text:
A CCS fanfic by Sakura
Standard disclaimers apply.
'Koko ni Kite' snippet romanization/translation mine.
My heartfelt thanks to everyone on the CCSFWML for putting up with me. ^_^
Mother and daughter silently sat in front of each other at the breakfast table while the fire crackled merrily in the fireplace and the heavy drapes shut out the dreary snowfall. After some time, Sonomi laid down her cup noiselessly on the saucer and regarded her daughter with sparkling brown eyes. "Dear, let's plan out our Christmas this year."
Tomoyo looked up from her plate, where she had been listlessly stirring around her breakfast of eggs and bacon with a fork.
"Yes," her mother sighed, "these past few years our Christmases have been...how do you say this, bland lately. Don't you think so?"
"No," Tomoyo thoughtfully replied, "in fact I liked them."
"Eating dinner and watching old Christmas movies on television?" Sonomi incredulously exclaimed, lifting a delicate hand to her coiffure and tucking a nonexistent stray lock behind her ear. "For goodness sake, dear, we ought to do much better than that."
"So what exactly do you have in mind, then?"
"Celebrate Christmas the way we ought to!" Sonomi gesticulated wildly. "Dinner at a five-star hotel! Dancing, partying, whatever---"
Tomoyo sighed. "Okaasama, you know I'm not into all that."
Sonomi shook her head and lifted her cup to her lips. There was a pause while she sipped. "Look, I just thought we should go out for a change. After all, you can't stay home forever."
"That's true, but--"
"All right, let's make a compromise. What if we hold a party here, then? Would that be better for you?"
"Well," Tomoyo put down her fork and hesitated, "I'll agree to that--"
"It's settled, then!" Sonomi clapped her hands in delight.
"...But I don't think anybody would come."
A perfectly shaped eyebrow lifted. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"Sakura-chan has--" Tomoyo paused, remembering Syaoran, "---other people to spend Christmas with. Same goes for my other friends. And I don't know too many people, I'm afraid."
"What about that nice young man, the one who came for tea---"
"You mean H-Hiiragizawa-kun?" Tomoyo suddenly stammered.
Sonomi's eyes were on the ceiling. "Oh yes, Hiiragizawa-kun. So polite. Didn't spill a drop of tea on my tablecloth. Excellent Japanese, even if he spent most of his life in--- where was that? France?"
"Ah, yes, England." Sonomi gazed at her daugher. "Why don't you ask him to come, then?"
"Well...I-I don't know if he's free or not---"
"But that's why you're going to ask him, right?" Sonomi asked.
Tomoyo was losing it. "He...he may be going home to England for the holidays for all I know... Or maybe he...well...has um, other plans and he possibly couldn't make it; I don't think he'd--"
"Does he live alone?"
"Yes...no, I mean, no, but---"
"That means he's spending Christmas alone, isn't he?"
"I don't really know..."
There was a pause before Sonomi set down her cup on the saucer, noiselessly. "I see. Well that's too bad, I think it would be nice to have him come."
"So that means I have to take care of the guest list, then."
Tomoyo nodded, flustered, and went back to her breakfast.
"But you won't object to a party on, say, Christmas Eve?"
"No, I guess not."
"Good," Sonomi said, "because I have something really special in mind."
Tomoyo looked up in time to catch a knowing smile lifting her mother's lips before they disappeared behind the rim of her cup.
His chin was resting on the top of her head, and he kept still, holding her while her sobs quieted down. Snuggled against him like that, enveloped in his warmth, a memory she thought she had forgotten for good suddenly drifted through her mind...
Her father, sitting in his study with his pipe, motioning for her to climb up on his lap and choose the ones she wanted from the glossy black and white prints laid out on his desk. When she eagerly pointed out the photographs of smiling, happy people, he gently ruffled her hair and laughed. Just as I thought. Your name suits you so well, Tomoyo.
Tomoyo. Friendly world.
And for a while she did believe that the world was like that --- forever happy, full of laugher and sunshine, spinning round and round like a never-ending carousel...
Then one day her father left home and never came back.
And she found out that there were such things as pain and sadness and tears...
It seemed to be over now.
Tired? he murmured against her hair, and she shook her head, briefly pulling away and raising a hand to rub her eyes before turning back to him and slowly, tenderly, burying her face in his shoulder.
The first person she saw at school that morning was Syaoran, who was seemingly preoccupied with something in his shoe locker. She pulled off her right glove, tapped on his shoulder, and watched him jump a mile high in the air.
"Oh my," she blinked.
"Daidouji!" he gasped for breath, running a hand through his chestnut brown hair. "Y-You scared me."
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
"N-No, it's nothing," he squeaked, hastily slamming his locker door shut. Years hadn't changed him at all; he was still the worst actor she ever knew. She decided to go on with her game and pretended to eye his locker suspiciously. "Did I just see something in there?"
His face turned fiery red, then deathly pale. "You didn't."
"I think I did," she innocently smiled.
He glowered and bent down to put on his school shoes. Tomoyo smiled again and turned around to do the same.
All around them other students were milling into the hall from the cold, laughing and joking around as they pulled off their gloves and shook the snow off their coats. It had snowed a lot that morning, which made it harder to walk to school. Nevertheless the snowfall seemed to lift everyone's spirits, as conversations turned from exams and homework to the upcoming winter vacation.
"You're kind of late today," Syaoran commented, standing off to the side as he waited for her to put on her school shoes. Or maybe he was waiting for Sakura to arrive. But maybe he was waiting for her, because he was staring down at her and not outside at the gate. After all, he knew as well as she did how late Sakura came to school sometimes.
"I didn't wake up when the alarm rang. Besides, it was so warm in bed," Tomoyo lied. The truth was she couldn't make herself come to school early again. Not after what had happened. There was a brief sensation of Eriol's arm tightening around her and suddenly she felt her face flush. Syaoran, however, gave no sign that he noticed. "Yeah, is it just me or do winters in Japan turn colder each year?"
"You're still not used to the cold?"
They made their way through the busy corridor. "By the way, Daidouji---"
His voice was quiet. "Don't tell Sakura what you saw back there at the lockers, okay?"
So there was something back there. Tomoyo wished she hadn't lied and decided to tell him that she was just joking, but realizing that that would embarrass him, she nodded instead.
"This is the third time, actually," he confessed, "I don't know what to do with them."
Tomoyo hmmed vaguely, wondering what he was talking about. Before she could figure it out, though, they were already standing at the door of their classroom and there was no choice but to go in.
Two people were late for class that morning, rushing in right in the middle of a discussion on the Japanese Imperial Army. One of them was Sakura, whose face was flushed with embarrassment as she bowed and apologized, and the other was Eriol, who appeared as calm and unruffled as ever as he bowed alongside her. While there were times that Sakura came to school late, it was definitely strange for Eriol to be tardy, and the teacher (who regarded the bespectacled boy as her star pupil) was visibly shaken. "Oh dear, it snowed a lot this morning, didn't it? Did you have problems getting here, Hiiragizawa?" And as an afterthought, "Kinomoto?"
"None at all, sensei," he politely answered, and he and Sakura exchanged looks of amusement.
"Well then, take your seats and try to catch up with the lesson, okay?"
They bowed again and did so. He hurriedly unraveled his muffler as he made his way down the aisle, smiling at the people who greeted him good morning, then he looked in her direction and met her gaze. She quickly turned back to her textbook and tried to hide the blush mounting in her cheeks.
There was a wary greeting from somewhere to her left. "G-Good morning, Tomoyo-chan."
Tomoyo looked up and smiled. "Good morning, Sakura-chan."
Sakura hesitated before smiling back, obviously still worried about the previous day. Ah, yes. Tomoyo inwardly winced, remembering everything that had happened. She tried to recall the pain that had caused her to cry so much, but for some reason she couldn't remember. It was like waking up from a bad dream then instantly forgetting all about it, leaving only the dull throb of knowing that something terrible had just happened. It was strange that she didn't feel as bad now as she did then. Maybe it was because she had cried so much yesterday.
At the music room.
In Eriol's arms.
Tomoyo felt herself flush again and gave herself a sharp rap on the head.
Sakura was looking at her oddly. "Tomoyo-chan?"
Tomoyo shook her head and mouthed, I'm all right.
"Class, turn to page 136 and read paragraphs 6 to---"
Everyone dutifully leafed through their textbooks.
Tomoyo whispered, "Did you sleep through the alarm again?"
Sakura ducked her head in shame. "Oniichan said he had been banging on the door for hours before I finally woke up."
"Oh my," Tomoyo giggled softly. "And Kero-chan?"
"He slept through the whole racket."
"Now that's pretty strange, isn't it?"
"He stayed up late last night because of this video game---."
"Kinomoto, Daidouji," the teacher called out, "would you mind sharing with the class whatever it is you two are talking about?"
The guilty pair straightened up in their seats.
The teacher turned back to the blackboard and they hid behind their books, grinning at each other mischievously.
Yes, everything seemed to be back to normal.
During a lull in the busy day, the students relished the break; some stretching and yawning, some slouching in their seats and gazing at the sparkling whiteness outside to preoccupy themselves.
"Look at all that snow!" Sakura marveled, "Isn't it beautiful?"
Syaoran was unfazed. "It's ten degrees below zero out there."
She made a face at him. "You don't have to sound so enthusiastic, you know."
Eriol stared thoughtfully outside the window. "But this cold is kind of unusual, especially for Tomoeda."
"Ne." Sakura's eyes brightened. "Let's go out and build a snowman or something."
Tomoyo nodded eagerly. "I'm sure there's enough out there for us to build as many as we want."
"That sounds nice," Eriol mused.
"I'm not going anywhere," Syaoran muttered darkly.
"Oh come on," Sakura coaxed, turning around in her seat and staring hopefully at his disgruntled face. "It'll be fun."
He was adamant. "No."
"It would probably be better for you to stay here," Eriol remarked, "after all, it does pay to be careful. I've read about cases of severe frostbite around this area." He then glanced at Tomoyo, who caught the gleam in his eyes and realized that he was on a roll.
"Yes," she found herself saying in turn, "I think there were around a hundred casualties last year."
"Hoe?" Sakura blinked. "What happened to all those people?"
Eriol paused dramatically for effect. "Their toes froze in the cold and fell off days later."
"You're not serious!" Syaoran demanded, eyes wide.
"I know somebody who suffered from frostbite once," Tomoyo replied, "and she doesn't wear sandals. Not anymore. Apparently she lost two of her toes the previous winter---"
"---they turned purple before they fell off, just like--"
"Like the way hair falls off," Eriol cut in, "like when you wake up in the morning and find strands of hair on your pillow; it's the same way. You wake up and find your toes shriveled under the sheets---"
"---you can have them surgically attached, of course," Tomoyo chimed in, "but it won't be the same. There's the sock problem, for one thing..."
"Sock problem?" Sakura echoed, eyes growing larger and larger.
Eriol shook his head solemnly. "You wouldn't want to know."
Syaoran's voice was weak. "I'm gonna be sick."
Tomoyo and Eriol eyed each other amusedly and, finally unable to help themselves, they laughed.
There is a proper way to laugh.
First the mouth should be opened at a certain width --- small enough so as not to bare all the teeth --- then with the mouth held in this position, the air from the lungs should be released in short, rhythmic gasps of breath, like so --- ha, ha, ha, ha. How much laughter there is depends entirely on the situation --- five counts would do for a polite response to a bad joke, ten hearty-sounding ha's would imply a higher degree of appreciation, and so on and so forth.
As children, we learned all that by heart. Not only that; we also learned the proper way to sit, to stand, to walk, to eat, to write, to read, to speak, to breathe, to think, to feel, to live.
But now we are laughing and you are leaning forward in your chair, hair tumbling over your shoulders racked with convulsions of merriment, pressing a hand against your laughing mouth. You know as well as I do that you are breaking all the rules --- the mouth too wide, the laughter too loud, the hand used in lieu of the more proper handkerchief... But we are now older and reckless, mindless with glee and so I raise a drunken fist and yell, to hell with the rules! and you laugh even more, clapping your hands eagerly.
The more you lose yourself in mirth, the more I find myself drawn to you.
And the more I am drawn to you, the harder it is to pull away.
After class Sakura bounded up from her seat and declared that all four of them should go out for something hot to drink, but as soon as they all had reached the gate, she suddenly stopped in her tracks, a hand flying to her mouth. "Oh no!"
"What's wrong, Sakura-chan?" Tomoyo asked.
"I forgot my history book back at the classroom! We have homework for tomorrow, right? I have to bring it home with me or else..."
"You can borrow mine," Syaoran offered helpfully, as it was his habit to finish all his homework before he left school; but instead of accepting, Sakura grabbed his arm and pulled him back towards the school, shouting at Eriol and Tomoyo to go on ahead without them. "We'll catch up soon!"
Her intentions were not lost on the two.
"Crude but effective," Eriol commented, smiling.
Tomoyo felt herself blush, not for the first time that day. Did he mean that he wanted to be with her? Was he thankful that Sakura had decided to play matchmaker at the last minute and leave them all alone by themselves? Her head was reeling even as he turned to her and asked if she still wanted to go out for coffee. It took her some time to come up with an answer. "Tea would be better, I-I think," she stammered.
He paused to consider her reply.
"If so," he hesitated, "would you care to have tea at my house?"
And that was how she found herself sitting at the long oak able in Eriol's dining room, sipping tea from a china cup and watching Spinel Sun flit from plate to plate, serving biscuits and slices of chiffon cake.
Tea on the dot, just like the English. How quaint.
"Please have some," Spinel politely pushed a plate of sweets toward her with a paw. A small blue-gray creature with translucent wings that flapped as it flew around busily, tucking a napkin here and there, deftly replacing the lid on the sugar cube bowl... It was kind of cute, actually, and Tomoyo had a sudden urge to reach out and touch it just once, just like the first time she saw Kero-chan zoom around Sakura's room crazily like a clockwork toy on steroids. Instead she reached for a biscuit. "Thank you."
"I'm sorry that this is all we have to offer," Eriol apologized from the tall-backed red chair he was sitting in. She looked over at him, and leaning against the red cushion like that he seemed very at ease with the setting, every inch the master of the house. She smiled gratefully. "Oh no, this is very delicious tea. And I love the biscuits, too."
His dark blue eyes softened. "Thank you very much."
"The tea is from England," Spinel piped up from Eriol's left, "and the biscuits were baked by Eriol himself."
"Really?" she blinked, surprised. "It never occurred to me that---"
"He doesn't look like someone who'd bake well," the small blue-gray creature continued, "but he actually does."
The baking expert in question lifted the cup to his lips. "Spinel, you sound overly patronizing."
"But it's true!"
"Come to think of it," Tomoyo recalled, "you were the one who came up with the best pie back in fifth grade. Remember that?"
"I wouldn't say it was the best one," Eriol modestly said, "but that was apple pie, I believe."
"The whole class polished off the whole pan in two minutes," she giggled.
He smiled in recognition. "And sensei was screaming, 'Wait, don't finish it; I still haven't tasted it yet!'"
They laughed, remembering the home economics teacher in hysterics over the pan and its crumbs, when suddenly Nakuru, books under one arm, burst through the door with a flourish. "I'M HOOOOOOME!!"
Spinel nodded. "Welcome home."
"Hello, Ruby Moon," Eriol straightened up in his seat with a smile, "you remember Daidouji-san, right?"
"Of course I do," Nakuru huffed, settling down in a chair, "I happen to have a talent for remembering people."
"Unfortunately that appears to be your only talent," Spinel muttered, but the latter chose to ignore the retort and instead leaned across the table to smile at Tomoyo. "Hey, I haven't seen you in a while. How's everything?"
"Fine, I guess," she shyly nodded. "And how have you been doing, Nakuru-san?"
"Oh, everything's peachy," Nakuru beamed, holding up two fingers in a V sign. "Hey, Suppi, where's my tea?"
"Don't call me that." A visibly annoyed Spinel pushed a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits toward him.
While Nakuru fussed over the sugar content in the sweets and Spinel retorted how no amount of dieting would ever help him in the looks department, Tomoyo just sat there, watching them bicker and eat and drink tea and to her everything seemed so warm, so alive, so unlike the atmosphere at her own home. She glanced at Eriol and he was leaning back in his chair, smiling indulgently at the scene before his eyes. He had told her about his family at England before, but it didn't seem to her that he actually missed being away from them. When I was a child, I was alone most of the time, he confessed, and she realized that they were so much alike; that they had grown up in the same dark halls, the same empty silence. Maybe that was why he created Spinel Sun and Ruby Moon in the first place. Although they weren't human, they kept him company. They made him happy. And that was the one important thing, wasn't it?
While Spinel accidentally swallowed a biscuit the wrong way and started coughing like crazy, and Nakuru patted him on the back and poured him cup after cup of tea, Tomoyo met Eriol's gaze across the table and his dark blue eyes seemed to say, behold, this is the only family I know. The only family I have.
"It's getting dark," Eriol commented, glancing outside the window.
Tomoyo didn't respond; she was entranced by the sight of Spinel Sun nestled in the crook of her arm, purring in his sleep like a warm cat. Eventually the sugar in the biscuits had gotten to him, so he spent the rest of tea time in a severely intoxicated state, gobbling up the rest of the sweets, laughing hysterically and generally making a fool of himself (the spectacle somehow reminded Tomoyo of the Mad Hatter's Tea Party) until he finally broke down, exhausted, tumbling into her lap with a sigh.
She gingerly touched a small blue-gray cheek and Spinel hiccupped, turning around and curling up into a tight little ball.
A shadow fell over them and it was Eriol, smiling down at them.
"Everything seems to be all right now."
"Yes," she softly said, "he had a lot of sweets today."
"I wasn't talking about Spinel."
He was obviously referring to her sobbing fit the other day.
She looked up at him. "Thank you so much for yesterday. And I'm very sorry...I mean, about your blazer and everything--"
"It's all right. I was more worried about you than anything else."
There it was again. She felt the heat rush to her cheeks. Flustered, she bent her head down and pretended to preoccupy herself with watching Spinel sleep.
"I'm sorry," he immediately said, "I didn't mean to embarrass you."
She looked up at him and it was his turn to look away, a slight tinge of pink coloring his cheeks.
"Daidouji-san," he began, "I've been thinking---"
"About yesterday..." he hesitated. "Well, I won't ask about it anymore and you don't have to tell me about it if you don't want to, but I was thinking that...well, from now on, I mean, if something happens again and you feel like talking about it, I might be able to help. Even a little. So..."
They both blinked.
"Come again?" Tomoyo giggled, amused.
He gave a mock sigh of impatience, as if he were annoyed with himself. "What I'm trying to say here is --- I want you to know that you can always confide in me. They always say that if you have a problem, talking about it with somebody else helps. Or so I read somewhere."
"That's very nice of you," she smiled. "I think I'll take you on that offer. Thank you."
He smiled back, and suddenly leaned closer to whisper conspiratorially. "Of course you don't have to limit yourself to your usual troubles; I also offer legal advice, fortune-telling, dream interpretation---"
She playfully swatted him away, laughing.
"We should start signing the contract then," he pretended to dig in his pocket for a pen.
"On two conditions."
His eyes widened. "Which are?"
Tomoyo had to keep from laughing at the puzzled expression on his face, but instead she stared up at him, suddenly businesslike. "First, you must confide in me when you have something on your mind, and second, you must call me by my first name from now on."
"Well..." he cocked his head to one side and pretended to consider his options. "That sounds fair enough."
"So how about it," she took a deep breath, "Eriol?"
He stared at her, momentarily taken aback. Then slowly, almost shyly, he smiled at her and she did too, reaching up and holding out her small finger. He did the same, gently entwining his finger with hers in a silent yubikiri.
"It's a deal," his eyes softened, "Tomoyo."
From her arms, Spinel let out a soft happy giggle, still lost in his dreams.
The last day of school for the year had ended.
Tomoyo sipped her tea while she sat at a table in a cafe with Eriol, Sakura, and Syaoran, who was talking about something she didn't quite get the first time. Even inside the cafe the air was busy, filled with bright chatter and exclamations of excitement; and outside the vast whiteness was packed with jubilant, laughing children staging snowball fights, building snowmen, or simply romping around in restless anticipation of the slopes.
Christmas was less than a week away. Was that what Syaoran had been talking about?
"Hong Kong," he repeated emphatically, as if reading her mind, "I said, would you like to come to Hong Kong with us."
"'Us'?" Eriol echoed, raising an eyebrow.
"He meant me," Sakura helpfully said, "and Otousan and Oniichan and Yukito-san and of course Kero-chan --- but that's supposed to be a secret."
"You're all going to Hong Kong for the holidays?" Tomoyo asked.
Syaoran nodded. "My mother told me to invite Sakura over, and--"
"--and Oniichan wouldn't let me go alone," Sakura cut in, "so everybody's coming with me."
"That's too bad," Tomoyo sympathetically said, and watched as Syaoran turned red and coughed into his coffee cup.
Fortunately for him, Sakura didn't appear to notice. "Eriol-kun, would you like to come with us?"
Eriol smiled. "It's very nice of you to ask, but unfortunately I already have plans for Christmas, and..."
Tomoyo glanced at him, expecting him to say more, but he left it at that and Sakura was asking her if she wanted to go.
"I'd love to come along," she replied, "but Okaasama's planning a Christmas party and I promised I'd be there."
"So it'll be just me and my family, then," Sakura sighed, slightly disappointed, sipping her tea.
"But there's Li-kun," Eriol pointed out, and this time it was both Sakura and Syaoran who sputtered into their cups.
"Christmas in Hong Kong," Tomoyo smiled, "how romantic!"
Syaoran glowered at her. "Cut that out."
To his dismay, Eriol decided to join in. "I always thought that bringing a girl to meet the family is a sign that--"
"Something hot and heavy is going on," Tomoyo finished for him, winking.
"Tomoyo-chan!" Sakura protested feebly.
Before the teasing could go on, however, Syaoran's cup suddenly crashed on the saucer as his amber eyes widened. "Shimatta! I completely forgot!"
The rest gaped at him. "Forgot what?"
He turned to Sakura. "The phone call!"
Sakura blanched. "You mean your mother's calling you up at home this very instant?"
"Aa." Syaoran hurriedly jumped up from his seat, quickly slipping on his coat and gloves. "I have to be there in time or else--"
Tomoyo blinked, confused. "Or else?"
Sakura shrugged and waved a quick goodbye to them as she followed Syaoran, who was already outside the door.
"His mother, Li Yelan," Eriol remarked to nobody in particular, "is a woman who doesn't like to be kept waiting." His eyes were oddly
dark, unfamiliar, lost in the thoughts and memories of another. Slightly panicking, Tomoyo wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him back to the Eriol she knew, but to her relief he suddenly straightened up in his seat and smiled at her. The shadow in his eyes was gone. He drained the contents of his tea cup, set it down on the saucer, then held up a hand to call the waiter for a refill --- for a moment looking like just any other ordinary junior high school boy asking for another cup of tea.
The snowflakes whirled and danced around them, tangling themselves in her long dark hair, his muffler, her coat, his glasses, disappearing under their shoes while they made their way down the snow-lined street. "Eriol, what exactly are you doing this Christmas?" Tomoyo asked curiously, tucking her muffler more tightly about her neck.
He stopped in his tracks to take off his glasses and wipe away the mist with his fingers. "Nothing special, really. Spinel, Ruby Moon and I will be returning to England for a few days--"
"Oh," she said, crestfallen.
"--then when we come back we might have a fancy dinner together, then maybe head out to the Tokyo Tower and watch the stars if the night sky is clear."
"That sounds nice," she sighed wistfully. "And here I am stuck with a big party on Christmas Eve."
"I take it you're not too happy about it." The glasses were back on, and he squinted through the hazy lens.
She paused to fish out her handkerchief from her pocket and offer it to him. "It's not that, but... I don't know. My friends all have plans for the holidays, and since they're all spending Christmas with other people, the party will be filled with just my mother's friends and business partners and it'll be no more different than those corporate parties she always goes to..."
He took the handkerchief and wiped his glasses one more time. "I see."
"Anywhere is better than here," she sighed, "and I do want to go to Hong Kong, but if I did that I'd just be a third wheel."
He smiled. "That's not true."
"Probably not," she shrugged, "but Li-kun and Sakura-chan need time to themselves, after all."
He put on his glasses again, pushed them up the bridge of his nose, and absently looked up at the sky. "Now I remember. In Japan, Christmas is a holiday for lovers, isn't it?"
"Unfortunately," Tomoyo laughed, rather bitterly.
As if to drive home her point, a couple or two passed by, arms linked, talking and laughing. For a moment Tomoyo felt envious, her chest tightening in self-pity at the sight of her own arms, empty and wanting.
Eriol handed back her handkerchief.
"So what will you do, then?"
She shrugged. "I have no choice but to go to the party, I guess."
"You can always come spend Christmas with us," he suggested kindly, and at the thought of dinner by candlelight, sitting at that long oak table with him, Ruby Moon, and Spinel Sun, she suddenly brightened up. "That sounds nice."
"I'm afraid we might not offer enough entertainment," he smiled, "but we can always give Spinel a little sugar and watch him dance around the table."
They laughed and sobered at the same time.
"Tomoyo." His voice was soft.
"You have snowflakes in your hair."
"You too," she giggled, and this time it was she who moved closer and nimbly brushed the snow off his dark hair. He said something about too much snow in Tomoeda or something remotely related to that but she couldn't tell, for she wasn't listening. He didn't mind; he wasn't listening to himself either. His dark blue eyes held her violet ones steadily as his lips let loose a steady stream of mindless chatter. Temperatures this year are a record low, he was saying. Her hand fell to his muffler, straightening it. She knew she had to move away, to stop touching him, but standing near him --- so near that their breaths mingled and his glasses were starting to mist over --- she couldn't move. But her hand finally fell away, and they stared at each other.
What next? somebody should've asked. Maybe somebody should've cracked a joke. Or maybe somebody should've gracefully taken a step back, watching from a more safe distance. Maybe somebody should've stepped closer.
But nobody moved.
Nobody moved at all.
kirameku kaze ga, toiki no you ni yawarakaku
kata o tsutsumu yo
chiheisen no mukou kara
aruite kuru hito o mitsumeteru
koko ni kite
The sparkling wind, soft as a sigh,
wraps itself around your shoulders.
Gazing at someone walking near,
coming from beyond the horizon:
It was about the twentieth time she had played the song that night. It probably didn't matter. From below came faint sounds of laughing, the tinkling of wine glasses, the drone of conversation, the catchy rhythm of a jazz band --- sounds of that year's Christmas party. Tomoyo sighed and turned up the volume to drown it all out.
There was a sharp rap on the door. "Tomoyo?" It was her mother. "Tomoyo dear, what are you doing in there? Come join us downstairs; I have some people I'd like you to meet."
She reluctantly turned off the CD player. "I'm coming."
As she rose from her bed, she caught a glimpse of herself in the dresser mirror. A radiant vision in velvet, gushed the maids, lifting her long dark hair over her shoulders and tucking it into an elegant chignon. Here, wear this necklace and we'll put a little blush in your cheeks and you'll surely be the most beautiful girl at the party.
"But I don't want to go," she whispered to her velvet-clad reflection.
A while ago she sneaked a peek at the hall downstairs and was overwhelmed at seeing so many people at once --- mostly strangers --- eating and drinking and dancing and making merry. It was a busy, noisy party; a far cry from all her previous Christmases. Her mother, playing hostess, was in her element; smiling and making sure everyone was having fun. Tomoyo decided to leave her there, thinking that she wouldn't be missed. But there it came again, that insistent knocking on her door.
"Tomoyo, what on earth is taking you so long?"
She sighed. "All right, all right..."
Opening the door, she found her mother standing outside, wineglass in hand. "There you are. I've been looking all over for you."
"I'm sorry. You said you wanted to introduce me to some people?"
"Yes, and I need you to stand watch at the door and welcome the rest of the guests."
"What?" Tomoyo blinked. "But it's already been two hours since it all started and---"
Her mother was already hurrying down the stairs. "And check if they have invitations, too!"
Tomoyo sighed again and made her way downstairs. It was impossible to argue with her mother when she was busy like this. She imagined Sakura and the others seated on a plane to Hong Kong, and sighed heavily. They must be having so much fun, she thought, with a twinge of envy. Another picture flitted through her mind --- a small candlelit dinner, Ruby Moon and Spinel fighting, Eriol leaning back in his seat with a smile...
Was he still in England? Or was he back at that long oak table, having dinner with Spinel and Ruby Moon? No, maybe he was up at Tokyo Tower, gazing at the stars. She didn't really know. It's been days since they last talked, and for some reason she couldn't bring herself to call him up and ask about him, maybe even greet him a Merry Christmas while she was at it. The last time they were together, the holiday greeting had completely slipped from her mind. She had been too busy staring at him --- or was he the one staring at her? --- too confused, too scared to come up with something to say. Something --- a pregnant pause, a premonition perhaps --- was hanging in the air between them. They both could feel it. But so much had yet to be figured out. For her part Tomoyo had so many questions, like: why would a stare from those dark blue eyes throw her thoughts into such a turmoil? It was starting to bother her.
Tomoyo was jerked from her reverie as Sonomi took her arm and firmly led her into the middle of the party, showing her off to the guests. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet my daughter Tomoyo."
Before she could smile and say how do you do, everyone started crowding around her, cooing, smiling, gushing at how beautiful she was in velvet, how her smile was so like Sonomi's; the men asking if she would like some wine or maybe an hors d' oeuvre or two, or if she would like to dance afterwards... Tomoyo wasn't used to being the center of attention, and it visibly showed in her flushed face, in her nervously clasped hands, in the way she stumbled over some of her words --- but unfortunately for her they seemed to find her shyness particularly charming, and they continued to ask her about school and her hobbies and refilled her still-full glass over and over until it seemed like there was no escape--
Then she remembered.
"Excuse me," Tomoyo hastily said, "but I must stand guard at the door in case more guests arrive." Bowing while they protested, she gracefully made her exit. Out of the hall, into the empty foyer. She sighed in relief. Maybe a breath of fresh air would be nice, she thought, opening the front door and stepping outside in the cold.
Then her mouth fell open in amazement.
A few feet before her, standing in the snow, was Eriol. He appeared to be studying the bouquet of violets in his hand. His head jerked up in surprise as her footsteps sounded out, and they gaped at each other.
"Good evening," he said, slightly embarrassed.
"Good evening," she automatically said, her mind still trying to catch up.
"I was invited to the Daidouji Christmas party--" He held out a white envelope, and in the dim light she could barely make out his name written in an elegant script.
Her mother's hand.
"I thought you were in England," was all she could say.
"We just came back yesterday," he explained. "This afternoon Ruby Moon found out that Sakura-san and the others went to Hong Kong for the holidays, and he miraculously managed to book a last minute flight to Hong Kong himself, so I had no choice but to--"
A bit of snow drifted on him, catching in his hair, the heavy coat he wore over his suit.
"--bring him and Spinel to the airport and we arrived there two minutes before take-off--"
Pale flesh against white. A barely perceptible difference between the two, but there was the darkness in his hair, his coat, his eyes.
"--they barely had enough time to pack a suitcase and everything, but Ruby Moon was determined to catch up even if he had to end up swimming all the way there, or so he said..."
She finally stepped off the porch, her shoes sinking in the white softness as she slowly, cautiously made her way to where he was standing. "You know Ruby Moon, he can be so impulsive sometimes," he softly said, but he was watching her carefully.
"All for the love of Touya-oniisan," she giggled, gingerly taking another step.
He moved forward and held out his free hand to help her. She gratefully confided her hand to his grasp.
"Aren't you cold like that?"
They slightly moved back to gaze at each other.
"You..." He hesitated, dark blue eyes softening. "You look beautiful in that dress."
"Thank you." She flushed. "You look good in that suit as well."
He slightly reddened, casting his gaze at the violets in his hand. "Here, I hope you li--."
Something suddenly fell from the sky and landed on the snow beside their feet. They sprang apart, then looked down.
It was a sprig of mistletoe.
"Tomoyo!" her mother's voice rang out from the window above their heads, "go for it, dear!!" Then the shutter closed with a bang.
They both stared down at the mistletoe, stunned.
Tomoyo's head was reeling. Was this also part of the 'something special' her mother had in mind?
Eriol was eyeing the sprig bemusedly. "As far as I know, mistletoe should be hung over the head, not tossed out of windows."
"That's what I think, too." Her voice was weak.
He bent over gracefully and picked up the sprig, brushing off the snow from it. "Anyway, I appreciate the thought."
Tomoyo stared at the dark hair falling over his eyes, the paleness of his cheeks, the wire-framed glasses. There was nothing wrong; he was still Hiiragizawa Eriol, the one who sat behind her all these years, the one who invited her to come over for tea, the one who held her when she broke down and cried, the one who played the ballad that made her think of sunshine. Two circles for eyes, two larger circles for glasses, a wide smiling mouth.
But now he was so much more than that.
His eyes were dark, almost sad as he turned the sprig over and over in his fingers. "It's funny," he was saying, almost to himself, "I was actually hoping for something like this."
"For mistletoe?" she asked, feeling her heart pound madly in her chest.
He didn't answer. "Here, these flowers are for you." The violets softly fell into her arms. "They go well with your dress. I guess I'd better be going now, since I arrived so late and it would be embarrassing to barge in a party that's been in full swing for hours..."
And for a moment she thought he'd actually turn on his heel and walk away, so she instinctively reached out and gripped his arm, tightly. "W-wait, Eriol--"
He blinked. "What is it?"
"You forgot something." The words mindlessly tumbled out of her mouth.
"And that is?" He turned back to her, hopeful.
Slowly, she took the sprig of mistletoe from his fingers and awkwardly held it above their heads.
His dark blue eyes widened at first, then softened in understanding, and eventually clouded over with uncertainty.
"Remember the old adage," he whispered, "'Be careful what you wish for'."
She didn't back down. "I am being careful here. In fact I've been thinking about this for some time now. There's so much you still haven't told me, and I want you to..."
"To?" He hung back, still waiting.
"--To tell me what's going on right now, because I don't have a clue."
Something flickered in his eyes. "Even if I told you, it wouldn't matter."
"Don't give me that," she snapped. "We promised to tell each other everything, or have you forgotten?"
It was the streak of Sonomi in her, that defiant stare, that steady hand clutching a sprig of mistletoe above them. Eriol saw her fiery side and felt a surge of warmth inside him at the vision. She was so beautiful...
"Yes?" she asked, and her voice trembled a little, betraying her own nervousness. And this uncertainty was also familiarly Tomoyo ---- violet eyes wide with expectation, the slight flush of red in her cheeks, the uneven rise and fall of her chest with every breath.
He stood at the other side of the line, tempted to cross over, but lacking the courage to do so.
It's not you she needs, the voice in his head was saying, and for a moment he hung back, afraid, but there she was, staring him down and yet voicing out such a gentle plea. Come here. Before he knew it, he was moving closer, reaching out a hand to gently brush away a stray tendril of hair from her forehead, before his fingers slowly trailed down to cup her cheek.
She closed her eyes for a moment, shivering slightly. It was probably the cold.
He hesitated. "Tomoyo?"
"Yes," she murmured, pressing her own palm against his hand.
It was her assent that did him in.
Helplessly drawn to her, he finally closed the distance.
Some tales are bound to end like this.
Snow, drifting down in a shimmering haze of white.
Violets caught in the warmth of a tight embrace.
a sprig of mistletoe lying in the frost,

domain: literature


text:
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domain: artistic


Android Wear 2.0 went official following Google I/O and as we learn everything it’s capable of, we’re also finding out who will and will not get it. Just like with previous updates, just about everyone will be getting it, but this time around Google is dropping two models, the original LG G Watch and the 1st generation Moto 360.
Since this news was confirmed, I’ve seen dozens of people in comments, social media posts, and more complaining that they’ll “never buy a smartwatch again” just because Google isn’t pushing this update. However, here’s the thing, Android Wear 2.0 isn’t hitting these devices for specific, logical reasons. Let’s talk about it for a second.
LG G Watch
Looking back at the original LG G Watch, we’re also stepping back to the very beginning of Android Wear. It came with a 280×280 1.65-inch display, a Qualcomm Snapdragon 400 processor, 512MB of RAM, and 4GB of storage.
Sound familiar? It should, more or less every Android Wear device released since then has run atop the exact same specifications. Seeing as that is the case, why won’t the G Watch see this update? The answer is simple, unlike every other Android Wear device, it doesn’t have a button.
As noted in our look at Android Wear 2.0 from a few days ago, the latest version of the OS makes some major changes to navigation and one of those is swapping the swipe gesture to go back for the physical button. Because of this, the G Watch physically can’t run this update without a special build of the software. Could Google do that? Sure! However, if they did so it would not only complicate further updates for the watch, but it might also cause trouble within apps.
Moto 360 1st Gen
Okay, here’s the one you’re waiting for. Why is the 1st generation Moto 360 not picking up this update? The answer here is incredibly simple: the hardware.
While every other Android Wear device runs on top of the same Snapdragon 400 + 512MB of RAM processing package, Motorola opted for a TI OMAP 3 chipset. That chipset was old at the time, 4 years old to be exact. So now in 2016, why would we still expect this now 6 year old chip to run a brand new version of the OS?
Looking back on previous updates, the Moto 360 1st gen never performed as well as other watches, so I never expected it to get another major update. Could Motorola push the update? Sure, they definitely could, but doing so would provide a terrible user experience.
Of course the bigger complaint to all of this is that Google originally designed the Android Wear platform to be one where you wouldn’t be required to replace your watch every couple of years. While yes, two of the original models are technically no longer supported, don’t forget that literally every other Android Wear device is getting this update, or at the very least, they should be getting it.
Another thing worth mentioning is that even though these watches won’t be getting the update, it won’t stop them from working. They’ll still work as they do today, they’ll just miss out on a few new features here or there.
So long story short, yes, these two watches aren’t getting this next update, but in reality, that’s OK. There are legitimate reasons why they can’t or shouldn’t get the update, so don’t freak out about it. Either enjoy using the watch as you have it now, or move on to something new. All of this said however, if anyone else decides to drop support, then you can be mad.
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text:
May 25, 2023; Unhurry Expert Research Team
In This Article
Poor mental health may cost businesses nearly as much as physical health problems, according to researchers.
A single extra poor mental health day in a month was associated with a 1.84 percent drop in the per capita real income growth rate, resulting in $53 billion less total income each year.
According to a group of academics, poor mental health is among the most expensive illnesses for American workers and may prevent billions of dollars from being added to the nation’s GDP.
1 day of poor mental health = 1. 84 percent decline in per capita income
According to Stephan Goetz, professor of agricultural and regional economics at Penn State and director of the Northeast Regional Centre for Rural Development, a single additional day of poor mental health in a month was linked to a 1.84 percent decline in the per capita real income growth rate and $53 billion less in total income annually, according to an analysis of economic and demographic data from 2008 to 2014.
“This starts to give us an idea of what the gain could be if we did spend more money to help people with poor mental health,” said Goetz, who worked with Meri Davlasheridze, assistant professor and economist, Texas A&M University at Galveston and Yicheol Han, a postdoctoral scholar in agricultural economics, sociology, and education, Penn State.
Exercise to manage your mental health
How to manage my mental health? This is one of the most searched question in todays fast paced world, where every person is struggling to
What are poor mental health days?
According to the researchers, who present their findings in a recent edition of the Review of Regional Studies, “poor mental health days” relate to days when people describe their mental health as being not good and may include ailments like depression, anxiety, tension, and emotional issues. Diagnosed mental diseases are excluded from the measurement.
The researchers also stated that over the next 20 years, the worldwide economic cost of mental illness is predicted to exceed $16 trillion, which is higher than the cost of any other non-communicable condition. This estimate provides some context for the scope of the issue.
The effect is stronger in rural countries
Rural counties, which are often poorer than metropolitan counties, experience the effect more strongly. In contrast to urban counties, where the association between a bad mental health day and income growth was only.87 percent, rural counties had a decline in income growth of 2.3 percent.
“That’s an interesting finding in itself, too, because poorer counties already have so many factors going against them,” said Goetz. “If poor mental health days have a bigger impact in these poorer counties, it suggests that they would have an even harder time keeping up with the wealthy counties.”
Urban counties might have more resources for people struggling with poor mental health and conditions, according to Goetz. These communities typically have more mental treatment facilities, as well.
Mental health centers inaccessible for rural areas
“We think this difference between urban and rural counties might exist because of the better services that are available for the mentally distressed in the urban counties, which are typically the wealthier counties,” he said. “In an urban county, you might have a mental health center, you may have more resources to tap into to help get you through the bad days, and there may be more mental health professionals. In a rural area, you’re less likely to have access to those types of resources.”
Especially in the harder-hit rural regions, the researchers propose that funding mental health services may be one strategy to reduce the economic implications of poor mental health.
Goetz cautioned warning that the study’s time frame, which was a very turbulent one for the American economy, might have affected the results. He advised researchers to examine the association over longer time periods and in various economic conditions to further explore the impact of bad mental health days on income growth.
The researchers used county-level data from several public sources, including the Bureau of Economic Analysis, the U.S. Census Bureau, and the Northeast Regional Center for Rural Development. The mental health day data was drawn from County Health Rankings.
Materials provided by Penn State. Note: Content may be edited for style and length.
Meri Davlasheridze, Stephan J. Goetz, Yicheol Han. The Effect of Mental Health on U .S. County Economic Growt. Review of Regional Studies, 2018; 48 (2) [abstract]
Penn State. “Poor mental health days may cost the economy billions of dollars.” ScienceDaily. ScienceDaily, 30 July 2018. <www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2018/07/180730120359.htm>.
Help is here:
Toll-Free Mental Health Rehabilitation Helpline Kiran (1800-599-0019)
Name of the Organisation: Vandrevala Foundation
Vandrevala Foundation is a non-profit that partners with organizations to help communities thrive by providing education and healthcare. Vandrevala Foundation launched a mental health helpline in India in 2009 to offer free psychological counselling and crisis mediation to anyone who is experiencing distress due to depression, trauma, mood disorders, chronic illness, and relationship conflict.
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One thought on “Poor Mental Health Is A Burden On The Economy”

domain: news


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This illustrates the power values and the increased maximum demand (KVA) and high reactive power (KVAR) due to a low power factor being achieved on the LV electricity supply of a UK manufacturing site.
The image has been taken from a Power Quality Survey provided for a customer.
The maximum demand KVA should be as close to the consumption KW as possible. There is a large divide between the two in the monitoring of the supply due to the large reactive power (KVAR) demand.
The second image illustrates an LV electricity supply with a good power factor. The reactive power (KVAR) as power factor correction equipment has been installed and is reacting to the reactive power demand of the business equipment.
The capacity KVA of the supply is increased and the maximum demand value achieved is much closer to the KW.


text:
North Philly teen inspires six-story mural by artist who painted Michelle Obama’s portrait
Najee Spencer-Young cried when she heard that Amy Sherald had painted her portrait on the side of Center City building.
This story originally appeared on PlanPhilly.
Najee Spencer-Young is one of the few who can call Michelle Obama a peer.
The aspiring hairdresser from North Philadelphia and the former first lady share a rare status. Both have been immortalized by artist Amy Sherald.
Obama’s portrait hangs in the National Portrait Gallery. Sherald’s 2,400-square-foot painting of the 19-year-old dominates the 1100 block of Sansom Street covering the west-facing wall of a Target.
She’s standing in front of an electric blue background, wearing a white top coat with a black floral print. A brown cloche hat tilts over her left eye. Spencer-Young’s deep brown skin is shown as a shade of grey like that of old black and white photos. Her gaze is confident and unbothered.
“I look like a model,” she said.
Spencer-Young wept when she saw the six-story Center City portrait for the first time.
“My mom called me and she was like, ‘Guess what, guess what, guess what,’” she said. “And I was like, ‘What mom I’m in a job interview. I can’t be on the phone.’ She was just like, ‘You up on a mural. You up on side of somebody’s Target’ I said, ‘What?’ And I got up here… I cried.”
Spencer-Young met Sherald as a student in an arts education program run by Mural Arts Philadelphia. The arts organization had commissioned Sherald to paint a mural in Philadelphia and they wanted the young people they teach to meet the artist, who is internationally recognized for her commanding portraits of ordinary African Americans.
“Amy Sherald was on our wishlist for a number of years,” said Jane Golden, Mural Arts’ executive director.
Sherald told PlanPhilly that from the beginning she wanted to paint someone to reflect the Philadelphia community. She was drawn to Spencer-Young almost instantly.
“She had a special energy,” Sherald said. “I really liked her face. I met her and, probably, within 15 minutes I knew that I wanted to paint her.”
Sherald picked the brown hat and bold flower print trench, with the teen’s approval.
The artist then took photos of Spencer-Young. She then, with some tweaks, transferred her image to a canvas 20 feet up from the sidewalk. The piece is the latest in Sherald’s collection which depicts black Americans in a world free of the burden of race.
The mural took two months to complete. Sherald says it’s meant to be a celebration of young black women like Spencer-Young.
“I think it’s important that girls like Najee get to see themselves beautiful and empowered,” she said. “She’s a reflection of so many girls that look like her in the community.”
Spencer-Young says the mural makes her feel special, but she won’t let it go to her head.
“I’m still going to be me,” she said. “I’m not going to be I’m famous, this that and the third, don’t talk to me. Y’all can still come and talk to me. I’m still going to be the same.”
WHYY is your source for fact-based, in-depth journalism and information. As a nonprofit organization, we rely on financial support from readers like you. Please give today.


text:
DON'T CALL me a ghostwriter!
I am the person whose name appears on a book's title page, following the "with," the person whose name is most often in the smaller type, and the proper name for me, technically speaking, is a "collaborator." The ghostwriter is someone whose contribution to the making of a book is not just unacknowledged but purposely concealed. If I have my name on a book, even if it is only on the acknowledgements pages, then I am not a ghostwriter.
With the book business as tough as it is for all writers, established as well as new, and with the buying public increasingly interested in the lives of people who lack either the time or the talent (or both) to write their own books, more and more writers will be asked to write books for and with others. Especially in Washington. And the question of due credit will continue to be a valid one for those who care about the creative process.
It may not surprise you to learn that I did not grow up wanting to be a collaborator, dreaming of helping other people write their books. (In fact, I didn't grow up wanting to be a writer at all.) When I left college teaching in 1968, I hoped to write books of my own, and by the early 1970s I seemed to be on track. I'd published a couple of novels for children, and co-authored a book about a labor union.
Then, in 1973, I got a call from F. Lee Bailey, the criminal lawyer, about whom I'd written a magazine article, asking me if I would like to help him write a book. I said yes, and we did For the Defense. Then he and I did another book, this one on air safety (Cleared for the Approach).
By 1975, Bailey's literary agent, Sterling Lord, had become my agent. He recommended me to Maxine Cheshire and together we produced Maxine Cheshire, Reporter. The next year it was A Term to Remember, an account of former congressman Edward Mezvinsky's service on the House Judiciary Committee during the Nixon impeachment hearings. (I shared the credit on that one with Kevin McCormally, Mezvinsky's press secretary.)
By 1978, I had done six books in six years, not counting two more short novels for juveniles, but including one Bailey-Greenya effort (the ill-fated Trial of Patty Hearst) that was never published.
I thought I had found my way out of the "with"-- business that year when Peggy Brooks, an editor at Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, asked me to do--alone!-- a book about Leo Ryan, the California Democratic congressman who was killed in Guyana. But, unfortunately, after I'd logged several months of work the deal fell through. Since then I have concentrated on finishing my first adult novel, though in 1981 I helped Pete Shields, chairman of Handgun Control Inc., write Guns Don't Die, People Do. My current project--as I wait for my agent to finish reading my novel manuscript--is, as you probably guessed, another collaboration.
The point of including all this background is that I have become, almost unintentionally, a collaborating machine, and, having at least as much ego as the next writer, I complain about it from time to time. In fact, I recently told an interviewer that collaboration was "not work for a grown man." Glib as that may sound, I have to stand by the printed comment, in the sense that no writer should be happy doing someone else's books (or articles or speeches) all the time.
I started wondering, "How do other writers feel about doing books for others, with or without credit?" In fact, Washington is a very good place to pose that question. And in general, the answers provide a ringing defense of collaborative work--as long as the writer is credited-- and also a stinging denunciation of ghostwriting.
Mary Lynn Kotz's obvious pride in the writing she has done with others almost made me feel guilty about my attitude. Kotz, who helped J.B. West with the best- selling Upstairs at the White House, and the late Marvella Bayh write Marvella: A Personal Journey, says, "I've always felt it was like being someone's lawyer: you come in with skills to make a case, so to speak, for someone who doesn't have those skills. It really broadens your experience to wear another person's shoes, or overcoat, or cry into their handkerchief."
Another Washington area writer who has a lot of "with" in his background is Patrick Anderson. Perhaps best known as the author of The President's Mistress, Anderson has been a newspaper reporter, a speech writer (for Robert Kennedy at the Justice Department and for Jimmy Carter in the White House) and has written six books, four of which are novels. In addition, he has worked as a collaborator with Turner Catledge, Jeb Stuart Magruder, and Larry O'Brien. (Watergate trivia buffs will delight in the fact that Anderson helped both Magruder and the man--O'Brien--whose office the Watergate burglars broke into. Anderson refers to that coincidence as "the Alpha and Omega of Watergate.")
"I look at collaboration as simply an honest day's work, and I see nothing wrong with it as long as a writer's main interest is in doing his own books," says Anderson. "You must remember that when you do a collaboration it is their book, not yours."
Some people feel that doing collaborations robs a writer of time and energy needed for his own work, but Anderson disagrees. "I wrote The President's Mistress after six months of writing the Magruder book, six months spent thinking about nothing but Watergate, and I wouldn't have written it without that experience. I think the purists who say a writer shouldn't help others with their books are wrong. There are a lot of people whose stories we would like to know, but we'll never know them if they don't find someone to help them tell them. Besides, it's a good share-the-wealth program for writers."
"I got into it because of a convergence of economic factors," says another collaborator, Taylor Branch. "By which I mean I couldn't make a living just writing magazine pieces, so I turned to doing books, including the books of others, as a way of remaining self-employed."
Branch, who has helped two very different figures, former basketball star Bill Russell and Watergate snitch John Dean, do their books, says, "Collaborations are as different as the people involved, and my relationship with the person I'm working with is far more important to me than people outside the collaboration think. I spent four months living in John Dean's house, and five months in Bill Russell's. Today, Russell and I are friends. It was at his insistence that the credit line on the book, which is told in the first person, is Bill Russell and Taylor Branch."
Lest we forget, there was another Dean book--Mo, by Maureen Dean with Hays Gorey, a respected journalist in Time's Washington Bureau. "I found the whole thing very interesting. I had known Mo slightly from covering Watergate, and had heard that she was quite shy. But she turned out to be enormously candid. I think the book offered a side of Watergate-- the effect on the wives--that none of the other books did. The only problem I had was at the end, when Mo wanted to go back and sanitize things. We talked her out of it, the editor, Nan Talese, and I."
The tendency toward late-blooming sel- censorship is one that almost all collaborators face. Perhaps the saddest account is that of Winzola McLendon, who spent months working with Martha Mitchell, the late wife of Nixon's first attorney general.
"Please don't say we fought all the time," says McLendon, "because we didn't. She was just marvelous to interview. But she was deathly afraid of having anyone back in her little Arkansas home town read about her use of alcohol or profanity. One of the funniest things she ever said to me was when she screamed, 'I don't want any g--d--- cuss words in this book!' "
According to McLendon, who had a 50-50 agreement with her subject, Mitchell had been offered $1 million for her book. Bute, and th procrastination and ill-health prevailed, and the deal was never struck. Later, McLendon did her own book on Martha Mitchell, but for far less money.
It is not at all uncommon for journalists who have covered a major story to be asked later on to work on a book with one of the principals of the story, a point made over and over again by the Watergate scandal. And of the many books generated by that traumatic episode in American history, that of Judge John Sirica was one of the most sought after, both by publishers and writers who knew the judge would need a collaborator.
For a long time, the leading candidate seemed to be Robert L. Jackson of The Los Angeles Times. However, when the smoke cleared and the deal was struck, Jackson was not the writer.
The reason was classically simple: Judge Sirica would not put Jackson's (or any other writer's) name on the cover, and Jackson had turned down the job. Because it would have been his first book, he wanted credit; so he said no.
The man who said "yes" was John Stacks of Time, who had been the magazine's Watergate editor. "I knew going in," he said in a recent interview, "that I would be named only on the inside, so that wasn't a problem. I had no misgivings.
"Just talking to him was special. And it pleased Judge Sirica to have this Time correspondent sitting at his knee. He used to get a kick out of buying me lunch, at the Roy Rogers on River road. All in all, it was a very special experience, a rare chance to be in on history."
Stacks has no regrets over not having his name on the cover of To Set the Record Straight. He says that doing the book helped him break into the "hardback book business" --he wrote Watershed, a book on the 1980 elections.
Of all my collaborations, I've had my name on the cover every time but once, the lone exception being Guns Don't Die, People Do, the handgun-control book I did with Pete Shields. From the very beginning, the deal was that only Pete's name would go on the cover. The publisher's reasoning was that because the framework of the story was so personal--Pete and Jeanne Shields' son had been killed with a Saturday Night Special--only Pete's name should be on the book cover. With some reluctance, I agreed.
The Shields' book provided me with an experience that only another collaborator can appreciate fully, but which bears telling nonetheless. At the posh book party, Shields got up to make his speech, and began by saying, in ringing tones, "I didn't write this book." Standing back at the bar, where all good collaborators belong once a book is finished, I was stunned at the prospect of receiving public credit. Pete's daughter Leslie, reading her father's statement as I had, took me by the hand. She had me halfway to the front of the room when he continued: "All of you in this room, through your work and your contributions, are the ones who wrote this book." Leslie let go of my hand, and I slipped back to the bar.
When Trevor Armbrister, a senior editor at the Reader's Digest Washington Bureau, began work with Jerry Ford on his memoir, he knew he would not be mentioned on the cover. "But I had hopes that might change, knowing of Jerry Ford's reputation for decency." It didn't, but the former president was most generous in his acknowledgement inside the book: "Above all, A Time to Heal would never have come to fruition had it not been for the assistance of Trevor Armbrister, a distinguished journalist and probing reporter."
It is interesting how the collaboration came about. Armbrister heard from his agent that Ford was looking for a writer, and that his was one of six names on the list. He asked for an appointment and paid his own way to Palm Springs. "In talking to Ford I was brutally candid, especially in regard to the pardon, which I told him 'didn't wash as it had been explained to the country.' My half hour meeting turned into a three hour meeting, and then I was asked to step outside, with the Secret Service men and the family dogs. Forty-five miok. Bute, and thnutes later, Ford reappeared, stuck out his hand, and said, 'You're my guy.'
"The more straightforward I was, the better Ford liked it, and over the next year and three-quarters I grew to have a real reverence for the guy, and a respect for his intelligence as an overwhelmingly decent man."
Occasionally political figures write their own books. Such a politician was former Vice President Spiro Agnew. Agent Scott Meredith, who represented Agnew on the selling of his novel, swears that he wrote The Canfield Decision himself. And he adds that Ladies Home Journal, which bought the serial rights, was so skeptical that it sent someone down to Agnew's house to watch him type. "Finally, Agnew called me and said, 'I can't write with this guy staring at me. Get him out of here.'"
Lisa Drew, Doubleday's executive editor, who has done 30 to 40 Washington books and pays close attention to the capital's book business, says "Collaborators are often absolutely necessary, and I find them quite easy to work with. If there's any excess of temperament involved, it is usually on the part of the collaborator's subject. I've learned how good collaborators work: recognizing that most politicians are not inherently interesting, they do what good interviewers do and draw the person out, get the true voice of the person."
"The problem is not finding (collaborators), but finding good ones," says Random House editor Rob Cowley. "Sometimes, because of the arguments that develop, we have to suggest three or four writers before a deal is worked out. And if the subject is a sports figure, forget it --'cause all those cats want to do is to pick up their checks."
Almost all Washington writers willing to collaborate have a story about "the one that got away" or the big one they turned down. Often writers who have "made it" get calls from people who need help. Kitty Kelley, author of Jackie Oh! and The Last Star, says, "I got a call from Zsa Zsa Gabor who wanted help with a book on her life. When I told her I was very busy doing my own book on Frank Sinatra, she said, 'But, darling, he's such a has-been.' "
Larry L. King, who admits that he has become "two-thirds rich" from the theatrical productions of his article "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas," says he is relieved not to have to consider collaborating again: "It's poor man's work. You don't do it for art, but only for the money. When Bobby Baker and I were working on his book (Wheeling and Dealing), we were working at totally cross purposes. I wanted confessions that would sell the book, and he wanted to vindicate himself. It was like pulling a hippo's teeth when the hippo doesn't want them pulled." As fate would have it, the Baker book made King quite a bit of money -- which, of course, came in only after he didn't need it (when it had already become clear that King was going to do very well from "Whorehouse" receipts).
King also recalls, less than fondly, doing a book with Representative Pete McCloskey when the California Republican decided to oppose Richard Nixon for the presidential nomination in 1972. "Simon and Schuster was nuts about it. Then, on the day of publication, McCloskey withdrew from the race. I think it sold six copies in hardcover and 12 in paper."
Another problem with having done many collaborations is that you get calls from other writers who want advice. Should they get involved in this or that deal? And, once involved, what do they do if the subject suddenly clams up, dries up, or otherwise causes problems. I once got a call from Don Smith, the founder of The Washington Tribune. Then employed full-time elsewhere, he was enmeshed in a tripartite book deal, and it was getting complicated. He said he had been offered a buy-out, "a fee plus a small percentage." What should he do? I gave him advice straight from the independent writer's heart-- take the money and run. He did. Unfortunately, the book project he helped launch turned to be All You Need to Know About the IRS, by Paul Bute, and thStrassels, which turned out to be a very healthy bestseller. Sorry about that, Don.
Many writers have grave reservations about doing too many "with"-books. Armbrister put it this way: "I don't want to be tagged out there in 'agentville' as someone who can only do books with other people." Armbrister, who has done two books of his own and two collaborations, Ford's and Oh Congress, with Senator Don Riegle of Michigan, has the odd distinction of seeing both of his collaborations make the bestseller list. "I don't want to do it again, at least not now. If I'm ever to break out of the pack, it will have to be with a solo effort."
Taylor Branch laments, "It's very difficult explaining collaborations to people. After a while they say, in effect, 'But don't you want to grow up? '"
I know what he means. I will never forget the woman I once met at a party who, on hearing I was a writer, wanted to know exactly what I had written. I listed the titles of the books I had done and the names of the people I had done them with, and then she said, quite without malice, "But then you're not really a writer. You just help other people write their books."
How did she know to touch my rawest nerve? Of course she was wrong. If you write anything of substance, anything good and decent and worthwhile, for yourself or for someone else, then you most assuredly are a writer. Not only does collaborating give the writer a chance to do what he or she does best, which, along with the money, is the best justification, but it also affords the writer any number of interesting, instructive, and even enjoyable experiences that he or she would not otherwise have. While working with F.Lee Bailey, I was transported by a Lear jet, a helicopter, a sportscar and a boat, all on the same day.
I'd like to report that I'll never do another collaboration until I see a book of my own published, but I cannot afford so principled a gesture. Besides, from time to time I pick up something I wrote for--excuse me, I mean with -- someone, reread it, like it a lot, and think, what am I so concerned about? For I know in my heart that it is far better a story be told with help than not be told at all.


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Mexican holidays are spread throughout the year. Whethery they are linked to history or religion, The Mexicans enjoy themselves in every “fiesta” by making masks, wearing costumes, playing instruments and dancing popular dances. Every holiday of Mexico is unique, and everyone who is visiting will be fascinated by them.
Statutory holidays are official federal holidays on which the vast majority of Mexican society takes time off work and school.
Just like other countries that use the Julian calendar, Mexicans celebrate New Year’s Day on January 1st. It is common to start the year off with festive meals, spending time with family, and relaxing after the festivities of the night before. New Year’s Day is also a time when Mexicans start acting on their New Year’s resolutions.
Constitution Day is a Mexican statutory holiday celebrated on the first Monday of February. This holiday commemorates the day in 1917 when the Mexican constitution was make into official law after the successful Mexican Revolution.
The Constitution is well-loved in Mexico because of the sweeping social and political reforms it enacted. Mexicans on all ages celebrate this holiday by attending picnics, festivals, and concerts decked out in the patriotic colors of the Mexican flag: red, white, and green.
Benito Juárez was president of Mexico from 1847-1852 and is one of the most beloved Mexican statesmen. Born March 21, 1806 in San Pablo Guelatao, Oaxaca, President Juárez went on to lead the Mexican state and is known for his liberal policies, specifically enacting the strict separation of church and the Mexican state. Benito Juárez Day is celebrated every year on the third Monday in March.
Mexicans, along with the rest of the world (besides the U.S.) celebrate Labor Day on the first of May, or “May Day”. Many significant labor movements have existed in Mexico throughout its history, and these movements were often violently suppressed by government forces. Labor Day is meant to honor and glorify the Mexican laborers who helped build Mexico and who keep it running today.
Independence Day is celebrated in Mexico on September 16. This date is widely considered to be the starting point of the Mexican War of Independence from Spain, and the events were started by Father Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla.
Hidalgo y Costilla made his now famous “Crito de Dolores” or “Cry of Dolores” in the small village of Dolores. The Crito de Dolores implored the people of Mexico to rise up and revolt against Spanish rule, and the people heard Hidalgo y Costilla’s cry. On October 18, 1825, Mexico declared its independence from Spain.
Revolution Day is celebrated on the third Monday in November. This statutory holiday commemorates the day on which Francisco I. Madero began his successful revolution against the corrupt dictator Porfirio Díaz.
The Federal Government Change is celebrated every six years on the first of December. This holiday celebrates the peaceful transfer of power that occurs after a national election. In a region not always known for its government stability, Mexicans are very proud of their established and peaceful democracy.
Mexico is a heavily-Catholic country, so Christmas is a big deal. It is celebrated every year on December 25, and like in America, it entails many religious and secular traditions. While Santa Claus and reindeer have become a part of the Mexican Christmas experience, there are still many uniquely Mexican aspects to the holiday, including piñatas and sweetly-spiced rice milk.
Civic holidays are official holidays, but they usually don’t mean workers and students get the day off.
Mexican Army Day is celebrated every year on February 19. It commemorates the formation of the Mexican National Army in 1913.
Flag Day is celebrated annually on February 24. Beginning in 1937, this holidays honors and commemorates all the iterations of the Mexican flag, especially the current flag, adopted in 1968. Many Mexicans deck themselves out in red, white, and green to mark this patriotic day.
The Heroic Defense of Veracruz celebrates Mexico’s historic defense of Veracruz against American forces in 1914.
Staff and faculty of the Heroica Escuela Naval Militar, along with some Mexican Navy forces, held off the Americans for seven months. This historic event is now commemorated every year on April 24.
Cinco de Mayo is often misconstrued as Mexican Independence Day, but that is not accurate. (The Mexican independence is commemorated on Día de la Independencia.) Cinco de Mayo actually commemorates the longshot victory of Mexican troops over the French at the Battle of Puebla on May 5, 1862. This battle did not have anything to do with the Mexican independence; rather, it was part of a Mexican civil war.
Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla was Mexican hero responsible for the “Crito de Dolores”, and this holiday commemorates his birth. Hidalgo y Costilla was a major player in the initiation of the Mexican War for Indendence, commemorated on the Día de la Independencia statutory holiday.
Maritime Day celebrated annually on June 1, honors Mexico’s Navy and maritime workers.
Boy Heroes Day commemorates a grim event in Mexican history. During the Mexican-American War, six young military cadets died defending Chapultepec Castle, a military academy in Mexico City. Their sacrifice is honored every year on September 13.
Mexican War of Independence Day is celebrated annually on September 27. It commemorates the end of the 11-year war of independence kicked off by Hidalgo y Costilla’s “Crito de Dolores” and celebrates Mexico’s freedom from Spain.
José Morelos Day commemorates the birth of José María Morelos y Pavón, a Catholic priest and Mexican founding father. It is celebrated every year on September 30.
Columbus Day, celebrated annually on October 12, commemorates Christopher Colobus’s 1492 discovery of the Americas.
Religious holidays of Mexico are celebrated on many days. Some of the most important, and known to people worldwide, are the following:
© Jeff Weese - Christmas Nativity Scene
There are many other Mexican celebrations that are not related to religion or historical events, but rather are means of showing their pride in their traditions. One of those holidays of Mexico is the “Guelaguetza” festival, a traditional folk “fiesta”, held on the region of Oaxaca.

domain: history


Amazon is offering the Wyze Lock Wi-Fi Deadbolt for $90.99 shipped. For comparison, it normally goes for $130 at Amazon and today’s deal marks the lowest price that we’ve seen so far this year. Ready to upgrade your existing deadbolt, the Wyze Lock doesn’t require anything special to be installed on the exterior of your door, making it somewhat unique in the realm of smart locks. It only requires the interior portion of the deadbolt be replaced which also makes this an ideal solution for renters as well as homeowners. Plus, it not only knows when the door is locked or unlocked, but also whether the door is open thanks to its built-in gyroscope, so no separate sensors are needed. Check out our hands-on review of the Wyze Lock to take a deeper dive and then head below for more information.
The post Wyze Lock adds voice control to any deadbolt with ease at 2022 low of $91 (Reg. $130) appeared first on 9to5Toys.


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Dallas area folks clearly love a good burger, and who can blame them? Whether upscale and refined, basic backyard-style smashed, topped with exotic ingredients or simply slathered in ketchup and mustard, the ubiquitous burger is always popular. That's why The Observer’s guide to the best burgers in Dallas
was the most read food story of 2022
A new entry on this competitive and crowded food scene is Edmond’s Burgers & More
, a little Plano joint that opened on Halloween. We think Edmond's can make a good case to be included in some best burgers of ’23 lists.
Located in the former home of JC Burger House, Edmond’s is a family business run by chef Edmond, who brings 20 years of culinary experience to the table. His wife, Aida Lamce, often takes care of the front of the house. The two provide a friendly and attentive atmosphere and offer a menu
with a good selection of burgers as well as a nice variety of “& More” in the form of sandwiches, wraps, wings, a couple of tacos and salads.
Edmond's Burgers & More opened on Halloween in Plano at the old JC Burger location, offering friendly service and yummy burgers.
Hamburger choices include a Hawaiian, a blue burger (avocado and blue cheese), turkey and the Jaden burger (named for the owners' son), which is fully loaded with beef bacon, Swiss, fried egg and grilled onions, with all the normal garden fixings — all on Texas toast. All burgers come with two patties if ordered à la carte, or with a single patty if you opt for the $10 combo meal version.
Southwest burger: sautéed sweet peppers, jalapeños, lettuce, onions, tomatoes, pickles and chipotle mayo.
We went with a Southwest burger: sautéed bell pepper, jalapeños, lettuce, onions, tomatoes and pickles with chipotle mayo, all served on nicely toasted and buttered bun. Large, but not unmanageably so. The never-frozen beef was perfectly seasoned and cooked just right. It was one of the better burgers we’ve had recently.
Short rib sandwich: short rib, caramelized onions, provolone and house sauce on Texas toast.
Sandwich choices include egg cheese, B.L.T., chicken, Philly cheese, fried fish and a Reuben with house-made corn beef. We opted for the short rib sandwich since we’re glad to be living in the era where short rib always seems to make an appearance on menus. This was prepared with caramelized onions, provolone and house sauce on Texas toast. Chewy and flavorful if slightly skimpy in size, it did the job. But truth be told, we wished we’d ordered another burger.
Loaded fries: bacon, jalapeños and cheddar cheese sauce.
We didn’t get the combo versions, so we added a side of loaded fries to our order, and these arrived smothered in a pretty good cheddar cheese sauce along with bacon and jalapeños. It’s kind of hard to mess up your basic smothered fries, and Edmond's didn’t. Sweet potato fries and onion rings are also on the menu.
North Texas is blessed with a plethora of burger choices, and Edmond’s is a much-appreciated new entry to this crowded field. Given the strong customer service and well-crafted, scrumptious burgers, we’re sure that it will more than hold its own.
2919 W 15th St., Plano; Monday – Friday, 11 a.m. – 8:30 p.m.; Saturday, 10:30 a.m. – 8:30 p.m.; closed Sunday.

domain: food


text:
Yesterday, THIS guy tweeted to the El Paso Times' Bob Moore and Aileen Flores:
Well, guess what?
From the El Paso Times, regarding that "smoking gun" email Commissioner Carlos Leon had:
Valenti today emailed County Commissioner Carlos Leon telling him that at the time of the August email, he was referring to the fiscal year and not the calendar year. Leon earlier this week released the email Valenti sent him in August, which said neither he nor his staff would be receiving bonuses this year. (Emphasis added)
Bascially, Commissioner Leon is a dumbass. Valenti's crime is that he thought Leon would know better. Oops.
UMC Board Chair William Hanson might to have backpedal on his comment about Valenti being "factually inaccurate."
What now of Veronica Escobar who has "flabbergasted" by Valenti's email? Now she too looks like a dumbass.
Then you got the El Paso Times who used Leon's email as a centerpiece of their editorial today.
Talk about a clusterfuck.
Again, Valenti's only crime is that he thought folks on Commissoners Court and UMC Board know how the budgeting calendar works.


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While our favorite actors from the 80s don't always keep their careers going, there's the happy few that not only manage to stay relevant, but also look great doing it. Here's just a few people that we loved then, and still love now.
The Flashdance star didn't have much of a career in Hollywood, but did go on to plenty of success on TV, starring in shows like The L Word and Taken.
The General Hospital and Full House star was a complete heartthrob in the 80s, and has continued acting in TV shows well into the present day.
We all remember her as Denise Huxtable from The Cosby Show, but she's taken a long hiatus from acting to raise her kids alongside husband Jason Momoa.
After massive successes with his run on SNL, his standup and his Beverly Hills Cop movies, Eddie's career has cooled a bit over the years, though he's clearly still got it; he received an Oscar nomination in 2009 for Dreamgirls.
She has too many awesome roles to name, but ever since Scarface we've all been massive fans of her work. After a few small hiatuses, she's back on the big screen in a massive way in movies like mother! and Murder on the Orient Express.
Following in the acting footsteps of his father James, the former Goonie has had one hell of a lasting career in Hollywood. He received an Oscar nomination for his role in Milk, and is currently set to appear in massive blockbusters like The Avengers: Infinity War and Deadpool 2.
First wowing audiences in the 70s with The Rocky Horror Picture Show and then critics in the 80s with Atlantic City, her career has been consistently impressive. She finally got an Oscar for Dead Man Walking in 1996, and has continued to appear in movies like Cloud Atlas and Zoolander 2.
if it weren't for the salt in his hair you could be forgiven for thinking Denzel Washington has barely aged since St. Elsewhere, and after massive roles in Malcolm X, Training Day, Man on Fire and Fences, he shows no sign of slowing down.
We've been in love with her since seeing her in The Outsiders and Streets of Fire, and she continues to impress us in movies like Walk on the Moon, Secretariat, and Inside Out.


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Lipscomb holds on to beat Stetson 77-74 for 4th-straight win
DELAND, Fla. (AP) Garrison Mathews scored 21 points and Lipscomb held on to beat Stetson 77-74 on Saturday for its fourth-straight win.
Mathews was 7 of 14 from the floor. Nathan Moran added 13 points and J.C. Hampton 12 for the Bisons (11-19, 7-6 Atlantic Sun Conference), who shot 52 percent from the field.
Divine Myles scored 16 points to lead Stetson (9-20, 3-10), which has lost five consecutive games. Brian Pegg and Grant Lozoya added 15 points each.
Myles made a 3-pointer and the Hatters had their last lead, 66-65. The Bisons answered with a 10-4 spurt to take a 75-70 lead with three minutes left. Moran had scored five points during the stretch.
Derick Newton made a pair of free throws and Myles had a layup to pull the Hatters to 75-74, and Hampton's layup made it 77-74.
Lozoya then missed a deep 3-point attempt at the buzzer to end it.


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By KEN MORIYASU, Nikkei Asia diplomatic correspondent
TOKYO — The American aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln will make a port call at Yokosuka Naval Base in Japan on Saturday morning, local authorities said on Friday.
The San Diego-based carrier will enter the base, which sits south of Tokyo and is home to the USS Ronald Reagan carrier, with a crew of 4,779, according to the city of Yokosuka.
The docking comes a day ahead of the arrival of U.S. President Joe Biden, who will stay in Japan until Tuesday. While the city has been told that the purpose of the port call is “rest, replenishment and maintenance,” the carrier’s presence is thought to demonstrate the Navy’s flexibility in rotating ships in and out of Japan, Washington’s most important Asian ally.
The ship will replace the Ronald Reagan, which on Friday headed out for summer patrol with a crew of 2,817 aboard.
The visiting carrier will park at Piedmont Pier (Berth 12), which is usually reserved for the Ronald Reagan.
The Yokosuka-based Ronald Reagan typically leaves and returns to its home port without its air wing, which is based in Iwakuni, Yamaguchi Prefecture. The air wing joins the carrier at sea.
The Abraham Lincoln, meanwhile, will enter Yokosuka with its full air wing on board, which is rare and the reason for the massive crew.
In September, the British aircraft carrier HMS Queen Elizabeth made a port call to Yokosuka and parked at Pier 12 during its maiden operational voyage.
The port call was widely thought to be a message to China: Not only American carriers but also British carriers could be replenished and repaired at a Japanese port.
The Abraham Lincoln is commanded by Capt. Amy Bauernschmidt, the first woman to serve as the commanding officer of a U.S. Navy aircraft carrier.
Its entry into Yokosuka Port will occur at 8:55 a.m., according to the Japan Coast Guard’s Tokyo Bay Vessel Traffic Service Center.
The length of the stay has not been announced. The crew is permitted to leave the base on the condition they wear face masks and adhere to COVID-19 protocols.
Yokosuka is the U.S. Navy’s largest overseas facility and home to 13 ships, including the flagship USS Blue Ridge, eight guided-missile destroyers and three guided-missile cruisers.
Since last summer, the Navy has been gathering its newer ships — equipped with helicopter hangars — at Yokosuka with the aim of strengthening anti-submarine capabilities.

domain: geography


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Judge Denies Property Owner’s Motion To Dismiss Tainted Groundwater Lawsuit
(October 16, 2015, 1:42 PM EDT) -- SAN FRANCISCO — The federal judge presiding over the lawsuit brought by the current owner of a contaminated property that has subsequently resulted in groundwater tainted with toxins ruled Oct. 14 that a group owning 28 acres on a portion of the property in question lacks affirmative defenses barring the lawsuit (Northern California River Watch v. Fluor Corporation, No. 10-05105, N.D. Calif.; 2015 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 140047).
(Opinion available. Document #15-151020-012Z.)
In 2010, the environmental group Northern California River Watch (NCRW) filed suit in the...


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The 2011 Epcot International Flower and Garden Festival is in full swing at the Walt Disney World Resort. Being an Orlando local, I had the pleasure of attending opening day (March 2nd). The festival runs through May 15th, 2011. I wanted to share these fantastic “Bambi” topiaries planted in the Butterfly Garden in Epcot’s Future World.
Disney Horticulturists re-created these beloved characters (Bambi, Flower and Thumper) in anticipation of the release of Walt Disney’s “Bambi” Diamond Edition which is now available on Blue Ray combo pack and movie download.

domain: entertainment


Help The Tote survive.
The Tote has launched a new GoFundMe campaign to help keep the venue alive. The beloved Melbourne live music venue has been brought to its knees as the current pandemic rips through the music industry and is now asking for public support.
The Collingwood venue is the heart and soul of Melbourne music and has been part of the city’s cultural fabric for nearly 40 years. The venue has been knocked down numerous times but has always gotten back up to the benefit of music lovers the world over – six days a week; 50 bands a week; three different bandrooms; rock, punk, garage, psychedelic, hip hop, pop, metal, jazz, blues, folk, you name it.
Think of Liverpool’s Cavern Club, New Orleans’ Preservation Hall and Nashville’s Grand Ole Opry; Melbourne’s The Tote is right up there in its cultural significance and importance.
“We want to return to being Australia’s most-loved live music venue,” The Tote co-owner Jon Perring says. “We want to continue being the home of the original diverse voices of the Australian contemporary live music scene and play our part in the future of Australian and international music culture. We want to continue to be proud of what we are but we can’t do it alone whilst we are on our knees.”
Despite receiving some government assistance, their bank account is running dry. JobKeeper is propping them up for now but soon enough, the funds will run out and The Tote will have nowhere to go.
Help The Tote stay alive by donating to their GoFundMe campaign here.
Read our story on why NSW is currently taking Victoria to school with its support of live music and nightlife culture.
Never miss a story. Sign up to Beat’s newsletter and you’ll be served fresh music, arts, food and culture stories five times a week.


text: The most popular of all fabrics in Africa would definitely have to make a cameo in the list of inspiration. A vast array of fashion campaigns worldwide have been influenced by this colourful fabric. This comes as no surprise as Ankara fabric is one of the most stylish and versatile fabrics on the continent of Africa. Celebrities such as Beyoncé, Jidenna and Kim Kardashian have been spotted wearing Ankara fabric in the past. Rihanna is also a fan of this trend and even wore an Ankara ensemble on her 2015 Harper’s Bazaar China cover.