the insured by or on behalf of other parties. Indiana Code Section 27-7-5-5(c)(1) also requires consideration of "the amount paid in damages to the insured by or for any person organization who may be liable for the insured's bodily injury. . . ." (Emphasis added). This court has held that similar policy language, as well as the UM/UIM statutory setoff provision, required setoff from UM/UIM coverage of all amounts received by the insured from any tortfeasor, including non-motorist tortfeasors. Grain Dealers Mut. Ins. Co. v. Wuethrich, 716 N.E.2d 596, 599 (Ind.Ct.App.1999), trans. denied. There seems to be no dispute here that Taylor was at least partially responsible for the accident. Contrary to Kinslow's assertion, Taylor's or her insurer's $200,000 payment on her behalf must be set off against GEICO's $200,000 UM limits in this case because she was a person "who may be liable" for the Kinslows' injuries. We also note that the UM/UIM setoff statute seemingly would be meaningless if an insurer could only set off amounts paid to the insured by an uninsured motorist. Conclusion Indiana Code Section 27-7-5-5(c) applies in this case and clearly requires that the $200,000 paid by Taylor for the Kinslows' injuries must be set off against the available $200,000 UM limits of both GEICO policies at issue here. We affirm the trial court's grant of summary judgment in GEICO's favor. Affirmed. SULLIVAN, J., and ROBB, J., concur. NOTES [1] It appears Kinslow was seeking UM benefits under one or the other, but not both, of these policies, or total benefits of $200,000—$100,000 for her injuries and $100,000 for those of her husband. [2] We do not know the full monetary extent of the Kinslows' damages. [3] Beam noted eight cases from this court discussing whether a setoff clause in a particular policy's UM/UIM clause required payments to the insured from other sources to be deducted from the policy limits or from the total amount of damages. See Beam, 765 N.E.2d at 529 n. 3 & 4. Like Beam, none of these cases mentioned Indiana Code Section 27-7-5-5(c) when deciding the question.
Founded in 2006, charity: water brings clean and safe water to people in developing countries. The organization has funded over 24,500 programs for 7 million people across 24 countries to date. And they use the power of design to make it happen. “Branding and design are so core to who we are. When we started just over 10 years ago, one of the first hires was a designer.” ― Lauren Letta, Chief Operating Officer of charity: water. Still, while most nonprofits were sharing somber graphics that guilted donors into participating, charity: water made an early decision to take a positive approach to design. They’re tasked with taking an issue as complex as the global water crisis and turning it into powerful images that inspire change. As Dutch said, “From our brand’s bright colors to the joyful illustration styles we employ, we aim to inspire our supporters with a hopeful view of the global water crisis.” Here are four core strategies charity: water uses to spread hope and inspiration through design. “We wanted to change the image around charity in a way that can be filled with hope and inspiration, as opposed to despair and sadness." ― Lauren Letta, Chief Operating Officer of charity: water. Share the solution, not just the problem charity: water chooses to share the “after” picture — not the “before.” That is, they want to inspire donors and advocates by showing them exactly how their contributions can help those in need. “One of our values as an organization is to not objectify the people that we're serving. You'll never see photos of kids with flies on their faces. You’ll see smiling, happy people, often with clean water.” ― Lauren Letta, Chief Operating Officer of charity: water. charity: water celebrates 11 years of clean water: Instagram post shared by @charitywater “Our brand relies heavily on photography, which is a very emotional medium,” Dutch said. “We are very selective with the images we choose and the emotions we want our supporters to feel when they see our photos and interact with our brand.” ― Lauren Letta, Chief Operating Officer of charity: water. Help people relate through interactive campaigns It’s not easy to educate millions of people about the global water crisis. But charity: water has a plan. “Everybody can understand what it's like to have clean water. So we think: ‘How can we get people to understand what it's like to not have clean water?’” Letta said. “Again, we always lead with inspiration; it's a problem that we know how to solve.” But they can’t solve that problem alone. 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The nonprofit invited donors to crowdsource the funding needed to build the rig, which would help dig 80 new wells and give 40,000 people access to clean water. They even created a video and microsite detailing how each part of the rig would be built and how much it would cost. This helped people know exactly where their money was going. Once the rig was funded and built, charity: water invited the world to track Yellow Thunder’s journey on a map and follow it on Twitter, where it Tweets its location every time it digs a well. “Ideally, we’d take anybody who wants to learn about the water crisis to the field and help them see it firsthand,” Letta said. “But we know that we can't do that, so we have to find ways to make this issue relatable and connect people as close as possible to those who are affected.” charity: water also takes this approach with its annual charity: ball, a black-tie affair that caps the end of each year. “For our annual gala, we're always telling a story, typically about a community or a group of people that we'll be able to collectively help in that evening,” Letta said. “This year, we decided to go a layer deeper and profile our implementing partners.” The 2017 gala — held in December at the Metropolitan Museum of Art — highlighted two indigenous organizations in Cambodia and Ethiopia. charity: water used its platform to tell the stories of the people, drillers, and teams that bring clean water to communities in these countries each day. “We'll be talking about the sacrifice they make to do their jobs, because in many cases it means being away from their families for a long times and working excessive hours,” Letta said. “But then, we’ll highlight the joy that they receive by actually being the people on the ground, seeing the communities get clean water for the first time.” Make information easy to share and consume Beyond the human emotions and stories behind charity: water’s work, there’s a web of concrete numbers and data to be shared with audiences. “We’re always thinking about how to use numbers and data, and how to make them relatable and interesting,” Letta said. “So we try to turn big stats into content that people can digest and understand.” Take this blog graphic, for instance. It communicates the achievements of charity: water's teams of mechanics at a glance. charity: water also offers a downloadable poster that people can print or share online. It showcases a harrowing statistic: each year, 443 million school days are lost due to lack of clean water and sanitation. But it uses bold text and engaging graphics to grab people’s attention and draw awareness to charity: water’s mission. charity: water downloadable poster The nonprofit even designed a series of Facebook Timeline Photos for advocates to download and place on their own sites or social platforms. charity: water Facebook timeline photo “With everything we create, we think of the audience first and how and where they are most likely consuming content,” Dutch said. “Our strategy changes drastically when designing for different mediums.” When Dutch creates graphics for social media, for instance, he considers that people are probably seeing this content on their phones and tablets. So he tends to create short, easily digestible content for these mediums rather than long-form stories. For example, charity: water released this infographic in September to celebrate 11 years of providing clean water to millions of people in need. Instead of just writing, “Thanks for helping us reach 7 million people!” or drafting a long blog post about the nonprofit’s history, the designers created a timeline to showcase charity: water’s progression. It could easily be shared and consumed on social media. Celebrating 11 years of clean water: Facebook post shared by charity: water Embrace the beauty in charity “We really believe that charities can be beautiful,” Letta said. “You should want to wear a charity, to be really proud to wear a charity T-shirt because it's beautiful, and because you want to support that organization.” This doesn’t just apply to donors and advocates. It applies to charity: water’s own teams as well. Most importantly, this commitment to branding helps charity: water stand out from the noise and continue to spread hope and inspiration. “There's so much amazing content out there — not just from nonprofits, but from all brands,” Letta said. “So how do we stay unique? We're constantly trying to push forward and find a new way to innovate. Whether it be through storytelling or design, we continue to be cutting edge in the way that we think about our brand.” What do you think of charity:water's approach in branding and designing? We would like to hear from you on @XiMnetMY.
Featuring classic comic book panel inspired art from Wolverine , the Wolverine 16 oz. Acrylic Travel Mug makes a great gift for the discerning Logan fan! The body of the travel mug is acrylic while the top and bottom is made of stainless steel. The (Read More...) Wolverine 16 oz. Acrylic Travel Mug : Featuring classic comic book panel inspired art from Wolverine, the Wolverine 16 oz. Acrylic Travel Mug makes a great gift for the discerning Logan fan! The body of the travel mug is acrylic while the top and bottom is made of stainless steel. The Wolverine 16 oz. Acrylic Travel Mug measures 7-inches tall. Ages 15 and up. Entertainment Earth, Inc. markets and sells products, including children's products, for purchase by adults 18 years and over. If any product you are ordering is intended for a child please assume all of the following warnings may apply to that product: WARNING: This is not a toy, keep away from children. Not dishwasher or microwave safe.
Carpter offered by Bradley Sadowsky (6) 9 users Overview Carpter: a Chrome game that counts your pages Carpter is a simple Chrome game that counts the amount of pages you visit, and displays that as a number and a progress bar, as well as a level. Changelog +++++++++ =1.1.1 (5/1/2017) - Added copyright info, and version number =1.1.0 (4/30/2017) - Added many more levels, and made the level names more sane - Fixed some minor bugs - Added level listing =1.0.1 (4/30/2017) - Fixed invisible bug (no apparent change, and functionality remains the same) =1.0.0 (4/30/2017) - Initial release of Carpter!
Drug delivery devices allowing for multiple dosing of a required dosage of a liquid medicament, such as liquid drugs, and further providing administration of the medicament to a patient, are as such well-known in the art. Generally, such devices have substantially the same purpose as that of an ordinary syringe. Drug delivery devices of this kind have to meet a number of user specific requirements. For instance in case of those with diabetes, many users will be physically infirm and may also have impaired vision. Therefore, these devices need to be robust in construction, yet easy to use, both in terms of the manipulation of the parts and understanding by a user of its operation. Further, the dose setting must be easy and unambiguous and where the device is to be disposable rather than reusable, the device should be inexpensive to manufacture and easy to dispose. In order to meet these requirements, the number of parts and steps required to assemble the device and an overall number of material types the device is made from have to be kept to a minimum. Typically, the medicament to be administered is provided in a cartridge that has a moveable piston or bung mechanically interacting with a piston rod of a drive mechanism of the drug delivery device. By applying thrust to the piston in a distal direction, a predefined amount of the medicinal fluid is expelled from the cartridge. In particular for elderly or physically infirm users, the overall handling of the device in a home medication environment should be simple and highly reliable. As for instance illustrated in FIGS. 1 to 3, drug delivery devices and in particular pen-type injectors typically comprise a multi-component housing. Here, a distal end section typically serves as a cartridge holder 12. The cartridge holder 12 comprises a threaded socket 16 at its distal end to receive a needle assembly 18 having a correspondingly threaded needle hub 20 and a double tipped injection needle 22. The cartridge holder 12 further comprises an insert portion 26 at its proximal end section, by way of which the cartridge holder 12 can be at least partially inserted into a correspondingly shaped distal receptacle of a proximal housing component 14 of the drug delivery device, typically denoted as body 14. The body 14 serves to accommodate a drive mechanism having a piston rod to become operably engaged with a piston of a cartridge to be disposed and fixed in the cartridge holder 12. By way of the inspection window 24, the fluid or filling level of the cartridge can be visually inspected. The known device 10 as illustrated in FIGS. 1 to 3 is of disposable type. Cartridge holder 12 and body 14 are adapted to be interconnected in a non-releasable way. For this purpose, the insert portion 26 of the cartridge holder 12 comprises several circumferentially distributed through openings 28 of substantially rectangular shape. Correspondingly and as illustrated in FIG. 3, the receiving side wall portion 32 of the body 14 comprises radially inwardly protruding pegs or prongs 34 adapted to mate with the through openings 28 of the cartridge holder as soon as the cartridge holder 12 is appropriately inserted into the body 14 with its insert portion 26. Radially inwardly protruding prongs 34 further comprise a beveled surface 36 towards their distal end in order to facilitate mutual engagement of prongs 34 and through openings 28. Furthermore, the insert portion 26 of the cartridge holder 12 is delimited in distal direction by a circumferential and radially outwardly extending rim 30, which in a final assembly configuration abuts against a distally located end face 38 of the body 14. The housing components 12, 14 are typically manufactured as injection moulded plastic components, which, by virtue of appropriately selected thermoplastic materials feature a sufficient elasticity in order to support the snapping in and a resulting positive interconnection of cartridge holder 12 and body 14. However, since such drug delivery devices 10 are predominately intended for home medication, the device has to fulfill highest possible standards in terms of failure safety and robustness, especially in view of mechanical impact. If for instance the device 10 drops down from a considerably height, a mechanical load-distribution may rise above a critical level in the interconnection of cartridge holder 12 and body 14. Point stresses or point loading acting on the through opening 28 and/or on the prongs 34 may exceed a critical level and the interconnection of cartridge holder 12 and body 14 may break down, the housing components 12, 14 may release and the device 1 would be no longer of use. It is therefore an object of the present invention to provide a drug delivery device comprising a robust, reliable and mechanically resistant interconnection of cartridge holder and body. The interconnection should be easily integrable in existing housing designs of drug delivery devices. It should also be easily implementable, both, in terms of production costs and assembly work. Moreover, the interconnection of body and cartridge holder should be intuitive and easy to establish.
Blog Money20/20 Asia Worked in the US and flourishing in Europe, Money20/20 will now unite a worldwide system of trend-setters, disruptors and set up industry players at the inaugural Money20/20Asia driving an overall installment and monetary administrations unrest with a skillet Asian core interest. Money20/20 sorts out the world’s biggest occasions centered around installments and budgetary administrations at the crossing point of versatile, retail, advertising administrations, information, and innovation. In March 2018, Singapore will have the inaugural Money20/20 Asia; sparkling a light on the area’s remarkable open doors, associating organizations and people that assemble, disturb and challenge how purchasers and organizations oversee, spend and acquire cash. Money20/20 Asia will deliver on 3 key promises Exceptional content A stellar line up of speakers—nearby, provincial and worldwide—will investigate Asia Pacific’s most squeezing subjects including monetary incorporation, x-outskirt development and the computerized installments upset Senior audience from across the ecosystem A senior crowd of key partners from setting up multinational associations to the most punctual stage new companies and in addition retailers, financial specialists, examiners, media, controllers and that’s only the tip of the iceberg. An unparalleled inclusive experience An extraordinary, current and fun encounter, untethered from heritage, catalyzing development over the Asia Pacific biological system.
If this is your first visit, be sure to check out the FAQ by clicking the link above. You may have to register before you can post: click the register link above to proceed. To start viewing messages, select the forum that you want to visit from the selection below. Crossbow vs Bow? So I brought a Forest Gnome Ranger to level 35 before I grew tired of him. He absolutely destroys war camps from hiding, but having to use a short bow leaves me wanting. I was told to try a crossbow and just want some opinions. I was looking into the gnomish ones since I heard gnomes get an advantage. What type of advantage do they get? I've never even tried a crossbow tbh. Advantages, disadvantages? They offer significant DS penalties and tend to be much slower, but if you can stay in hiding the whole time, you could get the AS bonus from kneeling and the AS bonus from Camouflage and destroy things. I'm not sure whether you'd find the 5-shot mechanical bow or the speed bows to be better. I'd generally say the 5-shot, but the speed bow might be better in a warcamp overall. Edit: I'd max every hiding skill to make this happen, so 2x hiding, CMAN Shadow Mastery, and even blessings lore if you can work it in. Get a mechanical crossbow from Duskruin that can hold 3+ bolts (max is 5 bolts). As long as you have 1 bolt loaded into the crossbow, the cock time is 2s flat. Fire is 2s, aimed fire is 3s. So you're looking at 5s RT + the time it takes for the game to process your commands. Additionally, Rangers have a specific perk if you're using 608 as an opener. You can cock a crossbow while in casting RT. This makes them faster than bows on the initial shot after using 608. For bows you have 3s cast RT, then you can fire for 5s RT. For crossbows, you have 3s cast RT, combined with 2s cock RT, and fire in 2-3s (depending on aiming). Secondly, you can kneel for +30 AS. None of the above actions will take you out of stealth. Order of operations - cast 608, cock my crossbow, get 1 my bolt from <container>, load crossbow, *optional* kneel, fire target, stance defensive, stand (if kneeling). This is a lot more commands to process vs a bow, but it comes with higher DF, and potentially higher AS if you decide to use the kneel option. Recommend you develop a simple script or macro to manage the command sequence. You don't need to stance into offensive either, doing the cock action forces you into offensive. As mentioned, you'll lose some parry DS. I don't think it's significant in offensive stance, but can be noticeable in defensive stance. I have a level 62 halfling ranger and use a mechanical crossbow with the afformentioned 608 and kneeling. I love it. However, this hunting style is fiddly so make some good macros or scripts... Kneel, cast 608, fire, cock, load bolt, loot, gather bolt(s), put bolts in quiver, stand... For each critter. If you don't mind the fiddly it's a blast. It's definitely a little fiddly, but so is ranged in general. The biggest problem I ran into was accidentally cocking the crossbow with no bolts in it, since it behaves like a standard crossbow when unloaded (as far as cocking RT is concerned). I just made a macro that loaded a bolt after (or probably before?) every shot I fired. I liked it well enough with my halfling rogue, but eventually gave it up for UAC. Though now that I've basically abandoned my rogue for my monk, maybe it's time to try ranged again...
Fernandez, J. (2013). Theory of Contact : Children of the Ancients, Volume 1. Retrieved from http://members.worldlibrary.net/ Description I decided to write this story not based on the future but in the past, at the end of WWII. When As many, I was unemployed and looking for work. To keep my preoccupation under control between job searches, application and letters of not getting a job, I started this series. This series of books are based on Military Science fiction with cloak and dagger, Romance as well modern social issues put in contrast to those found in the 1940's. It is more about a description of our 21st century translated to the 1940's America. Summary The arrival of Exo-Earth humans to planet Earth during the final days of The Second World War propels the American and British governments into military cover operations toward the unknown. Special units from the two Allied nations are quickly form and diverted from the European and Pacific theaters of war to deal with these unexpected circumstances. The two governments are forced to follow an uncharted path, encountering the unforeseen opposition from concealed groups interested in obtaining the scientific advances of the Exo-Earth Humans castaways. Also the discovery of the concealed intentions from a mysterious group to topple economically the United States and the Soviet Union in the next 100 years after the end of the Second World War. To obtain world domination. This creates a geopolitical turmoil that forces all sides to strange alliances out of necessity to protect three human civilizations in our Solar System from an ancient foe that quietly observes from the distance of space for its moment to strike.
Two episodes from Steven Seagal's television series TRUE JUSTICE put together to make one feature length film, VIOLENCE IN ACTION. Seagal plays Elijah Kane, an ex-military man who is very well trained. He is recruited by the CIA as an operative and in return for his service, is promised information on the man that put a hit on his team.
A car I have spottet around here a couple of times this past year. Is it some London taxi prototype? LP17 SKK Vehicle details Vehicle make: LONDON TAXIS INT Date of first registration: August 2017 Year of manufacture: 2017 Cylinder capacity (cc): Not available CO₂Emissions: 0 g/km Fuel type: Not available Euro Status: Not available Export marker: No Vehicle status: SORN in place Vehicle colour: WHITE Vehicle type approval: Not available Wheelplan: 2-AXLE-RIGID BODY Revenue weight: Not available
Virginia voters go to primary polls Tuesday WASHINGTON – It has been a low-key campaign, with more intraparty squabbles than real issues, but voters in Virginia will choose candidates for two statewide offices and 12 legislative slots in a primary on Tuesday. The top of the ticket for the Nov. 5 election has been set for weeks, with Democrat Terry McAuliffe facing Republican Ken Cuccinelli. But voters in Tuesday’s primary will be choosing the Democratic candidates for lieutenant governor and attorney general. Meanwhile, seven members of the House of Delegates face primary challenges, including five Republicans who are up against newcomers who say they’ve broken faith with the party. That includes the 28th District, where House Speaker Bill Howell, who represents Stafford County and Fredericksburg, is being challenged by Craig Ennis. In the the 33rd District, Delegate Joe May, of Loudoun County, is being challenged by Dave LaRock. Larry Sabato, director of the University of Virginia Center for Politics, says those challenges are a residual effect of the passage of the multi-billion dollar transportation package by the Virginia General Assembly earlier this year. “Some of the anti-tax, Tea Party Republicans want to exact a price, a pound of flesh, from some of the Republicans who voted for the bill,” he says. In statewide races, Democrats will choose between state Sen. Ralph Northam and former Obama White House technology chief Aneesh Chopra for the lieutenant governor’s nomination, and between Sen. Mark Herring and Fairfax lawyer Justin Fairfax for the attorney general nomination. Sabato predicts that fewer than than 200,000 Democrats will turn out to vote in the statewide races. Republicans have already chosen E.W. Jackson as their candidate for lieutenant governor and Mark Obenshain as their attorney general candidate.
Matt Creampies Hugh Matt Creampies Hugh I know we have some button-up fans out there and I can’t say that I don’t get it. Two handsome, well-dressed men slowly undressing each other to reveal gorgeous bodies… what’s not to like? Matt and Hugh take the party inside and Hugh is all over Matt, sucking and fucking him. He feels good too and Matt tells him to ride his dick. The sex is intense! First Hugh rides Matt’s cock like it’s the last dick on earth and then Matt rails into Hugh just as hard! Pausing for a moment to blow and finger Hugh, Matt gets an idea. He grabs his belt and wraps it around Hugh to hold him like a Bronco while he fucks him from behind. Moving onto the floor, Matt jackhammers down into Hugh – which makes Hugh cum directly into his own mouth! Then Matt unloads right on Hugh’s hole and gives him one of the hottest creampies I’ve ever seen! Javascript is turned off in your browser. Some features of this page will not work correctly. Added: 1 year ago Duration: 17m:14s Rating: by 5 raters Rate this video using the stars above!Thank you for rating this video!You have already rated this video! Viewed: 11872 Flag this video: 3 likes, 0 dislikes Flag this video using the icons above!Thank you for your vote!You have already voted for this video!
Fanning v. Fanning IN THE TENTH COURT OF APPEALS No. 10-91-238-CV      NITA KISSEL FANNING,                                                                                               Appellant      v.      WHITNEY ELY FANNING,                                                                                               Appellee From the 19th District Court McLennan County, Texas Trial Court # 88-4480-1                                                                                                      O P I N I O N                                                                                                            Nita Fanning appeals from a court order reducing her former husband's child-support payments from $3000 per month to $2250 per month. After a hearing on Whitney Fanning's motion to modify child support, the court found that his net resources were less than at the time of divorce. Because Nita Fanning was improperly denied discovery of documents essential to prove the net resources available to Whitney Fanning, we reverse the judgment and remand the cause for a new trial.       The Decree of Divorce was rendered by the trial court on June 30, 1990. Mr. Fanning filed his motion to modify on September 28, 1990. On May 9, 1991, the court set the hearing on the motion to modify for May 20. Also on May 9, Ms. Fanning served Mr. Fanning with a notice to take his oral deposition on May 17. The notice was accompanied by a subpoena duces tecum, requesting the production of all financial documents supporting his motion to modify at least twenty-four hours before the deposition. The request for production designated particular documents including bank depository records, personal and business expense records, financial statements, and tax returns reflecting Mr. Fanning's income since November 2, 1989. At Mr. Fanning's request, the deposition was rescheduled for May 24, 1991, and the hearing was rescheduled for May 30. Finally, the deposition was again rescheduled by Mr. Fanning for May 29, one day before the hearing.       On May 30, Ms. Fanning presented to the court a motion for sanctions related to Mr. Fanning's failure to comply with the requested discovery. At the beginning of the hearing Ms. Fanning's attorney informed the court that, although Mr. Fanning made no objections or claims of privilege to the discovery request, he produced only ten pieces of paper at the time specified in the amended notice of oral deposition. Mr. Fanning appeared at the deposition with incomplete records of bank deposits, but he refused to produce other records to substantiate his claimed reduction in income from his law practice. According to Ms. Fanning's attorney, during the deposition Mr. Fanning claimed for the first time that the requested financial documents were privileged.       Nevertheless, the court proceeded to hear evidence on Mr. Fanning's motion to modify without considering Ms. Fanning's motion for sanctions. Mr. Fanning testified that there had been a material and substantial change in his net resources since the entry of the divorce decree. The court overruled Ms. Fanning's objections to the conclusory nature of his testimony. At the time of the divorce, the amount of net resources available to Mr. Fanning was $19,000 per month. He offered, as evidence of a change in resources, copies of income-tax returns representing his income for 1989 and 1990. Ms. Fanning objected to the admission of both exhibits because they were a summary of financial records not in evidence and because Mr. Fanning had failed to provide such records during discovery.       Mr. Fanning testified that the 1989 return reflected a gross income of $251,000 and a net income of less than $180,000. Ms. Fanning objected to the introduction of the 1990 tax return, which was unsigned, as hearsay. She also objected to the introduction of his accountant's letter, attached to the return, as hearsay. Mr. Fanning testified that the 1990 return reflected gross receipts of $321,000 from his law profession, a gross income of $135,065, and taxes of $40,000. The court overruled Ms. Fanning's objections and admitted the two exhibits.       Finally, Mr. Fanning argued that, because of recent changes in the workers' compensation laws, his law practice was going to suffer. Although the court took judicial notice of the statutory changes, and Mr. Fanning testified that over half of his income was attributable to workers' compensation cases, he offered no evidence of how his practice had in fact been affected by the changes in workers' compensation practice generally.       Section 14.052(a) of the Family Code provides that the statutory guidelines for the support of a child "are intended to guide the courts in determining equitable amounts of child support in any suit affecting the parent-child relationship, including . . . actions involving . . . modification . . . ." According to section 14.053(a), "An order of child support shall be based on the `net resources' of the obligor and obligee . . . ." "Net resources" includes self-employment income: Income from self-employment, whether positive or negative, includes benefits allocated to an individual from a business . . . less ordinary and necessary expenses required to produce that income, but may exclude amounts allowable under federal income tax law as depreciation, tax credits, or any other business expenses shown by the evidence to be inappropriate to the determination of income for the purpose of calculating child support. (Emphasis added).       For the court to properly consider what business expenses are appropriately deducted from the gross income of Whitney Fanning's law practice, Nita Fanning must be able to conduct discovery of the financial documents supporting his calculations of net income. Without the requested documents, Ms. Fanning is unable to adequately challenge Mr. Fanning's testimony concerning his financial resources. Ms. Fanning properly requested discovery of Mr. Fanning's financial records, filed a motion for sanctions upon his refusal to produce documents that he asserted were privileged, sought a hearing on her motion before the hearing on Mr. Fanning's motion to modify, and objected to Mr. Fanning's evidence of net income because it was derived from the financial records withheld from her. Under these circumstances, we find that the denial of discovery deprived Ms. Fanning of access to material information needed to effectively cross-examine Mr. Fanning and to effectively challenge the accuracy of his testimony. The denial of discovery was material not only because it denied Ms. Fanning information needed to adequately present her case to the court, but also because it deprived the trial court of sufficient evidence on which to base a determination of Mr. Fanning's net resources, including his income from the law practice. We recognize the need to protect the confidentiality of the records of Mr. Fanning's law practice. However, this need not be an absolute bar to discovery because the court may order an in camera inspection of the documents to protect confidential client records. We find that the denial of discovery was such a denial of Nita Fanning's rights as was reasonably calculated to cause and probably did cause the rendition of an improper judgment. As a result, we sustain Nita Fanning's second point of error, and, without reaching her other points, we reverse the judgment and remand the cause for a new trial.                                                                                    BOBBY L. CUMMINGS                                                                                  Justice Before Chief Justice Thomas,           Justice Cummings, and           Justice Vance Reversed and remanded Opinion delivered and filed November 18, 1992 Publish
Post navigation Just Announced: Life happens before and after spring break Hopefully everyone was able to breath a sigh of relief after their end-of February midterms, and for those of you with midterms in the near future, may you study long and prosper. It is getting towards that time though where everyone just pushes through these last few weeks of March before their much-anticipated spring break. But did you know that you can find insane entertainment before AND after spring break? WUD Music knew. We’ve always known and just for the enjoyment of students all around campus, we announce these sick shows below:
The effects of growth hormone and insulin-like growth factor on the proliferation rate and morphology of RAW 264.7 macrophages. It is well documented that growth hormone (GH) functions to regulate both cell growth and cell number and is considered the master hormone because it affects almost every cell of the body. Growth hormone stimulates the liver to secrete insulin-like growth factor (IGF-1), which is also capable of binding insulin as well as insulin-like binding receptors on the cell surface. It is possible that GH cellular effects are mediated by IGF-1 rather than GH itself. In this study, RAW 264.7 cells were challenged with a high dose of GH (48 ng/microliter), a low of dose GH (4.8 ng/microliter), a high dose of IGF-1 (26 ng/microliter) or low doses of IGF-1 (6.3 ng/microliter) for 24, 48, 72, and 96 hours. Cell number, cell protein concentration, cell damage, and cellular morphology were measured at each time point and compared to untreated RAW 264.7 cells. The results show significant increases in cell number for cells treated with low doses of GH and IGF-1 at 24 hour phase. Cell proliferative effects were also observed at 48 hours in IGF-1 treated cells. Cellular damage (MDA levels) was not statistically significant for any treated group for the entire duration of the experiment. Most notable differences were observed in cellular morphology for both IGF-1 and GH treated cells. IGF-1 resulted in condensation of the nuclear material as early as 24 hours after treatment. (1) RAW 264.7 responded to both IGF-1 and GH equally (viability and proliferation), and (2) morphological changes were observed in all cells treated with both hormones compared to control group. This study indicates that GH hormone could induce its effect directly or indirectly through IGF-1.
Kail was Netflix's vp of information technology operations until August 2014. He was in charge of contracts and invoices for Netflix's tech vendors, which included an enterprise software company called Vistara IT and a tech contract worker company called Netenrich. What Netflix didn't know, the video streaming company alleges, is that Kail had a side company called Unix Mercenary, which was taking a 12-15% commission on invoices being paid by Netflix. Netflix claims fraud and breach of fiduciary duty. Yahoo declined to comment on the case when contacted by Business Insider. Business Insider has also reached out Kail for comment. We'll update this story when we hear from him. Kail has not responded to the suit, which was only filed in a California state court on Nov. 24. Over two or three years, Netflix paid $1.4 million to Vistara for its services, the suit claims, and $2.3 million to Netenrich. At some point along the way, Kail began requiring the companies pay commissions to Unix Mercenary in chunks of around $5,000 to $10,000 at a time. The 12-15% commission rate would mean that Kale took between $450,000 and $560,000, the lawsuit implies. However, the suit only mentions specific payments to Unix of $76,000. Unix's billing address was Kail's house, the suit alleges. Kail did not disclose the arrangement to Netflix, the company claims. Netflix appears to have discovered the alleged scheme by reading Kail's emails. This one from October 2013 allegedly talks about "my/our arrangement": CA Superior Court A short time later, Kail appears to have written to Netenrich to ask about "getting my portion paid": CA Superior Court This alleged email from Netenrich mentions Kail's "referral fees": CA Superior Court This is the text of what Netflix claims is an invoice showing that Unix was based at Kail's home:
Blog Archives The stop-motion animation wizards at Laika have made some of the most charming and visually impressive movies of the last few years, including The Box Trolls, Kubo and the Two Strings, and ParaNorman. They’ve built up enough trust that I will see anything that they attach their name to. Missing Link is probably their least successful big screen effort yet, though that still means it’s only perfectly fine rather than great-to-amazing. It’s a heartfelt buddy comedy about a Bigfoot creature (voiced by Zach Galfianakis) that seeks out mentorship from a dashing adventurer (Hugh Jackman). It’s a sweet story but not fully emotionally engaging because the characters are fairly simplistic. There isn’t a lot of depth here and, surprisingly, more crass jokes aimed at a younger audience than their earlier output. From a visual standpoint, it’s beautiful with vibrant colors and fluid animation that has become indistinguishable from CGI nowadays. The action set pieces, usually appearing at a regular clip with each new location change, are fun and have their clever moments, like a capsizing ship that reminded me of the spinning Inception hallway. It’s an amusing, lower tier animated movie for Laika, but I’m worried that there might not be more of these movies the way they’re going at the box-office. Laika was treading financial water with excellent movies, and anything “less than” seems like it could possibly tip the independent animation production company over for good. Missing Link is a cute, mostly harmless, mostly entertaining movie that just doesn’t have the same ambitions and level of execution that previous Laika films have had. With that being said, it’s still worth a watch on the big screen for any animation aficionado. At this point the Laiki studio (ParaNorman, The Box Trolls) has earned as much good will and credibility as Pixar in their pre-Cars 2 prime. I almost was going to write off their latest, Kubo and the Two Strings. For the first forty minutes or so I was somewhat indifferent to it. Sure the stop-motion animation was stunningly realized and the creation of the environments was very meticulous, but I just couldn’t connect with the movie’s story of a young boy, Kubo, and his quest to claim magic items to thwart the advances of his dangerous and estranged mystical family. Then the first big set piece happened and then the next, and then the plot made some deft reveals and provided a strong emotional foundation, and I was hooked. This is Laika’s first real action film and the wide shots and long takes do plenty to serve the action and allow you to further marvel at the painstaking brilliance of these hard-working animators. It’s a full-fledged fantasy epic that tickles the imagination and provides a poignant undercurrent of emotion especially during the final act. As Kubo declares his real strength are his memories of loved ones past, I was starting to get teary. It’s a lovely message to top off an exciting and involving action movie with creepy villains and side characters that do more than throwaway one-liners. Art Parkinson (Game of Thrones) gives a very expressive and emotive performance as our lead. Charlize Theron is outstanding as Kubo’s maternal protector who just happens to be a monkey. Rooney Mara is also genuinely eerie as an ethereal pair of flying sisters trying to snatch Kubo. Matthew McConaughey isn’t the best vocal actor due to the limited range of his vocal register but he’s still enjoyably daft. The Japanese setting and culture are recreated with loving touches that celebrate rather than appropriate. I still regard the arch silliness of The Box Trolls as my favorite film but Kubo is more than a worthy follow-up. The slow start is worth it by film’s end, so stick with it if you start to doubt yourself, because the emotional wallop of Kubo and the Two Strings, not to mention its creative high points, is well worth the invested effort. Another delightful film from the creators of ParaNorman, the whimsical Boxtrolls is another stop-motion treasure that plays just as well for children as it does adults. The fanciful world follows the industrious title creatures that have wrongly been demonized as villains. Snatcher (a tremendous Ben Kingsley) has much to gain by stirring up boxtroll fears, and if he captures them all he’ll finally be allowed to join the town’s inner circle of muckity mucks. We follow “Eggs” a boy who has been raised by the boxtrolls since he was a baby and his re-emergence with the world above ground, notably with the help of a morbid little girl, Winnie (Elle Fanning). The world building is confident and well developed, the storyline finds nuanced ways to be touching and deliver serious messages about peer pressure, assimilation, and the ways which we judge ourselves and whether those are even of merit. But the main draw is the glorious animation, so fluid, so lively, and a landscape that makes full use of color and light and shadow. It’s an immersive experience that your eyes don’t want to blink for fear of missing something. The plot is droll and expertly sequenced with its variety of character and comic asides. The vocal cast does a terrific job, notably Kingsley and a hilarious Tracy Morgan. The film can get a little spooky for young children but should still be comfortable viewing. The Boxtrolls is further proof that the animation house Laika is operating at near-Pixar peak levels of brilliance and deserve the benefit of the doubt with any future films. Like this: The gorgeously animated stop-motion film ParaNorman is a terrific sight for the eyes. There’s a certain magic to stop-motion, the tangible nature of it all, the knowledge that these intricate worlds actually existed. Like Coraline, the previous film by the same animation house, I thoroughly enjoyed immersing myself in this handcrafted world. The animation is so fluid, so sprightly, and displays a rich artistic tone. The story, about a kid who can see ghosts, is noticeably less ambitious. The characters are a tad one-dimensional (bratty older sister, dimwitted jock, socially awkward chubby best friend, etc.) and the plot is fairly predictable, but what really elevates ParaNorman is its sense of humor. I was laughing heartily throughout the movie, not just a giggle or a chortle but good, solid laughs. ParaNorman has an irreverent sense of humor with some surprisingly adult-oriented gags (nothing to worry about parents). With these virtues, the movie becomes an entertaining horror comedy aimed at young teens and older adults. It’s a fun movie, short of a saggy second act, and the animation is aces.
Sleeve material is not resistant to wear. When walking inside of the sleeve clings zipper pockets and deteriorating rapidly.The actual size of the jacket more than you need. If you normally wear a size of XL, then you must buy LComfortable to wear in winter to a temperature of - 12 Celsius(10.4°F). Only had the coat a couple of weeks and the Velcro on the sleeves ripped out. Tried to take it back to the store to exchange it but by that time they had nothing in the store or on line. This was a Christmas gift and should last more than a couple of weeks. Otherwise I like the coat as far as warmth and weight. Too bad I have to pay extra now to the tune of 20.00 to get it repaired.
Mr. Evan Sayet is one of the most well renowned conservative comedians out there. He has worked with Ben Stein, Bill Maher and Andrew Breitbart. In this speech to The Conservative Forum he explains, “Why Liberals think Conservatives are Evil.” According to David Horowitz, Mr. Sayet is “simply the best political comedian working in America today”, and a more serious thinker. In the latter capacity, Evan delivered the speech to the Heritage Foundation which Andrew Breitbart called “one of the five most important conservative speeches ever given,” a lecture that is now by far the single most viewed talk in their history. Evan has written and/or produced in just about every medium there is, including TV’s “Politically Incorrect with Bill Maher” (for which he apologizes), the multiple festival award-winning documentary “Dodo” and authored The Kindergarden of Eden: How the Modern Liberal Thinks (Evan will be selling and signing his new book). He was also the original writer for the long-running, cult classic game show, “Win Ben Stein’s Money.” Evan lives in Los Angeles. About the author Onan Coca Onan is the Editor-in-Chief at Liberty Alliance media group. He's also the managing editor at Eaglerising.com, Constitution.com and the managing partner at iPatriot.com. You can read more of his writing at Eagle Rising. Onan is a graduate of Liberty University (2003) and earned his M.Ed. at Western Governors University in 2012. Onan lives in Atlanta with his wife and their three wonderful children.
Welcome to an Engaged Community There's a better way to personalize your website experience. With myConnection, the profile you create allows you to set up a unique starting point for the tasks and transactions that you want to complete in your time on this website. Use myConnection to gather the information that you most care about from across this website into one central location, giving you greater control over how you connect with your community. Following the passage of a voter referendum on November 6, 2012 authorizing the Village of Hawthorn Woods to contract with an electric supplier to seek savings for residential and small commercial retail electric accounts, the Village contracted with FirstEnergy Solutions (FES) for a one-year term. The results of the initial contract brought a cumulative savings to the community of $396,000 in the first nine months of the program, with the average household (that was enrolled in the program) saving $200 in electricity supply costs over that term. The Village again sought bids to renew the program and selected FirstEnergy Solutions for the low competitive rate they were able to offer. The new rate is 5.48 cents per kWh, for a 36-month term ending 2017. The current ComEd Price to compare is 7.48 cents per kWh (effective June 1, 2014), but can change monthly. The Hawthorn Woods rate will remain fixed at 5.48 cents. Opt out notices were mailed to all eligible residential and small commercial retail accounts unless they had already switched to another alternative Supplier, were in the Residential Real-Time Pricing (RRTP) program, or were subject to the ComEd Bundled Hold. If the latter, residents would have received a letter from ComEd explaining the “hold” process. If a ratepayer has already switched to another supplier but would like to enroll in the Village’s program with FirstEnergy Solutions, they may call FES at 888-651-5200, 7:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m., Central time, Monday through Friday and present their name, address and ComEd account number for enrollment. Enrollment will occur with one to two billing cycles. Ratepayers are recommended to first check to determine if they have an early termination fee with their supplier, or to check their termination date before enrolling in the Village’s program. There is no fee to join the program during the three-year term, and no early termination fee should a ratepayer choose to vacate the program or move from the community. As in the initial program, residents and small commercial retail business owners whose ComEd accounts are enrolled in the program will receive only one bill from ComEd. It will include the electric supply charges from FirstEnergy Solutions. ComEd will continue to charge for delivery. Electric Aggregation Program FAQs How can I enroll in the program? You need do nothing if you have an eligible resident or small commercial electric account; you will automatically be enrolled unless you opt out. What is an eligible resident or small commercial account? Any resident who is currently with ComEd and has not already switched to an Alternate Retail Electric Supplier (ARES) or who is not enrolled in a special Residential Real-Time Pricing (RRTP) program is eligible, and small commercial accounts are eligible. You must also have a residence or business located in the Village of Hawthorn Woods. What is a “small commercial account?” A small commercial account is defined by the ICC as a commercial account using under 15,000 kWh per year. What if I don’t want to be in the program? You may opt out before the program begins. All eligible resident and small commercial ratepayers will receive an opt out notice. They must sign and return the notice as directed within the letter within the 14-day opt out period if they do not wish to be in the program. Otherwise, they will automatically be enrolled. I am located in Hawthorn Woods’ Village limit, have already switched to another ARES, but would like to join the program. Can I do this? Yes. Contact FES directly at 888-651-5200 to enroll. You are advised to check your current contract to review any early termination fees for which you may be liable. You may wait for your current contract to expire before enrolling in the aggregation program. You may join the program at any time during the one-year contract, for no fee. Why is the Village doing this? A Municipal Electric Aggregation Program was approved by voters in a November 6, 2012 referendum allowing the Village to seek pricing from an ICC- licensed alternative electric supplier. Are other municipalities doing this? Yes. Over 650 Illinois municipalities have undertaken an aggregation program, representing approximately 80 percent of the State’s population. What is the current ComEd rate? The current non-summer ComEd rate as of March 2014 is 6.023 cents per kWh. This includes a fixed charge of 5.523 cents (includes supply and transmission services) plus a variable Purchase Energy Adjustment (PEA), of 0.5 cents. This rate can vary every month. These items are listed separately on the ComEd bill; program participants receive just one single fixed rate of 5.48. Will I get two bills, one from ComEd and another from the new supplier? No. ComEd will continue to bill you for electric supply, delivery and taxes. They will pass the monies you pay for the energy supply to FES. ComEd will retain the fees you pay for delivery. Will that affect my ComEd electric service? No. ComEd has not generated electricity since 2007. A government agency, the Illinois Power Agency (IPA) has contracted your electric supply for you. You are free to select a lower-cost supplier. Whom do I call if I have service problems? Call ComEd with reports of outages or downed power lines at 800-334-7661. For questions about your supply, you can call the customer service number for FES. This is listed under “Electric Supply Services” on your ComEd bill. How will I know if I am saving money? Your new supplier’s rate will be clearly stated on your ComEd bill along with the customer service number. Subtract that number from the ComEd rate of 5.48 cents. The difference, multiplied by your kWh usage for the month, is the dollar amount you are saved that month. Will the new FES rate change? The rate is fixed for three years with an option for residents to leave at any time with no early termination fee. The Village may back to bid for new rates when this term expires. You will automatically be included in the program again unless you choose to opt out. I am on ComEd’s residential space heating rat. How do I benefit? As of June 2013, the special space heat rate program has been discontinued. The rate is now the same as the non-space heat rate. If I am automatically enrolled in the program now, can I leave the program at any time? Yes, you may leave the program and move your account back to ComEd or another ARES, and at no early termination fee. What is ComEd’s 12-month “stay” requirement? Please note ComEd regulation prohibiting customers from switching accounts frequently. If your account was with an ARES and you moved back to ComEd more than two months ago, you are under a 12-month “stay” and may not switch to a new supplier for that period. If you are automatically enrolled in the Village’s aggregation program, and later switch back to ComEd, you must switch to a new supplier within two months or you will be subject to that 12-month stay. If you have never chosen a supplier and choose to opt out of the aggregation program, you are not under a 12-month stay and may switch to another supplier at any time. Who is the new supplier? FirstEnergy Solutions is a wholly owned subsidiary of FirstEnergy Corp, an Akron, Ohio based, NYSE-listed company, symbol FE. FES is certified by the Illinois Commerce Commission as an Alternate Retail Electric Supplier in the State of Illinois. FirstEnergy has significant experience in municipal aggregations for electricity, serving over 1.5 million residential accounts across several states. I am enrolled in low-income assistance program. Will that be affected? No. If you currently receive assistance via PIPP or LIHEAP, that status will not change and you can continue to get these benefits for your ComEd bill. I’m on ComEd’s budget billing plan. Will that change? No, you will remain on the budget-billing plan. Can I still have my payment automatically deduced from my checking account as I do now? Yes. The way you pay your ComEd bill will not change. What if the ComEd rate drops below the Village’s contracted rate at some future time? The Village of Hawthorn Woods entered into a contract with FES that offers a fixed rate for three years. Should the ComEd rate drop below the Village’s rate, ratepayers may leave the program and move back to ComEd at any time—for no early termination fee. Will someone come to my home or call to sign me up? No. You need do nothing to automatically be enrolled in the program. If someone contacts you, requesting your ComEd account number and claims to be representing the Hawthorn Woods program, please report such activity to Village Hall or file a complaint with the ICC at http://www.icc.illinois.gov/consumer/complaint. Will ComEd’s viability be threatened by the loss of all these accounts? No. Since 2007, ComEd no longer generates electricity but continues to earn fees for delivery of electricity. Will ComEd raise its rates? ComEd must request a rate hike from State of Illinois regulators. The supplier you select has no impact on ComEd’s delivery rates. What happens if I move? If you stay within the Village limits, you can remain in the aggregation program, however, you must call FES to enroll at your new location, as no account is automatically included after the initial opt out period ends. Residents moving into the community after the program begins will not be automatically enrolled, but may contact FES to receive the Hawthorn Woods rate. There is no fee to enroll. How is the Village able to get such low rates? By combining the purchasing power of all residents and small commercial accounts, the Village of Hawthorn Woods negotiated rates lower than residents can achieve when switching individually to a new supplier. Is my electric supply at greater risk now that deregulation has opened markets to multiple suppliers? No. ComEd remains the Provider of Last Resort (POLR), and is required to deliver electricity. Will my utility tax decrease? The aggregation program has no impact on your utility tax due. You are taxed on energy usage in kilowatt-hours, not the dollar cost of supply. Does the energy supply include any renewable “green” energy sources? Yes. Your energy supply meets, at minimum, the Illinois Renewable Portfolio Standard, which is eight percent for the “Energy Year” 2013-2014 (June 1, 2013 to May 31, 2014). That minimum increases every year through 2025. Thus a portion of your electric supply is sourced from renewable resources such as solar and wind and may be represented through the purchase of Renewable Energy Certificates (RECs). Does the Village receive any monies for having undertaking this program? No. The Village of Hawthorn Woods has worked to bring this program to benefit residents and small business owners and receives no payment from FirstEnergy Solutions. The Illinois Commerce Commission offers more information about energy deregulation in Illinois and energy supply choices at www.pluginillinois.org. For questions about your electric account, or to enroll in the FirstEnergy Solutions program, do not call Village Hall. Contact FES at 888-651-5200, Monday through Friday, 7:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. Central time. If you require additional assistance, call NIMEC at 800-727-3820 to leave your question and callback number. You will be contacted within 24 hours regarding the issue. To report an electrical outage, for assistance with meter readings, or for questions pertaining to your ComEd bill, call ComEd at 800-334-7661. Village Board Approves Electric Aggregation Plan of Operations and Governance The Hawthorn Woods Village Board formally adopted the electric aggregation Governance on November 27, 2012. Village staff is now coordinating the bid process with the Northern Illinois Municipal Electric Collaborative, or NIMEC. As outlined in the Plan of Operations and Governance, the Village will select a rate for electric supply from a qualified provider. The Village Board has agreed that the Village will not take a municipal contribution from the winning supplier in order to pass 100 percent of the savings on to the residents. Additionally, the Village Board has decided that there will be no fee to opt in or opt out of the aggregation program. This means that residents can enter the program at no cost and will not be charged if they leave the program for a more attractive electricity supplier. Once the bid process is completed and the new rate is chosen, all residents who use ComEd as their electricity supplier will receive two opt out notices in the mail that outline the rate for the Village program and explain how residents can opt out. No action is required for residents who wish to participate. Residents currently with an electric supplier other than ComEd are advised to first check with their supplier to determine what, if any, early termination fee they may be subject to. Then they can decide if they wish to pay that fee, or wait until their contract expires. Then, once the opt-out process has started, these residents should call the toll-free service number of the winning supplier and ask to be enrolled and specifically ask for the Hawthorn Woods aggregation rate and terms. Once the new supplier has been selected and the new rate determined, more specific information about the process will become available. No action is required at this time on the part of residents. Hawthorn Woods voters on November 6 approved the municipal electric aggregation ballot measure. According to the Lake County Clerk’s Office, the unofficial vote tally was 2,457, or 63.6 percent, voting in favor of electric aggregation and 1,406, or 36.4%, voting against the measure. Two public hearings have been scheduled for November 26 and 27 at 7 p.m. on electric aggregation and the draft Plan. Contact Chief Financial Officer Kristin Kazenas with any comments or questions at For security reasons, you must enable JavaScript to view this E-mail address. or (847) 847-3590. Before the aggregation program begins, all residents will receive two opportunities to opt out of the program following the approval of the Plan of Operation and Governance, which will outline the procedure. Municipal electric aggregation allows municipalities to pool residential and small commercial retail customers together to seek bids with the objective of securing lower electric rates than the rate paid by ComEd customers that is set by the Illinois Power Agency. By creating these economies of scale, a community can leverage the buying power of thousands of residents and small businesses in an effort to obtain a lower price for the supply of electricity. What is Electric Aggregation? Municipal electric aggregation allows municipalities to pool residential and small commercial retail customers together to seek bids with the objective of securing lower electric rates than the rate paid by ComEd customers that is set by the Illinois Power Agency. By creating these economies of scale, a community can leverage the buying power of thousands of residents and small businesses in an effort to obtain a lower price for the supply of electricity. There are two main components to electricity: supply and distribution. As a result of deregulation of the electric supply market in Illinois, ComEd no longer generates or supplies electricity, but simply delivers electricity to homes and businesses through its infrastructure and power lines. ComEd has not been a supplier of electricity since 2007. With aggregation, a municipality can seek a lower price for the supply of electricity with alternative suppliers; however, ComEd would, by law, continue to distribute electricity to consumers through its infrastructure. What makes this possible now? In 2009, the State of Illinois amended the Illinois Power Agency Act with Public Act 96-0716 to provide for the municipal aggregation of electricity. Commercial accounts were enjoying significant savings on their electric supply, but few residents had switched to lower-cost suppliers. This Act enabled municipalities across Illinois to seek lower rates for its entire community. The objective was to drive rates lower by pooling together the larger electric load across an entire community. Residents were previously able to purchase electricity from an alternate supplier but the savings was not as significant. What is the process for Electric Aggregation? In order for the Village to create a municipal aggregation program, a referendum must be approved by a majority of voters. The Village Board approved a resolution at the July 16, 2012, Village Board meeting providing for the referendum question to appear on the November 6, 2012. Voters approved this referendum question. Now that the referendum has been approved, the Village can solicit proposals from suppliers who are licensed by the Illinois Commerce Commission as alternative retail electric suppliers in the State of Illinois. Proposals are reviewed, and the Village determines if and with whom it will enter into an agreement for energy supply. If favorable pricing does not exist, the Village will not enter into an agreement, and accounts would remain at the IPA-set rate at ComEd. Based on the timing of the above process, a Village aggregation program would not become effective until early 2013. How will this affect me? Once an aggregation program is created, all residents and small businesses will be automatically enrolled in the program unless they "opt-out." Before the aggregation program begins, all residents would receive two opportunities to opt out of the program. The winning supplier would send an opt-out notice to all eligible residential and small commercial accounts. Unless the account holder responded to the notice, the account would automatically be enrolled at the lower rate. This opt out notice would include details about the rate, the term, the savings versus the IPA-set rate and the term. Residents would later receive notice from ComEd that their account was to be moved to the new supplier. Residents would again have the opportunity to opt out of the program. Regardless of whichever option residents and businesses chose, ComEd remains the utility provider delivering electricity to homes and businesses. Residents would continue to receive one ComEd bill that would include the supply charges from the new lower-cost supplier, and residents would continue to be encouraged to call ComEd in case of an outage or service need. The only difference would be a change in the supply rate of the electricity bill.
The Dream Pop EZX presents a truly unique fusion of organic and electronic percussion that bridges the gap between nature and technology. A sonic panorama where wood meets metal, man battles machine and complex textures of modular synthesis clash with the crude, unfiltered tone of nature. This is the perfect canvas for ethereal soundscapes and contemporary music where you let your own creativity be the primary architect.All in all, the Dream Pop EZX comes with 29 preset drum kits made up by a total of close to 250 individual percussive sounds. In addition to traditional acoustic drums and classic drum machine sounds, you'll find completely new hybrids and textured percussive foley sampled from a rich variety of elements. Get creative renditions of stomps, claps, snares and kicks – but also, a set of chromatic pad-like sounds as well as a collection of ever-changing filter loops run through a modular system.The Dream Pop EZX is the culmination of when cutting-edge sound design comes to a head with convention and creates something entirely new. Start making the drum tracks of your wildest dreams. Literally.Requires EZ Drummer 2. We recommend that you check the manufacturers website to check compatibility of this product with your particular system as software cannot be refunded if unsealed. You can also contact our sales team for information. Keep up to date with all our latest news, giveaways and competitions... Blog Steinberg News - Cubase 9 Announced by Dan The Man on December 7, 2016 Cubase has seen regular updates over its lifetime, and has become one of the most well-loved DAWs all over the world. Cubase 9 brings with it a host of new features and workflow enhancements, keeping it at the forefront of music production software. › Read more
Nata was a girl with incredibly strong moral values. Sure, she would never expect ending up like this - being mercilessly banged by two guys at a time for not paying her debts. Poor girl had no way out, though, so she humbly got rid of her clothes, bent and enveloped fat stiff meat with her full lips. A second later she felt something huge and hard penetrating her tight trimmed flower. The studs were definitely getting what they wanted slowly pumping little cutie out of consciousness...
Report: Numerous security policy violations in inmate escape By KATE BRUMBACK - 7/21/17 1:13 PM ATLANTA — Two Georgia prison guards failed to properly search and secure their prisoners on a transfer bus, enabling two inmates to free themselves and rush forward to overpower and kill the guards who had violated numerous security procedures, officials said Friday in reports on the deadly June escape. The two reports lay the blame for the escape on the slain guards, and corrections officials said numerous procedures are being revised in response. “My heart remains heavy with the realization of the gravity of these losses to the families, to our agency and to our state,” Georgia Department of Corrections Commissioner Greg Dozier told reporters before detailing the report findings and plans for sweeping changes. “I am determined not to allow an event like this to take place again,” Dozier said. The security lapses enabled inmates Ricky Dubose and Donnie Rowe to exit the inmate compartment, overpower Sgt. Christopher Monica and Sgt. Curtis Billue and use the officers’ guns to kill them, according to a report from an external review conducted after the June 13 escape. The external review conducted by representatives from several state law enforcement agencies focused on the escape. An internal review by the Department of Corrections was meant to evaluate agency security procedures for inmate transport. Dubose and Rowe carjacked a driver and sped off, sparking an intense manhunt that culminated two days later in Tennessee. The two are accused of killing Monica and Billue and face charges including murder. The external review report says it began when Monica and Billue missed what’s believed to be a toothbrush when searching Rowe before he boarded the bus around 4:42 a.m. The officers failed to double-lock the inmates’ restraints, which is required by policy. That allowed Dubose to remove his handcuffs within two minutes of boarding the bus and then to remove the cuffs from Rowe and many other inmates, the report says. The “single greatest point of failure” was the failure to secure the gate between the inmate compartment and the officer compartment on the bus, the report says. The officers violated policy by leaving their assigned handguns in storage boxes throughout the trip rather than wearing them, and by not wearing ballistic vests. Billue’s vest was later found in his personal vehicle. Monica didn’t even have a ballistic vest, and a separate vest that blocks stab wounds was retrieved from his family. The bus also left Baldwin State Prison before sunrise, despite a policy that says prisoners shouldn’t be transported in the dark unless there’s an emergency and pre-dawn transport is approved by the warden. When the bus arrived at Hancock State Prison at 5:43 a.m. to pick up additional inmates, both officers exited the bus, leaving the inmates unattended. An inmate can be heard on video telling the other inmates that the lock on the gate between the compartments wasn’t locked. It took Rowe about a minute to get the door open using the implement he’d smuggled aboard, the report says. Rowe and Dubose went into the officers’ compartment and rifled through the officers’ lunches, returning to the inmate compartment before the guards returned with more inmates at 6:05 a.m. and again failed to lock the gate, the report says. Dubose removed his uniform shirt about 20 minutes later and he and Rowe began moving toward the front of the bus a short time later. As Rowe began attempting to reopen the security gate, video shows most of the other inmates moving toward the back of the bus, the report says. Rowe and Dubose got through the gate at about 6:40 a.m., attacked and killed the guards with their own guns within seconds and then carjacked the passing driver, the report says. Several inmates who were on the bus said Monica was asleep during portions of the trip, but that could not be confirmed by video, the report says. Dozier said three changes were made immediate following the escape: a trail vehicle was added for every prison transport by June 20; all transportation officers underwent refresher training between June 20 and June 28; and a duty officer was assigned at all facilities to ensure compliance with transport procedures. Going forward, even more changes will be implemented, he said. They include: — Key-retaining padlocks on the doors to the inmate compartment on transfer buses to ensure the key couldn’t come out of the lock without the lock being secure; — Implementation of a pre-departure checklist before inmate transport; — Continuing use of newly implemented trail vehicles for all inmate transports; — Video surveillance throughout the bus, not just in inmate compartment; The AP is one of the largest and most trusted sources of independent newsgathering. AP is neither privately owned nor government-funded; instead, as a not-for-profit news cooperative owned by its American newspaper and broadcast members, it can maintain its single-minded focus on newsgathering and its commitment to the highest standards of objective, accurate journalism.
Awesome Tees King And Queen Couple T- Shirt RK0000118 Rs. 1,399.00 Rs. 1,899.00 Size Male S M L XL Size Female S M L XL Quantity Hurry! Only 16 Left In Stock. 0 0 : days 0 0 : hours 0 0 : mins 0 0 secs Description + Let your partner know that they rule your Heart with these amazing King an Queen Couple T-shirts. The T-Shirt comes in 180 GSM pure cotton fabric. The Polished and Exquisite Gold Foil Printing, which is also one of the Hottest Trend this season, gives the T shirt a royal appeal. The fabric is comfortable to wear, super combed and bio-washed. The T-shirts are available in sizes S,M,L and XL Round Neck T Shirt Material- 100% cotton Super Combed Fabric Care: Wash in Cold Water, Dry Naturally, Do Not Use Iron Directly on the Print, Do not Bleach.
Ghost of Midnight … about neighbors, community and Front Porch Forum Burlington Ruby Conference July 28-29 #BTV #VT – Vermont’s emerging web application development community will gather at Main Street Landing in Burlington to hear from top developers across North America, including engineers from Twitter and several leading dev. shops. All are welcome. Register today: http://bit.ly/BURUCO
High Capacity-Size Ratio: Adds over one charge (over 14 hours talktime) to an iPhone 6, almost one full charge to a Galaxy S6 or at least one full charge to most other smartphones, from a compact lipstick sized charger.
classes=80 train=./data/coco_1000img.txt valid=./data/coco_1000val.txt names=data/coco.names backup=backup/ eval=coco
See what's left after house explodes in neighborhood A house in Castle Rock, Colo., was leveled from what officials believe was a natural-gas explosion. http://www.wtsp.com/video/1897728790001/1/See-whats-left-after-house-explodes-in-neighborhoodhttp://bc_gvpc.edgesuite.net/img/963482463001/201210/1736/963482463001_1897697816001_ari-origin29-arc-158-1350092740886.jpg?pubId=963482463001See what's left after house explodes in neighborhoodA house in Castle Rock, Colo., was leveled from what officials believe was a natural-gas explosion. video bizarre coloradoLocal Hard NewsvpcNational News explosion KUSA00:55
/**************************************************************************** * net/socket/socket.c * * Licensed to the Apache Software Foundation (ASF) under one or more * contributor license agreements. See the NOTICE file distributed with * this work for additional information regarding copyright ownership. The * ASF licenses this file to you under the Apache License, Version 2.0 (the * "License"); you may not use this file except in compliance with the * License. You may obtain a copy of the License at * * http://www.apache.org/licenses/LICENSE-2.0 * * Unless required by applicable law or agreed to in writing, software * distributed under the License is distributed on an "AS IS" BASIS, WITHOUT * WARRANTIES OR CONDITIONS OF ANY KIND, either express or implied. See the * License for the specific language governing permissions and limitations * under the License. * ****************************************************************************/ /**************************************************************************** * Included Files ****************************************************************************/ #include <nuttx/config.h> #include <sys/socket.h> #include <errno.h> #include <assert.h> #include <debug.h> #include "usrsock/usrsock.h" #include "socket/socket.h" #ifdef CONFIG_NET /**************************************************************************** * Public Functions ****************************************************************************/ /**************************************************************************** * Name: psock_socket * * Description: * socket() creates an endpoint for communication and returns a socket * structure. * * Input Parameters: * domain (see sys/socket.h) * type (see sys/socket.h) * protocol (see sys/socket.h) * psock A pointer to a user allocated socket structure to be * initialized. * * Returned Value: * Returns zero (OK) on success. On failure, it returns a negated errno * value to indicate the nature of the error: * * EACCES * Permission to create a socket of the specified type and/or protocol * is denied. * EAFNOSUPPORT * The implementation does not support the specified address family. * EINVAL * Unknown protocol, or protocol family not available. * EMFILE * Process file table overflow. * ENFILE * The system limit on the total number of open files has been reached. * ENOBUFS or ENOMEM * Insufficient memory is available. The socket cannot be created until * sufficient resources are freed. * EPROTONOSUPPORT * The protocol type or the specified protocol is not supported within * this domain. * ****************************************************************************/ int psock_socket(int domain, int type, int protocol, FAR struct socket *psock) { FAR const struct sock_intf_s *sockif = NULL; int ret; /* Initialize the socket structure */ psock->s_crefs = 1; psock->s_domain = domain; psock->s_conn = NULL; #if defined(CONFIG_NET_TCP_WRITE_BUFFERS) || defined(CONFIG_NET_UDP_WRITE_BUFFERS) psock->s_sndcb = NULL; #endif if (type & SOCK_CLOEXEC) { psock->s_flags |= _SF_CLOEXEC; } if (type & SOCK_NONBLOCK) { psock->s_flags |= _SF_NONBLOCK; } type &= SOCK_TYPE_MASK; psock->s_type = type; #ifdef CONFIG_NET_USRSOCK if (domain != PF_LOCAL && domain != PF_UNSPEC) { /* Handle special setup for USRSOCK sockets (user-space networking * stack). */ ret = g_usrsock_sockif.si_setup(psock, protocol); psock->s_sockif = &g_usrsock_sockif; return ret; } #endif /* CONFIG_NET_USRSOCK */ /* Get the socket interface */ sockif = net_sockif(domain, type, protocol); if (sockif == NULL) { nerr("ERROR: socket address family unsupported: %d\n", domain); return -EAFNOSUPPORT; } /* The remaining of the socket initialization depends on the address * family. */ DEBUGASSERT(sockif->si_setup != NULL); psock->s_sockif = sockif; ret = sockif->si_setup(psock, protocol); if (ret < 0) { nerr("ERROR: socket si_setup() failed: %d\n", ret); return ret; } return OK; } /**************************************************************************** * Name: socket * * Description: * socket() creates an endpoint for communication and returns a descriptor. * * Input Parameters: * domain (see sys/socket.h) * type (see sys/socket.h) * protocol (see sys/socket.h) * * Returned Value: * A non-negative socket descriptor on success; -1 on error with errno set * appropriately. * * EACCES * Permission to create a socket of the specified type and/or protocol * is denied. * EAFNOSUPPORT * The implementation does not support the specified address family. * EINVAL * Unknown protocol, or protocol family not available. * EMFILE * Process file table overflow. * ENFILE * The system limit on the total number of open files has been reached. * ENOBUFS or ENOMEM * Insufficient memory is available. The socket cannot be created until * sufficient resources are freed. * EPROTONOSUPPORT * The protocol type or the specified protocol is not supported within * this domain. * * Assumptions: * ****************************************************************************/ int socket(int domain, int type, int protocol) { FAR struct socket *psock; int errcode; int sockfd; int ret; /* Allocate a socket descriptor */ sockfd = sockfd_allocate(0); if (sockfd < 0) { nerr("ERROR: Failed to allocate a socket descriptor\n"); errcode = ENFILE; goto errout; } /* Get the underlying socket structure */ psock = sockfd_socket(sockfd); if (!psock) { errcode = ENOSYS; /* should not happen */ goto errout_with_sockfd; } /* Initialize the socket structure */ ret = psock_socket(domain, type, protocol, psock); if (ret < 0) { nerr("ERROR: psock_socket() failed: %d\n", ret); errcode = -ret; goto errout_with_sockfd; } /* The socket has been successfully initialized */ psock->s_flags |= _SF_INITD; return sockfd; errout_with_sockfd: sockfd_release(sockfd); errout: set_errno(errcode); return ERROR; } #endif /* CONFIG_NET */
Mille Lacs County Times Public Notices 1010 LG Mortgage Foreclosures 13-091917 NOTICE OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE THE RIGHT TO VERIFICATION OF THE DEBT AND IDENTITY OF THE ORIGINAL CREDITOR WITHIN THE TIME PROVIDED BY LAW IS NOT AFFECTED BY THIS ACTION. NOTICE IS HEREBY GIVEN, that default has occurred in the conditions of the following described mortgage: DATE OF MORTGAGE: October 17, 2003 ORIGINAL PRINCIPAL AMOUNT OF MORTGAGE: $159,500.00 MORTGAGOR(S): Sharon M. Branville and Richard M. Branville, wife and husband MORTGAGEE: Mortgage Electronic Registration Systems, Inc. TRANSACTION AGENT: Mortgage Electronic Registration Systems, Inc. MIN#: 1001625-0006940174-4 LENDER OR BROKER AND MORTGAGE ORIGINATOR STATED ON THE MORTGAGE: Mortgage Source, Inc. SERVICER: CitiMortgage, Inc. DATE AND PLACE OF FILING: Filed October 22, 2003, Mille Lacs County Recorder, as Document Number 304863 ASSIGNMENTS OF MORTGAGE: Assigned to: CitiMortgage, Inc. LEGAL DESCRIPTION OF PROPERTY: The South Half of the North Half of the Northwest Quarter of the Southwest Quarter of Section 9, Township 38, Range 26 PROPERTY ADDRESS: 17446 90Th Ave, Milaca, MN 56353 PROPERTY IDENTIFICATION NUMBER: 02-009-0603 COUNTY IN WHICH PROPERTY IS LOCATED: Mille Lacs THE AMOUNT CLAIMED TO BE DUE ON THE MORTGAGE ON THE DATE OF THE NOTICE: $136,105.99 THAT all pre-foreclosure requirements have been complied with; that no action or proceeding has been instituted at law or otherwise to recover the debt secured by said mortgage, or any part thereof; PURSUANT, to the power of sale contained in said mortgage, the above described property will be sold by the Sheriff of said county as follows: DATE AND TIME OF SALE: August 22, 2013, 10:00am PLACE OF SALE: Sheriff's Main Office, 640 3rd Street SE, Milaca, MN 56353 to pay the debt secured by said mortgage and taxes, if any, on said premises and the costs and disbursements, including attorneys fees allowed by law, subject to redemption within 6 months from the date of said sale by the mortgagor(s) the personal representatives or assigns. TIME AND DATE TO VACATE PROPERTY: If the real estate is an owner-occupied, single-family dwelling, unless otherwise provided by law, the date on or before which the mortgagor(s) must vacate the property, if the mortgage is not reinstated under section 580.30 or the property is not redeemed under section 580.23, is 11:59 p.m. on February 24, 2014. Dated: June 27, 2013 CitiMortgage, Inc. Assignee of Mortgagee SHAPIRO & ZIELKE, LLP BY /s/ Lawrence P. Zielke - 152559 Diane F. Mach - 273788 Melissa L. B. Porter - 0337778 Randolph W. Dawdy - 2160X Ronald W. Spencer - 0104061 Stephanie O. Nelson - 0388918 Gary J. Evers - 0134764 Patricia L. Assmann - 0388455 Attorneys for Mortgagee 12550 West Frontage Road, Ste. 200 Burnsville, MN 55337 (952) 831-4060 PURSUANT TO THE FAIR DEBT COLLECTION PRACTICES ACT, YOU ARE ADVISED THAT THIS OFFICE IS DEEMED TO BE A DEBT COLLECTOR. ANY INFORMATION OBTAINED WILL BE USED FOR THAT PURPOSE. This NOTICE is required by the provisions of the Fair Debt Collection PRACTICES Act and does not imply that we are attempting to COLLECT money from anyone who has discharged the debt UNDER the Bankruptcy Laws of the United States. Published in the MILLE LACS COUNTY TIMES July 4, 11, 18, 25, August 1, 8, 2013 3435008 1010 LG Mortgage Foreclosures NOTICE OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE Date: July 4, 2013 YOU ARE HEREBY NOTIFIED THAT: 1. A default has occurred in the conditions of that certain mortgage executed by Marvin T. Oeffling, a married person, as mortgagor, in favor of KleinBank, a Minnesota banking corporation, as mortgagee, dated April 18, 2008, and recorded on April 24, 2008, as Document No. 348885, in the Office of the County Recorder in and for Mille Lacs County, Minnesota ("Mortgage"). The land described in the Mortgage is not registered land. 2. The original principal amount secured by the Mortgage was: $87,971.31. 3. No action or proceeding at law is now pending to recover the debt secured by the Mortgage or any part thereof. 4. The holder of the Mortgage has complied with all conditions precedent to acceleration of the debt secured by the Mortgage and foreclosure of the Mortgage and all notice and other requirements of applicable statutes. 5. As of the date of this notice, the amount due on the Mortgage is: $91,853.30. 6. Pursuant to the power of sale in the Mortgage, the Mortgage shall be foreclosed, and the land located at 105 School Street, Foreston, Minnesota 56330, Property Tax ID No. 19- 280-0020, and legally described as follows: Lot 2, Block 1, Foreston Oaks, according to the plat thereof on file and of record in the Office of the County Recorder, Mille Lacs County, Minnesota ("Property"), shall be sold by the Sheriff of Mille Lacs County, Minnesota, at public auction on August 22, 2013 at 10:00 a.m., at the Mille Lacs County Sheriff's Office: 640 Third Street SE, Milaca, MN 56353. 7. The time allowed by law for redemption by mortgagor or mortgagor's personal representatives or assigns is six (6) months after the date of sale. 8. THE TIME ALLOWED BY LAW FOR REDEMPTION BY THE MORTGAGOR, THE MORTGAGOR'S PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVES OR ASSIGNS, MAY BE REDUCED TO FIVE WEEKS IF A JUDICIAL ORDER IS ENTERED UNDER MINN. STAT. § 582.032, DETERMINING, AMONG OTHER THINGS, THAT THE MORTGAGED PREMISES ARE IMPROVED WITH A RESIDENTIAL DWELLING OF LESS THAN FIVE UNITS, ARE NOT PROPERTY USED IN AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTION, AND ARE ABANDONED. 9. The mortgagor released from financial obligation on the Mortgage is: None. KleinBank (a Minnesota banking corporation) By its attorneys: Joshua D. Christensen, (#332616) Lindsay W. Cremona, (#393599) Anastasi Jellum, P.A. Attorneys for Mortgagee 14985 60th Street North Stillwater, MN 55082 (651) 439-2951 16797-F1 Published in the MILLE LACS COUNTY TIMES July 4, 11, 18, 25, August 1, 8, 2013 3435799 1010 LG Mortgage Foreclosures NOTICE OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE THE RIGHT TO VERIFICATION OF THE DEBT AND IDENTITY OF THE ORIGINAL CREDITOR WITHIN THE TIME PROVIDED BY LAW IS NOT AFFECTED BY THIS ACTION. NOTICE IS HEREBY GIVEN, that default has occurred in the conditions of the following described mortgage: DATE OF MORTGAGE: 08/07/2007 MORTGAGOR(S): Goldy Thiel and Josi Thiel, husband and wife. MORTGAGEE: Bank of America, N.A. Transaction Agent: N/A Transaction Agent Mortgage ID No: NA Lender or Broker: Bank of America, N.A. Servicer: Nationstar Mortgage, LLC Mortgage Originator: Bank of America, N.A. DATE AND PLACE OF RECORDING: Recorded August 14, 2007,Mille Lacs County Recorder, Document No. 343750. ASSIGNMENTS OF MORTGAGE: Assigned to: BAC Home Loans Servicing LP Dated: June 13, 2011,Recorded June 15, 2011,Mille Lacs County Recorder, Document No. A367895. Nationstar Mortgage LLC Dated: November 14, 2012,Recorded December 31, 2012,Mille Lacs County Recorder, Document No. A377227. LEGAL DESCRIPTION OF PROPERTY: Lot 10, Block 2, Meadow View Estates Second Addition, according to the plat thereof on file or of record in the Office of the County Recorder, Mille Lacs County, Minnesota. REGISTERED PROPERTY: No TAX PARCEL NO.: 24-551-0140 ADDRESS OF PROPERTY: 1205 Meadowview Dr Princeton, MN 55371 COUNTY IN WHICH PROPERTY IS LOCATED: Mille Lacs ORIGINAL PRINCIPAL AMOUNT OF MORTGAGE: $152,000.00 AMOUNT DUE AND CLAIMED TO BE DUE AS OF DATE OF NOTICE, INCLUDING TAXES, IF ANY, PAID BY MORTGAGEE: $174,863.70 That prior to the commencement of this mortgage foreclosure proceeding Mortgagee/Assignee of Mortgagee complied with all notice requirements as required by statute; that no action or proceeding has been instituted at law or otherwise to recover the debt secured by said mortgage, or any part thereof; PURSUANT to the power of sale contained in said mortgage, the above described property will be sold by the Sheriff of said county as follows: DATE AND TIME OF SALE: Tuesday, September 03, 2013, 10:00 a.m. PLACE OF SALE: Lobby of Sheriff's Office, City of Milaca to pay the debt then secured by said Mortgage, and taxes, if any, on said premises, and the costs and disbursements, including attorneys' fees allowed by law subject to redemption within 6 months from the date of said sale by the mortgagor(s), their personal representatives or assigns. DATE TO VACATE PROPERTY: The date on or before which the mortgagor must vacate the property if the mortgage is not reinstated under Minnesota Statutes section 580.30 or the property redeemed under Minnesota Statutes section 580.23 is 03/03/2014 at 11:59 p.m. If the foregoing date is a Saturday, Sunday or legal holiday, then the date to vacate is the next business day at 11:59 p.m. MORTGAGOR(S) RELEASED FROM FINANCIAL OBLIGATION ON MORTGAGE: NONE THE TIME ALLOWED BY LAW FOR REDEMPTION BY THE MORTGAGOR, THE MORTGAGOR'S PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVES OR ASSIGNS, MAY BE REDUCED TO FIVE WEEKS IF A JUDICIAL ORDER IS ENTERED UNDER MINNESOTA STATUTES SECTION 582.032, DETERMINING, AMONG OTHER THINGS, THAT THE MORTGAGED PREMISES ARE IMPROVED WITH A RESIDENTIAL DWELLING OF LESS THAN FIVE UNITS, ARE NOT PROPERTY USED IN AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTION, AND ARE ABANDONED. Dated: July 01, 2013 Nationstar Mortgage LLC Assignee of Mortgagee Peterson, Fram & Bergman, P.A. By: Ben I. Rust Attorneys for: Nationstar Mortgage LLC Assignee of Mortgagee 55 E. 5th St., Suite 800 St. Paul, MN 55101 (651) 209-7599 THIS IS A COMMUNICATION FROM A DEBT COLLECTOR. 17226-130003 Published in the MILLE LACS COUNTY TIMES July 11, 18, 25, August 1, 8, 15, 2013 3438682 1010 LG Mortgage Foreclosures NOTICE OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE NOTICE IS HEREBY GIVEN that default has occurred in the conditions of the following described mortgage: DATE OF MORTGAGE: July 10, 2007 ORIGINAL PRINCIPAL AMOUNT OF MORTGAGE: $151,300.00 MORTGAGOR(S): David V. Ohrt, an unmarried man MORTGAGEE: Mortgage Electronic Registration Systems, Inc. as nominee for CitiMortgage, Inc., its successors and assigns DATE AND PLACE OF RECORDING: Recorded: July 19, 2007 Mille Lacs County Recorder Document Number: 343149 ASSIGNMENTS OF MORTGAGE: And assigned to: CitiMortgage, Inc. Dated: October 30, 2012 Recorded: November 02, 2012 Mille Lacs County Recorder Document Number: A376176 Transaction Agent: Mortgage Electronic Registration Systems, Inc. Transaction Agent Mortgage Identification Number: 100011520044974188 Lender or Broker: CitiMortgage, Inc. Residential Mortgage Servicer: CitiMortgage, Inc. Mortgage Originator: Not Applicable COUNTY IN WHICH PROPERTY IS LOCATED: Mille Lacs Property Address: 635 2nd Ave SW, Milaca, MN 56353-1114 Tax Parcel ID Number: 21-560-0060 LEGAL DESCRIPTION OF PROPERTY: Lots 7 and 8, Block A, Magnuson's Addition to Milaca, according to the plat thereof on file and of record in the office of the County Recorder in and for Mille Lacs County, Minnesota AMOUNT DUE AND CLAIMED TO BE DUE AS OF DATE OF NOTICE: $157,215.61 THAT all pre-foreclosure requirements have been complied with; that no action or proceeding has been instituted at law or otherwise to recover the debt secured by said mortgage, or any part thereof; PURSUANT to the power of sale contained in said mortgage, the above-described property will be sold by the Sheriff of said county as follows: DATE AND TIME OF SALE: August 27, 2013 at 10:00 AM PLACE OF SALE: 640 3rd Street S.E., South Door of Sheriff's Office, Milaca, Minnesota to pay the debt secured by said mortgage and taxes, if any, on said premises and the costs and disbursements, including attorney fees allowed by law, subject to redemption within six (6) months from the date of said sale by the mortgagor(s), their personal representatives or assigns. If the Mortgage is not reinstated under Minn. Stat. §580.30 or the property is not redeemed under Minn. Stat. §580.23, the Mortgagor must vacate the property on or before 11:59 p.m. on February 27, 2014, or the next business day if February 27, 2014 falls on a Saturday, Sunday or legal holiday. Mortgagor(s) released from financial obligation: NONE THIS COMMUNICATION IS FROM A DEBT COLLECTOR ATTEMPTING TO COLLECT A DEBT. ANY INFORMATION OBTAINED WILL BE USED FOR THAT PURPOSE. THE RIGHT TO VERIFICATION OF THE DEBT AND IDENTITY OF THE ORIGINAL CREDITOR WITHIN THE TIME PROVIDED BY LAW IS NOT AFFECTED BY THIS ACTION. THE TIME ALLOWED BY LAW FOR REDEMPTION BY THE MORTGAGOR, THE MORTGAGOR'S PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVES OR ASSIGNS, MAY BE REDUCED TO FIVE WEEKS IF A JUDICIAL ORDER IS ENTERED UNDER MINNESOTA STATUTES, SECTION 582.032, DETERMINING, AMONG OTHER THINGS, THAT THE MORTGAGED PREMISES ARE IMPROVED WITH A RESIDENTIAL DWELLING OF LESS THAN FIVE UNITS, ARE NOT PROPERTY USED IN AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTION, AND ARE ABANDONED. DATED: July 11, 2013 ASSIGNEE OF MORTGAGEE: CitiMortgage, Inc. Wilford, Geske & Cook P.A. Attorneys for Assignee of Mortgagee 8425 Seasons Parkway, Suite 105 Woodbury, MN 55125-4393 (651) 209-3300 File Number: 028119F01 Published in the MILLE LACS COUNTY TIMES July 11, 18, 25, August 1, 8, 15, 2013 3438764 1010 LG Mortgage Foreclosures NOTICE OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE THE RIGHT TO VERIFICATION OF THE DEBT AND IDENTITY OF THE ORIGINAL CREDITOR WITHIN THE TIME PROVIDED BY LAW IS NOT AFFECTED BY THIS ACTION. NOTICE IS HEREBY GIVEN: That default has occurred in the conditions of the following described mortgage: DATE OF MORTGAGE: January 16, 2009 ORIGINAL PRINCIPAL AMOUNT OF MORTGAGE: $254,465.00 MORTGAGOR(S): Jamie Lea Jendro and Aaron T. Bailey, both single people MORTGAGEE: Mortgage Electronic Registration Systems, Inc., a Delaware corporation, as nominee for Cardinal Financial Company, LTD Partnership, a Pennsylvania company DATE AND PLACE OF FILING: Filed February 4, 2009, Mille Lacs County Recorder; Document No. 353743 ASSIGNMENTS OF MORTGAGE: Assigned to: Wells Fargo Bank, N.A., by written assignment recorded on September 13, 2011, as Document No. A369147, in the Office of the County Recorder of Mille Lacs County, Minnesota LEGAL DESCRIPTION OF PROPERTY: Lot 5, Block 2, Orchard Pines STREET ADDRESS OF PROPERTY: 1434 54th Avenue, Princeton, MN 55371-6168 COUNTY IN WHICH PROPERTY IS LOCATED: Mille Lacs County, Minnesota THE AMOUNT CLAIMED TO BE DUE ON THE MORTGAGE ON THE DATE OF THE NOTICE: $283,155.77 THAT no action or proceeding has been instituted at law to recover the debt secured by said mortgage, or any part thereof; that there has been compliance with all pre-foreclosure notice and acceleration requirements of said mortgage, and/or applicable statutes; PURSUANT, to the power of sale contained in said mortgage, the above described property will be sold by the Sheriff of said county as follows: DATE AND TIME OF SALE: September 12, 2013 at 10:00 a.m. PLACE OF SALE: Mille Lacs County Sheriff's office, in the Lobby, 640 Third Street Southeast, Milaca, Minnesota to pay the debt then secured by said mortgage and taxes, if any actually paid by the mortgagee, on the premises and the costs and disbursements allowed by law. The time allowed by law for redemption by said mortgagor(s), their personal representatives or assigns is Six (6) months from the date of sale. Unless said mortgage is reinstated or the property redeemed, or unless the time for redemption is reduced by judicial order, you must vacate the premises by 11:59 p.m. on March 12, 2014. MORTGAGOR(S) RELEASED FROM FINANCIAL OBLIGATION ON MORTGAGE: AARON T. BAILEY "THE TIME ALLOWED BY LAW FOR REDEMPTION BY THE MORTGAGOR, THE MORTGAGOR'S PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVES OR ASSIGNS, MAY BE REDUCED TO FIVE WEEKS IF A JUDICIAL ORDER IS ENTERED UNDER MINNESOTA STATUTES, SECTION 582.032, DETERMINING, AMONG OTHER THINGS, THAT THE MORTGAGED PREMISES ARE IMPROVED WITH A RESIDENTIAL DWELLING OF LESS THAN FIVE UNITS, ARE NOT PROPERTY USED IN AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTION, AND ARE ABANDONED." Dated: July 10, 2013 WELLS FARGO BANK, N.A. Mortgagee SCHILLER & ADAM, P.A. By: /s/ Rebecca F. Schiller, Esq. Sarah J.B. Adam, Esq. N. Kibongni Fondungallah, Esq. James J. Pauly, Esq. Steven R. Pennock, Esq. Curt N. Trisko, Esq. Attorneys for Mortgagee 25 North Dale Street St. Paul, MN 55102-2227 (651) 209-9760 (WF2253) THIS IS A COMMUNICATION FROM A DEBT COLLECTOR. NOTICE OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE FORECLOSURE DATA Minn. Stat. § 580.025 (1) Street Address, City and Zip Code of Mortgaged Premises 1434 54th Avenue, Princeton, MN 55371-6168 (2) Transaction Agent Mortgage Electronic Registration Systems, Inc., a Delaware corporation, as nominee for Cardinal Financial Company, LTD Partnership, a Pennsylvania company (3) Name of Mortgage Originator (Lender) Mortgage Electronic Registration Systems, Inc., a Delaware corporation, as nominee for Cardinal Financial Company, LTD Partnership, a Pennsylvania company (4) Residential ServicerWells Fargo (800) 416-1472 (5) Tax Parcel Identification Number 16-648-0140 (6) Transaction Agent's Mortgage ID Number (MERS number) 100092200000239585 Published in the Mille Lacs County Times July 18, 25 August 1, 8, 15, 22, 2013 3445913 1010 LG Mortgage Foreclosures NOTICE OF VOLUNTARY MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE NOTICE IS HEREBY GIVEN, that default has occurred in the conditions of the following described Mortgage: DATE OF MORTGAGE: May 31, 2005 ORIGINAL PRINCIPAL AMOUNT OF MORTGAGE: $3, 500,000.00 MORTGAGOR(S): Christenson Development, Inc., a Minnesota corporation MORTGAGEE: Americana Community Bank, a Minnesota corporation DATE AND PLACE OF RECORDING: Filed in the Mille Lacs County Registrar of Titles Office on June 6, 2005, as Document No. 12618 and with the Mille Lacs County Recorder's Office on June 6, 2005, as Document No. 322577 ASSIGNMENT OF MORTGAGE: On December 19, 2007, Americana Community Bank, as assignor, executed and delivered to Streamline Ventures, LLC, as assignee, an Assignment of Mortgage assigning all Americana Community Bank's interest in said Mortgage to Streamline Ventures and which Assignment of Mortgage was filed in the Mille Lacs County Registrar of Titles Office on January 7, 2008, as Document No. 13944 and with the Mille Lacs County Recorder's Office on January 7, 2008, as Document No. 346897. On December 19, 2007, Streamline Ventures, LLC, as assignor, executed and delivered to First Commercial Bank, as assignee, an Assignment of Mortgage assigning all Streamline Ventures, LLC's interest in said Mortgage to First Commercial Bank and which Assignment of Mortgage was filed in the Mille Lacs County Registrar of Titles Office on December 18, 2008, as Document No. 14310 and in the Mille Lacs County Recorder's Office on December 18, 2008, as Document No. 353098. On March 8, 2013, the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation, as receiver for First Commercial Bank ("FDIC"), as assignor, executed and delivered to Republic Bank & Trust Company, as assignee, an Assignment of Mortgage assigning all of the FDIC's interest in said Mortgage to Republic Bank & Trust Company, and which Assignment of Mortgage was filed in the Mille Lacs County Registrar of Titles Office on March 13, 2013, as Document No. T15956 and in the Mille Lacs County Recorder's Office on March 13, 2013, as Document No. A378481 VOLUNTARY MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE AGREEMENT: Christenson Development, Inc., as mortgagor, and Republic Bank & Trust Company, as mortgagee, entered into a Voluntary Mortgage Foreclosure Agreement with an Effective Date of June 25, 2013, and which Voluntary Mortgage Foreclosure Agreement was filed in the Mille Lacs County Registrar of Titles Office July 3, 2013, as Document No. T16051 and with the Mille Lacs County Recorder's Office on July 3, 2013, as Document No. A380275 Transaction Agent: Not Applicable Transaction Agent Mortgage Identification Number: Not Applicable Residential Mortgage Servicer: Not Applicable Mortgage Originator: Not Applicable Lender or Broker: Not Applicable THE MORTGAGE IS UPON REGISTERED LAND: LEGAL DESCRIPTION OF PROPERTY: Lots 1, 2, 3, 14, 16, 17, 18, 19 and 20, Block 1 of Port Mille Lacs Golf Links Addition, according to the plat thereof on file and of record in the office of the County Recorder in and for said county and state; Lots 102, 103, 115, 116, 119, 121, 122, 124, 125, 126, 127, 130, 153, 169, 170, 171, 172, 189, 191, 192 and 193, of Port Mille Lacs Golf Acres, according to the plat thereof on file and of record in the office of the Register of Deeds in and for Mille Lacs County, Minnesota. Lots 19, 49, 57, 58 and 69, Block 6, of Port Mille Lacs Golf Acres North, according to the plat thereof on file and of record in the office of the County Recorder in and for Mille Lacs County, Minnesota. Outlot G of Port Mille Lacs Golf Acres North, according to the plat thereof on file and of record in the office of the County Recorder in and for Mille Lacs County, Minnesota; EXCEPT that part of said Outlot G that lies in the NE1/4 of the SW1/4 of Section 6, Township 43, Range 27. Outlot T of Port Mille Lacs Golf Acres North, according to the plat thereof on file and of record in the office of the County Recorder in and for said county and state. Lot 9, Block 12, Port Mille Lacs Golf Acres North, according to the plat thereof on file and of record in the Office of the Register of Deeds in and for Mille Lacs County, Minnesota EXCEPT that part that lies within the boundaries of the NE1/4 of the SW1/4 of Section 6, Township 43, Range 27. Lots 4, 5, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13 and 20, Block 1, Port Mille Lacs Tournament Heights, according to the plat thereof on file and of record in the Office of the Register of Deeds in and for Mille Lacs County, Minnesota. Outlot A of Port Mille Lacs Golf Acres, less and except Port Mille Lacs Golf Links Addition, according to the plat thereof on file and of record in the office of the County Recorder in and for Mille Lacs County, Minnesota. Outlots D, H, I, J, K, M, N, O, and P of Port Mille Lacs Golf Acres, all according to the plat thereof on file and of record in the Office of the Register of Deeds in and for Mille Lacs County, Minnesota. Outlots B, D, E, H, L, and O of Port Mille Lacs Golf Acres North; all according to the plat thereof on file and of record in the office of the County Recorder in and for Mille Lacs County, Minnesota, less and except that part of Outlots D, E and H, lying within the boundaries of the NE1/4 of SW1/4 of Section 6, Township 43, Range 27. Outlot Q of Port Mille Lacs Golf Acres North, according to the plat thereof on file and of record in the office of the County Recorder in and for Mille Lacs County, Minnesota, less and excepting: That part of Outlot Q of Port Mille Lacs Golf Acres North, described as follows: Beginning at the most Southeasterly corner of said Outlot Q on the Westerly line of Swing-A-Way a road dedicated in said plat; thence South 77 degrees 54 minutes West along the South line of said Outlot Q 40 feet; thence North 89 degrees 19 minutes West continuing along said South line 62 feet; thence North 27 degrees 14 minutes 50 seconds West along a line common to said Outlot Q and Outlot S of said plat 164.12 feet; thence South 89 degrees 19 minutes East 146.90 feet more or less to a line common to said Outlot Q and Swing-A-Way Road; thence South 12 degrees 07 minutes 50 seconds East along said common line 139.68 feet more or less to the point of beginning. Outlot S of Port Mille Lacs Golf Acres North, according to the plat thereof on file and of record in the office of the County Recorder in and for said county and state. Lots 3 and 4, Block 14, Port Mille Lacs Golf Acres North, according to the plat thereof on file and of record in the office of the Register of Deeds in and for Mille Lacs County, Minnesota EXCEPT that part that lies within the boundaries of the NE1/4 of the SW1/4 of Section 6, Township 43, Range 27. That part of Outlot E, Port Mille Lacs Golf Acres, described as follows: Beginning at the Northerly corner of Outlot E, thence South 12 degrees 6 minutes East 296.33 feet along the Easterly line of Outlot E, thence south 77 degrees 54 minutes, West 271.75 feet to the Westerly line of said Outlot E, thence North 30 degrees 25 minutes, 20 seconds East 402.07 feet along said Westerly line to the place of beginning. All according to the Plat thereof on file and of record in the Office of the Register of Deeds in and for Mille Lacs County, Minnesota. Lots 3 and 6, Block 12, Port Mille Lacs Golf Acres North, according to the filed plat thereof. That part of Lot 9, Block 12, Port Mille Lacs Golf Acres North, according to the filed plat thereof, that lies within the boundaries of the NE1/4 of the SW1/4 of Section 6, Township 43, Range 27. Outlots D, E and H, Port Mille Lacs Golf Acres North, according to the filed plat thereof, that lies within the boundaries of the NE1/4 of the SW1/4 of Section 6, Township 43, Range 27. That part of Outlot G, Port Mille Lacs Golf Acres North, according to the filed plat thereof, that lies within the boundaries of the NE1/4 of the SW1/4 of Section 6, Township 43, Range 27. That part of Lots 3 and 4, Block 14, Port Mille Lacs Golf Acres North, according to the filed plat thereof, that lies within the boundaries of the NE1/4 of the SW1/4 of Section 6, Township 43, Range 27. Lots 1 through 47, inclusive, Block 1, and Lot 1, Block 2, Hardwoods Harbor. All the above-described real property is located in Mille Lacs County, Minnesota. Property Address: 46784 Mulligan Drive, 18217 Captive Lake Road, 46648 Fairway Drive, and any other unassigned, Garrison, MN 56450 Tax Parcel ID No.: 09-972-0020, 09-965-0970, 09-965-0980, 09-965-1100, 09-965-1130, 09-965-1150, 09-965-1160, 09-965-1180, 09-965-1190, 09-965-1200, 09-965-1210, 09-965-1240, 09-965-1600, 09-965-1440, 09-969-2100, 09-972-0140, 09-969-2290, 09-969-1810, 09-969-5930, 09-969-6030, 09-965-1610, 09-965-1620, 09-965-1630, 09-972-0180, 09-972-0190, 09-972-0200, 09-965-1800, 09-965-1820, 09-965-1830, 09-965-1840, 09-969-3940, 09-979-0050, 09-972-0010, 09-972-0160, 09-972-0170, 09-965-2850, 09-965-2860, 09-965-2920, 09-965-2930, 09-965-2940, 09-965-2950, 09-965-2960, 09-965-2970, 09-965-2980, 09-965-2990, 09-969-5880, 09-969-5900, 09-969-5910, 09-969-5940, 09-969-5971, 09-969-5970, 09-969-5990, 09-969-6000, 09-969-6020, 09-969-4040, 09-979-0130, 09-340-0010, 09-340-0020, 09-340-0030, 09-340-0040, 09-340-0050, 09-340-0060, 09-340-0070, 09-340-0080, 09-340-0090, 09-340-0100, 09-340-0110, 09-340-0120, 09-340-0130, 09-340-0140, 09-340-0150, 09-340-0160, 09-340-0170, 09-340-0180, 09-340-0190, 09-340-0200, 09-340-0210, 09-340-0220, 09-340-0230, 09-340-0240, 09-340-0250, 09-340-0260, 09-340-0270, 09-340-0280, 09-340-0290, 09-340-0300, 09-340-0310, 09-340-0320, 09-340-0330, 09-340-0340, 09-340-0350, 09-340-0360, 09-340-0370, 09-340-0380, 09-340-0390, 09-340-0400, 09-340-0410, 09-340-0420, 09-340-0430, 09-340-0440, 09-340-0450, 09-340-0460, 09-340-0470, 09-340-0480, 09-965-2870, 09-979-0080, 09-979-0120, 09-979-0040, 09-979-0200, 09-969-2170, 09-969-3880, 09-969-3910 COUNTY IN WHICH PROPERTY IS LOCATED: Mille Lacs AMOUNT DUE AND CLAIMED TO BE DUE AS OF DATE OF NOTICE: $3,954,380.25 THAT all pre-foreclosure requirements have been complied with; that no action or proceeding has been instituted at law or otherwise to recover the debt secured by said Mortgage, or any part thereof; pursuant to the power of sale contained in said Mortgage, the above-described property will be sold by the Sheriff of said County as follows: DATE AND TIME OF SALE: August 27, 2013 at 10:00 a.m. PLACE OF SALE: Mille Lacs County Sheriff's Office, 640 Third Street SE, Milaca, Mille Lacs County, Minnesota, to pay the debt secured by said Mortgage and taxes, if any, on said premises and the costs and disbursements, including attorneys fees, allowed by law, subject to redemption within one hundred twenty (120) days from the date of said sale by the mortgagor(s), its successors or assigns and each holder of a junior lien may redeem in the order and manner provided in Minn. Stat. § 582.32, Subd. 9 beginning after the expiration of the Mortgagor's one hundred twenty (120) day redemption period. Dated: July 11, 2013 REPUBLIC BANK & TRUST COMPANY Mortgagee By: Heley, Duncan & Melander, PLLP Attorneys for Mortgagee By /s/ Katherine M. Melander 8500 Normandale Lake Boulevard Suite 2110 Minneapolis, Minnesota 55437 952-841-0001 Published in the MILLE LACS COUNTY TIMES July 18, 25, August 1, 8, 2013 3447186 1010 LG Mortgage Foreclosures NOTICE OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE THE RIGHT TO VERIFICATION OF THE DEBT AND IDENTITY OF THE ORIGINAL CREDITOR WITHIN THE TIME PROVIDED BY LAW IS NOT AFFECTED BY THIS ACTION. NOTICE IS HEREBY GIVEN: That default has occurred in the conditions of the following described mortgage: DATE OF MORTGAGE: November 15, 2006 ORIGINAL PRINCIPAL AMOUNT OF MORTGAGE: $119,340.00 MORTGAGOR(S): Stephanie N. Hennig, a single woman MORTGAGEE: NFP Mortgage Corporation, a Minnesota Corporation DATE AND PLACE OF FILING: Filed November 29, 2006, Mille Lacs County Recorder; Document No. 337615 ASSIGNMENTS OF MORTGAGE: Assigned to: Wells Fargo Bank, N.A. by written assignment recorded on October 5, 2007 as Document Number 345011 LEGAL DESCRIPTION OF PROPERTY: Lot 9, Block 2, in Cater's Second Addition to the Village of Princeton STREET ADDRESS OF PROPERTY: 206 - 9th Avenue South, Princeton, MN 55371-1723 COUNTY IN WHICH PROPERTY IS LOCATED: Mille Lacs County, Minnesota THE AMOUNT CLAIMED TO BE DUE ON THE MORTGAGE ON THE DATE OF THE NOTICE: $122,128.79 THAT no action or proceeding has been instituted at law to recover the debt secured by said mortgage, or any part thereof; that there has been compliance with all pre-foreclosure notice and acceleration requirements of said mortgage, and/or applicable statutes; PURSUANT, to the power of sale contained in said mortgage, the above described property will be sold by the Sheriff of said county as follows: DATE AND TIME OF SALE: September 12, 2013 at 10:00 a.m. PLACE OF SALE: Mille Lacs County Sheriff's office, in the Lobby, 640 Third Street Southeast, Milaca, Minnesota to pay the debt then secured by said mortgage and taxes, if any actually paid by the mortgagee, on the premises and the costs and disbursements allowed by law. The time allowed by law for redemption by said mortgagor(s), their personal representatives or assigns is six (6) months from the date of sale. Unless said mortgage is reinstated or the property redeemed, or unless the time for redemption is reduced by judicial order, you must vacate the premises by 11:59 p.m. on March 12, 2013. MORTGAGOR(S) RELEASED FROM FINANCIAL OBLIGATION ON MORTGAGE: NONE "THE TIME ALLOWED BY LAW FOR REDEMPTION BY THE MORTGAGOR, THE MORTGAGOR'S PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVES OR ASSIGNS, MAY BE REDUCED TO FIVE WEEKS IF A JUDICIAL ORDER IS ENTERED UNDER MINNESOTA STATUTES, SECTION 582.032, DETERMINING, AMONG OTHER THINGS, THAT THE MORTGAGED PREMISES ARE IMPROVED WITH A RESIDENTIAL DWELLING OF LESS THAN FIVE UNITS, ARE NOT PROPERTY USED IN AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTION, AND ARE ABANDONED." Dated: July 15, 2013 WELLS FARGO BANK, N.A. Mortgagee SCHILLER & ADAM, P.A. By: /s/ Rebecca F. Schiller, Esq. Sarah J.B. Adam, Esq. N. Kibongni Fondungallah, Esq. James J. Pauly, Esq. Steven R. Pennock, Esq. Curt N. Trisko, Esq. Attorneys for Mortgagee 25 North Dale Street St. Paul, MN 55102-2227 (651) 209-9760 (WF2046) THIS IS A COMMUNICATION FROM A DEBT COLLECTOR. NOTICE OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE FORECLOSURE DATA Minn. Stat. § 580.025 (1) Street Address, City and Zip Code of Mortgaged Premises 206 - 9th Avenue South, Princeton, MN 55371-1723 (2) Transaction Agent NFP Mortgage Corporation, a Minnesota Corporation (3) Name of Mortgage Originator (Lender) NFP Mortgage Corporation, a Minnesota Corporation (4) Residential ServicerWells Fargo (800) 678-7986 (5) Tax Parcel Identification Number 24.161.0160 (6) Transaction Agent's Mortgage ID Number (MERS number) none Published in the MILLE LACS COUNTY TIMES July 18, 25, August 1, 8, 15, 22, 2013 3448534 1010 LG Mortgage Foreclosures NOTICE OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE THE RIGHT TO VERIFICATION OF THE DEBT AND IDENTITY OF THE ORIGINAL CREDITOR WITHIN THE TIME PROVIDED BY LAW IS NOT AFFECTED BY THIS ACTION. NOTICE IS HEREBY GIVEN: That default has occurred in the conditions of the following described mortgage: DATE OF MORTGAGE: February 14, 2007 ORIGINAL PRINCIPAL AMOUNT OF MORTGAGE: $135,000.00 MORTGAGOR(S): Anthony Kendall And Katja Kendall f/k/a Katja G. Smith, husband and wife MORTGAGEE: Wells Fargo Bank, N.A. DATE AND PLACE OF FILING: Recorded on February 23, 2007 in the Office of the Mille Lacs County Recorder as Document Number 339521. ASSIGNMENTS OF MORTGAGE: Assigned to: Deutsche Bank National Trust Company, as trustee for HSI Asset Securitization Corporation Trust, 2007-WF1, Mortgage Pass-Through Certificates, Series 2007-WF1 by written assignment recorded on June 19, 2012 as Document Number A373745 in the Office of the County Recorder of Mille Lacs County, Minnesota. LEGAL DESCRIPTION OF PROPERTY: The North Half of the North Half of the Northwest Quarter of the Northeast Quarter of Section 25, Township 36, Range 27 STREET ADDRESS OF PROPERTY: 2954 115TH AVENUE, PRINCETON, MN 55371-6211 COUNTY IN WHICH PROPERTY IS LOCATED: Mille Lacs County, Minnesota THE AMOUNT CLAIMED TO BE DUE ON THE MORTGAGE ON THE DATE OF THE NOTICE: $135,567.31 THAT no action or proceeding has been instituted at law to recover the debt secured by said mortgage, or any part thereof; that there has been compliance with all pre-foreclosure notice and acceleration requirements of said mortgage, and/or applicable statutes; PURSUANT, to the power of sale contained in said mortgage, the above described property will be sold by the Sheriff of said county as follows: DATE AND TIME OF SALE: September 19, 2013 at 10:00 AM PLACE OF SALE: Mille Lacs County Sheriff`s office, Attn: Civil Division, 640 3rd Street SE, Milaca, Minnesota to pay the debt then secured by said mortgage and taxes, if any actually paid by the mortgagee, on the premises and the costs and disbursements allowed by law. The time allowed by law for redemption by said mortgagor(s), their personal representatives or assigns is Six (6) months from the date of sale. Unless said mortgage is reinstated or the property redeemed, or unless the time for redemption is reduced by judicial order, you must vacate the premises by 11:59 p.m. on March 19, 2014. MORTGAGOR(S) RELEASED FROM FINANCIAL OBLIGATION ON MORTGAGE: NONE "THE TIME ALLOWED BY LAW FOR REDEMPTION BY THE MORTGAGOR, THE MORTGAGOR`S PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVES OR ASSIGNS, MAY BE REDUCED TO FIVE WEEKS IF A JUDICIAL ORDER IS ENTERED UNDER MINNESOTA STATUTES, SECTION 582.032, DETERMINING, AMONG OTHER THINGS, THAT THE MORTGAGED PREMISES ARE IMPROVED WITH A RESIDENTIAL DWELLING OF LESS THAN FIVE UNITS, ARE NOT PROPERTY USED IN AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTION, AND ARE ABANDONED." Dated: July 18, 2013 DEUTSCHE BANK NATIONAL TRUST COMPANY, AS TRUSTEE FOR HSI ASSET SECURITIZATION CORPORATION TRUST, 2007-WF1 MORTGAGE PASS- THROUGH CERTIFICATES, SERIES 2007-WF1 Mortgagee SCHILLER & ADAM, P.A. By: /s/ Rebecca F. Schiller, Esq. Sarah J.B. Adam, Esq. N. Kibongni Fondungallah, Esq. James J. Pauly, Esq. Steven R. Pennock, Esq. Curt N. Trisko, Esq. Jeffrey D. Klobucar, Esq. Attorneys for Mortgagee The Academy Professional Building 25 North Dale Street St. Paul, MN 55102 (651) 209-9760 (13-3096-FC01) THIS IS A COMMUNICATION FROM A DEBT COLLECTOR. NOTICE OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE FORECLOSURE DATA Minn. Stat. § 580.025 (1) Street Address, City and Zip Code of Mortgaged Premises 2954 115TH AVENUE PRINCETON, MN 55371-6211 (2) Transaction Agent Wells Fargo Bank, N.A. (3) Name of Mortgage Originator (Lender) Wells Fargo Bank, N.A. (4) Residential ServicerWells Fargo Bank, N.A. (5) Tax Parcel Identification Number 06-025-1000 (6) Transaction Agent`s Mortgage ID Number (MERS number) None Published in the Mille Lacs County Times July 25, August 1, 8, 15, 22, 29, 2013 3454160 1010 LG Mortgage Foreclosures NOTICE OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE NOTICE IS HEREBY GIVEN that default has occurred in the conditions of the following described mortgage: DATE OF MORTGAGE: March 17, 2006 ORIGINAL PRINCIPAL AMOUNT OF MORTGAGE: $155,000.00 MORTGAGOR(S): Vernon Kostrzewski, a single man MORTGAGEE: Primesource Funding DATE AND PLACE OF RECORDING: Recorded: April 21, 2006 Mille Lacs County Recorder Document Number: 331590 AND CORRECTIVE MORTGAGE RECORDING: January 03, 2007 Mille Lacs County Recorder Document Number: 338357 ASSIGNMENTS OF MORTGAGE: And assigned to: MERS (Mortgage Electronic Registration Systems, Inc.) Soley as Nominee for: Mortgage Network, Inc. Dated: March 17, 2006 Recorded: July 07, 2006 Mille Lacs County Recorder Document Number: 333681 And assigned to: Homeward Residential, Inc. Dated: March 07, 2013 Recorded: April 13, 2013 Mille Lacs County Recorder Document Number: A378968 And assigned to: Ocwen Loan Servicing, LLC Dated: June 20, 2013 Transaction Agent: Mortgage Electronic Registration Systems, Inc. Transaction Agent Mortgage Identification Number: 100060677002587210 Lender or Broker: Primesource Funding Residential Mortgage Servicer: Ocwen Loan Servicing, LLC Mortgage Originator: Not Applicable COUNTY IN WHICH PROPERTY IS LOCATED: Mille Lacs Property Address: 14586 110th St, Foreston, MN 56330-9653 Tax Parcel ID Number: 12-009-0700 LEGAL DESCRIPTION OF PROPERTY: The West 66.00 Feet of the East 546.00 feet of the South 700.00 feet of the Southeast Quarter of the Southwest Quarter of Section 9, Township 37 North, Range 27 West, Mille Lacs County, Minnesota. AND That part of the North 59.42 feet of the South 759.42 feet of said Southeast Quarter of the Southwest Quarter lying West of the East 480.00 feet of said Southeast Quarter of the Southwest Quarter and lying East of the West 1760.00 feet of said Southwest Quarter, Mille Lacs County, Minnesota. AND That part of the North 525.58 feet of the South 1285.00 feet of said Southeast Quarter of the Southwest Quarter lying East of the West 1760.00 feet of said Southwest Quarter and lying West of the East 366.00 feet of said Southeast Quarter of the Southwest Quarter, Mille Lacs County, Minnesota AMOUNT DUE AND CLAIMED TO BE DUE AS OF DATE OF NOTICE: $153,215.07 THAT all pre-foreclosure requirements have been complied with; that no action or proceeding has been instituted at law or otherwise to recover the debt secured by said mortgage, or any part thereof; PURSUANT to the power of sale contained in said mortgage, the above-described property will be sold by the Sheriff of said county as follows: DATE AND TIME OF SALE: September 17, 2013 at 10:00 AM PLACE OF SALE: 640 3rd Street S.E., South Door of Sheriff's Office, Milaca, Minnesota to pay the debt secured by said mortgage and taxes, if any, on said premises and the costs and disbursements, including attorney fees allowed by law, subject to redemption within six (6) months from the date of said sale by the mortgagor(s), their personal representatives or assigns. If the Mortgage is not reinstated under Minn. Stat. §580.30 or the property is not redeemed under Minn. Stat. §580.23, the Mortgagor must vacate the property on or before 11:59 p.m. on March 17, 2014, or the next business day if March 17, 2014 falls on a Saturday, Sunday or legal holiday. Mortgagor(s) released from financial obligation: NONE THIS COMMUNICATION IS FROM A DEBT COLLECTOR ATTEMPTING TO COLLECT A DEBT. ANY INFORMATION OBTAINED WILL BE USED FOR THAT PURPOSE. THE RIGHT TO VERIFICATION OF THE DEBT AND IDENTITY OF THE ORIGINAL CREDITOR WITHIN THE TIME PROVIDED BY LAW IS NOT AFFECTED BY THIS ACTION. THE TIME ALLOWED BY LAW FOR REDEMPTION BY THE MORTGAGOR, THE MORTGAGOR'S PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVES OR ASSIGNS, MAY BE REDUCED TO FIVE WEEKS IF A JUDICIAL ORDER IS ENTERED UNDER MINNESOTA STATUTES, SECTION 582.032, DETERMINING, AMONG OTHER THINGS, THAT THE MORTGAGED PREMISES ARE IMPROVED WITH A RESIDENTIAL DWELLING OF LESS THAN FIVE UNITS, ARE NOT PROPERTY USED IN AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTION, AND ARE ABANDONED. DATED: August 01, 2013 ASSIGNEE OF MORTGAGEE: Ocwen Loan Servicing, LLC Wilford, Geske & Cook P.A. Attorneys for Assignee of Mortgagee 8425 Seasons Parkway, Suite 105 Woodbury, MN 55125-4393 (651) 209-3300 File Number: 027117F01 Published in the Mille Lacs County Times August 1, 8, 15, 22, 29 September 5, 2013 3457137 1010 LG Mortgage Foreclosures NOTICE OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE NOTICE IS HEREBY GIVEN that default has occurred in the conditions of the following described mortgage: DATE OF MORTGAGE: January 02, 2009 ORIGINAL PRINCIPAL AMOUNT OF MORTGAGE: $107,142.00 MORTGAGOR(S): William L. Powell, a single person MORTGAGEE: Mortgage Electronic Registration Systems, Inc. DATE AND PLACE OF RECORDING: Recorded: January 05, 2009 Mille Lacs County Recorder Document Number: 353302 ASSIGNMENTS OF MORTGAGE: And assigned to: Bank of America, N.A., successor by merger to BAC Home Loans Servicing, LP FKA Countrywide Home Loans Servicing, LP Dated: February 03, 2012 Recorded: February 13, 2012 Mille Lacs County Recorder Document Number: A371569 Transaction Agent: Mortgage Electronic Registration Systems, Inc. Transaction Agent Mortgage Identification Number: 100257100030080465 Lender or Broker: MidCountry Bank Residential Mortgage Servicer: Bank of America, N.A. Mortgage Originator: Not Applicable COUNTY IN WHICH PROPERTY IS LOCATED: Mille Lacs Property Address: 19763 150th Ave, Milaca, MN 56353-3039 Tax Parcel ID Number: 15-032-0500 LEGAL DESCRIPTION OF PROPERTY: The South Half of the East Half of the Northeast Quarter of the Northeast Quarter, Section 32, Township 39, Range 27 AMOUNT DUE AND CLAIMED TO BE DUE AS OF DATE OF NOTICE: $105,239.01 THAT all pre-foreclosure requirements have been complied with; that no action or proceeding has been instituted at law or otherwise to recover the debt secured by said mortgage, or any part thereof; PURSUANT to the power of sale contained in said mortgage, the above-described property will be sold by the Sheriff of said county as follows: DATE AND TIME OF SALE: September 17, 2013 at 10:00 AM PLACE OF SALE: 640 3rd Street S.E., South Door of Sheriff's Office, Milaca, Minnesota to pay the debt secured by said mortgage and taxes, if any, on said premises and the costs and disbursements, including attorney fees allowed by law, subject to redemption within six (6) months from the date of said sale by the mortgagor(s), their personal representatives or assigns. If the Mortgage is not reinstated under Minn. Stat. §580.30 or the property is not redeemed under Minn. Stat. §580.23, the Mortgagor must vacate the property on or before 11:59 p.m. on March 17, 2014, or the next business day if March 17, 2014 falls on a Saturday, Sunday or legal holiday. Mortgagor(s) released from financial obligation: NONE THIS COMMUNICATION IS FROM A DEBT COLLECTOR ATTEMPTING TO COLLECT A DEBT. ANY INFORMATION OBTAINED WILL BE USED FOR THAT PURPOSE. THE RIGHT TO VERIFICATION OF THE DEBT AND IDENTITY OF THE ORIGINAL CREDITOR WITHIN THE TIME PROVIDED BY LAW IS NOT AFFECTED BY THIS ACTION. THE TIME ALLOWED BY LAW FOR REDEMPTION BY THE MORTGAGOR, THE MORTGAGOR'S PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVES OR ASSIGNS, MAY BE REDUCED TO FIVE WEEKS IF A JUDICIAL ORDER IS ENTERED UNDER MINNESOTA STATUTES, SECTION 582.032, DETERMINING, AMONG OTHER THINGS, THAT THE MORTGAGED PREMISES ARE IMPROVED WITH A RESIDENTIAL DWELLING OF LESS THAN FIVE UNITS, ARE NOT PROPERTY USED IN AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTION, AND ARE ABANDONED. DATED: August 01, 2013 ASSIGNEE OF MORTGAGEE: Bank of America, N.A., successor by merger to BAC Home Loans Servicing, LP FKA Countrywide Home Loans Servicing, LP Wilford, Geske & Cook P.A. Attorneys for Assignee of Mortgagee 8425 Seasons Parkway, Suite 105 Woodbury, MN 55125-4393 (651) 209-3300 File Number: 028243F01 Published in the Mille Lacs County Times August 1, 8, 15, 22, 29, September 5, 2013 3461056 1010 LG Mortgage Foreclosures NOTICE OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE Dated: July 26, 2013 THE RIGHT TO VERIFICATION OF THE DEBT AND IDENTITY OF THE ORIGINAL CREDITOR WITHIN THE TIME PROVIDED BY LAW IS NOT AFFECTED BY THIS ACTION. YOU ARE NOTIFIED THAT: 1.Default has occurred in the conditions of the Mortgage dated May 12, 2004, executed by Allen J. Miller, Jr. and Cynthia J. Miller, husband and wife, as Mortgagor to Bremer Bank, National Association, as Mortgagee, and filed for record May 20, 2004, as Document No. 311846, in the Office of the County Recorder of Mille Lacs County, Minnesota. The land described in the Mortgage is not registered land. 2.The Mortgage has been assigned as follows: None. 3.The original principal amount secured by the Mortgage was Seventy-eight Thousand and 00/100 Dollars ($78,000.00). 4.No action or proceeding at law is now pending to recover the debt secured by the Mortgage, or any part thereof. 5.The holder of the Mortgage has complied with all conditions precedent to acceleration of the debt secured by the Mortgage and foreclosure of the Mortgage, and all notice and other requirements of applicable statutes. 6.At the date of this notice the amount due on the Mortgage, and taxes, if any paid by the holder of the Mortgage is Sixty-six Thousand Four Hundred forty-two and 18/100 Dollars ($66,442.18). 7.Pursuant to the power of sale in the Mortgage, the Mortgage will be foreclosed, and the land described as follows: The South 241 feet of the West 312 feet, as measured along the West and South lines respectively, of the Northwest Quarter of the Northeast Quarter of Section 32, Township 36, Range 26, according to the United States Government Survey thereof and situate in Mille Lacs County, Minnesota. Parcel No. 24-032-0500 Property Address: 2008 First Street, Princeton, MN 55371. will be sold by the County Sheriff of Isanti County, Minnesota, at public auction on September 17, 2013, at 10:00 a.m. at Mille Lacs County Sheriff's Office at 640 Third Street SE, Milaca, MN 56353. 8.The time allowed by law for redemption by Mortgagor(s) or Mortgagor's personal representatives or assigns is six (6) months after the date of sale. 9.If this is a duplex dwelling consisting of 2 units, the premises must be vacated by March 17, 2014, at 11:59 p.m. 10.THE TIME ALLOWED BY LAW FOR REDEMPTION BY THE MORTGAGOR, THE MORTGAGOR'S PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVES OR ASSIGNS MAY BE REDUCED TO FIVE WEEKS IF A JUDICIAL ORDER IS ENTERED UNDER MINNESOTA STATUTES, SECTION 582.032, DETERMINING, AMONG OTHER THINGS, THAT THE MORTGAGED PREMISES ARE IMPROVED WITH A RESIDENTIAL DWELLING OF LESS THAN FIVE UNITS, ARE NOT PROPERTY USED IN AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTION, AND ARE ABANDONED. 11.THIS COMMUNICATION IS FROM A DEBT COLLECTOR ATTEMPTING TO COLLECT A DEBT, ANY INFORMATION OBTAINED WILL BE USED FOR THAT PURPOSE. Attorney for Mortgagee or Assignee of Mortgage: Jimmy A. Lindberg, I.D. No. 63290 LINDBERG & McKINNIS, P.A. 200 - 3rd Avenue NE, Suite 300 Cambridge, MN 55008 Bremer Bank, National Association (763) 689-9596 MORTGAGEE OR ASSIGNEE OF MORTGAGE Published in the Mille Lacs County Times August 1, 8, 15, 22, 29, September 5, 2013 3461120 1010 LG Mortgage Foreclosures 13-091816 NOTICE OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE THE RIGHT TO VERIFICATION OF THE DEBT AND IDENTITY OF THE ORIGINAL CREDITOR WITHIN THE TIME PROVIDED BY LAW IS NOT AFFECTED BY THIS ACTION. NOTICE IS HEREBY GIVEN, that default has occurred in the conditions of the following described mortgage: DATE OF MORTGAGE: March 11, 2004 ORIGINAL PRINCIPAL AMOUNT OF MORTGAGE: $142,950.00 MORTGAGOR(S): Joseph G. Kennedy, a single person MORTGAGEE: Wells Fargo Home Mortgage, Inc. LENDER OR BROKER AND MORTGAGE ORIGINATOR STATED ON THE MORTGAGE: Wells Fargo Home Mortgage, Inc. SERVICER: Wells Fargo Bank, NA DATE AND PLACE OF FILING: Filed April 9, 2004, Mille Lacs County Recorder, as Document Number 310402 ASSIGNMENTS OF MORTGAGE: Assigned to: HSBC Bank USA, National Trust Company, as Trustee for the Holders of MASTR Reperforming Loan Trust 2005-2; thereafter corrected to HSBC Bank USA, National Association as Trustee for MASTR Reperforming Loan Trust 2005-2 by CORRECTIVE ASSIGNMENT OF MORTGAGE. LEGAL DESCRIPTION OF PROPERTY: Lot Three (3), Block Five (5), Summit Park PROPERTY ADDRESS: 1105 3Rd Street N, Princeton, MN 55371 PROPERTY IDENTIFICATION NUMBER: 24.800.0320 COUNTY IN WHICH PROPERTY IS LOCATED: Mille Lacs THE AMOUNT CLAIMED TO BE DUE ON THE MORTGAGE ON THE DATE OF THE NOTICE: $211,675.78 THAT all pre-foreclosure requirements have been complied with; that no action or proceeding has been instituted at law or otherwise to recover the debt secured by said mortgage, or any part thereof; PURSUANT, to the power of sale contained in said mortgage, the above described property will be sold by the Sheriff of said county as follows: DATE AND TIME OF SALE: September 19, 2013, 10:00am PLACE OF SALE: Sheriff's Main Office, 640 3rd Street SE, Milaca, MN 56353 to pay the debt secured by said mortgage and taxes, if any, on said premises and the costs and disbursements, including attorneys fees allowed by law, subject to redemption within 6 months from the date of said sale by the mortgagor(s) the personal representatives or assigns. TIME AND DATE TO VACATE PROPERTY: If the real estate is an owner-occupied, single-family dwelling, unless otherwise provided by law, the date on or before which the mortgagor(s) must vacate the property, if the mortgage is not reinstated under section 580.30 or the property is not redeemed under section 580.23, is 11:59 p.m. on March 19, 2014. "THE TIME ALLOWED BY LAW FOR REDEMPTION BY THE MORTGAGOR, THE MORTGAGOR'S PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVES OR ASSIGNS, MAY BE REDUCED TO FIVE WEEKS IF A JUDICIAL ORDER IS ENTERED UNDER MINNESOTA STATUTES SECTION 582.032 DETERMINING, AMONG OTHER THINGS, THAT THE MORTGAGED PREMISES ARE IMPROVED WITH A RESIDENTIAL DWELLING OF LESS THAN 5 UNITS, ARE NOT PROPERTY USED FOR AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTION, AND ARE ABANDONED. Dated: July 29, 2013 HSBC Bank USA, National Association as Trustee for MASTR Reperforming Loan Trust 2005-2 Assignee of Mortgagee SHAPIRO & ZIELKE, LLP BY /s/ Lawrence P. Zielke - 152559 Diane F. Mach - 273788 Melissa L. B. Porter - 0337778 Randolph W. Dawdy - 2160X Ronald W. Spencer - 0104061 Stephanie O. Nelson - 0388918 Gary J. Evers - 0134764 Attorneys for Mortgagee 12550 West Frontage Road, Ste. 200 Burnsville, MN 55337 (952) 831-4060 THIS IS A COMMUNICATION FROM A DEBT COLLECTOR Published in the Mille Lacs County Times August 1, 8, 15, 22, 29, September 5, 2013 3461738 1010 LG Mortgage Foreclosures 13-092406 NOTICE OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE THE RIGHT TO VERIFICATION OF THE DEBT AND IDENTITY OF THE ORIGINAL CREDITOR WITHIN THE TIME PROVIDED BY LAW IS NOT AFFECTED BY THIS ACTION. NOTICE IS HEREBY GIVEN, that default has occurred in the conditions of the following described mortgage: DATE OF MORTGAGE: July 15, 2005 ORIGINAL PRINCIPAL AMOUNT OF MORTGAGE: $284,250.00 MORTGAGOR(S): Rodney H. Hanson and Carol A. Hanson, husband and wife MORTGAGEE: Wells Fargo Bank, NA LENDER OR BROKER AND MORTGAGE ORIGINATOR STATED ON THE MORTGAGE: Wells Fargo Bank, NA SERVICER: Wells Fargo Bank, NA DATE AND PLACE OF FILING: Filed July 20, 2005, Mille Lacs County Recorder, as Document Number 323987 ASSIGNMENTS OF MORTGAGE: Assigned to: Bank of America, N.A. Successor by merger to Merrill Lynch Bank, USA LEGAL DESCRIPTION OF PROPERTY: Lot One (1), Block Five (5), 4th Addition to Izaty's Golf and Yacht, together with benefits and easements as set forth in Declaration Document No. 183003 as Amended by Document No. 184910, 207922, 213022 and 218591 PROPERTY ADDRESS: 8098 Par Five Dr Unit 232, Onamia, MN 56359 PROPERTY IDENTIFICATION NUMBER: 17.408.0170 COUNTY IN WHICH PROPERTY IS LOCATED: Mille Lacs THE AMOUNT CLAIMED TO BE DUE ON THE MORTGAGE ON THE DATE OF THE NOTICE: $287,627.97 THAT all pre-foreclosure requirements have been complied with; that no action or proceeding has been instituted at law or otherwise to recover the debt secured by said mortgage, or any part thereof; PURSUANT, to the power of sale contained in said mortgage, the above described property will be sold by the Sheriff of said county as follows: DATE AND TIME OF SALE: September 19, 2013, 10:00am PLACE OF SALE: Sheriff's Main Office, 640 3rd Street SE, Milaca, MN 56353 to pay the debt secured by said mortgage and taxes, if any, on said premises and the costs and disbursements, including attorneys fees allowed by law, subject to redemption within 6 months from the date of said sale by the mortgagor(s) the personal representatives or assigns. TIME AND DATE TO VACATE PROPERTY: If the real estate is an owner-occupied, single-family dwelling, unless otherwise provided by law, the date on or before which the mortgagor(s) must vacate the property, if the mortgage is not reinstated under section 580.30 or the property is not redeemed under section 580.23, is 11:59 p.m. on March 19, 2014. "THE TIME ALLOWED BY LAW FOR REDEMPTION BY THE MORTGAGOR, THE MORTGAGOR'S PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVES OR ASSIGNS, MAY BE REDUCED TO FIVE WEEKS IF A JUDICIAL ORDER IS ENTERED UNDER MINNESOTA STATUTES SECTION 582.032 DETERMINING, AMONG OTHER THINGS, THAT THE MORTGAGED PREMISES ARE IMPROVED WITH A RESIDENTIAL DWELLING OF LESS THAN 5 UNITS, ARE NOT PROPERTY USED FOR AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTION, AND ARE ABANDONED. Dated: July 29, 2013 Bank of America, N.A. Successor by merger to Merrill Lynch Bank, USA Assignee of Mortgagee SHAPIRO & ZIELKE, LLP BY /s/ Lawrence P. Zielke - 152559 Diane F. Mach - 273788 Melissa L. B. Porter - 0337778 Randolph W. Dawdy - 2160X Ronald W. Spencer - 0104061 Stephanie O. Nelson - 0388918 Gary J. Evers - 0134764 Attorneys for Mortgagee 12550 West Frontage Road, Ste. 200 Burnsville, MN 55337 (952) 831-4060 THIS IS A COMMUNICATION FROM A DEBT COLLECTOR Published in the Mille Lacs County Times August 1, 8, 15, 22, 29, September 5, 2013 3461752 1010 LG Mortgage Foreclosures NOTICE OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE THE RIGHT TO VERIFICATION OF THE DEBT AND IDENTITY OF THE ORIGINAL CREDITOR WITHIN THE TIME PROVIDED BY LAW IS NOT AFFECTED BY THIS ACTION. NOTICE IS HEREBY GIVEN: That default has occurred in the conditions of the following described mortgage: DATE OF MORTGAGE: April 16, 2010 ORIGINAL PRINCIPAL AMOUNT OF MORTGAGE: $116,844.00 MORTGAGOR(S): Tammy Dohanick, unmarried woman MORTGAGEE: Mortgage Electronic Registration Systems, Inc., as nominee for First Equity Mortgage DATE AND PLACE OF FILING: Recorded on April 20, 2010 in the Office of the Mille Lacs County Recorder as Document Number A361571. ASSIGNMENTS OF MORTGAGE: Assigned to: Wells Fargo Bank, N.A. by written assignment recorded on August 31, 2012 as Document Number A374953 in the Office of the County Recorder of Mille Lacs County, Minnesota. LEGAL DESCRIPTION OF PROPERTY: Lot Three (3), Block Two (2), Pine Ridge STREET ADDRESS OF PROPERTY: 9617 109th Avenue, Milaca, MN 56353-4194 COUNTY IN WHICH PROPERTY IS LOCATED: Mille Lacs County, Minnesota THE AMOUNT CLAIMED TO BE DUE ON THE MORTGAGE ON THE DATE OF THE NOTICE: $118,852.68 THAT no action or proceeding has been instituted at law to recover the debt secured by said mortgage, or any part thereof; that there has been compliance with all pre-foreclosure notice and acceleration requirements of said mortgage, and/or applicable statutes; PURSUANT, to the power of sale contained in said mortgage, the above described property will be sold by the Sheriff of said county as follows: DATE AND TIME OF SALE: June 13, 2013 at 10:00 AM PLACE OF SALE: Mille Lacs County Sheriff`s office, Attn: Civil Division, 640 3rd Street SE, Milaca, Minnesota to pay the debt then secured by said mortgage and taxes, if any actually paid by the mortgagee, on the premises and the costs and disbursements allowed by law. The time allowed by law for redemption by said mortgagor(s), their personal representatives or assigns is Six (6) months from the date of sale. Unless said mortgage is reinstated or the property redeemed, or unless the time for redemption is reduced by judicial order, you must vacate the premises by 11:59 p.m. on December 13, 2013. MORTGAGOR(S) RELEASED FROM FINANCIAL OBLIGATION ON MORTGAGE: None "THE TIME ALLOWED BY LAW FOR REDEMPTION BY THE MORTGAGOR, THE MORTGAGOR`S PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVES OR ASSIGNS, MAY BE REDUCED TO FIVE WEEKS IF A JUDICIAL ORDER IS ENTERED UNDER MINNESOTA STATUTES, SECTION 582.032, DETERMINING, AMONG OTHER THINGS, THAT THE MORTGAGED PREMISES ARE IMPROVED WITH A RESIDENTIAL DWELLING OF LESS THAN FIVE UNITS, ARE NOT PROPERTY USED IN AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTION, AND ARE ABANDONED." Dated: April 10, 2013 WELLS FARGO BANK, N.A. Mortgagee SCHILLER & ADAM, P.A. By: /s/ Rebecca F. Schiller, Esq. Sarah J.B. Adam, Esq. N. Kibongni Fondungallah, Esq. James J. Pauly, Esq. Steven R. Pennock, Esq. Curt N. Trisko, Esq. Jeffrey D. Klobucar, Esq. Attorneys for Mortgagee The Academy Professional Building 25 North Dale Street St. Paul, MN 55102 (651) 209-9760 (13-0527-FC01) THIS IS A COMMUNICATION FROM A DEBT COLLECTOR. NOTICE OF POSTPONEMENT OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE NOTICE IS HEREBY GIVEN, that the mortgage foreclosure sale referred to in the foregoing Notice of Mortgage Foreclosure Sale has been postponed from: June 13, 2013 at 10:00 AM to October 17, 2013 at 10:00 AM. Said sale will be held at the main office of the Mille Lacs County Sheriff, Attn: Civil Division, 640 3rd Street SE, in the City of Milaca, County of Mille Lacs, State of Minnesota. Unless said mortgage is reinstated or the property redeemed, or unless the time for redemption is reduced by judicial order, you must vacate the premises by 11:59 p.m. on April 17, 2014. Dated: August 1, 2013 WELLS FARGO BANK, N.A. Mortgagee SCHILLER & ADAM, P.A. By: /s/ Rebecca F. Schiller, Esq. Sarah J.B. Adam, Esq. N. Kibongni Fondungallah, Esq. James J. Pauly, Esq. Steven R. Pennock, Esq. Curt N. Trisko, Esq. Jeffrey D. Klobucar, Esq. The Academy Professional Building 25 North Dale Street St. Paul, MN 55102 (651) 209-9760 (13-0527-FC01) NOTICE OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE FORECLOSURE DATA Minn. Stat. § 580.025 (1) Street Address, City and Zip Code of Mortgaged Premises 9617 109th Avenue Milaca, MN 56353-4194 (2) Transaction Agent Mortgage Electronic Registration Systems, Inc., as nominee for First Equity Mortgage (3) Name of Mortgage Originator (Lender) Mortgage Electronic Registration Systems, Inc., as nominee for First Equity Mortgage (4) Residential ServicerWells Fargo Bank, N.A. (5) Tax Parcel Identification Number 01-682-0060 (6) Transaction Agent`s Mortgage ID Number (MERS number) 100052211011615315 Published in the Mille Lacs County Times August 8, 2013 3467932 1010 LG Mortgage Foreclosures NOTICE OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE THE RIGHT TO VERIFICATION OF THE DEBT AND IDENTITY OF THE ORIGINAL CREDITOR WITHIN THE TIME PROVIDED BY LAW IS NOT AFFECTED BY THIS ACTION. NOTICE IS HEREBY GIVEN, that default has occurred in the conditions of the following described mortgage: DATE OF MORTGAGE: 08/27/2007 MORTGAGOR(S): Kimberlee Harvey Heinen, a single person. MORTGAGEE: CU Mortgage Services, Inc. Transaction Agent: N/A Transaction Agent Mortgage ID No: n/a Lender or Broker: CU Mortgage Services, Inc. Servicer: C.U. Mortgage Services, Inc. Mortgage Originator: CU Mortgage Services, Inc. DATE AND PLACE OF RECORDING: Recorded September 14, 2007,Mille Lacs County Recorder, Document No. 344516. LEGAL DESCRIPTION OF PROPERTY: Lot 11 and 12, Block 39, Original Townsite of the Village of Princeton, Mille Lacs County, Minnesota. REGISTERED PROPERTY: No TAX PARCEL NO.: 24.040.1370 ADDRESS OF PROPERTY: 610 7th Ave North Princeton, MN 55371 COUNTY IN WHICH PROPERTY IS LOCATED: Mille Lacs ORIGINAL PRINCIPAL AMOUNT OF MORTGAGE: $175,150.00 AMOUNT DUE AND CLAIMED TO BE DUE AS OF DATE OF NOTICE, INCLUDING TAXES, IF ANY, PAID BY MORTGAGEE: $174,795.29 That prior to the commencement of this mortgage foreclosure proceeding Mortgagee/Assignee of Mortgagee complied with all notice requirements as required by statute; that no action or proceeding has been instituted at law or otherwise to recover the debt secured by said mortgage, or any part thereof; PURSUANT to the power of sale contained in said mortgage, the above described property will be sold by the Sheriff of said county as follows: DATE AND TIME OF SALE: Tuesday, October 01, 2013, 10:00 a.m. PLACE OF SALE: Lobby of Sheriff's Office, City of Milaca to pay the debt then secured by said Mortgage, and taxes, if any, on said premises, and the costs and disbursements, including attorneys' fees allowed by law subject to redemption within 6 months from the date of said sale by the mortgagor(s), their personal representatives or assigns. DATE TO VACATE PROPERTY: The date on or before which the mortgagor must vacate the property if the mortgage is not reinstated under Minnesota Statutes section 580.30 or the property redeemed under Minnesota Statutes section 580.23 is 04/01/2014 at 11:59 p.m. If the foregoing date is a Saturday, Sunday or legal holiday, then the date to vacate is the next business day at 11:59 p.m. MORTGAGOR(S) RELEASED FROM FINANCIAL OBLIGATION ON MORTGAGE: NONE THE TIME ALLOWED BY LAW FOR REDEMPTION BY THE MORTGAGOR, THE MORTGAGOR'S PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVES OR ASSIGNS, MAY BE REDUCED TO FIVE WEEKS IF A JUDICIAL ORDER IS ENTERED UNDER MINNESOTA STATUTES SECTION 582.032, DETERMINING, AMONG OTHER THINGS, THAT THE MORTGAGED PREMISES ARE IMPROVED WITH A RESIDENTIAL DWELLING OF LESS THAN FIVE UNITS, ARE NOT PROPERTY USED IN AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTION, AND ARE ABANDONED. Dated: August 02, 2013 CU Mortgage Services, Inc. Mortgagee Peterson, Fram & Bergman, P.A. By: Michael T. Oberle Attorneys for: CU Mortgage Services, Inc. Mortgagee 55 E. 5th St., Suite 800 St. Paul, MN 55101 (651) 209-7599 THIS IS A COMMUNICATION FROM A DEBT COLLECTOR. 8880-13-00469-1 Published in the MILLE LACS COUNTY TIMES August 8, 15, 22, 29, September 5,12, 2013 3467947 1019 LG Certificate of Assumed Name MINNESOTA SECRETARY OF STATE CERTIFICATE OF ASSUMED NAME Minnesota Statutes Chapter 333 The filing of an assumed name does not provide a user with exclusive rights to that name. The filing is required for consumer protection in order to enable consumers to be able to identify the true owner of a business. 1. State the exact assumed name under which the business is or will be conducted: Syp's Mobile RV and Trailer Repair. 2. State the address of the principal place of business. 20128 Keystone Road, Milaca, MN 56353. 3. List the name and complete street address of all persons conducting business under the above Assumed Name, OR if an entity, provide the legal corporate, LLC or Limited Partnership name and registered office address. Cory Sypnieski, 20128 Keystone Road, Milaca, MN 56353. 4. I certify that I am authorized to sign this certificate and I further certify that I understand that by signing this certificate, I am subject to the penalties of perjury as set forth in Minnesota Statutes section 609.48 as if I had signed this certificate under oath. Date: July 15, 2013 Cory Sypnieski/s/ Cory Sypnieski, Owner Cory Sypnieski, Contact Name 320-983-8127 Mille Lacs County Times August 8 and 15, 2013 3467407 1019 LG Certificate of Assumed Name Minnesota Secretary of State CERTIFICATE OF ASSUMED NAME Minnesota Statutes Chapter 333 The filing of an assumed name does not provide a user with exclusive rights to that name. The filing is required for consumer protection in order to enable consumers to be able to identify the true owner of a business. 1. List the exact assumed name under which the business is or will be conducted: down2earth voice over 2. Principal Place of Business. 8457 140th St. Milaca, MN 56353 3. List the name and complete street address of all persons conducting business under the above Assumed Name, OR if an entity, provide the legal corporate, LLC, or Limited Partnership name and registered office address. Michael D. Crain 8457 140th St. Milaca, MN 56353 4. I, the undersigned, certify that I am signing this document as the person whose signature is required, or as agent of the person(s) whose signature would be required who has authorized me to sign this document on his/her behalf, or in both capacities. I further certify that I have completed all required fields, and that the information in this document is true and correct and in compliance with the applicable chapter of Minnesota Statutes. I understand that by signing this document I am subject to the penalties of perjury as set forth in Section 609.48 as if I had signed this document under oath. Date: July 12, 2013 /s/ Michael D. Crain Michael D. Crain, President/Owner Published in the MILLE LACS COUNTY TIMES August 8, 15, 2013 3467960 1020 LG County Proceedings MILLE LACS COUNTY LEGAL NOTICE NOTICE IS HEREBY GIVEN, that the Mille Lacs County Planning Commission will hold a public hearing on Monday August 12, 2013 at 7:00 p.m. in the Commissioner's Room at the Courthouse in Milaca, Minnesota. The following items will appear on the agenda: I. CALL MEETING TO ORDER II. PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE III. APPROVAL OF THE MINUTES: July 8, 2013 Meeting IV. ADDITIONS: V. SUB-COMMITTEE OR OTHER UPDATES: County Board VI. OLD BUSINESS: Request by Tim Helmbrecht for a Conditional Use Permit to allow auto repair as Home-based Business on property legally described as Lot 1, Block 2, Rolling Prairie Estates (01-775-0030, Bogus Brook Township). Generally located at 9099 92nd Avenue, Milaca. VII. NEW BUSINESS: Request by Mille Lacs County, Comprehensive Plan Update and Adoption VIII. OTHER BUSINESS: None. IX. ADJOURNMENT. Published in Mille Lacs County Times August 1, 8, 2013 3450882 1020 LG County Proceedings THE MILLE LACS COUNTY CODE OF ORDINANCES AN ORDINANCE AMENDING ARTICLE 1, ZONING, DIVISION 3, DISTRICT REQUIREMENTS, SUBDIVISION 7, SHORELAND DISTRICTS ORDINANCE NO.: LSO 2013-03 An ordinance deleting Sec 1-206(10).vi: Outhouses or "privies" are not permitted as sewage treatment systems in the Shoreland Districts. Passed and approved this 4th day of June 2013 by the Mille Lacs County Board of Commissioners. COUNTY OF MILLE LACS BOARD OF COMMISSIONERS /s/ Phil Peterson Chair ATTEST: /s/ Roxy Traxler Roxy Traxler, Administrator MOVED BY: Cmsr. Oslin SECONDED: Cmsr. Reynolds IN FAVOR: OPPOSED: None Published in the MILLE LACS COUNTY TIMES August 8, 2013 3467799 1029 LG City of Milaca NOTICE OF MORTGAGE FORECLOSURE SALE THE RIGHT TO VERIFICATION OF THE DEBT AND IDENTITY OF THE ORIGINAL CREDITOR WITHIN THE TIME PROVIDED BY LAW IS NOT AFFECTED BY THIS ACTION. NOTICE IS HEREBY GIVEN: That default has occurred in the conditions of the following described mortgage: DATE OF MORTGAGE: July 7, 2008 MORTGAGOR: Paul J. Waytashek and Constance M. Waytashek, husband and wife MORTGAGEE: Affinity Plus Federal Credit Union, a credit union organized under the laws of the United States of America DATE AND PLACE OF RECORDING: Recorded June 7, 2012, in the office of the County Recorder, as Document No. A373534, Mille Lacs County, Minnesota. MORTGAGED PROPERTY ADDRESS: 39485 Twilight Road, Onamia, Minnesota 56359 TAX PARCEL I.D. NO. 17-017-0301 LEGAL DESCRIPTION OF PROPERTY: That part of Government Lot Five (5), Section Seventeen (17), Township Forty-two (42), Range Twenty-six (26), Mille Lacs County, Minnesota, described as follows: Commencing at the West quarter corner of said Section 17; thence South 00 degrees 00 minutes 00 seconds East, assumed bearing, along the West line of said Government Lot 5 a distance of 340.50 feet; thence North 75 degrees 43 minutes 00 seconds East a distance of 337.00 feet; thence North 22 degrees 39 minutes 00 seconds West a distance of 300.00 feet, more or less, to an iron pipe, said iron pipe being the point of beginning of the property being described; thence South 75 degrees 51 minutes 00 seconds West a distance of 125.00 feet, more or less, to an iron pipe; thence North 00 degrees 22 minutes 00 seconds West a distance of 159.40 feet, more or less, to an iron pipe; thence South 61 degrees 15 minutes 00 seconds West a distance of 103.03 feet to the West line of said Government Lot 5; thence South 00 degrees 04 minutes 07 seconds West along said West line a distance of 100.69 feet to said West quarter corner Section 17; thence South 00 degrees 00 minutes 00 seconds East, along said West line of Government Lot 5 a distance of 133.20 feet; thence North 76 degrees 21 minutes 00 seconds East a distance of 475 feet, more or less, to the shoreline of Mille Lacs Lake; thence Northerly along said shoreline to the point of intersection with a line running North 76 degrees 21 minutes 00 seconds East from said point of beginning; thence South 76 degrees 21 minutes 00 seconds West a distance of 221 feet, more or less, to said point of beginning. COUNTY IN WHICH PROPERTY IS LOCATED: Mille Lacs ORIGINAL PRINCIPAL AMOUNT OF MORTGAGE: $92,000.00 AMOUNT DUE AND CLAIMED TO BE DUE AS OF DATE OF NOTICE, INCLUDING TAXES, IF ANY, PAID BY MORTGAGEE: $72,314.63 INTEREST RATE AND PER DIEM: Current interest rate is 6.125%, with a daily per diem of $11.71. That prior to commencement of this mortgage foreclosure proceeding Mortgagee complied with all notice requirements by statute; That no action or proceeding has been instituted at law or otherwise to recover the debt secured by said mortgage or any part thereof; PURSUANT to the power of sale contained in said mortgage, the above described property will be sold by the Sheriff of said county as follows: DATE AND TIME OF SALE: September 24, 2013, at 10:00 am. PLACE OF SALE: Mille Lacs County Sheriff's Office, 640 Third Street SE, Milaca, Minnesota 56353, to pay the debt then secured by said Mortgage, taxes, if any, on said premises, and the costs and disbursements, including attorneys' fees allowed by law subject to redemption within six (6) months from the date of said sale by the mortgagor(s), their personal representatives or assigns. DATE AND TIME MORTGAGOR MUST VACATE THE PREMISES: March 24, 2014, at 11:59 p.m. "THE TIME ALLOWED BY LAW FOR REDEMPTION BY THE MORTGAGOR, THE MORTGAGOR'S PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVES OR ASSIGNS, MAY BE REDUCED TO FIVE (5) WEEKS IF A JUDICIAL ORDER IS ENTERED UNDER MINNESOTA STATUTES, SECTION 582.032, DETERMINING, AMONG OTHER THINGS, THAT THE MORTGAGED PREMISES ARE IMPROVED WITH A RESIDENTIAL DWELLING OF LESS THAN FIVE UNITS, ARE NOT PROPERTY USED IN AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTION, AND ARE ABANDONED." Dated: July 31, 2013 MESSERLI & KRAMER P.A. By: /s/ Creig AndreasenCreig Andreasen (Lic. #334832) 1400 Fifth Street Towers 100 South Fifth Street Minneapolis, MN 55402-1217 (612) 672-3600 Attorney in Fact for Affinity Plus Federal Credit Union IMPORTANT NOTICE This communication is from a debt collector and is an attempt to collect a debt. Any information obtained will be used for that purpose. Published in the MILLE LACS COUNTY TIMES August 8, 15, 22, 29, September 5, 12, 2013 3465981 1045 LG Public Notices NOTICE OF SALE The property described as follows, to wit: a 1999 Ford Windstar Van, MNLic. 018DRP, Vin #2FMZA5246XBB80493, will be sold at public auction by the Mille Lacs County Sheriff on the 16th day of August 2013, at 1:00 p.m. at The Mille Lacs County Search & Rescue, 38658 100th Avenue, in the City of Onamia, County of Mille Lacs, State of Minnesota. Purchaser is on notice that final sale is subject to any right of recovery described in MN. Stat. 345.15. Subd. 1 and that such property is sold in "as is" condition with no express or implied warranties. Proof of vehicle insurance may be required at time of sale. Minimum bid of $1,500 due at time of sale in the form of cash and/or cashier's check. Dated: July 15, 2013. Mille Lacs County Sheriff's Office 640 3rd Street SE Milaca, MN 56353 320-983-8250 Published in the Mille Lacs County Times July 25, August 1, 8, 2013 3451907
Food Safety, Veterinary and Phytosanitary Policy Garcia Martinez, Marian (2007) Food Safety, Veterinary and Phytosanitary Policy. In: Albania: Strategic Policies for a More Competitive Agriculture Sector. Sustainable Development Sector Unit, Europe and Central Asia, The World Bank, pp. 37-49. (The full text of this publication is not available from this repository)
High winds damage Gustavus breakwater Clough: Violent storm exceeded the capacity of the facility The Gustavus breakwater float is pictured in December after a storm damaged the structure. Earlier this week a second storm battered the facility ultimately causing the float to detach from the pilings that once held it in place. Recent storms have battered a state-owned dock facility in Gustavus and caused damage to various parts of the structure, including the breakwater and, pictured here, the skiff haulout. This photo was taken after a storm in December. A violent storm in Gustavus Tuesday caused a state-owned breakwater to break away from its pilings and wash up onto the shore. The breakwater, which is also used as a small boat harbor in the summer, was built in 2010 alongside a new ferry dock. The entire project cost $17 million and was funded by the state, the Denali Commission and the American Reinvestment and Recovery Act. Southeast Director for the Department of Transportation Al Clough said the breakwater has minor damage and can be salvaged, but that there are no immediate plans to rebuild the three-year-old dock. “We have absolutely no idea because we don’t have the money to do it,” Clough said. “The first order of business is to secure the existing facility, which essentially is get that breakwater back floating and put some place where it’s not going to receive any additional damage.” Clough said the next steps include looking at design changes to re-establish the breakwater. He said there are numerous options for the department to consider, but that “none of them are cheap or easy.” The damage to the breakwater does not at all affect the Alaska Marine Highway ferry dock, Clough said. He said the breakwater is not connected to the ferry dock. However, a major storm near the end of December that caused damage to the loading ramp on the ferry dock also caused damage to the breakwater. Clough said when completing repairs to the ferry dock last week, workers noticed damage to the breakwater pilings. Clough said workers were preparing to return to Gustavus to repair the breakwater when the storm happened. “We were literally getting ready to send the contractor back with the necessary equipment, which they did not have the first time they were over there, to affect that effort and this latest storm blew in yesterday and the day before,” Clough said. “That storm event late yesterday afternoon damaged the mooring system for the floating breakwater and set it free.” The last two storms that damaged the breakwater were not anticipated in the design of the structure, Clough said. “It’s an exposed shoreline there and we had a design that was based on a number of assumptions on what kind of sea conditions and things one might expect and obviously we had a pretty violent storm that exceeded the capacity of the facility,” he said. National Weather Service Meteorologist Edward Liske said wind gusts up to 47 mph were recorded at Bartlett Cove Tuesday. Bartlett Cove is inside the west edge of Point Gustavus; the ferry dock and breakwater are on the east side of the point. Liske said Tuesday’s winds in Bartlett Cove were unusually high.
Manager - Service Designer - London Job information PwC is evolving it's approach to business transformation by bringing in experience strategy, design, and user experience (UX) capabilities. We believe that providing a combined approach incorporating business, experience and technology is essential to delivering successful transformative outcomes for our clients. This new team will benefit from working closely with our established business strategists and technologists throughout the firm, gaining access to leading clients globally. PwC has recently appointed a new CXO (Chief Experience Officer) to its Consulting practice, to evolve the firm’s approach. We therefore have a new exciting opportunity available for a Service Designer with previous agency experience, relevant client-side (public or private sector), or consultancy experience to join its growing London-based experience team. We’re looking for keystones - the brightest and most ambitious thinkers to define and deliver challenging projects. Designers are integral to our process here at PwC and we are deeply committed in making sure the work we produce is intuitive, intelligent and enjoyable. Big thinking. Forward thinking. We are looking for someone who can find sources of innovation by looking where no one else is and use these insights to create services that change the world as we know it. This role is very visible, so articulation of complex design principles and ideas is vitally important, both to internal stakeholders and with clients. It is also a hands-on role: leading teams to conduct research and find fresh and actionable insights and collaborating with multidisciplinary teams to create, and brilliantly communicate, service concepts and experiences that help our clients solve complex problems and differentiate their businesses. About you You’ve probably recently completed a masters degree in service design, or maybe a bachelors in a related discipline and have 5 - 7 years of experience in the field with either an agency or on client side. You are keen to expand your horizon and grow professionally and personally by taking on larger, more demanding and different design challenges. We are looking for curiosity, enthusiasm and a can-do design thinkers. You are: Passionate about service design and human centred design An experienced service design practitioner, enjoy sweating the details, with a portfolio of relevant and recent service, or product-service systems, design work for leading national/international brands Be a strong design generalist with theoretical knowledge, and practical experience related to information-, interaction-, and visual-design across a variety of devices, touch-points, and experience domains Well versed in design research (e.g. ethnographic research), analysis and synthesis to identify insights and opportunities An expert in using service design methods and tools as well as collaborating with other design disciplines, internal teams as well as client teams. Always looking for more effective ways to increase the impact of your work and you have demonstrably created real business impact with it. Great at working in/with multidisciplinary teams, but happy to work independently too Strong in spoken, written and visual communication skills Capable to manage your own workload and flexible to adapt to changing demands Understand, utilise and play a lead role in improving PwC methods, tools, approaches, policies and procedures for client work and internal matters Skills, Knowledge and Experiences At least five years of relevant professional experience. Demonstrated experience, competence or expertise in the following: Ability to demonstrate mastery of service design methodology and tools (e.g. service blueprints) Ability to analyze, reframe and think on both a holistic and a detailed level; to think through human and rational lenses, being able to switch between the two, and know when to switch Ability to work both independently and in close co-creation with others; to take decisions when needed and be able to create synergy in a diverse team, with specific roles and towards a common goal Strong interpersonal skills: the ability to truly engage, connect and create trust with colleagues and clients, as well as having a well-developed empathy for research purposes; the ability to “get people to talk” Excellent visual skills; thinking visually and great at visualising and prototyping, with well developed graphic skills Ability to lead facilitation of workshops, working sessions and interviews Ability to recognize when help is needed and to engage the right people in an open and constructive way Work with multidisciplinary teams to develop detailed service blueprints Support business development through participation in proposals and client meetings Support practice development, through design leadership, mentoring and coaching Consulting In Consulting we deliver practical, far-sighted advice that gets straight to the heart of clients’ business issues and delivers amazing results by helping our clients improve the way they operate, reduce costs, manage risks, leverage talent or fundamentally change the way they do business, the work you do will be all about helping organisations of all shapes and sizes work smarter and grow faster. You could find yourself working with household names in a diverse range of industries – everyone from big-name broadcasters and high-street banks to multinational telecoms operators and energy companies. The skills we look for in future employees All our people need to demonstrate the skills and behaviours that support us in delivering our business strategy. This is important to the work we do for our business, and our clients. These skills and behaviours make up our global leadership framework, ‘The PwC Professional’ and are made up of five core attributes; whole leadership, technical capabilities, business acumen, global acumen and relationships. We work in a changing world which offers great opportunities for people with diverse backgrounds and experiences. We seek to attract and employ the best people from the widest talent pool, as well as those who reflect the diverse nature of our society. And we aim to encourage a culture where people can be themselves and be valued for their strengths. Creating value through diversity is what makes us strong as a business and as an organisation with an increasingly agile workforce, we're open to flexible working arrangements where appropriate. Just graduated and looking for a graduate or starter job in consulting? An overview of all consultancy jobs and junior consultant vacancies for graduates.Ready for a next career step in consulting? An overview of all consultancy jobs and vacancies for (senior) consultants with 2 to 5 years of working experience.Consultancy.uk presents an overview of all consulting jobs for (senior) consultants and (senior) managers with 5 to 10 years of working experience.Consultancy.uk presents an overview of all consulting jobs at Principal, Director and Partner level for highly experienced consultants and managers. A-levels Undergraduate degree Postgraduate degree MBA Advanced degree An overview of A-level school leaver jobs and vacancies in the consulting industry. Entry-level jobs for school leavers and students.An overview of undergraduate degree jobs and vacancies in the consulting industry. Jobs for students with a Bachelor’s degree.An overview of postgraduate degree jobs and vacancies in the consulting industry. Jobs for students with a Master’s degree.An overview of jobs and vacancies in the consulting industry for students with an MBA degree.An overview of jobs and vacancies in the consulting industry for students with an advanced degree such as JDs, MDs and PhDs.
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Tag Archives: Life It wasn’t raining, the sun was shinning, the wind was blowing and it felt like a spring afternoon for once. After work I made the short drive to the Whitney Point Reservoir where I normally launch from the north end at Upper Lisle but today I decided to be different and put in on the south end and begin from there. Today’s adventure would have me exploring the three islands that dot the lake. The largest of the three islands is where I beached and began to check things out. I’d love to know if its possible to camp here. I never noticed any signs on the road in that said “No Camping”, however this is something I’ll have to ask the DEC. Following the shoreline north I would be treated to a chorus of song birds. Several vibrant colored Baltimore Orioles and Cardinals fluttered from tree branch to tree branch teasing me with their beauty. I came upon several fisherman, three kayakers and brief spring shower. Today was a great day to start the month. I hope we are finally going to have some good weather. I began shooting slide film around 1990 but most of the images I made at this point were mostly captured on print film, something I regret. I didn’t really begin to convert solely to slide film until early 1992 and have been shooting it ever since. I’ll admit that in 2005 I was intrigued by the digital camera and purchased my first DSLR (Digital Single Lens Reflex) camera. I enjoyed it and made some great images with it as well. I loved the instant gratification of viewing the picture immediately. I also liked the fact that outside the camera and flash card there was no additional cost of film purchase and processing. I vowed to never shoot another roll of film again. That vow would only last about 6 months before I found myself lacking in something I craved the most. A tangible asset. I would go on to own more DSLR camera bodies as well as film bodies. I spent several years arguing the film vs. digital argument only to realize that it all boils down to preference and what your goals are. There is room in my camera bag for both film and digital. Our world moves at the speed of now and that is why I carry a DSLR with me most of the time. News happens at a moments notice! A passion of mine is to preserve history and I choose to do my preservation through photography. No matter the subject matter or the camera you use every click of the shutter captures a moment in time, a piece of our history and for me that is most important. Over the past 24 years I have been documenting my career mostly on film but I do have several hundred images made with a digital camera. I have also been documenting our family as well which is 90% slide film and 10% digital. Without an actual physical count I’d have to estimate my family slide collection hovers somewhere near 8,000 images of which only half have been filed. I just received another 216 slides the other day from the holidays. Another reason I still shoot slide film is because of monetary value. Collectors want originals. I’ve sold older slides from my collection on Ebay for some serious amounts of money. As a matter of fact I know people who do it for a living. They buy slide collections and break them up. This is both sad and fascinating as well. I’ve slowly been acquiring slides that I hope to flip in the near future but only time will tell. Since Kodak has exited the slide film market entirely there are only several choices left in which to buy it. Agfa Photo has recently restarted its slide film business and I’m glad because I love the stuff compared to Fuji’s. Its comes done to personal choice. Also Kodak does not process film anymore and most film (Print) is either processed in house at local photo labs or stores like Walmart or CVS. Slide film processing is only done at a handful of locations around the United States with the most popular being Dwayne’s Photo in Parsons, Kansas. Although those yellow Kodak boxes of joy that came in the mail are no longer I still get excited for those Red, White & Blue boxes from Dwayne’s! Over the past six months I’ve been doing some real soul-searching pertaining to my life and what I want. My soul-searching began not long after finishing the New York City Marathon. I realized all these things I had been drawn into was truly taking me away from my ultimate passion, my family. The very people who have unconditionally loved me, supported me and most of all missed me. Over the course of this reevaluation I realized that my passion for cycling pretty much wasn’t there anymore. I began to feel it was a major time suck. I also realized that my passion for running was growing two-fold. It was simple, no expensive gear, just a pair of running shoes, shorts and a shirt. I had visions of triathlon’s but who was I kidding. I’ve never really been a swimmer and quite honestly I don’t want to be. At points I felt like I was forcing myself to be something I truly wasn’t. All of these things have really removed me from my family so to speak. My family has no interest in cycling, running or swimming. However we do share some common passions that were staring me right in the face. We all really enjoy getting out hiking, kayaking and canoeing. My boys who are now thirteen and sixteen really enjoy this and I well, I love to canoe. As a mater of fact my sons and I are planning a 2016 canoe/camping trip along a beautiful section of the Northern Forest Canoe Trail. This summer our family will visit Lake George and Lake Placid to canoe, kayak, hike and spend time in a beautiful place. Michael and I will hike our first high peak together. I truly miss spending time with my wife. We’ve always had a wonderful relationship and have always enjoyed being together. We want to do more traveling together. Nothing exotic, just time spent seeing new places whether right here in our own State or some place else in America. She has always wanted to visit Charleston, South Carolina. In July just the two of us will be flying there to take in the sights, enjoy the food but most importantly spend time together without our referee shirts and red cards. So with that said I will be hanging up my swim trunks and deflating my bike tires. I will embrace my paddling, whether being by myself on a remote Adirondack pond or paddling with my family on the many beautiful lakes so close to where we live. I will continue to embrace and develop my passion for running but most of all I will make every attempt to nurture my relationship even more with three of the most beautiful human beings. Flipping through my mental rolodex to the afternoon of February 24th 2012 standing on a scale in my doctors office watching in horror while the nurse continue to slide the weight on the scale higher and higher. The weight kept climbing like the thermometer on a summer afternoon. Two hundred pounds, two hundred and fifty, finally the mercury stopped at three hundred and eight pounds. I was mortified! Later that afternoon sitting on our couch depressed I made a life altering decision, I was not only going to lose weight but I would get myself into shape at age forty. The very next day I made a drastic change to my diet. I began to walk six miles a day five days a week and slowly things began to change for me. My body started feeling better. The digestive issues I had been having were suddenly gone. I began to have more energy and my walking began to speed up. Fast forward to an afternoon in late April as I returned from the local store where I had bought some fertilizer for our lawn. After lifting these extremely heavy bags from the car I happened to notice each bag weighed forty five pounds. Stepping back for a moment and standing there in amazement realizing I had lost forty five pounds at this point and lifting those bags of fertilizer really put what had happened to me in perspective. A week later several friends had begun to push me to run a 5K race. Now I had not run since playing high school lacrosse twenty two years prior. I was resisting all I could but my curiosity would eventually get to me. However we signed up as a family and had planned to walk it. Race day finally arrived and as we got there the half marathoners had begun to come in. The atmosphere was electrifying. I was so excited to be a part of what was going on but really having no clue what was going on. All I knew is that it felt good. As we stood waiting for the gun my wife looks at me and says “You know you want to run”. I politely replied no I’m going to walk, BANG, the gun goes off and the tightly packed crowd of runners begin to take off. My wife looks at me and says again “You know you want to run” and I looked back with a huge smile and I was off. About a mile into it I am feeling great as a gentle pat on my back gets my attention and woooosh, my thirteen year old son goes flying on by. With the finish line in sight and my adrenaline pumping I noticed all those half marathoners clapping and cheering as we crossed the finish line. Wow, what a sense of community I thought. Runners of all skill levels cheering and supporting one another. I was hooked! My first ever 5K race was now complete, finishing in 35:19. Immediately the next month I signed up for another 5K road race in my former hometown of Kings Park, New York. I finished in 26:38, I was stoked! I shaved over eight minutes off my time from the previous month. The trend would continue over the next several months. Along the way my healthy diet and continued exercise would lead me to lose a total of one hundred and fifteen pounds by Christmas and launch me into the maintaining phase. I have run several races this year so far but my favorite was this past Sunday. I took part in the Seneca 7. The Seneca 7 is a 77.7 mile relay race around Seneca Lake in New York’s Finger Lakes Region. Consisting of seven person teams with each member running three legs each totaling eleven miles. My first leg (3.2 miles) I happened to PR with a 21:16 time at hand off. I have to tell you I was shocked because the last five tenths of this leg had an elevation gain of one hundred and twenty feet. I was ecstatic to say the least. Today April 22nd 2013 marks my twenty first anniversary of railroad employment. These twenty one years have flown by. Beginning my career on Metro North Railroad in the magnificent Grand Central Terminal. Grand Central Terminal Three years later I would move to Central New York where I have lived since. A brief stop on the Ann Arbor Railroad in Toledo, Ohio but the Southern Tier of New York is where I call home. Ann Arbor Railroad Toledo, Ohio As I briefly celebrate this page in the book of life I look back and think to myself how lucky I truly am.
/* * Copyright (C) 2016 - 2018 ExoMedia Contributors * * Licensed under the Apache License, Version 2.0 (the "License"); * you may not use this file except in compliance with the License. * You may obtain a copy of the License at * * http://www.apache.org/licenses/LICENSE-2.0 * * Unless required by applicable law or agreed to in writing, software * distributed under the License is distributed on an "AS IS" BASIS, * WITHOUT WARRANTIES OR CONDITIONS OF ANY KIND, either express or implied. * See the License for the specific language governing permissions and * limitations under the License. */ package com.devbrackets.android.exomedia.core.video.mp; import android.content.Context; import android.media.AudioManager; import android.media.MediaPlayer; import android.media.PlaybackParams; import android.net.Uri; import android.os.Build; import android.support.annotation.FloatRange; import android.support.annotation.NonNull; import android.support.annotation.Nullable; import android.util.Log; import android.view.Surface; import com.devbrackets.android.exomedia.core.ListenerMux; import com.devbrackets.android.exomedia.core.exoplayer.WindowInfo; import com.devbrackets.android.exomedia.core.video.ClearableSurface; import java.io.IOException; import java.util.Map; import static android.content.ContentValues.TAG; /** * A delegated object used to handle the majority of the * functionality for the "Native" video view implementation * to simplify support for both the {@link android.view.TextureView} * and {@link android.view.SurfaceView} implementations */ @SuppressWarnings("WeakerAccess") public class NativeVideoDelegate { public interface Callback { void videoSizeChanged(int width, int height); } public enum State { ERROR, IDLE, PREPARING, PREPARED, PLAYING, PAUSED, COMPLETED } protected Map<String, String> headers; protected State currentState = State.IDLE; protected Context context; protected Callback callback; protected ClearableSurface clearableSurface; protected MediaPlayer mediaPlayer; protected boolean playRequested = false; protected long requestedSeek; protected int currentBufferPercent; @FloatRange(from = 0.0, to = 1.0) protected float requestedVolume = 1.0f; protected ListenerMux listenerMux; @NonNull protected InternalListeners internalListeners = new InternalListeners(); @Nullable protected MediaPlayer.OnCompletionListener onCompletionListener; @Nullable protected MediaPlayer.OnPreparedListener onPreparedListener; @Nullable protected MediaPlayer.OnBufferingUpdateListener onBufferingUpdateListener; @Nullable protected MediaPlayer.OnSeekCompleteListener onSeekCompleteListener; @Nullable protected MediaPlayer.OnErrorListener onErrorListener; @Nullable protected MediaPlayer.OnInfoListener onInfoListener; public NativeVideoDelegate(@NonNull Context context, @NonNull Callback callback, @NonNull ClearableSurface clearableSurface) { this.context = context; this.callback = callback; this.clearableSurface = clearableSurface; initMediaPlayer(); currentState = State.IDLE; } public void start() { if (isReady()) { mediaPlayer.start(); currentState = State.PLAYING; } playRequested = true; listenerMux.setNotifiedCompleted(false); } public void pause() { if (isReady() && mediaPlayer.isPlaying()) { mediaPlayer.pause(); currentState = State.PAUSED; } playRequested = false; } public long getDuration() { if (!listenerMux.isPrepared() || !isReady()) { return 0; } return mediaPlayer.getDuration(); } public long getCurrentPosition() { if (!listenerMux.isPrepared() || !isReady()) { return 0; } return mediaPlayer.getCurrentPosition(); } @FloatRange(from = 0.0, to = 1.0) public float getVolume() { return requestedVolume; } public boolean setVolume(@FloatRange(from = 0.0, to = 1.0) float volume) { requestedVolume = volume; mediaPlayer.setVolume(volume, volume); return true; } public void seekTo(long milliseconds) { if (isReady()) { mediaPlayer.seekTo((int) milliseconds); requestedSeek = 0; } else { requestedSeek = milliseconds; } } public boolean isPlaying() { return isReady() && mediaPlayer.isPlaying(); } public int getBufferPercentage() { if (mediaPlayer != null) { return currentBufferPercent; } return 0; } @Nullable public WindowInfo getWindowInfo() { return null; } public boolean setPlaybackSpeed(float speed) { // Marshmallow+ support setting the playback speed natively if (Build.VERSION.SDK_INT >= Build.VERSION_CODES.M) { PlaybackParams params = new PlaybackParams(); params.setSpeed(speed); mediaPlayer.setPlaybackParams(params); return true; } return false; } public float getPlaybackSpeed() { // Marshmallow+ support setting the playback speed natively if (Build.VERSION.SDK_INT >= Build.VERSION_CODES.M) { return mediaPlayer.getPlaybackParams().getSpeed(); } return 1F; } /** * Performs the functionality to stop the video in playback * * @param clearSurface <code>true</code> if the surface should be cleared */ public void stopPlayback(boolean clearSurface) { currentState = State.IDLE; if (isReady()) { try { mediaPlayer.stop(); } catch (Exception e) { Log.d(TAG, "stopPlayback: error calling mediaPlayer.stop()", e); } } playRequested = false; if (clearSurface) { listenerMux.clearSurfaceWhenReady(clearableSurface); } } /** * Cleans up the resources being held. This should only be called when * destroying the video view */ public void suspend() { currentState = State.IDLE; try { mediaPlayer.reset(); mediaPlayer.release(); } catch (Exception e) { Log.d(TAG, "stopPlayback: error calling mediaPlayer.reset() or mediaPlayer.release()", e); } playRequested = false; } public boolean restart() { if (currentState != State.COMPLETED) { return false; } seekTo(0); start(); //Makes sure the listeners get the onPrepared callback listenerMux.setNotifiedPrepared(false); listenerMux.setNotifiedCompleted(false); return true; } /** * Sets video URI using specific headers. * * @param uri The Uri for the video to play * @param headers The headers for the URI request. * Note that the cross domain redirection is allowed by default, but that can be * changed with key/value pairs through the headers parameter with * "android-allow-cross-domain-redirect" as the key and "0" or "1" as the value * to disallow or allow cross domain redirection. */ public void setVideoURI(Uri uri, @Nullable Map<String, String> headers) { this.headers = headers; requestedSeek = 0; playRequested = false; openVideo(uri); } public void setListenerMux(ListenerMux listenerMux) { this.listenerMux = listenerMux; setOnCompletionListener(listenerMux); setOnPreparedListener(listenerMux); setOnBufferingUpdateListener(listenerMux); setOnSeekCompleteListener(listenerMux); setOnErrorListener(listenerMux); } /** * Register a callback to be invoked when the media file * is loaded and ready to go. * * @param listener The callback that will be run */ public void setOnPreparedListener(@Nullable MediaPlayer.OnPreparedListener listener) { onPreparedListener = listener; } /** * Register a callback to be invoked when the end of a media file * has been reached during playback. * * @param listener The callback that will be run */ public void setOnCompletionListener(@Nullable MediaPlayer.OnCompletionListener listener) { onCompletionListener = listener; } /** * Register a callback to be invoked when the status of a network * stream's buffer has changed. * * @param listener the callback that will be run. */ public void setOnBufferingUpdateListener(@Nullable MediaPlayer.OnBufferingUpdateListener listener) { onBufferingUpdateListener = listener; } /** * Register a callback to be invoked when a seek operation has been * completed. * * @param listener the callback that will be run */ public void setOnSeekCompleteListener(@Nullable MediaPlayer.OnSeekCompleteListener listener) { onSeekCompleteListener = listener; } /** * Register a callback to be invoked when an error occurs * during playback or setup. If no listener is specified, * or if the listener returned false, TextureVideoView will inform * the user of any errors. * * @param listener The callback that will be run */ public void setOnErrorListener(@Nullable MediaPlayer.OnErrorListener listener) { onErrorListener = listener; } /** * Register a callback to be invoked when an informational event * occurs during playback or setup. * * @param listener The callback that will be run */ public void setOnInfoListener(@Nullable MediaPlayer.OnInfoListener listener) { onInfoListener = listener; } public void onSurfaceSizeChanged(int width, int height) { if (mediaPlayer == null || width <= 0 || height <= 0) { return; } if (requestedSeek != 0) { seekTo(requestedSeek); } if (playRequested) { start(); } } public void onSurfaceReady(Surface surface) { mediaPlayer.setSurface(surface); if (playRequested) { start(); } } protected void initMediaPlayer() { mediaPlayer = new MediaPlayer(); mediaPlayer.setOnInfoListener(internalListeners); mediaPlayer.setOnErrorListener(internalListeners); mediaPlayer.setOnPreparedListener(internalListeners); mediaPlayer.setOnCompletionListener(internalListeners); mediaPlayer.setOnSeekCompleteListener(internalListeners); mediaPlayer.setOnBufferingUpdateListener(internalListeners); mediaPlayer.setOnVideoSizeChangedListener(internalListeners); mediaPlayer.setAudioStreamType(AudioManager.STREAM_MUSIC); mediaPlayer.setScreenOnWhilePlaying(true); } protected boolean isReady() { return currentState != State.ERROR && currentState != State.IDLE && currentState != State.PREPARING; } protected void openVideo(@Nullable Uri uri) { if (uri == null) { return; } currentBufferPercent = 0; try { mediaPlayer.reset(); mediaPlayer.setDataSource(context.getApplicationContext(), uri, headers); mediaPlayer.prepareAsync(); currentState = State.PREPARING; } catch (IOException | IllegalArgumentException ex) { Log.w(TAG, "Unable to open content: " + uri, ex); currentState = State.ERROR; internalListeners.onError(mediaPlayer, MediaPlayer.MEDIA_ERROR_UNKNOWN, 0); } } public class InternalListeners implements MediaPlayer.OnBufferingUpdateListener, MediaPlayer.OnErrorListener, MediaPlayer.OnPreparedListener, MediaPlayer.OnCompletionListener, MediaPlayer.OnSeekCompleteListener, MediaPlayer.OnInfoListener, MediaPlayer.OnVideoSizeChangedListener { @Override public void onBufferingUpdate(MediaPlayer mp, int percent) { currentBufferPercent = percent; if (onBufferingUpdateListener != null) { onBufferingUpdateListener.onBufferingUpdate(mp, percent); } } @Override public void onCompletion(MediaPlayer mp) { currentState = State.COMPLETED; if (onCompletionListener != null) { onCompletionListener.onCompletion(mediaPlayer); } } @Override public void onSeekComplete(MediaPlayer mp) { if (onSeekCompleteListener != null) { onSeekCompleteListener.onSeekComplete(mp); } } @Override public boolean onError(MediaPlayer mp, int what, int extra) { Log.d(TAG, "Error: " + what + "," + extra); currentState = State.ERROR; return onErrorListener == null || onErrorListener.onError(mediaPlayer, what, extra); } @Override public void onPrepared(MediaPlayer mp) { currentState = State.PREPARED; if (onPreparedListener != null) { onPreparedListener.onPrepared(mediaPlayer); } callback.videoSizeChanged(mp.getVideoWidth(), mp.getVideoHeight()); if (requestedSeek != 0) { seekTo(requestedSeek); } if (playRequested) { start(); } } @Override public boolean onInfo(MediaPlayer mp, int what, int extra) { return onInfoListener == null || onInfoListener.onInfo(mp, what, extra); } @Override public void onVideoSizeChanged(MediaPlayer mp, int width, int height) { callback.videoSizeChanged(mp.getVideoWidth(), mp.getVideoHeight()); } } }
using System; using UIKit; namespace Xamarin.Forms.Platform.iOS.UnitTests { internal static class ColorComparison { public static bool ARGBEquivalent(UIColor color1, UIColor color2) { color1.GetRGBA(out nfloat red1, out nfloat green1, out nfloat blue1, out nfloat alpha1); color2.GetRGBA(out nfloat red2, out nfloat green2, out nfloat blue2, out nfloat alpha2); const double tolerance = 0.000001; return Equal(red1, red2, tolerance) && Equal(green1, green2, tolerance) && Equal(blue1, blue2, tolerance) && Equal(alpha1, alpha2, tolerance); } static bool Equal(nfloat v1, nfloat v2, double tolerance) { return Math.Abs(v1 - v2) <= tolerance; } } }
Bookmobile Stops - May/June 2020 Library Puts Bookmobile Back On Road, Continues Curbside Pick Up Of Materials Pickaway County Library’s Bookmobile will be making stops in Commercial Point, Williamsport, and Tarlton beginning May 18. With the safety and health of staff and patrons in mind, the bookmobile staff will serve one patron/family at a time at a table outside of the Bookmobile. Patrons may pick up holds, use staff assistance to access materials from the bus, and return materials. Safety procedures will be in place, and patrons are encouraged to wear a mask when visiting the Bookmobile. The Bookmobile schedule will be: Commercial Point Community Men’s Club: Mondays 9:30AM to 2PM and Tuesdays 1:30PM to 6PM The library continues offering curbside pick up of library materials at the Main Library in Circleville and the Floyd E. Younkin Branch Library in Ashville. Curbside pick up is available at both locations from 10 AM to 8 PM Monday thru Thursday, 10 AM to 6 PM Saturday and 1 PM to 5 PM Sunday. The Main Library will also have pick up hours 10 AM to 6 PM Friday. Patrons are encouraged to search for local items in the online catalog by using the “narrow your search” tools on the right side of the online catalog. Staff assistance is available by phone at 740-477-1644 x 227 or by emailing reference@pickawaylib.org. “Health and safety procedures are evolving statewide. The services we are able to offer may change depending on staff availability and community needs, but we are looking forward to providing physical materials again in addition to the electronic content that have remained available,” says Library Director David Fausnaugh. “We appreciate everyone’s patience during these difficult circumstances.”
ESPN Innovates Sports Technology to Enhance, Not Distract June 27, 2016 12:30 pm 0 Shares Sports has always been a stomping ground for innovative technology, and ESPN is always leading the charge. Whether it be the NFL’s 1st & Ten line from the late 90’s or the recent K-Zone in the MLB, there has been a steady stream of new technology used in games for the last few decades. But when it comes to the decision to implement a certain type of sports technology into a game, the big guys at ESPN always want to make sure that the added flare is adding to the game rather than distracting from it. And sometimes, unfortunately, they miss the mark considerably. As startup founders and employees know, the key to success is learning from failure. Fortunately, the innovation team at ESPN has experienced plenty of failure to develop a keen sense of what works and what doesn’t. Take, for instance, the NHL’s glowing puck, used to make seeing the puck in hockey that much easier. Heads of FOX believed that by super-imposing a glowing trail behind the puck, viewers would be able to see it easier and, subsequently enjoy the game more. However, they found that the bright streak across the screen was more distracting than helpful, and was quickly removed from broadcasting history.While ESPN didn’t come up with the technology, they were able to see the flaw in its ways. This was the first instance of the popular sports media giant realizing that sports technology is more about “shoulda” than “coulda.” “It was possible via new technology, but it was determined that it didn’t help the viewing experience the way they had hoped,” Jed Drake, ESPN’s senior vice president of product innovation. This commitment to quality technology that exclusively adds to the watching experience rather than distracting from it has made ESPN the leader in sports around the world. It has also helped them develop technology that will likely change sports for the better in the future. Their most recent sports technology innovation, the Virtual 3, is poised to make an substantial impact on the game. While barely noticeable, this tech could be integral to the understanding of the game of basketball in future years. ESPN now plans to broadcast NBA games with a three-point line that illuminates whenever a player takes a shot from behind it. While it may only save viewers a few seconds between checking the score and watching the players, it will ideally add to the overall enjoyment of the game, which for ESPN is the goal. “We’ve always said this — and it may sound like a stock line — but it’s about enhancing the experience,” said Drake. “If we don’t do that, we’ve missed the point.” Did you like this article? Sorry about that. Try these articles instead! Conor is a writer, comedian and world-renowned sweetheart. As the Assistant Editor and Writer at Tech.Co, he’s written about everything from Kickstarter campaigns and budding startups to tech titans and innovative technologies. His background in stand-up comedy made him the perfect person to host Startup Night at SXSW and the Timmy Awards for Tech in Motion. In his spare time, he thinks about how to properly pronounce the word "colloquially." Conor is the Assistant Editor and Writer at Tech.Co. You can email him at conor@tech.co.
All City Teen Poetry Slam Festival Forward Arts, a Baton Rouge collective focusing on arts education for youth, presents its annual All City Teen Poetry Slam Festival. Come see the work of the know crop of teen poet performers, whose predecessors have won awards for their performances. Schedule below. forwardarts.org.
More CROWN POINT, Ind. (CBS) — A prospective juror in a fatal drunken driving crash case who left during jury selection has been ordered to stand in front of the Lake County Courthouse the next two Mondays with a sign that says, “I failed to appear for jury duty.” Court officials did not release the man’s name, but the 22-year-old told Judge Thomas Stefaniak Jr. he wasn’t thinking when he left after lunch during jury selection Dec. 5 for the trial of Jeffery Cleary of Valparaiso, the Post-Tribune reports. “I’ve never been in trouble before,” said the man, who acknowledged he didn’t follow the judge’s instructions during the jury selection process. “Help me understand what it is about my words, ‘You’ve got to come back,’ that you don’t understand?” Stefaniak said. ”I’m at a loss to understand why you did what you did.” “I wasn’t really paying attention,” said the man, who is unemployed. Stefaniak said the man was “the very person who should be on a jury. You’ve got nothing else to do.” Stefaniak ordered the man’s name be put back into the juror pool, and told him to show up in court at 7:30 a.m. Monday and Feb. 6 with the sign and walk in front of the courthouse until the bailiffs release him. Cleary was convicted Dec. 14 on lesser drunken driving charges but jurors deadlocked on the higher level felony counts in the 2010 death of Philip Amsden, 63. Prosecutors said he had a blood-alcohol level of more than 0.15 percent when he crashed into a truck, crushing Amsden, who was repairing a flat tire near the Ridge Road ramp to Interstate 65 in Hobart in 2010.
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Copyright © 2016 by Corcovado, Inc. Foreword copyright © 2016 by Abraham Verghese All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House, an imprint and division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York. RANDOM HOUSE and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Kalanithi, Paul, author. Title: When breath becomes air / Paul Kalanithi ; foreword by Abraham Verghese. Description: New York : Random House, 2016. Identifiers: LCCN 2015023815 | ISBN 9780812988406 (hardback) | ISBN 9780812988413 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Kalanithi, Paul—Health. | Lungs—Cancer—Patients—United States—Biography. | Neurosurgeons—Biography. | Husband and wife. | BISAC: BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Personal Memoirs. | MEDICAL / General. | SOCIAL SCIENCE / Death & Dying. Classification: LCC RC280.L8 K35 2016 | DDC 616.99/424—dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/​2015023815 eBook ISBN 9780812988413 randomhousebooks.com _Book design by Liz Cosgrove, adapted for eBook_ Cover design: Rachel Ake v4.1_r1 ep # Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Editor's Note Epigraph [Foreword by Abraham Verghese ](Kala_9780812988413_epub3_frw_r1.xhtml) Prologue Part I: In Perfect Health I Begin Part II: Cease Not till Death [Epilogue by Lucy Kalanithi ](Kala_9780812988413_epub3_epl_r1.xhtml) Dedication Acknowledgments About the Author EVENTS DESCRIBED ARE BASED on Dr. Kalanithi's memory of real-world situations. However, the names of all patients discussed in this book—if given at all—have been changed. In addition, in each of the medical cases described, identifying details—such as patients' ages, genders, ethnicities, professions, familial relationships, places of residence, medical histories, and/or diagnoses—have been changed. With one exception, the names of Dr. Kalanithi's colleagues, friends, and treating physicians have also been changed. Any resemblance to persons living or dead resulting from changes to names or identifying details is entirely coincidental and unintentional. > You that seek what life is in death, > > Now find it air that once was breath. > > New names unknown, old names gone: > > Till time end bodies, but souls none. > > Reader! then make time, while you be, > > But steps to your eternity. > > —Baron Brooke Fulke Greville, "Caelica 83" # FOREWORD ## Abraham Verghese IT OCCURS TO ME, as I write this, that the foreword to this book might be better thought of as an afterword. Because when it comes to Paul Kalanithi, all sense of time is turned on its head. To begin with—or, maybe, to end with—I got to know Paul only after his death. (Bear with me.) I came to know him most intimately when he'd ceased to be. I met him one memorable afternoon at Stanford in early February 2014. He'd just published an op-ed titled "How Long Have I Got Left?" in _The_ _New York Times,_ an essay that would elicit an overwhelming response, an outpouring from readers. In the ensuing days, it spread exponentially. (I'm an infectious diseases specialist, so please forgive me for not using the word _viral_ as a metaphor.) In the aftermath of that, he'd asked to come see me, to chat, to get advice about literary agents, editors, the publishing process—he had a desire to write a book, _this_ book, the one you are now holding in your hands. I recall the sun filtering through the magnolia tree outside my office and lighting this scene: Paul seated before me, his beautiful hands exceedingly still, his prophet's beard full, those dark eyes taking the measure of me. In my memory, the picture has a Vermeer-like quality, a camera obscura sharpness. I remember thinking, _You must remember this,_ because what was falling on my retina was precious. And because, in the context of Paul's diagnosis, I became aware of not just his mortality but my own. We talked about a lot of things that afternoon. He was a neurosurgical chief resident. We had probably crossed paths at some point, but we hadn't shared a patient that we could recall. He told me he had been an English and biology major as an undergraduate at Stanford, and then stayed on for a master's in English literature. We talked about his lifelong love of writing and reading. I was struck by how easily he could have been an English professor—and, indeed, he had seemed to be headed down that path at one point in his life. But then, just like his namesake on the road to Damascus, he felt the calling. He became a physician instead, but one who always dreamed of coming back to literature in some form. A book, perhaps. One day. He thought he had time, and why not? And yet now time was the very thing he had so little of. I remember his wry, gentle smile, a hint of mischief there, even though his face was gaunt and haggard. He'd been through the wringer with this cancer but a new biological therapy had produced a good response, allowing him to look ahead a bit. He said during medical school he'd assumed that he would become a psychiatrist, only to fall in love with neurosurgery. It was much more than a falling in love with the intricacies of the brain, much more than the satisfaction of training his hands to accomplish amazing feats—it was a love and empathy for those who suffered, for what they endured and what he might bring to bear. I don't think he told me this as much as I had heard about this quality of his from students of mine who were his acolytes: his fierce belief in the moral dimension of his job. And then we talked about his dying. After that meeting, we kept in touch by email, but never saw each other again. It was not just that I disappeared into my own world of deadlines and responsibilities but also my strong sense that the burden was on me to be respectful of his time. It was up to Paul if he wanted to see me. I felt that the last thing he needed was the obligation to service a new friendship. I thought about him a lot, though, and about his wife. I wanted to ask him if he was writing. Was he finding the time? For years, as a busy physician, I'd struggled to find the time to write. I wanted to tell him that a famous writer, commiserating about this eternal problem, once said to me, "If I were a neurosurgeon and I announced that I had to leave my guests to go in for an emergency craniotomy, no one would say a word. But if I said I needed to leave the guests in the living room to go upstairs to _write_..." I wondered if Paul would have found this funny. After all, _he_ could actually say he was going to do a craniotomy! It was plausible! And then he could go write instead. While Paul was writing this book, he published a short, remarkable essay in _Stanford Medicine,_ in an issue that was devoted to the idea of time. I had an essay in the same issue, my piece juxtaposed to his, though I learned of his contribution only when the magazine was in my hands. In reading his words, I had a second, deeper glimpse of something of which there had been a hint in the _New York Times_ essay: Paul's writing was simply stunning. He could have been writing about anything, and it would have been just as powerful. But he _wasn't_ writing about anything—he was writing about time and what it meant to him now, in the context of his illness. Which made it all so incredibly poignant. But here's the thing I must come back to _: the prose was unforgettable._ Out of his pen he was spinning gold. I reread Paul's piece again and again, trying to understand what he had brought about. First, it was musical. It had echoes of Galway Kinnell, almost a prose poem. ("If one day it happens / you find yourself with someone you love / in a café at one end /of the Pont Mirabeau, at the zinc bar / where wine stands in upward opening glasses..." to quote a Kinnell line, from a poem I once heard him recite in a bookstore in Iowa City, never looking down at the paper.) But it also had a taste of something else, something from an antique land, from a time before zinc bars. It finally came to me a few days later when I picked up his essay yet again: Paul's writing was reminiscent of Thomas Browne's. Browne had written _Religio Medici_ in the prose of 1642, with all its archaic spellings and speech. As a young physician, I was obsessed with that book, kept at it like a farmer trying to drain a bog that his father before him had failed to drain. It was a futile task, and yet I was desperate to learn its secrets, tossing it aside in frustration, then picking it up again, unsure that it had anything for me but, in sounding the words, sensing that it did. I felt that I lacked some critical receptor for the letters to sing, to impart their meaning. It remained opaque, no matter how hard I tried. Why, you ask? Why did I persevere? Who cares about _Religio Medici_? Well, my hero William Osler cared, that's who. Osler was the father of modern medicine, a man who died in 1919. He had loved the book. He kept it on his nightstand. He'd asked to be buried with a copy of _Religio Medici._ For the life of me, I didn't get what Osler saw in it. After many tries—and after some decades—the book finally revealed itself to me. (It helped that a newer edition had modern spellings.) The trick, I discovered, was to read it aloud, which made the cadence inescapable: "We carry with us the wonders, we seek without us: There is all Africa, and her prodigies in us; we are that bold and adventurous piece of nature, which he that studies, wisely learns in a compendium, what others labour at in a divided piece and endless volume." When you come to the last paragraph of Paul's book, read it aloud and you will hear that same long line, the cadence you think you can tap your feet to...but as with Browne, you will be just off. Paul, it occurred to me, was Browne redux. (Or given that forward time is our illusion, perhaps it's that Browne was Kalanithi redux. Yes, it's head-spinning stuff.) And then Paul died. I attended his memorial in the Stanford church, a gorgeous space where I often go when it is empty to sit and admire the light, the silence, and where I always find renewal. It was packed for the service. I sat off to one side, listening to a series of moving and sometimes raucous stories from his closest friends, his pastor, and his brother. Yes, Paul was gone, but strangely, I felt I was coming to know him, beyond that visit in my office, beyond the few essays he'd written. He was taking form in those tales being told in the Stanford Memorial Church, its soaring cathedral dome a fitting space in which to remember this man whose body was now in the earth but who nevertheless was so palpably _alive_. He took form in the shape of his lovely wife and baby daughter, his grieving parents and siblings, in the faces of the legions of friends, colleagues, and former patients who filled that space; he was there at the reception later, outdoors in a setting where so many came together. I saw faces looking calm, smiling, as if they had witnessed something profoundly beautiful in the church. Perhaps my face was like that, too: we had found meaning in the ritual of a service, in the ritual of eulogizing, in the shared tears. There was further meaning residing in this reception where we slaked our thirst, fed our bodies, and talked with complete strangers to whom we were intimately connected through Paul. But it was only when I received the pages that you now hold in your hands, two months after Paul died, that I felt I had finally come to know him, to know him better than if I had been blessed to call him a friend. After reading the book you are about to read, I confess I felt inadequate: there was an honesty, a truth in the writing that took my breath away. Be ready. Be seated. See what courage sounds like. See how brave it is to reveal yourself in this way. But above all, see what it is to still live, to profoundly influence the lives of others after you are gone, by your words. In a world of asynchronous communication, where we are so often buried in our screens, our gaze rooted to the rectangular objects buzzing in our hands, our attention consumed by ephemera, stop and experience this dialogue with my young departed colleague, now ageless and extant in memory. Listen to Paul. In the silences between his words, listen to what you have to say back. Therein lies his message. I got it. I hope you experience it, too. It is a gift. Let me not stand between you and Paul. # PROLOGUE > Webster was much possessed by death > > And saw the skull beneath the skin; > > And breastless creatures under ground > > Leaned backward with a lipless grin. > > —T. S. Eliot, "Whispers of Immortality" I FLIPPED THROUGH THE CT scan images, the diagnosis obvious: the lungs were matted with innumerable tumors, the spine deformed, a full lobe of the liver obliterated. Cancer, widely disseminated. I was a neurosurgical resident entering my final year of training. Over the last six years, I'd examined scores of such scans, on the off chance that some procedure might benefit the patient. But this scan was different: it was my own. I wasn't in the radiology suite, wearing my scrubs and white coat. I was dressed in a patient's gown, tethered to an IV pole, using the computer the nurse had left in my hospital room, with my wife, Lucy, an internist, at my side. I went through each sequence again: the lung window, the bone window, the liver window, scrolling from top to bottom, then left to right, then front to back, just as I had been trained to do, as if I might find something that would change the diagnosis. We lay together on the hospital bed. Lucy, quietly, as if reading from a script: "Do you think there's any possibility that it's something else?" "No," I said. We held each other tightly, like young lovers. In the past year we'd both suspected, but refused to believe, or even discuss, that a cancer was growing inside me. About six months before, I had started losing weight and having ferocious back pain. When I dressed in the morning, my belt cinched one, then two notches tighter. I went to see my primary care doctor, an old classmate from Stanford. Her sister had died suddenly as a neurosurgery intern, after contracting a virulent infection, and so she'd taken a maternal watch on my health. When I arrived, however, I found a different doctor in her office—my classmate was on maternity leave. Dressed in a thin blue gown on a cold examining table, I described the symptoms to her. "Of course," I said, "if this were a boards exam question—thirty-five-year-old with unexplained weight loss and new-onset back pain—the obvious answer would be (C) cancer. But maybe it's just that I'm working too hard. I don't know. I'd like to get an MRI to be sure." "I think we should get X-rays first," she said. MRIs for back pain are expensive, and unnecessary imaging had lately become a major national point of cost-saving emphasis. But the value of a scan also depends on what you are looking for: X-rays are largely useless for cancer. Still, for many docs, ordering an MRI at this early stage is apostasy. She continued: "X-rays aren't perfectly sensitive, but it makes sense to start there." "How about we get flexion-extension X-rays, then—maybe the more realistic diagnosis here is isthmic spondylolisthesis?" From the reflection in the wall mirror, I could see her googling it. "It's a pars fracture affecting up to five percent of people and a frequent cause of back pain in the young." "Okay, I'll order them, then." "Thanks," I said. Why was I so authoritative in a surgeon's coat but so meek in a patient's gown? The truth was, I knew more about back pain than she did—half of my training as a neurosurgeon had involved disorders of the spine. But maybe a spondy _was_ more likely. It did affect a significant percent of young adults—and cancer in the spine in your thirties? The odds of that couldn't be more than one in ten thousand. Even if it were one hundred times more common than that, it'd still be less common than a spondy. Maybe I was just freaking myself out. The X-rays looked fine. We chalked the symptoms up to hard work and an aging body, scheduled a follow-up appointment, and I went back to finish my last case of the day. The weight loss slowed, and the back pain became tolerable. A healthy dose of ibuprofen got me through the day, and after all, there weren't that many of these grueling, fourteen-hour days left. My journey from medical student to professor of neurosurgery was almost complete: after ten years of relentless training, I was determined to persevere for the next fifteen months, until residency ended. I had earned the respect of my seniors, won prestigious national awards, and was fielding job offers from several major universities. My program director at Stanford had recently sat me down and said, "Paul, I think you'll be the number one candidate for any job you apply for. Just as an FYI: we'll be starting a faculty search for someone like you here. No promises, of course, but it's something you should consider." At age thirty-six, I had reached the mountaintop; I could see the Promised Land, from Gilead to Jericho to the Mediterranean Sea. I could see a nice catamaran on that sea that Lucy, our hypothetical children, and I would take out on weekends. I could see the tension in my back unwinding as my work schedule eased and life became more manageable. I could see myself finally becoming the husband I'd promised to be. Then, a few weeks later, I began having bouts of severe chest pain. Had I bumped into something at work? Cracked a rib somehow? Some nights, I'd wake up on soaked sheets, dripping sweat. My weight began dropping again, more rapidly now, from 175 to 145 pounds. I developed a persistent cough. Little doubt remained. One Saturday afternoon, Lucy and I were lying in the sun in Dolores Park in San Francisco, waiting to meet her sister. She glimpsed my phone screen, which displayed medical database search results: "frequency of cancers in thirty- to forty-year-olds." "What?" she said. "I didn't realize you were actually worried about this." I didn't respond. I didn't know what to say. "Do you want to tell me about it?" she asked. She was upset because she had been worried about it, too. She was upset because I wasn't talking to her about it. She was upset because I'd promised her one life, and given her another. "Can you please tell me why you aren't confiding in me?" she asked. I turned off my phone. "Let's get some ice cream," I said. — We were scheduled for a vacation the following week to visit some old college friends in New York. Maybe a good night's sleep and a few cocktails would help us reconnect a bit and decompress the pressure cooker of our marriage. But Lucy had another plan. "I'm not coming to New York with you," she announced a few days before the trip. She was going to move out for a week; she wanted time to consider the state of our marriage. She spoke in even tones, which only heightened the vertigo I felt. "What?" I said. "No." "I love you so much, which is why this is so confusing," she said. "But I'm worried we want different things from our relationship. I feel like we're connected halfway. I don't want to learn about your worries by accident. When I talk to you about feeling isolated, you don't seem to think it's a problem. I need to do something different." "Things are going to be okay," I said. "It's just residency." Were things really so bad? Neurosurgical training, among the most rigorous and demanding of all medical specialties, had surely put a strain on our marriage. There were so many nights when I came home late from work, after Lucy had gone to bed, and collapsed on the living room floor, exhausted, and so many mornings when I left for work in the early dark, before she'd awoken. But our careers were peaking now—most universities wanted both of us: me in neurosurgery, Lucy in internal medicine. We'd survived the most difficult part of our journey. Hadn't we discussed this a dozen times? Didn't she realize this was the worst possible time for her to blow things up? Didn't she see that I had only one year left in residency, that I loved her, that we were so close to the life together we'd always wanted? "If it were just residency, I could make it," she said. "We've made it this far. But the problem is, what if it's _not_ just residency? Do you really think things will be better when you're an academic neurosurgery attending?" I offered to skip the trip, to be more open, to see the couples therapist Lucy had suggested a few months ago, but she insisted that she needed time—alone. At that point, the fuzziness of the confusion dissipated, leaving only a hard edge. Fine, I said. If she decided to leave, then I would assume the relationship was over. If it turned out that I had cancer, I wouldn't tell her—she'd be free to live whatever life she chose. Before leaving for New York, I snuck in a few medical appointments to rule out some common cancers in the young. (Testicular? No. Melanoma? No. Leukemia? No.) The neurosurgical service was busy, as always. Thursday night slipped into Friday morning as I was caught in the operating room for thirty-six hours straight, in a series of deeply complex cases: giant aneurysms, intracerebral arterial bypasses, arteriovenous malformations. I breathed a silent thanks when the attending came in, allowing me a few minutes to ease my back against a wall. The only time to get a chest X-ray was as I was leaving the hospital, on the way home before heading to the airport. I figured either I had cancer, in which case this might be the last time I would see my friends, or I didn't, in which case there was no reason to cancel the trip. I rushed home to grab my bags. Lucy drove me to the airport and told me she had scheduled us into couples therapy. From the gate, I sent her a text message: "I wish you were here." A few minutes later, the response came back: "I love you. I will be here when you get back." My back stiffened terribly during the flight, and by the time I made it to Grand Central to catch a train to my friends' place upstate, my body was rippling with pain. Over the past few months, I'd had back spasms of varying ferocity, from simple ignorable pain, to pain that made me forsake speech to grind my teeth, to pain so severe I curled up on the floor, screaming. This pain was toward the more severe end of the spectrum. I lay down on a hard bench in the waiting area, feeling my back muscles contort, breathing to control the pain—the ibuprofen wasn't touching this—and naming each muscle as it spasmed to stave off tears: erector spinae, rhomboid, latissimus, piriformis... A security guard approached. "Sir, you can't lie down here." "I'm sorry," I said, gasping out the words. "Bad...back...spasms." "You still can't lie down here." _I'm sorry, but I'm dying from cancer_. The words lingered on my tongue—but what if I wasn't? Maybe this was just what people with back pain live with. I knew a lot about back pain—its anatomy, its physiology, the different words patients used to describe different kinds of pain—but I didn't know what it _felt_ like. Maybe that's all this was. Maybe. Or maybe I didn't want the jinx. Maybe I just didn't want to say the word _cancer_ out loud. I pulled myself up and hobbled to the platform. It was late afternoon when I reached the house in Cold Spring, fifty miles north of Manhattan on the Hudson River, and was greeted by a dozen of my closest friends from years past, their cheers of welcome mixed with the cacophony of young, happy children. Hugs ensued, and an ice-cold dark and stormy made its way to my hand. "No Lucy?" "Sudden work thing," I said. "Very last-minute." "Oh, what a bummer!" "Say, do you mind if I put my bags down and rest a bit?" I had hoped a few days out of the OR, with adequate sleep, rest, and relaxation—in short, a taste of a normal life—would bring my symptoms back into the normal spectrum for back pain and fatigue. But after a day or two, it was clear there would be no reprieve. I slept through breakfasts and shambled to the lunch table to stare at ample plates of cassoulet and crab legs that I couldn't bring myself to eat. By dinner, I was exhausted, ready for bed again. Sometimes I read to the kids, but mostly they played on and around me, leaping and yelling. ("Kids, I think Uncle Paul needs a rest. Why don't you play over there?") I remembered a day off as a summer camp counselor, fifteen years prior, sitting on the shore of a lake in Northern California, with a bunch of joyous kids using me as an obstacle in a convoluted game of Capture the Flag, while I read a book called _Death and Philosophy._ I used to laugh at the incongruities of that moment: a twenty-year-old amid the splendor of trees, lake, mountains, the chirping of birds mixed with the squeal of happy four-year-olds, his nose buried in a small black book about death. Only now, in this moment, I felt the parallels: instead of Lake Tahoe, it was the Hudson River; the children were not strangers', but my friends'; instead of a book on death separating me from the life around me, it was my own body, dying. On the third night, I spoke to Mike, our host, to tell him I was going to cut the trip short and head home the next day. "You don't look so great," he said. "Everything okay?" "Why don't we grab some scotch and have a seat?" I said. In front of his fireplace, I said, "Mike, I think I have cancer. And not the good kind, either." It was the first time I'd said it out loud. "Okay," he said. "I take it this is not some elaborate practical joke?" "No." He paused. "I don't know exactly what to ask." "Well, I suppose, first, I should say that I don't know for a _fact_ that I have cancer. I'm just pretty sure of it—a lot of the symptoms point that way. I'm going to go home tomorrow and sort it out. Hopefully, I'm wrong." Mike offered to take my luggage and send it home by mail, so I wouldn't have to carry it with me. He drove me to the airport early the next morning, and six hours later I landed in San Francisco. My phone rang as I stepped off the plane. It was my primary care doctor, calling with the chest X-ray result: my lungs, instead of being clear, looked blurry, as if the camera aperture had been left open too long. The doctor said she wasn't sure what that meant. She likely knew what it meant. I knew. Lucy picked me up from the airport, but I waited until we were home to tell her. We sat on the couch, and when I told her, she knew. She leaned her head on my shoulder, and the distance between us vanished. "I need you," I whispered. "I will never leave you," she said. We called a close friend, one of the attending neurosurgeons at the hospital, and asked him to admit me. I received the plastic arm bracelet all patients wear, put on the familiar light blue hospital gown, walked past the nurses I knew by name, and was checked in to a room—the same room where I had seen hundreds of patients over the years. In this room, I had sat with patients and explained terminal diagnoses and complex operations; in this room, I had congratulated patients on being cured of a disease and seen their happiness at being returned to their lives; in this room, I had pronounced patients dead. I had sat in the chairs, washed my hands in the sink, scrawled instructions on the marker board, changed the calendar. I had even, in moments of utter exhaustion, longed to lie down in this bed and sleep. Now I lay there, wide awake. A young nurse, one I hadn't met, poked her head in. "The doctor will be in soon." And with that, the future I had imagined, the one just about to be realized, the culmination of decades of striving, evaporated. # PART I # In Perfect Health I Begin > The hand of the LORD was upon me, and carried me out in the spirit of the LORD, and set me down in the midst of the valley which was full of bones, > > And caused me to pass by them round about: and, behold, there were very many in the open valley; and, lo, they were very dry. > > And he said unto me, Son of man, can these bones live? > > —Ezekiel 37:1–3, King James translation I KNEW WITH CERTAINTY that I would never be a doctor. I stretched out in the sun, relaxing on a desert plateau just above our house. My uncle, a doctor, like so many of my relatives, had asked me earlier that day what I planned on doing for a career, now that I was heading off to college, and the question barely registered. If you had forced me to answer, I suppose I would have said a writer, but frankly, thoughts of any career at this point seemed absurd. I was leaving this small Arizona town in a few weeks, and I felt less like someone preparing to climb a career ladder than a buzzing electron about to achieve escape velocity, flinging out into a strange and sparkling universe. I lay there in the dirt, awash in sunlight and memory, feeling the shrinking size of this town of fifteen thousand, six hundred miles from my new college dormitory at Stanford and all its promise. I knew medicine only by its absence—specifically, the absence of a father growing up, one who went to work before dawn and returned in the dark to a plate of reheated dinner. When I was ten, my father had moved us—three boys, ages fourteen, ten, and eight—from Bronxville, New York, a compact, affluent suburb just north of Manhattan, to Kingman, Arizona, in a desert valley ringed by two mountain ranges, known primarily to the outside world as a place to get gas en route to somewhere else. He was drawn by the sun, by the cost of living—how else would he pay for his sons to attend the colleges he aspired to?—and by the opportunity to establish a regional cardiology practice of his own. His unyielding dedication to his patients soon made him a respected member of the community. When we did see him, late at night or on weekends, he was an amalgam of sweet affections and austere diktats, hugs and kisses mixed with stony pronouncements: "It's very easy to be number one: find the guy who is number one, and score one point higher than he does." He had reached some compromise in his mind that fatherhood could be distilled; short, concentrated (but sincere) bursts of high intensity could equal...whatever it was that other fathers did. All I knew was, if that was the price of medicine, it was simply too high. From my desert plateau, I could see our house, just beyond the city limits, at the base of the Cerbat Mountains, amid red-rock desert speckled with mesquite, tumbleweeds, and paddle-shaped cacti. Out here, dust devils swirled up from nothing, blurring your vision, then disappeared. Spaces stretched on, then fell away into the distance. Our two dogs, Max and Nip, never grew tired of the freedom. Every day, they'd venture forth and bring home some new desert treasure: the leg of a deer, unfinished bits of jackrabbit to eat later, the sun-bleached skull of a horse, the jawbone of a coyote. My friends and I loved the freedom, too, and we spent our afternoons exploring, walking, scavenging for bones and rare desert creeks. Having spent my previous years in a lightly forested suburb in the Northeast, with a tree-lined main street and a candy store, I found the wild, windy desert alien and alluring. On my first trek alone, as a ten-year-old, I discovered an old irrigation grate. I pried it open with my fingers, lifted it up, and there, a few inches from my face, were three white silken webs, and in each, marching along on spindled legs, was a glistening black bulbous body, bearing in its shine the dreaded blood-red hourglass. Near to each spider a pale, pulsating sac breathed with the imminent birth of countless more black widows. Horror let the grate crash shut. I stumbled back. The horror came in a mix of "country facts" ( _Nothing is more deadly than the bite of the black widow spider_ ) and the inhuman posture and the black shine and the red hourglass. I had nightmares for years. The desert offered a pantheon of terrors: tarantulas, wolf spiders, fiddlebacks, bark scorpions, whip scorpions, centipedes, diamondbacks, sidewinders, Mojave greens. Eventually we grew familiar, even comfortable, with these creatures. For fun, when my friends and I discovered a wolf spider's nest, we'd drop an ant onto its outer limits and watch as its entangled escape attempts sent quivers down the silk strands, into the spider's dark central hole, anticipating that fatal moment when the spider would burst from its hollows and seize the doomed ant in its mandibles. "Country facts" became my term for the rural cousin of the urban legend. As I first learned them, country facts granted fairy powers to desert creatures, making, say, the Gila monster no less an actual monster than the Gorgon. Only after living out in the desert for a while did we realize that some country facts, like the existence of the jackalope, had been deliberately created to confuse city folk and amuse the locals. I once spent an hour convincing a group of exchange students from Berlin that, yes, there _was_ a particular species of coyote that lived inside cacti and could leap ten yards to attack its prey (like, well, unsuspecting Germans). Yet no one precisely knew where the truth lay amid the whirling sand; for every country fact that seemed preposterous, there was one that felt solid and true. _Always check your shoes for scorpions,_ for example, seemed plain good sense. When I was sixteen, I was supposed to drive my younger brother, Jeevan, to school. One morning, as usual, I was running late, and as Jeevan was standing impatiently in the foyer, yelling that he didn't want to get detention again because of my tardiness, so could I please hurry the hell up, I raced down the stairs, threw open the front door...and nearly stepped on a snoozing six-foot rattlesnake. It was another country fact that if you killed a rattlesnake on your doorstep, its mate and offspring would come and make a permanent nest there, like Grendel's mother seeking her revenge. So Jeevan and I drew straws: the lucky one grabbed a shovel, the unlucky one a pair of thick gardening gloves and a pillowcase, and through a seriocomic dance, we managed to get the snake into the pillowcase. Then, like an Olympic hammer thrower, I hurled the whole out into the desert, with plans to retrieve the pillowcase later that afternoon, so as not to get in trouble with our mother. — Of our many childhood mysteries, chief among them was not why our father decided to bring his family to the desert town of Kingman, Arizona, which we grew to cherish, but how he ever convinced my mother to join him there. They had eloped, in love, across the world, from southern India to New York City (he a Christian, she a Hindu, their marriage was condemned on both sides, and led to years of familial rifts—my mother's mother never acknowledged my name, Paul, instead insisting I be called by my middle name, Sudhir) to Arizona, where my mother was forced to confront an intractable mortal fear of snakes. Even the smallest, cutest, most harmless red racer would send her screaming into the house, where she'd lock the doors and arm herself with the nearest large, sharp implement—rake, cleaver, ax. The snakes were a constant source of anxiety, but it was her children's future that my mother feared for most of all. Before we moved, my older brother, Suman, had nearly completed high school in Westchester County, where elite colleges were the expectation. He was accepted to Stanford shortly after arriving in Kingman and left the house soon thereafter. But Kingman, we learned, was not Westchester. As my mother surveyed the Mohave County public school system, she became distraught. The U.S. census had recently identified Kingman as the least educated district in America. The high school dropout rate was somewhere north of 30 percent. Few students went on to college, and certainly none to Harvard, my father's standard of excellence. Looking for advice, my mother called her friends and relatives from wealthy East Coast suburbs and found some sympathetic, others gleeful that their children no longer had to compete with the suddenly education-starved Kalanithis. At night, she broke into tears, sobbing alone in her bed. My mother, afraid the impoverished school system would hobble her children, acquired, from somewhere, a "college prep reading list." Trained in India to be a physiologist, married at twenty-three, and preoccupied with raising three kids in a country that was not her own, she had not read many of the books on the list herself. But she would make sure her kids were not deprived. She made me read _1984_ when I was ten years old; I was scandalized by the sex, but it also instilled in me a deep love of, and care for, language. Endless books and authors followed, as we worked our way methodically down the list: _The Count of Monte Cristo,_ Edgar Allan Poe, _Robinson Crusoe,_ _Ivanhoe,_ Gogol, _The_ _Last of the Mohicans,_ Dickens, Twain, Austen, _Billy Budd..._ By the time I was twelve, I was picking them out myself, and my brother Suman was sending me the books he had read in college: _The Prince, Don Quixote, Candide,_ _Le Morte D'Arthur, Beowulf,_ Thoreau, Sartre, Camus. Some left more of a mark than others. _Brave New World_ founded my nascent moral philosophy and became the subject of my college admissions essay, in which I argued that happiness was not the point of life. _Hamlet_ bore me a thousand times through the usual adolescent crises. "To His Coy Mistress" and other romantic poems led me and my friends on various joyful misadventures throughout high school—we often sneaked out at night to, for example, sing "American Pie" beneath the window of the captain of the cheerleading team. (Her father was a local minister and so, we reasoned, less likely to shoot.) After I was caught returning at dawn from one such late-night escapade, my worried mother thoroughly interrogated me regarding every drug teenagers take, never suspecting that the most intoxicating thing I'd experienced, by far, was the volume of romantic poetry she'd handed me the previous week. Books became my closest confidants, finely ground lenses providing new views of the world. In her quest to see that her children were educated, my mom drove us more than a hundred miles north, to the nearest big city, Las Vegas, so we could take our PSATs, SATs, and ACTs. She joined the school board, rallied teachers, and demanded that AP classes be added to the curriculum. She was a phenom: she took it upon herself to transform the Kingman school system, and she did. Suddenly there was a feeling in our high school that the two mountain ranges that bounded the town no longer defined the horizon: it was what lay beyond them. Senior year, my close friend Leo, our salutatorian and the poorest kid I knew, was advised by the school guidance counselor, "You're smart—you should join the army." He told me about it afterward. "Fuck that," he said. "If _you're_ going to Harvard, or Yale, or Stanford, then I am, too." I don't know if I was happier when I got into Stanford or when Leo got into Yale. Summer passed, and since Stanford began classes a month later than every other school, all of my friends scattered, leaving me behind. Most afternoons, I'd trek into the desert alone and nap and think until my girlfriend, Abigail, got off her shift at Kingman's lone coffee shop. The desert offered a shortcut, through the mountains and down into town, and hiking was more fun than driving. Abigail was in her early twenties, a student at Scripps College who, wanting to avoid loans, was taking a semester off to stockpile tuition money. I was taken with her worldliness, the sense that she knew secrets one only learned at college—she had studied psychology!—and we'd often meet as she got off work. She was a harbinger of the _sub rosa_ , the new world awaiting me in just a few weeks. One afternoon, I woke from my nap, looked up, and saw vultures circling, mistaking me for carrion. I checked my watch; it was almost three. I was going to be late. I dusted off my jeans and jogged the rest of the way through the desert, until sand gave way to pavement, the first buildings appeared, and I rounded the corner to find Abigail, broom in hand, sweeping the coffee shop deck. "I already cleaned the espresso machine," she said, "so no iced latte for you today." The floors swept, we went inside. Abigail walked to the cash register and picked up a paperback she'd stashed there. "Here," she said, tossing it at me. "You should read this. You're always reading such high-culture crap—why don't you try something lowbrow for once?" It was a five-hundred-page novel called _Satan: His Psychotherapy and Cure by the Unfortunate Dr. Kassler, J.S.P.S.,_ by Jeremy Leven. I took it home and read it in a day. It wasn't high culture. It should have been funny, but it wasn't. However, it did make the throwaway assumption that the mind was simply the operation of the brain, an idea that struck me with force; it startled my naïve understanding of the world. Of course, it must be true—what were our brains doing, otherwise? Though we had free will, we were also biological organisms—the brain was an organ, subject to all the laws of physics, too! Literature provided a rich account of human meaning; the brain, then, was the machinery that somehow enabled it. It seemed like magic. That night, in my room, I opened up my red Stanford course catalog, which I had read through dozens of times, and grabbed a highlighter. In addition to all the literature classes I had marked, I began looking in biology and neuroscience as well. — A few years later, I hadn't thought much more about a career but had nearly completed degrees in English literature and human biology. I was driven less by achievement than by trying to understand, in earnest: What makes human life meaningful? I still felt literature provided the best account of the life of the mind, while neuroscience laid down the most elegant rules of the brain. Meaning, while a slippery concept, seemed inextricable from human relationships and moral values. T. S. Eliot's _The Waste Land_ resonated profoundly, relating meaninglessness and isolation, and the desperate quest for human connection. I found Eliot's metaphors leaking into my own language. Other authors resonated as well. Nabokov, for his awareness of how our suffering can make us callous to the obvious suffering of another. Conrad, for his hypertuned sense of how miscommunication between people can so profoundly impact their lives. Literature not only illuminated another's experience, it provided, I believed, the richest material for moral reflection. My brief forays into the formal ethics of analytic philosophy felt dry as a bone, missing the messiness and weight of real human life. Throughout college, my monastic, scholarly study of human meaning would conflict with my urge to forge and strengthen the human relationships that formed that meaning. If the unexamined life was not worth living, was the unlived life worth examining? Heading into my sophomore summer, I applied for two jobs: as an intern at the highly scientific Yerkes Primate Research Center, in Atlanta, and as a prep chef at Sierra Camp, a family vacation spot for Stanford alumni on the pristine shores of Fallen Leaf Lake, abutting the stark beauty of Desolation Wilderness in Eldorado National Forest. The camp's literature promised, simply, the best summer of your life. I was surprised and flattered to be accepted. Yet I had just learned that macaques had a rudimentary form of culture, and I was eager to go to Yerkes and see what could be the natural origin of meaning itself. In other words, I could either study meaning or I could experience it. After delaying for as long as possible, I finally chose the camp. Afterward, I dropped by my biology adviser's office to inform him of my decision. When I walked in, he was sitting at his desk, head in a journal, as usual. He was a quiet, amiable man with heavy-lidded eyes, but as I told him my plans, he became a different person entirely: his eyes shot open, and his face flushed red, flecks of spit spraying. _"What?"_ he said. "When you grow up, are you going to be a scientist or a... _chef_?" Eventually the term ended and I was on the windy mountain road to camp, still slightly worried that I'd made a wrong turn in life. My doubt, however, was short-lived. The camp delivered on its promise, concentrating all the idylls of youth: beauty manifest in lakes, mountains, people; richness in experience, conversation, friendships. Nights during a full moon, the light flooded the wilderness, so it was possible to hike without a headlamp. We would hit the trail at two A.M., summiting the nearest peak, Mount Tallac, just before sunrise, the clear, starry night reflected in the flat, still lakes spread below us. Snuggled together in sleeping bags at the peak, nearly ten thousand feet up, we weathered frigid blasts of wind with coffee someone had been thoughtful enough to bring. And then we would sit and watch as the first hint of sunlight, a light tinge of day blue, would leak out of the eastern horizon, slowly erasing the stars. The day sky would spread wide and high, until the first ray of the sun made an appearance. The morning commuters began to animate the distant South Lake Tahoe roads. But craning your head back, you could see the day's blue darken halfway across the sky, and to the west, the night remained yet unconquered—pitch-black, stars in full glimmer, the full moon still pinned in the sky. To the east, the full light of day beamed toward you; to the west, night reigned with no hint of surrender. No philosopher can explain the sublime better than this, standing between day and night. It was as if this were the moment God said, "Let there be light!" You could not help but feel your specklike existence against the immensity of the mountain, the earth, the universe, and yet still feel your own two feet on the talus, reaffirming your presence amid the grandeur. This was summer at Sierra Camp, perhaps no different from any other camp, but every day felt full of life, and of the relationships that give life meaning. Other nights found a group of us on the dining room deck, sipping whiskey with the assistant director of the camp, Mo, a Stanford alum taking a break from his English PhD, and discussing literature and the weighty matters of postadolescent life. The next year he returned to his PhD, and later he sent me his first published short story, summing up our time together: > Suddenly, now, I know what I want. I want the counselors to build a pyre...and let my ashes drop and mingle with the sand. Lose my bones amongst the driftwood, my teeth amongst the sand....I don't believe in the wisdom of children, nor in the wisdom of the old. There is a moment, a cusp, when the sum of gathered experience is worn down by the details of living. We are never so wise as when we live in this moment. — Back on campus, I didn't miss the monkeys. Life felt rich and full, and over the next two years I kept at it, seeking a deeper understanding of a life of the mind. I studied literature and philosophy to understand what makes life meaningful, studied neuroscience and worked in an fMRI lab to understand how the brain could give rise to an organism capable of finding meaning in the world, and enriched my relationships with a circle of dear friends through various escapades. We raided the school cafeteria dressed as Mongols; created a full fake fraternity, complete with fake rush-week events, in our co-op house; posed in front of the gates at Buckingham Palace in a gorilla suit; broke into Memorial Church at midnight to lie on our backs and listen to our voices echo in the apse; and so on. (Then I learned that Virginia Woolf once boarded a battleship dressed as Abyssinian royalty, and, duly chastened, stopped boasting about our trivial pranks.) Senior year, in one of my last neuroscience classes, on neuroscience and ethics, we visited a home for people who had suffered severe brain injuries. We walked into the main reception area and were greeted by a disconsolate wailing. Our guide, a friendly thirty-something woman, introduced herself to the group, but my eyes hunted for the source of the noise. Behind the reception counter was a large-screen television showing a soap opera, on mute. A blue-eyed brunette with well-coiffed hair, her head shaking slightly with emotion, filled the screen as she pleaded with someone off camera; zoom out, and there was her strong-jawed, undoubtedly gravel-voiced lover; they embraced passionately. The wailing rose in pitch. I stepped closer to peer over the counter, and there, on a blue mat in front of the television, in a plain flower-print dress, was a young woman, maybe twenty, her hands balled into fists pressed into her eyes, violently rocking back and forth, wailing and wailing. As she rocked, I caught glimpses of the back of her head, where her hair had worn away, leaving a large, pale patch of skin. I stepped back to join the group, which was leaving to tour the facility. Talking with the guide, I learned that many of the residents had nearly drowned as young children. Looking around, I noticed there were no other visitors besides us. Was that common? I asked. At first, the guide explained, a family will visit constantly, daily or even twice a day. Then maybe every other day. Then just weekends. After months or years, the visits taper off, until it's just, say, birthdays and Christmas. Eventually, most families move away, as far as they can get. "I don't blame them," she said. "It's hard caring for these kids." A fury churned in me. _Hard?_ Of course it was hard, but how could parents abandon these kids? In one room, the patients lay on cots, mostly still, arranged in neat rows like soldiers in a barracks. I walked down a row until I made eye contact with one of them. She was in her late teens, with dark, tangled hair. I paused and tried smiling at her, showing her I cared. I picked up one of her hands; it was limp. But she gurgled and, looking right at me, smiled. "I think she's smiling," I said to the attendant. "Could be," she said. "It can be hard to tell sometimes." But I was sure of it. She was smiling. When we got back to campus, I was the last one left in the room with the professor. "So, what'd you think?" he asked. I vented openly about how I couldn't believe that parents had abandoned these poor kids, and how one of them had even smiled at me. The professor was a mentor, someone who thought deeply about how science and morality intersected. I expected him to agree with me. "Yeah," he said. "Good. Good for you. But sometimes, you know, I think it's better if they die." I grabbed my bag and left. She _had_ been smiling, hadn't she? Only later would I realize that our trip had added a new dimension to my understanding of the fact that brains give rise to our ability to form relationships and make life meaningful. Sometimes, they break. — As graduation loomed, I had a nagging sense that there was still far too much unresolved for me, that I wasn't done studying. I applied for a master's in English literature at Stanford and was accepted into the program. I had come to see language as an almost supernatural force, existing between people, bringing our brains, shielded in centimeter-thick skulls, into communion. A word meant something only between people, and life's meaning, its virtue, had something to do with the depth of the relationships we form. It was the relational aspect of humans—i.e., "human relationality"—that undergirded meaning. Yet somehow, this process existed in brains and bodies, subject to their own physiologic imperatives, prone to breaking and failing. There must be a way, I thought, that the language of life as experienced—of passion, of hunger, of love—bore some relationship, however convoluted, to the language of neurons, digestive tracts, and heartbeats. At Stanford, I had the good fortune to study with Richard Rorty, perhaps the greatest living philosopher of his day, and under his tutelage I began to see all disciplines as creating a vocabulary, a set of tools for understanding human life in a particular way. Great literary works provided their own sets of tools, compelling the reader to use that vocabulary. For my thesis, I studied the work of Walt Whitman, a poet who, a century before, was possessed by the same questions that haunted me, who wanted to find a way to understand and describe what he termed "the Physiological-Spiritual Man." As I finished my thesis, I could only conclude that Whitman had had no better luck than the rest of us at building a coherent "physiological-spiritual" vocabulary, but at least the ways in which he'd failed were illuminating. I was also increasingly certain that I had little desire to continue in literary studies, whose main preoccupations had begun to strike me as overly political and averse to science. One of my thesis advisers remarked that finding a community for myself in the literary world would be difficult, because most English PhDs reacted to science, as he put it, "like apes to fire, with sheer terror." I wasn't sure where my life was headed. My thesis—"Whitman and the Medicalization of Personality"—was well-received, but it was unorthodox, including as much history of psychiatry and neuroscience as literary criticism. It didn't quite fit in an English department. _I_ didn't quite fit in an English department. Some of my closest friends from college were headed to New York City to pursue a life in the arts—some in comedy, others in journalism and television—and I briefly considered joining them and starting anew. But I couldn't quite let go of the question: Where did biology, morality, literature, and philosophy intersect? Walking home from a football game one afternoon, the autumn breeze blowing, I let my mind wander. Augustine's voice in the garden commanded, "Take up and read," but the voice I heard commanded the opposite: "Set aside the books and practice medicine." Suddenly, it all seemed obvious. Although—or perhaps because—my father, my uncle, and my elder brother were all doctors, medicine had never occurred to me as a serious possibility. But hadn't Whitman himself written that only the physician could truly understand "the Physiological-Spiritual Man"? The next day, I consulted a premed adviser to figure out the logistics. Getting ready for medical school would take about a year of intense coursework, plus the application time, which added up to another eighteen months. It would mean letting my friends go to New York, to continue deepening those relationships, without me. It would mean setting aside literature. But it would allow me a chance to find answers that are not in books, to find a different sort of sublime, to forge relationships with the suffering, and to keep following the question of what makes human life meaningful, even in the face of death and decay. I began working through the necessary premedical courses, loading up on chemistry and physics. Reluctant to take a part-time job—it would slow my studies—but unable to afford Palo Alto rent, I found an open window in an empty dormitory and climbed in. After a few weeks of squatting, I was discovered by the caretaker—who happened to be a friend. She provided a key to the room and some useful warnings, like when the high school girls' cheerleading camps would be coming through. Thinking it wise to avoid becoming a registered sex offender, I'd pack a tent, some books and granola, and head up to Tahoe until it was safe to return. Because the med school application cycle takes eighteen months, I had a free year once my classes were over. Several professors had suggested I pursue a degree in the history and philosophy of science and medicine before deciding to leave academia for good. So I applied for, and was accepted into, the HPS program at Cambridge. I spent the next year in classrooms in the English countryside, where I found myself increasingly often arguing that direct experience of life-and-death questions was essential to generating substantial moral opinions about them. Words began to feel as weightless as the breath that carried them. Stepping back, I realized that I was merely confirming what I already knew: I wanted that direct experience. It was only in practicing medicine that I could pursue a serious biological philosophy. Moral speculation was puny compared to moral action. I finished my degree and headed back to the States. I was going to Yale for medical school. — You would think that the first time you cut up a dead person, you'd feel a bit funny about it. Strangely, though, everything feels normal. The bright lights, stainless steel tables, and bow-tied professors lend an air of propriety. Even so, that first cut, running from the nape of the neck down to the small of the back, is unforgettable. The scalpel is so sharp it doesn't so much cut the skin as unzip it, revealing the hidden and forbidden sinew beneath, and despite your preparation, you are caught unawares, ashamed and excited. Cadaver dissection is a medical rite of passage and a trespass on the sacrosanct, engendering a legion of feelings: from revulsion, exhilaration, nausea, frustration, and awe to, as time passes, the mere tedium of academic exercise. Everything teeters between pathos and bathos: here you are, violating society's most fundamental taboos, and yet formaldehyde is a powerful appetite stimulant, so you also crave a burrito. Eventually, as you complete your assignments by dissecting the median nerve, sawing the pelvis in half, and slicing open the heart, the bathos supersedes: the sacred violation takes on the character of your average college class, replete with pedants, class clowns, and the rest. Cadaver dissection epitomizes, for many, the transformation of the somber, respectful student into the callous, arrogant doctor. The enormity of the moral mission of medicine lent my early days of med school a severe gravity. The first day, before we got to the cadavers, was CPR training, my second time doing it. The first time, back in college, had been farcical, unserious, everyone laughing: the terribly acted videos and limbless plastic mannequins couldn't have been more artificial. But now the lurking possibility that we would have to employ these skills someday animated everything. As I repeatedly slammed my palm into the chest of a tiny plastic child, I couldn't help but hear, along with my fellow students' jokes, real ribs cracking. Cadavers reverse the polarity. The mannequins you pretend are real; the cadavers you pretend are fake. But that first day, you just can't. When I faced my cadaver, slightly blue and bloated, his total deadness and total humanness were undeniable. The knowledge that in four months I would be bisecting this man's head with a hacksaw seemed unconscionable. Yet there are anatomy professors. And the advice they gave us was to take one good look at our cadaver's face and then leave it covered; it makes the work easier. Just as we prepared, with deep breaths and earnest looks, to unwrap our cadaver's head, a surgeon stopped by to chat, leaning with his elbows on the corpse's face. Pointing out various marks and scars on the naked torso, he reconstructed the patient's history. This scar is from an inguinal hernia operation, this one a carotid endarterectomy; these marks here indicate scratching, possibly jaundice, high bilirubin; he probably died of pancreatic cancer, though no scar for that—killed him too quick. Meanwhile, I could not help but stare at the shifting elbows that, with each medical hypothesis and vocabulary lesson, rolled over this covered head. I thought: _Prosopagnosia is a neurological disorder wherein one loses the ability to see faces._ Pretty soon I would have it, hacksaw in hand. Because after a few weeks, the drama dissipated. In conversations with non–medical students, telling cadaver stories, I found myself highlighting the grotesque, macabre, and absurd, as if to reassure them that I was normal, even though I was spending six hours a week carving up a corpse. Sometimes I told of the moment when I turned around and saw a classmate, the sort of woman who had a mug decorated with puffy paint, tiptoeing on a stool, cheerfully hammering a chisel into a woman's backbone, splinters flying through the air. I told this story as if to distance myself from it, but my kinship was undeniable. After all, hadn't I just as eagerly disassembled a man's rib cage with a pair of bolt cutters? Even working on the dead, with their faces covered, their names a mystery, you find that their humanity pops up at you—in opening my cadaver's stomach, I found two undigested morphine pills, meaning that he had died in pain, perhaps alone and fumbling with the cap of a pill bottle. Of course, the cadavers, in life, donated themselves freely to this fate, and the language surrounding the bodies in front of us soon changed to reflect that fact. We were instructed to no longer call them "cadavers"; "donors" was the preferred term. And yes, the transgressive element of dissection had certainly decreased from the bad old days. (Students no longer had to bring their own bodies, for starters, as they did in the nineteenth century. And medical schools had discontinued their support of the practice of robbing graves to procure cadavers—that looting itself a vast improvement over murder, a means once common enough to warrant its own verb: _burke,_ which the OED defines as "to kill secretly by suffocation or strangulation, or for the purpose of selling the victim's body for dissection.") Yet the best-informed people—doctors—almost never donated their bodies. How informed were the donors, then? As one anatomy professor put it to me, "You wouldn't tell a patient the gory details of a surgery if that would make them not consent." Even if donors were informed enough—and they might well have been, notwithstanding one anatomy professor's hedging—it wasn't so much the thought of being dissected that galled. It was the thought of your mother, your father, your grandparents being hacked to pieces by wisecracking twenty-two-year-old medical students. Every time I read the pre-lab and saw a term like "bone saw," I wondered if this would be the session in which I finally vomited. Yet I was rarely troubled in lab, even when I found that the "bone saw" in question was nothing more than a common, rusty wood saw. The closest I ever came to vomiting was nowhere near the lab but on a visit to my grandmother's grave in New York, on the twentieth anniversary of her death. I found myself doubled over, almost crying, and apologizing—not to my cadaver but to my cadaver's grandchildren. In the midst of our lab, in fact, a son requested his mother's half-dissected body back. Yes, she had consented, but he couldn't live with that. I knew I'd do the same. (The remains were returned.) In anatomy lab, we objectified the dead, literally reducing them to organs, tissues, nerves, muscles. On that first day, you simply could not deny the humanity of the corpse. But by the time you'd skinned the limbs, sliced through inconvenient muscles, pulled out the lungs, cut open the heart, and removed a lobe of the liver, it was hard to recognize this pile of tissue as human. Anatomy lab, in the end, becomes less a violation of the sacred and more something that interferes with happy hour, and that realization discomfits. In our rare reflective moments, we were all silently apologizing to our cadavers, not because we sensed the transgression but because we did not. It was not a simple evil, however. All of medicine, not just cadaver dissection, trespasses into sacred spheres. Doctors invade the body in every way imaginable. They see people at their most vulnerable, their most scared, their most private. They escort them into the world, and then back out. Seeing the body as matter and mechanism is the flip side to easing the most profound human suffering. By the same token, the most profound human suffering becomes a mere pedagogical tool. Anatomy professors are perhaps the extreme end of this relationship, yet their kinship to the cadavers remains. Early on, when I made a long, quick cut through my donor's diaphragm in order to ease finding the splenic artery, our proctor was both livid and horrified. Not because I had destroyed an important structure or misunderstood a key concept or ruined a future dissection but because I had seemed so cavalier about it. The look on his face, his inability to vocalize his sadness, taught me more about medicine than any lecture I would ever attend. When I explained that another anatomy professor had told me to make the cut, our proctor's sadness turned to rage, and suddenly red-faced professors were being dragged into the hallway. Other times, the kinship was much simpler. Once, while showing us the ruins of our donor's pancreatic cancer, the professor asked, "How old is this fellow?" "Seventy-four," we replied. "That's my age," he said, set down the probe, and walked away. — Medical school sharpened my understanding of the relationship between meaning, life, and death. I saw the human relationality I had written about as an undergraduate realized in the doctor-patient relationship. As medical students, we were confronted by death, suffering, and the work entailed in patient care, while being simultaneously shielded from the real brunt of responsibility, though we could spot its specter. Med students spend the first two years in classrooms, socializing, studying, and reading; it was easy to treat the work as a mere extension of undergraduate studies. But my girlfriend, Lucy, whom I met in the first year of medical school (and who would later become my wife), understood the subtext of the academics. Her capacity to love was barely finite, and a lesson to me. One night on the sofa in my apartment, while studying the reams of wavy lines that make up EKGs, she puzzled over, then correctly identified, a fatal arrhythmia. All at once, it dawned on her and she began to cry: wherever this "practice EKG" had come from, the patient had not survived. The squiggly lines on that page were more than just lines; they were ventricular fibrillation deteriorating to asystole, and they could bring you to tears. Lucy and I attended the Yale School of Medicine when Shep Nuland still lectured there, but I knew him only in my capacity as a reader. Nuland was a renowned surgeon-philosopher whose seminal book about mortality, _How We Die,_ had come out when I was in high school but made it into my hands only in medical school. Few books I had read so directly and wholly addressed that fundamental fact of existence: all organisms, whether goldfish or grandchild, die. I pored over it in my room at night, and remember in particular his description of his grandmother's illness, and how that one passage so perfectly illuminated the ways in which the personal, medical, and spiritual all intermingled. Nuland recalled how, as a child, he would play a game in which, using his finger, he indented his grandmother's skin to see how long it took to resume its shape—a part of the aging process that, along with her newfound shortness of breath, showed her "gradual slide into congestive heart failure...the significant decline in the amount of oxygen that aged blood is capable of taking up from the aged tissues of the aged lung." But "what was most evident," he continued, "was the slow drawing away from life....By the time Bubbeh stopped praying, she had stopped virtually everything else as well." With her fatal stroke, Nuland remembered Sir Thomas Browne's _Religio Medici_ : "With what strife and pains we come into the world we know not, but 'tis commonly no easy matter to get out of it." I had spent so much time studying literature at Stanford and the history of medicine at Cambridge, in an attempt to better understand the particularities of death, only to come away feeling like they were still unknowable to me. Descriptions like Nuland's convinced me that such things could be known only face-to-face. I was pursuing medicine to bear witness to the twinned mysteries of death, its experiential and biological manifestations: at once deeply personal and utterly impersonal. I remember Nuland, in the opening chapters of _How We Die,_ writing about being a young medical student alone in the OR with a patient whose heart had stopped. In an act of desperation, he cut open the patient's chest and tried to pump his heart manually, tried to literally squeeze the life back into him. The patient died, and Nuland was found by his supervisor, covered in blood and failure. Medical school had changed by the time I got there, to the point where such a scene was simply unthinkable: as medical students, we were barely allowed to touch patients, let alone open their chests. What had not changed, though, was the heroic spirit of responsibility amid blood and failure. This struck me as the true image of a doctor. — The first birth I witnessed was also the first death. I had recently taken Step 1 of my medical boards, wrapping up two years of intensive study buried in books, deep in libraries, poring over lecture notes in coffee shops, reviewing hand-made flash cards while lying in bed. The next two years, then, I would spend in the hospital and clinic, finally putting that theoretical knowledge to use to relieve concrete suffering, with patients, not abstractions, as my primary focus. I started in ob-gyn, working the graveyard shift in the labor and delivery ward. Walking into the building as the sun descended, I tried to recall the stages of labor, the corresponding dilation of the cervix, the names of the "stations" that indicated the baby's descent—anything that might prove helpful when the time came. As a medical student, my task was to learn by observation and avoid getting in the way. Residents, who had finished medical school and were now completing training in a chosen specialty, and nurses, with their years of clinical experience, would serve as my primary instructors. But the fear still lurked—I could feel its fluttering—that through accident or expectation, I'd be called on to deliver a child by myself, and fail. I made my way to the doctors' lounge where I was to meet the resident. I walked in and saw a dark-haired young woman lying on a couch, chomping furiously at a sandwich while watching TV and reading a journal article. I introduced myself. "Oh, hi," she said. "I'm Melissa. I'll be in here or in the call room if you need me. Probably the best thing for you to do is keep an eye on patient Garcia. She's a twenty-two-year-old, here with preterm labor and twins. Everyone else is pretty standard." Between bites, Melissa briefed me, a barrage of facts and information: The twins were only twenty-three and a half weeks old; the hope was to keep the pregnancy going until they were more developed, however long that might be; twenty-four weeks was considered the cusp of viability, and every extra day made a difference; the patient was getting various drugs to control her contractions. Melissa's pager went off. "Okay," she said, swinging her legs off the couch. "I gotta go. You can hang out here, if you like. We have good cable channels. Or you can come with me." I followed Melissa to the nurses' station. One wall was lined with monitors, displaying wavy telemetry lines. "What's that?" I asked. "That's the output of the tocometers and the fetal heart rates. Let me show you the patient. She doesn't speak English. Do you speak Spanish?" I shook my head. Melissa brought me to the room. It was dark. The mother lay in a bed, resting, quiet, monitor bands wrapped around her belly, tracking her contractions and the twins' heart rates and sending the signal to the screens I'd seen at the nurses' station. The father stood at the bedside holding his wife's hand, worry etched on his brow. Melissa whispered something to them in Spanish, then escorted me out. For the next several hours, things progressed smoothly. Melissa slept in the lounge. I tried decoding the indecipherable scribbles in Garcia's chart, which was like reading hieroglyphics, and came away with the knowledge that her first name was Elena, this was her second pregnancy, she had received no prenatal care, and she had no insurance. I wrote down the names of the drugs she was getting and made a note to look them up later. I read a little about premature labor in a textbook I found in the doctors' lounge. Preemies, if they survived, apparently incurred high rates of brain hemorrhages and cerebral palsy. Then again, my older brother, Suman, had been born almost eight weeks premature, three decades earlier, and he was now a practicing neurologist. I walked over to the nurse and asked her to teach me how to read those little squiggles on the monitor, which were no clearer to me than the doctors' handwriting but could apparently foretell calm or disaster. She nodded and began talking me through reading a contraction and the fetal hearts' reaction to it, the way, if you looked closely, you could see— She stopped. Worry flashed across her face. Without a word, she got up and ran into Elena's room, then burst back out, grabbed the phone, and paged Melissa. A minute later, Melissa arrived, bleary-eyed, glanced at the strips, and rushed into the patient's room, with me trailing behind. She flipped open her cellphone and called the attending, rapidly talking in a jargon I only partially understood. The twins were in distress, I gathered, and their only shot at survival was an emergency C-section. I was carried along with the commotion into the operating room. They got Elena supine on the table, drugs running into her veins. A nurse frantically painted the woman's swollen abdomen with an antiseptic solution, while the attending, the resident, and I splashed alcohol cleanser on our hands and forearms. I mimicked their urgent strokes, standing silently as they cursed under their breath. The anesthesiologists intubated the patient while the senior surgeon, the attending, fidgeted. "C'mon," he said. "We don't have a lot of time. We need to move faster!" I was standing next to the attending as he sliced open the woman's belly, making a single long curvilinear incision beneath her belly button, just below the apex of her protuberant womb. I tried to follow every movement, digging in my brain for textbook anatomical sketches. The skin slid apart at the scalpel's touch. He sliced confidently through the tough white rectus fascia covering the muscle, then split the fascia and the underlying muscle with his hands, revealing the first glimpse of the melon-like uterus. He sliced that open as well, and a small face appeared, then disappeared amid the blood. In plunged the doctor's hands, pulling out one, then two purple babies, barely moving, eyes fused shut, like tiny birds fallen too soon from a nest. With their bones visible through translucent skin, they looked more like the preparatory sketches of children than children themselves. Too small to cradle, not much bigger than the surgeon's hands, they were rapidly passed to the waiting neonatal intensivists, who rushed them to the neonatal ICU. With the immediate danger averted, the pace of the operation slowed, frenzy turning to something resembling calm. The odor of burnt flesh wafted up as the cautery arrested little spurts of blood. The uterus was sutured back together, the stitches like a row of teeth, biting closed the open wound. "Professor, do you want the peritoneum closed?" Melissa asked. "I read recently that it doesn't need to be." "Let no man put asunder what God has joined," the attending said. "At least, no more than temporarily. I like to leave things the way I found them—let's sew it back up." The peritoneum is a membrane that surrounds the abdominal cavity. Somehow I had completely missed its opening, and I couldn't see it at all now. To me, the wound looked like a mass of disorganized tissue, yet to the surgeons it had an appreciable order, like a block of marble to a sculptor. Melissa called for the peritoneal stitch, reached her forceps into the wound, and pulled up a transparent layer of tissue between the muscle and the uterus. Suddenly the peritoneum, and the gaping hole in it, was clear. She sewed it closed and moved on to the muscle and fascia, putting them back together with a large needle and a few big looping stitches. The attending left, and finally the skin was sutured together. Melissa asked me if I wanted to place the last two stitches. My hands shook as I passed the needle through the subcutaneous tissue. As I tightened down the suture, I saw that the needle was slightly bent. The skin had come together lopsided, a glob of fat poking through. Melissa sighed. "That's uneven," she said. "You have to _just_ catch the dermal layer—you see this thin white stripe?" I did. Not only would my mind have to be trained, my eyes would, too. "Scissors!" Melissa cut out my amateur knots, resutured the wound, applied the dressing, and the patient was taken to recovery. As Melissa had told me earlier, twenty-four weeks in utero was considered the edge of viability. The twins had lasted twenty-three weeks and six days. Their organs were present, but perhaps not yet ready for the responsibility of sustaining life. They were owed nearly four more months of protected development in the womb, where oxygenated blood and nutrients came to them through the umbilical cord. Now oxygen would have to come through the lungs, and the lungs were not capable of the complex expansion and gas transfer that was respiration. I went to see them in the NICU, each twin encased in a clear plastic incubator, dwarfed by large, beeping machines, barely visible amid the tangle of wires and tubes. The incubator had small side ports through which the parents could strain to reach and gently stroke a leg or arm, providing vital human contact. The sun was up, my shift over. I was sent home, the image of the twins being extracted from the uterus interrupting my sleep. Like a premature lung, I felt unready for the responsibility of sustaining life. When I returned to work that night, I was assigned to a new mother. No one anticipated problems with this pregnancy. Things were as routine as possible; today was even her actual due date. Along with the nurse, I followed the mother's steady progress, contractions racking her body with increasing regularity. The nurse reported the dilation of the cervix, from three centimeters to five to ten. "Okay, it's time to push now," the nurse said. Turning to me, she said, "Don't worry—we'll page you when the delivery is close." I found Melissa in the doctors' lounge. After some time, the OB team was called into the room: delivery was near. Outside the door, Melissa handed me a gown, gloves, and a pair of long boot covers. "It gets messy," she said. We entered the room. I stood awkwardly off to the side until Melissa pushed me to the front, between the patient's legs, just in front of the attending. "Push!" the nurse encouraged. "Now again: just like that, only without the screaming." The screaming didn't stop, and was soon accompanied by a gush of blood and other fluids. The neatness of medical diagrams did nothing to represent Nature, red not only in tooth and claw but in birth as well. (An Anne Geddes photo this was not.) It was becoming clear that learning to be a doctor in practice was going to be a very different education from being a medical student in the classroom. Reading books and answering multiple-choice questions bore little resemblance to taking action, with its concomitant responsibility. Knowing you need to be judicious when pulling on the head to facilitate delivery of the shoulder is not the same as doing it. What if I pulled too hard? ( _Irreversible nerve injury,_ my brain shouted.) The head appeared with each push and then retracted with each break, three steps forward, two steps back. I waited. The human brain has rendered the organism's most basic task, reproduction, a treacherous affair. That same brain made things like labor and delivery units, cardiotocometers, epidurals, and emergency C-sections both possible _and_ necessary. I stood still, unsure when to act or what to do. The attending's voice guided my hands to the emerging head, and on the next push, I gently guided the baby's shoulders as she came out. She was large, plump, and wet, easily three times the size of the birdlike creatures from the previous night. Melissa clamped the cord, and I cut it. The child's eyes opened and she began to cry. I held the baby a moment longer, feeling her weight and substance, then passed her to the nurse, who brought her to the mother. I walked out to the waiting room to inform the extended family of the happy news. The dozen or so family members gathered there leapt up to celebrate, a riot of handshakes and hugs. I was a prophet returning from the mountaintop with news of a joyous new covenant! All the messiness of the birth disappeared; here I had just been holding the newest member of this family, this man's niece, this girl's cousin. Returning to the ward, ebullient, I ran into Melissa. "Hey, do you know how last night's twins are doing?" I asked. She darkened. Baby A died yesterday afternoon; Baby B managed to live not quite twenty-four hours, then passed away around the time I was delivering the new baby. In that moment, I could only think of Samuel Beckett, the metaphors that, in those twins, reached their terminal limit: "One day we were born, one day we shall die, the same day, the same second....Birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more." I had stood next to "the grave digger" with his "forceps." What had these lives amounted to? "You think _that's_ bad?" she continued. "Most mothers with stillborns still have to go through labor and deliver. Can you imagine? At least these guys had a chance." A match flickers but does not light. The mother's wailing in room 543, the searing red rims of the father's lower eyelids, tears silently streaking his face: this flip side of joy, the unbearable, unjust, unexpected presence of death...What possible sense could be made, what words were there for comfort? "Was it the right choice, to do an emergency C-section?" I asked. "No question," she said. "It was the only shot they had." "What happens if you don't?" "Probably, they die. Abnormal fetal heart tracings show when the fetal blood is turning acidemic; the cord is compromised somehow, or something else seriously bad is happening." "But how do you know when the tracing looks bad enough? Which is worse, being born too early or waiting too long to deliver?" "Judgment call." What a call to make. In my life, had I ever made a decision harder than choosing between a French dip and a Reuben? How could I ever learn to make, and live with, such judgment calls? I still had a lot of practical medicine to learn, but would knowledge alone be enough, with life and death hanging in the balance? Surely intelligence wasn't enough; moral clarity was needed as well. Somehow, I had to believe, I would gain not only knowledge but wisdom, too. After all, when I had walked into the hospital just one day before, birth and death had been merely abstract concepts. Now I had seen them both up close. Maybe Beckett's Pozzo is right. Maybe life _is_ merely an "instant," too brief to consider. But my focus would have to be on my imminent role, intimately involved with the when and how of death—the grave digger with the forceps. Not long after, my ob-gyn rotation ended, and it was immediately on to surgical oncology. Mari, a fellow med student, and I would rotate together. A few weeks in, after a sleepless night, she was assigned to assist in a Whipple, a complex operation that involves rearranging most abdominal organs in an attempt to resect pancreatic cancer, an operation in which a medical student typically stands still—or, at best, retracts—for up to nine hours straight. It's considered the plum operation to be selected to help with, because of its extreme complexity—only chief residents are allowed to actively participate. But it is grueling, the ultimate test of a general surgeon's skill. Fifteen minutes after the operation started, I saw Mari in the hallway, crying. The surgeon always begins a Whipple by inserting a small camera through a tiny incision to look for metastases, as widespread cancer renders the operation useless and causes its cancellation. Standing there, waiting in the OR with a nine-hour surgery stretching out before her, Mari had a whisper of a thought: _I'm so tired—please God, let there be mets_. There were. The patient was sewn back up, the procedure called off. First came relief, then a gnawing, deepening shame. Mari burst out of the OR, where, needing a confessor, she saw me, and I became one. — In the fourth year of medical school, I watched as, one by one, many of my classmates elected to specialize in less demanding areas (radiology or dermatology, for example) and applied for their residencies. Puzzled by this, I gathered data from several elite medical schools and saw that the trends were the same: by the end of medical school, most students tended to focus on "lifestyle" specialties—those with more humane hours, higher salaries, and lower pressures—the idealism of their med school application essays tempered or lost. As graduation neared and we sat down, in a Yale tradition, to rewrite our commencement oath—a melding of the words of Hippocrates, Maimonides, Osler, along with a few other great medical forefathers—several students argued for the removal of language insisting that we place our patients' interests above our own. (The rest of us didn't allow this discussion to continue for long. The words stayed. This kind of egotism struck me as antithetical to medicine and, it should be noted, entirely reasonable. Indeed, this is how 99 percent of people select their jobs: pay, work environment, hours. But that's the point. Putting lifestyle first is how you find a job—not a calling.) As for me, I would choose neurosurgery as my specialty. The choice, which I had been contemplating for some time, was cemented one night in a room just off the OR, when I listened in quiet awe as a pediatric neurosurgeon sat down with the parents of a child with a large brain tumor who had come in that night complaining of headaches. He not only delivered the clinical facts but addressed the human facts as well, acknowledging the tragedy of the situation and providing guidance. As it happened, the child's mother was a radiologist. The tumor looked malignant—the mother had already studied the scans, and now she sat in a plastic chair, under fluorescent light, devastated. "Now, Claire," the surgeon began, softly. "Is it as bad as it looks?" the mother interrupted. "Do you think it's cancer?" "I don't know. What I _do_ know—and I know you know these things, too—is that your life is about to—it already has changed. This is going to be a long haul, you understand? You have got to be there for each other, but you also have to get your rest when you need it. This kind of illness can either bring you together, or it can tear you apart. Now more than ever, you have to be there for each other. I don't want either of you staying up all night at the bedside or never leaving the hospital. Okay?" He went on to describe the planned operation, the likely outcomes and possibilities, what decisions needed to be made now, what decisions they should start thinking about but didn't need to decide on immediately, and what sorts of decisions they should not worry about at all yet. By the end of the conversation, the family was not at ease, but they seemed able to face the future. I had watched the parents' faces—at first wan, dull, almost otherworldly—sharpen and focus. And as I sat there, I realized that the questions intersecting life, death, and meaning, questions that all people face at some point, usually arise in a medical context. In the actual situations where one encounters these questions, it becomes a necessarily philosophical and biological exercise. Humans are organisms, subject to physical laws, including, alas, the one that says entropy always increases. Diseases are molecules misbehaving; the basic requirement of life is metabolism, and death its cessation. While all doctors treat diseases, neurosurgeons work in the crucible of identity: every operation on the brain is, by necessity, a manipulation of the substance of our selves, and every conversation with a patient undergoing brain surgery cannot help but confront this fact. In addition, to the patient and family, the brain surgery is usually the most dramatic event they have ever faced and, as such, has the impact of any major life event. At those critical junctures, the question is not simply whether to live or die but what kind of life is worth living. Would you trade your ability—or your mother's—to talk for a few extra months of mute life? The expansion of your visual blind spot in exchange for eliminating the small possibility of a fatal brain hemorrhage? Your right hand's function to stop seizures? How much neurologic suffering would you let your child endure before saying that death is preferable? Because the brain mediates our experience of the world, any neurosurgical problem forces a patient and family, ideally with a doctor as a guide, to answer this question: What makes life meaningful enough to go on living? I was compelled by neurosurgery, with its unforgiving call to perfection; like the ancient Greek concept _arete,_ I thought, virtue required moral, emotional, mental, and physical excellence. Neurosurgery seemed to present the most challenging and direct confrontation with meaning, identity, and death. Concomitant with the enormous responsibilities they shouldered, neurosurgeons were also masters of many fields: neurosurgery, ICU medicine, neurology, radiology. Not only would I have to train my mind and hands, I realized; I'd have to train my eyes, and perhaps other organs as well. The idea was overwhelming and intoxicating: perhaps I, too, could join the ranks of these polymaths who strode into the densest thicket of emotional, scientific, and spiritual problems and found, or carved, ways out. — After medical school, Lucy and I, newly married, headed to California to begin our residencies, me at Stanford, Lucy just up the road at UCSF. Medical school was officially behind us—now real responsibility lay in wait. In short order, I made several close friends in the hospital, in particular Victoria, my co-resident, and Jeff, a general surgery resident a few years senior to us. Over the next seven years of training, we would grow from bearing witness to medical dramas to becoming leading actors in them. As an intern in the first year of residency, one is little more than a paper pusher against a backdrop of life and death—though, even then, the workload is enormous. My first day in the hospital, the chief resident said to me, "Neurosurgery residents aren't just the best surgeons—we're the best _doctors_ in the hospital. That's your goal. Make us proud." The chairman, passing through the ward: "Always eat with your left hand. You've got to learn to be ambidextrous." One of the senior residents: "Just a heads-up—the chief is going through a divorce, so he's really throwing himself into his work right now. Don't make small talk with him." The outgoing intern who was supposed to orient me but instead just handed me a list of forty-three patients: "The only thing I have to tell you is: they can always hurt you more, but they can't stop the clock." And then he walked away. I didn't leave the hospital for the first two days, but before long, the impossible-seeming, day-killing mounds of paperwork were only an hour's work. Still, when you work in a hospital, the papers you file aren't just papers: they are fragments of narratives filled with risks and triumphs. An eight-year-old named Matthew, for example, came in one day complaining of headaches only to learn that he had a tumor abutting his hypothalamus. The hypothalamus regulates our basic drives: sleep, hunger, thirst, sex. Leaving any tumor behind would subject Matthew to a life of radiation, further surgeries, brain catheters...in short, it would consume his childhood. Complete removal could prevent that, but at the risk of damaging his hypothalamus, rendering him a slave to his appetites. The surgeon got to work, passed a small endoscope through Matthew's nose, and drilled off the floor of his skull. Once inside, he saw a clear plane and removed the tumor. A few days later, Matthew was bopping around the ward, sneaking candies from the nurses, ready to go home. That night, I happily filled out the endless pages of his discharge paperwork. I lost my first patient on a Tuesday. She was an eighty-two-year-old woman, small and trim, the healthiest person on the general surgery service, where I spent a month as an intern. (At her autopsy, the pathologist would be shocked to learn her age: "She has the organs of a fifty-year-old!") She had been admitted for constipation from a mild bowel obstruction. After six days of hoping her bowels would untangle themselves, we did a minor operation to help sort things out. Around eight P.M. Monday night, I stopped by to check on her, and she was alert, doing fine. As we talked, I pulled from my pocket my list of the day's work and crossed off the last item (post-op check, Mrs. Harvey). It was time to go home and get some rest. Sometime after midnight, the phone rang. The patient was crashing. With the complacency of bureaucratic work suddenly torn away, I sat up in bed and spat out orders: "One liter bolus of LR, EKG, chest X-ray, stat—I'm on my way in." I called my chief, and she told me to add labs and to call her back when I had a better sense of things. I sped to the hospital and found Mrs. Harvey struggling for air, her heart racing, her blood pressure collapsing. She wasn't getting better no matter what I did; and as I was the only general surgery intern on call, my pager was buzzing relentlessly, with calls I could dispense with (patients needing sleep medication) and ones I couldn't (a rupturing aortic aneurysm in the ER). I was drowning, out of my depth, pulled in a thousand directions, and Mrs. Harvey was still not improving. I arranged a transfer to the ICU, where we blasted her with drugs and fluids to keep her from dying, and I spent the next few hours running between my patient threatening to die in the ER and my patient actively dying in the ICU. By 5:45 A.M., the patient in the ER was on his way to the OR, and Mrs. Harvey was relatively stable. She'd needed twelve liters of fluid, two units of blood, a ventilator, and three different pressors to stay alive. When I finally left the hospital, at five P.M. on Tuesday evening, Mrs. Harvey wasn't getting better—or worse. At seven P.M., the phone rang: Mrs. Harvey had coded, and the ICU team was attempting CPR. I raced back to the hospital, and once again, she pulled through. Barely. This time, instead of going home, I grabbed dinner near the hospital, just in case. At eight P.M., my phone rang: Mrs. Harvey had died. I went home to sleep. I was somewhere between angry and sad. For whatever reason, Mrs. Harvey had burst through the layers of paperwork to become my patient. The next day, I attended her autopsy, watched the pathologists open her up and remove her organs. I inspected them myself, ran my hands over them, checked the knots I had tied in her intestines. From that point on, I resolved to treat all my paperwork as patients, and not vice versa. In that first year, I would glimpse my share of death. I sometimes saw it while peeking around corners, other times while feeling embarrassed to be caught in the same room. Here were a few of the people I saw die: 1. An alcoholic, his blood no longer able to clot, who bled to death into his joints and under his skin. Every day, the bruises would spread. Before he became delirious, he looked up at me and said, "It's not fair—I've been diluting my drinks with water." 2. A pathologist, dying of pneumonia, wheezing her death rattle before heading down to be autopsied—her final trip to the pathology lab, where she had spent so many years of her life. 3. A man who'd had a minor neurosurgical procedure to treat lightning bolts of pain that were shooting through his face: a tiny drop of liquid cement had been placed on the suspected nerve to keep a vein from pressing on it. A week later, he developed massive headaches. Nearly every test was run, but no diagnosis was ever identified. 4. Dozens of cases of head trauma: suicides, gunshots, bar fights, motorcycle accidents, car crashes. A moose attack. At moments, the weight of it all became palpable. It was in the air, the stress and misery. Normally, you breathed it in, without noticing it. But some days, like a humid muggy day, it had a suffocating weight of its own. Some days, this is how it felt when I was in the hospital: trapped in an endless jungle summer, wet with sweat, the rain of tears of the families of the dying pouring down. — In the second year of training, you're the first to arrive in an emergency. Some patients you can't save. Others you can: the first time I rushed a comatose patient from the ER to the OR, drained the blood from his skull, and then watched him wake up, start talking to his family, and complain about the incision on his head, I got lost in a euphoric daze, promenading around the hospital at two A.M. until I had no sense of where I was. It took me forty-five minutes to find my way back out. The schedule took a toll. As residents, we were working as much as one hundred hours a week; though regulations officially capped our hours at eighty-eight, there was always more work to be done. My eyes watered, my head throbbed, I downed energy drinks at two A.M. At work, I could keep it together, but as soon as I walked out of the hospital, the exhaustion would hit me. I staggered through the parking lot, often napping in my car before driving the fifteen minutes home to bed. Not all residents could stand the pressure. One was simply unable to accept blame or responsibility. He was a talented surgeon, but he could not admit when he'd made a mistake. I sat with him one day in the lounge as he begged me to help him save his career. "All you have to do," I said, "is look me in the eye and say, 'I'm sorry. What happened was my fault, and I won't let it happen again.' " "But it was the nurse who—" "No. You have to be able to say it and mean it. Try again." "But—" "No. _Say_ it." This went on for an hour before I knew he was doomed. The stress drove another resident out of the field entirely; she elected to leave for a less taxing job in consulting. Others would pay even higher prices. As my skills increased, so too did my responsibility. Learning to judge whose lives could be saved, whose couldn't be, and whose _shouldn't_ be requires an unattainable prognostic ability. I made mistakes. Rushing a patient to the OR to save only enough brain that his heart beats but he can never speak, he eats through a tube, and he is condemned to an existence he would never want...I came to see this as a more egregious failure than the patient dying. The twilight existence of unconscious metabolism becomes an unbearable burden, usually left to an institution, where the family, unable to attain closure, visits with increasing rarity, until the inevitable fatal bedsore or pneumonia sets in. Some insist on this life and embrace its possibility, eyes open. But many do not, or cannot, and the neurosurgeon must learn to adjudicate. I had started in this career, in part, to pursue death: to grasp it, uncloak it, and see it eye-to-eye, unblinking. Neurosurgery attracted me as much for its intertwining of brain and consciousness as for its intertwining of life and death. I had thought that a life spent in the space between the two would grant me not merely a stage for compassionate action but an elevation of my own being: getting as far away from petty materialism, from self-important trivia, getting _right there,_ to the heart of the matter, to truly life-and-death decisions and struggles...surely a kind of transcendence would be found there? But in residency, something else was gradually unfolding. In the midst of this endless barrage of head injuries, I began to suspect that being so close to the fiery light of such moments only blinded me to their nature, like trying to learn astronomy by staring directly at the sun. I was not yet _with_ patients in their pivotal moments, I was merely _at_ those pivotal moments. I observed a lot of suffering; worse, I became inured to it. Drowning, even in blood, one adapts, learns to float, to swim, even to enjoy life, bonding with the nurses, doctors, and others who are clinging to the same raft, caught in the same tide. My fellow resident Jeff and I worked traumas together. When he called me down to the trauma bay because of a concurrent head injury, we were always in sync. He'd assess the abdomen, then ask for my prognosis on a patient's cognitive function. "Well, he could still be a senator," I once replied, "but only from a small state." Jeff laughed, and from that moment on, state population became our barometer for head-injury severity. "Is he a Wyoming or a California?" Jeff would ask, trying to determine how intensive his care plan should be. Or I'd say, "Jeff, I know his blood pressure is labile, but I gotta get him to the OR or he's gonna go from Washington to Idaho—can you get him stabilized?" In the cafeteria one day, as I was grabbing my typical lunch—a Diet Coke and an ice cream sandwich—my pager announced an incoming major trauma. I ran to the trauma bay, tucking my ice cream sandwich behind a computer just as the paramedics arrived, pushing the gurney, reciting the details: "Twenty-two-year-old male, motorcycle accident, forty miles per hour, possible brain coming out his nose..." I went straight to work, calling for an intubation tray, assessing his other vital functions. Once he was safely intubated, I surveyed his various injuries: the bruised face, the road rash, the dilated pupils. We pumped him full of mannitol to reduce brain swelling and rushed him to the scanner: a shattered skull, heavy diffuse bleeding. In my mind, I was already planning the scalp incision, how I'd drill the bone, evacuate the blood. His blood pressure suddenly dropped. We rushed him back to the trauma bay, and just as the rest of the trauma team arrived, his heart stopped. A whirlwind of activity surrounded him: catheters were slipped into his femoral arteries, tubes shoved deep into his chest, drugs pushed into his IVs, and all the while, fists pounded on his heart to keep the blood flowing. After thirty minutes, we let him finish dying. With that kind of head injury, we all murmured in agreement, death was to be preferred. I slipped out of the trauma bay just as the family was brought in to view the body. Then I remembered: my Diet Coke, my ice cream sandwich...and the sweltering heat of the trauma bay. With one of the ER residents covering for me, I slipped back in, ghostlike, to save the ice cream sandwich in front of the corpse of the son I could not. Thirty minutes in the freezer resuscitated the sandwich. _Pretty tasty,_ I thought, picking chocolate chips out of my teeth as the family said its last goodbyes. I wondered if, in my brief time as a physician, I had made more moral slides than strides. A few days later, I heard that Laurie, a friend from medical school, had been hit by a car and that a neurosurgeon had performed an operation to try to save her. She'd coded, was revived, and then died the following day. I didn't want to know more. The days when someone was simply "killed in a car accident" were long gone. Now those words opened a Pandora's box, out of which emerged all the images: the roll of the gurney, the blood on the trauma bay floor, the tube shoved down her throat, the pounding on her chest. I could see hands, my hands, shaving Laurie's scalp, the scalpel cutting open her head, could hear the frenzy of the drill and smell the burning bone, its dust whirling, the crack as I pried off a section of her skull. Her hair half shaven, her head deformed. She failed to resemble herself at all; she became a stranger to her friends and family. Maybe there were chest tubes, and a leg was in traction... I didn't ask for details. I already had too many. In that moment, all my occasions of failed empathy came rushing back to me: the times I had pushed discharge over patient worries, ignored patients' pain when other demands pressed. The people whose suffering I saw, noted, and neatly packaged into various diagnoses, the significance of which I failed to recognize—they all returned, vengeful, angry, and inexorable. I feared I was on the way to becoming Tolstoy's stereotype of a doctor, preoccupied with empty formalism, focused on the rote treatment of disease—and utterly missing the larger human significance. ("Doctors came to see her singly and in consultation, talked much in French, German, and Latin, blamed one another, and prescribed a great variety of medicines for all the diseases known to them, but the simple idea never occurred to any of them that they could not know the disease Natasha was suffering from.") A mother came to me, newly diagnosed with brain cancer. She was confused, scared, overcome by uncertainty. I was exhausted, disconnected. I rushed through her questions, assured her that surgery would be a success, and assured myself that there wasn't enough time to answer her questions fairly. _But why didn't I make the time?_ A truculent vet refused the advice and coaxing of doctors, nurses, and physical therapists for weeks; as a result, his back wound broke down, just as we had warned him it would. Called out of the OR, I stitched the dehiscent wound as he yelped in pain, telling myself he'd had it coming. Nobody has it coming. I took meager solace in knowing that William Carlos Williams and Richard Selzer had confessed to doing worse, and I swore to do better. Amid the tragedies and failures, I feared I was losing sight of the singular importance of human relationships, not between patients and their families but between doctor and patient. Technical excellence was not enough. As a resident, my highest ideal was not saving lives—everyone dies eventually—but guiding a patient or family to an understanding of death or illness. When a patient comes in with a fatal head bleed, that first conversation with a neurosurgeon may forever color how the family remembers the death, from a peaceful letting go ("Maybe it was his time") to an open sore of regret ("Those doctors didn't listen! They didn't even _try_ to save him!"). When there's no place for the scalpel, words are the surgeon's only tool. For amid that unique suffering invoked by severe brain damage, the suffering often felt more by families than by patients, it is not merely the physicians who do not see the full significance. The families who gather around their beloved—their beloved whose sheared heads contained battered brains—do not usually recognize the full significance, either. They see the past, the accumulation of memories, the freshly felt love, all represented by the body before them. I see the possible futures, the breathing machines connected through a surgical opening in the neck, the pasty liquid dripping in through a hole in the belly, the possible long, painful, and only partial recovery—or, sometimes more likely, no return at all of the person they remember. In these moments, I acted not, as I most often did, as death's enemy, but as its ambassador. I had to help those families understand that the person they knew—the full, vital independent human—now lived only in the past and that I needed their input to understand what sort of future he or she would want: an easy death or to be strung between bags of fluids going in, others coming out, to persist despite being unable to struggle. Had I been more religious in my youth, I might have become a pastor, for it was the pastoral role I'd sought. — With my renewed focus, informed consent—the ritual by which a patient signs a piece of paper, authorizing surgery—became not a juridical exercise in naming all the risks as quickly as possible, like the voiceover in an ad for a new pharmaceutical, but an opportunity to forge a covenant with a suffering compatriot: _Here we are together, and here are the ways through—I promise to guide you, as best as I can, to the other side._ By this point in my residency, I was more efficient and experienced. I could finally breathe a little, no longer trying to hang on for my own dear life. I was now accepting full responsibility for my patients' well-being. My thoughts turned to my father. As medical students, Lucy and I had attended his hospital rounds in Kingman, watching as he brought comfort and levity to his patients. To one woman, who was recovering from a cardiac procedure: "Are you hungry? What can I get you to eat?" "Anything," she said. "I'm starving." "Well, how about lobster and steak?" He picked up the phone and called the nursing station. "My patient needs lobster and steak—right away!" Turning back to her, he said, with a smile: "It's on the way, but it may look more like a turkey sandwich." The easy human connections he formed, the trust he instilled in his patients, were an inspiration to me. A thirty-five-year-old sat in her ICU bed, a sheen of terror on her face. She had been shopping for her sister's birthday when she'd had a seizure. A scan showed that a benign brain tumor was pressing on her right frontal lobe. In terms of operative risk, it was the best kind of tumor to have, and the best place to have it; surgery would almost certainly eliminate her seizures. The alternative was a lifetime on toxic antiseizure medications. But I could see that the idea of brain surgery terrified her, more than most. She was lonesome and in a strange place, having been swept out of the familiar hubbub of a shopping mall and into the alien beeps and alarms and antiseptic smells of an ICU. She would likely refuse surgery if I launched into a detached spiel detailing all the risks and possible complications. I could do so, document her refusal in the chart, consider my duty discharged, and move on to the next task. Instead, with her permission, I gathered her family with her, and together we calmly talked through the options. As we talked, I could see the enormousness of the choice she faced dwindle into a difficult but understandable decision. I had met her in a space where she was a person, instead of a problem to be solved. She chose surgery. The operation went smoothly. She went home two days later, and never seized again. Any major illness transforms a patient's—really, an entire family's—life. But brain diseases have the additional strangeness of the esoteric. A son's death already defies the parents' ordered universe; how much more incomprehensible is it when the patient is brain-dead, his body warm, his heart still beating? The root of _disaster_ means a star coming apart, and no image expresses better the look in a patient's eyes when hearing a neurosurgeon's diagnosis. Sometimes the news so shocks the mind that the brain suffers an electrical short. This phenomenon is known as a "psychogenic" syndrome, a severe version of the swoon some experience after hearing bad news. When my mother, alone at college, heard that her father, who had championed her right to an education in rural 1960s India, had finally died after a long hospitalization, she had a psychogenic seizure—which continued until she returned home to attend the funeral. One of my patients, upon being diagnosed with brain cancer, fell suddenly into a coma. I ordered a battery of labs, scans, and EEGs, searching for a cause, without result. The definitive test was the simplest: I raised the patient's arm above his face and let go. A patient in a psychogenic coma retains just enough volition to avoid hitting himself. The treatment consists in speaking reassuringly, until your words connect and the patient awakens. Cancer of the brain comes in two varieties: primary cancers, which are born in the brain, and metastases, which emigrate from somewhere else in the body, most commonly from the lungs. Surgery does not cure the disease, but it does prolong life; for most people, cancer in the brain suggests death within a year, maybe two. Mrs. Lee was in her late fifties, with pale green eyes, and had transferred to my service two days earlier from a hospital near her home, a hundred miles away. Her husband, his plaid shirt tucked into crisp jeans, stood by her bedside, fidgeting with his wedding ring. I introduced myself and sat down, and she told me her story: For the past few days, she had felt a tingling in her right hand, and then she'd begun to lose control of it, until she could no longer button her blouse. She'd gone to her local ER, fearing she was having a stroke. An MRI was obtained there, and she was sent here. "Did anyone tell you what the MRI showed?" I asked. "No." The buck had been passed, as it often was with difficult news. Oftentimes, we'd have a spat with the oncologist over whose job it was to break the news. How many times had I done the same? Well, I figured, it can stop here. "Okay," I said. "We have a lot to talk about. If you don't mind, can you tell me what _you_ understand is happening? It's always helpful for me to hear, to make sure I don't leave anything unanswered." "Well, I thought I was having a stroke, but I guess...I'm not?" "That's right. You aren't having a stroke." I paused. I could see the vastness of the chasm between the life she'd had last week and the one she was about to enter. She and her husband didn't seem ready to hear _brain cancer_ —is anyone?—so I began a couple steps back. "The MRI shows a mass in your brain, which is causing your symptoms." Silence. "Do you want to see the MRI?" "Yes." I brought up the images on the bedside computer, pointing out her nose, eyes, and ears to orient her. Then I scrolled up to the tumor, a lumpy white ring surrounding a black necrotic core. "What's that?" she asked. _Could be anything. Maybe an infection. We won't know till after surgery._ My inclination to dodge the question still persisted, to let their obvious worries float in their heads, unpinned. "We can't be sure until after surgery," I began, "but it looks very much like a brain tumor." "Is it cancer?" "Again, we won't know for certain until it is removed and examined by our pathologists, but, if I had to guess, I would say yes." Based on the scan, there was no doubt in my mind that this was glioblastoma—an aggressive brain cancer, the worst kind. Yet I proceeded softly, taking my cues from Mrs. Lee and her husband. Having introduced the possibility of brain cancer, I doubted they would recall much else. A tureen of tragedy was best allotted by the spoonful. Only a few patients demanded the whole at once; most needed time to digest. They didn't ask about prognosis—unlike in trauma, where you have only about ten minutes to explain and make a major decision, here I could let things settle. I discussed in detail what to expect over the next couple of days: what the surgery entailed; how we'd shave only a small strip of her hair to keep it cosmetically appealing; how her arm would likely get a little weaker afterward but then stronger again; that if all went well, she'd be out of the hospital in three days; that this was just the first step in a marathon; that getting rest was important; and that I didn't expect them to retain anything I had just said and we'd go over everything again. After surgery, we talked again, this time discussing chemo, radiation, and prognosis. By this point, I had learned a couple of basic rules. First, detailed statistics are for research halls, not hospital rooms. The standard statistic, the Kaplan-Meier curve, measures the number of patients surviving over time. It is the metric by which we gauge progress, by which we understand the ferocity of a disease. For glioblastoma, the curve drops sharply until only about 5 percent of patients are alive at two years. Second, it is important to be accurate, but you must always leave some room for hope. Rather than saying, "Median survival is eleven months" or "You have a ninety-five percent chance of being dead in two years," I'd say, "Most patients live many months to a couple of years." This was, to me, a more honest description. The problem is that you can't tell an individual patient where she sits on the curve: Will she die in six months or sixty? I came to believe that it is irresponsible to be more precise than you can be accurate. Those apocryphal doctors who gave specific numbers ("The doctor told me I had six months to live"): Who were they, I wondered, and who taught them statistics? Patients, when hearing the news, mostly remain mute. (One of the early meanings of _patient,_ after all, is "one who endures hardship without complaint.") Whether out of dignity or shock, silence usually reigns, and so holding a patient's hand becomes the mode of communication. A few immediately harden (usually the spouse, rather than the patient): "We're gonna fight and beat this thing, Doc." The armament varies, from prayer to wealth to herbs to stem cells. To me, that hardness always seems brittle, unrealistic optimism the only alternative to crushing despair. In any case, in the immediacy of surgery, a warlike attitude fit. In the OR, the dark gray rotting tumor seemed an invader in the fleshy peach convolutions of the brain, and I felt real anger ( _Got you, you fucker,_ I muttered). Removing the tumor was satisfying—even though I knew that microscopic cancer cells had already spread throughout that healthy-looking brain. The nearly inevitable recurrence was a problem for another day. A spoonful at a time. Openness to human relationality does not mean revealing grand truths from the apse; it means meeting patients where they are, in the narthex or nave, and bringing them as far as you can. Yet openness to human relationality also carried a price. One evening in my third year, I ran into Jeff, my friend in general surgery, a similarly intense and demanding profession. We each noted the other's despondency. "You go first," he said. And I described the death of a child, shot in the head for wearing the wrong color shoes, but he had been so close to making it...Amid a recent spate of fatal, inoperable brain tumors, my hopes had been pinned on this kid pulling through, and he hadn't. Jeff paused, and I awaited his story. Instead, he laughed, punched me in the arm, and said, "Well, I guess I learned one thing: if I'm ever feeling down about my work, I can always talk to a neurosurgeon to cheer myself up." Driving home later that night, after gently explaining to a mother that her newborn had been born without a brain and would die shortly, I switched on the radio; NPR was reporting on the continuing drought in California. Suddenly, tears were streaming down my face. Being _with_ patients in these moments certainly had its emotional cost, but it also had its rewards. I don't think I ever spent a minute of any day wondering why I did this work, or whether it was worth it. The call to protect life—and not merely life but another's identity; it is perhaps not too much to say another's soul—was obvious in its sacredness. Before operating on a patient's brain, I realized, I must first understand his mind: his identity, his values, what makes his life worth living, and what devastation makes it reasonable to let that life end. The cost of my dedication to succeed was high, and the ineluctable failures brought me nearly unbearable guilt. Those burdens are what make medicine holy and wholly impossible: in taking up another's cross, one must sometimes get crushed by the weight. — Midway through residency, time is set aside for additional training. Perhaps unique in medicine, the ethos of neurosurgery—of excellence in all things—maintains that excellence in neurosurgery alone is not enough. In order to carry the field, neurosurgeons must venture forth and excel in other fields as well. Sometimes this is very public, as in the case of the neurosurgeon-journalist Sanjay Gupta, but most often the doctor's focus is on a related field. The most rigorous and prestigious path is that of the neurosurgeon-neuroscientist. In my fourth year, I began work in a Stanford lab dedicated to basic motor neuroscience and the development of neural prosthetic technology that would allow, say, paralyzed people to mentally control a computer cursor or robot arm. The head of the lab, a professor of electrical engineering and neurobiology, a fellow second-generation Indian, was affectionately called "V" by everyone. V was seven years older than I, but we got on like brothers. His lab had become a world leader in reading out brain signals, but with his blessing I embarked on a project to do the reverse: to write signals _into_ the brain. After all, if your robot arm can't _feel_ how hard it's grasping a wineglass, you will break a lot of wineglasses. The implications of writing signals into the brain, or "neuromodulation," however, were far more wide-reaching than that: being able to control neural firing would conceivably allow treatment of a host of currently untreatable or intractable neurological and psychiatric diseases, from major depression to Huntington's to schizophrenia to Tourette's to OCD...the possibilities were limitless. Putting surgery aside now, I set to work learning to apply new techniques in gene therapy in a series of "first of its kind" experiments. After I'd been there for a year, V and I sat down for one of our weekly meetings. I had grown to love these chats. V was not like other scientists I knew. He was soft-spoken and cared deeply about people and the clinical mission, and he often confessed to me that he wished he'd been a surgeon himself. Science, I had come to learn, is as political, competitive, and fierce a career as you can find, full of the temptation to find easy paths. One could count on V to always choose the honest (and, often, self-effacing) way forward. While most scientists connived to publish in the most prestigious journals and get their names out there, V maintained that our only obligation was to be authentic to the scientific story and to tell it uncompromisingly. I'd never met someone so successful who was also so committed to goodness. V was an actual paragon. Instead of smiling as I sat down across from him, he looked pained. He sighed and said, "I need you to wear your doctor hat right now." "Okay." "They tell me I have pancreatic cancer." "V...okay. Tell me the story." He laid out his gradual weight loss, indigestion, and his recent "precautionary" CT scan—a truly nonstandard procedure at this point—which showed a pancreatic mass. We discussed the way forward, the dreaded Whipple operation in his near future ("You are going to feel like a truck hit you," I told him), who the best surgeons were, the impact the illness would have on his wife and children, and how to run the lab during his prolonged absence. Pancreatic cancer has a dismal prognosis, but of course there was no way to know what that meant for V. He paused. "Paul," he said, "do you think my life has meaning? Did I make the right choices?" It was stunning: even someone I considered a moral exemplar had these questions in the face of mortality. V's surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation treatments were trying, but a success. He was back at work a year later, just as I was returning to my clinical duties in the hospital. His hair had thinned and whitened, and the spark in his eyes had dulled. During our final weekly chat, he turned to me and said, "You know, today is the first day it all seems worth it. I mean, obviously, I would've gone through anything for my kids, but today is the first day that all the suffering seems worth it." How little do doctors understand the hells through which we put patients. — In my sixth year, I returned to the hospital full-time, my research in V's lab now relegated to days off and idle moments, such as they were. Most people, even your closest colleagues, don't quite understand the black hole that is neurosurgical residency. One of my favorite nurses, after sticking around until ten P.M. one night to help us finish a long and difficult case, said to me, "Thank God I have tomorrow off. Do you, too?" "Um, no." "But at least you can come in later or something, right? When do you usually get in?" "Six A.M." "No. Really?" "Yep." "Every day?" "Every day." "Weekends, too?" "Don't ask." In residency, there's a saying: The days are long, but the years are short. In neurosurgical residency, the day usually began at six A.M. and lasted until the operating was done, which depended, in part, on how quick you were in the OR. A resident's surgical skill is judged by his technique and his speed. You can't be sloppy, and you can't be slow. From your first wound closure onward, spend too much time being precise and the scrub tech will announce, "Looks like we've got a plastic surgeon on our hands!" Or: "I get your strategy: by the time you finish sewing the top half of the wound, the bottom will have healed on its own! Half the work—very smart!" A chief resident will advise a junior, "Learn to be fast now. You can learn to be good later." In the OR, everyone's eyes are always on the clock. For the patient's sake: How long has he been under anesthesia? During long procedures, nerves can get damaged, muscles can break down, kidneys can fail. For everyone else's sake: What time are we getting out of here tonight? I could see that there were two strategies to cutting the time short, perhaps best exemplified by the tortoise and the hare. The hare moves as fast as possible, hands a blur, instruments clattering, falling to the floor; the skin slips open like a curtain, the skull flap is on the tray before the bone dust settles. As a result, the opening might need to be expanded a centimeter here or there because it's not optimally placed. The tortoise, on the other hand, proceeds deliberately, with no wasted movements, measuring twice, cutting once. No step of the operation needs revisiting; everything moves in a precise, orderly fashion. If the hare makes too many minor missteps and has to keep adjusting, the tortoise wins. If the tortoise spends too much time planning each step, the hare wins. The funny thing about time in the OR, whether you race frenetically or proceed steadily, is that you have no sense of it passing. If boredom is, as Heidegger argued, the awareness of time passing, then surgery felt like the opposite: the intense focus made the arms of the clock seem arbitrarily placed. Two hours could feel like a minute. Once the final stitch was placed and the wound was dressed, normal time suddenly restarted. You could almost hear an audible _whoosh_. Then you started wondering: How long until the patient wakes up? How long until the next case is rolled in? And what time will I get home tonight? It wasn't until the last case finished that I felt the length of the day, the drag in my step. Those last few administrative tasks before leaving the hospital were like anvils. Could it wait until tomorrow? No. A sigh, and Earth continued to rotate back toward the sun. — As a chief resident, nearly all responsibility fell on my shoulders, and the opportunities to succeed—or fail—were greater than ever. The pain of failure had led me to understand that technical excellence was a _moral_ requirement _._ Good intentions were not enough, not when so much depended on my skills, when the difference between tragedy and triumph was defined by one or two millimeters. One day, Matthew, the little boy with the brain tumor who had charmed the ward a few years back, was readmitted. His hypothalamus had, in fact, been slightly damaged during the operation to remove his tumor; the adorable eight-year-old was now a twelve-year-old monster. He never stopped eating; he threw violent fits. His mother's arms were scarred with purple scratches. Eventually Matthew was institutionalized: he had become a demon, summoned by one millimeter of damage. For every surgery, a family and a surgeon decide together that the benefits outweigh the risks, but this was still heartbreaking. No one wanted to think about what Matthew would be like as a three-hundred-pound twenty-year-old. Another day, I placed an electrode nine centimeters deep in a patient's brain to treat a Parkinson's tremor. The target was the subthalamic nucleus, a tiny almond-shaped structure deep in the brain. Different parts of it subserve different functions: movement, cognition, emotion. In the operating room, we turned on the current to assess the tremor. With all our eyes on the patient's left hand, we agreed the tremor looked better. Then the patient's voice, confused, rose above our affirmative murmurs: "I feel...overwhelmingly sad." "Current off!" I said. "Oh, now the feeling is going away," the patient said. "Let's recheck the current and impedance, okay? Okay. Current on..." "No, everything...it just feels...so _sad_. Just dark and, and...sad." "Electrode out!" We pulled the electrode out and reinserted it, this time two millimeters to the right. The tremor went away. The patient felt, thankfully, fine. Once, I was doing a late-night case with one of the neurosurgery attendings, a suboccipital craniectomy for a brain-stem malformation. It's one of the most elegant surgeries, in perhaps the most difficult part of the body—just getting there is tricky, no matter how experienced you are. But that night, I felt fluid: the instruments were like extensions of my fingers; the skin, muscle, and bone seemed to unzip themselves; and there I was, staring at a yellow, glistening bulge, a mass deep in the brain stem. Suddenly, the attending stopped me. "Paul, what happens if you cut two millimeters deeper right here?" He pointed. Neuroanatomy slides whirred through my head. "Double vision?" "No," he said. "Locked-in syndrome." Another two millimeters, and the patient would be completely paralyzed, save for the ability to blink. He didn't look up from the microscope. "And I know this because the third time I did this operation, that's exactly what happened." Neurosurgery requires a commitment to one's own excellence and a commitment to another's identity. The decision to operate at all involves an appraisal of one's own abilities, as well as a deep sense of who the patient is and what she holds dear. Certain brain areas are considered near-inviolable, like the primary motor cortex, damage to which results in paralysis of affected body parts. But the most sacrosanct regions of the cortex are those that control language. Usually located on the left side, they are called Wernicke's and Broca's areas; one is for understanding language and the other for producing it. Damage to Broca's area results in an inability to speak or write, though the patient can easily understand language. Damage to Wernicke's area results in an inability to understand language; though the patient can still speak, the language she produces is a stream of unconnected words, phrases, and images, a grammar without semantics. If both areas are damaged, the patient becomes an isolate, something central to her humanity stolen forever. After someone suffers a head trauma or a stroke, the destruction of these areas often restrains the surgeon's impulse to save a life: What kind of life exists without language? When I was a med student, the first patient I met with this sort of problem was a sixty-two-year-old man with a brain tumor. We strolled into his room on morning rounds, and the resident asked him, "Mr. Michaels, how are you feeling today?" "Four six one eight nineteen!" he replied, somewhat affably. The tumor had interrupted his speech circuitry, so he could speak only in streams of numbers, but he still had prosody, he could still emote: smile, scowl, sigh. He recited another series of numbers, this time with urgency. There was something he wanted to tell us, but the digits could communicate nothing other than his fear and fury. The team prepared to leave the room; for some reason, I lingered. "Fourteen one two eight," he pleaded with me, holding my hand. "Fourteen one two eight." "I'm sorry." "Fourteen one two eight," he said mournfully, staring into my eyes. And then I left to catch up to the team. He died a few months later, buried with whatever message he had for the world. When tumors or malformations abut these language areas, the surgeon takes numerous precautions, ordering a host of different scans, a detailed neuropsychological examination. Critically, however, the surgery is performed with the patient awake and talking. Once the brain is exposed, but before the tumor excision, the surgeon uses a hand-held ball-tip electrode to deliver electrical current to stun a small area of the cortex while the patient performs various verbal tasks: naming objects, reciting the alphabet, and so on. When the electrode sends current into a critical piece of cortex, it disrupts the patient's speech: "A B C D E guh guh guh rrrr...F G H I..." The brain and the tumor are thus mapped to determine what can be resected safely, and the patient is kept awake throughout, occupied with a combination of formal verbal tasks and small talk. One evening, as I was prepping for one of these cases, I reviewed the patient's MRI and noted that the tumor completely covered the language areas. Not a good sign. Reviewing the notes, I saw that the hospital's tumor board—an expert panel of surgeons, oncologists, radiologists, and pathologists—had deemed the case too dangerous for surgery. _How could the surgeon have opted to proceed?_ I became a little indignant: at a certain point, it was our job to say no. The patient was wheeled into the room. He fixed his eyes on me and pointed to his head. "I want this _thing_ out of my fucking brain. Got it?" The attending strolled in and saw the expression on my face. "I know," he said. "I tried talking him out of this for about two hours. Don't bother. Ready to go?" Instead of the usual alphabet recital or counting exercise, we were treated, throughout the surgery, to a litany of profanity and exhortation. "Is that fucking thing out of my head yet? Why are you slowing down? Go faster! I want it _out._ I can stay here all fucking day, I don't care, just get it out!" I slowly removed the enormous tumor, attentive to the slightest hint of speech difficulty. With the patient's monologue unceasing, the tumor now sat on a petri dish, his clean brain gleaming. "Why'd you stop? You some kinda asshole? I told you I want the fucking thing gone!" "It's done," I said. "It's out." How was he still talking? Given the size and location of the tumor, it seemed impossible. Profanity supposedly ran on a slightly different circuit from the rest of language. Perhaps the tumor had caused his brain to rewire somehow... But the skull wasn't going to close itself. There would be time for speculation tomorrow. — I had reached the pinnacle of residency. I had mastered the core operations. My research had garnered the highest awards. Job interest was trickling in from all over the country. Stanford launched a search for a position that fit my interests exactly, for a neurosurgeon-neuroscientist focused on techniques of neural modulation. One of my junior residents came up to me and said, "I just heard from the bosses—if they hire you, you're going to be my faculty mentor!" "Shhhh," I said. "Don't jinx it." It felt to me as if the individual strands of biology, morality, life, and death were finally beginning to weave themselves into, if not a perfect moral system, a coherent worldview and a sense of my place in it. Doctors in highly charged fields met patients at inflected moments, the most authentic moments, where life and identity were under threat; their duty included learning what made that particular patient's life worth living, and planning to save those things if possible—or to allow the peace of death if not. Such power required deep responsibility, sharing in guilt and recrimination. I was at a conference in San Diego when my phone rang. My co-resident, Victoria. "Paul?" Something was wrong. My stomach tightened. "What's up?" I said. Silence. "Vic?" "It's Jeff. He killed himself." _"What?"_ Jeff was finishing his surgical fellowship in the Midwest, and we were both so punishingly busy...we'd lost touch. I tried to recall our last conversation and couldn't. "He, uh—he apparently had a difficult complication, and his patient died. Last night he climbed onto the roof of a building and jumped off. I don't really know anything else." I searched for a question to bring understanding. None was forthcoming. I could only imagine the overwhelming guilt, like a tidal wave, that had lifted him up and off that building. I wished, desperately, that I could've been walking with him out the door of the hospital that evening. I wished we could've commiserated as we used to. I wished I could have told Jeff what I had come to understand about life, and our chosen way of life, if only to hear his wise, clever counsel. Death comes for all of us. For us, for our patients: it is our fate as living, breathing, metabolizing organisms. Most lives are lived with passivity toward death—it's something that happens to you and those around you. But Jeff and I had trained for years to actively engage with death, to grapple with it, like Jacob with the angel, and, in so doing, to confront the meaning of a life. We had assumed an onerous yoke, that of _mortal responsibility_. Our patients' lives and identities may be in our hands, yet death always wins. Even if you are perfect, the world isn't. The secret is to know that the deck is stacked, that you will lose, that your hands or judgment will slip, and yet still struggle to win for your patients. You can't ever reach perfection, but you can believe in an asymptote toward which you are ceaselessly striving. # PART II # Cease Not till Death > If I were a writer of books, I would compile a register, with a comment, of the various deaths of men: he who should teach men to die would at the same time teach them to live. > > —Michel de Montaigne, "That to Study Philosophy Is to Learn to Die" LYING NEXT TO LUCY in the hospital bed, both of us crying, the CT scan images still glowing on the computer screen, that identity as a physician—my identity—no longer mattered. With the cancer having invaded multiple organ systems, the diagnosis was clear. The room was quiet. Lucy told me she loved me. "I don't want to die," I said. I told her to remarry, that I couldn't bear the thought of her being alone. I told her we should refinance the mortgage immediately. We started calling family members. At some point, Victoria came by the room, and we discussed the scan and the likely future treatments. When she brought up the logistics of returning to residency, I stopped her. "Victoria," I said, "I'm never coming back to this hospital as a doctor. Don't you think?" One chapter of my life seemed to have ended; perhaps the whole book was closing. Instead of being the pastoral figure aiding a life transition, I found myself the sheep, lost and confused. Severe illness wasn't life-altering, it was life-shattering. It felt less like an epiphany—a piercing burst of light, illuminating What Really Matters—and more like someone had just firebombed the path forward. Now I would have to work around it. My brother Jeevan had arrived at my bedside. "You've accomplished so much," he said. "You know that, don't you?" I sighed. He meant well, but the words rang hollow. My life had been building potential, potential that would now go unrealized. I had planned to do so much, and I had come so close. I was physically debilitated, my imagined future and my personal identity collapsed, and I faced the same existential quandaries my patients faced. The lung cancer diagnosis was confirmed. My carefully planned and hard-won future no longer existed. Death, so familiar to me in my work, was now paying a personal visit. Here we were, finally face-to-face, and yet nothing about it seemed recognizable. Standing at the crossroads where I should have been able to see and follow the footprints of the countless patients I had treated over the years, I saw instead only a blank, a harsh, vacant, gleaming white desert, as if a sandstorm had erased all trace of familiarity. The sun was setting. I would be discharged the next morning. An oncology appointment was set for later in the week, but the nurse told me my oncologist was going to drop by that night, before leaving to pick up her kids. Her name was Emma Hayward, and she wanted to say hello before the initial office visit. I knew Emma a little—I had treated some of her patients before—but we had never spoken beyond passing professional courtesies. My parents and brothers were scattered about the room, not saying much, while Lucy sat by the bed, holding my hand. The door opened and in she walked, her white coat showing the wear of a long day but her smile fresh. Trailing behind her were her fellow and a resident. Emma was only a few years older than I, her hair long and dark, but as is common to all those who spend time with death, streaked with gray. She pulled up a chair. "Hi, my name is Emma," she said. "I'm sorry to have to be so brief today, but I wanted to come by and introduce myself." We shook hands, my arm entangled in the IV line. "Thanks for stopping by," I said. "I know you have kids to pick up. This is my family." She nodded hello at Lucy, at my brothers and parents. "I'm sorry this is happening to you," she said. "To all of you. There will be a lot of time to talk in a couple days. I went ahead and had the lab start running some tests on your tumor sample, which will help guide therapy. Treatment may be chemotherapy or not, depending on the tests." Eighteen months earlier, I'd been in the hospital with appendicitis. Then I'd been treated not as a patient but as a colleague, almost like a consultant on my own case. I expected the same here. "I know now's not the time," I proceeded, "but I will want to talk about the Kaplan-Meier survival curves." "No," she said. "Absolutely not." A brief silence. _How dare she?_ I thought. _This is how doctors—doctors like me—understand prognostication. I have a right to know._ "We can talk about therapies later," she said. "We can talk about your going back to work, too, if that's what you'd like to do. The traditional chemotherapy combination—cisplatin, pemetrexed, possibly with Avastin, too—has a high rate of peripheral neuropathy, so we'd probably switch the cisplatin for carboplatin, which will protect your nerves better, since you're a surgeon." _Go back to work?_ _What is she talking about? Is she delusional? Or am I dead wrong about my prognosis?_ _And how can we talk about any of this without a realistic estimate of survival?_ The ground, having already buckled and roiled over the past few days, did so again. "We can do details later," she continued, "as I know this is a lot to absorb. Mostly, I just wanted to meet you all before our appointment Thursday. Is there anything I can do, or answer—besides survival curves—today?" "No," I said, my mind reeling. "Thanks so much for stopping by. I really appreciate it." "Here's my card," she said, "and there's the clinic number. Feel free to call if anything comes up before we see you in two days." My family and friends quickly wired through our network of medical colleagues to find out who the best lung cancer oncologists in the country were. Houston and New York had major cancer centers; was that where I should be treated? The logistics of moving or temporarily relocating or what have you—that could be sorted out later. The replies came back quickly, and more or less unanimously: Emma not only was one of the best—a world-renowned oncologist who served as the lung cancer expert on one of the major national cancer advisory boards—but she was also known to be compassionate, someone who knew when to push and when to hold back. I briefly wondered at the string of events that had sent me looping through the world, my residency determined by a computerized match process, only to end up assigned here, with a freak diagnosis, in the hands of one of the finest doctors to treat it. Having spent the better part of the week bedridden, with the cancer progressing, I had grown noticeably weaker. My body, and the identity tied to it, had radically changed. No longer was getting in and out of bed to go to the bathroom an automated subcortical motor program; it took effort and planning. The physical therapists left a list of items to ease my transition home: a cane, a modified toilet seat, foam blocks for leg support while resting. A bevy of new pain medications was prescribed. As I hobbled out of the hospital, I wondered how, just six days ago, I had spent nearly thirty-six straight hours in the operating room. Had I grown that much sicker in a week? Yes, in part. But I had also used a number of tricks and help from co-surgeons to get through those thirty-six hours—and, even so, I had suffered excruciating pain. Had the confirmation of my fears—in the CT scan, in the lab results, both showing not merely cancer but a body overwhelmed, nearing death—released me from the duty to serve, from my duty to patients, to neurosurgery, to the pursuit of goodness? Yes, I thought, and therein was the paradox: like a runner crossing the finish line only to collapse, without that duty to care for the ill pushing me forward, I became an invalid. Usually when I had a patient with a strange condition, I consulted the relevant specialist and spent time reading about it. This seemed no different, but as I started reading about chemo, which included a whole variety of agents, and a raft of more modern novel treatments that targeted specific mutations, the sheer number of questions I had prevented any useful directed study. (Alexander Pope: "A little learning is a dangerous thing; / Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.") Without appropriate medical experience, I couldn't place myself in this new world of information, couldn't find my spot on the Kaplan-Meier curve. I waited, expectantly, for my clinic visit. But mostly, I rested. I sat, staring at a photo of Lucy and me from medical school, dancing and laughing; it was so sad, those two, planning a life together, unaware, never suspecting their own fragility. My friend Laurie had had a fiancé when she'd died in a car accident—was this any crueler? My family engaged in a flurry of activity to transform my life from that of a doctor to that of a patient. We set up an account with a mail-order pharmacy, ordered a bed rail, and bought an ergonomic mattress to help alleviate the searing back pain. Our financial plan, which a few days before had banked on my income increasing sixfold in the next year, now looked precarious, and a variety of new financial instruments seemed necessary to protect Lucy. My father declared that these modifications were capitulations to the disease: I was going to beat this thing, I would somehow be cured. How often had I heard a patient's family member make similar declarations? I never knew what to say to them then, and I didn't know what to say to my father now. What was the alternate story? — Two days later, Lucy and I met Emma in the clinic. My parents hovered in the waiting room. The medical assistant took my vitals. Emma and her nurse practitioner were remarkably punctual, and Emma pulled up a chair in front of me, to talk face-to-face, eye-to-eye. "Hello again," she said. "This is Alexis, my right hand." She gestured to the NP, who sat at the computer taking notes. "I know there's a lot to discuss, but first: How are you doing?" "Okay, all things considered," I said. "Enjoying my 'vacation,' I guess. How are you?" "Oh, I'm okay." She paused—patients don't typically ask how their doctors are doing, but Emma was also a colleague. "I'm running the inpatient service this week, so you know how that is." She smiled. Lucy and I _did_ know. Outpatient specialists rotated on the inpatient service periodically, adding several hours of work in an already jam-packed day. After more pleasantries, we settled into a comfortable discussion on the state of lung cancer research. There were two paths forward, she said. The traditional method was chemotherapy, which generically targeted rapidly dividing cells—primarily cancer cells but also cells in your bone marrow, hair follicles, intestines, and so forth. Emma reviewed the data and options, lecturing as if to another doctor—but again with the exception of any mention of Kaplan-Meier survival curves. Newer therapies had been developed, however, targeting specific molecular defects in the cancer itself. I had heard rumors of such efforts—it had long been a holy grail in cancer work—and was surprised to learn how much progress had been made. These treatments, it seemed, had led to long-term survival in "some" patients. "Most of your tests are back," Emma said. "You have a PI3K mutation, but no one's sure what that means yet. The test for the most common mutation in patients like you, EGFR, is still pending. I'm betting that's what you have, and if so, there's a pill called Tarceva that you can take instead of chemotherapy. That result should be back tomorrow, Friday, but you're sick enough that I've set you up for chemo starting Monday in case the EGFR test is negative." I immediately felt a kinship. This was exactly how I approached neurosurgery: have a plan A, B, and C at all times. "With chemo, our main decision will be carboplatin versus cisplatin. In isolated studies, head-to-head, carboplatin is better tolerated. Cisplatin has potentially better results but much worse toxicity, especially for the nerves, though all the data is old, and there's no direct comparison within our modern chemo regimens. Do you have any thoughts?" "I'm less worried about protecting my hands for surgery," I said. "There's a lot I can do with my life. If I lose my hands, I can find another job, or not work, or something." She paused. "Let me ask this: Is surgery _important_ to you? Is it something you want to do?" "Well, yes, I've spent almost a third of my life preparing for it." "Okay, then I'm going to suggest we stick with the carboplatin. I don't think it will change survival, and I do think it could dramatically change your quality of life. Do you have any other questions?" She seemed clear that this was the way to go, and I was happy to follow. Maybe, I began to let myself believe, performing surgery again was a possibility. I felt myself relax a little. "Can I start smoking?" I joked. Lucy laughed, and Emma rolled her eyes. "No. Any _serious_ questions?" "The Kaplan-Meier—" "We're not discussing that," she said. I didn't understand her resistance. After all, I was a doctor familiar with these statistics. I could look them up myself...so that's what I would have to do. "Okay," I said, "then I think everything is pretty clear. We'll hear from you tomorrow about the EGFR results. If yes, then we'll start a pill, Tarceva. If no, then we start chemotherapy Monday." "Right. The other thing I want you to know is this: I am your doctor now. Any problem you have, from primary care to whatever, you come to us first." Again, I felt a pang of kinship. "Thanks," I said. "And good luck on the inpatient wards." She left the room, only to pop her head back in a second later. "Feel free to say no to this, but there are some lung cancer fundraisers who would love to meet you. Don't answer now—think about it, and let Alexis know if you might be interested. Don't do anything you don't want to." As we left, Lucy remarked, "She's great. She's a good fit for you. Although..." She smiled. "I think she likes you." "And?" "Well, there's that study that says doctors do a worse job prognosticating for patients they're personally invested in." "On our list of things to worry about," I said, with a laugh, "I think that's in the bottom quartile." I began to realize that coming in such close contact with my own mortality had changed both nothing and everything. Before my cancer was diagnosed, I knew that someday I would die, but I didn't know when. After the diagnosis, I knew that someday I would die, but I didn't know when. But now I knew it acutely. The problem wasn't really a scientific one. The fact of death is unsettling. Yet there is no other way to live. — Slowly the medical fog was clearing—at least now I had enough information to dive into the literature. While the numbers were fuzzy, having an EGFR mutation seemed to add around a year of life on average, with the potential for long-term survival; not having it suggested an 80 percent chance of death within two years. Clarifying the rest of my life was going to be a process. The next day, Lucy and I went to the sperm bank, to preserve gametes and options. We had always planned to have kids at the end of my residency, but now...The cancer drugs would have an unknown effect on my sperm, so to keep a chance of having children, we'd have to freeze sperm before I started treatment. A young woman walked us through a variety of payment plans and options for storage and legal forms for ownership. On her desk were a multitude of colorful pamphlets about various social outings for young people with cancer: improv groups, a cappella groups, open-mike nights, and so on. I envied their happy faces, knowing that, statistically, they all probably had highly treatable forms of cancer, and reasonable life expectancies. Only 0.0012 percent of thirty-six-year-olds get lung cancer. Yes, all cancer patients are unlucky, but there's cancer, and then there's _CANCER,_ and you have to be really unlucky to have the latter. When she asked us to specify what would happen to the sperm if one of us "were to die"—who would legally own them in the event of death—tears began rolling down Lucy's face. The word _hope_ first appeared in English about a thousand years ago, denoting some combination of confidence and desire. But what I desired—life—was not what I was confident about—death. When I talked about hope, then, did I really mean "Leave some room for unfounded desire?" No. Medical statistics not only describe numbers such as mean survival, they measure our confidence in our numbers, with tools like confidence levels, confidence intervals, and confidence bounds. So did I mean "Leave some room for a statistically improbable but still plausible outcome—a survival just above the measured 95 percent confidence interval?" Is that what hope was? Could we divide the curve into existential sections, from "defeated" to "pessimistic" to "realistic" to "hopeful" to "delusional"? Weren't the numbers just the numbers? Had we all just given in to the "hope" that every patient was above average? It occurred to me that my relationship with statistics changed as soon as I became one. During my residency, I had sat with countless patients and families to discuss grim prognoses; it's one of the most important jobs you have, as a physician. It's easier when the patient is ninety-four, in the last stages of dementia, with a severe brain bleed. But for someone like me—a thirty-six-year-old given a diagnosis of terminal cancer—there aren't really words. The reason doctors don't give patients specific prognoses is not merely because they cannot. Certainly, if a patient's expectations are way out of the bounds of probability—someone expecting to live to 130, say, or someone thinking his benign skin spots are signs of imminent death—doctors are entrusted to bring that person's expectations into the realm of reasonable possibility. What patients seek is not scientific knowledge that doctors hide but existential authenticity each person must find on her own. Getting too deeply into statistics is like trying to quench a thirst with salty water. The angst of facing mortality has no remedy in probability. When we arrived home from the sperm bank, I got a phone call saying that I did, in fact, have a treatable mutation (EGFR). Chemo was off, thankfully, and Tarceva, a little white pill, became my treatment. I soon began to feel stronger. And even though I no longer really knew what it was, I felt it: a drop of hope. The fog surrounding my life rolled back another inch, and a sliver of blue sky peeked through. In the weeks that followed, my appetite returned. I put on a little weight. I developed the characteristic severe acne that correlates with a good response. Lucy had always loved my smooth skin, but now it was pockmarked and, with my blood thinners, constantly bleeding. Any part of me that identified with being handsome was slowly being erased—though, in fairness, I was happy to be uglier and alive. Lucy said she loved my skin just the same, acne and all, but while I knew that our identities derive not just from the brain, I was living its embodied nature. The man who loved hiking, camping, and running, who expressed his love through gigantic hugs, who threw his giggling niece high in the air—that was a man I no longer was. At best, I could aim to be him again. At our first of several biweekly appointments, Emma's and my discussion tended from the medical ("How's the rash?") to the more existential. The traditional cancer narrative—that one ought to recede, spend time with family, and settle one's toes in the peat—was one option. "Many people, once diagnosed, quit work entirely," she said. "Others focus on it heavily. Either way is okay." "I had mapped out this whole forty-year career for myself—the first twenty as a surgeon-scientist, the last twenty as a writer. But now that I am likely well into my last twenty years, I don't know which career I should be pursuing." "Well, I can't tell you that," she said. "I can only say that you _can_ get back to surgery if you want, but you have to figure out what's most important to you." "If I had some sense of how much time I have left, it'd be easier. If I had two years, I'd write. If I had ten, I'd get back to surgery and science." "You know I can't give you a number." Yes, I knew. It was up to me, to quote her oft-repeated refrain, to find my values. Part of me felt this was a cop-out: okay, fine, I never gave out specific numbers to patients, either, but didn't I always have a sense of how the patient would do? How else did I make life-and-death decisions? Then I recalled the times I had been wrong: the time I had counseled a family to withdraw life support for their son, only for the parents to appear two years later, showing me a YouTube video of him playing piano, and delivering cupcakes in thanks for saving his life. My oncology appointments were the most important of many new appointments with a variety of healthcare providers, but they weren't the only ones. At Lucy's insistence, we began seeing a couples therapist who specialized in cancer patients. Sitting in her windowless office, in side-by-side armchairs, Lucy and I detailed the ways in which our lives, present and future, had been fractured by my diagnosis, and the pain of knowing and not knowing the future, the difficulty in planning, the necessity of being there for each other. In truth, cancer had helped save our marriage. "Well, you two are coping with this better than any couple I've seen," the therapist said at the end of our first session. "I'm not sure I have any advice for you." I laughed as we walked out—at least I was excelling at something again. The years of ministering to terminally ill patients had borne some fruit! I turned to Lucy, expecting to see a smile; instead, she was shaking her head. "Don't you get it?" she said, taking my hand in hers. "If we're the best at this, _that means it doesn't get better than this._ " If the weight of mortality does not grow lighter, does it at least get more familiar? Once I had been diagnosed with a terminal illness, I began to view the world through two perspectives; I was starting to see death as both doctor and patient. As a doctor, I knew not to declare "Cancer is a battle I'm going to win!" or ask "Why me?" (Answer: Why _not_ me?) I knew a lot about medical care, complications, and treatment algorithms. I quickly learned from my oncologist and my own study that stage IV lung cancer today was a disease whose story _might_ be changing, like AIDS in the late 1980s: still a rapidly fatal illness but with emerging therapies that were, for the first time, providing years of life. While being trained as a physician and scientist had helped me process the data and accept the limits of what that data could reveal about my prognosis, it didn't help me as a patient. It didn't tell Lucy and me whether we should go ahead and have a child, or what it meant to nurture a new life while mine faded. Nor did it tell me whether to fight for my career, to reclaim the ambitions I had single-mindedly pursued for so long, but without the surety of the time to complete them. Like my own patients, I had to face my mortality and try to understand what made my life worth living—and I needed Emma's help to do so. Torn between being a doctor and being a patient, delving into medical science and turning back to literature for answers, I struggled, while facing my own death, to rebuild my old life—or perhaps find a new one. — The bulk of my week was spent not in cognitive therapy but in physical therapy. I had sent nearly every one of my patients to physical therapy. And now I found myself shocked at how difficult it was. As a doctor, you have a sense of what it's like to be sick, but until you've gone through it yourself, you don't really know. It's like falling in love or having a kid. You don't appreciate the mounds of paperwork that come along with it, or the little things. When you get an IV placed, for example, you can actually taste the salt when they start infusing it. They tell me that this happens to everybody, but even after eleven years in medicine, I had never known. In physical therapy, I was not even lifting weights yet, just lifting my legs. This was exhausting and humiliating. My brain was fine, but I did not feel like myself. My body was frail and weak—the person who could run half marathons was a distant memory—and that, too, shapes your identity. Racking back pain can mold an identity; fatigue and nausea can, as well. Karen, my PT, asked me what my goals were. I picked two: riding my bike and going for a run. In the face of weakness, determination set in. Day after day I kept at it, and every tiny increase in strength broadened the possible worlds, the possible versions of me. I started adding reps, weights, and minutes to my workouts, pushing myself to the point of vomiting. After two months, I could sit for thirty minutes without tiring. I could start going to dinner with friends again. One afternoon, Lucy and I drove down to Cañada Road, our favorite biking spot. (Usually we would bike there, pride forces me to add, but the hills were still too formidable for my lightweight frame.) I managed six wobbly miles. It was a far cry from the breezy, thirty-mile rides of the previous summer, but at least I could balance on two wheels. Was this a victory or a defeat? I began to look forward to my meetings with Emma. In her office, I felt like myself, like _a_ self. Outside her office, I no longer knew who I was. Because I wasn't working, I didn't feel like myself, a neurosurgeon, a scientist—a young man, relatively speaking, with a bright future spread before him. Debilitated, at home, I feared I wasn't much of a husband for Lucy. I had passed from the subject to the direct object of every sentence of my life. In fourteenth-century philosophy, the word _patient_ simply meant "the object of an action," and I felt like one. As a doctor, I was an agent, a cause; as a patient, I was merely something to which things happened. But in Emma's office, Lucy and I could joke, trade doctor lingo, talk freely about our hopes and dreams, try to assemble a plan to move forward. Two months in, Emma remained vague about any prognostication, and every statistic I cited she rebuffed with a reminder to focus on my values. Though I felt dissatisfied, at least I felt like somebody, a person, rather than a thing exemplifying the second law of thermodynamics (all order tends toward entropy, decay, etc.). Flush in the face of mortality, many decisions became compressed, urgent and unreceding. Foremost among them for us: Should Lucy and I have a child? Even if our marriage had been strained toward the end of my residency, we had always remained very much in love. Our relationship was still deep in meaning, a shared and evolving vocabulary about what mattered. If human relationality formed the bedrock of meaning, it seemed to us that rearing children added another dimension to that meaning. It had been something we'd always wanted, and we were both impelled by the instinct to do it still, to add another chair to our family's table. Both of us yearning to be parents, we each thought of the other. Lucy hoped I had years left, but understanding my prognosis, she felt that the choice—whether to spend my remaining time as a father—should be mine. "What are you most afraid or sad about?" she asked me one night as we were lying in bed. "Leaving you," I told her. I knew a child would bring joy to the whole family, and I couldn't bear to picture Lucy husbandless and childless after I died, but I was adamant that the decision ultimately be hers: she would likely have to raise the child on her own, after all, and to care for both of us as my illness progressed. "Will having a newborn distract from the time we have together?" she asked. "Don't you think saying goodbye to your child will make your death _more_ painful?" "Wouldn't it be great if it did?" I said. Lucy and I both felt that life wasn't about avoiding suffering. Years ago, it had occurred to me that Darwin and Nietzsche agreed on one thing: the defining characteristic of the organism is striving. Describing life otherwise was like painting a tiger without stripes. After so many years of living with death, I'd come to understand that the easiest death wasn't necessarily the best. We talked it over. Our families gave their blessing. We decided to have a child. We would carry on living, instead of dying. Because of the medications I was on, assisted reproduction appeared to be the only route forward. So we visited a specialist at a reproductive endocrinology clinic in Palo Alto. She was efficient and professional, but her lack of experience dealing with terminally ill, as opposed to infertile, patients was obvious. She plowed through her spiel, eyes on her clipboard: "How long have you been trying?" "Well, we haven't yet." "Oh, right. Of course." Finally she asked, "Given your, uh, _situation,_ I assume you want to get pregnant fast?" "Yes," Lucy said. "We'd like to start right away." "I'd suggest you begin with IVF, then," she said. When I mentioned that we'd rather minimize how many embryos were created and destroyed, she looked slightly confused. Most people who came here prized expedience above all. But I was determined to avoid the situation where, after I died, Lucy had responsibility for a half dozen embryos—the last remnants of our shared genomes, my last presence on this earth—stuck in a freezer somewhere, too painful to destroy, impossible to bring to full humanity: technological artifacts that no one knew how to relate to. But after several trials of intrauterine insemination, it was clear we needed a higher level of technology: we would need to create at least a few embryos in vitro and implant the healthiest. The others would die. Even in having children in this new life, death played its part. — Six weeks after starting treatment, I was due for my first CT scan to measure the efficacy of the Tarceva. As I hopped out of the scanner, the CT tech looked at me. "Well, Doc," he offered, "I'm not supposed to say this, but there's a computer back there if you want to take a look." I loaded up the images on the viewer, typing in my own name. The acne was a reassuring sign. My strength had also improved, though I was still limited by back pain and fatigue. Sitting there, I reminded myself of what Emma had said: even a small amount of tumor growth, so long as it was small, would be considered a success. (My father, of course, had predicted that all the cancer would be gone. "Your scan will be clear, Pubby!" he'd declared, using my family nickname.) I repeated to myself that even small growth was good news, took a breath, and clicked. The images materialized on the screen. My lungs, speckled with innumerable tumors before, were clear except for a one-centimeter nodule in the right upper lobe. I could make out my spine beginning to heal. There had been a clear, dramatic reduction in tumor burden. Relief washed over me. My cancer was stable. When we met Emma the next day she still refused to talk prognosis, but she said, "You're well enough that we can meet every six weeks now. Next time we meet, we can start to talk about what your life might be like." I could feel the chaos of the past months receding, a sense of a new order settling in. My contracted sense of the future began to relax. A local meeting of former Stanford neurosurgery graduates was happening that weekend, and I looked forward to the chance to reconnect with my former self. Yet being there merely heightened the surreal contrast of what my life was now. I was surrounded by success and possibility and ambition, by peers and seniors whose lives were running along a trajectory that was no longer mine, whose bodies could still tolerate standing for a grueling eight-hour surgery. I felt trapped inside a reversed Christmas carol: Victoria was opening the happy present—grants, job offers, publications—I should be sharing. My senior peers were living the future that was no longer mine: early career awards, promotions, new houses. No one asked about my plans, which was a relief, since I had none. While I could now walk without a cane, a paralytic uncertainty loomed: Who would I be, going forward, and for how long? Invalid, scientist, teacher? Bioethicist? Neurosurgeon once again, as Emma had implied? Stay-at-home dad? Writer? Who could, or should, I be? As a doctor, I had had some sense of what patients with life-changing illnesses faced—and it was exactly these moments I had wanted to explore with them. Shouldn't terminal illness, then, be the perfect gift to that young man who had wanted to understand death? What better way to understand it than to live it? But I'd had no idea how hard it would be, how much terrain I would have to explore, map, settle. I'd always imagined the doctor's work as something like connecting two pieces of railroad track, allowing a smooth journey for the patient. I hadn't expected the prospect of facing my own mortality to be so disorienting, so dislocating. I thought back to my younger self, who might've wanted to "forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race"; looking into my own soul, I found the tools too brittle, the fire too weak, to forge even my own conscience. Lost in a featureless wasteland of my own mortality, and finding no traction in the reams of scientific studies, intracellular molecular pathways, and endless curves of survival statistics, I began reading literature again: Solzhenitsyn's _Cancer Ward,_ B. S. Johnson's _The Unfortunates,_ Tolstoy's _Ivan Ilyich,_ Nagel's _Mind and Cosmos,_ Woolf, Kafka, Montaigne, Frost, Greville, memoirs of cancer patients—anything by anyone who had ever written about mortality. I was searching for a vocabulary with which to make sense of death, to find a way to begin defining myself and inching forward again. The privilege of direct experience had led me away from literary and academic work, yet now I felt that to understand my own direct experiences, I would have to translate them back into language. Hemingway described his process in similar terms: acquiring rich experiences, then retreating to cogitate and write about them. I needed words to go forward. And so it was literature that brought me back to life during this time. The monolithic uncertainty of my future was deadening; everywhere I turned, the shadow of death obscured the meaning of any action. I remember the moment when my overwhelming unease yielded, when that seemingly impassable sea of uncertainty parted. I woke up in pain, facing another day—no project beyond breakfast seemed tenable. _I can't go on,_ I thought, and immediately, its antiphon responded, completing Samuel Beckett's seven words, words I had learned long ago as an undergraduate: _I'll go on._ I got out of bed and took a step forward, repeating the phrase over and over: "I can't go on. I'll go on." That morning, I made a decision: I would push myself to return to the OR. Why? Because I could. Because that's who I was. Because I would have to learn to live in a different way, seeing death as an imposing itinerant visitor but knowing that even if I'm dying, until I actually die, I am still living. — Over the next six weeks, I altered my physical therapy program, focusing now on building strength specifically for operating: long hours of standing, micromanipulation of small objects, pronation for placing pedicle screws. Another CT scan followed. The tumor had shrunk slightly more. Going over the images with me, Emma said, "I don't know how long you've got, but I will say this: the patient I saw just before you today has been on Tarceva for seven years without a problem. You've still got a ways to go before we're that comfortable with your cancer. But, looking at you, thinking about living ten years is not crazy. You might not make it, but it's not crazy." Here was the prognostication—no, not prognostication: justification. Justification of my decision to return to neurosurgery, to return to life. One part of me exulted at the prospect of ten years. Another part wished she'd said, "Going back to being a neurosurgeon is crazy for you—pick something easier." I was startled to realize that in spite of everything, the last few months had had one area of lightness: not having to bear the tremendous weight of the responsibility neurosurgery demanded—and part of me wanted to be excused from picking up the yoke again. Neurosurgery is really hard work, and no one would have faulted me for not going back. (People often ask if it is a calling, and my answer is always yes. You can't see it as a job, because if it's a job, it's one of the worst jobs there is.) A couple of my professors actively discouraged the idea: "Shouldn't you be spending time with your family?" ("Shouldn't _you_?" I wondered. I was making the decision to do this work because this work, to me, was a sacred thing.) Lucy and I had just reached the top of the hill, the landmarks of Silicon Valley, buildings bearing the names of every biomedical and technological transformation of the last generation, unfolding below us. Eventually, though, the itch to hold a surgical drill again had become too compelling. Moral duty has weight, things that have weight have gravity, and so the duty to bear mortal responsibility pulled me back into the operating room. Lucy was fully supportive. I called up the program director to tell him I was ready to return. He was thrilled. Victoria and I talked about how best to reintroduce me and get me back up to speed. I requested that a fellow resident be available to back me up at all times in case something went awry. Furthermore, I would do only one case per day. I wouldn't manage the patients outside the OR or be on call. We'd proceed conservatively. The OR schedule came out, and I was assigned to a temporal lobectomy, one of my favorite operations. Commonly, epilepsy is caused by a misfiring hippocampus, which is located deep in the temporal lobe. Removing the hippocampus can cure the epilepsy, but the operation is complex, requiring gentle dissection of the hippocampus off the pia, the delicate transparent covering of the brain, right near the brain stem. I spent the night prior poring through surgical textbooks, reviewing the anatomy and steps of the operation. I slept restlessly, seeing the angle of the head, the saw against the skull, the way the light reflects off the pia once the temporal lobe is removed. I got out of bed and put on a shirt and tie. (I had returned all my scrubs months ago, assuming I'd never need them again.) I arrived at the hospital and changed into the familiar blue garb for the first time in eighteen weeks. I chatted with the patient to make sure there were no last-minute questions, then began the process of setting up the OR. The patient was intubated, the attending and I were scrubbed and ready to begin. I picked up the scalpel and incised the skin just above the ear, proceeding slowly, trying to make sure I forgot nothing and made no mistakes. With the electrocautery, I deepened the incision to the bone, then elevated the skin flap with hooks. Everything felt familiar, muscle memory kicking in. I took the drill and made three holes in the skull. The attending squirted water to keep the drill cool as I worked. Switching to the craniotome, a sideways-cutting drill bit, I connected the holes, freeing up a large piece of bone. With a crack, I pried it off. There lay the silvery dura. Happily, I hadn't damaged it with the drill, a common beginner's mistake. I used a sharp knife to open the dura without injuring the brain. Success again. I began to relax. I tacked back the dura with small stitches to keep it out of the way of the main surgery. The brain gently pulsed and glistened. The huge Sylvian veins ran across the top of the temporal lobe, pristine. The familiar peach convolutions of the brain beckoned. Suddenly, the edges of my vision dimmed. I put down my instruments and stepped back from the table. The blackness encroached farther as a feeling of lightness overcame me. "Sorry, sir," I told the attending, "I'm feeling a little faint. I think I need to lie down. Jack, my junior resident, will finish the case." Jack arrived quickly, and I excused myself. I sipped some orange juice in the lounge, lying on the couch. After twenty minutes, I began to feel better. "Neurocardiogenic syncope," I whispered to myself. The autonomic nervous system briefly shutting down the heart. Or, as it's more commonly known, a case of the nerves. A rookie problem. This was not how I'd envisioned my return to the OR. I went to the locker room, threw my dirty scrubs in the laundry, and put on my civilian clothes. On the way out, I grabbed a stack of clean scrubs. Tomorrow, I told myself, would be a better day. It was. Every day, each case felt familiar but moved a little more slowly. On day three, I was removing a degenerated disc from a patient's spine. I stared at the bulging disc, not remembering my exact move. The fellow supervising me suggested taking small bites with a rongeur. "Yeah, I know that's how it's usually done," I mumbled, "but there's another way..." I nibbled away for twenty minutes, my brain searching for the more elegant way I had learned to do this. At the next spinal level, it came back to me in a flash. "Cobb instrument!" I called out. "Mallet. Kerrison." I had the whole disc removed in thirty seconds. "That's how I do this," I said. Over the next couple of weeks, my strength continued to improve, as did my fluency and technique. My hands relearned how to manipulate submillimeter blood vessels without injury, my fingers conjuring up the old tricks they'd once known. After a month, I was operating a nearly full load. I kept myself limited to operating, leaving the administration, patient care, and night and weekend calls to Victoria and the other senior residents. I had already mastered those skills, anyway, and needed to learn only the nuances of complex operations to feel complete. I ended my days exhausted beyond measure, muscles on fire, slowly improving. But the truth was, it was joyless. The visceral pleasure I'd once found in operating was gone, replaced by an iron focus on overcoming the nausea, the pain, the fatigue. Coming home each night, I would scarf down a handful of pain pills, then crawl into bed next to Lucy, who had returned to a full work schedule as well. She was now in the first trimester of pregnancy, with the baby due in June, when I would complete residency. We had a photo of our child as a blastocyst, taken just before implantation. ("She has your cell membrane," I remarked to Lucy.) Still, I was determined to restore my life to its prior trajectory. Another stable scan six months after diagnosis passed, and I reopened my job search. With my cancer under control, I might have several years left. It seemed the career I had worked for years to attain, which had disappeared amid disease, was now back in reach. I could almost hear trumpets sounding a victory fanfare. — During my next visit with Emma, we talked about life and where it was taking me. I recalled Henry Adams trying to compare the scientific force of the combustion engine and the existential force of the Virgin Mary. The scientific questions were settled for now, allowing the existential ones full play, yet both were in the doctor's purview. I had recently learned that the surgeon-scientist position at Stanford—the job for which I had been heir apparent—had been filled while I was out sick. I was crushed, and told her so. "Well," she said, "this doctor-professor thing can be a real grind. But you know that already. I'm sorry." "Yeah, I guess the science that excited me was about twenty-year projects. Without that kind of time frame, I'm not sure I'm all that interested in being a scientist." I tried to console myself. "You can't get much done in a couple of years." "Right. And just remember, you're doing great. You're working again. You've got a baby on the way. You're finding your values, and that's not easy." Later that day one of the younger professors, a former resident and close friend, stopped me in the hallway. "Hey," she said. "There's been a lot of discussion in faculty meetings about what to do with you." "What to do with me, how?" "I think some professors are concerned about you graduating." Graduation from residency required two things: meeting a set of national and local requirements, which I'd already done, and the blessing of the faculty. _"What?"_ I said. "I don't mean to sound cocky, but I'm a good surgeon, just as good as—" "I know. I think they probably just want to see you performing the full load of a chief. It's because they like you. Seriously." I realized it was true: For the past few months, I had been acting merely as a surgical technician. I had been using cancer as an excuse not to take full responsibility for my patients. On the other hand, it was a good excuse, damn it. But now I started coming in earlier, staying later, fully caring for the patients again, adding another four hours to a twelve-hour day. It put the patients back in the center of my mind at all times. The first two days I thought I would have to quit, battling waves of nausea, pain, and fatigue, retreating to an unused bed in down moments to sleep. But by the third day, I had begun to enjoy it again, despite the wreck of my body. Reconnecting with patients brought back the meaning of this work. I took antiemetics and nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs (NSAIDs) between cases and just before rounds. I was suffering, but I was fully back. Instead of finding an unused bed, I started resting on the junior residents' couch, supervising them on the care of my patients, lecturing as I rode a wave of back spasms. The more tortured my body became, the more I relished having done the work. At the end of the first week, I slept for forty hours straight. But I was calling the shots: "Hey, boss," I said, "I was just reviewing cases for tomorrow, and I know the first case is booked interhemispheric, but I think it will be much safer and easier if we come parietal transcortical." "Really?" the attending said. "Let me look at the films....You know what? You're right. Can you change the booking?" The next day: "Hi, sir, it's Paul. I just saw Mr. F and his family in the ICU—I think we'll need to take him tomorrow for an ACDF. Okay if I book it? When are you free?" And I was back to full speed in the OR: "Nurse, can you page Dr. S? I'm going to be done with this case before he gets here." "I've got him on the phone. He says you can't possibly be done yet." The attending came running in, out of breath, scrubbed, and peered through the microscope. "I took a slightly acute angle to avoid the sinus," I said, "but the whole tumor's out." "You avoided the sinus?" "Yes, sir." "You got it out in one piece?" "Yes, sir, it's on the table so you can have a look." "Looks good. Really good. When did you get to be so fast? Sorry I wasn't here earlier." "No trouble." The tricky part of illness is that, as you go through it, your values are constantly changing. You try to figure out what matters to you, and then you keep figuring it out. It felt like someone had taken away my credit card and I was having to learn how to budget. You may decide you want to spend your time working as a neurosurgeon, but two months later, you may feel differently. Two months after that, you may want to learn to play the saxophone or devote yourself to the church. Death may be a one-time event, but living with terminal illness is a process. It struck me that I had traversed the five stages of grief—the "Denial → Anger → Bargaining → Depression → Acceptance" cliché—but I had done it all backward. On diagnosis, I'd been prepared for death. I'd even felt good about it. I'd accepted it. I'd been ready. Then I slumped into a depression, as it became clear that I might not be dying so soon after all, which is, of course, good news, but also confusing and strangely enervating. The rapidity of the cancer science, and the nature of the statistics, meant I might live another twelve months, or another 120. Grand illnesses are supposed to be life-clarifying. Instead, I knew I was going to die—but I'd known that before. My state of knowledge was the same, but my ability to make lunch plans had been shot to hell. The way forward would seem obvious, if only I knew how many months or years I had left. Tell me three months, I'd spend time with family. Tell me one year, I'd write a book. Give me ten years, I'd get back to treating diseases. The truth that you live one day at a time didn't help: What was I supposed to do with that day? At some point, then, I began to do a little bargaining—or not exactly bargaining. More like: "God, I have read Job, and I don't understand it, but if this is a test of faith, you now realize my faith is fairly weak, and probably leaving the spicy mustard off the pastrami sandwich would have also tested it? You didn't have to go nuclear on me, you know..." Then, after the bargaining, came flashes of anger: "I work my whole life to get to this point, and then you give me cancer?" And now, finally, maybe I had arrived at denial. Maybe total denial. Maybe, in the absence of any certainty, we should just assume that we're going to live a long time. Maybe that's the only way forward. — I was operating until late at night or into the early morning, fixated on graduation, my diagnosis nine months in the past. My body was taking a beating. I was too tired to eat when I got home. I had been slowly upping the dose of Tylenol and NSAIDs and antiemetics. I had developed a persistent cough, presumably caused by scarring from the dead tumor in my lungs. I only had to keep up this relentless pace for a couple more months, I told myself, and then I would graduate from residency and settle into the comparatively calmer role of a professor. In February, I flew to Wisconsin for a job interview. They were offering everything I wanted: millions of dollars to start a neuroscience lab, head of my own clinical service, flexibility if I needed it for my health, a tenure-track professorship, appealing job options for Lucy, high salary, beautiful scenery, idyllic town, the perfect boss. "I understand about your health, and you probably have a strong connection with your oncologist," the department chairman told me. "So if you want to keep your care there, we can fly you back and forth—though we do have a top-notch cancer center here, if you want to explore it. Is there anything else I can do to make this job more attractive?" I thought about what Emma had told me. I had gone from being unable to believe I could be a surgeon to being one, a transformation that carried the force of religious conversion. She had always kept this part of my identity in mind, even when I couldn't. She had done what I had challenged myself to do as a doctor years earlier: accepted mortal responsibility for my soul and returned me to a point where I could return to myself. I had attained the heights of the neurosurgical trainee, set to become not only a neurosurgeon but a surgeon-scientist. Every trainee aspires to this goal; almost none make it. That night, the chairman was driving me back to my hotel after dinner. He stopped the car and pulled over. "Let me show you something," he said. We got out and stood in front of the hospital, looking over a frozen lake, its far edge luminous with specks of light leaking from faculty houses. "In summer, you can swim or sail to work. In winter, you can ski or ice-skate." It was like a fantasy. And in that moment, it hit me: it _was_ a fantasy. We could never move to Wisconsin. What if I had a serious relapse in two years? Lucy would be isolated, stripped of her friends and family, alone, caring for a dying husband and new child. As furiously as I had tried to resist it, I realized that cancer had changed the calculus. For the last several months, I had striven with every ounce to restore my life to its precancer trajectory, trying to deny cancer any purchase on my life. As desperately as I now wanted to feel triumphant, instead I felt the claws of the crab holding me back. The curse of cancer created a strange and strained existence, challenging me to be neither blind to, nor bound by, death's approach. Even when the cancer was in retreat, it cast long shadows. When I'd first lost the professorship at Stanford, I'd consoled myself with the idea that running a lab made sense only on a twenty-year time scale. Now I saw that this was, in fact, true. Freud started his career as a successful neuroscientist. When he realized neuroscience would need at least a century to catch up with his true ambition of understanding the mind, he set aside his microscope. I think I felt something similar. Transforming neurosurgery through my research was a gamble whose odds had been made too long by my diagnosis; the lab wasn't the place I wanted to plunk the remainder of my chips. I could hear Emma's voice again: _You have to figure out what's most important to you._ If I no longer sought to fly on the highest trajectory of neurosurgeon and neuroscientist, what did I want? To be a father? To be a neurosurgeon? To teach? I didn't know. But if I did not know what I wanted, I had learned something, something not found in Hippocrates, Maimonides, or Osler: the physician's duty is not to stave off death or return patients to their old lives, but to take into our arms a patient and family whose lives have disintegrated and work until they can stand back up and face, and make sense of, their own existence. My own hubris as a surgeon stood naked to me now: as much as I focused on my responsibility and power over patients' lives, it was at best a temporary responsibility, a fleeting power. Once an acute crisis has been resolved, the patient awakened, extubated, and then discharged, the patient and family go on living—and things are never quite the same. A physician's words can ease the mind, just as the neurosurgeon's scalpel can ease a disease of the brain. Yet their uncertainties and morbidities, whether emotional or physical, remain to be grappled with. Emma hadn't given me back my old identity. She'd protected my ability to forge a new one. And, finally, I knew I would have to. — On a crystalline spring morning on the third Sunday of Lent, Lucy and I went to church with my parents, who had flown in from Arizona for a weekend visit. We sat together in a long wooden pew, and my mother struck up a conversation with the family sitting next to us, first complimenting the mother on her baby daughter's eyes, then quickly moving on to matters of greater substance, her skills as a listener, confidante, and connector fully evident. During the pastor's Scripture reading, I suddenly found myself chuckling. It featured a frustrated Jesus whose metaphorical language receives literal interpretation from his followers: > Jesus answered and said to her, "Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again; but whoever drinks the water I shall give will never thirst; the water I shall give will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life." The woman said to him, "Sir, give me this water, so that I may not be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water." > >...Meanwhile, the disciples urged him, "Rabbi, eat." But he said to them, "I have food to eat of which you do not know." So the disciples said to one another, "Could someone have brought him something to eat?" It was passages like these, where there is a clear mocking of literalist readings of Scripture, that had brought me back around to Christianity after a long stretch, following college, when my notion of God and Jesus had grown, to put it gently, tenuous. During my sojourn in ironclad atheism, the primary arsenal leveled against Christianity had been its failure on empirical grounds. Surely enlightened reason offered a more coherent cosmos. Surely Occam's razor cut the faithful free from blind faith. There is no proof of God; therefore, it is unreasonable to _believe_ in God. Although I had been raised in a devout Christian family, where prayer and Scripture readings were a nightly ritual, I, like most scientific types, came to believe in the possibility of a material conception of reality, an ultimately scientific worldview that would grant a complete metaphysics, minus outmoded concepts like souls, God, and bearded white men in robes. I spent a good chunk of my twenties trying to build a frame for such an endeavor. The problem, however, eventually became evident: to make science the arbiter of metaphysics is to banish not only God from the world but also love, hate, meaning—to consider a world that is self-evidently _not_ the world we live in. That's not to say that if you believe in meaning, you must also believe in God. It is to say, though, that if you believe that science provides no basis for God, then you are almost obligated to conclude that science provides no basis for meaning and, therefore, life itself doesn't have any. In other words, existential claims have no weight; all knowledge is scientific knowledge. Yet the paradox is that scientific methodology is the product of human hands and thus cannot reach some permanent truth. We build scientific theories to organize and manipulate the world, to reduce phenomena into manageable units. Science is based on reproducibility and manufactured objectivity. As strong as that makes its ability to generate claims about matter and energy, it also makes scientific knowledge inapplicable to the existential, visceral nature of human life, which is unique and subjective and unpredictable. Science may provide the most useful way to organize empirical, reproducible data, but its power to do so is predicated on its inability to grasp the most central aspects of human life: hope, fear, love, hate, beauty, envy, honor, weakness, striving, suffering, virtue. Between these core passions and scientific theory, there will always be a gap. No system of thought can contain the fullness of human experience. The realm of metaphysics remains the province of revelation (this, not atheism, is what Occam argued, after all). And atheism can be justified only on these grounds. The prototypical atheist, then, is Graham Greene's commandant from _The Power and the Glory,_ whose atheism comes from a revelation of the absence of God. The only real atheism must be grounded in a world-making vision. The favorite quote of many an atheist, from the Nobel Prize–winning French biologist Jacques Monod, belies this revelatory aspect: "The ancient covenant is in pieces; man at last knows that he is alone in the unfeeling immensity of the universe, out of which he emerged only by chance." Yet I returned to the central values of Christianity—sacrifice, redemption, forgiveness—because I found them so compelling. There is a tension in the Bible between justice and mercy, between the Old Testament and the New Testament. And the New Testament says you can never be good enough: goodness is the thing, and you can never live up to it. The main message of Jesus, I believed, is that mercy trumps justice every time. Not only that, but maybe the basic message of original sin isn't "Feel guilty all the time." Maybe it is more along these lines: "We all have a notion of what it means to be good, and we can't live up to it all the time." Maybe that's what the message of the New Testament is, after all. Even if you have a notion as well defined as Leviticus, you can't live that way. It's not just impossible, it's insane. About God I could say nothing definitive, of course, but the basic reality of human life stands compellingly against blind determinism. Moreover, no one, myself included, credits revelation with any epistemic authority. We are all reasonable people—revelation is not good enough. Even if God spoke to us, we'd discount it as delusional. So what, I wonder, is the aspiring metaphysician to do? Give up? Almost. Struggle toward the capital- _T_ Truth, but recognize that the task is impossible—or that if a correct answer is possible, verification certainly is impossible. In the end, it cannot be doubted that each of us can see only a part of the picture. The doctor sees one, the patient another, the engineer a third, the economist a fourth, the pearl diver a fifth, the alcoholic a sixth, the cable guy a seventh, the sheep farmer an eighth, the Indian beggar a ninth, the pastor a tenth. Human knowledge is never contained in one person. It grows from the relationships we create between each other and the world, and still it is never complete. And Truth comes somewhere above all of them, where, as at the end of that Sunday's reading, > the sower and reaper can rejoice together. For here the saying is verified that "One sows and another reaps." I sent you to reap what you have not worked for; others have done the work, and you are sharing the fruits of their work. — I hopped out of the CT scanner, seven months since I had returned to surgery. This would be my last scan before finishing residency, before becoming a father, before my future became real. "Wanna take a look, Doc?" the tech said. "Not right now," I said. "I've got a lot of work to do today." It was already six P.M. I had to go see patients, organize tomorrow's OR schedule, review films, dictate my clinic notes, check on my post-ops, and so on. Around eight P.M., I sat down in the neurosurgery office, next to a radiology viewing station. I turned it on, looked at my patients' scans for the next day—two simple spine cases—and, finally, typed in my own name. I zipped through the images as if they were a kid's flip-book, comparing the new scan to the last. Everything looked the same, the old tumors remained exactly the same...except, wait. I rolled back the images. Looked again. There it was. A new tumor, large, filling my right middle lobe. It looked, oddly, like a full moon having almost cleared the horizon. Going back to the old images, I could make out the faintest trace of it, a ghostly harbinger now brought fully into the world. I was neither angry nor scared. It simply was. It was a fact about the world, like the distance from the sun to the earth. I drove home and told Lucy. It was a Thursday night, and we wouldn't see Emma again until Monday, but Lucy and I sat down in the living room, with our laptops, and mapped out the next steps: biopsies, tests, chemotherapy. The treatments this time around would be tougher to endure, the possibility of a long life more remote. Eliot again: "But at my back in a cold blast I hear / the rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear." Neurosurgery would be impossible for a couple of weeks, perhaps months, perhaps forever. But we decided that all of that could wait to be real until Monday. Today was Thursday, and I'd already made tomorrow's OR assignments; I planned on having one last day as a resident. As I stepped out of my car at the hospital at five-twenty the next morning, I inhaled deeply, smelling the eucalyptus and...was that pine? Hadn't noticed that before. I met the resident team, assembled for morning rounds. We reviewed overnight events, new admissions, new scans, then went to see our patients before M&M, or morbidity and mortality conference, a regular meeting in which the neurosurgeons gathered to review mistakes that had been made and cases that had gone wrong. Afterward, I spent an extra couple of minutes with a patient, Mr. R. He had developed a rare syndrome, called Gerstmann's, where, after I'd removed his brain tumor, he'd begun showing several specific deficits: an inability to write, to name fingers, to do arithmetic, to tell left from right. I'd seen it only once before, as a medical student eight years ago, on one of the first patients I'd followed on the neurosurgical service. Like him, Mr. R was euphoric—I wondered if that was part of the syndrome that no one had described before. Mr. R was getting better, though: his speech had returned almost to normal, and his arithmetic was only slightly off. He'd likely make a full recovery. The morning passed, and I scrubbed for my last case. Suddenly the moment felt enormous. My last time scrubbing? Perhaps this was it. I watched the suds drip off my arms, then down the drain. I entered the OR, gowned up, and draped the patient, making sure the corners were sharp and neat. I wanted this case to be perfect. I opened the skin of his lower back. He was an elderly man whose spine had degenerated, compressing his nerve roots and causing severe pain. I pulled away the fat until the fascia appeared and I could feel the tips of his vertebrae. I opened the fascia and smoothly dissected the muscle away, until only the wide, glistening vertebrae showed up through the wound, clean and bloodless. The attending wandered in as I began to remove the lamina, the back wall of the vertebrae, whose bony overgrowths, along with ligaments beneath, were compressing the nerves. "Looks good," he said. "If you want to go to today's conference, I can have the fellow come in and finish." My back was beginning to ache. Why hadn't I taken an extra dose of NSAIDs beforehand? This case should be quick, though. I was almost there. "Naw," I said. "I want to finish the case." The attending scrubbed in, and together we completed the bony removal. He began to pick away at the ligaments, beneath which lay the dura, which contained spinal fluid and the nerve roots. The most common error at this stage is tearing a hole in the dura. I worked on the opposite side. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw near his instrument a flash of blue—the dura starting to peek through. "Watch out!" I said, just as the mouth of his instrument bit into the dura. Clear spinal fluid began to fill the wound. I hadn't had a leak in one of my cases in more than a year. Repairing it would take another hour. "Get the micro set out," I said. "We have a leak." By the time we finished the repair and removed the compressive soft tissue, my shoulders burned. The attending broke scrub, offered his apologies and said his thanks, and left me to close. The layers came together nicely. I began to suture the skin, using a running nylon stitch. Most surgeons used staples, but I was convinced that nylon had lower infection rates, and we would do this one, this final closure, my way. The skin came together perfectly, without tension, as if there had been no surgery at all. Good. One good thing. As we uncovered the patient, the scrub nurse, one with whom I hadn't worked before, said, "You on call this weekend, Doc?" "Nope." _And possibly never again._ "Got any more cases today?" "Nope." _And possibly never again._ "Shit, well, I guess that means this is a happy ending! Work's done. I like happy endings, don't you, Doc?" "Yeah. Yeah, I like happy endings." I sat down by the computer to enter orders as the nurses cleaned and the anesthesiologists began to wake the patient. I had always jokingly threatened that when I was in charge, instead of the high-energy pop music everyone liked to play in the OR, we'd listen exclusively to bossa nova. I put _Getz/Gilberto_ on the radio, and the soft, sonorous sounds of a saxophone filled the room. I left the OR shortly after, then gathered my things, which had accumulated over seven years of work—extra sets of clothes for the nights you don't leave, toothbrushes, bars of soap, phone chargers, snacks, my skull model and collection of neurosurgery books, and so on. On second thought, I left my books behind. They'd be of more use here. On my way out to the parking lot, a fellow approached to ask me something, but his pager went off. He looked at it, waved, turned, and ran back in to the hospital—"I'll catch you later!" he called over his shoulder. Tears welled up as I sat in the car, turned the key, and slowly pulled out into the street. I drove home, walked through the front door, hung up my white coat, and took off my ID badge. I pulled the battery out of my pager. I peeled off my scrubs and took a long shower. Later that night, I called Victoria and told her I wouldn't be in on Monday, or possibly ever again, and wouldn't be setting the OR schedule. "You know, I've been having this recurring nightmare that this day was coming," she said. "I don't know how you did this for so long." — Lucy and I met with Emma on Monday. She confirmed the plan we'd envisioned: bronchoscopic biopsy, look for targetable mutations, otherwise chemo. The real reason I was there, though, was for her guidance. I told her I was taking leave from neurosurgery. "Okay," she said. "That's fine. You can stop neurosurgery if, say, you want to focus on something that matters more to you. But _not_ because you are sick. You aren't any sicker than you were a week ago. This is a bump in the road, but you can keep your current trajectory. Neurosurgery was important to you." Once again, I had traversed the line from doctor to patient, from actor to acted upon, from subject to direct object. My life up until my illness could be understood as the linear sum of my choices. As in most modern narratives, a character's fate depended on human actions, his and others. _King Lear_ 's Gloucester may complain about human fate as "flies to wanton boys," but it's Lear's vanity that sets in motion the dramatic arc of the play. From the Enlightenment onward, the individual occupied center stage. But now I lived in a different world, a more ancient one, where human action paled against superhuman forces, a world that was more Greek tragedy than Shakespeare. No amount of effort can help Oedipus and his parents escape their fates; their only access to the forces controlling their lives is through the oracles and seers, those given divine vision. What I had come for was not a treatment plan—I had read enough to know the medical ways forward—but the comfort of oracular wisdom. "This is not the end," she said, a line she must have used a thousand times—after all, did I not use similar speeches to my own patients?—to those seeking impossible answers. "Or even the beginning of the end. This is just the end of the beginning." And I felt better. A week after the biopsy, Alexis, the nurse practitioner, called. There were no new targetable mutations, so chemotherapy was the only option, and it was being set up for Monday. I asked about the specific agents and was told I'd have to talk to Emma. She was en route to Lake Tahoe with her kids, but she'd give me a call over the weekend. The next day, a Saturday, Emma called. I asked her what she thought about chemotherapy agents. "Well," she said. "Do you have specific thoughts?" "I guess the main question is whether to include Avastin," I said. "I know the data is mixed and that it adds potential side effects, and some cancer centers are turning away from it. In my mind, though, since there are a lot of studies supporting its use, I'd lean toward including it. We can discontinue it if I have a bad reaction to it. If that seems sensible to you." "Yeah, that sounds about right. Insurance companies also make it hard to add it later, so that's another reason to use it up front." "Thanks for calling. I'll let you get back to enjoying the lake." "Okay. But there's one thing." She paused. "I'm totally happy for us to make your medical plan together; obviously, you're a doctor, you know what you're talking about, and it's your life. But if you ever want me to just _be_ the doctor, I'm happy to do that, too." I hadn't ever considered that I could release myself from the responsibility of my own medical care. I'd just assumed all patients became experts at their own diseases. I remembered how, as a green medical student, knowing nothing, I would often end up asking patients to explain their diseases and treatments to me, their blue toes and pink pills. But as a doctor, I never expected patients to make decisions alone; I bore responsibility for the patient. And I realized I was trying to do the same thing now, my doctor-self remaining responsible for my patient-self. Maybe I'd been cursed by a Greek god, but abdicating control seemed irresponsible, if not impossible. — Chemotherapy began on Monday. Lucy, my mother, and I went to the infusion center together. I had an IV placed, settled into an easy chair, and waited. The drug cocktail would take four and a half hours to infuse. I passed the time napping, reading, and sometimes blankly staring, with Lucy and my mother next to me, interrupting the silence with occasional small talk. The other occupants of the room were in various states of health—some bald, some well-coiffed, some withered, some sprightly, some disheveled, some dapper. All lay still, silent, with IV tubing dripping poison into outstretched arms. I was to return every three weeks for treatment. I began to feel the effects the next day, a deep fatigue, a profound bone-weariness setting in. Eating, normally a source of great pleasure, was like drinking seawater. Suddenly, all of my joys were salted. For breakfast, Lucy made me a bagel with cream cheese; it tasted like a salt lick. I set it aside. Reading was exhausting. I had agreed to write a few chapters on the therapeutic potential of my research with V for two major neurosurgical textbooks. That, too, I set aside. The days passed, television and forced feedings marking the time. A pattern developed over the weeks: the malaise would slowly ease, normalcy returning just in time for the next treatment. The cycles continued; I shuffled in and out of the hospital with minor complications, which were just enough to preclude any return to work. The neurosurgery department determined that I had met all national and local criteria for graduation; the ceremony was scheduled for a Saturday, about two weeks before Lucy's due date. The day arrived. As I stood in our bedroom, dressing for graduation—the culmination of seven years of residency—a piercing nausea struck me. This was unlike the usual nausea of chemotherapy, which washed over you like a wave and, like a wave, could be ridden. I began uncontrollably vomiting green bile, its chalky taste distinct from stomach acid. This was from deep in my gut. I would not be going to graduation, after all. I needed IV fluids to avoid dehydration, so Lucy drove me to the emergency department and rehydration began. The vomiting gave way to diarrhea. The medical resident, Brad, and I chatted amicably, and I relayed my medical history, covering all my medications, and we ended up discussing advances in molecular therapies, especially Tarceva, which I was still taking. The medical plan was simple: keep me hydrated with intravenous fluids until I could drink enough by mouth. That evening, I was admitted to a hospital room. But when the nurse reviewed my medication list, I noticed Tarceva was not on it. I asked her to call the resident to correct the oversight. These things happen. I was taking a dozen medications, after all. Keeping track was not easy. It was well past midnight when Brad appeared. "I heard you had a question about your medications?" he asked. "Yeah," I said. "Tarceva wasn't ordered. Do you mind ordering it?" "I decided to take you off it." "Why is that?" "Your liver enzymes are too high to take it." I was confused. My liver enzymes had been high for months; if this was an issue, why hadn't we discussed it before? In any case, this was clearly a mistake. "Emma—my oncologist, your boss—has seen these numbers, and she wants to keep me on it." Residents routinely have to make medical decisions without the attending's input. But now that he had Emma's opinion, surely he would capitulate. "But it might be causing your GI problems." My confusion deepened. Usually invoking the attending's orders ends the discussion. "I've been taking it for a year without any problems," I said. "You think Tarceva is causing this all of a sudden, and not the chemotherapy?" "Maybe, yeah." Confusion yielded to anger. Some kid two years out of med school, no older than my junior residents, was really arguing with me? It'd be one thing if he were right, but he wasn't making any sense. "Um, didn't I mention this afternoon that without that pill, my bone metastases become active and produce excruciating pain? I don't mean to sound dramatic, but I've broken bones boxing, and this is far more painful. As in, ten-out-of-ten pain. As in, I-Will-Actually-Soon-Be-Screaming pain." "Well, given the half-life of the drug, that probably won't happen for a day or so." I could see that in Brad's eyes I was not a patient, I was a problem: a box to be checked off. "Look," he continued, "if you weren't you, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. I'd just stop the drug and make you prove it causes all this pain." What had happened to our amicable chat this afternoon? I thought back to med school, when a patient had told me that she always wore her most expensive socks to the doctor's office, so that when she was in a patient's gown and shoeless, the doctor would see the socks and know she was a person of substance, to be treated with respect. (Ah, there's the problem—I was wearing hospital-issue socks, which I had been stealing for years!) "Anyway, Tarceva is a special drug, and it requires a fellow or attending to sign off on it. Do you really want me to wake someone up for this? Can't it wait till morning?" And there it was. Meeting his obligation to me meant adding one more thing to his to-do list: an embarrassing phone call with his boss, revealing his error. He was working the night shift. Residency education regulations had forced most programs to adopt shift work. And along with shift work comes a kind of shiftiness, a subtle undercutting of responsibility. If he could just push it off for a few more hours, I would become somebody else's problem. "I usually take it at five A.M.," I said. "And you know as well as I do that 'waiting till morning' means letting someone deal with it after morning rounds, which will be more like the afternoon. Right?" "Okay, fine," he said, and left the room. When morning arrived, I discovered that he had not ordered the medication. Emma dropped in to say hello and told me she would sort out the Tarceva order. She wished me a speedy recovery and apologized for the fact that she was heading out of town for a week. Over the course of the day I began to deteriorate, my diarrhea rapidly worsening. I was being rehydrated, but not quickly enough. My kidneys began to fail. My mouth became so dry I could not speak or swallow. At the next lab check, my serum sodium had reached a near-fatal level. I was transferred to the ICU. Part of my soft palate and pharynx died from dehydration and peeled out of my mouth. I was in pain, floating through varying levels of consciousness, while a pantheon of specialists was brought together to help: medical intensivists, nephrologists, gastroenterologists, endocrinologists, infectious disease specialists, neurosurgeons, general oncologists, thoracic oncologists, otolaryngologists. Lucy, thirty-eight weeks pregnant, stayed with me by day and secretly moved into my old call room, steps from the ICU, so she could check on me at night. She and my father also lent their voices. During lucid moments, I was acutely aware that with this many voices, cacophony results. In medicine, this is known as the WICOS problem: Who Is the Captain Of the Ship? The nephrologists disagreed with the ICU doctors, who disagreed with the endocrinologists, who disagreed with the oncologists, who disagreed with the gastroenterologists. I felt the responsibility of my care: during bouts of consciousness, I typed out the sequential details of my current illness and, with Lucy's help, tried to corral all the doctors to keep the facts and interpretations straight. Later, while half asleep, I could dimly hear my father and Lucy discussing my condition with each team of doctors. We suspected that the main plan should just be to treat me with fluids until the effects of the chemotherapy wore off. But each group of specialists had to allow for more esoteric possibilities and advocate tests and treatments for them, some of which seemed unnecessary and ill-advised. Samples were taken, scans were ordered, medications were given; I began losing track of events and time. I requested that these plans be explained to me, but sentences would become slippery, voices would dampen and muffle, and darkness would descend in the midst of doctors' speeches as I wobbled in and out of coherence. I desperately wished Emma were there, in charge. Suddenly, she appeared. "You're back already?" I said. "You've been in the ICU for over a week," she said. "But don't worry. You're getting better. Most of your labs have normalized. You'll be out of here soon." She'd been in touch with my doctors over email, I learned. "You know how you offered to just be the doctor and I could just be the patient?" I asked. "I think that's maybe a good idea. I've been reading science and literature trying to find the right perspective, but I haven't found it." "I'm not sure that's something you can find by reading about it," she replied. Emma was now the captain of the ship, lending a sense of calm to the chaos of this hospitalization. T. S. Eliot sprang to mind: > _Damyata:_ The boat responded > > Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar > > The sea was calm, your heart would have responded > > Gaily, when invited, beating obedient > > To controlling hands I leaned back in my hospital bed and closed my eyes. As the darkness of delirium descended again, I finally relaxed. — Lucy's due date came and went without labor, and I was finally scheduled to be discharged from the hospital. I had lost over forty pounds since being diagnosed, fifteen in the last week. I weighed as much as I had in eighth grade, though my hair had considerably thinned since those days, mostly in the past month. I was awake again, alert to the world, but withered. I could see my bones against my skin, a living X-ray. At home, simply holding my head up was tiring. Lifting a glass of water required both hands. Reading was out of the question. Both sets of parents were in town to help. Two days after discharge, Lucy had her first contractions. She stayed home while my mother drove me to my follow-up appointment with Emma. "Frustrated?" Emma asked. "No." "You should be. It's going to be a long recovery." "Well, yes, okay. I am frustrated on the big picture. But on the day-by-day, I'm ready to get back to physical therapy and start recovering. I did it once, so it should be old hat, right?" "Did you see your last scan?" she asked. "No, I've kind of stopped looking." "It looks good," she said. "The disease looks stable, maybe even slightly shrinking." We talked through some of the coming logistics; chemotherapy would be on hold until I was stronger. Experimental trials wouldn't accept me in my current state, either. Treatment wasn't an option—not until I regained some strength. I leaned my head against the wall to support the flagging muscles of my neck. My thoughts were clouded. I needed that oracle to scry again, to gather secrets from birds or star charts, from mutant genes or Kaplan-Meier graphs. "Emma," I said, "what's the next step?" "Get stronger. That's it." "But when the cancer recurs...I mean, the probabilities..." I paused. First-line therapy (Tarceva) had failed. Second-line therapy (chemo) had nearly killed me. Third-line therapy, if I could even get there, made few promises. Beyond that, the vast unknown of experimental treatments. Phrases of doubt fell from my mouth. "I mean, getting back to the OR, or to walking, or even—" "You have five good years left," she said. She pronounced it, but without the authoritative tone of an oracle, without the confidence of a true believer. She said it, instead, like a plea. Like that patient who could speak only in numbers. Like she was not so much speaking to me as pleading, a mere human, with whatever forces and fates truly control these things. There we were, doctor and patient, in a relationship that sometimes carries a magisterial air and other times, like now, was no more, and no less, than two people huddled together, as one faces the abyss. Doctors, it turns out, need hope, too. — On the way home from the appointment with Emma, Lucy's mom called to say they were headed to the hospital. Lucy was in labor. ("Make sure you ask about the epidural early," I told her. She had suffered enough.) I returned to the hospital, pushed by my father in a wheelchair. I lay down on a cot in the delivery room, heat packs and blankets keeping my skeletal body from shivering. For the next two hours, I watched Lucy and the nurse go through the ritual of labor. As a contraction built up, the nurse counted off the pushing: "And a one two three four five six seven eight nine and a ten!" Lucy turned to me, smiling. "It feels like I'm playing a sport!" she said. I lay on the cot and smiled back, watching her belly rise. There would be so many absences in Lucy's and my daughter's life—if this was as present as I could be, then so be it. Sometime after midnight, the nurse nudged me awake. "It's almost time," she whispered. She gathered the blankets and helped me to a chair, next to Lucy. The obstetrician was already in the room, no older than I. She looked up at me as the baby was crowning. "I can tell you one thing: your daughter has hair exactly like yours," she said. "And a lot of it." I nodded, holding Lucy's hand during the last moments of her labor. And then, with one final push, on July 4, at 2:11 A.M., there she was. Elizabeth Acadia—Cady; we had picked the name months before. "Can we put her on your skin, Papa?" the nurse asked me. "No, I'm too c-c-cold," I said, my teeth chattering. "But I would love to hold her." They wrapped her in blankets and handed her to me. Feeling her weight in one arm, and gripping Lucy's hand with the other, the possibilities of life emanated before us. The cancer cells in my body would still be dying, or they'd start growing again. Looking out over the expanse ahead I saw not an empty wasteland but something simpler: a blank page on which I would go on. — Yet there is dynamism in our house. Day to day, week to week, Cady blossoms: a first grasp, a first smile, a first laugh. Her pediatrician regularly records her growth on charts, tick marks indicating her progress over time. A brightening newness surrounds her. As she sits in my lap smiling, enthralled by my tuneless singing, an incandescence lights the room. Time for me is now double-edged: every day brings me further from the low of my last relapse but closer to the next recurrence—and, eventually, death. Perhaps later than I think, but certainly sooner than I desire. There are, I imagine, two responses to that realization. The most obvious might be an impulse to frantic activity: to "live life to its fullest," to travel, to dine, to achieve a host of neglected ambitions. Part of the cruelty of cancer, though, is not only that it limits your time; it also limits your energy, vastly reducing the amount you can squeeze into a day. It is a tired hare who now races. And even if I had the energy, I prefer a more tortoiselike approach. I plod, I ponder. Some days, I simply persist. If time dilates when one moves at high speeds, does it contract when one moves barely at all? It must: the days have shortened considerably. With little to distinguish one day from the next, time has begun to feel static. In English, we use the word _time_ in different ways: "The time is two forty-five" versus "I'm going through a tough time." These days, time feels less like the ticking clock and more like a state of being. Languor settles in. There's a feeling of openness. As a surgeon, focused on a patient in the OR, I might have found the position of the clock's hands arbitrary, but I never thought them meaningless. Now the time of day means nothing, the day of the week scarcely more. Medical training is relentlessly future-oriented, all about delayed gratification; you're always thinking about what you'll be doing five years down the line. But now I don't know what I'll be doing five years down the line. I may be dead. I may not be. I may be healthy. I may be writing. I don't know. And so it's not all that useful to spend time thinking about the future—that is, beyond lunch. Verb conjugation has become muddled, as well. Which is correct: "I am a neurosurgeon," "I was a neurosurgeon," or "I had been a neurosurgeon before and will be again"? Graham Greene once said that life was lived in the first twenty years and the remainder was just reflection. So what tense am I living in now? Have I proceeded beyond the present tense and into the past perfect? The future tense seems vacant and, on others' lips, jarring. A few months ago, I celebrated my fifteenth college reunion at Stanford and stood out on the quad, drinking a whiskey as a pink sun dipped below the horizon; when old friends called out parting promises—"We'll see you at the twenty-fifth!"—it seemed rude to respond with "Well...probably not." Everyone succumbs to finitude. I suspect I am not the only one who reaches this pluperfect state. Most ambitions are either achieved or abandoned; either way, they belong to the past. The future, instead of the ladder toward the goals of life, flattens out into a perpetual present. Money, status, all the vanities the preacher of Ecclesiastes described hold so little interest: a chasing after wind, indeed. Yet one thing cannot be robbed of her futurity: our daughter, Cady. I hope I'll live long enough that she has some memory of me. Words have a longevity I do not. I had thought I could leave her a series of letters—but what would they say? I don't know what this girl will be like when she is fifteen; I don't even know if she'll take to the nickname we've given her. There is perhaps only one thing to say to this infant, who is all future, overlapping briefly with me, whose life, barring the improbable, is all but past. That message is simple: When you come to one of the many moments in life where you must give an account of yourself, provide a ledger of what you have been, and done, and meant to the world, do not, I pray, discount that you filled a dying man's days with a sated joy, a joy unknown to me in all my prior years, a joy that does not hunger for more and more but rests, satisfied. In this time, right now, that is an enormous thing. # EPILOGUE ## Lucy Kalanithi > You left me, sweet, two legacies,— > > A legacy of love > > A Heavenly Father would content, > > Had he the offer of; > > You left me boundaries of pain > > Capacious as the sea, > > Between eternity and time, > > Your consciousness and me. > > —Emily Dickinson PAUL DIED ON MONDAY, March 9, 2015, surrounded by his family, in a hospital bed roughly two hundred yards from the labor and delivery ward where our daughter, Cady, had entered the world eight months before. Between Cady's birth and Paul's death, if you'd seen us sucking on ribs at our local barbecue restaurant and smiling over a shared beer, a dark-haired baby with long eyelashes napping in her stroller beside us, you'd never have guessed that Paul likely had less than a year to live, nor that we understood that. It was around Cady's first Christmas, when she was five months old, that Paul's cancer began to resist the third-line drugs recommended after Tarceva and then chemotherapy had stopped working. Cady tried her first solid food during that holiday season, snug in candy-cane-striped pajamas, gumming mashed yams as family gathered at Paul's childhood home in Kingman, Arizona, the house aglow with candles and chatter. His strength waned over the following months, but we continued to experience joyful moments, even in the midst of our sorrow. We hosted cozy dinner parties, held each other at night, and delighted in our daughter's bright eyes and calm nature. And, of course, Paul wrote, reclining in his armchair, wrapped in a warm fleece blanket. In his final months, he was singularly focused on finishing this book. As winter turned to spring, the saucer magnolias in our neighborhood bloomed large and pink, but Paul's health was declining rapidly. By late February, he needed supplemental oxygen to keep his breathing comfortable. I was adding his untouched lunch to the trash can atop his untouched breakfast, and a few hours later I'd add an untouched dinner to the pile. He used to love my breakfast sandwiches—egg, sausage, and cheese on a roll—but with his waning appetite we'd changed to eggs and toast, then just eggs, until even those became intolerable. Even his favorite smoothies, the glasses I filled with a steady stream of calories, were unappetizing. Bedtime crept earlier, Paul's voice slurred intermittently, and his nausea became unremitting. A CT scan and brain MRI confirmed worsening cancer in Paul's lungs and new tumors that had landed in his brain, including leptomeningeal carcinomatosis, a rare and lethal infiltration that brought with it a prognosis of only several months and the looming shadow of swift neurologic decline. The news hit Paul hard. He said little, but as a neurosurgeon, he knew what lay ahead. Although Paul accepted his limited life expectancy, neurologic decline was a new devastation, the prospect of losing meaning and agency agonizing. We strategized with Paul's oncologist about his top priority: preserving mental acuity as long as possible. We arranged entry into a clinical trial, consultation with a neuro-oncology specialist, and a visit with his palliative-care team to discuss hospice options, all in service of maximizing the quality of his remaining time. My heart swelled even as I steeled myself, anticipating his suffering, worrying that he had only weeks left—if that. I envisioned his funeral as we held hands. I didn't know that Paul would die within days. We spent Paul's last Saturday with family in the nest of our living room, Paul holding Cady in his armchair; his father on my nursing glider; his mother and I on sofas nearby. Paul sang to Cady and bounced her gently in his lap. She grinned widely, oblivious to the tubing that delivered oxygen to his nose. His world became smaller; I deflected nonfamily visitors, Paul telling me, "I want everyone to know that even if I don't see them, I love them. I cherish their friendship, and one more glass of Ardbeg won't change that." He didn't write anything that day. The manuscript for this book was only partially finished, and Paul now knew that he was unlikely to complete it—unlikely to have the stamina, the clarity, the time. To prepare for the clinical trial, Paul had stopped taking the daily targeted-therapy pill that had been insufficiently controlling his cancer. There was a risk that the cancer might grow rapidly, or "flare," after he stopped the medication. Therefore, Paul's oncologist had instructed me to videotape him daily, doing the same task, to track any deficits in his speech or gait. "April is the cruellest month," Paul read aloud in the living room that Saturday as I filmed, choosing T. S. Eliot's _The Waste Land_ as his script. "Mixing memory and desire, stirring / Dull roots with spring rain." The family chuckled when, though it was not part of the assignment, he set the book facedown on his lap and insisted on reciting from memory. "So like him!" his mother said, smiling. The next day, Sunday, we hoped for a continuation of the calm weekend. If Paul felt well enough, we would attend church, then take Cady and her cousin to the baby swings at the park up the hill. We'd continue to absorb the recent painful news, share the sorrow, savor our time together. But instead, time sped up. Early Sunday morning, I stroked Paul's forehead and found it scorching with fever, 104 degrees, though he was relatively comfortable and free of other new symptoms. We made it in and out of the emergency room within a few hours, Paul's father and Suman with us, returning home to the rest of the family after starting antibiotics in case of pneumonia (Paul's chest X-ray was dense with tumors, which could obscure an infection). But was this, instead, the cancer progressing rapidly? Paul napped comfortably in the afternoon, but he was gravely ill. I started to cry as I watched him sleep, then crept out to our living room, where his father's tears joined mine. I already missed him. Sunday evening, Paul's condition worsened abruptly. He sat on the edge of our bed, struggling to breathe—a startling change. I called an ambulance. When we reentered the emergency room, Paul on a gurney this time, his parents close behind us, he turned toward me and whispered, "This might be how it ends." "I'm here with you," I said. The hospital staff greeted Paul warmly, as always. But they moved quickly once they saw his condition. After initial testing, they placed a mask over his nose and mouth to help his breathing via BiPAP, a breathing support system that supplied a strong mechanized flow of air each time he inhaled, doing much of the work of breathing for him. Though it helps with respiratory mechanics, BiPAP can be hard work for a patient—noisy and forceful, blowing one's lips apart with each breath like those of a dog with its head out a car window. I stood close, leaning over the gurney, my hand in Paul's as the steady _whoosh,_ _whoosh_ of the machine began. Paul's blood carbon dioxide level was critically high, indicating that the work of breathing was overwhelming him. Blood tests suggested that some of the excess carbon dioxide had been accumulating over days to weeks, as his lung disease and debility had advanced. Because his brain had slowly become acclimated to higher-than-normal levels of carbon dioxide, he remained lucid. He observed. He understood, as a physician, the ominous test results. I understood them, too, walking behind him as he was wheeled to an intensive-care room, one where so many of his own patients had struggled before or after neurosurgery, their families assembled in vinyl chairs by their bedsides. "Will I need to be intubated?" he asked me between BiPAP breaths when we arrived. " _Should_ I be intubated?" Through the night, Paul discussed that question in a series of conversations with his physicians, his family, and then just me. Around midnight, the critical-care attending, a longtime mentor to Paul, came in to discuss treatment options with the family. BiPAP was a temporary solution, he said. The only remaining intervention would be for Paul to be intubated—put on a ventilator. Was that what he wanted? The key question quickly came into view: Could the sudden respiratory failure be reversed? Of concern was whether Paul would remain too ill to ever come off the ventilator—would he be lost to delirium and then organ failure, first mind and then body slipping away? We'd witnessed this agonizing scenario as physicians. Paul explored the alternative: in lieu of intubation, he could choose "comfort care," though death would come more surely and swiftly. "Even if I make it through this," he said, thinking of the cancer in his brain, "I'm not sure I see a future that includes meaningful time." His mother chimed in, desperately. "No decisions tonight, Pubby," she said. "Let's all get some rest." After ensuring his "do not resuscitate" status, Paul agreed. Sympathetic nurses brought him extra blankets. I switched off the fluorescent lights. Paul managed to doze until sunrise, his father sitting vigil while I napped briefly in an adjacent room, hoping to preserve my mental strength, knowing that the following day might be the hardest of my life. I crept back to Paul's room at six A.M., the lights still low, the intensive-care monitors chiming intermittently. Paul opened his eyes. We talked again about "comfort care"—avoiding aggressive attempts to forestall his decline—and he wondered aloud whether he could go home. He was so ill that I worried he might suffer and die on the way. However, I said I would do everything possible to take him home if that was most important to him, nodding that yes, comfort care might be the direction we were headed. Or was there some way to re-create home here? Between BiPAP puffs, he answered: "Cady." Cady arrived in short order—our friend Victoria had retrieved her from home—and began her own unwitting, cheerful vigil, happily nestled in the crook of Paul's right arm, tugging at her tiny socks, batting at his hospital blankets, smiling and cooing, unbothered by the BiPAP machine as it continued to blow, keeping Paul alive. The medical team came by on rounds, discussing Paul's case outside the room, where his family and I joined them. Paul's acute respiratory failure was likely rapid cancer progressing. His carbon dioxide level was rising still—a hardening indication for intubation. The family was torn: Paul's oncologist had phoned in, hopeful that the acute problem could be ameliorated, but the physicians present were less optimistic. I entreated them to weigh in with as much conviction as possible on the chance of reversing his abrupt decline. "He doesn't want a Hail Mary," I said. "If he doesn't have a chance of meaningful time, he wants to take the mask off and hold Cady." I returned to Paul's bedside. He looked at me, his dark eyes alert above the nose bridge of the BiPAP mask, and said clearly, his voice soft but unwavering, "I'm ready." Ready, he meant, to remove the breathing support, to start morphine, to die. The family gathered together. During the precious minutes after Paul's decision, we all expressed our love and respect. Tears glistened in Paul's eyes. He expressed gratitude to his parents. He asked us to ensure that his manuscript be published in some form. He told me a last time that he loved me. The attending physician stepped in with strengthening words: "Paul, after you die, your family will fall apart, but they'll pull it back together because of the example of bravery you set." Jeevan's eyes were trained on Paul as Suman said, "Go in peace, my brother." With my heart breaking, I climbed into the last bed we would share. I thought of other beds we'd shared. Eight years prior, as medical students, we'd slept similarly ensconced in a twin bed next to my grandfather as he lay dying at home, having cut our honeymoon short to help with caregiving duties. We awakened every few hours to give him medications, my love for Paul deepening as I watched him lean in and listen closely to my grandfather's whispered requests. We'd never have imagined this scene, Paul's own deathbed, so near in our future. Twenty-two months ago, we'd cried in a bed on another floor of this same hospital as we learned of Paul's cancer diagnosis. Eight months ago, we'd been together here in my hospital bed the day after Cady was born, both napping, the first good, long sleep I'd had since her birth, wrapped in each other's arms. I thought of our cozy bed empty at home, remembered falling in love in New Haven twelve years earlier, surprised right away by how well our bodies and limbs fit together, and thought of how ever since, we'd both slept best when entwined. I hoped with all I had that he felt that same restful comfort now. An hour later, the mask and monitors were off, and morphine was flowing through Paul's IV. He was breathing steadily but shallowly, and he appeared comfortable. Nonetheless, I asked him whether he needed more morphine, and he nodded yes, his eyes closed. His mother sat close; his father's hand rested atop his head. Finally, he slipped into unconsciousness. For more than nine hours, Paul's family—his parents, brothers, sister-in-law, daughter, and I—sat vigil as Paul, unconscious, now drew increasingly halting, infrequent breaths, his eyelids closed, his face unburdened. His long fingers rested softly in mine. Paul's parents cradled Cady and then put her in the bed again to snuggle, nurse, nap. The room, saturated with love, mirrored the many holidays and weekends we had all spent together over the years. I stroked Paul's hair, whispering, "You're a brave Paladin"—my nickname for him—and singing quietly into his ear a favorite jingle we'd made up over the previous months, its core message being "Thank you for loving me." A close cousin and uncle arrived, and then our pastor. The family shared loving anecdotes and inside jokes; then we all took turns weeping, studying Paul's face and each other's with concern, steeped in the preciousness and pain of this time, our last hours all together. Warm rays of evening light began to slant through the northwest-facing window of the room as Paul's breaths grew more quiet. Cady rubbed her eyes with chubby fists as her bedtime approached, and a family friend arrived to take her home. I held her cheek to Paul's, tufts of their matching dark hair similarly askew, his face serene, hers quizzical but calm, his beloved baby never suspecting that this moment was a farewell. Softly I sang Cady's bedtime song, to her, to both of them, and then released her. As the room darkened into night, a low wall lamp glowing warmly, Paul's breaths became faltering and irregular. His body continued to appear restful, his limbs relaxed. Just before nine o'clock, his lips apart and eyes closed, Paul inhaled and then released one last, deep, final breath. — _When Breath Becomes Air_ is, in a sense, unfinished, derailed by Paul's rapid decline, but that is an essential component of its truth, of the reality Paul faced. During the last year of his life, Paul wrote relentlessly, fueled by purpose, motivated by a ticking clock. He started with midnight bursts when he was still a neurosurgery chief resident, softly tapping away on his laptop as he lay next to me in bed; later he spent afternoons in his recliner, drafted paragraphs in his oncologist's waiting room, took phone calls from his editor while chemotherapy dripped into his veins, carried his silver laptop everywhere he went. When his fingertips developed painful fissures because of his chemotherapy, we found seamless, silver-lined gloves that allowed use of a trackpad and keyboard. Strategies for retaining the mental focus needed to write, despite the punishing fatigue of progressive cancer, were the focus of his palliative-care appointments. He was determined to keep writing. This book carries the urgency of racing against time, of having important things to say. Paul confronted death—examined it, wrestled with it, accepted it—as a physician and a patient. He wanted to help people understand death and face their mortality. Dying in one's fourth decade is unusual now, but _dying_ is not. "The thing about lung cancer is that it's not exotic," Paul wrote in an email to his best friend, Robin. "It's just tragic enough and just imaginable enough. [The reader] can get into these shoes, walk a bit, and say, 'So that's what it looks like from here...sooner or later I'll be back here in my own shoes.' That's what I'm aiming for, I think. Not the sensationalism of dying, and not exhortations to gather rosebuds, but: Here's what lies up ahead on the road." Of course, he did more than just describe the terrain. He traversed it bravely. Paul's decision not to avert his eyes from death epitomizes a fortitude we don't celebrate enough in our death-avoidant culture. His strength was defined by ambition and effort, but also by softness, the opposite of bitterness. He spent much of his life wrestling with the question of how to live a meaningful life, and his book explores that essential territory. "Always the seer is a sayer," Emerson wrote. "Somehow his dream is told; somehow he publishes it with solemn joy." Writing this book was a chance for this courageous seer to be a sayer, to teach us to face death with integrity. Most of our family and friends will have been unaware, until the publication of this book, of the marital trouble Paul and I weathered toward the end of his residency. But I am glad Paul wrote about it. It's part of our truth, another redefinition, a piece of the struggle and redemption and meaning of Paul's life and mine. His cancer diagnosis was like a nutcracker, getting us back into the soft, nourishing meat of our marriage. We hung on to each other for his physical survival and our emotional survival, our love stripped bare. We each joked to close friends that the secret to saving a relationship is for one person to become terminally ill. Conversely, we knew that one trick to managing a terminal illness is to be deeply in love—to be vulnerable, kind, generous, grateful. A few months after his diagnosis, we sang the hymn "The Servant Song" while standing side by side in a church pew, and the words vibrated with meaning as we faced uncertainty and pain together: "I will share your joy and sorrow / Till we've seen this journey through." When Paul told me, immediately after his diagnosis, to remarry after he died, it exemplified the way he would, throughout his illness, work hard to secure my future. He was fiercely committed to ensuring the best for me, in our finances, my career, what motherhood would mean. At the same time, I worked hard to secure his present, to make his remaining time the best it could be, tracking and managing every symptom and aspect of his medical care—the most important doctoring role of my life—while supporting his ambitions, listening to his whispered fears as we embraced in the safety of our darkened bedroom, witnessing, acknowledging, accepting, comforting. We were as inseparable as we had been as medical students, when we would hold hands during lectures. Now we held hands in his coat pocket during walks outside after chemotherapy, Paul in a winter coat and hat even when the weather turned warm. He knew he would never be alone, never suffer unnecessarily. At home in bed a few weeks before he died, I asked him, "Can you breathe okay with my head on your chest like this?" His answer was "It's the only way I know how to breathe." That Paul and I formed part of the deep meaning of each other's lives is one of the greatest blessings that has ever come to me. Both of us drew strength from Paul's family, who bolstered us as we weathered his illness and supported us in bringing our own child into the family. Despite stunning grief over their son's illness, his parents remained an unwavering source of comfort and security. Renting an apartment nearby, they visited often, Paul's father rubbing his feet, his mother making him Indian _dosa_ with coconut chutney. Paul, Jeevan, and Suman lounged on our sofas, Paul's legs propped up to alleviate his back pain, discussing the "syntax" of football plays. Jeevan's wife, Emily, and I laughed nearby while Cady and her cousins, Eve and James, napped. On those afternoons, our living room felt like a small, safe village. Later in that same room, Paul would hold Cady in his writing chair, reading aloud works by Robert Frost, T. S. Eliot, Wittgenstein, as I snapped photos. Such simple moments swelled with grace and beauty, and even luck, if such a concept can be said to exist at all. And yet we did feel lucky, grateful—for family, for community, for opportunity, for our daughter, for having risen to meet each other at a time when absolute trust and acceptance were required. Although these last few years have been wrenching and difficult—sometimes almost impossible—they have also been the most beautiful and profound of my life, requiring the daily act of holding life and death, joy and pain in balance and exploring new depths of gratitude and love. Relying on his own strength and the support of his family and community, Paul faced each stage of his illness with grace—not with bravado or a misguided faith that he would "overcome" or "beat" cancer but with an authenticity that allowed him to grieve the loss of the future he had planned and forge a new one. He cried on the day he was diagnosed. He cried while looking at a drawing we kept on the bathroom mirror that said, "I want to spend all the rest of my days here with you." He cried on his last day in the operating room. He let himself be open and vulnerable, let himself be comforted. Even while terminally ill, Paul was fully alive; despite physical collapse, he remained vigorous, open, full of hope not for an unlikely cure but for days that were full of purpose and meaning. Paul's voice in _When Breath Becomes Air_ is strong and distinctive, but also somewhat solitary. Parallel to this story are the love and warmth and spaciousness and radical permission that surrounded him. We all inhabit different selves in space and time. Here he is as a doctor, as a patient, and within a doctor-patient relationship. He wrote with a clear voice, the voice of someone with limited time, a ceaseless striver, though there were other selves as well. Not fully captured in these pages are Paul's sense of humor—he was wickedly funny—or his sweetness and tenderness, the value he placed on relationships with friends and family. But this is the book he wrote; this was his voice during this time; this was his message during this time; this was what he wrote when he needed to write it. Indeed, the version of Paul I miss most, more even than the robust, dazzling version with whom I first fell in love, is the beautiful, focused man he was in his last year, the Paul who wrote this book—frail but never weak. Paul was proud of this book, which was a culmination of his love for literature—he once said that he found poetry more comforting than Scripture—and his ability to forge from his life a cogent, powerful tale of living with death. When Paul emailed his best friend in May 2013 to inform him that he had terminal cancer, he wrote, "The good news is I've already outlived two Brontës, Keats, and Stephen Crane. The bad news is that I haven't written anything." His journey thereafter was one of transformation—from one passionate vocation to another, from husband to father, and finally, of course, from life to death, the ultimate transformation that awaits us all. I am proud to have been his partner throughout, including while he wrote this book, an act that allowed him to live with hope, with that delicate alchemy of agency and opportunity that he writes about so eloquently, until the very end. — Paul was buried in a willow casket at the edge of a field in the Santa Cruz Mountains, overlooking the Pacific Ocean and a coastline studded with memories—brisk hikes, seafood feasts, birthday cocktails. Two months before, on a warm weekend in January, we'd dipped Cady's chubby feet into the briny water at a beach below. He was unattached to the fate of his body after he died, and he left it to us to make decisions on his behalf. I believe we chose well. Paul's grave looks west, over five miles of green hillcrests, to the ocean. Around him are hills covered in wild grass, coniferous trees, and yellow euphorbia. As you sit down, you hear wind, chirping birds, the scuffling of chipmunks. He made it here on his own terms, and his grave site feels appropriately full of ruggedness and honor, a place he deserves to be—a place we all deserve to be. I am reminded of a line from a blessing my grandfather liked: "We shall rise insensibly, and reach the tops of the everlasting hills, where the winds are cool and the sight is glorious." And yet this is not always an easy place to be. The weather is unpredictable. Because Paul is buried on the windward side of the mountains, I have visited him in blazing sun, shrouding fog, and cold, stinging rain. It can be as uncomfortable as it is peaceful, both communal and lonely—like death, like grief—but there is beauty in all of it, and I think this is good and right. I visit his grave often, taking a small bottle of Madeira, the wine of our honeymoon destination. Each time, I pour some out on the grass for Paul. When Paul's parents and brothers are with me, we talk as I rub the grass as if it were Paul's hair. Cady visits his grave before her nap, lying on a blanket, watching the clouds pass overhead and grabbing at the flowers we've laid down. The evening before Paul's memorial service, our siblings and I gathered with twenty of Paul's oldest, closest friends, and I wondered briefly if we'd mar the grass because we poured out so much whiskey. Often I return to the grave after leaving flowers—tulips, lilies, carnations—to find the heads eaten by deer. It's just as good a use for the flowers as any, and one Paul would have liked. The earth is quickly turned over by worms, the processes of nature marching on, reminding me of what Paul saw and what I now carry deep in my bones, too: the inextricability of life and death, and the ability to cope, to find meaning despite this, because of this. What happened to Paul was tragic, but he was not a tragedy. I expected to feel only empty and heartbroken after Paul died. It never occurred to me that you could love someone the same way after he was gone, that I would continue to feel such love and gratitude alongside the terrible sorrow, the grief so heavy that at times I shiver and moan under the weight of it. Paul is gone, and I miss him acutely nearly every moment, but I somehow feel I'm still taking part in the life we created together. "Bereavement is not the truncation of married love," C. S. Lewis wrote, "but one of its regular phases—like the honeymoon. What we want is to live our marriage well and faithfully through that phase too." Caring for our daughter, nurturing relationships with family, publishing this book, pursuing meaningful work, visiting Paul's grave, grieving and honoring him, persisting...my love goes on—lives on—in a way I'd never expected. When I see the hospital where Paul lived and died as a physician and a patient, I understand that had he lived, he would have made great contributions as a neurosurgeon and neuroscientist. He would have helped countless patients and their families through some of the most challenging moments of their lives, the task that drew him to neurosurgery in the first place. He was, and would have continued to be, a good person and a deep thinker. Instead, this book is a new way for him to help others, a contribution only he could make. This doesn't make his death, our loss, any less painful. But he found meaning in the striving. On page 115 of this book, he wrote, "You can't ever reach perfection, but you can believe in an asymptote toward which you are ceaselessly striving." It was arduous, bruising work, and he never faltered. This was the life he was given, and this is what he made of it. _When Breath Becomes Air_ is complete, just as it is. Two days after Paul died, I wrote a journal entry addressed to Cady: "When someone dies, people tend to say great things about him. Please know that all the wonderful things people are saying now about your dad are true. He really was that good and that brave." Reflecting on his purpose, I often think of lyrics from the hymn derived from _The Pilgrim's Progress:_ "Who would true valour see, / Let him come hither.../ Then fancies fly away, / He'll fear not what men say, / He'll labour night and day / To be a pilgrim." Paul's decision to look death in the eye was a testament not just to who he was in the final hours of his life but who he had always been. For much of his life, Paul wondered about death—and whether he could face it with integrity. In the end, the answer was yes. I was his wife and a witness. For Cady # ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Thank you to Dorian Karchmar, Paul's agent at William Morris Endeavor, whose fierce support and nurturing gave Paul the confidence that he could write an important book. And to Andy Ward, Paul's editor at Random House, whose determination, wisdom, and editorial talent made Paul eager to work with him, and whose humor and compassion made Paul want to befriend him. When Paul asked his family—literally his dying wish—to shepherd this book to publication posthumously, I was able to promise him that we would, because of our shared confidence in Dorian and Andy. At that time, the manuscript was just an open file on his computer, but thanks to their talent and dedication, I believe Paul died knowing that these words would make their way into the world and that, through them, our daughter would come to know him. Thank you to Abraham Verghese for a foreword that would have thrilled Paul (my only objection being that what Dr. Verghese judged to be a "prophet's beard" was really an "I-don't-have-time-to-shave" beard!). I am grateful to Emily Rapp for her willingness to meet me in my grief and coach me through the epilogue, teaching me, as Paul did, what a writer is and why writers write. Thank you to all who have supported our family, including the readers of this book. Finally, thank you to the advocates, clinicians, and scientists working tirelessly to advance lung cancer awareness and research, aiming to turn even advanced lung cancer into a survivable disease. Lucy Kalanithi PHOTO: © SUSZI LURIE MCFADDEN PAUL KALANITHI was a neurosurgeon and writer. He grew up in Kingman, Arizona, and graduated from Stanford University with a BA and MA in English literature and a BA in human biology. He earned an MPhil in history and philosophy of science and medicine from the University of Cambridge and graduated cum laude from the Yale School of Medicine, where he was inducted into the Alpha Omega Alpha national medical honor society. He returned to Stanford to complete his residency training in neurological surgery and a postdoctoral fellowship in neuroscience, during which he received the American Academy of Neurological Surgery's highest award for research. He died in March 2015. He is survived by his large, loving family, including his wife, Lucy, and their daughter, Elizabeth Acadia. # _What's next on your reading list?_ [Discover your next great read!](http://links.penguinrandomhouse.com/type/prhebooklanding/isbn/9780812988413/display/1) * * * Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author. Sign up now. 1. Cover 2. Title Page 3. Copyright 4. Contents 5. Editor's Note 6. Epigraph 7. Foreword by Abraham Verghese 8. Prologue 9. Part I: In Perfect Health I Begin 10. Part II: Cease Not till Death 11. Epilogue by Lucy Kalanithi 12. Dedication 13. Acknowledgments 14. About the Author 1. Cover 2. Cover 3. Title Page 4. Contents 5. Start 1. iii 2. iv 3. v 4. ix 5. xi 6. xii 7. xiii 8. xiv 9. xv 10. xvi 11. xvii 12. xviii 13. xix 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94. 95. 96. 97. 98. 99. 100. 101. 102. 103. 104. 105. 106. 107. 108. 109. 110. 111. 112. 113. 114. 115. 116. 117. 118. 119. 120. 121. 122. 123. 124. 125. 126. 127. 128. 129. 130. 131. 132. 133. 134. 135. 136. 137. 138. 139. 140. 141. 142. 143. 144. 145. 146. 147. 148. 149. 150. 151. 152. 153. 154. 155. 156. 157. 158. 159. 160. 161. 162. 163. 164. 165. 166. 167. 168. 169. 170. 171. 172. 173. 174. 175. 176. 177. 178. 179. 180. 181. 182. 183. 184. 185. 186. 187. 188. 189. 190. 191. 192. 193. 194. 195. 196. 197. 198. 199. 200. 201. 202. 203. 204. 205. 206. 207. 208. 209. 210. 211. 212. 213. 214. 215. 216. 217. 218. 219. 220. 221. 222. 223. 224. 225. 226. 227. 228. vii 229. 230. 231.
Understanding Colors Mixing colors and knowing to use primary colors is very important. This is why using a color wheel could be beneficial. The picture below shows the different colors produced using primary colors. It consists of multiple colors and […] Art… a naturally gifted talent which is as easy as taking a brush in your hand and moving it around on a piece of paper. It just requires effort and the willingness to make something new and creative. It is […]
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Q: What is the impact on health of travelling internationally for 50-70% of the time? I was offered a job as worldwide head of business development for X. I was offered twice my current salary, plus a bonus. It's a very attractive offer, but I will have to travel 50-70% internationally (US, EMEA and APAC). I will not have a "machine behind me", as the company has very few people with a background in X, but will have to work together with each country's general manager and their teams to develop the business. I am not afraid of travelling a lot, but I am wondering about the impact on health. So the question is: what is the impact on physical and mental health of travelling internationally 50-70% of the time? A: I spent a few years in my career doing a lot of business travel. It was hard hard work. After a few weeks I definitely got "road burn." It made me irritable and, honestly, my relationships with family and co-workers suffered. Here are some things I learned about staying healthy and happy. Recognize that it's hard to stay healthy / happy when traveling all the time, and cut yourself some breaks. Pace yourself. Don't try to do too much useful work after an overnight flight. Don't work extra hours just because you're away from home. Develop some personal strategies for coping with jet lag. Use hotels with fitness rooms. Or, just walk up and down the stairs ten times. Try to avoid a Friday night overnight flight as the start to your weekend too often. Be careful with restaurant food and drink. Most of it is designed for feasting or celebration, not for daily sustenance. If you travel to one place frequently, it's smart to tell the waitress / waiter where you eat you're on the road a lot and ask for help choosing the healthiest food. Inflight wi-fi is a curse. Pretend it doesn't exist so flight time can be downtime. Sanitation: wash your hands a lot to avoid infection. A small bottle of hand-sanitizer is helpful. I also found that paying for access to an airline's first class lounge ("Admirals Club", "Gold Member Club," whatever) was worth a lot in saving health and sanity. The desk clerks there have time to help with various issues, and some of the seating is suitable for sleeping if you need to. Get your employer to pay for it if you can, but if not, pay for it yourself. A: That depends on the type of travel, the work you are doing, how many timezones you are serving, your relationship status, your personality, your talents, the frequency (not percentage) and your aptitude for this. So i expect the impact to be dramatically different between you have no permanent health conditions, are married for 30 years with grown up kids and while you have 50%-70% travel, the travel happens planned every week (e.g. from US westcoast to Canada or east China) or for a few months at a piece, and it's a stable industry, and you know the foods in the region. You are freshly engaged, your fiance is pregant and you can not plan/emergency departures with 12h notice and an unknown number of days, hav a lot of allergies and the job is physical and you don't have access to healthy food. So the reality is probably somewhere between these scenarios, and without further details it's difficult to tell, but be prepared that in any case you will loose some friendships or personal relationships. A: There are a lot of good answers and comments already. I won't quote studies since the others did that already. Instead I will bring up my own experience. I spent several years working 4-5 days a week in various European cities. I understand you will be spending less time travelling, but your distances will be bigger: Most people do experience negative consequences of travelling so much. Among my colleagues we all agreed that the beginning is easy, but after 3-4 months of regular travels at the latest you are just tired. I was so tired I was just able to sleep on the weekends. Stress is actually an incredible important aspect. When you travel, there are plenty of things you can't control. Flights get cancel and you normally learn about it in the very last moment. You miss your connections. There are problems with your booking. Your hotel doesn't want to issue you an invoice for whatever reason. Especially if you don't have a machine behind you to help you with the organization, you will be spending a lot of time and energy for that. Long-term stress mixed with lack of sleep isn't really conductive to a good health. The fact you will lose many of your personal connections will contribute to stress. Your support networks will decompose. Other answers mentioned the lack of healthy food, which is also a big issue. Hygiene levels in hotels are frequently low, even in good four star - five star hotels. What does that mean? Personally one shower without bath slippers cost me months of painful dermatological problems. Don't even think about accepting the position if no good international insurance is offered. You can have problems with check-ups and doctor appointments. Even if you have a good international insurance, it can be complex to organize doctor appointments if your travels aren't planned much in advance unless the healthcare system in your country is excellent. I don't know anybody who travels so much for reasons different than money. If the money is great, accept the position and try to cope for a year or two. Maybe you will be one of the few who love it. If not, leave it.
All Forecasts are derived from the National Weather Service - (IWIN) 4Sarasota translates the the raw text into a web/email interface for ease of use.If you have any questions or comments email the webmaster.
IN THE DISTRICT COURT OF APPEAL FIRST DISTRICT, STATE OF FLORIDA ANNIINA SUOMINEN GUYAS, NOT FINAL UNTIL TIME EXPIRES TO Former Wife, FILE MOTION FOR REHEARING AND DISPOSITION THEREOF IF FILED Appellant, CASE NO. 1D14-0289 v. PAUL GUYAS, Former Husband, Appellee. _______________________________/ Opinion filed October 8, 2014. An appeal from the Circuit Court for Leon County. Barbara K. Hobbs, Judge. Kristin Adamson, Tallahassee, for Appellant. John C. Kenny, Tallahassee, for Appellee. PER CURIAM. AFFIRMED. PADOVANO, WETHERELL, and MAKAR, JJ., CONCUR.
Conventionally, networks were protected from intrusions by attackers using authentication systems. However, as attackers have become more sophisticated, authentication systems have proven ineffective. In response, systems have been created to provide continuous real-time detection of attackers through deception. In particular, deception mechanisms have been created to help lure attackers to access fake systems rather than machines on the network. Unfortunately, the cost of deploying, maintaining, and monitoring deception mechanisms can be onerous. Therefore, there is a need to intelligently create a deception for a network.
Canelo Alvarez vs Erislandy Lara Betting Odds The non-title fight between Canelo Alvarez and Erislandy Lara will take top billing on Saturday night at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. Both boxers only have one defeat in their careers (Alvarez to Floyd Mayweather), which makes for a compelling matchup. The bout should be a mixture of strategies, as Alvarez fights aggressively, while Lara sits back and waits for his spot. Gamedayr.com is for informational and entertainment purposes only. This site is NOT an official website, nor affiliate, for any universities, colleges, professional sports organizations, corporate entities, or the NCAA. - Policies
How to Sharpen Clippers and Garden Shears It's important to keep your pruning tools, including clippers and shears, sharp, not only to ensure they work as they should, but to protect your plants. Dull clippers rip through stems as they trim, creating a wound that takes longer to heal than one that's sharply cut. Dull, dirty tools may also spread weed seeds and plant disease. Moreover, sharp tools are simply easier to use. It's best to sharpen clippers with a stone or a file; a power tool, such as a rotary tool, is more difficult to control and may ruin the edges. Wear protective gloves -- the blades are sharper than they appear. Things You'll Need Wrench Rags Alcohol Mineral oil Spray lubricant Sandpaper Wire brush or steel wool Vinegar, lemon juice, baking soda or cola Vise File or sharpening stone Penetrating oil Step 1: Disassemble the Tool Whether you're sharpening hedge trimmers, bypass clippers or anvil loppers, the job is easier if you can disassemble the tool, but do this only if the tool is not spring-loaded. Unscrew the nut that joins the blades, using a wrench. Remove the nut, bolt and washer, and put them in a safe place. Step 2: Clean Off Rust and Sap Wipe off sap and resins with a rag soaked with alcohol, mineral oil or spray lubricant. Remove rust by sanding or scrubbing with a wire brush or a steel wool pad, being careful to keep your fingers away from the edge of the blade. If the blades are seriously rusted, dissolve the rust by spraying vinegar on the blades and leaving the tool for several minutes. Lemon juice, baking soda and cola also dissolve rust. Step 3: Clamp the Tool Clamp each blade in a vise; if you didn't disassemble the clippers, clamp the entire tool so that one of the blades is facing up. Place the file or stone flush against the bevel of the blade -- look carefully to ensure you gauge this correctly, because if the sharpening tool is at an angle to the blade bevel, it won't hone the edge properly. Tip If you don't have a vise, lay the blade on a flat workbench and hold it steady with one hand. Step 4: Sharpen the Blade Draw the file or stone along the edge, moving it away from you on each stroke. Stop after about five strokes and feel the edge carefully with your ungloved finger. Stroke a few more times if it doesn't feel sharp enough. Turn the blade or tool over and sharpen the other edge if there is a bevel on that side. Bypass clipper blades usually have a bevel on only one side, but anvil clippers have bevels on both sides. Step 5: De-burr the Edge Run the file or stone lightly along the edge of the blade to de-burr it after you've sharpened it. Step 6: Clean and Oil the Metal Wipe the blade with a rag soaked with alcohol after you've sharpened it, to remove fine metal shards and to disinfect it. Put a few drops of mineral oil on the blade and rub it in with another rag. Step 7: Lubricate the Clippers Reassemble the clippers, if you took them apart, and tighten the nut enough to make the blades cut smoothly but remain loose enough to make the tool easy to use. Whether or not you took the tool apart, lubricate the joint with a few drops of penetrating oil. Tip If you have a pair of grass clippers that resemble large scissors, you can usually sharpen the blades with a knife sharpener.
PLACIDE trial summary: Allen SJ et al. conducted a multicenter, randomized, double blind, placebo-controlled trial to assess the efficacy of probiotics in preventing antiobiotics associated (AAD) or C.diff associated diarrhea (CDAD) in elderly hospitalized patients. Over 2,941 elderly patients with age >65 and exposure to antibiotics were enrolled and randomized to either a probiotic therapy or placebo therapy. The primary outcome of the PLACIDE trial was diarrhea onset within 8 weeks (if antibiotics assocaited) or 12 weeks if C.diff associated. The results showed no difference in outcomes and thus the study concluded that adding probiotics does not prevent AAD or CDAD.
Shades of blackness and wretched madness circling the bandits of societies gladness. They stride in stratus, distracted, panicked, by the never-ending vastness of their emptiness and sadness. Take the time to see the rhyme in fine print lost in a sea of uncertainty and climate Controling our mileage, the signage lighting the flames with fine flintFires defined it, marking history inside pits. Warriors of status climbing the lattice, of the palace of fatness, filling up on malice. A goal in mind set, destruction through national debtTeach us the alphabet knowledge that leads you to a net.to keep us in confinement, ridicule, forced consignmentprepared for enshrinement, the moment the light hits the eyelids. Fedora lays loosely crimson hued burnt specks rising residue perhaps it's the black talon phlebotomy, a Yale cigar still clenched in chattering teethrigor-mortis concerto.Galante no more Capo di tutt'i Capoarrivederci testa di cazzo.La mano nera holding ace of spades.you piccione the word on the street be you flipped 25 with an L loose lipped rubacchiare,started out a button man rose through the ranks a good earner got hooked on eroina made a play for higher upthunderstruck claiming Jupiter'spower now fester in disarray. cold sinewed Gehanna awaits Diavolo too, they say a coward dies a thousand deathsa snitch dies when greed gets greenly in his eyes,rubicon derivative for your introspective percussive ego feast on rancid meat in the inferno of lecherous tyranny.
Product Information As department stores, including the handling of has a reputation for quality and comfort. Puts it on once and again out of the other room wear room shoes, slippers, his will may (laughs). For their own course [mother's day] and [respect for the aged day: how present is recommended.
Canelo v O’Sullivan plan ratified for September Speaking to WBN over the weekend, O’Sullivan revealed the shock news that a fight with Canelo was all but done, win or lose against Gennady Golovkin on May 5th. “The fight I’m looking at is Canelo after May 4th so I hope that Canelo obviously beats Golovkin. I’m going to fight him regardless but it’s much better for me if he wins. “I did see the highlights and I think it’s going to be a close fight (in the rematch but I think Canelo has a good chance but it could go either way, to be honest. Maybe Canelo might win on points this time. “I’m looking forward to it you know, I’m very excited about it for that fight I believe I’m possibly the hardest puncher in the whole division. “if Canelo beats Golovkin I’d love the opportunity to knock him out and prove I can mix it with the best in this division,” he concluded. In a follow-up interview with Josh Friedman at SiriusXM Boxing, Casey added: “I didn’t know that was officially released … That is the plan, yeah. “For Spike, it’s the pinnacle of the sport. If Canelo wins this fight then it’s really the pinnacle of this sport but either way it’s a huge fight. “Spike obviously has to win this fight in Vegas – the opponent is to be determined. I’m just thrilled for Spike to get the opportunity like this. “He’s a showman, he’s a puncher, he’s all heart. He should be a star. “People get to see him via a wider audience – they’re gonna fall in love with how he is in the ring,” he said.
/* * Copyright (C) 2009-2020 Lightbend Inc. <https://www.lightbend.com> */ package akka.io import java.lang.{ Iterable => JIterable } import java.net.InetSocketAddress import scala.collection.immutable import com.github.ghik.silencer.silent import akka.actor._ import akka.io.Inet.SocketOption import akka.io.Udp.UdpSettings import akka.util.ByteString import akka.util.ccompat._ /** * UDP Extension for Akka’s IO layer. * * This extension implements the connectionless UDP protocol with * calling `connect` on the underlying sockets, i.e. with restricting * from whom data can be received. For “unconnected” UDP mode see [[Udp]]. * * For a full description of the design and philosophy behind this IO * implementation please refer to <a href="http://doc.akka.io/">the Akka online documentation</a>. * * The Java API for generating UDP commands is available at [[UdpConnectedMessage]]. */ @ccompatUsedUntil213 object UdpConnected extends ExtensionId[UdpConnectedExt] with ExtensionIdProvider { override def lookup = UdpConnected override def createExtension(system: ExtendedActorSystem): UdpConnectedExt = new UdpConnectedExt(system) /** * Java API: retrieve the UdpConnected extension for the given system. */ override def get(system: ActorSystem): UdpConnectedExt = super.get(system) override def get(system: ClassicActorSystemProvider): UdpConnectedExt = super.get(system) /** * The common interface for [[Command]] and [[Event]]. */ sealed trait Message /** * The common type of all commands supported by the UDP implementation. */ trait Command extends SelectionHandler.HasFailureMessage with Message { def failureMessage = CommandFailed(this) } /** * Each [[Send]] can optionally request a positive acknowledgment to be sent * to the commanding actor. If such notification is not desired the [[Send#ack]] * must be set to an instance of this class. The token contained within can be used * to recognize which write failed when receiving a [[CommandFailed]] message. */ case class NoAck(token: Any) extends Event /** * Default [[NoAck]] instance which is used when no acknowledgment information is * explicitly provided. Its “token” is `null`. */ object NoAck extends NoAck(null) /** * This message is understood by the connection actors to send data to their * designated destination. The connection actor will respond with * [[CommandFailed]] if the send could not be enqueued to the O/S kernel * because the send buffer was full. If the given `ack` is not of type [[NoAck]] * the connection actor will reply with the given object as soon as the datagram * has been successfully enqueued to the O/S kernel. */ final case class Send(payload: ByteString, ack: Any) extends Command { require( ack != null, "ack must be non-null. Use NoAck if you don't want acks.") def wantsAck: Boolean = !ack.isInstanceOf[NoAck] } object Send { def apply(data: ByteString): Send = Send(data, NoAck) } /** * Send this message to the [[UdpExt#manager]] in order to bind to a local * port (optionally with the chosen `localAddress`) and create a UDP socket * which is restricted to sending to and receiving from the given `remoteAddress`. * All received datagrams will be sent to the designated `handler` actor. */ @silent("deprecated") final case class Connect( handler: ActorRef, remoteAddress: InetSocketAddress, localAddress: Option[InetSocketAddress] = None, options: immutable.Traversable[SocketOption] = Nil) extends Command /** * Send this message to a connection actor (which had previously sent the * [[Connected]] message) in order to close the socket. The connection actor * will reply with a [[Disconnected]] message. */ case object Disconnect extends Command /** * Send this message to a listener actor (which sent a [[Udp.Bound]] message) to * have it stop reading datagrams from the network. If the O/S kernel’s receive * buffer runs full then subsequent datagrams will be silently discarded. * Re-enable reading from the socket using the `ResumeReading` command. */ case object SuspendReading extends Command /** * This message must be sent to the listener actor to re-enable reading from * the socket after a `SuspendReading` command. */ case object ResumeReading extends Command /** * The common type of all events emitted by the UDP implementation. */ trait Event extends Message /** * When a connection actor receives a datagram from its socket it will send * it to the handler designated in the [[Udp.Bind]] message using this message type. */ final case class Received(data: ByteString) extends Event /** * When a command fails it will be replied to with this message type, * wrapping the failing command object. */ final case class CommandFailed(cmd: Command) extends Event /** * This message is sent by the connection actor to the actor which sent the * [[Connect]] message when the UDP socket has been bound to the local and * remote addresses given. */ sealed trait Connected extends Event case object Connected extends Connected /** * This message is sent by the connection actor to the actor which sent the * `Disconnect` message when the UDP socket has been closed. */ sealed trait Disconnected extends Event case object Disconnected extends Disconnected } class UdpConnectedExt(system: ExtendedActorSystem) extends IO.Extension { val settings: UdpSettings = new UdpSettings(system.settings.config.getConfig("akka.io.udp-connected")) val manager: ActorRef = { system.systemActorOf( props = Props(classOf[UdpConnectedManager], this) .withDispatcher(settings.ManagementDispatcher) .withDeploy(Deploy.local), name = "IO-UDP-CONN") } /** * Java API: retrieve the UDP manager actor’s reference. */ def getManager: ActorRef = manager val bufferPool: BufferPool = new DirectByteBufferPool(settings.DirectBufferSize, settings.MaxDirectBufferPoolSize) } /** * Java API: factory methods for the message types used when communicating with the UdpConnected service. */ object UdpConnectedMessage { import UdpConnected._ import language.implicitConversions /** * Send this message to the [[UdpExt#manager]] in order to bind to a local * port (optionally with the chosen `localAddress`) and create a UDP socket * which is restricted to sending to and receiving from the given `remoteAddress`. * All received datagrams will be sent to the designated `handler` actor. */ def connect( handler: ActorRef, remoteAddress: InetSocketAddress, localAddress: InetSocketAddress, options: JIterable[SocketOption]): Command = Connect(handler, remoteAddress, Some(localAddress), options) /** * Connect without specifying the `localAddress`. */ def connect(handler: ActorRef, remoteAddress: InetSocketAddress, options: JIterable[SocketOption]): Command = Connect(handler, remoteAddress, None, options) /** * Connect without specifying the `localAddress` or `options`. */ def connect(handler: ActorRef, remoteAddress: InetSocketAddress): Command = Connect(handler, remoteAddress, None, Nil) /** * This message is understood by the connection actors to send data to their * designated destination. The connection actor will respond with * [[UdpConnected.CommandFailed]] if the send could not be enqueued to the O/S kernel * because the send buffer was full. If the given `ack` is not of type [[UdpConnected.NoAck]] * the connection actor will reply with the given object as soon as the datagram * has been successfully enqueued to the O/S kernel. */ def send(data: ByteString, ack: AnyRef): Command = Send(data, ack) /** * Send without requesting acknowledgment. */ def send(data: ByteString): Command = Send(data) /** * Send this message to a connection actor (which had previously sent the * [[UdpConnected.Connected]] message) in order to close the socket. The connection actor * will reply with a [[UdpConnected.Disconnected]] message. */ def disconnect: Command = Disconnect /** * Each [[UdpConnected.Send]] can optionally request a positive acknowledgment to be sent * to the commanding actor. If such notification is not desired the [[UdpConnected.Send#ack]] * must be set to an instance of this class. The token contained within can be used * to recognize which write failed when receiving a [[UdpConnected.CommandFailed]] message. */ def noAck(token: AnyRef): NoAck = NoAck(token) /** * Default [[UdpConnected.NoAck]] instance which is used when no acknowledgment information is * explicitly provided. Its “token” is `null`. */ def noAck: NoAck = NoAck /** * Send this message to a listener actor (which sent a [[Udp.Bound]] message) to * have it stop reading datagrams from the network. If the O/S kernel’s receive * buffer runs full then subsequent datagrams will be silently discarded. * Re-enable reading from the socket using the `UdpConnected.ResumeReading` command. */ def suspendReading: Command = SuspendReading /** * This message must be sent to the listener actor to re-enable reading from * the socket after a `UdpConnected.SuspendReading` command. */ def resumeReading: Command = ResumeReading implicit private def fromJava[T](coll: JIterable[T]): immutable.Iterable[T] = { import akka.util.ccompat.JavaConverters._ coll.asScala.to(immutable.Iterable) } }
<?php /** * Hoa * * * @license * * New BSD License * * Copyright © 2007-2017, Hoa community. All rights reserved. * * Redistribution and use in source and binary forms, with or without * modification, are permitted provided that the following conditions are met: * * Redistributions of source code must retain the above copyright * notice, this list of conditions and the following disclaimer. * * Redistributions in binary form must reproduce the above copyright * notice, this list of conditions and the following disclaimer in the * documentation and/or other materials provided with the distribution. * * Neither the name of the Hoa nor the names of its contributors may be * used to endorse or promote products derived from this software without * specific prior written permission. * * THIS SOFTWARE IS PROVIDED BY THE COPYRIGHT HOLDERS AND CONTRIBUTORS "AS IS" * AND ANY EXPRESS OR IMPLIED WARRANTIES, INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO, THE * IMPLIED WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY AND FITNESS FOR A PARTICULAR PURPOSE * ARE DISCLAIMED. IN NO EVENT SHALL THE COPYRIGHT HOLDERS AND CONTRIBUTORS BE * LIABLE FOR ANY DIRECT, INDIRECT, INCIDENTAL, SPECIAL, EXEMPLARY, OR * CONSEQUENTIAL DAMAGES (INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO, PROCUREMENT OF * SUBSTITUTE GOODS OR SERVICES; LOSS OF USE, DATA, OR PROFITS; OR BUSINESS * INTERRUPTION) HOWEVER CAUSED AND ON ANY THEORY OF LIABILITY, WHETHER IN * CONTRACT, STRICT LIABILITY, OR TORT (INCLUDING NEGLIGENCE OR OTHERWISE) * ARISING IN ANY WAY OUT OF THE USE OF THIS SOFTWARE, EVEN IF ADVISED OF THE * POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE. */ namespace Hoa\Realdom\IRealdom; /** * Interface \Hoa\Realdom\IRealdom\Interval. * * Represent domain with bounds. * * @copyright Copyright © 2007-2017 Hoa community * @license New BSD License */ interface Interval { /** * Get lower bound of the domain. * * @return \Hoa\Realdom */ public function getLowerBound(); /** * Get upper bound of the domain. * * @return \Hoa\Realdom */ public function getUpperBound(); /** * Reduce the lower bound. * * @param mixed $value Value. * @return bool */ public function reduceRightTo($value); /** * Reduce the upper bound. * * @param mixed $value Value. * @return bool */ public function reduceLeftTo($value); }
<?php // Page créé par Shepard [Fabian Pijcke] <Shepard8@laposte.net> // Arno Esterhuizen <arno.esterhuizen@gmail.com> // et Romain Bourdon <rromain@romainbourdon.com> // et Hervé Leclerc <herve.leclerc@alterway.fr> // // Mise à jour par Herve Leclerc herve.leclerc@alterway.fr // Icônes par Mark James <http://www.famfamfam.com/lab/icons/silk/> //------ //[modif oto] Modifications Dominique Ottello (Otomatic) //Suppression des vhosts, le dossier n'étant plus créé à l'installation //Affichage des Outils, Projets et Alias sur trois colonnes // - Recodage en utf-8 // - Modification des styles : ajout .third .left et .right // - Ajouts d'index dans $langues['en'] et ['fr'] : // 'locale' pour set_locale // 'docp' url des documentations PHP // 'docm' url des documentations MySQL // 'doca2.2' url de la documentation Apache 2.2 // 'doca2.4' url de la documentation Apache 2.4 // 'server' Server Software // - Classement alphabétique des extensions PHP en fonction de la localisation // - Liens sur les documentations Apache, PHP et MySQL // - Ajout variable $suppress_localhost = true; // - Conformité W3C par ajout de <li>...</li> sur les variables // $aliasContents et $projectContents si vides //[modif oto] - Pour supprimer niveau localhost dans les url $suppress_localhost = true; // avec modification de la ligne //$projectContents .= '<li><a href="'.$file.'">'.$file.'</a></li>'; //Par : //$projectContents .= '<li><a href="'.($suppress_localhost ? 'http://' : '').$file.'">'.$file.'</a></li>'; //----- //[modif oto] Ajout $server_dir pour un seul remplacement // si déplacement www hors de Wamp et pas d'utilisation des jonctions //Par défaut la valeur est "../" //$server_dir = "WAMPROOT/"; $server_dir = "../"; //Fonctionne à condition d'avoir ServerSignature On et ServerTokens Full dans httpd.conf $server_software = $_SERVER['SERVER_SOFTWARE']; $wampConfFile = $server_dir.'wampmanager.conf'; //chemin jusqu'aux fichiers alias $aliasDir = $server_dir.'alias/'; // on charge le fichier de conf locale if (!is_file($wampConfFile)) die ('Unable to open WampServer\'s config file, please change path in index.php file'); $fp = fopen($wampConfFile,'r'); $wampConfFileContents = fread ($fp, filesize ($wampConfFile)); fclose ($fp); // on récupère les versions des applis preg_match('|phpVersion = (.*)\n|',$wampConfFileContents,$result); $phpVersion = str_replace('"','',$result[1]); preg_match('|apacheVersion = (.*)\n|',$wampConfFileContents,$result); $apacheVersion = str_replace('"','',$result[1]); $doca_version = 'doca'.substr($apacheVersion,0,3); preg_match('|mysqlVersion = (.*)\n|',$wampConfFileContents,$result); $mysqlVersion = str_replace('"','',$result[1]); preg_match('|wampserverVersion = (.*)\n|',$wampConfFileContents,$result); $wampserverVersion = str_replace('"','',$result[1]); // répertoires à ignorer dans les projets $projectsListIgnore = array ('.','..'); // textes $langues = array( 'en' => array( 'langue' => 'English', 'locale' => 'english', 'autreLangue' => 'Version Française', 'autreLangueLien' => 'fr', 'titreHtml' => 'WAMPSERVER Homepage', 'titreConf' => 'Server Configuration', 'versa' => 'Apache Version :', 'doca2.2' => 'httpd.apache.org/docs/2.2/en/', 'doca2.4' => 'httpd.apache.org/docs/2.4/en/', 'versp' => 'PHP Version :', 'server' => 'Server Software:', 'docp' => 'www.php.net/manual/en/', 'versm' => 'MySQL Version :', 'docm' => 'dev.mysql.com/doc/index.html', 'phpExt' => 'Loaded Extensions : ', 'titrePage' => 'Tools', 'txtProjet' => 'Your Projects', 'txtNoProjet' => 'No projects yet.<br />To create a new one, just create a directory in \'www\'.', 'txtAlias' => 'Your Aliases', 'txtNoAlias' => 'No Alias yet.<br />To create a new one, use the WAMPSERVER menu.', 'faq' => 'http://www.en.wampserver.com/faq.php' ), 'fr' => array( 'langue' => 'Français', 'locale' => 'french', 'autreLangue' => 'English Version', 'autreLangueLien' => 'en', 'titreHtml' => 'Accueil WAMPSERVER', 'titreConf' => 'Configuration Serveur', 'versa' => 'Version Apache:', 'doca2.2' => 'httpd.apache.org/docs/2.2/fr/', 'doca2.4' => 'httpd.apache.org/docs/2.4/fr/', 'versp' => 'Version de PHP:', 'server' => 'Server Software:', 'docp' => 'www.php.net/manual/fr/', 'versm' => 'Version de MySQL:', 'docm' => 'dev.mysql.com/doc/index.html', 'phpExt' => 'Extensions Chargées: ', 'titrePage' => 'Outils', 'txtProjet' => 'Vos Projets', 'txtNoProjet' => 'Aucun projet.<br /> Pour en ajouter un nouveau, créez simplement un répertoire dans \'www\'.', 'txtAlias' => 'Vos Alias', 'txtNoAlias' => 'Aucun alias.<br /> Pour en ajouter un nouveau, utilisez le menu de WAMPSERVER.', 'faq' => 'http://www.wampserver.com/faq.php' ) ); // images $pngFolder = <<< EOFILE 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rkJggg== EOFILE; //affichage du phpinfo if (isset($_GET['phpinfo'])) { phpinfo(); exit(); } //affichage des images if (isset($_GET['img'])) { switch ($_GET['img']) { case 'pngFolder' : header("Content-type: image/png"); echo base64_decode($pngFolder); exit(); case 'pngFolderGo' : header("Content-type: image/png"); echo base64_decode($pngFolderGo); exit(); case 'gifLogo' : header("Content-type: image/gif"); echo base64_decode($gifLogo); exit(); case 'pngPlugin' : header("Content-type: image/png"); echo base64_decode($pngPlugin); exit(); case 'pngWrench' : header("Content-type: image/png"); echo base64_decode($pngWrench); exit(); case 'favicon' : header("Content-type: image/x-icon"); echo base64_decode($favicon); exit(); } } // Définition de la langue et des textes if (isset ($_GET['lang'])) { $langue = htmlspecialchars($_GET['lang'],ENT_QUOTES); if ($langue != 'en' && $langue != 'fr' ) { $langue = 'fr'; } } elseif (isset ($_SERVER['HTTP_ACCEPT_LANGUAGE']) AND preg_match("/^fr/", $_SERVER['HTTP_ACCEPT_LANGUAGE'])) { $langue = 'fr'; } else { $langue = 'en'; } //initialisation $aliasContents = ''; // récupération des alias if (is_dir($aliasDir)) { $handle=opendir($aliasDir); while (($file = readdir($handle))!==false) { //echo($file); if (is_file($aliasDir.$file) && strstr($file, '.conf')) { $msg = ''; $aliasContents .= '<li><a href="'.str_replace('.conf','',$file).'/">'.str_replace('.conf','',$file).'</a></li>'; } } closedir($handle); } if (empty($aliasContents)) $aliasContents = "<li>".$langues[$langue]['txtNoAlias']."</li>\n"; // récupération des projets $handle=opendir("."); $projectContents = ''; while (($file = readdir($handle))!==false) { if (is_dir($file) && !in_array($file,$projectsListIgnore)) { //[modif oto] Ajout éventuel de http:// pour éviter le niveau localhost dans les url $projectContents .= '<li><a href="'.($suppress_localhost ? 'http://localhost/' : '').$file.'">'.$file.'</a></li>'; } } closedir($handle); if (empty($projectContents)) $projectContents = "<li>".$langues[$langue]['txtNoProjet']."</li>\n";; //initialisation $phpExtContents = ''; // récupération des extensions PHP $loaded_extensions = get_loaded_extensions(); // [modif oto] classement alphabétique des extensions setlocale(LC_ALL,"{$langues[$langue]['locale']}"); sort($loaded_extensions,SORT_LOCALE_STRING); foreach ($loaded_extensions as $extension) $phpExtContents .= "<li>${extension}</li>"; //header('Status: 301 Moved Permanently', false, 301); //header('Location: /aviatechno/index.php'); //exit(); $pageContents = <<< EOPAGE <?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> <!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> <html lang="en" xml:lang="en"> <head> <title>{$langues[$langue]['titreHtml']}</title> <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="txt/html; charset=utf-8" /> <style type="text/css"> * { margin: 0; padding: 0; } html { background: #ddd; } body { margin: 1em 10%; padding: 1em 3em; font: 80%/1.4 tahoma, arial, helvetica, lucida sans, sans-serif; border: 1px solid #999; background: #eee; position: relative; } #head { margin-bottom: 1.8em; margin-top: 1.8em; padding-bottom: 0em; border-bottom: 1px solid #999; letter-spacing: -500em; text-indent: -500em; height: 125px; background: url(index.php?img=gifLogo) 0 0 no-repeat; } .utility { position: absolute; right: 4em; top: 145px; font-size: 0.85em; } .utility li { display: inline; } h2 { margin: 0.8em 0 0 0; } ul { list-style: none; margin: 0; padding: 0; } #head ul li, dl ul li, #foot li { list-style: none; display: inline; margin: 0; padding: 0 0.4em; } ul.aliases, ul.projects, ul.tools { list-style: none; line-height: 24px; } ul.aliases a, ul.projects a, ul.tools a { padding-left: 22px; background: url(index.php?img=pngFolder) 0 100% no-repeat; } ul.tools a { background: url(index.php?img=pngWrench) 0 100% no-repeat; } ul.aliases a { background: url(index.php?img=pngFolderGo) 0 100% no-repeat; } dl { margin: 0; padding: 0; } dt { font-weight: bold; text-align: right; width: 11em; clear: both; } dd { margin: -1.35em 0 0 12em; padding-bottom: 0.4em; overflow: auto; } dd ul li { float: left; display: block; width: 16.5%; margin: 0; padding: 0 0 0 20px; background: url(index.php?img=pngPlugin) 2px 50% no-repeat; line-height: 1.6; } a { color: #024378; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; } a:hover { color: #04569A; text-decoration: underline; } #foot { text-align: center; margin-top: 1.8em; border-top: 1px solid #999; padding-top: 1em; font-size: 0.85em; } .third { width:32%; float:left; } .left {float:left;} .right {float:right;} </style> <link rel="shortcut icon" href="index.php?img=favicon" type="image/ico" /> </head> <body> <div id="head"> <h1><abbr title="Windows">W</abbr><abbr title="Apache">A</abbr><abbr title="MySQL">M</abbr><abbr title="PHP">P</abbr></h1> <ul> <li>PHP 5</li> <li>Apache 2</li> <li>MySQL 5</li> </ul> </div> <ul class="utility"> <li>Version ${wampserverVersion}</li> <li><a href="?lang={$langues[$langue]['autreLangueLien']}">{$langues[$langue]['autreLangue']}</a></li> </ul> <h2> {$langues[$langue]['titreConf']} </h2> <dl class="content"> <dt>{$langues[$langue]['versa']}</dt> <dd>${apacheVersion}&nbsp;&nbsp;-&nbsp;<a href='http://{$langues[$langue][$doca_version]}'>Documentation</a></dd> <dt>{$langues[$langue]['versp']}</dt> <dd>${phpVersion}&nbsp;&nbsp;-&nbsp;<a href='http://{$langues[$langue]['docp']}'>Documentation</a></dd> <dt>{$langues[$langue]['server']}</dt> <dd>${server_software}</dd> <dt>{$langues[$langue]['phpExt']}</dt> <dd> <ul> ${phpExtContents} </ul> </dd> <dt>{$langues[$langue]['versm']}</dt> <dd>${mysqlVersion} &nbsp;-&nbsp; <a href='http://{$langues[$langue]['docm']}'>Documentation</a></dd> </dl> <div style="margin-top:5px;border-top:1px solid #999;"></div> <div class="third left"> <h2>{$langues[$langue]['titrePage']}</h2> <ul class="tools"> <li><a href="?phpinfo=1">phpinfo()</a></li> <li><a href="phpmyadmin/">phpmyadmin</a></li> </ul> </div> <div class="third left"> <h2>{$langues[$langue]['txtProjet']}</h2> <ul class="projects"> $projectContents </ul> </div> <div class="third right"> <h2>{$langues[$langue]['txtAlias']}</h2> <ul class="aliases"> ${aliasContents} </ul> </div> <div style="clear:both;"></div> <ul id="foot"> <li><a href="http://www.wampserver.com">WampServer</a></li> <li><a href="http://www.wampserver.com/en/donations.php">Donate</a></li> <li><a href="http://www.alterway.fr">Alter Way</a></li> </ul> </body> </html> EOPAGE; echo $pageContents; ?>
<?php require_once("provider.php"); class StockProvider implements ServiceProvider { // Widget properties static $widgetName = "Stock Price"; static $widgetIcon = "stock.svg"; public $cpair; public $width; public $height; function StockProvider() { $this->stock = "GOOG"; $this->width = 800; $this->height = 100; $this->font_size = 1; $this->font_family = "Verdana"; } public function getTunables() { return array( "stock" => array("type" => "text", "display" => "Stock Name", "value" => $this->stock), "font_family" => array("type" => "text", "display" => "Font Family", "value" => $this->font_family), "font_size" => array("type" => "fnum", "display" => "Font Size", "value" => $this->font_size) ); } public function setTunables($v) { $this->stock = strtoupper($v["stock"]["value"]); $this->font_family = $v["font_family"]["value"]; $this->font_size = $v["font_size"]["value"]; } public function shape() { // Return default width/height return array( "width" => $this->width, "height" => $this->height, "resizable" => true, "keep_aspect" => false, ); } public function render() { // Gather information from yahoo $raw = file_get_contents("http://finance.google.com/finance/info?client=ig&q=".$this->stock); $raw = str_replace("//", "", $raw); $info = json_decode($raw, true); $name = $info[0]["t"]; $price = $info[0]["l"]; // Generate an SVG image out of this return sprintf( '<svg width="%d" height="%d" version="1.1" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2000/svg" xmlns:xlink="http://www.w3.org/1999/xlink"> <text text-anchor="middle" x="50%%" y="80%%" fill="black" style="font-size: %dpx; font-family: %s;"> %s %0.3f </text> </svg>', $this->width, $this->height, $this->font_size * $this->height, $this->font_family, $name, $price ); } }; ?>
My Tags About Add Tags Copyright Created by gluk ( gluksza@wp.pl | www.glukfonts.pl ) with FontForge.<br> License Copyright (c) 2012-2013, gluk [ www.glukfonts.pl | gluksza@wp.pl ],<br>with Reserved Font Name Glametrix.<br><br>This Font Software is licensed under the SIL Open Font License, Version 1.1.<br>This license is also available with a FAQ at:<br>http://scripts.sil.org/OFL Copyright Created by gluk ( gluksza@wp.pl | www.glukfonts.pl ) with FontForge.<br> License Copyright (c) 2012-2013, gluk [ www.glukfonts.pl | gluksza@wp.pl ],<br>with Reserved Font Name Glametrix.<br><br>This Font Software is licensed under the SIL Open Font License, Version 1.1.<br>This license is also available with a FAQ at:<br>http://scripts.sil.org/OFL Copyright Created by gluk ( gluksza@wp.pl | www.glukfonts.pl ) with FontForge.<br> License Copyright (c) 2012-2013, gluk [ www.glukfonts.pl | gluksza@wp.pl ],<br>with Reserved Font Name Glametrix.<br><br>This Font Software is licensed under the SIL Open Font License, Version 1.1.<br>This license is also available with a FAQ at:<br>http://scripts.sil.org/OFL
#!/bin/sh mkdir colors cp SublimeMonokai.xml colors touch IntelliJ\ IDEA\ Global\ Settings jar cfM SublimeMonoKai.jar IntelliJ\ IDEA\ Global\ Settings colors rm -r colors rm IntelliJ\ IDEA\ Global\ Settings
;;;; -*- Mode: Lisp; Syntax: Common-Lisp; -*- ;;;; Code from Paradigms of AI Programming ;;;; Copyright (c) 1991 Peter Norvig ;;;; File unifgram.lisp: The DCG parser from Chapter 20. (requires "prologcp") (defmacro rule (head &optional (arrow ':-) &body body) "Expand one of several types of logic rules into pure Prolog." ;; This is data-driven, dispatching on the arrow (funcall (get arrow 'rule-function) head body)) (setf (get ':- 'rule-function) #'(lambda (head body) `(<- ,head .,body))) (defun dcg-normal-goal-p (x) (or (starts-with x :test) (eq x '!))) (defun dcg-word-list-p (x) (starts-with x ':word)) (setf (get '--> 'rule-function) 'make-dcg) (defun make-dcg (head body) (let ((n (count-if (complement #'dcg-normal-goal-p) body))) `(<- (,@head ?s0 ,(symbol '?s n)) .,(make-dcg-body body 0)))) (defun make-dcg-body (body n) "Make the body of a Definite Clause Grammar (DCG) clause. Add ?string-in and -out variables to each constituent. Goals like (:test goal) are ordinary Prolog goals, and goals like (:word hello) are literal words to be parsed." (if (null body) nil (let ((goal (first body))) (cond ((eq goal '!) (cons '! (make-dcg-body (rest body) n))) ((dcg-normal-goal-p goal) (append (rest goal) (make-dcg-body (rest body) n))) ((dcg-word-list-p goal) (cons `(= ,(symbol '?s n) (,@(rest goal) .,(symbol '?s (+ n 1)))) (make-dcg-body (rest body) (+ n 1)))) (t (cons (append goal (list (symbol '?s n) (symbol '?s (+ n 1)))) (make-dcg-body (rest body) (+ n 1)))))))) (setf (get '==> 'rule-function) 'make-augmented-dcg) (defun make-augmented-dcg (head body) "Build an augmented DCG rule that handles :sem, :ex, and automatic conjunctiontive constituents." (if (eq (last1 head) :sem) ;; Handle :sem (let* ((?sem (gensym "?SEM"))) (make-augmented-dcg `(,@(butlast head) ,?sem) `(,@(remove :sem body :key #'first-or-nil) (:test ,(collect-sems body ?sem))))) ;; Separate out examples from body (multiple-value-bind (exs new-body) (partition-if #'(lambda (x) (starts-with x :ex)) body) ;; Handle conjunctions (let ((rule `(rule ,(handle-conj head) --> ,@new-body))) (if (null exs) rule `(progn (:ex ,head .,(mappend #'rest exs)) ,rule)))))) (defun collect-sems (body ?sem) "Get the semantics out of each constituent in body, and combine them together into ?sem." (let ((sems (loop for goal in body unless (or (dcg-normal-goal-p goal) (dcg-word-list-p goal) (starts-with goal :ex) (atom goal)) collect (last1 goal)))) (case (length sems) (0 `(= ,?sem t)) (1 `(= ,?sem ,(first sems))) (t `(and* ,sems ,?sem))))) (defun and*/2 (in out cont) "IN is a list of conjuncts that are conjoined into OUT." ;; E.g.: (and* (t (and a b) t (and c d) t) ?x) ==> ;; ?x = (and a b c d) (if (unify! out (maybe-add 'and (conjuncts (cons 'and in)) t)) (funcall cont))) (defun conjuncts (exp) "Get all the conjuncts from an expression." (deref exp) (cond ((eq exp t) nil) ((atom exp) (list exp)) ((eq (deref (first exp)) 'nil) nil) ((eq (first exp) 'and) (mappend #'conjuncts (rest exp))) (t (list exp)))) (defmacro :ex ((category . args) &body examples) "Add some example phrases, indexed under the category." `(add-examples ',category ',args ',examples)) (defvar *examples* (make-hash-table :test #'eq)) (defun get-examples (category) (gethash category *examples*)) (defun clear-examples () (clrhash *examples*)) (defun add-examples (category args examples) "Add these example strings to this category, and when it comes time to run them, use the args." (dolist (example examples) (when (stringp example) (let ((ex `(,example (,category ,@args ,(string->list (remove-punctuation example)) ())))) (unless (member ex (get-examples category) :test #'equal) (setf (gethash category *examples*) (nconc (get-examples category) (list ex)))))))) (defun run-examples (&optional category) "Run all the example phrases stored under a category. With no category, run ALL the examples." (prolog-compile-symbols) (if (null category) (maphash #'(lambda (cat val) (declare (ignore val)) (format t "~2&Examples of ~a:~&" cat) (run-examples cat)) *examples*) (dolist (example (get-examples category)) (format t "~2&EXAMPLE: ~{~a~&~9T~a~}" example) (top-level-prove (cdr example))))) (defun remove-punctuation (string) "Replace punctuation with spaces in string." (substitute-if #\space #'punctuation-p string)) (defun string->list (string) "Convert a string to a list of words." (read-from-string (concatenate 'string "(" string ")"))) (defun punctuation-p (char) (find char "*_.,;:`!?#-()\\\"")) (defmacro conj-rule ((conj-cat sem1 combined-sem) ==> conj (cat . args)) "Define this category as an automatic conjunction." (assert (eq ==> '==>)) `(progn (setf (get ',cat 'conj-cat) ',(symbol cat '_)) (rule (,cat ,@(butlast args) ?combined-sem) ==> (,(symbol cat '_) ,@(butlast args) ,sem1) (,conj-cat ,sem1 ?combined-sem)) (rule (,conj-cat ,sem1 ,combined-sem) ==> ,conj (,cat ,@args)) (rule (,conj-cat ?sem1 ?sem1) ==>))) (defun handle-conj (head) "Replace (Cat ...) with (Cat_ ...) if Cat is declared as a conjunctive category." (if (and (listp head) (conj-category (predicate head))) (cons (conj-category (predicate head)) (args head)) head)) (defun conj-category (predicate) "If this is a conjunctive predicate, return the Cat_ symbol." (get predicate 'conj-category))
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Pennsylvania and its neighbors are bursting with tradition, legends, tall tales and ghosts. Each week we'll introduce one or two of their strange and spooky stories to you. Click on Pennsylvania Haunts and History to get to our website's home page. Tuesday, November 6, 2007 Nothing like a bunch of rich folk playing patty cake with the French maids to create a few spooks to haunt the halls of Pittsburgh's Chatham College in Shadyside. Benedum Hall (“Graystone”): Originally, this was the home of The Great Wildcatter, oilman Michael Benedum and his wife Sarah, along with their son, Claude. Claude fell hard for the family maid, Maude. His parents disapproved, of course, and sent him off to the Army. He died of pneumonia while in uniform in 1918 at the age of 20, and Maude joined him in the afterlife soon afterwards. It's said that they can be heard together playing footsies in the house. It became a dorm in 1960, and the mischievous Claude was known to pull the covers off sleeping students while filling the room with cigarette smoke. A more malicious story involves Michael, who was said to be involved with a maid from the Rea household (more on them later) and got her pregnant. The enraged Sarah hung the maid from the Benedum's chandelier and tore the baby from her. It's said that sometimes you can still see the maid hanging from the chandelier in her black outfit, feather duster in her lifeless hand. Other more mundane paranormal activity took place at Benedum. A former resident told us that she saw a spirit looking out her dormer window, and that "there were many other instances of people hearing parties in the main rooms with music playing and people laughing, shadows moving, etc." Sadly for spook lovers, the college sold the Benedum property in 1986 and it's now the site of pricey town houses and condos. Berry Hall: Now the admissions office, the building was once used as a dorm. It was built originally as a private residence in 1895. Students could hear the cries of children, and the speculation is they were youngsters that died while living in the house before the college took it over. Fickes Hall: Built in 1927, the home was the residence of Edwin Stanton Fickes of Alcoa fame before becoming a dorm in 1946. It's ghosts include a woman that committed suicide by jumping out of a window (although readers Michele and her anonymous friend say she was talked back in, squelching that sighting), and the third floor is haunted by the spirit of a boy who fell out of a window. Another reader, a student who lived on the third floor in the nineties, wrote to add "I frequently saw a female ghost in my room. She appeared to me several times a week, usually between 2:30 and 3:30 A.M. I never saw her until I moved my bed...under the two windows. Her appearances lessened significantly when I moved my bed to a different location. She was a very strong presence." The main spook, though, is thought to be Fickes himself, who returns to his old suite of rooms every so often, rummaging through desks and closets and jumping in bed with the coeds, the old rake. Mellon's son lived there, too, and has to be considered an etheral suspect. Gymnasium: The lights stay on in the gym even after you've shut them off. The athletic director isn't sure if the cause is electrical problems or just a friendly ghost keeping the gym open. Spooks have been known to have a basketball jones. Laughlin House: The house was built in 1912, and it's now a dormitory. The grapevine has it that James Laughlin or James Rea hung themselves there. (They didn't. Julia Rea and Laughlin had a rumored affair, but it didn't end in anyone's suicide.) Laughlin House (Its' namesake is one of Jones & Laughlin Steel's founders, and grandfather of noted American poet James) is supposed to be the eeriest place at Chatham. One former student told us she had her eeriest experience there: "The worst was a female spirit in Laughlin House (3rd floor). She had long dark hair and a bluish white dress, (and) she woke me up one night by putting intense pressure on my chest..." Most phenomena experienced there are fairly traditional, with slamming doors, electrical devices turning on and off, ringing phones, opening and closing windows, running commodes and rearranged clothes and shoes. Some feel that the long ago affair cast a negative vibe over the house that can be felt to this day. Mellon Center: Built in 1887, Andrew W. Mellon lived there for 20 years. There's a pool (now drained and used as a mechanical room) and bowling alley in the basement, and Mellon doesn't like to share them with the students, so he tries to shoo them away. He's been seen walking across the pool area, but most of the sightings are in the bowling alley. Students can hear Mellon and Henry Clay Frick talking and listening to music. You can smell cigar smoke, and if the alley's closed, you can see the smoke coming out from behind the shut door. If you do bowl, the room is often cold. The pins get into the act, too, sometimes resetting themselves so you can bowl another frame. There's some unspecified ghostly going-ons on the third floor. It's also said that the eyes of the portrait of Andrew Mellon in the lobby follow you around. Rea House: This was also built in 1912. The ghost of a maid that had an affair with Andrew Mellon, or maybe Claude Benedum, makes her presence felt in the dorm. (No one's certain which one she did the dirty deed with. What is known is that she ended the affair by hanging herself in the dining room. We're not sure if she was the same maid hung in Benedum Hall or not. If not, same ending, different house.) Allegedly, a woman's ghost walks through the front windows. There are also reports of crying babies, windows that never close, and some other poltergeist type activity. But for all its alleged history, many other students said that they've experienced nothing out of the ordinary. Woodland Hall: This is where Chatham's most famous spirit lives, the “Blue Lady of Woodland Hall”. Students wake up with the vision of a woman hovering above them, dressed in a blue chiffon dress. But she shares the spotlight with the ghost of a young boy, who once grabbed a hapless student by the ankle while imploring her to play with him. The specter had a good grip; he left a bruise on her ankle. His haunt, the fourth floor, is always cold. If you wonder how people from different mansions managed to meet discreetly for their various trysts, the answer is tunnels. Andrew Mellon, a lover of privacy, had various residences connected by underground tunnels (now closed; one reader said it went just from Benedum to Fifth Avenue) that were said to be wide enough to drive a carriage through. And once they got the maid in the back seat... The school has held an annual Chatham Ghost Walk since 2005 to explore the haunted history behind Chatham’s residence halls. When I went to Chatham, Benedum was known as the haunted mansion. I lived in Fickes for 2 1/2 years and never heard a peep. A student did threaten to jump out a window once but was talked back into her dorm. My how these tales have grown to include nearly all of the dorms on campus! Certainly makes for a good story. Yeah...I am with Michele in regards to hauntings at Chatham with a few exceptions: first of all there are no tunnels connecting the dorms as many were seperate residences that were left to the college during various times throughtout Chatham's history and to have connecting tunnels would have to be of an expense that I cannot imagine Chatham paying for and or a collaborate effort by former home owners with prescient abilities. The only tunnel I am aware of is the one that runs from Benedum to 5th street and that had long been blocked...if it still exist. The window jumping student was someone who I knew from first hand that had to be talked back in (by myself). I am amazed how that has rolled into a horror story over the years. I lived in Rea House for a year and a half and had heard of no spooks though the abandoned coffee house in the basement had developed a profound silence in it's neglect! I can say this, Mellon Center gives off interesting vibes when it comes to the paranormal!The original house part of Fickes also has odd vibes! And...I am told Berry was quite unsettling. I lived in Fickes on the third floor, overlooking the small courtyard area. I frequently saw a female ghost in my room. She appeared to me several times a week-usually between 2:30 and 3:30 A.M. I never saw her until I moved my bed to sit under the two windows. Her appearances lessened significantly when I moved my bed to a different location. She was a very strong presence. This was in the '90s. I lived in benedum my sophomore year at Chatham and experienced many strange things. I lived on the third floor, alone, for the first half of the year. I was coming home home one night and remember looking up and seeing the shadow of someone standing in my dormer window. When I got to my room, the door was locked and no one was there. There were many other instances of people hearing parties in the main rooms with music playing and people laughing, shadows moving, etc. I loved living there, but even now I get goose bumps relating the things I experienced. I went to Chatham in the early 80's and lived in Laughlin for two years, Rea for one. Benedum hall was a dorm at that time as well. Laughlin was crazy haunted! I saw and heard ghosts regularly as did most of my roomates. They would slam doors, close windows (hard and loud), flush toilets and move things. We would just be studying or hanging out in our room and the phone would literally jump off the hook. Benedum was beautiful but Claude definetely lingered! He would uncover sleeping students, fill rooms with cigarette smoke out of nowhere, very strange. No one wanted to live there. I had no problems at Rea House. The worst was a female spirit in Laughlin House (3rd floor). She had long dark hair and a bluish white dress, she woke me up one night by putting intense pressure on my chest, I literally couldn't push her off for several seconds. Needless to say, I left and drove home at 3:00 am, in my nightgown, in February! I commuted for about 3 weeks, I was afraid to sleep in the 3rd floor Quad for a long time! I had no issues in Laughlin when I lived in the 2nd floor quad. I will never forget the night that the little boy visited me in my room. I had awoken from a bad dream and was lying there in the dark. Then I heard out in the hallway what sounded to be an older girl walking with two young children, a boy and a girl. The children were running down the hall, and she said to them, "Shhh! People are sleeping." It then became very quiet. All of the sudden I knew that someone else, other than my roommate, was in the room. I looked to the end of my bed and saw standing there a blonde headed little boy in a light blue outfit. I instantly put my head back down on my pillow and started saying the Lord's Prayer. The next thing I knew, I felt pressure on the end of my bed and this hand wrap its fingers around my ankle. He pulled himself up on the bed with me, and then started scooting himself up the side of the bed until he reached my arms and shoulders. He began to push me on my shoulder saying, "Let's play! Let's play! I want to play." I tried to scream and nothing would come out. When I didn't answer him, he moved up closer to my head, grabbed some of my hair and started to tug on my hair, begging me to play. I finally was able to scream at him and tell him to get away. At this point he started to shimmy his way back down to the end of the bed, grabbed me by the ankle again, in the same location, let himself off of the bed and started to walk away. I do remember hearing him whimper, lightly crying at how I upset him. When morning came around, my roommate asked me what in the world happened in the middle of the night and I shared with her my experience. She heard it all, but stayed silent through it all. Later in the day when I went to take a shower, I discovered a large black bruise on my ankle where the boy had touched me. I couldn't recall in the days leading up to the event anything that could have caused such a dark, large bruise. I have in the past been very sensitive to ghosts, but this was the very first time one had actually touched me. I never saw him after this again. Hello,I was at Chatham from 94-96, lived in Fickes Hall first year. Room was on the 2nd floor overlooking the courtyard but part of the addition not the original house. My room did look over at the room on the 3rd floor where the previous poster stated she saw the ghost of girl. When I lived there, that 3rd floor room was a triple (meaning 3 girls shared the room), and all three had moved out. I was told because me being a lowly freshmen and new didn't really know any upperclasmen that they moved out 1 by 1 because of the "strange" happenings in the room. I myself had 3 different experiences while staying in my 2nd floor room. I had a roommate, but she only stayed in the room one day a week. So the rest of the time, it was just me and at that time NOT a believer of anything paranormal. First incident was on a weekend morning when i was sitting on my bed tying my shoes and I saw movement out the corner of my eye. I looked up to see my telephone cord swinging back n forth by itself. Middle of winter, no open windows no fans nothing. When I stared at it, it slowly came to a full stop. I almost ran out the room! Next time, it was middle of the night, and the room felt bright like the sun was in my face, opened my eyes to my desk lap on and pointed at me. I like sleeping in complete darkness by the way. When I went to turn it off, the hair on my neck stood up and that voice inside my head said, when you click it off - close your eyes, don't open them! I was afraid I would see something I wasn't supposed to/didn't want to see. That incident happened to me once more, but then I was convinced those were not just random happenings. I became a believer! On the 4th floor of Woodland Hall visiting a friend I did feel a heaviness in the air and a feeling I wasn't alone but I shook it off. Definitely unique experiences, I've never been through again but will be with me always. I was a student at Chatham '83-'87 and lived in Fickes for three years. My freshman year I lived in the original master bedroom, then a quad. My second year I was on the first floor and junior year on the third floor. The master suite is absolutely haunted. My roommate and I had multiple experiences in that room. One particularly frightening episode sent us screaming into the adjoining room, waking up our suite mate and her boyfriend as we ran through their room and into the closet to hide. We were in the bathroom and heard a guttural growl so loud we were convinced we were going to die. I will never EVER forget that experience and get chills just thinking about it. There were other episodes in the room, but none nearly as frightening as that. As far as the first floor, I never experienced anything there, but there was definitely a presence on the third floor. Without exception I felt a presence in the hall, as well as in the bathroom. I continually looked over my shoulder. I lived in Fickes my first year in the room of the main house with the bathroom connecting to the other room (as mentioned above) and there were certainly interesting things that would happen. More often than not, just objects being moved or crashing to the floor in the middle of the night. My sophomore year I was the desk attendant in Rea House and absolutely, without a doubt, heard a baby crying one night. It was during January, when few students were on campus. I walked around the house, trying to check on where the sound was coming from but every time I thought I was close, it seemed to move to a different area in the house. I called security, but by the time they came it stopped (and I promptly asked for a ride back to Woodland!). I am currently a student at Chatham. The gym (now the art and design center) is super creepy at night. One night I was there alone working on a project and kept hearing foot steps on the mezzanine above me. I lived in Rea, Fickes and Woodland Hall and never had any experiences with the supernatural. My friends who lived in Benedum Hall complained about ghosts and paranormal activity all the time. My one experience with a ghost (I believe) was in the attic of Mellon where the literary zine office was located. Around 3am one evening, while studying with a friend, we heard distinct footsteps approaching our door. They were so loud we both looked up and we waiting for the night watchman to make his appearance. He never did. The footsteps stopped and we went out into the hall and there was no one there. Later, around 4am, the night watchman did come around and he told us he never was in the house more than once a night, and those prior footsteps did not belong to him. He also shared that he had heard them himself many times. There were no others in the entire mansion that night - my friend and I were alone. No one ever went in Mellon at night, but I had a deadline to meet as I was the Editor. Ghosts?? Who can say, but it was really creepy. I went to Chatham in the 70's. One year I lived on the third floor of Laughlin in a huge room with a balcony facing Woodland Road. It was gorgeous. It had a secret back stairway in one of the closets, presumably for the servants' access to the kitchen. I didn't know of any hauntings there during my stay. Benedum was the hot spot at that time. I also lived in Fickes. The solarium is one creepy room. I really miss living in those dorms.
# This Source Code Form is subject to the terms of the Mozilla Public # License, v. 2.0. If a copy of the MPL was not distributed with this # file, You can obtain one at http://mozilla.org/MPL/2.0/. # This script is used to capture the content of config.status-generated # files and subsequently restore their timestamp if they haven't changed. import argparse import errno import itertools import os import re import subprocess import sys import pickle import mozpack.path as mozpath class Pool(object): def __new__(cls, size): try: import multiprocessing size = min(size, multiprocessing.cpu_count()) return multiprocessing.Pool(size) except: return super(Pool, cls).__new__(cls) def imap_unordered(self, fn, iterable): return itertools.imap(fn, iterable) def close(self): pass def join(self): pass class File(object): def __init__(self, path): self._path = path self._content = open(path, 'rb').read() stat = os.stat(path) self._times = (stat.st_atime, stat.st_mtime) @property def path(self): return self._path @property def mtime(self): return self._times[1] @property def modified(self): '''Returns whether the file was modified since the instance was created. Result is memoized.''' if hasattr(self, '_modified'): return self._modified modified = True if os.path.exists(self._path): if open(self._path, 'rb').read() == self._content: modified = False self._modified = modified return modified def update_time(self): '''If the file hasn't changed since the instance was created, restore its old modification time.''' if not self.modified: os.utime(self._path, self._times) # As defined in the various sub-configures in the tree PRECIOUS_VARS = set([ 'build_alias', 'host_alias', 'target_alias', 'CC', 'CFLAGS', 'LDFLAGS', 'LIBS', 'CPPFLAGS', 'CPP', 'CCC', 'CXXFLAGS', 'CXX', 'CCASFLAGS', 'CCAS', ]) CONFIGURE_DATA = 'configure.pkl' # Autoconf, in some of the sub-configures used in the tree, likes to error # out when "precious" variables change in value. The solution it gives to # straighten things is to either run make distclean or remove config.cache. # There's no reason not to do the latter automatically instead of failing, # doing the cleanup (which, on buildbots means a full clobber), and # restarting from scratch. def maybe_clear_cache(data): env = dict(data['env']) for kind in ('target', 'host', 'build'): arg = data[kind] if arg is not None: env['%s_alias' % kind] = arg # configure can take variables assignments in its arguments, and that # overrides whatever is in the environment. for arg in data['args']: if arg[:1] != '-' and '=' in arg: key, value = arg.split('=', 1) env[key] = value comment = re.compile(r'^\s+#') cache = {} with open(data['cache-file']) as f: for line in f: if not comment.match(line) and '=' in line: key, value = line.rstrip(os.linesep).split('=', 1) # If the value is quoted, unquote it if value[:1] == "'": value = value[1:-1].replace("'\\''", "'") cache[key] = value for precious in PRECIOUS_VARS: # If there is no entry at all for that precious variable, then # its value is not precious for that particular configure. if 'ac_cv_env_%s_set' % precious not in cache: continue is_set = cache.get('ac_cv_env_%s_set' % precious) == 'set' value = cache.get('ac_cv_env_%s_value' % precious) if is_set else None if value != env.get(precious): print 'Removing %s because of %s value change from:' \ % (data['cache-file'], precious) print ' %s' % (value if value is not None else 'undefined') print 'to:' print ' %s' % env.get(precious, 'undefined') os.remove(data['cache-file']) return True return False def split_template(s): """Given a "file:template" string, returns "file", "template". If the string is of the form "file" (without a template), returns "file", "file.in".""" if ':' in s: return s.split(':', 1) return s, '%s.in' % s def get_config_files(data): config_status = mozpath.join(data['objdir'], 'config.status') if not os.path.exists(config_status): return [], [] configure = mozpath.join(data['srcdir'], 'configure') config_files = [] command_files = [] # Scan the config.status output for information about configuration files # it generates. config_status_output = subprocess.check_output( [data['shell'], '-c', '%s --help' % config_status], stderr=subprocess.STDOUT).splitlines() state = None for line in config_status_output: if line.startswith('Configuration') and line.endswith(':'): if line.endswith('commands:'): state = 'commands' else: state = 'config' elif not line.strip(): state = None elif state: for f, t in (split_template(couple) for couple in line.split()): f = mozpath.join(data['objdir'], f) t = mozpath.join(data['srcdir'], t) if state == 'commands': command_files.append(f) else: config_files.append((f, t)) return config_files, command_files def prepare(srcdir, objdir, shell, args): parser = argparse.ArgumentParser() parser.add_argument('--target', type=str) parser.add_argument('--host', type=str) parser.add_argument('--build', type=str) parser.add_argument('--cache-file', type=str) # The --srcdir argument is simply ignored. It's a useless autoconf feature # that we don't support well anyways. This makes it stripped from `others` # and allows to skip setting it when calling the subconfigure (configure # will take it from the configure path anyways). parser.add_argument('--srcdir', type=str) data_file = os.path.join(objdir, CONFIGURE_DATA) previous_args = None if os.path.exists(data_file): with open(data_file, 'rb') as f: data = pickle.load(f) previous_args = data['args'] # Msys likes to break environment variables and command line arguments, # so read those from stdin, as they are passed from the configure script # when necessary (on windows). # However, for some reason, $PATH is not handled like other environment # variables, and msys remangles it even when giving it is already a msys # $PATH. Fortunately, the mangling/demangling is just find for $PATH, so # we can just take the value from the environment. Msys will convert it # back properly when calling subconfigure. input = sys.stdin.read() if input: data = {a: b for [a, b] in eval(input)} environ = {a: b for a, b in data['env']} environ['PATH'] = os.environ['PATH'] args = data['args'] else: environ = os.environ args, others = parser.parse_known_args(args) data = { 'target': args.target, 'host': args.host, 'build': args.build, 'args': others, 'shell': shell, 'srcdir': srcdir, 'env': environ, } if args.cache_file: data['cache-file'] = mozpath.normpath(mozpath.join(os.getcwd(), args.cache_file)) else: data['cache-file'] = mozpath.join(objdir, 'config.cache') if previous_args is not None: data['previous-args'] = previous_args try: os.makedirs(objdir) except OSError as e: if e.errno != errno.EEXIST: raise with open(data_file, 'wb') as f: pickle.dump(data, f) def prefix_lines(text, prefix): return ''.join('%s> %s' % (prefix, line) for line in text.splitlines(True)) def run(objdir): ret = 0 output = '' with open(os.path.join(objdir, CONFIGURE_DATA), 'rb') as f: data = pickle.load(f) data['objdir'] = objdir cache_file = data['cache-file'] cleared_cache = True if os.path.exists(cache_file): cleared_cache = maybe_clear_cache(data) config_files, command_files = get_config_files(data) contents = [] for f, t in config_files: contents.append(File(f)) # AC_CONFIG_COMMANDS actually only registers tags, not file names # but most commands are tagged with the file name they create. # However, a few don't, or are tagged with a directory name (and their # command is just to create that directory) for f in command_files: if os.path.isfile(f): contents.append(File(f)) # Only run configure if one of the following is true: # - config.status doesn't exist # - config.status is older than configure # - the configure arguments changed # - the environment changed in a way that requires a cache clear. configure = mozpath.join(data['srcdir'], 'configure') config_status_path = mozpath.join(objdir, 'config.status') skip_configure = True if not os.path.exists(config_status_path): skip_configure = False config_status = None else: config_status = File(config_status_path) if config_status.mtime < os.path.getmtime(configure) or \ data.get('previous-args', data['args']) != data['args'] or \ cleared_cache: skip_configure = False relobjdir = os.path.relpath(objdir, os.getcwd()) if not skip_configure: command = [data['shell'], configure] for kind in ('target', 'build', 'host'): if data.get(kind) is not None: command += ['--%s=%s' % (kind, data[kind])] command += data['args'] command += ['--cache-file=%s' % cache_file] # Pass --no-create to configure so that it doesn't run config.status. # We're going to run it ourselves. command += ['--no-create'] print prefix_lines('configuring', relobjdir) print prefix_lines('running %s' % ' '.join(command[:-1]), relobjdir) sys.stdout.flush() try: output += subprocess.check_output(command, stderr=subprocess.STDOUT, cwd=objdir, env=data['env']) except subprocess.CalledProcessError as e: return relobjdir, e.returncode, e.output # Leave config.status with a new timestamp if configure is newer than # its original mtime. if config_status and os.path.getmtime(configure) <= config_status.mtime: config_status.update_time() # Only run config.status if one of the following is true: # - config.status changed or did not exist # - one of the templates for config files is newer than the corresponding # config file. skip_config_status = True if not config_status or config_status.modified: # If config.status doesn't exist after configure (because it's not # an autoconf configure), skip it. if os.path.exists(config_status_path): skip_config_status = False else: # config.status changed or was created, so we need to update the # list of config and command files. config_files, command_files = get_config_files(data) for f, t in config_files: if not os.path.exists(t) or \ os.path.getmtime(f) < os.path.getmtime(t): skip_config_status = False if not skip_config_status: if skip_configure: print prefix_lines('running config.status', relobjdir) sys.stdout.flush() try: output += subprocess.check_output([data['shell'], '-c', './config.status'], stderr=subprocess.STDOUT, cwd=objdir, env=data['env']) except subprocess.CalledProcessError as e: ret = e.returncode output += e.output for f in contents: f.update_time() return relobjdir, ret, output def subconfigure(args): parser = argparse.ArgumentParser() parser.add_argument('--list', type=str, help='File containing a list of subconfigures to run') parser.add_argument('--skip', type=str, help='File containing a list of Subconfigures to skip') parser.add_argument('subconfigures', type=str, nargs='*', help='Subconfigures to run if no list file is given') args, others = parser.parse_known_args(args) subconfigures = args.subconfigures if args.list: subconfigures.extend(open(args.list, 'rb').read().splitlines()) if args.skip: skips = set(open(args.skip, 'rb').read().splitlines()) subconfigures = [s for s in subconfigures if s not in skips] if not subconfigures: return 0 ret = 0 # One would think using a ThreadPool would be faster, considering # everything happens in subprocesses anyways, but no, it's actually # slower on Windows. (20s difference overall!) pool = Pool(len(subconfigures)) for relobjdir, returncode, output in \ pool.imap_unordered(run, subconfigures): print prefix_lines(output, relobjdir) sys.stdout.flush() ret = max(returncode, ret) if ret: break pool.close() pool.join() return ret def main(args): if args[0] != '--prepare': return subconfigure(args) topsrcdir = os.path.abspath(args[1]) subdir = args[2] # subdir can be of the form srcdir:objdir if ':' in subdir: srcdir, subdir = subdir.split(':', 1) else: srcdir = subdir srcdir = os.path.join(topsrcdir, srcdir) objdir = os.path.abspath(subdir) return prepare(srcdir, objdir, args[3], args[4:]) if __name__ == '__main__': sys.exit(main(sys.argv[1:]))
Mobile Structural Wheel Repairs Our mobile structural repair unit offers services including the welding of small hairline cracks to the inner rim of the alloy, flat spots and buckles to the barrel of the wheel and seat corrosion repair at the convenience of your home or works address. This service offers a full repair solution including tyre refitting and balancing so you are back on the road in no time. Although we can repair 99% of damaged wheels, it is always best if we can see the wheel before the booking – please send photographs to info@prestigewheels.co.uk or pop in to one of our depots. We advise that if you have more than one crack within a single wheel it is the best option to purchase a new wheel, if you would like us to repair more than one crack on a wheel, this will be done at your discretion and understanding of the potential risks. Unfortunately, we cannot guarantee the full structural integrity of the wheel will be restored after the repair, please call 0161 476 1866 to speak to our team for more details on this service.
Low-level memory processes in vision. Psychophysical studies of the short-term memory for attributes or dimensions of the visual stimulus that are known to be important in early visual processing (spatial frequency, orientation, contrast, motion and color) identify a low-level perceptual memory mechanism. This proposed mechanism is located early in the visual processing stream, prior to the structural description system responsible for shape priming but beyond primary visual cortex (V1); it is composed of a series of parallel, special-purpose perceptual mechanisms with independent but limited processing resources. Each mechanism is devoted to the analysis of a single dimension and is coupled to a memory store.
(defpackage :roswell.delete.git (:use :cl :roswell.util)) (in-package :roswell.delete.git) (defun git (&rest argv) (if (rest argv) (dolist (x (rest argv) (roswell:quit 0)) (let* ((* (loop for v being the hash-values in (roswell.util::local-project-build-hash) for .git/ = (merge-pathnames ".git/" (make-pathname :defaults v :name nil :type nil)) when (and (equal (pathname-name v) (first (last (pathname-directory v)))) (uiop:directory-exists-p .git/)) collect v)) (* (sort * #'string< :key #'pathname-name)) (* (mapcar (lambda (x) (truename (make-pathname :defaults x :type nil :name nil))) *))) (loop for x in * with a = (namestring (truename (homedir))) for b = (namestring x) do (and (string= a b :end2 (min (length a) (length b))) (probe-file b) (progn (format t "delete ~S~%" x) (uiop/filesystem:delete-directory-tree x :validate t)))))) `(,(roswell:opt "wargv0") "help" ,(format nil "delete-git"))))