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Lybrate.com has a number of highly qualified Dermatologists in India. You will find Dermatologists with more than 35 years of experience on Lybrate.com. You can find Dermatologists online in Mumbai and from across India. View the profile of medical specialists and their reviews from other patients to make an informed decision.
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Hello doc I have a problem after bath I noticed some heat rashes and redness around one nipple and after I apply body lotion and oil. Its become normal what is that .and some tyms it's itchy too.
I am 68 yrs male and had ringworm infection on my leg 2 years ago. It reoccurs once every 3 months or so and responds to medication (anti-fungal ointment). How do I cure it properly. After a tiny sore appears it oozes discharge but responds to anti-fungal medication.
I have hair fall. And hairs are getting white. Is there anyway to stop it Or make the hairs black permanently?
I am 25 year old, male. My problem is in my tongue. There are a black hairy. Both side of my tongue. I have no any problem of this. Bt I frusted by this. What is this?
I have a skin problem from last 4-5 month. I want a treat ment from you. Can you help me to solve my problem.
I changed places within my state tripura for job. But recently when I came to this new place my body started itching every time when i open my dress. It continues till i sleep. It itches even when go to my home or when i change my place
Do you have a permanent tattoo which you want to remove because of certain circumstances? According to studies, almost 50% of people with tattoos in the US want to have their tattoos removed via the laser tattoo removal technique.
This tattoo removal technique eliminates your tattoo without having much side effects. In the procedure, lasers are used to remove your tattoo by breaking up the pigment colours of the tattoo, using a high-intensity beam of light. Black tattoo pigment absorbs all the laser wavelengths and is easiest to remove, while other colours can be removed by using certain selected lasers.
Laser Tattoo Removal Procedure-
The number of treatments or sessions you require depends on the colour and size of your tattoo. It may take about two to four sessions in the case of normal tattoos, while for those having large tattoos; it may take more than 10 sessions to get the tattoo removed. A consultation session with a trained professional is required to help you in evaluating your situation and whether you should go ahead with the procedure.
The laser treatment varies from person to person and depends on factors such as age, size and type of the tattoo. The patient’s skin colour and depth to which the tattoo pigment extends also affects the removal process.
Here are the steps involved in a laser tattoo removal process:
Protected eye shields are placed on you.
Your skin’s reaction to the laser is tested for determining the amount of energy to be used.
A handpiece is placed again on your skin surface, which activates the laser light. This process is extremely painful to undergo.
Small tattoos require less pulses while large tattoos require much more. After every session, your tattoo tends to get lighter, progressively.
Right after a treatment session, an ice pack is applied to your skin to soothe the areas treated. You will have to apply a topical antibiotic ointment and a bandage is used to protect the treated skin region. You must cover the area using a sunblock whenever you go out in between the treatment sessions.
In some cases, local anesthesia is used during the treatment procedure.
Because of modern-day technology, laser tattoo removal is now a common thing undertaken by many who want to get rid of their unwanted tattoos. The procedure is safer than the traditional tattoo removal methods like excision, salabrasion and dermabrasion.
In case you have a concern or query you can always consult an expert & get answers to your questions!


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Home to an abundance of wildlife, Cheyenne Mountain State Park has black bears, deer, bobcats, wild turkeys, and even a mountain lion roaming the territory. Visitors frequently report seeing rattlesnakes cross the trails and raptors soaring high overhead.
In 2011, a small crew of dedicated volunteers installed a water guzzler within the Park. We have also installed a game camera that captures the large array of wildlife who have stopped off for a drink. Due to Colorado's dry conditions and our lack of running water, we recently installed a second guzzler within the Park to provide even better opportunities for the wildlife.
When viewing wildlife, please keep a respectful distance from the animals. For more information, see the Wildlife Viewing page.
To protect the parks fragile eco-systems; pets and horses are permitting on only a small selection of trails - and never in the back country. Smoking is not permitted on the trails or back country.

domain: travel


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Monday, 25 August 2008
New Etched Dichroic Glass Bird Pendant
I've neglected the blog for a bit. After my ceramic disaster I was a bit disenchanted with ceramics. I have since moved along and have recreated some of the ceramic pieces that I made. Progress on them is moving slowly though. They have been bisque fired and glazed with the undercoat. I just need to put the clear gloss overglaze on them then cross my fingers to see how they turn out. I'll post a picture when they're done. So far I'm pleased with them. They are bat buttons and pendants.
Above is something new I've been working on lately. I've been into fused glass for a while but wanted to take it a bit further. I've discovered an etching process where I can put any sort of black and white image onto the dichroic glass. (Isn't the dichroic glass beautiful. It changes colour depending on how the light bounces off of it.) Anyway, back to the etching. It's not a decal but the dichroic coating is etched away and it leaves the image. This, as you can see, is a bird in some branches. I'm very much into birds these days for some reason. As if that wasn't enough (making the custom fused glass piece), I've also started dabbling in silversmithing. The bezel for this piece is completely hand made by me. I love this piece and since it's only the second piece I've ever made on my own, I'm pretty darn proud of it. I'm wearing a similar design I made today. This one I've put for sale in my Etsy http://www.etsy.com/shop.php?user_id=5069403 Store along with some other fused glass pieces I've made. As far as I know these fused glass pieces are quite unusual. I'm sure other's are doing similar things but I haven't seen anything quite like this so for me they're unusual. As I said, I like to take the usual and add my own special twist. Often that means a lot of painstaking detail but hopefully in the end the results are worth it.

domain: artistic


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Mr Hughes sits dead in his chair, a glass of whisky in his hand, while a low crackle spews from the wireless.
Sasha has been laying at his feet since he died, at 5.54 this morning. It is now near lunch time.
Mr Hughes had decided to die, and so he did. His beloved wife had departed a week earlier, and Mr Hughes set his mind to giving up.
For a week as he shuffled toward death, he put his affairs in order. There weren’t many affairs to be ordered, but he left his estate to his dog Sasha, and left her in the care of the state, with the condition that she remained in the house until she died.
He had some trouble, did Mr Hughes. He thought of all the ways a man can die, but none of them took his fancy. They were too messy, or too expensive, or too illegal.
And so last night he sat down with Sasha, poured himself a whisky, and concentrated on the white noise the wireless had to offer. He sat as still as a statue, and stared out his window.
The rose garden stared back at him from the dew-touched morning lawn. How his wife had adored and tended to those roses! Her hands were bitten by thorns and calloused from secateurs, but the flowers nodded at Mr Hughes then as if in apology for his loss. In the week that Mrs Hughes had been gone, weeds had already started to take over the rose beds. Every time Mr Hughes looked at his wife’s secateurs he felt wrong to fix the situation.
Now he resembles a frozen tree, bluish and brittle, haunting yet beautiful. All Sasha can do is wait for someone to come and knock on the door to find her master’s body.
Mr Hughes sits dead in his chair, a glass of whisky in his hand, while a low crackle spews from the wireless.
Tom sits heavy at the table, so heavy that his bum muscles start going numb.
“Hit me,” he says.
Perfectly tuned machines ping around him, he cannot see outside, and pretty soon his arse will lose feeling altogether. Tom sits even heavier.
He says, “Hit me.”
A clock flies across the room, “YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT FUCKING TIME IT IS,” Anna screams, and Tom quickly shuts the door behind him, falling on unsteady feet toward his wife.
He sees his kids sitting in their pyjamas at the kitchen table. Their faces are filled with sleep and they both hold teddy bears.
“Oh, hey guys!” The kids don’t smile. One of them starts crying.
Anna’s picking up her car keys, saying “I’ve had enough of this, Tom. I’m done with this shit.”
She’s picking up already-packed bags and moving towards the door, telling the kids to follow her. Tom steps into the doorway ahead of Anna.
“Put the bags down, sweetness,” to Anna.
“Go back to bed, guys” to the kids, with a confident smile. They stay where they are.
“You’re not going fuckin’ anywhere,” to Anna.
She looks into his eyes with a hard expression, none of the softness she had when Tom married her. The clock’s still ticking, but the second hand’s shuddering in the one place, like time stands still.
“I was out with the boys,” Tom tells his wife, “Time got away from us. No matter. Let’s go to bed, my love.”
Anna shakes her head, glances quickly towards the kids.
“I told you to choose, Tom. We’ll lose the house. There’s no savings. It’s all gone! I can’t stick around for this.”
She moves toward the door again but Tom grabs her by the arm, hard.
“And take my fuckin’ children, woman? No no,” he shoves her back against the fridge, his hands around her throat before he realises what he’s doing.
As Anna’s whole body strains against Tom’s strength, he comes to himself and lets go. He falls back across the room, hits the wall, and slides to the floor. There are tears.
“You piece of shit,” chokes Anna, grabbing their children by the wrists and pulling them behind her to the door.
“Hit me,” begs Tom, “I’m done. I’m sorry. I won’t go back, just don’t leave. You can’t leave! Go on, hit me!”
She’s out the door, and Tom moves after her. The car engine starts, and Tom watches the headlights grow smaller into the night, away from the house.
He screams into the night.
He can’t go home. There’s nothing there, just piles of microwave food baked onto plates from three weeks ago, and bills shoved under the door, spilling across the kitchen floor. There’s no dial tone anymore, and even if there was he wouldn’t know where to call. They’ve disappeared. Pretty soon the house will go too.
“Eighteen,” says the dealer.
Tom nods slowly.
“Twenty-five,” says the dealer, scooping up the cards, “Bust.”
“Hit me,” says Tom.
The dealer just stares.
Tom says, “Hit me.”
This piece appeared in Ex Calamus ezine, issue number seven, which can be downloaded here. Support local emerging writers, read Ex Calamus!
On the weekend I went with some friends up to a very cool very abandoned house… when I got back I got to scribbling. And this is what came of it.
It was white once, but that was a long time ago. There are leaves everywhere. Not just on the path and in the back yard, but in the hallways and staircases too. One whole side is surrounded by a massive balcony, which looks like it’s missing some flappers and cocktails.
It’s not locked. We walk around the back and go straight in, like coming home to this dilapidated old mansion.
Tara thinks it was once a part of Kew Cottages. We all picture disabled kids being tied up and pushed down stairs.
We crunch around on the lino for a while, drifting in and out of rooms. Chandeliers have been stolen and cords hang empty from the ceiling. There are NO SMOKING signs on every bedroom door.
The place is huge. At least 12 bedrooms, two big kitchens, three bathrooms. Hidden walk-in bits – cellars, pantries, something that looks like a jail cell.
“Where they were put when they were naughty,” says Tara. Words that could be a joke, but she’s absolutely serious.
There’s a little door at the end of a living room down stairs, which leads to a cold cement landing. More stairs, into a pointless cold room with a bizarre crevice hidden behind another wall.
The downstairs kitchen reminds me of the way RSLs were before they were replaced by the bright shiny things that flash and swallow pensions, telling us about the brave men who fought hard to give us this life.
In this old demented castle there’s little type-written placards stuck around the place.
“ROOM 12- 3 BEDS”
They must have dormed people in these bedrooms.
There’s something written in an Asian script above a heap of switches, which Ollie flicks a bunch of. They do nothing, of course – electricity left this house years ago.
We wander around downstairs, a weird sort of basement with too many rooms and hidden things nd not many windows.
“Maybe it was a student share house.”
“Wonder what the rent on a place like this would be?”
“That room wasn’t that colour last time I was here. It’s been painted. Maybe someone’s doing it up.”
“But its unlocked”
Something hits the floor upstairs. We all stop talking. I’ve heard that kind of noise few times as we’ve been walking around, but I put it down to wind. I was avoiding creeping myself out.
Tara looks at me, wide-eyed and excited, like she wants some hellish crazy thing to happen and scare the shit out of us all.
We had passed a cop car when we were walking down here.
“That’s always comforting when you’re going to break into a house,” Danny had said.
Maybe it’s the cops, one of the neighbours made a call.
Maybe it’s a squatter.
Ollie creeps up the stairs super-slow, making it lookke a farce, but nobody says a word.
“We should probably go soon,” I mumble, and everyone falls over their agreement as we slide out th nearest door and find an open gate.
When we’re safely back on the road we explode into adrenaline-fuelled rants of how cool and creepy that all was. We feel manly and brave.
That night I dream about it though, about a mean Neanderthal-looking man dragging himself around that dirty art-deco villa with its missing chandeliers a awkward rooms.
When we get home I look the place up. It was an aged-care facility, assisted housing. This makes the place both more and less scary.
Part of me wants to go back there, to chill out in its ancient emptiness. But the rest of me thinks of that Neanderthal dude that my mind invented and I’m just too scared.
I have a nipple piercing. I’ve had it for about a year, and it’s still the most painful thing I’ve ever done – for a week, it felt like I had a tiny tiny kitten hanging from my nipple by its teeth. That is, it was the most painful thing I’ve done, up until this morning, when my barbell got caught on a towel and ripped my nipple. Yes, ripped.
There was blood, and swearing, and panic. I explained my problem to a chemist, who got very nervous and gave me some butterfly strips to hold it all together. When my piercer opened I rang them, and they told me I’d done the right thing. With a bit of diligent care and some luck, the blessed thing will heal and not migrate.
This was a dramatic start to my day. Enough to make me curl up and sulk a little, and settle into checking out some fantastic writing.
So, to continue from my “Simplicity” post yesterday, I’d like to introduce Flash Fiction.
“Flash fiction” is the actual name for what I was talking about yesterday – very very short fiction. This is done in many different ways…
Some publications ask for a maximum of 140 characters.
Some want six sentances.
Others simply want something under 1000 words.
Point is, they’re rather short happenings. And this works for me, with my short attention span and plot-retardation. This also works for readers like me, I like being paid for my investment promptly.
Almost everything I write fits into the “Flash Fiction” category, given the above definitions.
So here is mine for today, with more to come in future:
“She takes ugly photos of her lips, just to see if people are paying attention. Twelve hits in five days. So she takes photos of her pretty feet, to see if people are paying attention.”
There’s no one waiting.
“There’s nothing so broken I can’t fix it,” that’s what he had told her. Sara crumpled, and they wrapped themselves up in lamplight and each other. They didn’t surface for a week.
Christian’s boots flup, flup against the footpath, size-12 leather alligators chomping up cement. Nobody is waiting for him, but he steps with force and purpose. He peers over his belly and watches the footpath disappear beneath him, with the strange feeling of not walking at all, but the world being one big conveyor belt.
Beer and cat food, that’s all he needs.
His feet are large, his hands are large, his Greatful Dead t-shirt works hard to hold in his back fat. It’s warm, but he wears a tartan jacket and heavy Dickies workpants. Pushing himself down Glenferrie Road takes some effort. While there’s nobody here that interests him, there’s nobody at home either. Just empty beer bottles full of ash and an overflowing bowl of cat food on the back porch. Christian hasn’t seen the cat since Sara left.
She was tiny. So tiny that Christian could wrap one of his hands around both of hers. Her hands had a way of their own – at nights she would groan and her hands became wild, flying things protecting her from whatever unspeakable harm had crept into her head that night. When Christian asked her what she had dreamed about she never remembered.
Other nights her arm came over his shoulder and she pulled him closer; the way he imagined she’d have held boyfriends in public in the past.
There was the holding too tight, like she needed him. Like if Christian were to get up out of that bed and leave, it may just be the end for her.
Some nights when Sara was asleep on her back Christian would curl into and put his arm around her. Some nights she’d push it away, like swatting a fly.
His favorite nights were when her hands welcomed his, she wrapped around him too and she held his hand in a familiar way.
Her hands were strong but gentle. They just were, and when she touched Christian, he liked to pretend that was just what they were for.
His hands were for catching her as she splintered, and put her back together piece by piece. He had to, he’d promised.
When he was five, his hero was The Rainbow Fish. He liked how the fish gave all his scales away. That was what Christian felt like, giving the world all his best parts. He’d have amputated his limbs to give Sara the glue she needed to hold together.
One night the rain just wouldn’t stop. It poured down from the gutters and pulled sheets of itself over the windows, so that everything outside swam. It had done this every second night for about 3 weeks, and Christian told Sara, “Just stay,” and they retired to tangle in bed sheets and electric warmth.
For the first few nights they sat naked next to each other and stared. They fell into each other, question-mark curled into the night. Sara’s dream-sweat woke Christian up sticking to her, and he’d peel himself away before re-attaching at a different angle and holding her again, and whispering to her, “Nothing so broken…” while she slept.
After about a week Sara didn’t bounce around the house as much. She slept less. She sat naked but in a chair at the end of the bed, with the cat in her lap, watching Christian doze. Only when he woke up would she crawl back to bed.
“Sara, Sara, whatever made you wanna change your mind?” he sang to her, frowning and closing his eyes tight in his best Bob Dylan. She sighed a sigh from the bottoms of her feet, and pushed her face into Christian’s chest. She looked out at the world of rain, before turning to look him in the eyes.
“Let’s eat liquorice until our teeth are black,” she said.
He giggled and smelled her hair.
“Alright,” he said. “That’ll fix it.”
Christian piles five microwave meals into the freezer, and cracks bottles of Coopers from their packs, laying them side by side along the fridge shelves. On the top shelf is a jar of hollandaise, a loaf of bread, and the kettle.
He takes the kettle out and puts it back on its stand, wondering how long it had been in there.
He takes a Coopers and a box of dry cat food from on top of the fridge and walks through the house to the back step.
As he passes the bedroom he looks in for a minute. Sara’s shape it still in the sheets, pieces of her hair on the pillow. A crumpled tissue next to the bed, and her lipstick sits on the window seal. A half-empty bag of liquorice is on the chair at the end of the bed.
Christian sits on the step and shakes the box of cat food from side to side with one hand, holding his beer in the other. He stares at the fence and thinks about what he should do with the lipstick in the bedroom.
They never slept at the right hours. They rose at 8pm, cooking eggs and spinach and hollandaise on muffins for dinner, which was breakfast.
The Friday before Sara left, Christian was sitting in front of Letterman talking to Obama, but not really listening, when Sara walked in with a laksa bowl full to the brim with cereal.
Obama was flashing his best PR face at Letterman’s cameramen, Letterman’s bright green tie glared from the opening of his jacket, Christian’s toes were cold, and Sara shovelled cereal into her mouth.
“What’s the longest relationship you’ve been in?” he asked her.
She paused with the spoon half way to her mouth. She stared at the milk in the laksa bowl for a bit.
“We don’t talk about it,” she said.
And that’s how it was – the more questions he asked her, the more she shut up.
Christian can’t quite figure it out. For most couples it’s just dumb fights. But for Christian and Sara it was nothing. It was so much of nothing that one day she just wasn’t there. Now all that’s left is Sara’s lipstick and half a bag of liquorice.
He takes the last sip of beer, and regrets not rolling the bottle before opening it. Pieces of sediment stick to his teeth. He stands up and gives the cat food box another quick shake before turning to go back inside.
As he steps through the door Christian almost trips over the cat, who is trying to squeeze in before him. Something’s foot is kicking from the corner of the cat’s mouth.
Christian grabs the cat by the collar and gives it a quick welcome-back pat, then shakes it so hard that it drops the struggling thing. The cat looks at Christian before launching back through the yard and over the fence.
A tiny dusty bird lays covered in the cat’s saliva on the door mat. Christian pokes it, and its legs move. It’s alive.
Picking up the bird, Christian wipes the goo from its tiny body with his sleeve.
“Don’t worry, fella,” he says. “There’s nothing so broken I can’t fix it.”
No post for the last few days as I’ve been away, and nothing too impressive today as I’m in the middle of working on a short story for a comp, which I’d like to post here but only once I’ve got a first draft together.
I realised today though, one of the reasons I’m having so much trouble writing this current story is because I dont know my characters well enough. I can sit there asking, “What does he do next?”…but he should be “what WOULD he do next?”. I need to sit with these characters for a while and discover their logic…
SARA: She’s broken. She’s tiny. She finds animals agreeable, but generally men don’t stay in her life long, they find her too complicated. She never asked Christian to fix her. Her background is blurry, not just for those around her but for Sara too. She doesn’t understand how she came to be confused and confusing, she doesn’t remember. She’s sure she wasn’t always this way.
CHRISTIAN: He’s fat and awkward and nerdy. He’s likeable, gets along with most people… He has a super-man kind of ethos. He’s kind, he can love in such huge amounts. Sara fits in his arms perfectly. He knows she’s broken, and he can fix her, he knows it. They’re both quiet but they find a silent kind of happiness in each other.
It’s where Christian came from that I get stuck on. Why is he so quiet? And why Sara?

domain: literature


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Kenny Chesney released his thirteenth highly anticipated studio album, WELCOME TO THE FISHBOWL, today June 19. Chesney serves as co-producer alongside long-time friend and producer Buddy Cannon, as well as songwriter to three of the twelve tracks housed on the album. Welcome To The Fishbowl is the first release on Chesney’s Blue Chair Records which is affiliated with Columbia Nashville on the Sony Music Nashville record label.
Chesney opens himself up as an artist, songwriter and musician on Welcome To The Fishbowl, giving listeners songs that will touch their souls and resonate. You can hear the connection Kenny has with each song as he delivers track after track. His music has always been of value, and listeners consistently gravitate to his songs. Welcome To The Fishbowl contains several elements & emotions, with more than half the tracks on the album serving as ballads. Each song is unique as well as solid, and leaves a dramatic impression on the album.
“Come Over” immediately captures listeners right from the start with the sexy ballad that exudes want and need, no matter how wrong it may be. Kenny touches on the fragility of life with both “Sing ‘Em Good My Friend” and “While He Still Knows Who I Am”. Both soft, touching songs that are full of emotion and hold powerful meaning. Album titled track “Welcome To The Fishbowl” is a relatable song of the society we live in today, where “Time Flies” is marked with Kenny’s tropical feel about how time flies when your having rum – I mean fun. “El Cerito Place” features Grace Potter. The two talented artists team up and once again confirm that their vocals are a fantastic fit together with another solid duet.
As always, Chesney returns to his roots in his music and “Small Town” serves as a great representation of that. “Feel Like A Rock Star”, featuring Tim McGraw, was the debut single from the album, and is a fun upbeat anthem about escaping reality and truly feeling like a rock star. The song is making a nice addition to the Brothers of the Sun Tour with Kenny & Tim performing the song live.
CMR’s favorite tracks on the album – all 12! But… if we had to narrow it down our favorite choices would be “Come Over”, “Sing ‘Em Good My Friend”, “Welcome To The Fishbowl” and “Time Flies”.
Pick up your copy Welcome To The Fishbowl available now in retail stores as well as digital music outlets such as iTunes by clicking HERE.

domain: entertainment


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Second Wave Ships
From Elite Wiki
This page is an overview of the ships in the Second Wave OXP.
- Tough (Red) - A generally tougher ship, which release their drones much earlier and have improved stats.
- Battle Damaged - Previously have been in combat, and still show some of the damage. Having little left to give, there have been reports of these vessels ramming ships as a last ditch effort.
- Command (Yellow) - Aloof ship, the only Thargoid vessels ever known to flee. They tend to leave a surprise or two to keep the unwary Commander occupied whilst they do.
- Stealth (Blue) - Also known as the Ghost Thargoid, these ships carry technology which allows them to fade from sight and scanner. Catch it if you can!
- Sniper (White) - Fast and agile, they tend to shoot from range where they can.
Thargon Robot Fighters
- Tough (Red) - Tougher and better armed, these fighters are known to fight on even when their mothership has been destroyed.
- Battle Damaged - These Thargons have been in combat before, and are known to go dead and uncontrolled before the fight is through.
- Thargmine (Yellow) - Little is known of these drones, as they seem programmed to explode violently.
- Armoured (Blue) - A better armed and equipped fighter, but still under control of the mothership.
- Kamikaze (White) - Fighters which target ships and ram them whilst self destructing. Broadly equivalent to human missile technology.
- Ghost (Grey) - Drones which seem to be specially constructed so as not to appear on the scanner, whilst still doing all sorts of damage.
Download link via Second Wave OXP page.

domain: game


Black Widow star Scarlett Johansson has filed a lawsuit that alleges Disney breached her contract by releasing the movie on its streaming service.
The highly anticipated film was released in theaters and on Disney+ simultaneously, which the lawsuit claims broke an agreement between the company and the actress.
The suit, filed in Los Angeles Superior Court, alleges that the star agreed that her salary would be based on Black Widow’s box office haul.
“To maximize these receipts, and thereby protect her financial interests, Ms. Johansson extracted a promise from Marvel that the release of the picture would be a ‘theatrical release,’” the suit claimed.
“As Ms. Johansson, Disney, Marvel, and most everyone else in Hollywood knows, a ‘theatrical release’ is a release that is exclusive to movie theatres. Disney was well aware of this promise, but nonetheless directed Marvel to violate its pledge and instead release the picture on the Disney+ streaming service the very same day it was released in movie theatres.”
“Disney intentionally induced Marvel’s breach of the agreement, without justification, in order to prevent Ms. Johansson from realizing the full benefit of her bargain with Marvel,” the suit said.
Disney responded and said that “there is no merit whatsoever to this filing” and that the suit is “especially sad and distressing in its callous disregard for the horrific and prolonged global effects of the COVID-19 pandemic.”
A spokesperson for Disney said in a statement: “Disney has fully complied with Ms. Johansson’s contract and furthermore, the release of ‘Black Widow’ on Disney+ with Premier Access has significantly enhanced her ability to earn additional compensation on top of the $20 million she has received to date.”
One of the highest-paid actresses in the world, Johansson has an estimated net worth of $165 million.
Black Widow’s box-office performance plunged 67 percent after the opening weekend, leading experts to question whether Disney’s streaming service was taking a huge bite out of the ticket sales.
What are your thoughts on this? Let us know in the comments section and SHARE this story with your friends and family!


Networks are critical IT resources in every organization. They are the key “connector” that brings together the devices, applications, data and people within the company. Accordingly, networks have become larger and more complex because of the ever-increasing number of devices and apps organizations use. Over 120 devices are added to the Internet each second; by 2020 there will be over 20 billion IoT devices alone.
Every organization will be touched by this phenomenon whether they actively or passively engage with IoT, AI or other new technology waves. The corollary to this growth is there are an increasing number of things that can go wrong in such a complex network. The repercussions of this fault or failure can be huge for your organization.
Network failures are often due to lack of oversight or monitoring capabilities. When network issues are detected early, it can take perhaps a few hours to fix them with little to no impact on the end-user. When issues are not identified early, they can balloon quickly—multiplied by the complexity and foundational importance of your network—into a catastrophe with major financial and operational loss potential for the organization.
Wanneer je dit whitepaper download ga je ermee akkoord dat je door de leverancier benaderd kan worden.


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domain: medical


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Latest game from gr8games.eu
Not that good..
There are barely any vowels for creating words in the game. Also waiting for new lines to come up gets boring quickly, maybe instead just make a big board where you try and make words out of the letters. But I have also come to find that spelling isnt really a fun thing to do. Best of luck to you.
I liked it
It's just it gets repetative over time and sometimes it won't let me click
It seems to me like the letter ratio isn't balanced correctly, because way too often do you find yourself unable to find a really common letter.
It's also lacking in such features as difficulty settings, a pause button, a mute button (that's -1 star right there) and the ability to not have to use the high-score thing at the end (slows you down in between games - it's annoying and pointless).
I would have given a four had it had a mute button, a five had it had a few extra features, and maybe a six if the letters had been better balanced.
Lives up to the maker's name.
Awesome game, difficult but fun.
Dear Missus Bin, what have you done to your friends?
It’s Gideon and Reed’s first escape room and it’s gonna be a blast!
Old-school parody RPG with an epic plot.
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text:
China Eastern Airlines' first flight between Shanghai and the Egyptian capital of Cairo took place on Dec. 11, marking the first direct passenger flight route from Shanghai to North Africa operated by a Chinese airline.
The flight MU223 departed from Shanghai Pudong International Airport with 232 passengers at 00:45 a.m. It arrived at Cairo International Airport at 7:19 a.m. local time.
The direct flight from Shanghai to Cairo is available every Monday, Thursday, and Saturday, while the flight returning from Cairo departs every Monday, Thursday and Saturday local time as well.
The route is serviced by the airline's latest A350-900 wide-body aircraft, which are equipped with the latest passenger service system and Wi-Fi, allowing passengers to enjoy Wi-Fi services throughout the 10-hour journey.
The airline aims to provide a seamless travel experience for passengers as the outbound flights arrive early in the morning local time so that they can explore the ancient city or efficiently change planes to other destinations in Africa and the Middle East.
The inbound flights to Shanghai Pudong International Airport, one of China's major international aviation hubs, offer convenient connections for passengers from Cairo. Passengers can take advantage of the airport's extensive network to efficiently change planes to other Chinese cities, as well as other destinations in the Asia-Pacific region.
Furthermore, passengers who continue their journey with the airline and its partner airlines will enjoy seamless and convenient transfer services.
Source: China Eastern Airlines

domain: geography


text:
Dear UCubed Leaders:
Listening to the car radio last night, I heard an ad that started:
We have a jobs crisis in America and Washington is making it worse. Over 21 million people are looking for full-time work. Our labor participation rate is now the lowest since the 1970s.
It caught my attention. Not since Romney’s Bump in the Road video had any advertiser put the problems we face so succinctly.
But then, the female announcer shifted tone. She continued:
Yet our government continues to allow in over a million more foreign workers a year. That’s right. In this sagging economy, our government is still letting in over a million foreign workers to take all kinds of jobs from engineers to accountants, from dieticians to school teachers.
So this was an anti-immigration ad aimed at the unemployed and underemployed. The phrase “to take all kinds of jobs” sought to draw support from working-class and middle-class voters, from white-collar and blue-collar workers.
But the next line demonstrated how nativist, know-nothing sentiment so easily elides into a political screed:
Under President Obama, over two-thirds of new jobs have gone to foreign job seekers. Today many Americans are being discouraged from pursuing careers in science and technology fields because of ever-increasing competition from foreign workers.
The ad ends with a plea for a “fair chance at American jobs” and sends listeners to a new FAIR website. FAIR stands for the Federation for American Immigration Reform. Their campaign website portrays a man in a suit and red tie holding a sign reading “will work for food” while sitting with a sad-faced little girl. The wall behind this tableau is painted with “slow mass immigration until Americans are working again.”
Like the five 40 by 10 foot banners that spell out JOBS on the Chamber of Commerce headquarters building across from the White House, the FAIR campaign ad and website are examples of how demagoguery takes the truth and twists it beyond recognition. By playing on their emotions – fear and frustration, loneliness and hopelessness – such demagoguery exploits the jobless but provides them with zero jobs.
In fact, the plight of America’s jobless is being used to advance policies that are inimical to their interests. Their hopes of ever finding work are being delayed by inaction and betrayed by indifference. And yet, the siren call of the demagogue resonates with some.
For those who love this Democracy, now is the time to speak truth to power. Tell your Representative that you oppose efforts to derail real immigration reforms. Tell them that you stand with ALL those who want to work, period.
In Unity — Strength,

domain: news


text:
I was up at four o’clock this morning, walking the floorboards with the Little Paddler. She woke up later on this morning bright and chipper. I feel like I have been dragged through a hedge backwards. Having said that, sleep deprivation and mainlining caffeine seems to do a lot for my crossword skills if not so much for my motivation to carry out physical work. So today, I started to flesh out a plan I have been hatching for a while.
You see, a few weeks ago I was driving home on a Sunday afternoon only to see in the distance a small brown creature waddling drunkenly along the road. As I slowed I realised it was a hedgehog. You have no idea how excited I was to see my first non-squished hedgehog. The neighbours two boys were hanging out over their wooden fence watching him as well and they were bursting to tell me all about him. He had been wandering up and down the road for the last half hour obviously looking for something but nobody was sure just what. I think he was looking for a new home.
So what has this got to do with this plan of mine? I want to build a wildlife haven. Wildlife hotel. Bug motel. Mini-beast apartment block. Call it whatever. Of course I have no money to put into this so it will all have to be built with found items. Fortunately we are doing a bit of building work and the builders have left a few bits lying around which I am going to commandeer.
I found four mini wooden pallets that the slates arrived in on. These will form the structure of my latest project. I’ll stack them up, one on top of the other but with the bottom one upside down to create bigger gaps at the base for hedgehogs etc. I reckon we should put a roof on it and I may have found just the thing. Two rectangular pieces of an old marble kitchen counter were dumped nearby and I reckon together they should cover most if not all of my tower. I had thought about building a green roof but that’s probably not a runner if I use these as a roof. But my succulent garden is overrun at the minute with weeds and the plywood barrow that Mr. Fairweather made for me and that houses them is falling apart. So I think I’ll re-home them in my tower somewhere.
So that’s my overall structure but who exactly am I catering for? How do I attract the right type of critter and not just rats? What was the right type of critter? More research was needed. Hang on a minute, let me Google that. Turns out there is an awful lot of info out there. Surprisingly, RTE had a great resource provided by Dermot’s Secret Garden. So armed with a bit more information I decided I wanted to try attract hedgehogs (drunken or otherwise), frogs and toads (because they need somewhere safe from the ducks who think that they are a delicacy to be fought over). Lots of bees and solitary wasps and I especially want to set up a few homes for a hibernating bumblebee queen. The beetles and woodlice shouldn’t be too much of a problem to attract but I really want to encourage the ladybirds as well. The hoverflies seemed to be thriving this summer or maybe I have just been keeping more of an eye out for them. Either way, I better do something for them and I would love to spot some lacewings. Or maybe even damselflies or dragonflies. Not asking for much, am I?
As for kitting out the individual apartments, I turned to Cheshire Wildlife Trust for a fabulous step by step guide. Fuelled up on coffee, I braved the wet and went out in search of raw materials. I found lots of stones to make hideouts for frogs, toads and maybe even some newts but I’ll have to provide a little bit of water for them. Think I’ll sink an old flower pot tray into the ground and see how that goes for starters. I have lots of logs and sticks I can use to make houses for hedgehogs and I am sure if I sweet talk Mr. Fairweather, he’ll drill holes of various diameters and depths into ends of logs for my solitary bees and wasps. I found a few old cardboard boxes which I’ll cannibalise to roll up and put into some left over Wavin pipes for the lacewings. And actually the Wavin pipes could also house some bamboos and the stalks from my lilies now they have died back for the bees and wasps. I’ll need to keep an eye out for some terracotta pots to turn upside down for bumblebee queens. Lots of decaying bark for beetles, woodlice, centipedes and maybe the spiders. Dry sticks and leaves for the ladybirds will need a bit of extra shelter to keep them dry and straw for the invertebrates. Couldn’t believe I found such a great haul.
And I got the perfect spot for it too. In the back corner beside the shed and near the new clothes line. It’s a nice, quiet, sheltered spot, bounded on one side by our hedgerow and the other by the ditch between us and the woods with lots of trees overhanging. It’ll get sun on some sides and be nice and damp on others. I’ll put some old slates down under the timbers of the base pallet to stop it rotting away too quickly, but when it does it’ll go on providing more homes for wildlife. I have another plan to propagate some lavender plants and put them down near the washing line so my sheets smell nice when they come in off the line. The bees and pollinators will love the lavender so maybe I’ll plant a few other bits near to it as well. They’ll provide food and shelter for the residents as well as looking and smelling nice for me. Everybody wins!

domain: hobby


text:
Rachel Merrell goes into shock when her ex-boyfriend, Jeffery Williams, begins dating her half sister Marlene Draper. At first, Rachel swears Jeff is feigning interest in Marlene just to get back at her for breaking up with him. Rachel pretends Jeff’s interest in Marlene doesn't bother her, but when they unexpectedly hit it off and love begins to blossom, Rachel can't bear to watch the happy coupl...
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: Broadway Books; Original edition (August 4, 2009)
Product Dimensions: 5.2 x 0.6 x 8 inches
Amazon Rank: 4717309
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I truly would recommend this book as five stars after it is edited again. But the book is a must for everyone who wants to know abouit this battle. It moves with ease between city and country, between ‘the snow still falling in white words on Eighth Street' and the way ‘Sunshine […] stirs the splayed shadows of the hills like moths' . ” (BookPage)“Gossip Girl meets Gone Girl. With that in mind, this e-Book is for anyone who is moving further into Windows Server world in general, and Windows Server 2016 in particular. Download ebook My Sister's Ex: A Novel Pdf Epub. The book is in black and white and there are no photos, but I guess how many different pictures of ramen can you take. I was allowed to use him as a topic for an essay in my French class. 1, and draw a line to dot . At the core of the story, it's about the Doctor and Evelyn to the final moments, which show the Sixth Doctor at his sweetest. ISBN-10 0307454401 Pdf. ISBN-13 978-0307454
Very interesting plot. It was exciting and had a few twists and turns. The characters were easy to relate to. I plan on reading more of her books....
I don't normaly read WWI books but this isa good story of a commerce raider. The geisha here are just allowed to be people, and interact in a regular old-fashioned love/rival story, rather than serving as some great symbol of refined and mysterious Japan.
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text:
Listen back to some of Gaydio's best bits
The best bits of Neil & Debbie's Saturday show on Gaydio.
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Samsung unveiled today the Galaxy Note10 and Note10+ smartphones during a Samsung Unpacked live event that took place on YouTube.
The Samsung Galaxy Note10 line-up of premium smartphones is finally here, offering customers an elegant and modern design with edge-to-edge displays, powerful performance and top-notch productivity tools. As we’ve used, the new Galaxy Note series comes in two models with two different size, the Galaxy Note10 and Galaxy Note10+, pleasing all users to find the Galaxy Note10 for their needs.
“From the very beginning, the Galaxy Note has stood for the best-of-the-best technologies and features. The Galaxy Note10 re-imagines this promise for the modern Note fan who uses their smartphone to take their productivity and creativity to the next level, and who effortlessly flows between ideas and endeavors at a moment’s notice,” said DJ Koh, President and CEO of IT & Mobile Communications Division, Samsung Electronics.


text:
The Canadian Scene
The Correspondence of Sir John A. Macdonald
How far does a nation succeed in really knowing its public men? No Canadian leader lived on more intimate terms with his countrymen than Sir John A. Macdonald, whose image grows vaster with the passing years. Yet I fancy some of his surviving friends learned much they did not know of him when Correspondence of Sir John A. Macdonald, 1840-1891, edited by Sir Joseph Pope, was published in 1921. The volume necessarily presupposes a running acquaintance with Canadian history, and its great importance lies in its illumination of the characters of the leading men who helped to shape the destinies of Canada as a unified Dominion, and of the vexatious problems with which they had to deal. Not even Sir Joseph's Life leaves such an ineffaceable impression of the intellectual power, political wisdom, and steadfast patriotism of Sir John Macdonald, as do the many confidential communications that here are brought to light. The union in him of political genius, with patience and tolerance, are unmistakably revealed. Though other men had also the vision of a great and unified Dominion, one cannot but feel that only by his tact, vigilance, and fixed aims was Confederation first rendered possible and later extended and made permanent.
The number of those who knew Sir John and participated in his battles is daily diminishing. For millions of Canadians he is but a legendary figure: the theme of comic stories; the arch-embodiment of political cunning; and at times the subject of oratorical rhetoric. From the pages of this Correspondence the real man emerges; he looms larger than any oratory could picture him; more kindly and human than any anecdote could typify him. The several portraits give a sense of his unique personality; noble brow, sensitive mouth, eyes and features that are alert, humorous and wise.
Personally, I saw Sir John but once, and it was the glimpse of a moment. On a summer day less than a year before his death, as I stood on a street corner in Toronto, a covered coupé drove by; and there, framed as in a portrait gallery, was Sir John. It was a perfectly toned picture; for the sun falling through the opposite window lighted the figure and profile. He was smartly attired with grey top hat and grey frock coat, leaning forward with his chin resting on strong and sinewy hands that gripped a cane,—apparently in deep reverie. It was a picture Zorn or Sargent might have desired to paint; and my recollection of it is ineffaceable. And in that glimpse the great leader gave one a sense of detachment from his fellows, almost of isolation.
As I read these letters I find in them that same atmosphere of intellectual detachment. Despite his great personal popularity and countless acquaintances, the man who desired so many and such great things for his country, who found it so hard to get things done, who was so constantly beset by the quarrels and envies of others, reveals himself, as it were, in "splendid isolation."
While the letters of Sir John himself are many, those from other distinguished men to himself are more numerous still; though Sir Joseph Pope says they represent but one per cent of the material at his disposal. "Harry, my boy," once observed Sir John to Colonel H. R. Smith, the late Sergeant-at-arms of the House of Commons, "Never write a letter if you can help it, and never destroy one." If what I have heard from old politicians is true, the first named precept was the echo of bitter experience. Sir John did occasionally write letters that he could have wished unwritten, and friends were sometimes put to considerable difficulty in recovering them. Nevertheless he, for the most part, avoided unnecessary correspondence, and abstained from epistolary controversy. Many of the letters he received were apparently "answered" by the simple process of putting them in the filing cabinet. When he did write, his style was witty, sage, and clear.
One fact that cannot fail to impress the reader is the elaborate means Sir John employed to keep himself informed of what was going on above or below the surface, that might affect the fortunes of his country and of his administration. While he encouraged a spirit of partizan devotion in his followers, he was not himself a bitter partizan. His letters reveal a keen sense of the deficiencies of some of his own associates and an appreciation of the abilities of opponents. Yet there is a pervading kindliness in his communications, even when he had reason for annoyance, which bespeaks a fine spirit. The reason some of the "Grits" hated him so much was not because he defeated them so often, but because he laughed at them. That was hard to bear. But he had much to bear from them; for these pages show that no form of libel was deemed too base to be circulated against him for political reasons. He had only to give his assent to some plan, and, no matter how deeply in the interest of Canada, a horde of traducers was immediately busy trying to wreck it. The Globe, under the regime of George Brown, seems to have been a sore offender in this respect; and its articles circulated in the West did not a little to provoke the first Riel rebellion. But Sir John Macdonald as a rule had so much information up his sleeve that he was usually prepared to confute his enemies.
A very interesting phase of this correspondence is the evidence it presents of the elaborate use Sir John made of the press. There are many letters to editors, giving them friendly tips on matters of policy; and even cautions against extreme partizanship. He held that he could be best supported by fair statement, rather than one-side argument. When, in the late sixties, he resolved to make Sir Francis Hincks, who had been abroad for years as governor of the Windward Islands, Finance Minister, he realized that he would be in hot water with the old Tories. Hincks during his earlier residence in Canada had been a strong Reformer, and consequently Sir John devised an educational campaign in the press to make the appointment acceptable to his own party. Again we find him cautioning a friendly journalist to withhold comment on a public question until George Brown in the Globe had committed himself in the way he hoped he would. On one occasion he drew up a skeleton editorial for the Mail and asked its editor, the late Martin J. Griffin, to develop it. It was a severe criticism of his own supporters because some of them were importuning him for judgeships and senatorships. In it he laid down the dictum that judges should not be appointed on the ground of political service, and that it was improper for a lawyer to urge his own appointment. He also held that appointments to the Senate were a matter of such grave consequence that mere party expediency should not prevail. Most of these precepts have since been honoured rather in the breach than the observance.
It is quite clear that Sir John liked working below the surface; but his diplomacy was far from malevolent. He sought keep in touch with the best thinkers of the country, and, like his friend Sir Charles Tupper, enjoyed especially happy relations with certain of the Roman Catholic clergy. The correspondence shows that he actively used his influence through the Marquis of Salisbury and the Duke of Norfolk to secure the Cardinal's hat for Mgr. Taschereau, the first Canadian Prince of the Church. Among the bitterest of his letters are those of 1887 censuring C. W. Bunting, editor of the Mail, for alienating the Roman Catholic vote. His tolerance was not shared by Goldwin Smith, his close and intimate friend in the seventies. In one letter, "the Oxford Professor" says the name of priest is perfidy. Goldwin Smith's letters to Sir John are peculiarly interesting. He even then believed that the destiny of Canada lay in union with the United States; but in 1878 he strongly supported Protection with his pen and on the platform. He was particularly indignant because the Globe intimated that his advocacy was due to a desire to foment differences between Canada and free-trade Great Britain. Goldwin Smith at that time seems to have thought that the only way Canada could strengthen herself to meet the United States on equal terms was by Protection.
There were matters which Sir John deemed more important than the policy of protection. One was, to use his own words, "making Canadian confederation from gristle into bones". He worked early and late for his nursling, by diplomacy, by reconciling quarrels and jealousies, by the use of patronage, and by open argument. The other was the necessary complement of Confederation, the linking up of Canada by a chain of railways from the Atlantic to the Pacific. He must have been a happy man, when, on September 14, 1880, after ten years of negotiation, contracts were signed for the construction of the Canadian Pacific Railway. In reality his troubles were just beginning; but nevertheless the railroad was finished long before May 1, 1891, the date set for its completion. The initial acts of the great drama of the opening up of the Canadian West give an epical character to these letters. It was a sore struggle for Sir John; but he had strong helpers in his most intimate friends; in Sir John Rose, a great English banker, born in Canada, who had once been a member of his cabinet; in Sir Charles Tupper, a man less tactful than he but of equal vision; and later in George Stephen (Lord Mountstephen) and Donald A. Smith (Lord Strathcona). The drama began with the acquirement of the western territories from the Hudson's Bay Company. It was deal consummated in London; and interrupted by the first Riel rebellion. Sir John's fear was that this defiance by Riel's "republic" would be treated as an imperial matter and that "some over-washed Englishman" would be sent out to spoil everything. He was badly served by bungling subordinates; but finally, by force of will and continuous diplomacy, he got things settled in his own way, and despite carping opposition, railroad construction proceeded. Sir John in one letter emphasize his conviction that the United States coveted the Canadian West. In 1884, when the C.P.R. was nearing completion, rumours of Riel's activities were again to the fore. A Toronto promoter named Pew planned to have Riel declare the West an independent territory, and then sell it to the United States for two million dollars, half a million dollars more than Canada had paid for it fifteen years previously. Sir John induced Erastus Wiman to pose as sympathetic, and get full details of the plan. Pew claimed that Edward Blake and Sir Richard Cartwright were with him in the deal, but this Sir John rightly refused to believe, and it stamped the whole scheme as fantastic in his eyes.
Riel's second rising in March, 1885, came at a very unhappy moment for the C.P.R. project. Five million dollars was needed for its completion, but some of Sir John's colleagues, including Sir Mackenzie Bowell, refused to countenance the loan. The tone of Sir Charles Tupper's letters from England clearly indicated a desire to come over and physically chastise them into submission. The loyalty of two men of no eloquence but much wisdom, Sir Frank Smith and Hon. John Henry Pope, saved the day. Now it is almost incredible to think that in 1885 the C.P.R. nearly went into liquidation for the lack of five million dollars to complete it. But how real was the danger is shown by the note of bitterness and almost brief in the letters of George Stephen. In this episode the greatness of Sir John, in comparison with opponents and colleagues, proved paramount. Opposition was ever but a spur to his valour.

domain: library


text:
Cuzco, Peru, Jun 6 (EFE).- Largely unknown outside of the Andes, the region’s many multi-colored potato species may aid in preventing malnourishment and cancer, Peruvian researchers told EFE on Wednesday.
In their facility in Zurite, in the Andean region of Cuzco, scientists with Peru’s National Institute for Agrarian Innovation (INIA) are doing research on the myriad native potato varieties growing on mountainside terraces built by ancient Peruvian civilizations some 3,400 meters (11,200 feet) above sea level.
Their goal is to study the characteristics and benefits of each of the many potato breeds cultivated by the ancient Incas and classify them, as well as to develop new varieties that can be grown on a larger scale.
“To us, it’s a privileged place, as it has a history of more than 3,000 years of development,” INIA researcher Ladislao Palomino told EFE.
“It was built by Pre-Incan civilizations, who left us a very important legacy, setting the bar very high, but I think we can surpass it.”
INIA has obtained as many as 26 new potato breeds that possess the characteristics of their native counterparts, including resilience to climate change – due to their high phenol content – and a more appealing shape and size, as well as their “high amounts of calories and proteins.”
“We don’t feel we’re developing a food that just fills the stomach,” Palomino said of the potatoes, the colors of which range from purple and black to red and orange. “(Potatoes) also protect against degenerative illnesses, such as cancer, because of the antioxidants they contain.”
INIA is currently exploring the commercial possibilities the potato has to offer.

domain: agronomy