text:
EARTHQUAKE FORECASTING is a branch of the science of seismology concerned with the probabilistic assessment of general earthquake seismic hazard, including the frequency and magnitude of damaging earthquakes in a given area over years or decades.[1] While forecasting is usually considered to be a type of prediction, earthquake forecasting is often differentiated from earthquake prediction, whose goal is the specification of the time, location, and magnitude of future earthquakes with sufficient precision that a warning can be issued.[2][3] Both forecasting and prediction of earthquakes are distinguished from earthquake warning systems, which upon detection of an earthquake, provide a real-time warning to regions that might be affected.

In the 1970s, scientists were optimistic that a practical method for predicting earthquakes would soon be found, but by the 1990s continuing failure led many to question whether it was even possible.[4] Demonstrably successful predictions of large earthquakes have not occurred and the few claims of success are controversial.[5] Consequently, many scientific and government resources have been used for probabilistic seismic hazard estimates rather than prediction of individual earthquakes. Such estimates are used to establish building codes, insurance rate structures, awareness and preparedness programs, and public policy related to seismic events.[6] In addition to regional earthquake forecasts, such seismic hazard calculations can take factors such as local geological conditions into account. Anticipated ground motion can then be used to guide building design criteria.

Methods for earthquake forecasting

Methods for earthquake forecasting generally look for trends or patterns that lead to an earthquake. As these trends may be complex and involve many variables, advanced statistical techniques are often needed to understand them, therefore these are sometimes called statistical methods. These approaches tend to have relatively long time periods, making them useful for earthquake forecasting.

Elastic rebound

Even the stiffest of rock is not perfectly rigid. Given a large force (such as between two immense tectonic plates moving past each other) the earth's crust will bend or deform. According to the elastic rebound theory of , eventually the deformation (strain) becomes great enough that something breaks, usually at an existing fault. Slippage along the break (an earthquake) allows the rock on each side to rebound to a less deformed state. In the process energy is released in various forms, including seismic waves.[7] The cycle of tectonic force being accumulated in elastic deformation and released in a sudden rebound is then repeated. As the displacement from a single earthquake ranges from less than a meter to around 10 meters (for an M 8 quake),[8] the demonstrated existence of large strike-slip displacements of hundreds of miles shows the existence of a long running earthquake cycle.[9]

Characteristic earthquakes

The most studied earthquake faults (such as the Nankai megathrust, the Wasatch fault, and the San Andreas fault) appear to have distinct segments. The _characteristic earthquake_ model postulates that earthquakes are generally constrained within these segments.[10] As the lengths and other properties[11] of the segments are fixed, earthquakes that rupture the entire fault should have similar characteristics. These include the maximum magnitude (which is limited by the length of the rupture), and the amount of accumulated strain needed to rupture the fault segment. Since continuous plate motions cause the strain to accumulate steadily, seismic activity on a given segment should be dominated by earthquakes of similar characteristics that recur at somewhat regular intervals.[12] For a given fault segment, identifying these characteristic earthquakes and timing their recurrence rate (or conversely return period) should therefore inform us about the next rupture; this is the approach generally used in forecasting seismic hazard. Return periods are also used for forecasting other rare events, such as cyclones and floods, and assume that future frequency will be similar to observed frequency to date.

Extrapolation from the Parkfield earthquakes of 1857, 1881, 1901, 1922, 1934, and 1966 led to a forecast of an earthquake around 1988, or before 1993 at the latest (at the 95% confidence interval), based on the characteristic earthquake model.[13] Instrumentation was put in place in hopes of detecting precursors of the anticipated earthquake. However, forecasted earthquake did not occur until 2004. The failure of the Parkfield prediction experiment has raised doubt as to the validity of the characteristic earthquake model itself.[14]

Seismic gaps

At the contact where two tectonic plates slip past each other every section must eventually slip, as (in the long-term) none get left behind. But they do not all slip at the same time; different sections will be at different stages in the cycle of strain (deformation) accumulation and sudden rebound. In the seismic gap model the “next big quake” should be expected not in the segments where recent seismicity has relieved the strain, but in the intervening gaps where the unrelieved strain is the greatest.[15] This model has an intuitive appeal; it is used in long-term forecasting, and was the basis of a series of circum-Pacific (Pacific Rim) forecasts in 1979 and 1989–1991.[16]

However, some underlying assumptions about seismic gaps are now known to be incorrect. A close examination suggests that “there may be no information in seismic gaps about the time of occurrence or the magnitude of the next large event in the region”;[17] statistical tests of the circum-Pacific forecasts shows that the seismic gap model “did not forecast large earthquakes well”.[18] Another study concluded that a long quiet period did not increase earthquake potential.[19]

Notable forecasts

UCERF3

[California (outlined in white) and buffer zone showing the 2,606 fault subsections of UCERF 3.1. Colors indicate probability (as a percentage) of experiencing an M ≥ 6.7 earthquake in the next 30 years, accounting for the stress accumulated since the last earthquake. Does not include effects from the Cascadia subduction zone (not shown) in the northwest corner.]

The 2015 UNIFORM CALIFORNIA EARTHQUAKE RUPTURE FORECAST, VERSION 3, or UCERF3, is the latest official earthquake rupture forecast (ERF) for the state of California, superseding UCERF2. It provides authoritative estimates of the likelihood and severity of potentially damaging earthquake ruptures in the long- and near-term. Combining this with ground motion models produces estimates of the severity of ground shaking that can be expected during a given period (seismic hazard), and of the threat to the built environment (seismic risk). This information is used to inform engineering design and building codes, planning for disaster, and evaluating whether earthquake insurance premiums are sufficient for the prospective losses.[20] A variety of hazard metrics [21] can be calculated with UCERF3; a typical metric is the likelihood of a magnitude[22] M 6.7 earthquake (the size of the 1994 Northridge earthquake) in the 30 years (typical life of a mortgage) since 2014.

UCERF3 was prepared by the _Working Group on California Earthquake Probabilities_ (WGCEP), a collaboration between the United States Geological Survey (USGS), the California Geological Survey (CGS), and the Southern California Earthquake Center (SCEC), with significant funding from the California Earthquake Authority (CEA).[23]

Notes

Sources

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-   . Also California Geological Survey Special Report 228, and Southern California Earthquake Center Publication 1792. Also published in the _BSSA_ as .

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Category:Earthquakes

[1] , p. 1205. See also , p. 327.

[2] , following , who in turn followed . says: “This definition has several defects which contribute to confusion and difficulty in prediction research.” In addition to specification of time, location, and magnitude, Allen suggested three other requirements: 4) indication of the author's confidence in the prediction, 5) the chance of an earthquake occurring anyway as a random event, and 6) publication in a form that gives failures the same visibility as successes. define prediction (in part) “to be a formal rule where by the available space-time-seismic moment manifold of earthquake occurrence is significantly contracted ....”

[3] , p. 507.

[4] ; , §2.3, p. 427; , p. 261 .

[5] E.g., the most famous claim of a successful prediction is that alleged for the 1975 Haicheng earthquake , and is now listed as such in textbooks . A later study concluded there was no valid short-term prediction . See Earthquake prediction.

[6]

[7] ; .

[8] .

[9]  provides a clear explanation. also provides a description of the “self-organized criticality” (SOC) paradigm that is displacing the elastic rebound model.

[10]

[11] These include the type of rock and fault geometry.

[12] ; .

[13] .

[14] .

[15] ; ; .

[16] ; ; .

[17] .

[18] .

[19] .

[20] .

[21] For a list of evaluation metrics available as of 2013 see Table 11 in .

[22] Following standard seismological practice, all earthquake magnitudes here are per the moment magnitude scale. This is generally equivalent to the better known Richter magnitude scale.

[23] .

title: Earthquake forecasting

question: What does the article say about the reliability of earthquake predictions?

answer: In general, predicting or forecasting earthquakes isn't easy. There are theoretical reasons to expect relatively accurate predictions. Elastic rebound theory considers the cyclic repetitions of the elastic deformations and the sudden releases. The characteristic earthquakes model expects that a fault has characteristics that can be used to predict future earthquakes. Finally, the seismic gaps theory considers that over a fault, the portions that cannot relieve stress will accumulate potential for a large release. However, empirical observations discredit all of these theories.

question: What does the article say about the distinction between earthquake predictions and forecasts?

answer: An earthquake prediction is about estimating the timing and intensity of individual earthquakes while forecasts are about estimating hazards. The forecasts are used to establish building codes, insurance rates, awareness programs, and building design criteria. The forecasts look for patterns that precede earthquakes and use statistical methods for long time periods.

question: What does the article say about Bayesian statistics?


split: test

text:
Tucker Carlson Criticizes Donald Trump for Risking War by Killing Iran General: 'Who's Actually Benefiting From This?'

Tucker Carlson has questioned President Donald Trump's decision to kill Iranian general Qassem Soleimani because of the fallout from the potential war that may result from it.

Speaking on Fox News, Carlson described how "it's no exaggeration" to suggest that by the time his show is next on the air the U.S. will be involved with a conflict with Iran while criticizing those who appear to be wishing this was the case.

"From Iran's perspective, we're already there. If Iranian forces killed the chairman of our joint chiefs of staff, for example, would youconsider it an act of war?"Carlson added.

Carlson listed former national security adviser John Bolton and Sen. Ben Sasse as two of those who have praised the killing of Soleimani without thinking of the implications.

Bolton himself tweeted how he hopes this will result in "the first step to regime change in Tehran."

Trump has publicly denied the decision to launch an airstrike against Soleimani in the Iraqi capital of Baghdad was to implement a regime change in Iran, and was done because Soleimani was planning an imminent attack against the U.S.

"Soleimani was plotting imminent and sinister attacks on American diplomats and military personnel but we caught him in the act and terminated him. We took action last night to stop a war. We did not take action to start a war," Trump told reporters on Friday.

Carlson questioned whether Iran was actually an imminent threat and accused the administration of ignoring other questions posed by the American people.

"Is Iran really the greatest threat we face? And who's actually benefiting from this? And why are we continuing to ignore the decline of our own country in favor of jumping into another quagmire from which there is no obvious exit? If we're still in Afghanistan 19 years later, what makes us think there's a quick way out of Iran?"

Carlson also condemned the language used by "chest-beaters" like Sasse making "the usual war-like noises" in these scenarios.

In a statement following confirmation of the Iranian general's death, Sasse said: "This is very simple: General Soleimani is dead because he was an evil b****** who murdered Americans. The President made the brave and right call, and Americans should be proud of our service members who got the job done."

Carlson agreed that Soleimani was linked to the deaths of thousands of Americans, but questioned why the U.S. isn't also launching similar attacks on China and Mexico who cause "tens of thousands" of deaths every year by importing drugs and other narcotics into the country.

"Before we enter into a single new war, there's a criterion that ought to be met: Our leaders should be required to explain how that conflict will make the United States richer and more secure," Carlson said.

"There are an awful lot of bad people in this world. We can't kill them all, it's not our job. Instead our government exists to defend and promote the interests of our American citizens… So has the killing of Soleimani done that? Maybe. No one in Washington has explained how."

Carlson also warned how the U.S. could have similar issues following the conflicts they launched around the Middle East such as in Iraq, Libya, Syria and Lebanon.

"In every single place, each of these conflicts has turned out to be longer, bloodier, and more expensive than we were promised in the first place. The benefits? Often they've been non-existent."

The White House has been contacted for comment.

[Tucker Carlson ]

Fox News host Tucker Carlson discusses 'Populism and the Right' during the National Review Institute's Ideas Summit at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel March 29, 2019 in Washington, DC. Chip Somodevilla/Getty

question: Why is Tucker Carlson criticizing Donald Trump?

answer: He is criticizing Donald Trump's decision to kill Iranian general Qassem Soleimani because of the fallout that may result from it.

question: Who was praising the killing of Soleimani?

answer: John Bolton and Senator Ben Sasse are the two that have praised the killing of Soleimani.

question: Does Carlson believe that any of the military conflicts have benefitted the American people?

answer: No. He believes that many of the conflicts in the Middle East have turned out to be longer, bloodier, and more expensive than promised, and have resulted in zero benefits for American citizens.

question: Who is John Bolton?

answer: John Bolton is a former national security adviser.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Tucker Carlson criticized Donald Trump for killing Iranian general Qassem Soleimani given the possible political and military fallout from such an action. Carlson also criticized former national security advisor John Bolton and Senator Ben Sasse for praising the killing.


text:
Carlos

I remember the day I received the letter quite well.  I had gone to class in the morning and worked a delivery shift afterwards.  Arriving home, I checked my mail.  Usual financial bullshit and an inconspicuous envelope from my university.  I decided to check such first.  I was a bit of a barbarian opening mail, no real technique just ripping and tearing until I could pry out the enclosed papers.  I wish that this time the papers were ripped along with the envelope. I stood stunned in the doorway of my 1 bedroom apartment as I read the heading, “RE: Whiteworth, Jonathan Financial Aid Eligibility Revocation,” my lower body sunk against the wall as I cradled my head fighting back the salty tears of spoiled dreams.  I just sat there for a while without caring to finish the letter, incapacitated. Not really sure for how long, may have been an hour, perhaps even longer.  The header delivered the dagger, the subsequent sentences would only further twist it.
When my head stopped spinning and I garnered enough strength to stand up, I decided I needed some fresh air.  I put my shoes on and just began to walk.  No destination in mind, I would just walk until I wanted to go home, and then I would.  I walked up and down the musty streets of New York in my own world, never had I paid less attention to my surroundings.  The term “shellshocked” resonated in my brain as my legs continued churning out the blocks.  My body was functioning but my brain was stuck in neutral.  I had caught a marijuana possession misdemeanor a few months back and I guess financial aid department had caught wind of it.  I was advised by the public defendant that so generously helped me that it was a possibility I would lose eligibility.  But I was never really the type to cross bridges before I got to them, so it remained filed somewhere in the back of my mind like a fuzzy childhood memory and I continued on with my life.  Until today.  I was now at the bridge.
_____________________________________________________________________________
	“JOHN” my fathers voice bellowed through our modest apartment.  He would scream my name everytime he wanted my attention.  This one had a little calice to it.  I took my time to get up and slowly walked down the hallway. Halfway leaning into the doorway I see him in his chair.
	“Yes?” I’d say he was drunk and losing his bets,  based on the empty beer cans and fourth quarter of the Monday Night Football game illuminating the messy room.
	“I can hear you in there talking to your little girlfriend using my telephone.  Keep it the fuck down.”
	“Thats my television”
	“You mean my television, and are you being a wiseass to me?”
	“Not really”
	“Not really? You and Mr. Funny guy cracks,get the fuck out of my face loser”
I spun a 180 and walked heavily down the creaky hallway back to my room. He had basically summoned me in there to have a confrontation.  I imagined it made him feel better as he pissed away his paycheck on underperforming teams.  Could never tell what was worse, his drinking or  gambling problem.  Occasionally I would hear a knock on the door, which my father would answer and allow a few men into my living room, which was allegedly the exact way my mother had left it.  They would ask him if he knew the ‘juice’ was running, for which he would answer yes and they would calmly ask him to not make them come back this week, then they would leave.
My mother died giving birth to me. I lived with my father my entire life, he put a roof over head and some cheap food into my stomach but thats about it.  He seemed to favor emotional abuse rather than physical, probably because it was harder to prove in court.  Also I kind of let him get away with it, not really knowing what the technical term for what he was doing was.  I felt he always blamed me for my mothers death, he thought of me as the thing that took my mothers life rather than his son.  I murdered my mother he used to tell me.  It began to infest itself deep in me that I actually did.  I felt like a murderer.  I was depressed and a recluse throughout high school.  I went to school, paid for my own lunch from money earned off stolen lawn items and came home to study and sleep, repeat.  Not many friends, a few associates and got into a lot of after school fights, the typical trouble kid spheel.  I just didn’t give a fuck about anything really.
As puberty progressed I became smarter and smarter, I excommunicated him the morning of my 17th birthday.  Fending for myself hand to mouth for the last six years, working various waitering and delivery jobs on the weekend to pay for rent and food.  Wouldn’t say I ate well, Hot Pockets, water and cereal were staples of my diet.  I just kind of made due and got by.  I had dreams of accounting graduate school and obtaining a well paying job.  I’d eat a Hot Pocket for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day for the rest of my life if it meant never having to smell the mix of alcohol and cigarettes that poured out of my fathers wretched blowhole ever again.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Somewhere between 23rd and 4th I came to the conclusion there was no way I could come up with the money. Not this year, not next year or the year after that. Not by delivering pizzas and waiting tables.  My degree would be left unfinished and I would be destined for an existence of low paying jobs chasing my own tail, whacking off.  These thoughts swirled in my head along with how nice it would be to have someone to turn to for help and support.
I scrolled through my contacts looking for ideas and came across this dude I used to know from the restaurant I worked at, Rosabellas.  His name was Carlos and he got fired for suspicion of stealing from management.  Before all that, he had given me his number and told me if I ever wanted to make some extra money to give him a shout.  Kind of shady but who was I to judge.  The contact had been unused up until now.
He picked up on the 5th ring.
>“Who’s this”
>“J-John” I squeaked out.
>“Who?”
>“John from Rosabellas, you told me to call you if I ever..
>“Yeah yeah I remember you, white dude with the Converses and combover, right?”
>“Yep, I’d like to talk. Can we like meet up or something?” I muttered not really knowing if he really knew who I was still.
>“Can’t tonight but what about Thursday, say 11.  I’ll pick you up in the alley behind Jahzar’s Electronics on 38th”
Before I could even confirm, the line was dead.  Not really sure what I had just gotten myself into but it gave me hope, I started the slow walk back home.  I felt lifeless, mental and physical fatigue leaving my body almost limp.  If you would have told me the day prior that a dude named Carlos might be the saving grace to my graduation and career,  I would have laughed long and hard in your face.  But there I was, desperate and for all intensive purposes Carlos was my new best friend.
_____________________________________________________________________________
The next three days dragged by.  I had a black cloud floating above my during each,  I could not shake the feeling.  Just a deep, aching sense of unknown.  I tried to get some better food in my stomach.  I got McDonalds twice one day and KFC another night. Even though I began counting every dollar amount I spent and could visualize myself going backwards, I needed something heavier in my stomach than frozen food.  I struggled with my studies and work during these days.
Thursday finally arrived but that aching feeling had only grown.  I took care of the days business and basically remember none of it, it was all a blur, all a passing moment until eleven.
Eleven.
I leaned against a tagged wall in my favorite sweatshirt with my arms crossed.  There was a foul odor protruding from an open dumpster a little further down.  I tucked my nose into my hood as it continuously seeped into my nasal cavity making me gag.
I lit a cigarette, and then another one.  The chain smoking didn’t really help the nerves that much, just a wicked addiction I suppose.  Fingernails chewed damn near to the root, I kept telling myself I would kick the habit, never delivering.  I illuminated my phone which displayed it was 11:20. I let out a heavy sigh.  Still no sign of him.  I decided to call him again.
“Hey, uhm how much longer you thinking?” I asked tentatively
“5 more”
“You said that 15 minutes ago”
Once again he didn’t even care to give me a response.  Just hung up.  Quickly becoming his trademark.  I been waiting here nearly 30 minutes already and he had the nerve to say 5 more with an attitude.  I felt like his bitch.  I needed him way more than he needed me, and I didn’t even know what I would be doing for him.
The chinese spot was the only place still open. Occasional apron bearing kitchen slaves speedily delivered bags to the dumpster.  A young delivery driver carrying multiple bags over his shoulder lugs them into to his trunk.  He opened his drivers side door and the car oozed sharp computer sounds.  He noticed me and made a special point to generate direct eye contact  over his half cracked, heavily tinted window.  He was probably wondering what the hell I was doing here.  Not a bad question.
I pulled out a flask I had brought and felt the burn of the whiskey sting my throat.  I had lifted it from my old house before I left.  As I reached to put it back in my pocket, bright headlights flooded the darkness as a large truck silhouette rocked back and forth along the uneven pavement of the alley.  I wasn’t sure if this was Carlos or not so I held my position.  The truck came to a stop directly in front of me.  A man flicked his cigarette out the window and pointed towards the passenger side rear door.  I climbed into the truck which contained two men.  Both seemingly hispanic males, the driver younger than the other, who which I believed to be Carlos.  I could tell by his bald spot.  Neither seemed to be in a great mood as I said “hello” and received no response.  Apprehension began to set in.  This no longer felt like a promising endeavor.   I desperately wanted to kick open the door and run down the alley but I steadfast.  As the driver put it into gear, raising the the radio volume I could feel my stomach lining evaporate.
_____________________________________________________________________________
After a series of more reggaeton songs played than words spoken, the driver swings us into the parking lot of a Red Roof Inn, located in a neighborhood I had never been to before.  It had an extra sense of unfamiliar, perhaps the sense of unknown infused with the random location.  I unscrewed my flask and burned another hole with the whiskey.
My torso trembled a bit as I climbed out of the car and followed the two into the motel’s main hallway, but the legs kept us going forward..  We stopped in front of Room 169, Carlos took a key out of his pocket, swiped it, and unlocked the heavy faded red door. I followed the two into the room and the younger one closed the door behind me.  One of them
The only thing within visible sight was a tripod, set up facing towards the bed.
>“Carlos, what the hell is going on in here? Why the camera?”
>“You said you needed to make some extra money right?”
>“Yeah”
>“Okay well, get ready to earn some money” he snaps back.
>“What do you mean man, you’re freaking me out”
I could feel the younger one touch my lower back and then the bottom of my sweatshirt and begin to lift it up.  I turn around and deliver a swift kick to his gut, knocking the wind out of him and sending him a foot or so backwards and to the ground.
“Stay the fuck back” I barked.
Carlos was in between me and the door, the other one quickly regained his composure in the adjacent corner of the room.
	“Relax kid, you’ll be paid handedly. You got the perfect face for this type of stuff, you’ll be a star, trust me.”
	“I’m not gonna be your fuckdoll, what does this look like.  I need money, not my ass pounded.”  Carlos did not like this as his weird smirk turned to a look of anger.  We were looking at each other but I was still aware of the younger one behind me.  In the reflection of the lamp I could see him slowly advancing on me.  In one motion I spun and brandished the matte black six shot revolver I had stolen from my father before I skipped town.
	“Back it up Ricky Martin” I screamed.
He took three steps back towards his corner of the room.
	“Give me your wallets, watches and phones” I said commandingly.
They both laughed, which infuriated me.  Angrily, I let a shot ring out which caught Carlos in the knee.  He screamed in agony bleeding crimson liquid on the tan carpet.
	“Cough the shit up, lets go.  I ain’t fucking around hombres”
The younger one tossed his items to my feet, which I stuffed into my sweatshirt pocket.  Carlos was still in shock that I actually shot him, and was not really able to abide to the command.  I put my gun to his head held it there steadily.  I ran his pockets, found his phone and wallet, both which were covered in blood, eventually also removing the watch.  I even ripped at the chain of his crucifix, which hung from his neck over his dress shirt.  It came off with one firm pull.  Stuffing it all in the same pocket as I backed my way out the door, gently closing it behind me.  Other hotel guests were peaking their heads out of their doors, I pointed my gun at a couple of them and they stuck them quickly sunk back in.  I began to sprint through the parking lot holding the pocket of loot steady. I ran for blocks and blocks.  My legs wouldn’t let me stop.  Until I finally came across a park in another part of town I did not recognize, which seemed safe enough.  I entered the park and took inventory of the stuff in my pocket.  I’d say close to a thousand dollars worth.  It’s a start I thought to myself as I sat on one of the swings gently rocking.  Reaching for the flask, I held it in my left hand, burning my throat until none remained.  I lit my last cigarette and held it in my right,  I eventually fell asleep on that swing clutching both.

-JAC

title: Carlos

question: Summarize the narrator's life growing up.

answer: The narrator lost his mother while she was giving birth to him. His father had drinking and gambling problems whom abused the narrator verbally. The father would blame him for his mother's death and would call him a murderer. Over time, the narrator began to believe his father's words which brought him depression and turned him into a recluse throughout high school. He did not have friends and often got into after school fights. On his 17th birthday, the narrator excommunicated his father which only brought him more trouble when he began to face financial difficulties.


text: The perimeter. Paul is sitting. The swirl kicks on. The tossing and slapping of wet outfits reminds him of a home. He checks his zipper as he sees a pretty young woman walk in. Now he checks his mangled reflection in the curved glass of the washing machine. He wishes he was wearing his better shirt, but it's wet and slapping. Paul's daughter looks up at him, his shame beaming through. She tells him, "i like all of the colors together." Paul smiles at her. She asks, "what colors do you like?" Paul hadn't thought about this in a while. He says, "blue," but he is rather unsure. His mind jumps to him in bed with the young woman, her hair draping his crotch. He's fucking her. Too fast. He's kissing her. She takes off his pants. He takes off her shirt. Perfect breasts. Now he's fucking her. Would she swallow? Her hair... it's everywhere. "Dad, do sharks have souls?" Paul snaps back. He's wearing his bad shirt. He fidgets. "Everything has a soul, princess." The water drains in front of him. The spin begins. It's hot in that laundromat. His daughter is humming "Gloria." Paul goes to the restroom, having an old swedish woman watch his daughter. It's filthy in there. Graffiti and various forms of bodily fluid cover the walls. He's glad he's wearing his bad shirt. A young hispanic man steps out of the stall, tightening his belt. Paul doesn't move. The man stops. He asks, "do you have any quarters?" Paul's mind flashes quick fuck-offs and get-a-jobs before handing over $3.47 in change. Relieving himself, the thoughts of the young woman return. His daydreams hit the seat and before cleaning it up, he thinks, "it doesn't matter anyways." He then thinks that that's why the restroom is like it is. The lack of judgment and no independence. He leaves the seat as is and doesn't wash his hands. Returning to the lobby, the florescents sting his eyes, then the daylight. Silhouettes shine into familiar strangers. His daughter is reading the comics from the newspaper. The swedish woman gave them to her. He's in his bad shirt, pants splashed with piss, zipper down. The young woman walks by, glances and ignores him. The hispanic man is walking out, eating a chocolate bar and drinking a coke that he got from the vending machines. Paul sits next to his daughter and hums "Gloria" as his daughter giggles. The laundry will be done soon.

title: The Perimeter.

question: Why is Paul wearing a bad shirt?

answer: Paul is wearing a bad shirt because his better ones are being washed.

question: Why does Paul wish he was wearing a better shirt?

answer: Paul wishes he was wearing a better shirt because he wants to hit on the pretty woman who just walked into the laundromat.


text:
Hello all, my sister is super timid about her writing, but she always seems to impress me. Criticism is welcome, but please be kind. She e-mailed me this, so it's a rough draft.

“Alright, man, it’s been a long day. Time for me to make my exit!” Wyatt downed the last of his beer and decidedly plopped the pint glass down on the bar. He gestured for a bro-handshake toward the bartender.
“See ya, man,” said Greg, the bartender, and reciprocated the bro-man-shake.
Jason waved casually and called out a brief salutation to a couple at the end of the bar who were engaged in a giggle-rich conversation.

Jason knew the bartender from back in his community college days, before he was even a bartender there. He knew most of the regulars too. The cozy neighborhood bar: a perfect place to chill with a drink after a long day. It was a good night. A trip was in the works with Greg to visit the guy’s brother in Texas. And he got the number of a pretty sweet piece of ass, good personality too. Jason stepped out into the cool, damp night and began the three-block strut home. Some quick movement caught his peripheral, but he paid no serious mind. It was probably some animal raiding the garages from the restaurants. The ones where people wasted half of their food because they were too rich to care about economics and wastefulness, and their appearances took precedence. Hmph, “high society,” to Wyatt, was simply a lack of common sense where narcissism took the place of thought processes.

He passed a good-looking couple that looked healthy, clean, well off. Not a care in the world they had for a passerby. A counter point to the young couple was the man who passed by him next – a man that wasn’t quite yet middle aged, a little scruffy, a gate that adjusted to the clear burdens he carried throughout life, a gaze that seemed to look right through you, to see your true nature.

Another brief movement caught his eye, a swift shadow that disappeared around the corner. Wyatt took a little more notice this time, but remained unconcerned. He swung right into his apartment building and gated up the stairs. It didn’t take him long to eject the shoes, shirt, and pants from his body. Surrendering the day to the night, he tumbled into bed and hastily threw his blanket over himself, already on the brink of snores. Right before his consciousness left him, he heard a barely audible voice… “Are you ready, Wyatt?”

He yawned and slapped both hands over his face and stretched his way out of bed. Time to get up and weld some shit. He didn’t like showering before work, since he was always getting sweaty. So he slathered on some deo, brushed his teeth, and put on some shitty, worn out clothes. He took notice of the nice sunny clear sky and retorted with a grin. Today seemed like a breakfast burrito and coffee day. He moseyed his way out the door. Wyatt then stopped short. Even his breath stopped. Everything around him was the same – same shops, same clear blue sky, same cars and streets. But the people… The peoples’ faces were all glowing. They all glowed in different colors and different intensities. But they ALL glowed. He just then realized in his half-asleep construction of the day, he never looked in the mirror. Wyatt whipped around and inspected his own reflection in the glass. Sure enough, his own face was glowing an intense yellow. His first thought went to the possibility of a hallucinogen. He felt fine before he went to sleep. And this theory wasn’t really viable, because everything else was completely normal, unlike the total world-altering effects of a hallucinogen. Was he going crazy? No family history of schizophrenia that he knew of. He stood panicking, staring around at all the colored, glowing faces that stared back in confusion, wondering why this man was in the middle of a crisis on such a normal day. This ws something he needed to figure out. Wyatt ran back upstairs to phone into work. He made up a lie about some stomach flu then sat on the edge of the bed – just sat for a moment, questioning the validity of his reality. He stood up slowly as if laboring to move through a pit of tar. That’s what this was, a tar pit of confusion and doubt. Taking leave of the heavy pit, his feet traveled hungrily and curiously toward the window for further investigation and confirmation.

“Yep, still certifiably amok,” said his brain to his senses as he gazed out the glass. Was there some meaning to this? Had he somehow crossed over into another dimension? Wyatt decided that hell, if it was going to be this way, he needed to get IN it, see what this is all about. If this WAS some sort of other dimension, maybe he would have a really amazing job, and maybe the beer was better and the women were looser. Probably not, but there was no harm in hope. He descended the stairs to step back into the day to face the faces. They all glowed, as expected, and all in a wide variety of colors – some putrid in hue with a heavy glow, and others vivid and lively.

He saw groups lunching outside and took note that many of the groups shared similar styles of light and intensity of color. Not all of them however, as there were groups of people that made up the colors of the rainbow. These people seemed to smile more often; their intensities took turns flickering brightest from one color or the next. That was another peculiar thing, the groups that WERE all the same color didn’t share intensities, just one person seemed to drain the others of their light, and all of them smiling less, the jovial nature decreasing as the glowing distributed itself to the one or two in the group. It was as if they didn’t want to give the light, and the person didn’t wish to receive it. Like being sapped for energy, then the energy becomes poison for the receiver.

Jason decided that if this was going to happen, he wanted to explore as much as he could, discovering patterns and possibly uncovering a reason for why this was happening now. But first, he wanted to visit his father. His father drove truck, and 14 months prior had been in a bad semi accident, rendering him comatose. Jason liked to go visit his dad and imagined he could hear what Jason was saying, and tried to imagine him responding in some sort of telekinesis style of communication. It felt like it kept his heart strong to imagine his father, even while lying comatose, participating in some sort of active communication. He hopped onto the downtown bus that circled around downtown and ended at the second largest hospital in the city.

He entered the rotating doors and immediately noted that the patients in their rooms, and the ones carted around on wheelchairs emanated a different type of light. Instead of beaming in sharp clouds of color, the seemed to drip slowly like waves of different, less brightly colored jellies. The elderly and the more apparently sick peoples’ glows were comparably slower than the children’s and the less severely injured patients’. It felt slightly comforting for him to find a pattern among the madness of the situation.
Jason took notice of all the lights and flows and colors, on the way back up to his father’s room, a path he had come to know very well, from every nick in the wall to stain on the carpet and even some of the faces of the orderlies and staff that would frequent this particular path. On this particular day, however, he could see everyone in a little bit of a different light. The lights that emanated from the staff seemed to have a consistent glow, but it wasn’t exactly bright. It was duller, and faint. The visitors all varied in color and intensity, while in each of the rooms the lights from their faces took on varying colors but were all immensely faded, the most sickly patients seemed to barely glow at all.

He stood outside of his father’s room a moment, almost frightened to see what condition of faded his father’s light could be. No matter what it was, it couldn’t be changed now. There was nothing he could do but observe. He took a deep breath and stood in the doorway staring at the floor. His eyes slowly reached his father’s bed. His tensed shoulders dropped. His father’s light seemed to be not quite perfect, but not as faded as he had feared. It was deep and purple, but bright enough not give Jason concern. He pulled his usual chair up to the side of the bed.

“Hi dad, it’s your son. I know I’m a little early, but I just really needed to talk to you.” His father’s light seemed to brighten a little at his words. ‘I woke up today, and everything was a little different. I don’t know if I’m going mad, or there’s something seriously wrong with me, or if it’s just something wrong with the rest of the world. Hell, it might even not be anything wrong with me or the world, maybe it’s just… changed… But dad, I can see everyone. Like, really SEE them. It’s not that I can see their insides, it’s more like, their insides are reaching out to me. Like their souls or whatever that even means. They’re all different colors, intensities, it seems like I can really see how they are, if they’re ok or not, if they’re good, or bad, predatory, good. I have to admit I was scared to come in here, dad, I was scared to see you. I was scared you’d be… faded. I know it, though, in my heart that you’re still here.” His father’s lights grew even brighter. ‘I love you, dad. I don’t know what this all means, but I feel like I’ve been shown something really valuable today. I’m not sure what I’m gonna have to do, or why it’s me, if I’m the only one. But I feel like I need to use this. I’m just glad you’re here to talk to.”

Jason sat for a moment of reflection and relief that his father really was still there, and that he could see, with evidence, that he could also hear. Then began to go on about sports, his trip with Greg, and a few women – the normal things he would go in with. Then he leaned over and kissed his father’s head and gave his goodbyes before he ventured back out into the new world.

He decided to go about his day as normal, and that entailed visiting his friend Greg. Everyone seemed to be getting off work. These people all remained a slight glow that was reminiscent of the sick. They all seemed tired and overworked, in their facial expression as well as their glow. It was clearly unhealthy, as unhealthy for the soul as sickness must have been for the body. He walked down to the bar, and was happy to see that his friend was indeed working. Something concerned him, however. His friend also had a glow, and the glow was a sickly, dull, yellow color, much the same as patients on the oncology floor at the hotel. He wondered if his friend felt this. Even if he did, he wouldn’t say anything. He wasn’t the type of man to worry about it. Still, Jason felt a deep pain in his heart. It may not be cancer, but his friend was still sick. He sat and drank a beer and chatted with his friend. He just wanted to laugh and bond with him as much as he could. He started feeling a small bit of acceptance underneath the pain, and decided it was time to find his own solace and reflection.

He headed to the park for some serenity. He noticed some couples picnicking in the grass, some people with binoculars watching for birds and other animals, some people playing with their dogs, and some children simply playing in nature. They all had something in common, their glowing auras were all very strong and colorful. Their smiles at one another even intensified their glory. When the people first came into the park, they had similar differences as the folks that meandered around the streets. However, as they allowed themselves to bond more and more with nature, they began to change into stronger, brighter souls – that couldn’t help but to shine in the way they were intended.

He decided that maybe this was the way it was going to be forever, or maybe this would pass, but that it was happening, and there was really nothing he could do about it. He did know, however, that he felt exhaustion. He began his route home, taking notice of all the different glows of the people, and what that meant for their inner state. Some were at peace, some were drained, sick, overworked, joyful, and everything in between. It gave him a fine insight, and an opportunity to help people become their true light, if he decided to use it in that way, which was really only right, as his father would tell him. The father that he now knew could feel him there even in his deep sleep.

He turned the corner and passed down an alley, taking a small notice of something moving in the distance. It was similar to the movements he previously ignored the night before this oddity happened to him. This time he faced it. He walked down into the alleyway and approached the area behind a dumpster that concealed the movement. As he approached, however, there grew a great and white glow. It was a glow with such intensity that actually produced a sound. He felt it warning him to stay away from it. It didn’t seem to want to be approached, but instead wanted to be the one to come to him. The source was so unknown, and if it didn’t want to be bothered, there was no telling what would occur. So he turned back away from the alley and went home. It was unnatural to disturb whatever lurked behind that dumpster.

He walked along his way home and went back to bed. As he slowly fell asleep he thought he heard a voice in the distance. “You see, son, it’s always been this way, you’ve just been so blind. Now you can see, and now you must do.” And he fell asleep until the morrow.

title: The Glowing

question: What does the story say about aliens?

question: Summarize the main plot of the story.

answer: After drinking at the neighborhood bar, regular guy Wyatt walks home and keeps on seeing quick movement in his peripheral vision, but dismisses it. He goes to sleep and hears a barely audible voice ask him if he's ready before losing consciousness. He wakes up the next day and goes to work, but is shocked to see that everyone's faces glowed, both in different colors and intensities. He thinks he's losing his mind and calls in sick. After collecting himself, Wyatt looks out the window to check if he was just seeing things but realizes he wasn't - the faces of people (even his) really glowed. Since this strange event was happening, he decides to find out what's going on and watches everyone, learning that not all colors are the same and reflect the person's thoughts and feelings. Wyatt decides that he can help people with his new powers.

question: Describe Wyatt's new ability and what he can do with it.

answer: Wyatt gained the ability to see the "glow" of people's faces. People all glowed, but differently. The glows were of different colors and intensities that reflected a person's mood, feelings, energy levels, state of mind, and even health. Wyatt could tell if a person was terminally ill just by the color of their glow. Some people glowed more intensely than others. Wyatt could help people become their true light.


title: The Perimeter.

question: What kind of restaurant is Paul in?

answer: Paul is not restaurant; he seems to be in a laundromat.

question: Who is the woman that Paul is daydreaming of?

answer: Paul is daydreaming of a woman he has had sexual relations with.

question: Why is the man asking for quarters?

answer: The man seems to be asking for quarters to do laundry.

question: Why is Paul and his son at the restaurant?

answer: N/A, question is incorrect

question: mistake

answer: N/A

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: Paul and his daughter are in a laundromat. Paul reminisces about a woman he had sexual relations with. He goes to the bathroom, where a man asks him for some quarters. He returns to his daughter. Their laundry will be finished soon.


text:
I will love you if you tell me how to write better :)

  It certainly was a great accident. There I am, lying in a hospital bed and in coma. I thought this was going to be different, you know. I didn't think that when you're about to die, your sole leaves your body. But it's not like I'm transparent or something, the only difference I can see is that my brown hair looks a bit blacker, and my skin looks more white. So now I'm there, half dead in the bed, and here, standing besides the bed, looking at myself. My mother sister and father is also here. Clearly they cannot see me. They're crying. Maybe there is a way to come back to life? It has happened, people have waked up before.

  I walk over to the window. It doesn't look like the city I live in. I turn around, looking at myself. Maybe I could go around and see if there are other souls walking around. The hospital corridor is empty. Not a single patient or doctor. Nor is there anybody on the floor below. I can't spot another living, or dead, anywhere on the way down to the main floor. Except from my mother, my father and sister. But they're still with the half dead me.

  There, on a bench outside, is there an old man with grayish clothes and a long beard. I walk over to him.
"Why are there nobody here" I ask.
he old man looks at me and smiles. "Because you're the one that's dying," he answers, "But you're wondering why you can see yout family?"
I nod.
"Because they mean the world to you," he smiles again, "They are the most important you have in your whole life, so you'd like to see them, don't you?"
At that moment, I realize something. "Why are you here, then? I don't think I've ever seen you before."
This time, the old man doesn't answer. He stands up and starts walking. I follow him.
"Where are you going? What am I going to do?" I ask nervously, "Hello? Wait!"
He steps into a red bus, and sits down in the driver's seat. I stop in the doorway.
"If you wish to go on, to leave this life, you will travel with me on this bus," he tells me, "But if you'd rather go back to your life and your family, you must run, You must run as you've never run before".
Now I realy don't understand. "I have to run? Will you tell me where I have to run? I ask.
He start the engines, and I take a step backwards. I'm standing on the street now, looking into the bus.
"Run back to your family. But remember this; if you stop running, you won't get back!" At the same time as he is finished talking, he starts driving, slowly. I turn around to run.

  Running as just a soul is much more exhausting than running as a living body, with a proper body-soul-combination. I am already so very tired. But I cannot stop- I will not take the risk to stop. I keep on running, just like Alice did when she and the Queen ran. Even though I run as fast as I can without having to stop, it doesn't feel as I'm making such progress.

  When I finally reach the entrance to the hospital, I can see a doctor. And another one. And a person that could be a patient or just a visitor. I feel like I'm moving a bit faster. I reach the first flight of stairs. And soon enough, the second one. I slow down, exhausted. I tell myself that I cannot stop now, I've come so far! So I run more.
Third flight of staird is behind me, and the only thing I have left is a very long corridor. In contrary to when I walked out of here, the corridor is now full of people. Doctor, patients, and visitors. There is a name on the door at the end of the corridor. "Jim". That's my name. And it's the room where my body lies. I reach the door, and try to open it. Instead of opening, it stays shut. And I crash into it. I fall backwards on my back. My eyes are shut.

  This means I stopped. But I couldn't stop. What happens to me now? I almost start to panic. I sit up, leaning on my elbows. I'm not on the floor anymore. I'm in the hospital bed. My whole family is there. Through the door comes a man, the old man, but in a doctor's suit. He smiles.
"You made it, how are you feeling? Tired?" He fixes something on my head. I feel my forehead. I've got a bandage. But I'm absolutely and completely alive.

  You can have many reasons to run. But this, this would be my favourite one.
Jim (15)

title: My 'out-of-body experience'

question: Why is Jim running?

answer: To go back to his life.

question: Why is Jim's family crying?

answer: They are afraid Jim could die.

question: How does Jim feel about his out-of-body experience?

answer: It is not stated, but he might be confused.

question: Why is the doctor driving the bus?

answer: It is not clear.


text:
[Diners at Yume Wo Katare sharing their dreams after finishing their meal] YUME WO KATARE () is a ramen shop located at 1923 Massachusetts Avenue in the Porter Square neighborhood of Cambridge, Massachusetts. It specializes in Jiro-style ramen. The restaurant is known for its service concept: diners are encouraged to share their dreams and aspirations to their fellow diners after finishing their meal.

History

Yume Wo Katare was opened by Tsuyoshi Nishioka in November 2012.[1] He had previously worked in ramen restaurants in Kyoto to support his career as a comedian,[2] and later owned and run five Ramen Jiro branches in Kyoto, Osaka and Kobe which he later sold to their managers before relocating to the United States in 2011.[3][4] Nishioka initially considered setting up shop in Hawaii and New York City, but was disappointed by the disproportionately large number of Japanese Americans in both locations. He wanted to set up a restaurant in a location with a large student population. He flew into Boston the day after another guest at his New York hotel suggested he open his restaurant there, and decided to set up shop in Porter Square.[5] The restaurant closed over the summer of 2013, during which it was redecorated.[6]

For three non-consecutive days in 2014, Jorgen “Walker” Peterson, a former chemist who worked as the restaurant's manager, launched a vegan version of the ramen recipe as a pop-up restaurant which operated in the Yume Wo Katare space during lunch hours, at a time when the restaurant is closed.[7] Three years later, Nishioka opened Yume Ga Arukara (), a sister restaurant in a nearby part of Cambridge which serves udon,[8] and was later named by _Bon Appétit_ as one of the top ten new restaurants in the United States for 2018.[9]

Nishioka returned to Japan in 2018, where he has since opened up outposts of Yume Wo Katare in Beppu, where he currently lives,[10] as well as in Okinawa, training around 50 apprentices how to create Jiro-style ramen with the goal of opening dream-centric ramen shops in all 47 Japanese prefectures.[11]

Concept

[A bowl of Yume Wo Katare ramen.] Yume Wo Katare has been described as not just being a restaurant, but a “dream factory” and a food-centered aspirational community.[12][13] Nishioka was deeply affected by the suicide of a partner in the comedy troupe he once performed with in Japan, and he has since made it his life's mission to help people achieve their dreams. To that end, the restaurant offers regular “dream workshops” in addition to its culinary offerings,[14] particularly targeting Japanese students in Cambridge to help them figure out their own life dreams and goals.[15]

The restaurant only offers one dish: a bowl of ramen either in regular or large (_buta_) sizes which vary based on the amount of _chāshū_, served alongside cabbage and bean sprouts, as well as options for extra fat and garlic.[16] The ramen base is made from a _tonkotsu_ broth that cooks for 14 hours, giving it a rich flavor, combined with a _shōyu_ broth and hand-cut noodles.[17] The dish itself has been described by _The Boston Globe_ as being “porky, garlicky, hefty, [and] intense”,[18] with prospective diners waiting in line for it every day,[19] sometimes for over an hour.[20]

Although Yume Wo Katare is arranged like a classroom, with space for 18 diners at one time, it is known for its interactive and novel yet highly regimented dining experience.[21] When diners are finished, they are encouraged to share their dreams with all other diners in the room, with everyone cheering and showing support.[22] Afterward, they are graded by restaurant staff either with a “perfect”, “good job”, “almost” or “next time” grade based on how much of the dish is left in their bowl, with the goal of pushing people beyond what they may think they're capable of,[23] as well as discouraging wasteful consumption.[24]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18]

[19]

[20]

[21]

[22]

[23]

[24]

title: Yume Wo Katare

question: What does Yume Wo Katare specialize in?

answer: The diner specializes in Jiro-style ramen.

question: Who established the diner?

answer: Tsuyoshi Nishioka in November 2012.

question: Which other restaurant did Nishiola open?

answer: Yume Ga Arukara.

question: Which dishes does the diner offer?

answer: The restaurant offers only one dish, a bowl of ramen either in regular or large size.

question: Write a ~6 sentence summary.

answer:
Yume WO Katare is a ramen diner located at 1923 Massachusetts Avenue. The restaurant specializes in Jiro-style ramen.

The diner was opened by Tsuyoshi Nishioka in November 2012. He initially thought of opening the shop in Hawaii and New York City but Nishioka wanted to set up where there was a large student population. Hence he decided to set up in Boston.

The restaurant offers regular "dream workshops" to help students figure out their dreams and goals.


text:
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March 11, 2017 | 8:59pm

Being tiny hasn’t stopped New York City FC midfielder Maxi Moralez before.

At just 5-foot-3, Moralez surprisingly isn’t the shortest player in MLS. But the 30-year-old, who has played in Italy and most recently in Mexico with Club Leon, isn’t expecting anything new when it comes to players tossing him around.

“[MLS] is very physical league,” Moralez said at a community event in East Harlem last week. “Just like Italy, it’s very physical. My height has made me suffer, but I’ve faced a lot of tall people before. I want to be successful here.”

The league’s physicality always has been a talking point, but other short players such as Toronto FC forward Sebastian Giovinco and Real Salt Lake forward Joao Plata have used their small frames to their advantage.

“I don’t like to describe myself as a player or compare myself to others,” the newly signed Designated Player said. “Obviously, there are a lot of expectations for me. I want to show that on the field, especially with what [coach] Patrick [Vieira] is asking from me.”

NYCFC got a glimpse of Moralez’s play-making ability in their 1-0 loss against Orlando City last week. Vieira said it is just the beginning, considering Moralez has been with the club for just two weeks.

“I think he’ll be even better this week,” said Vieira before Sunday’s matchup against D.C. United at Yankee Stadium (2 p.m.; YES). “In training, he looked really sharp, but he needs a few games to know the league. But Maxi will be a really important player for us.”

Moralez floated central behind David Villa, feeding balls out wide left-and-right where NYCFC likes to funnel its attack. His precision and understanding of what is happening around him helped deliver 11 successful passes in the final third of the field.

Teammates already feel his presence, especially his vision of the field, will silence any questions regarding his size.

“He uses his brain to his advantage, not his size,” midfielder Tommy McNamara said. “He’s a very intelligent player. He gets into good spots, knows what he’s going to do with the ball before it. [That’s] the way I understand him as a player.”

Despite the scoreline, Moralez and NYCFC dominated the pace of the game after Orlando City striker Cyle Larin scored in the 15th minute. They controlled 68 percent possession and out-shot Orlando City 14-7, with seven of those shots on target.

But NYCFC will need to capitalize on scoring chances against D.C. United, who were shut out for the first time since July in a 0-0 draw against Sporting KC last week. Fortunately, Vieira can worry less now that he has found a stable centerback pairing in Maxime Chanot and Alexander Callens, who both looked comfortable handling the ball and starting the attack from the back.

But once the ball leaves the back, it’ll be Moralez’s job to craft the scoring opportunities.

That has one teammate excited for things to come from the tiny midfielder.

“I’ve played against him many times,” said midfielder Andrea Pirlo, who played against Moralez in Italy for Juventus. “When he played at Atalanta, he played really well. Now, I’m happy he plays here with me.”

question: What does Maxi Moralez say about his height?

answer: Moralez states that MLS is a very physical league, similar to the one in Italy. His height has made him suffer, but he also says he has faces a lot of tall people before. He does not like to describe himself as a player or compare himself to others. He also says there are a lot of expectations for him, presumably due to his height and the ability to use his small frame to his advantage.


text:
“WHO LOVES YOU” is the title song of a 1975 album by The Four Seasons. It was composed by Bob Gaudio and Judy Parker and produced by Gaudio. It reached number 3 on the _Billboard_ Hot 100 in November 1975.[1][2][3]

Song information

After their release from Philips, the group signed with Motown and released one album and three singles for the organization in 1972 and 1973. All Motown recordings failed to chart in the U.S. and the company dropped the band.[4] In August, “Who Loves You” entered the Hot 100 as Frankie Valli's “Swearin' to God” was sliding off the chart. This was the final Four Seasons hit featuring bassist and backing vocalist Joe Long.[5][6]

Charts

Weekly charts

+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| Chart (1975-76)                   | Peak                              |
|                                   | position                          |
+===================================+===================================+
| Australia (KMR)                   | 16                                |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| Canada _RPM_ Top Singles[7]*      | ≥ 20                              |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| Canada _RPM_ Adult                | ≥ 12                              |
| Contemporary[8]*                  |                                   |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
|                                   |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| New Zealand (RIANZ)[9]            | 22                                |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| South Africa (Springbok           | 13                                |
| Radio)[10]                        |                                   |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| UK (OCC)                          | 6                                 |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| US _Billboard_ Hot 100[11]        | 3                                 |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| US _Billboard_ Adult              | 7                                 |
| Contemporary[12]                  |                                   |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| US _Cash Box_ Top 100[13]         | 7                                 |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+

Year-end charts

  Chart (1975)                            Rank
  --------------------------------------- ------
  Canada _RPM_ Top Singles[14]            70
  US (Joel Whitburn's _Pop Annual_)[15]   44

(* - Canadian _RPM_ chart data incomplete for late 1975)

Other versions

There were three versions of “Who Loves You” released in the United States: the one on the _Who Loves You_ album is four minutes, 20 seconds long and begins with a short percussion section before the start of the vocals.[16] The A-side of the single has a 4-minute 4 second version which starts with an unusual “fade-in” beginning, starting with the first word of the lyrics; the B-side (labeled “Who Loves You (disco version)”) is the same as the A-side, with the instrumental break done twice and the song running 5:28.[17]

Although the Four Seasons' trademark falsetto is present on “Who Loves You”, Valli's vocal performance on the recording is limited to singing lead on the verses.[18]

For a record from a group so long without any hit records, “Who Loves You” was a tremendous success. Released in August 1975, the single spent 20 weeks on the Hot 100 (longer than any Four Seasons single before) and managed to stay on the chart until the beginning of 1976.[19]

This song was edited heavily and included as the closing number for the musical _Jersey Boys_. The second verse and instrumental break is completely omitted, and instead of the fade out, a loud, high-pitched ending chord is sung by the full company. However, the Original Broadway Cast Recording includes the instrumental break.

Pop-culture references

Often used as bumper music by late night radio talk show host Art Bell when he hosted _Coast to Coast AM_ in the 1990s.

Christopher Knowles references the song-title and Valli/Four Seasons in a section of the libretto of _Einstein on the Beach_.[20]

[1] Joel Whitburn, _The Billboard Book of Top 40 Hits_ (5th edition), Billboard Books 1992

[2] Fred Bronson, _The Billboard Book of Number One Hits_ (3rd edition), Billboard Books 1992

[3]

[4]

[5] https://thatfourseasonssound.typepad.com/seasonally/2011/04/how-i-met-the-famous-joe-long-.html

[6] https://nj1015.com/joe-long-dishes-on-jersey-boys-time-with-the-four-seasons/

[7]

[8]

[9] Flavour of New Zealand, 19 December 1975

[10]

[11] _Joel Whitburn's Top Pop Singles 1955-1990_ -

[12] http://tropicalglen.com/Archives/70s_files/19751101.html Adult Contemporary Music Chart, November 1, 1975]

[13] Cash Box Top 100 Singles, November 1, 1975

[14]

[15]

[16] Four Seasons, _Who Loves You_ LP (Warner Bros. Records 1975)

[17] Four Seasons, “Who Loves You” single, Warner Bros. 8122, 1975

[18]

[19] Joel Whitburn, _Joel Whitburn's Top Pop Singles 1955–1993_, Billboard Books 1994

[20] Christopher Knowles' transcription of and relationship with Top-40, AM radio station WABC in the early 1970s, and specifically the juncture of the charting of Valli's “Swearin' to God” and “Who Loves You” in late-1975/early-1976, is something documented and analyzed in detail by Robert Fink in “_Einstein_ on the Radio”, in Jelena Novak and John Richardson, eds., _Einstein on the Beach: Opera beyond Drama_ (London: Routledge, 2019).

title: Who Loves You (song)

question: Summarize the background information for the song.

answer: The Four Seasons signed with Motown and released one album and three singles for the organization in 1972 and 1973. All of the Motown recordings failed to chart in the U.S. and the company dropped the band. In August, "Who Loves You" entered the Hot 100.

question: Summarize the information regarding the other versions of the song.

answer: There were three versions of "Who Loves You" released in the United States. The one on the "Who Loves You" album is four minutes and 20 seconds long. The A-side of the single has a 4-minute 4 second version which starts with a fade-in. The B-side is 5 minutes and 28 seconds and is the same as the A-side, wih the instrumental break done twice.

question: How much revenue did the song generate?


text:
“The ceremony is held for boys and girls in their sixteenth year,” I intoned in a low voice to the dragonfly perched not far away on a lily pad in the grand hall’s courtyard. “A valiant boy or girl, will be turned into a warrior today, if the creature so chooses,” a quick glace to my left and right showed I was not being overheard. “It is not uncommon for a Parcel to go decades without being chosen, it is not an accurate indicator of your Parcel’s worth.”
	The parade is starting to form. I drag myself away from the pond to join in line. The separation between male and female didn’t particularly bother me unless it was days like today. I yearn for my twin brother, Cassius, and his strong nature. If anyone were going to be chosen today, it would be Cassius. But, I couldn’t shake the nervousness growing inside. I don’t want this honor, though I would never admit that, but I would still be on display in front of thousands. Not only in my home Parcel, number two, in case you were wondering, but also all the others. It would be broadcast for everyone to see. How I acted at this ceremony could have effects on my future courtships and even the type of career paths open to me.
	On my tiptoes, I caught sight if brother’s coppery hair glowing in the sunset. It made me feel a bit more stable.  The parade crept slowly forward as it entered the arena. First, the teachers, having drilled etiquette in to the heads of the sixteen year olds for months, walk in. They deserve to be honored, I thought as I heard the cheers erupt.
	“Essence?” I hear being whispered behind me. I turn at the sound of my name, but only slightly. Deviating even this inch is hard for me, as the only comfort I can find is in following instructions. “I’m scared, I don’t want to be a warrior.” I turned to Cami now. Those words should never be spoken allowed, especially not here. Even if we are friends, the idea of being associated with someone not ready to serve our Sovereign Princess is not something I will tolerate.
	“Shush Cami,” I sigh as a warning, “If you are chosen you will serve the best you can. That is all that it asked of you.”
	Then, against my better judgment, I lean in and say, “A woman has not been chosen in a decade, you are safe.”
	I hear her sigh in relief. We all know the statistics, but I’m sure it helped her to hear it in a voice other than the one inside her head.
	Essence is a strong name, or so I’m told. Sometimes I feel like it’s such a mouthful. Not as bad as Cassius though, and for that I am eternally grateful. My head hurts from the up do I insisted on, and as I hear the roar go up for the Parcel guard I take it down, letting my straight white blonde hair fall all the way to my waist. I hear a sigh of envy from Cami, whose curly hair looks chronically unkempt. I stick all the clips and pins in the pocket of my robe (Archaic right? Traditions, what can you do) as I walk out of the tunnel into the blinding spotlights that light up the platform we are to stand on.
	Last to come through is last years Chosen, Dimitri, a boy from Parcel 16 (out of twenty, fun fact). A roar goes up for him and his spider creature, the first of its kind in 15 years.
	The spiders can climb walls while keeping their Chosen in place. They are also ridiculously fast, and their webs are thin enough to go undetected but strong enough to be practically inescapable. The facts help me relax as Dimitri makes a final lap around the arena and comes to center stage. The introductory speech is as rehearsed, and then our names are called.
	We are to walk up to the egg of the creature, place a hand over it, stand for a minute, and then step back. If the egg moves it is yours; you are the Chosen.
	Peter, Spencer, Calum, Ricktor, called in order by seniority. Nothing happens, and I see some disappointment and some relief, both reactions are to be expected. Next is Cassius, at the end of the line, as is his place. I can feel the room hold their breath. Everyone believes that Cassius will be the next Chosen. Our Parcel has not been Chosen in thirteen years, and while we are told that this does not reflect on our worth, we feel we are clearly behind.
	Fifteen seconds pass, then twenty, then thirty. Everyone is on edge waiting for the creature inside to sense its Chosen near. Fifty-five seconds, nothing. Then, the tiny bell rings, and all our hopes are dashed. We will not be graced this year with the Chosen.
	The girls’ names are now called, only because of formality. Women are rarely Chosen, but because it has happened in the past we must be given the full minute allotted to the boys. This is one of the only points at which we are equals.
	Mary, Beth, Elizabeth, and then Essence. I step up to the alter where the egg rests. It is a beautiful one this year, cream with lines of deep purple and red, making me hope that we will be seeing a baby dragon soar over the sky on our monitors later, when the Chosen is found.
I dutifully place my hand the designated three inches above the egg, ready to get my minute over with so that Cami can go and we can get on with our duties. Thirty seconds passes in the blink of an eye, then twenty more. I stare straight ahead, feeling relief as my minute comes to an end.
Then we hear it, it resounds through the arena as though to make sure it is heard. CRACK, it screeches at me. I look down to see a faint spider web of a line down the center of the rocking egg. The silence is deafening as I watch the egg. The bell rings, and the silence is still overwhelming.
Then my people erupt. “She has been chosen!” and “A woman has finally been blessed!” can be heard from a number of voices. My classmates and teachers are silent. And then I hear them sing, and it is a song I never expected to hear.

Chosen ones are brave and bold
Leading us to futures yet untold
Shout praises to the highest legions
Our Chosen will bring us home

As the verse ends Dimitri comes as my savior. “Silence,” he says in a voice of power. “We have been truly blessed today in Parcel Two, Essence has been chosen.” Then, like clockwork, and exactly as I have rehearsed out of obligation for months, I for the first time lay my hands on the egg. Is this real, I’m not sure yet, even as I pick up the most precious possession I will ever receive. I walk forward and stand next to Dimitri, then hold the beautiful egg above my head, as is custom. I realized I haven’t exhaled since I laid my hands on the egg.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I won’t bore you with the specific details of what must be done when a Chosen is found, but I will tell you I never stumbled once. I was perfect, no mistakes in execution.
My teachers kept their faces straight, and so did the students, until the ceremony ended. Then my teachers each come up and told me they were proud of me. I also received some looks of awe. The first female in a decade, twin sister to the preferred candidate. Once the formalities were done, I had to speak to the cameras. I was uncomfortable without a set statement but made it as precise as possible in my current state of shock.
“How are you feeling Essence?” I was asked. The expectant camera crew nodded their encouragement as I contemplated.
“I feel overjoyed. I am the first Chosen from Parcel 2 in thirteen years and the first female in a decade. I am proud to be worthy.” And with that, I was sent home to prepare for an in depth interview about myself in the morning. The entire country wants to know about me. I am Chosen.
I arrive home to and go to my room, where I know an incubator will be waiting. I nestle my creature egg into the bundle and exhale. The tiny crack has gotten bigger, and I cannot for the life of me remember the length of time I may have to wait before my creature will hatch. It varies, but the statistics are slipping and reality is setting in. I am the Chosen, this creature is mine, and I will be a warrior.
We are at constant war with the rest of the world. Their knowledge of the creatures roaming their deserts and forests is minimal and they envy us for our Chosen. They want to know how we do it, and though historically we have tried to explain, they can never find a chosen amongst themselves. So a never-ending war wages, one hundred and thirty nine years and still going strong. Many believe other countries do not even know the reason we fight anymore. Chosen are sent to the most dangerous areas to be of assistance and many countries just aren’t dangerous anymore. One country, known to us only as Confederacy of Tongues, has not seen combat with us in over 100 years. They still threaten us and cut us of from trade with our allies from time to time but never something enough to risk Chosen.
Our Sovereign Princess chooses when the Chosen will go next. We have never been defeated. To me it seems like the other countries would just stop fighting, they always lose against the Chosen, but the war rages on.
I walk out of my bedroom and hear Cassius on his communicator complaining to Calum. “Essence can’t do it, she isn’t prepared.” His words burn at my throat. Maybe he doesn’t realize that I was rooting for him too. I didn’t want this. But now I’m “blessed” and there isn’t any going back. I did not choose this, my creature chose. Tears spill over as I pass his room to speak with my mother. My father is making arrangement for my transport when the time comes. He will probably go to the only restaurant in town that serves liquor to numb his feelings after that. He was the only one not hoping either of his children would be chosen. He, of course, never said this to us, but we could feel it. He didn’t want us to go.
“Hi mom,” I say as I enter the kitchen, where my mom is putting together trays of food.
“Essence, darling, did you get your egg settled in? How are you feeling?” my mother is still hard at work. She knows her place, as did I until just before sunset.
“Honestly?” I begin playing with my hair. Braiding and undoing the mile long hair I have grown accustomed to. “I don’t know how I am feeling, I think I’m still in shock.”
My mother’s laughter fills the kitchen as she prepares the last trays for our late night guests. This is the latest we will have guest ever. But we must honor last years Chosen by welcoming him into our home; it’s tradition.
“You will a wonderful warrior, Essence. Even if no one can see it, I do.”
I help my mother set the trays out on the dining room table. All of my favorites are here. Delicate pastries with flaky crusts, meats fried and baked, and even a pie. I don’t know how my mom pulled it together, but she always does.
I wander back to my room and try to sing in my head to avoid my brother venting to his friends. As I walk in, I look down at my precious treasure. My little one must be restless. The blankets are no longer snug and a few more cracks have appeared. I hope this is normal, but I’m sure it is.
I nestle the egg in snuggly again and wheel the incubator to our living room, where our guests will be arriving shortly. I watch the beautiful egg’s slight shaking while I wait. I know I need to be the one to answer the door. Mesmerizing cracks are splayed across the visible portion of my egg.
I’m not listening and I finally hear the knock around the third time. I quickly get up, careful not to disturb the incubator. I open the door and lay my eyes on the Chosen that is Dimitri.  He’s cute, rugged in his leather jacket and jeans. He looked better in his suit, but hey, who wouldn’t. His brow hair curls over his brow in an incredibly sexy way and for a minute I just stare.
“Welcome to my home,” I manage to choke out as he step over the threshold. I lead him to the kitchen where my mom has just finished dimming the lights and lighting candles. Dimitri has been quiet, but when he sees the food his stomach growls audibly.
“Eat, don’t let anything go to waste. Would you like something to drink? Wine, beer, juice, water?” My mother is a great hostess, making sure all her guests are comfortable. That is one art I have not mastered.
“Water will be fine,” Dimitri replies, grabbing for a baked lamb pie. His voice feels like velvet on my skin. His smile creates a dimple in his cheek on the left side. Score points for the hot Chosen.
Cassius comes in and plops down on a chair, not in the proper spirit of guests. I can tell he is still fuming, but I don’t understand how he could forget the things so grilled into us. His greeting to Dimitri is brief. I know he is waiting for what will come; the explanation of my duties. I am scared but also relieved. I want to, no need to, know more about what will be expected of my creature and me.
Dimitri clears his throat, and directs his attention to me. “Essence, you have been blessed. You have been Chosen, and your name will be known throughout Ambrosia. Your creature made an interesting choice today and many are curious about what it will be. As you know, the last female chosen was a decade ago. We are truly honored to have you among our brotherhood.” His words are rehearsed, but that’s okay, they are what I need to hear.
“You will be taken to the training house once your creature has hatched. There you will learn everything there is to know about your duties and the abilities of your creature. We know you are very talented, and we know you are blessed. Our Sovereign Princess is excited to welcome such a smart, talented woman into our ranks.”
I’m momentarily forgot to breathe. “Thank you, Chosen,” my mother interjects for me. We then sit to eat. Though all my favorites are displayed, it is hard to eat. I’m starving, but I barely taste anything that lands into my knotted stomach. Dad still isn’t home, even as Dimitri is heading toward the door, thanking us for the meal.
His foot is out the door before he turns around to hand me a crumpled envelope. “From the Sovereign Princess,” was the last words he said to me.

----------------------

Chosen,
 Blessings! I am so honored to have you join the ranks of my elite warriors. Whether you are male or female, know that you were chosen for a reason. Creatures never make a mistake in their choosing and they are the most loyal friends you can hope to attain. Be strong, Chosen, much secrecy will be asked of you in the coming months. Be watchful of your egg, it is your most precious possession. Never help your creature hatch; it will free itself. Hug your parents and fill a photo album. Know that you are loved and your second family is ready to greet you.
						Princess Calliope

title: FN: Chosen: Part one

question: Explain why the narrator did not want to become warrior.

answer: Essence is unlikely to be chosen as warrior since it has been thirteen years since her parcel has been selected and ten years since a female had been chosen. She does not want the honor because the chosen one would be displayed in front of thousands. It would be broadcasted for everyone to see and how she acts could affect her future courtships and career paths. Essence could never admit not wanting the honor of being the chosen one for the warrior position but is ultimately selected.


text:
Gary left the house at six am on Wednesday; headed out to endure another long workday. After he walked through the yard to the driveway, he made sure to latch the gate securely, because that’s what Sarah liked. He smiled as he did so, and thought of how earlier, he had closed the shower curtain all the way (another Sarah preference), and gently lowered the toilet seat. Twenty four hours earlier, they had been feuding; and he deliberately did none of these things; just to piss her off!  As he climbed into his car for his daily sucky commute up Route 128 to Route 93; into Boston, he was filled with regret and chuckled at the pettiness of his previous day’s actions. After all; how hard was it to accommodate several very minor quirks of his wife of fifteen years?

That morning, he had been awakened by Sarah gently kissing around his ear, nuzzling against his back, softly stroking his shoulders. This was in stark contrast to the previous three nights; when she had seemed to build an invisible wall between them. Sarah was an expert at staying on her “side”. No inadvertent touching during the night; not even a slight brush of the leg or a stray rollover. Her version of a cold shoulder was more like a frozen cadaver.

Her affections this morning, were surely a signal that an olive branch had been extended; and a peace treaty had been declared. The latest “war of the Floyds”; a seventy two hour skirmish; had ended.

The latest battle had been initiated on Saturday night; a dinner outing with their best friends. After several before and after cocktails;  Sarah, in response to what Gary felt was a very innocuous comment about Sarah’s weight gain over the past ten years, had flipped Gary “the bird”.  While Gary waited in traffic to access the on ramp to 128, he conjured up the incident in his brain. He mused about the fury that could be unleashed by a simple injudicious observation; but he also felt ashamed of his immature pouting and anger in response to such a mundane gesture as a raised middle finger.

Sarah and Gary were complete opposites. Sarah loved to go to the mall and shop for hours. Gary detested the thought of entering even one store. Sarah hated watching sports, Gary loved all sports. Sarah was fastidious, she cleaned and scrubbed meticulously. Gary was a slob; who would often ask Sarah to “give it a break, the house is clean enough”; (especially when she vacuumed the living room while he was watching a football game).

Gary inched onto Route 93 South, and switched from sports talk to a Sirius 70s radio station. The subscription to Sirius had been a birthday gift from Sarah. Gary had told her that it was an unnecessary expense; there were plenty of free radio stations, but Sarah insisted. Gary had come to love the non-stop oldies from the 60s and 70s. Steppenwolf blasted from the speakers, and he howled in unison when they belted out the refrain; “Born to be Willlllllllllllllllld”, and for a moment. envisioned himself a single dude; no wife, no twelve year old son (Steven), no boring nine-to-five job, no responsibilities, no hassles!

He clicked the stereo radio control on the steering wheel and jumped back to the 60s station, ironically, to The Monkees’ sweet ballad, “I Want to be Free”.  This only reinforced his thirst for liberation and his distaste for married life. He was sick of the petty arguments and all the compromises that he made for family. Hell, his weekly night out with the guys had been reduced lately to monthly night out!

All day long, while Gary answered EMails, juggled spreadsheets, and performed his daily office tasks, a yearning stirred within him to be rid of all the shackles that he had placed upon himself. He daydreamed about quitting his well paying but stressful job and become a full-time bartender; hang out all day drinking beer and watching sporting events.  As this lovely picture played out in his mind, the phone on his desk beeped; and the caller ID readout revealed that Sarah was on the line.

Gary picked up the receiver, and told Sarah, “We need to talk”.

“Yes”, Sarah replied softly.

Before he could say anything else, Sarah apologized for the three day freezeout. She also informed Gary that she had arranged a sleepover that night at the neighbor’s for Steven; and that she would be making Gary’s favorite dinner: fresh sliced fries and baked filet mignon with butter, mushrooms, and onion ring.  Dessert was to be decided upon later, by Gary!

For the balance of the day; Gary’s fantasies swerved in a different direction. His aspiration to live the single life dissipated. and the longing that he previously experienced was replaced by a sense of appreciation for Sarah’s humility, caring and tenderness. His thoughts about separation reverted to anticipation of their approaching union. He regretted the joking remark he made that had kicked off their most recent tiff. He knew his wife was super-sensitive about her body image, and would not be pleased with his attempt at humor.

The drive home featured unusually clear sailing on the highways. As Gary rounded the corner and turned onto his street, one of his favorite Bob Seger songs came on the radio: “Beautiful Loser”. He chortled at the lyrics:

“He wants his home and security ………… He wants to live like a sailor at sea”.

As he mulled the sentiment, a rueful smile came upon his face. He reached for the kitchen doorknob, but Sarah swung it open before he had a chance to push. She jumped into his arms.

“How was your day, baby?”

“I love you, Sarah.”

title: [HM] - Gary & Sarah

question: Who are the main characters in this story?

answer: Gary and Sarah are the two main characters in this story.

question: What genre would this short story be classified under?

answer: This short story would be classified as fiction.

question: Describe Gary and Sarah's relationship.

answer: Gary and Sarah were complete opposites, they had opposite personalities and habits.

question: How would you describe Gary's feelings towards Sarah after she apologized to him?

answer: Gary immediately melted and the questions he had about separating dissolved. He needed the closure and emotional attachment from Sarah, which he received.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This story is about Sarah and Gary and how they navigate their relationship with being polar opposites of each other.


text:
It’s quite likely that when you google Podgorica, the search engine won't return “The World’s Most Exciting City”. However, you do have to empathise with Podgorica. It’s difficult to compete with the tall mountain peaks in the north and the warm Adriatic sea in the south, which is what most visitors travelling to Montenegro set out to see.

The Montenegrin capital is a city well worth exploring though, and as a local who has lived here for over 5 years now,  I can wholeheartedly recommend these 11 things to do in Podgorica.

1. Grab a Selfie on Skaline

[things to do in Podgorica skaline]

One of the most popular city centre hang-outs for locals

Skaline is an historical site that today is one of the most popular city centre hang-outs for locals. Back when Montenegro was occupied by the Ottoman Empire, Skaline was famous for its impressive fortress. Today, you can still see remnants of the Ottoman era - a bridge that connects the old part of the city with the new, modern side of Podgorica.

P.S. A little known fact is that the French army built a radio station here during World War I, which was supposed to connect Bosfor with Paris but the work was never completed. These days it’s an interesting ruin for you to discover.

2. Go to Gorica for Some Adventure

[Things to do in Podgorica Gorica]

Gorica is an absolute favourite with locals

The name Podgorica consists of the word “pod” which means ‘under’ and ‘Gorica’, which is the name of the hill, so you might say it’s a pretty important place.

Gorica is an absolute favourite with locals – there’s a Mediterranean garden at the entrance, adventure park in the middle and great viewpoint on the top of the hill, accessible, through a hiking trail.

There are two coffee shops, one at the entrance and the other next to the adventure park, both are great stops for catching your breath and taking a moment to appreciate the nature all around you.

3. Visit the Donkey Farm in Martinici

[Things to do in Podgorica Donkey farm in Martinici]

Donkey farm in Martinici

When I was young,  donkeys were a common sight in Montenegro. However, according to Darko, who runs the donkey farm in Martinici village, donkeys are becoming increasingly endangered.

The purpose of the farm is to preserve Montenegro's donkeys, educate people on animal care, and protect their environment, which is self-sustainable and runs on solar energy. The entry fee to the farm is 1 kg of apples or carrots per visitor. Plans are already in place to set up the first donkey museum in Montenegro.

4. Chill at King Nicola’s Residency / Contemporary Art Museum and Park

[Things to do in Podgorica King Nicola’s residency]

A contemporary art museum in a royal setting

Surrounded by a wonderful park, this castle used to be the winter residency of King Nicola, one of the well known Montenegrin rulers. Today, it’s a contemporary art museum that hosts various prestigious exhibitions. Take a walk  around the museum and appreciate its majestic features.

5. Party on Bokeska Street

[Things to do in Podgorica Bokeska Street]

Podgorica's party street

Also known as the party street, Bokeska Street is where the nightlife is the most vibrant on the weekends. From relaxing jazz to intense techno and Balkan folk, there’s a pub on this street that fits everyone’s music taste. And yeah, it’s quite cheap - you’ll get a pint of beer for 1.60 €.

6. Have a Farm to Fork Dinner

[Things to do in Podgorica Dinner]

Find the best local food in Podgorica's villages

The best local food in Podgorica can be found in the villages. That’s why farm to fork dinners are beginning to pop up around Podgorica. Sitting down to an amazing traditional meal is the best way to get a taste of the organic produce of the area.

7. Have a Picnic on One of the Beaches on Moraca River

[Things to do in Podgorica Plaza Momisici]

Plaza Momisici

Moraca is the longest river that runs through Podgorica and features nine architecturally different bridges. Millenium Bridge is considered one of the landmarks of the city. For a relaxing afternoon, pack a picnic and head to Momisici beach to enjoy lunch with a great view.

8. Hike up the Zabljak Crnojevica Fortress

[Things to do in Podgorica Zabljak Crnojevica Fortress]

Zabljak Crnojevica Fortress

This man-made fortress is found on the beautiful small _island_ on the Moraca river delta, an historically important cultural and economic trade centre of medieval Montenegro.

At Zabljak Crnojevica you can see the different influences on the architecture of the buildings, ranging from Venetian to Oriental.

9. Visit the Illyrian and Roman Ruins

[Things to do in Podgorica Medun Fortress]

Medun Fortress

Initially built as a stronghold, Medun was an Illyrian settlement dating back to the 4th century B.C. It was also the home of one of Montenegro's greatest heroes - Marko Miljanov, a soldier and poet known for his moral standards and honesty.

A hike to the top of the fortress will reward you with a beautiful view and, afterwards, you can browse through the small national museum.

Duklja was a Roman settlement, and according to legend it takes its name from the Roman emperor Diocletian who was born there. It was one of the most important Roman settlements in the Balkans with over 40.000 inhabitants.

10. Wine Tasting in the Skadar Lake Area

[Things to do in Podgorica Skadar Lake]

Skadar Lake

Some of the best wine in Montenegro is produced in the Skadar Lake area, which is the largest lake in the Balkans as well as the biggest national park in Montenegro. There are trains from Podgorica central station almost every hour. It costs 1 euro to get to Virpazar, the main town on the lake.

Explore the historic village of Godinje, do some boating and kayaking, and finish off with a nice glass of wine at sunset.

11. Visit Niagara Falls (kind of)

[Things to do in Podgorica Niagara Falls]

Podgorica has its very own Niagara Falls

Podgorica has its very own Niagara falls, situated in the canyon of Cijevna river. In the 19th and 20th century this canyon marked the natural border with Ottoman empire and today it’s a popular recreational area for locals.

Flights to Podgorica

- Jovan Radnic

question: What did the Ottoman's leave behind in Skaline?

answer: A bridge that connects the old city with the new.

question: What does the name Podgorica mean?

answer: It means under the hill.

question: How much will you pay to visit the donkey farm?

answer: A kilogram of carrots or apples for each person in your group.

question: What is the claim to fame of the Skadar Lake area?

answer: It is on the banks of the largest lake in the Balkans. It is home to Montenegro's largest national park and the vintners in the area make some of the best wines.