My dad used to say, “Slow down, son. You’ll get the job done faster.”
I’ve worked in many high-tech startup companies in the San Francisco Bay area. I am now 52, and I program slowly and thoughtfully. I’m kind of like a designer who writes code; this may become apparent as you read on :)
Programming slowly was a problem for me when I recently worked on a project with some young coders who believe in making really fast, small iterative changes to the code. At the job, we were encouraged to work in the same codebase, as if it were a big cauldron of soup, and if we all just kept stirring it continuously and vigorously, a fully-formed thing of wonder would emerge.
Many of these coders believed in thefallacy that all engineers are fungible, and that no one should be responsible for any particular…
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You have insufficient memory.
Deadpan. As if no irony were involved, my computer informed me it had aborted the task of uploading digital pictures.
I don’t ask that much of my computer, but there you have it.
I had amassed more than 1300 photos on my wee camera. Too many pictures, with nowhere to go.
At first my rapidly antiquating computer flashed a sign that I was low on memory. Then, having failed to get a reaction from me, it balked like a testy toddler and shut itself down, refusing to even consider loading another picture until I cleared space on my hard drive.
The only way to do this was, at long last, to go through the archives and dispense with the over and under-lit shots, the closed eyes, the needless near-identical extras. The pictures that simply were not special enough to occupy space in my memory.
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[Editor’s Note: Last night citizens in Chicago shut down Lake Shore Drive in protest over the Staten Island grand jury’s refusal to indict the police officer responsible for the choking death of Eric Garner. Yet in SoCal, protesters have been using the freeways as a vehicle for protest and political awareness for decades. UCSD PhD candidates Troy Araiza Kokinis and Jael Vizcarra explain the goals, meaning and context of these protests and others like them.]
Driving along the Interstate 5 in Southern California makes commuters privy to the militarization of port cities like San Diego. It is not unusual to encounter a tank headed to Camp Pendleton or a truck filled with “1.4 Explosives.” These sightings normalize the spatial coexistence of daily life with technologies of destruction. These quotidian reminders along the freeway belie the laid…
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Yo, stooge! Haters make me FAMOUS, and attention-seeking rants such as yours increase site views. The book “472 Days Captive of the Abu Sayyaf – The Survival of Australian Warren Rodwell” by Dr Bob East (Cambridge Scholars Publishing, United Kingdom) is possibly way out of your grasp and price range. But hey! If it’s…
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Filipino gangs have gained notoriety for their high-profile abductions,
December 10, 2011 Lindsay Murdoch writes
The lights went out in the sleepy southern Philippine village of Pangi, on the outskirts of Ipil, as darkness fell. Australian adventurer and writer Warren Rodwell had returned home earlier in the day to check on workmen painting inside the house he had bought in the village in October.
Two weeks earlier, Miraflor Gutang, 27, whom he had married in June, had returned to her family’s home in another village after the couple had argued.
The painters had left Mr Rodwell’s house by the time four strangers walked into the village moments after a power outage and introduced themselves to villagers as policemen. One of the men, who were not masked, told villagers not to be afraid, but they were.
Mr Rodwell, 53, was probably preparing dinner in the tiny kitchen of…
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http://stayingsafeabroad.blogspot.com.au/2014/12/philippines-staying-safe-abroad-has-no.html Monday, December 1, 2014 Posted by Ed Lee at 5:36 PM
Philippines: “Staying Safe Abroad” Has No Criticism of Kidnapped Australian, Only His Exposure to High-Risk Conduct
I have reviewed my December 7, 2011 posting which is reflected below and underline no ill-will was intended toward Warren Rodwell, an Australian citizen, who was kidnapped by Abu Sayyaf on December 5, 2011 and ultimately released on March 2, 2013.
No one could have been happier that I with his release from captivity and applaud his return to his family and friends.
As I indicated in the below link, I meant no ill-will toward Mr. Rodwell, only his conduct which contributed to his abduction and his loss of freedom for 15 months, which was influenced by the below links which discouraged travel to the Southern Philippines by Australian citizens:
Additionally, if either of the below links are factually incorrect…
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Mumbai: “With her head bend down , staring at the floor, saliva running down her skin, a woman is unable to lift her head or close her mouth.
Acid has melted her skin, her life ahead. Acid attack or acid throwing is a fast spreading social issue in under – developed as well as developing countries. An estimated of 1,500 people are victim’s of such barbaric attacks. People throwing acids are like wild animal’s who need to be tamed before they go viral, as it happens in most cases. 80% of such attacks happen on women and about 40% of them being below 18 year’s of age. Though most of these attacks are becoming increasingly banal in countries such India, Cambodia, Nepal, Vietnam, Laos, Kenya, Pakistan amoung the many others, Bangladesh has till date reported the highest number of attacks in the world!
Seldom resulting in death, the horror of…
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So, today I’m going to write about a rather contentious argument, which relates to Euthanasia or mercy killing. The term “euthanasia” is brought from the Greek word “euthanize” meaning “well death”. In recent years, there has been crying debate round the globe over the issue, whether euthanasia is legalized. Before going ahead on this issue, it is desirable here to first be introduced with this terminology.
Euthanasia is basically killing of patients by doctors at the instance of the patient in order to free him/her of excruciating pain or from terminal illness. Euthanasia may be classified into various subtypes too. But, the question at hand is whether or not should Euthanasia be legalized in other countries across the globe. Barely a few countries around the world give the patients rights to choose euthanasia as an option when life for them becomes so torturous and…
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Mumbai, 27th November;
Today I’m beginning with a rather receptive topic, that being of “JUVENILE DELINQUENCY“. Has anyone ever paid heed to the fact that today there are zillions of arch-criminals who get away with the vicious crimes they commit? Be it rape cases or burglary. It could be the smallest of crimes to the most high-profiled. It is a rather upsetting thought to my mind that many countries across the globe do not punish such young criminals, rather they prefer to send them to shelter homes or other such places wherein there would be a ray of hope that they’ll show up as better individuals tomorrow in the society and the outside world. It is seen as a crime committed as an act of innocence if committed by a juvenile. But hold on, If the Juvenile (someone who hasn’t completed his/her eighteenth year of age) has the mental…
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Helicopter parenting may be ruining the American marriage, but the same cannot be said for France. The French state simply does not allow hovering mamans and papas hooked on the US-driven religion of parenting—and America would do well to follow suit.
In the French schoolroom, moms and dads are sensibly kept at an arm’s length, dropping their little treasures at the door as early as 8:20am and only returning at 4:30pm or later to pick them up. Open-door policies do not exist and teachers work without the incessant parental input common in the US. Hours spent chatting every afternoon with overbearing moms is not part of the job description.
If you send your small child to public school in France—as the vast majority do—you entrust them to the state.
Being a helicopter parent has become an onerous and insidious duty in the US. Cosseted kids and guilt-ridden, over-stressed mothers are none the happier for…
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Coming out can feel totally unimaginable. Until, one day, it doesn’t anymore.
Sometime last summer, I was chatting with my aunt about my grandmother’s abusive marriage. My aunt once asked her mother why, when her husband was bullying the family, she didn’t just pack up and leave. My grandmother explained that she considered it, that she tried to imagine it, but “it just didn’t feel like an option.”
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The recent allegations against several celebrities have led to a broader conversation on how we, as a society, don’t believe women. In a “he said, she said” situation, we trust the man and assume that the woman is either mistaken or lying. “Taking us seriously” means that we are advised of such and offered an explanation for our dismissal instead of simply being dismissed outright. It’s not only personal bias, conscious or not; there are institutional mechanisms perpetuating this state of affairs. No proof is ever sufficient if it comes from a woman. Should she present multiple affidavits, all signed and notarized in triplicate, she’ll be informed that they do not prove her claim; she, on the other hand, probably violated multiple rules and procedures by collecting and presenting her evidence in the first place. She should stop before she gets into more trouble.
Meanwhile, there’s a growing crop of…
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It starts with the sources and stories; that’s where it always starts. Not stories that exist full-formed and discerned. No. These are stories that exist always-already in-the-process-of-becoming; stories that consist in half-thought ideas, half-glimpsed connections, half-baked moments. Intuition? Perhaps. Often I do not know where they come from. Always I suspect they are wrong but worth trying still.
It continues with the sources. Hard won over many years and forgotten long ago. To re-enter box files is to meet old friends or to be struck with the shock of the new. I told you I had forgotten these sources long ago. It continues as an archaeology of our accreted days and months in some dusty archive or other.
It stops. It stops just at the moment when you open a document to begin. The blank page takes on the haunting qualities of nightmare. The blank page seems a proxy for…
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I was just another boy wanting to be a girl. Now, I’ll be just another boy. I have not complained, nor do I complain now. I only tell a tale, for that’s all I’ve got. A tale, some could relate to.
This is for everyone who sees the queer movement as a superficial rich kid’s tantrum. I hail from a deeply religious middle class family with strong roots in a place known for its gender based crimes.
One of these days if I stopped existing the world wouldn’t know but I don’t want to be just another lgbt person. I don’t want to be just another statistic, just another note. I want to see the light, I want to be able to hope but I don’t know where to look for hope, where to find it.
There was someone who told me, that maybe I should get my career sorted…
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In 1994, when she was seven years old, Mara Wilson appeared on The Today Show with Katie Couric to promote a remake of Miracle on 34th Street, in which she starred.
Right away, it’s easy to see why Wilson, who’s also known for her work in Mrs. Doubtfire and Matilda, is a successful and endearing child actor. She wears a red-checked gingham shirt underneath a wooly red cardigan, and her feet stick straight off the armchair on which she sits, too short to reach the ground. Wilson is missing teeth, and despite lisping, her diction is perfect and she’s polite and sincere with Couric, who mispronounces Wilson’s first name. Couric asks Wilson if she’d like to be like Natalie Wood someday—Wood played Wilson’s role in the original 1947 version of Miracle on 34th Street. Wood…
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I often think it’s harder to write about a book you’ve really loved than one you haven’t liked at all. Just as it takes more muscles to smile than to frown (and it really does, the other way round is a myth propagated by a conspiracy of determined optimists), it takes more firing synapses to praise than condemn. I’m tempted to say of Hilary Mantel’s memoir: It’s brilliant, go and read it, and just leave this review concise. But maybe it’s useful if I say a word or two – and give you a quote or two – in justification.
Hilary Mantel grew up just outside of Manchester, the majority of her immediate family living in two neighbouring houses, her grandmother presiding over one, her grandmother’s sister in the other. In and out of their houses all the time, she’s greeted by her great-aunt, Annie Connor:
“Hello, our ‘Ilary,”… my…
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I’m far from the first person to wax lyrical about New Mexico, and, so long as the chiles ripen and the highways go on endlessly, I’m sure I won’t be the last. People have been discovering the magic of this spectacular corner of the planet for eons, but the magic never ceases to amaze.
For me, New Mexico is travel. My first real experience with travel, when I was five-and-a-half, was a two-week journey around New Mexico. Some of my strongest, earliest memories are of that trip: absorbing the vastness of a mostly treeless land, staring at clouds, road-tripping, scrambling up mesas to 1000-year-old Pueblo cities, descending into valleys filled with centuries-old Spanish towns, watching faith-filled pilgrims collect sand at a two century-old sanctuary, waking up to breakfasts of blue corn enchiladas doused in red chile.
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The concept of time is fascinating. From physics to philosophy, the notion of time is difficult to define.
From our normal existence in the world, we often define time as ‘fleeting’ in the sense there is never enough. Frustration builds as the majority of time is spent catching up on work…work that is always running further and further away.
The more worry about time, the less there is.
This has been the script for me this year. Just as I am ready to celebrate and enjoy autumn, this great season is fading fast.
Back in September, I noticed the leaves turning color. But instead of picking up my coat and heading out, I dropped my head for a quick analysis of work and business only to look up a couple of months later to find winter staring me in the face.
Pushing open the window, a gust of cold wind…
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“If I forget to ask you to donate to
Susan G Komen For the Cure
You get a Coke
I am not petty enough to call out a minimum-wage worker on a promotion like this, so I don’t have the comped bottle of soda to prove it, but I was not asked to make a breast cancer donation at Kroger last week. And no, the clerk (let’s call her “Vera”) did not forget to ask. She simply refrained from making the request because she thought I’d say no. Of this I am certain.
Before I share with you the passive-aggressive ugliness that transpired last Thursday between Vera and me, and in my own defense (with the understanding that I come off sounding like kind of a jerk in this story), let me just say that I donate to causes like this every time someone asks me. Every. Single…
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Sometimes you wish for something so hard and then it actually comes true. Has that happened to you? Against countless odds and still, your wish actually came true. Does it count as being lucky or should you be careful about hitching your hopes up too high? I’ve been thinking these thoughts for a while now. I’ve been thinking so much about it and I’ve also been trying not to think at all.
So much has happened since the last time I was here, blogger friends. So. Much. Where do I start from and how do I explain any of this? I am not sure. But I want to take it one step at a time. Keep my emotions in check. Make sure I’m not borrowing more happiness than I deserve to have in my share.
I can’t write like I used to. I’m putting that out there so you can…
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“A landscape might be denuded, a human settlement abandoned or lost,
but always, just beneath the ground lies history of preposterous grandeur. . .
They are everywhere, these individuals of undaunted humankind,
irrepressibly optimistic and proud.
– The Carpet Wars, Christopher Kremmer
If my heart trembles
it’s for the slow step of summer noons,
siestas in my father’s house which,
heavy with mid-day sleep,
still weighs on my ribs…
It’s for the hawker’s cry
of the vegetable seller doing his rounds,
lost in my neighbours’ troubled dreams,
that my heart’s trembling.
– Shakila Azizzda
Yet even at their most turbulent, the Afghans have tended to impress
travellers with their dignity and hospitality as much as their fierce independence.
– William Dalrymple, author of Return of a King: The Battle for Afghanistan 1839–42
In Afghanistan, you…
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Bonne Maman jam is sooooooooo delicious and this is the only brand that I used.
Growing up in Canada, I’d never really heard of bakewell tarts until a few years ago.
In fact, since I moved to Ireland almost exactly 1.5 years ago, I’ve been introduced to a whole slew of new things (I’m sure you’re shocked to hear that).
Some things I’ve learned:
1. Sliced Pan = sliced bread
2. Potato chips are crisps. Most of you know that. But did you know crisps can be a sandwich filling? And, in fact, all you would need for this sandwich are crisps, sliced pan and butter? Did you know that was a thing? I didn’t.
3. When someone asks you if you want salad with your sandwich at a cafe and you say yes, you generally get several kinds of mayo-laden potatoes and coleslaws. Gotta say, I don’t always mind. I really like mayo.
4. What we think is breakfast in Canada is a piece…
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A few days ago, my longtime friend, Rodolfo Ramirez, became an American citizen. I was honored to be able to travel by train to New Haven, CT to witness his naturalization ceremony, along with his partner, John, and his dear friends, Maria, Gitte, Marge and Roberto. I have witnessed this wonderful, loving and talented man transition over the years from a young and magnetic coworker in Mexico City, to a wizened, mature and passionate teacher and resident of Connecticut, to a lifelong friend and confidant – and full-fledged citizen of the United States, to boot!
The train ride through New England, and the purpose for the journey, awakened the ghosts of the original American patriots who lived, defended and died here. It made me reflective of my own sense of what patriotism feels like, and what role immigration plays in the spirit of national pride.
Upon arrival at the grand, column-flanked…
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Come to think of it. Some situations makes one loses the respect he or she has. Heaven would rejoice with anyone who can survive the test of time. But can some people behave in such manner? Its strange and pitiable to see some people disdaining others with an intense problem.
I want you to spend some few minutes and read this story. The content of the story would speak for itself.
Now the story:
There was this nice, handsome gentleman who graduated from school some years ago. Having had the chance to go through the school system, he obtained a fabulous career. Whenever he wakes up, he would go round searching for job. He did this for four good years and finally decided to give up. Due to fiscal problems, he sold all his expensive belongings such as: clothes, shoes, phones and laptops for his upkeep. Now there…
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Hi everyone…….atlast!!! Here I am. Sorry for not be able to be here to update more as before. My life is extremely busy with overloaded schedule and beside that non stop travelling. At the moment Im back on the ground again but not for long. Australia trip just around the corner, coming up very soon till next year. Then my travel trip will keep going continously up till May 2015. Not only this site but the rest of my networking website I hardly on it.
I miss having conversation with a few of you and I hope I will be able to be back as usual by mid next year.
Cheers with love.
Lissa Hkg @ LissaCaldina
As some friends may know, I spent last week acting in the final six performances of The Dolphin’s Back production of Christopher Marlowe’s The Massacre at Paris at the Rose Playhouse on London’s South Bank. The offer to do so came out of the blue, so much so that – as much out of surprise as anything – I initially said no.
I had seen the director James Wallace’s previous, superb revival of John Lyly’s The Woman in the Moon – also at the Rose – and we had got chatting after the show about early-modern drama and such. He said that he was looking for someone to play the part of Peter Ramus (actually Pierre de la Ramée), the humanist scholar; his original choice was unavailable for health reasons and James himself was playing the part until someone else came along. For reasons that are still obscure to me…
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It’s a wonderful time to be a nerd on the internet, more or less. There are inclusive spaces almost everywhere, and many of these inclusive communities are doing a great job holding gatekeepers and tastemakers responsible for the chronic lack of diversity in mainstream media properties. Nerds have become the best kind of pop/geek culture critics by fighting for representation and not putting up with people’s crap. It brings a tear to my eye, it does.
Still, the internet is full of opinions, and whenever someone says something critical of a particular property or company, tempers can flare. I spend a lot of time in nerdy spaces, and one of the most common rebuttals to criticism of big-budget, mainstream media properties and companies is:
See, that’s why we need to make our own/tell our own stories/do it ourselves!
If you don’t like how the big corporations do it, stop complaining and make…
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I’m fairly open about private life events. Actually, I’m 99% certain that I seriously overshare private life events. With that said, I’ll just get on with all that oversharing business.
I’m 24 and I got a tubal ligation just over a week ago. In case you’re not hip to what that means, I’ll explain: a doctor got all up in my guts, removed a piece from both of my fallopian tubes, and literally burned that bridge so that little man sperms can’t get to my eggs. In other words, I’m sterile – of my own accord. Kind of extreme, right?
I’ve known that kiddos were not for me since I was about 12 or 13. At that age, it was a lot of grown-ups exchanging amused but knowing smiles. “Oh-hoh, you’ll change your mind!” “Well, not now but when you’re grown up and have a husband…” But every year, without fail…
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It was Monday, June 2nd, and I was wide awake at 6 a.m. Maybe to some of you this hour doesn’t sound remarkable, but for me it was. It was the first day in a lifetime of six in the mornings, and I made the three-hour leap all in one go.
By this point, it was 10 days past my due date, and I had a very specific and recurring fantasy of being moved around town in a hammock flown by a helicopter. I wanted to be airlifted between boroughs.
When I told my fiancé, Dustin, this wish, he was quiet for a second. He had learned to reply to me with caution, but I imagine in this case he just couldn’t help himself.
“Like a whale?” he asked.
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Here is what you should do in order to provide the best for your children, to ensure that they are healthy and happy, and that they grow up to be good and successful adults.
What follows is the information I have gathered from my 38 years experience of being alive and my 13 cumulative years of parenting, presented to you in a concise, easy to follow list. I’ve read books, watched documentaries, listened to Woman’s Hour. I have done my research, so you don’t have to.
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So Ben Stein thinks that Obama is the most racist president in the history of this great republic. He thinks so because allegedly Obama “is purposely trying to use race to divide Americans,” and is using the ‘race card’ to convince all African Americans to vote for the Democratic Party. Ben Stein is wrong.
Obama is not the racist one, but Stein is tapping into a new discourse of racist ideology arising from the right in this country. In this discourse, anyone who mentions race as an issue in contemporary American life risks being called a racist. Anyone who points out racial inequality is at risk of being branded racist. In the mindset of those who trumpet this new discourse, we’re all equal, no matter our ethnicity, gender, sexual preference, or racial background. And any attempt to point out inequality is therefore racist/sexist/homophobic, etc, by definition.
But what this discursive…
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The clean lines, the geometric decorative elements, the seamless blending of indoor and outdoor space… I sure do love mid-century modern architecture.
Do you know what I love more? My children. And that is why I will never live in my MCM dream home. Because mid-century modern architecture is designed to KILL YOUR CHILDREN. (Also, moderately clumsy or drunk adults).
As a public service, Projectophile is alerting its readers to the dangers posed by key elements of mid-century modern residential design.
1. OPEN LEDGES:
I love open, flowing space as much as the next modern girl. But I know it would only be a matter of minutes before my kid flings himself off one of these deadly ledges…
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You may remember your old high-school English lessons about the “Hero’s Journey” that involves four distinct parts: Separation, Initiation, Change and Return. This pattern can be observed in everything from Shakespeare classics to Disney films and even in your own life – especially if you are a person in recovery.
Opening Scene: Normal life is established
What did things look like before the hero was called away? For me, it was a scene of hectic over-achieving, each exhausting day ending with a heavy dose of white wine to reward and numb myself. For some, it is a time of dysfunction and humiliation. For others, a silent descent that is painfully unnoticed. What was the opening scene for your personal hero’s journey?
If you are still drinking but contemplating recovery, this scene opens on you now, today. Right here, reading this post…
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The internet may have felt particularly full of garbage this past week, but I have been extra appreciative of personal bloggers, and how their stories have helped us communicate during the worst and most necessary debates.
The Ghomeshi sexual violence scandal began to break a week and a half ago, and immediately made social media a particularly fraught place to run into your friends. Whether the topic was guilt without prosecution, the complicity of the CBC, the role of gender or the responsibility of the accusers, big solid lines were drawn, emotional sides were taken, people… surprised (and dismayed) each other.
It has been a fascinating read, watching how the focus and vocabulary of the conversation has changed by the day. I have been super charged to see how personal blogs have fundamentally affected the conversation.
You wrote the script out
The story initiated and then advanced in segments —…
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The 2014 Ebola outbreak in West Africa is the largest in history. As of mid-October, there have been approximately 9,000 cases and 4,500 deaths. The World Health Organisation warned that the infection rate could reach 5000 to 10000 new cases a week by the end of the year.
The virus is primarily transmitted from sick to healthy people by blood or body fluids (including but not limited to urine, saliva, sweat, feces, vomit, breast milk, and semen). In addition, objects contaminated with the virus (including needles and syringes) and direct contact with infected animals also play a role. Given this knowledge, it is not an unreasonable question to ask if blood feeding mosquitoes could spread the virus from infected…
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I’ve got several friends who are expecting, or have recently welcomed, their first babies this year. Whenever I think of them, I have an instant flashback to my first week home with Claire, which is blurred at the edges with the ungodly sleep deprivation that comes with the gift of parenthood.
I would not say that I handled the adjustment well. I remember my mother-in-law calling me “unflappable,” and my own mother saying how wonderfully laid back I seemed, but this was either a great ruse on my part or it was simply their interpretation of what I remember as a feeling of utter overwhelm.
After talking with two friends this week who now live farther away from me than I would like, I was also reminded of the blessed kindness extended to me as a new mother. These two women – one, the mother of two, and the other…
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Selena Gomez – The Heart Wants What It Wants (Off…: http://youtu.be/ij_0p_6qTss
In 1958 Billie Holiday recorded ‘Lady in Satin’, her last but one LP and the final one to be released during her lifetime. It divides opinion still, many feeling that her wonderful voice is too far gone by this time to be a pleasure to listen to any more. I love it though, and consider it a late work of great dignity. A particular favourite track is the Johnny Burke and Jimmy Van Heusen song ‘But Beautiful’ where she sings these lines of aching longing and regret. They came back to me a few days ago when Sarah and I were standing inside Wavertree District Library:
“And I’m thinking
If you were mine
I’d never let you go,
And that would…
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An informative, fascinating inside look at Jill Talbot’s writing process:
According to my laptop, my first draft of this essay was saved on March 12, 2013, when I was teaching an Advanced course on the flash essay at St. Lawrence University. On the first day of that class in January, I challenged my students to avoid the established themes, the easy-groove patterns, and the go-to predilections we had all come to know of each other’s in the beginning workshop. I even told them I’d do it, too, because I write what I ask my students to write (I’ve read Brenda Miller describe how one of her essays came from a writing exercise she did with her students.) So I told them I’d do it, too, and that meant one thing: no Kenny. Their eyes widened.
I said, no, really, he won’t be in any essay. When I said it…
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During the first season of her critically acclaimed HBO series, Girls, Lena Dunham’s character Hannah Horvath, high on opium, tells her parents, “I don’t want to freak you out, but I think that I may be the voice of my generation—or at least a voice of a generation.” The line made waves as people conflated the fictional character with her creator, perhaps not wrongly. How dare a young woman make such a bold claim? All too often our culture tells young women their voices don’t matter or deserve to be heard.
In her debut essay collection, Not That Kind of Girl: A Young Woman Tells You What She’s “Learned,” Dunham demonstrates her 28-year-old voice’s admirable range. While some celebrity essay collections and memoirs are lackluster, even embarrassing to read, Not That Kind of Girl suffers few missteps. Dunham’s cinematic flair translates to the page with vigor and clarity—not unlike the…
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