text:
NEIL R. PORTNOW is an American music industry executive who served as the chairman and CEO of The Recording Academy and MusiCares from 2002 to 2019. Prior to that, Portnow was the vice-president of the West Coast division of Jive Records and Arista Records.

Early career and education

Portnow grew up in Great Neck, New York. He played the bass guitar in a high school rock band, The Savages,[1] who released a 45 rpm record “Cheating on me”/“Best thing you ever had”[2] on Red Fox Records. The record did not achieve serious commercial success, but was included in a compilation of garage bands.[3]

Portnow graduated from The George Washington University in 1971, where he served as president of the GW Student Association.[4]

Later in 1971, he formed his own firm, Portnow-Miller Company, Inc., where he served as president. His client list included RCA Records, The Entertainment Company, Babylon Records, and Playboy Records. Portnow's services incorporated radio promotion, marketing and creative services, music publishing, and record production.

The Screen Gems Publishing Group, later acquired by EMI, named him manager of talent acquisitions and development in 1972. He established the record production division for the company, working with producers, arrangers, musicians, and songs from writer/artists including Fleetwood Mac, Carole King, Melissa Manchester, and Cat Stevens. Portnow also negotiated domestic and international agreements in both the recording and music publishing areas.

A staff producer for RCA Records, Portnow was promoted to the post of executive producer in 1977. He was transferred from New York to West Coast operations in the newly created position of division vice president, artist and repertoire. He was responsible for negotiations that included a distribution arrangement for Elton John's Rocket Records.

In April 1979, he became the senior vice president for 20th Century Fox Records, and was promoted to President the following January. During Portnow's tenure the organization delivered three gold albums and a gold single from Grammy Stephanie Mills.

In March 1982, Portnow was named vice president, artists and repertoire, West Coast for Arista Records by Clive Davis. As the principal West Coast executive, he was responsible for all West Coast activity and he functioned as general manager for the company. He also worked on Whitney Houston's debut album in addition to projects involving acts such as Barry Manilow, Billy Ocean, the Thompson Twins, and Dionne Warwick.

In February of 1985, Portnow was appointed vice president, artists and repertoire, for EMI America Records where he was responsible for all A&R activity worldwide. In addition to supervising all new artist acquisitions, Portnow worked with artists including David Bowie, Sheena Easton, Corey Hart, Nona Hendryx, and Evelyn "Champagne" King. He helped establish a black music department, played a role in the signing of superstar Robert Palmer, and brought platinum and gold album recording artists Pet Shop Boys and Najee to the company.

In 1987, he was named music supervisor for Frank Mancuso Jr.'s production of Permanent Record for Paramount Pictures. Music from the film was on the Epic Records soundtrack album, which included the first film underscore as well as songs by Joe Strummer. Throughout his career, Portnow has been involved in many soundtrack projects, including Ghostbusters, 9 To 5, The Stunt Man, The World's Greatest Lover, and the 1986 hit About Last Night.

Jive Records

Portnow moved in 1989 to Jive Records, where he oversaw the expansion of their West Coast operation. In this position, he played a small role in the careers of known acts of the late 1990s and early 2000s, including Britney Spears, NSYNC, and R. Kelly. He worked alongside Jive's president Clive Calder who ran Jive's parent company, the Zomba Label Group.

President of the Recording Academy

[Portnow (to the left of US President Donald Trump) as the Music Modernization Act is signed into law in 2018]

In November 2002, Portnow became the president of the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences (NARAS) (also known as The Recording Academy) – replacing C. Michael Greene, who served as president from 1988 to 2002.[5][6] At the 45th Annual Grammy Awards, he made his first Grammy night address as president. He was named President/CEO in September 2007.

Portnow led efforts to help musicians affected by Hurricane Katrina through the Academy's MusiCares Foundation.[7] He has also played a significant role in the digital music revolution, lobbying on Capitol Hill regarding artist compensation rights, particularly with regard to the Performance Rights Act, which requires artists to be paid for airplay on the radio. During the 51st Annual Grammy Awards in 2009, Portnow spoke about the election of President Barack Obama and encouraged his administration to add a cabinet-level position for Secretary of the Arts.

In 2018, Neil Portnow announced he would step down at the end of his contract on July 31, 2019.

Grammy Museum and Foundation

As President/CEO, Portnow oversaw the 2008 opening of the Grammy Museum at L.A. Live in Los Angeles, as well as its three branches.[8] He also led the merger of the Grammy Museum and Grammy Foundation into the newly expanded Grammy Museum, which positions itself as offering the best of each organization's initiatives in preservation, education, exhibitions, and public programming.

MusiCares

Portnow has also served as President/CEO of MusiCares. During his tenure he launched MusiCares' 20th Anniversary Giving Campaign.[9] The campaign helped raise more than $12 million for the nonprofit organization, with the stated purpose of ensuring music people have a place to turn in times of financial, medical, and personal need.

Advocacy

Portnow is responsible for establishing an Advocacy & Government Relations department at the Recording Academy and increasing the organization's advocacy outreach. As an advocate for music people, he has managed strategic advocacy positions at the national, state, and local levels—both governmental and within music and its related industries. Under Portnow's leadership, the Advocacy department created Grammys on the Hill Advocacy Day as a companion to the Grammys on the Hill Awards event. Furthermore, in 2017, the Recording Academy's District Advocate day became the largest grassroots initiative for music in the nation under Portnow's direction. For the first time in history, music creators from all 50 states met with congressional offices in their home districts to discuss legislative issues affecting the music industry, including performance rights, copyright reform, and the impact of digital services.

In October 2018, Portnow was present at the White House for the signing of the Music Modernization Act. Portnow had been a vocal supporter of getting the bill passed and signed into law.[10]

60th Grammy Awards controversies

In May 2018, it was revealed that money intended for the Recording Academy charity MusiCares was siphoned off to pay for the cost overruns of hosting the 60th Annual Grammy Awards at New York City's Madison Square Garden.[11]

Concerning the controversies of hosting the 60th Annual Grammy Awards in New York, Dana Tomarken, the former Executive VP of the MusiCares foundation claimed wrongful termination. She alleges that she was fired for pushing back against the academy's “boys club”. She claimed that by having the MusiCares Person of the Year Tribute to Fleetwood Mac at Radio City Music Hall, the event had to forgo its traditional VIP dinner and silent auction. She had already been offered a deal to have the event at the Barclays Center in Brooklyn. The Barclays Center is owned by AEG, which competes directly with The Madison Square Garden Company which owns Madison Square Garden and Radio City. Irving Azoff who then had a joint venture with the Madison Square Garden Company told Tomarken that the event can't be held at the Barclays Center and instead had to be held at Radio City. Oak View Group which is associated with Azoff received 300 of the highest price tickets to the MusiCares event at Radio City. Oak View Group was supposed to sell them as a package deal which also included tickets to the Grammy Awards itself. MusiCares was promised to received $1.5 million from those tickets according to Dana Tomarken. Those 300 tickets were never sold and were then returned to MusiCares, which resulted in a loss.[12]

Portnow also came under heavy criticism at the 60th Grammy Awards for suggesting that women in the music industry need to “step up”. He later apologized for the statement saying that it was a poor choice of words.[13] The following year, Dua Lipa referred to Portnow's comments when she won the Grammy Award for Best New Artist.[14]

Sexual misconduct allegations

In January 2020 in the wake of the ouster of Portnow's replacement, Deborah Dugan, as the new president of the Recording Academy, the organization was accused of covering up an alleged sexual assault by Portnow of an artist after a Carnegie Hall concert, which Dugan cited as the reason for Portnow's departure.[15]

Philanthropy

Portnow sat on the 2018 executive board, Music & Entertainment Industry for the City of Hope, where he previously served a three-year term as President of the Music and Entertainment Industry chapter from 2000–2002, raising funds for the world-renowned cancer treatment and research center. In October 2003, the City Of Hope presented Portnow with its top philanthropy honor, the Spirit of Life Award, at a gala event that raised more than $2.3 million to benefit research and treatment efforts.[16]

Honors

In May 2017, Portnow was awarded an Honorary Doctorate of Music from Berklee College of Music.[17]

He was named the UJA-Federation of NY's Music Visionary of the Year at its annual luncheon in June 2014. Other honors include the George Washington University's Distinguished Alumni Achievement Award, and inclusion in Billboard magazine's Power 100 and the Variety500 industry lists.

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6] Bernard Weinraub, “Recording Executive Will Lead Group That Runs the Grammys”, New York Times, October 2, 2002

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10] https://www.grammy.com/advocacy/news/music-modernization-act-signed-law-president-trump

[11]

[12] Was the Grammys ‘boys club’ behind the firing of two women at its charity?

[13] https://variety.com/2018/music/news/grammys-so-male-women-recording-academy-president-neil-portnow-1202679902/

[14] https://www.elle.com/culture/celebrities/a26280248/dua-lipa-grammy-president-neil-portnow/

[15] https://www.yahoo.com/amphtml/entertainment/former-recording-academy-chief-neil-221356974.html

[16]

[17]

title: Neil Portnow

question: What does the article say about politics?

answer: Portnow played a significant role in lobbying on Capitol Hill for artist compensation rights, particularly with regard to the Performance Rights Act. He also spoke about the election of Barack Obama and encouraged his administration to add a position for Secretary of the Arts. He established an Advocacy and Government Relations department at the Recording academy. He was present at the White House for the signing of the Music Modernization Act, of which he was a vocal supporter.

question: What does the article say about Neil Portnow's controversies?

answer: In May 2018, it came to light that money intended for the Recording Academy charity MusiCares was siphoned off to pay for the cost overrunes of hosting the 60th Annual Grammy Awards. Portnow also came under criticism for suggesting that women in the music industry needed to "step up". In 2020, the Recording Academy was accused of covering up an alleged sexual assault by Portnow of an artist.

question: What does the article say about Neil Portnow's recording career?

answer: Portnow played bass guitar in the band The Savages, who released a 45 rpm record on Red Fox Records.


split: test

text:
SVEN ERIC GAMSKY, also known under the stage name STILL WOOZY, is an American singer/songwriter from Oakland, California.[1][2] His music is released through the record label Still Woozy Productions Inc., under exclusive license to Interscope Records.[3] Gamsky grew up in Moraga, California, in the San Francisco Bay Area. He began recording his own music at the age of 13.[4]

NME has described his style as “psychedelic bedroom-pop”,[5] while _IQ_ sees it as “genre-bending”.[6]

Early life

Sven Gamsky was born on June 23, 1992, in Oakland, California, and grew up in Moraga, California. He is the youngest of three sons born to Dr. Tom and Berit (Fuglsang) Gamsky, and has two older brothers, Nate and Sam.[7] Sven started playing the guitar when he was in middle school.

All three of the Gamsky brothers became Eagle Scouts. Sven was a part of Moraga Boy Scout Troop 212, in which his service project toward becoming an Eagle Scout involved remodeling a garden area at Donald L. Rheem Elementary School in Moraga. The East Bay Times reported in 2010 upon his achievement of Eagle Scout that “Sven plans to travel and volunteer after high school, and eventually study psychology in college.”[8]

Sven Gamsky attended Campolindo High School in Moraga, graduating in 2010. While in high school, he played guitar and bass in the band “Shoot for Roots”, a band he created with fellow bandmates and classmates Cole Leksan and Jack Morris. At the beginning of their senior year, “Shoot for Roots” won a Battle of the Bands competition hosted by the Lamorinda Teen Center. They had initially come to a tie with a band called IceBox Business from rival high school, Miramonte High School, but fans from Campolindo High broke the tie by cheering louder for Gamsky's band with a recording of 116 decibels.[9]

Career

After high school, Gamsky earned money by teaching guitar in the Oakland area and playing with the band Feed Me Jack at jazz clubs, festivals, and orchestra halls. He graduated from University of California, Santa Cruz in 2015, majoring in music with a classical guitar emphasis, and minoring in electronic music.[10]

From 2011 to 2016, Gamsky was in the alternative rock/math rock band Feed Me Jack, [11][12] which released four albums before disbanding, on good terms, in 2016 for members to individually pursue their careers in music. [13][14] The following year Gamsky released a single, “Cooks”, under the stage name Still Woozy,[15][16] stating that he chose the name because of his spaced-out nature.[17] As Still Woozy, Gamsky has released an EP and several singles,[18] for which Ami Cooks created the album covers, and four music videos, the first of which was released in 2017.[19][20] Gamsky prefers to release music as soon as possible and will sometimes release a song on the same day he has finished making it.[21]

A 2020 tour, which would have had 31 performances starting in May and ending in September, was postponed due to the COVID-19 pandemic.[22]

Discography

With Feed Me Jack

-   _Chumpfrey_ (2012)
-   _Anatolia_ (2013)
-   _Covers_ (2015)
-   _Ultra Ego_ (2016)

As Still Woozy

-   _Lately_ EP (2019)

Singles

-   “Vacation” (2017)
-   “Cooks” (2017)
-   “Wolfcat” (2017)
-   “Goodie Bag” (2017)
-   “Lucy” (2018)
-   “Habit” (2019)[23]
-   “Window” (2020)[24][25]
-   “BS” (2020)[26]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7] https://www.eastbaytimes.com/2008/05/01/10-in-boy-scout-troop-212-receive-eagle-awards/

[8] https://www.eastbaytimes.com/2009/05/28/four-moraga-scouts-are-now-eagles/

[9] http://www.lamorindaweekly.com/archive/issue0315/Battle-of-the-Bands.html

[10] https://takelessons.com/profile/sven-g

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18]

[19]

[20]

[21]

[22]

[23]

[24]

[25]

[26]

title: Still Woozy

question: Why does Still Woozy (Gamsky) release his music as soon as possible?

answer:
Sven Gamsky is an American singer-songwriter performing under the stage name of Still Woozy. Gamsky started recording his own music at the age of 13, playing guitar for "Shoot for Roots", a band he created with his classmates.  After high school Gamsky taught guitar lessons for money and also played with a band called Feed Me Jack from 2011 to 2016.

In 2016, Gamsky and the band split up to pursue individual music careers. After the split, Gamsky styled himself as Still Woozy and started making records under that name.

Gamsky is known to releasing his records as soon as he makes them. The reason for this might be tied to his stage name, Still Woozy, a name he recalled choosing because of his spaced-out nature. This might have a hand in not wanting to hold on to newly-released works for too long, releasing them so he can work on other stuff.


text:
I just sat there wondering, with my loud thoughts as my companion about all sort of things.
I looked at the people passing me by and like I only now realized that they are real persons my detachment from reality my time spent in front of a computer screen or in between pages of a book,
Made me forget that there are all sort of people, that these people have thoughts families friends happy and sad moments that each one is the hero, the main character of his own life.
I realized I'm not special.
We humans assume we are special we are chosen, but in fact we are not, we are just another species populating this planet of ours.
And as a fellow human I often thought I'm special, that my needs should be given high priority.
It's funny when you realize this, when you realize no one is owing you anything, when you look back at all your past encounters and think if your arrogance was why they were doomed from the beginning.
==The day My headphones broke==

title: [NF]A passing thought

question: Who was the narrator's companion?

answer: Her thoughts

question: From the narrator's perspective, what are humans?

answer: Another species populating the planet.

question: What did the narrator think about herself?

answer: She thought she was special.

question: What happened on the day the narrator thought these thoughts?

answer: Her headphones broke.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator is contemplating on the idea that she is not special and that in this life no one owes anything to anyone.


text:
GEORGE CHAMBERLIN CHAHOON (February 2, 1840 – July 29, 1934) was an American politician from Virginia and New York. He was Mayor of Richmond, Virginia, from 1868 to 1870, and a Republican member of the New York State Senate from 1896 to 1900.[1]

Early and family life

Chahoon was born in Sherburne, New York to building contractor John Chahoon and his wife, the former Temperance Jameson. His family moved to Virginia not long after he was born. He grew up in Botetourt County and received a private education, and may have begun reading law. By 1863, Chahoon worked in Washington, D.C., as a clerk in the Treasury Department.[2]

On September 24, 1867, Chahoon married Mary Jane Rogers of Black Brook, Clinton County, New York, about 15 miles south of Plattsburgh, New York. They had two sons and one daughter before her death on November 27, 1887. Chahoon remarried, but his second wife Christiana Van Allen died on August 1, 1903.[3]

Virginia career

By 1864, Chahoon was in Norfolk and practicing law. He moved to Elizabeth City County and won election as commonwealth's attorney in 1865. He became leader of Williamsburg's Republican party after the Civil War. In late 1866, during Congressional Reconstruction Chahoon moved to the state capitol, Richmond, and U.S. District Judge John C. Underwood appointed him a federal commissioner. In July, Chahoon won the local Republican party's nomination as city attorney, although Virginia law at the time forbad any federal official from holding a municipal office.[4]

Nonetheless, John M. Schofield, Virginia's military commander, deposed long-time city attorney turned mayor Joseph C. Mayo (whom voters had re-elected despite his being removed in July, 1865), and on May 6, 1868 appointed Chahoon mayor of Richmond. After he took office on May 6, 1868, Chahoon began purging city government of former Confederates. In another controversial move, he fired ten white police officers and created a special 25-man black police force, with former Confederate NCO Benjamin Scott (a black man) as their chief. Mayor Chahoon also required tavernkeepers to post their licenses, hired lamplighters to do that duty (formerly performed by policemen) and sought a stiffer dog ordinance—all of which proved controversial.[5]

Richmond's Municipal War

After Schofield's departure to become U.S. Secretary of War under President Andrew Johnson, and Reconstruction ended in Virginia after voters approved a new state constitution (but not certain anti-Confederate provisions), the new Virginia General Assembly passed a law allowing the newly elected governor, Gilbert C. Walker, to appoint members of the Richmond city council. He only reappointed three Republicans, and the new Conservative-dominated Council chose publisher Henry K. Ellyson to become the city's mayor on March 16, 1870. Chahoon and some of his Republican allies, including the police commissioner Poe, refused to leave office. For about two months, Richmond had two mayors and two police forces. Ellyson's supporters besieged Chahoon and his allies, who had barricaded themselves in the main police station, until they were rescued by federal troops sent by General Edward Canby, only to take over another police station. In separate skirmishes, one black Republican and one German Catholic deputy (both never named in published accounts) were killed. Governor Walker formally contested the federal action. Chahoon and Ellyson also wanted courts to decide which was the legitimate administration. The federal judges (Underwood and the applicable circuit justice, Salmon P. Chase) deferred to the Virginia Supreme Court of Appeals.[6]

That court announced that it would render its opinion on April 27, 1870 in its upstairs courtroom within the Virginia State Capitol. The overcrowded gallery collapsed just before the judges entered, which caused the courtroom floor to collapse into the chamber of the House of Delegates below. Amidst the dust and chaos, initial estimates were that about 75 men had died and 500 more injured, among them Chahoon and Ellyson.[7] The appeals court ultimately ruled in Ellyson's favor two days later, but also set a new election for May.[8] Then the men carrying the ballots from pro-Chahoon Jackson Ward were robbed of those completed ballots, and the Conservative-dominated Board of Elections declared Ellyson the winner based on the other wards' countable ballots. However, Ellyson refused to continue in the circumstances, necessitating yet another election, which Chahoon lost to New-Jersey born former Confederate and publisher Anthony M. Kieley.[9]

Conservatives then sent Chahoon to prison on a forgery charge relating to real estate, after he was convicted by three juries (two verdicts having been overturned on appeal, and the third jury recommended clemency).[10][11] Governor Walker, a fellow native New Yorker, pardoned Chahoon on December 16, 1871, reputedly on the condition that he leave the Commonwealth.[12]

New York career and politics

Chahoon returned to upstate New York and eventually assume control of J & J Rogers Company, which his wife's father had founded and which prospered under Chahoon, who became its vice-president and later president.[13] He lived in Albany, Glen Falls and Au Sable, and was active in the Masons[14] as well as the state and national Republican parties. Chahoon also appreciated the area's nature, and published articles in Popular Science Magazine about the effects on the water supply of forest fires in 1878,[15] and about birds of the Adirondack Mountains in 1900.[16]

Voters in the 31st district (consisting of Clinton, Essex and Warren Counties) elected Chahoon to the New York State Senate twice. He served from 1896 to 1900 (a three-year and a two-year term), including on committees relating to Agriculture, Forests, fish and game, Railroads, and Trades and Manufactures. Thus he sat in the 119th, 120th, 121st, 122nd and 123rd New York State Legislatures. Chahoon also attended national Republican political conventions. He retired from electoral politics in 1900 but remained politically active until his death.

Death and legacy

Chahoon survived both his wives and died in Au Sable, Essex County, New York, on July 29, 1934. He was buried in Fairview cemetery, Black Brook, Clinton County, New York.[17] His son George Chahoon Jr. (1872-1951) moved to Quebec and became one of Canada's leading pulp manufacturers.

The Library of Virginia received some of mayor Chahoon's papers in 2013.[18] Records of the J&J Rogers Company, which started as an iron mining company and developed the Au Sable River valley, but which by 1888 under Chahoon's leadership had become a lumber and pulp company until it closed circa 1970, are held by the Plattsburgh State University library's special collections.[19]

Works

[1] Michael B. Chesson, George Chahoon, in Sara B. Bearss (ed), Dictionary of Virginia Biography (Library of Virginia 2006) vol. 3, pp. 137-138 , not available online as of Nov. 27, 2017

[2] Dictionary of Virginia Biography p. 137 doubts this man was any of the three men of the same name who enlisted in New York regiments during the American Civil War.

[3] Dictionary of Virginia Biography p. 138

[4] Dictionary of Virginia Biography p. 137

[5] Dictionary of Virginia Biography p. 137, citing Louis Bernard Cei, Law Enforcement in Richmond: a history of Police-Community Relations, 1737-1974 (Florida State University thesis 1975) and George L. Christian, The Capitol Disaster: a chapter of Reconstruction in Virginia (1915) pp. 11-12

[6] http://alyssatobyfahringer.com/clio2final/reconstruction/rebellion

[7] Virginius Dabney, Richmond: The Story of a City (New York, Doubleday and Company, Inc. 1976) p. 216

[8] Richmond Mayoralty Case, 60 VA. 673-719 (19 Grattan) (1871)

[9] Michael B. Chesson, Richmond after the War, 1865-1890 (Richmond: Virginia State Library 1981) pp.112-14 also notes the greater bloodshed in New Orleans and Memphis as conservatives also took power

[10] Chahoon v. Commonwealth, 61 VA. 733-799 (20 Grattan)(1871) and 62 VA 822-845 (21 Grattan)(1871)

[11] https://www.adirondackalmanack.com/2012/10/george-chahoon-reconscruction-era-carpetbagger.html

[12] Dabney pp. 217-218

[13]

[14] http://www.omdhs.syracusemasons.com/sites/default/files/history/Lodge_Histories_-_1908_Proceedings.pdf

[15] https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Popular_Science_Monthly/Volume_13/July_1878/Water-Supply_of_Rivers

[16] https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Popular_Science_Monthly/Volume_57/May_1900/The_Birds_of_the_Adirondacks

[17] https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/40240144/george-chahoon

[18] https://www.lva.virginia.gov/news/collections/AA-2014-2Q.pdf

[19] https://web.plattsburgh.edu/library/specialcollections/files/rogers.pdf

title: George Chahoon

question: What actions did Chahoon take as mayor of Richmond?

answer: He purged the city of former Confederates and fired ten white police officers. He replaced them with a 25 man black force. He made tavern makers post their licenses and hired lamplighters to do the job previously performed by policemen. He sought a stiffer dog ordinance.

question: Recount how Richmond ended up with two counsels.

answer: The Virginia General Assembly passed a law allowing the newly elected governor, Gilbert C. Walker, to appoint members of the Richmond city council. The new Conservative-dominated Council chose publisher Henry K. Ellyson to become the city's mayor on March 16, 1870. Chahoon and some of his Republican allies, including the police commissioner Poe, refused to leave office. For about two months, Richmond had two mayors and two police forces.

question: How was the standoff between the two mayors of Richmond resolved?

answer: Chahoon and Ellyson wanted courts to decide which was the legitimate administration. The federal judges deferred to the Virginia Supreme Court of Appeals. The appeals court ultimately ruled in Ellyson's favor, but also set a new election for May. Then the men carrying the ballots from pro-Chahoon Jackson Ward were robbed of those completed ballots, and the Conservative-dominated Board of Elections declared Ellyson the winner based on the other wards' countable ballots. Ellyson refused to continue in the circumstances, necessitating yet another election, which Chahoon lost to New-Jersey-born former Confederate and publisher Anthony M. Kieley.


text:
&#x200B;

I have no particular idea what would happen if I got caught with the items in my pocket, or hand. Whether the pale lighter and tube of eye drops was incriminating all depends on the warden. My father of course, may be suspicious. My step mother might also be suspicious, but mind you, my stepmother is capable of just as much total damage as my father is-.

What if I told you that they didn’t matter in the grand scheme of the bubble?

The lack luster task of smuggling drugs through your own house is a common theme, but I act as if I was darkness.

This has even gone beyond what I consider dark, and that's not a desirable feeling to swallow.

Oh, Head. I’ve become sidetracked.

Smuggling the cargo is as simple as 3 M’s. Minimum risk. Minimum Presence. Minimum Evidence.

They may sound simple but they are in fact extremely important to the success of your teen fueled tyranny. Minimum presence is a given. Be on your toes. Make sure not to turn on many lights, or grab or move things loudly. Although, the most significant factor to your success being sneaky, will always be how you read your own home. Thing make noise. Especially those fucking doors.

Creak just like their goddamn springs.

Things make noise. You cannot prevent these noises, because the only way to not make them, is to go the fuck back to sleep.

NO.

Not time to give up. Know your home. If it makes noise, and you can’t prevent it, like discussed above, make that action as quick and elegant as you can. Whip the door halfway, shimmy your bones. Once your in the hall, close it slightly enough that you can twist the knob, and slowly slip the door back into its frame.

Minimum risk is vital. Do not increase your risk for unnecessary purposes. That is a mistake that can, and will, lead to a 21st century shit show.

Risk is how much danger you are in at a certain time. For example, if you try and smoke a blunt out on the back porch at 6 PM, there is fair chance someone will see you, and you will get in trouble.

However, 1AM is different than 6PM. At the late hours of the night, the inherent chance of getting busted and broken by your father are much, much lower. Although there is risk associated with going out at 1 o’clock, it is microscopically smaller than at 6PM, or even 9PM. At  1AM, your father has been asleep for a substantial amount of his slumber, now 4 hours in. Most probably in REM sleep, and also not waking for a piss or drink of water, there is low chance that he will be even close to conscious. Not only will he be unconscious, it will give you a layer of pillowing to land on when you make your unavoidable noise.

Sound Asleep.

Now add in the door, and you’ve got a nice little opportunity to hurt yourself.

The final is your safety net. Minimizing the evidence against you, can save your life. Suppose he catches you. A fatal glimpse and wetness of the retina stops you in your tracks, and now your in danger.

Fuck.

Calibrate. What does he see? Lighter, drops in the pocket. Drugs in hand, but concealed in a dress. Nothing seems to happen. He doesn't notice. What if it's late?

Well, he’ll probably make you turn em’ out. The lighter is explainable. The eye drops harder, but possible. Pray he doesn't ask about the dress.

What if he catches in mouth, teeth out, or just spilling?

Well.

Go upstairs.

Don’t leave.

Till you get found I suppose.

title: [RF] Know Your Home.

question: What are the 3 M's, according to the narrator?

answer: The 3 M's are minimum risk, minimum presence, and minimum evidence.

question: What is the narrator trying to smuggle?

answer: The narrator is trying to smuggle drugs into their own house.

question: How old is the narrator?

answer: Not answered.

question: Does the narrator get caught?

answer: Unclear.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator describes the experience of smuggling drugs into their own home late at night, hoping to not get caught by their father.


text:
We all have those moments of utter brain freeze. You go to do something but your brain turns into a cabbage and you mess up the intended task to varying disastrous degrees. The most memorable time this happened to me was a few years back. I finished up on the toilet then threw my phone in the bog and stuck a wad of used tissue paper in my back pocket. I had to throw out the jeans and even when I finally managed to fish my phone out the toilet it was completely non-functional. So that was the worst one. But it happens. Every few days or so.

Last week, though, I heard about a friend of a friend – Mikey. He woke up, kissed his alarm clock and clapped his wife over the head. She was, of course, raging but Mikey hadn’t a clue what just happened. After frantically apologising, he got out of bed and went into the bathroom. He returned a few minutes later to his wife in the bedroom with white dried toothpaste spread throughout his hair and a blue sticky liquid in the gaps between his teeth. The day continued just like this. Mikey pissed in his Weetabix, poured milk down the toilet, told his boss he fancied her daughter and stubbed his cigarette out in his mother-in-law’s urn.

It reached the point where Mikey, the poor bastard, locked himself in his bedroom after he finished work and tried to shut out all possible occurrences of him making a hash of things. But he dreamt of it. He dreamt of making toast for spiders and crushing his daughter with his clenched fist. He couldn’t go on like that, if it continued the next day he’d seek professional help.

The next day came and Mikey was petrified to do anything. He pulled over his duvet then opened his curtains. Good start but these things are largely interchangeable. Next, he carefully opened the door and took the bins out. Again, easy stuff – but promising nonetheless. He returned to his bedroom and stuffed his wife’s face into a bowl of dog food then fucked his dog. Yes, everything truly was back to normal for Mikey.

title: [HM] Cabbagehead

question: What is this story about?

answer: A man who does all the wrong things.

question: What is the tension in this story?

answer: Whether Mikey will go seek therapy.

question: What happens at the end of the story?

answer: Mikey devolves to his old behavior.

question: Why is the title of the story Cabbagehead?

answer: It's about how your brain turns to a cabbage and you do the opposite of what you intend.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This story is about a man who continually does the opposite of what he meant to.


text:
S. T. SOMASHEKHAR is an Indian politician.He is Minister of Co-Operation in Yeddyurappa cabinet. He was elected to the Karnataka Legislative Assembly from Yeshvanthapura in the 2018 Karnataka Legislative Assembly election as a member of the Indian National Congress.[1][2][3][4] He later switched to the Bharatiya Janata Party and won the by-election in 2019.[5]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

title: S. T. Somashekhar

question: Who is S. T. Somashekhar?

answer: An Indian politician who serves as the Minister of Co-Operation in Yeddyurappa cabunet.

question: What is Somashekhar's nationality?

answer: Indian

question: When was Somashekhar born?

answer: That information can't be found.

question: Describe Somashekhar's personal life.

answer: His personal life is not described.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: S. T. Somashekhar is an Indian politician. He is aligned with the Bharatiya Janata Party and serves as the Minister of Co-Operation in Yeddyurappa cabinet.


text:
Hungry
John had time to kill, way early for his appointment. He needed to get out of the house; the replace that reminded him what he had done. He was reluctant to go, but he needed to figure it all out, he needed to work through the pain. He went inside the office building with giant-slow steps like he was picking up his feet out of the mud. Inside the grey-quaint office building was a small Art Gallery. Art and John had an interesting relationship. Nola, his rebel-lover who defied her parents by majoring in Art (reason they hate her) was the light of his life. Art was also the pain of the relationship, more the pain for Nola than John, but seeing her in upset caused him to be upset. She always felt like she had something to prove, even with parents completely out of her life. John wondered through the art gallery hoping that it would cheer up his emptiness before his counselor appointment.
***
“I CANNOT TAKE IT ANYMORE. It has been 8 months since one of my fucking art pieces sold” said Nola
“Babe, it’s okay, you will make another one soon” said John
“I just feel bad Hun, you’re working hard, working over-time, and I haven’t sold anything. Last time I did it was only $2000! Friends from school are fucking selling their stuff for $20,000. That’s another zero John! We could take a vacation. Get ahead on the mortgage. Live a better life!”
“Nola, it’s okay, we are fine!
“UH”
“Let’s go walk the dog, I know how that can cheer you up” said John
“Okay” said Nola
***
“What was her reason for leaving you?” asked Dr. Francis
John’s body sunk in the love seat. His eyes looked for something to focus on, something to brighten his mood he stared at his stomach which he was half-hugging, both arms crossed, protecting it like he was ashamed of some flab or as if he was pregnant and like he was trying to lightly push the bulge back in.
“She said she couldn’t do it anymore. This isn’t the life she wanted” said John.
 “How are you feeling since she left?” asked Dr. Francis
John was lost in the room, his eyes finally stop wondering, and he finds the Counselors degrees hanging in the in the corner of the room, did all doctors hang up their degrees? Was this somehow proof of what they were saying was helping?  Proof that degrees give you the right to do anything you wanted even if you were not good at it?
“She said It wasn’t my fault, said she wanted to live a different life” said John
John started to stare out the window. His eyes danced slowly around the room until they met Dr. Francis. John thought hard. Would Dr. Francis fix his guilt? How much should he say?
 “I did what I was supposed to do, support my wife, let her do her art while I supported her, ugh, and us, I kept up with payments, bought her any supplies she needed, and I thought I was doing a good job” said John.
“Sounds like you were supportive” said Dr. Francis
 “I did what I had to do” said John
***
“Babe,” Nola said, in her sweet honey voice. “What do you think of this drawing?”
“Wow. I like it.”
She giggled “I was listening to Free Bird and this is what came to me, silly huh?”
“Creative!”
It was a bird flying off of the page, as if she used special affects with Photoshop, she simply just used her pencil to create this explosive-bird springing from the dark woods with heavy shading.
“Do you think I should change anything about it? asked Nola
***
“Have you been drinking less since her leaving?” asked Dr. Francis
John in fact was not drinking, but used the excuse of being drunk or buzzed to cover up his weirdness. He started carrying a flask around to give off the impression of being a possible drunk when he was at work. But he was just like a college freshmen, too prude, who was scared of drinking but pretended to be drunk at a party to fit in. Fit in with society; something John only did through Nola, spark his life, with her; he always felt whole. John felt empty without her, and he was getting quite hungry.
Dr . Francis noticed John’s face, John was lost again, scrambled like meaningless modern art.
“John, do you want to talk about it?” said Dr. Francis
***
“John, things have been good and things have been bad. We have great memories. You are a good guy, you treat me right, your dependable, your always there” said Nola.
“There is a but. There is always a but.” said John.
Nola smiled lightly.
“Look,” she said, “there is a but. . . but promise you won’t get angry. . . I feel like you will understand.”
***
“It is hard. I knew it would be hard, but I want her to still be with me” said John
“You do not have to let her go completely.” said Dr. Francis
“Well yeah, I can’t doc, that’s the problem.” said John.
John thought of all the corny-lovey-dovey sayings “two parts of a whole” at this moment all those thoughts of corny-love stories, rebounding and making it through went inside of him. He still had hope. He knew he could still be satisfied.
***
Nola started to smile a fat-guilty smile “Remember that time. . . in the tub”
“Oh” John copied the same smile, the memory filled him. It started to overflow through him with the thoughts of what was making the tub overflow and the water splash hectically.
“I was thinking about that the other day. . . and umm. . . ha what if we..  tried that again? Would you like that?”
***
“What else do you do?” asked Dr. Francis
“Umm. Well besides work. . . I don’t know I used to always be with Nola.”
“You didn’t do anything else in your free time for pleasure?” asked Dr. Francis
“Well, I read a little when I have time. Walk the dog.”
Both things he did with Nola. Both things he only would do with Nola. He bought the dog for Nola, he never thought much of it and didn’t know what to do with it. John thought hard. Was there anything he ever did that was not with Nola? Yes. There was one! Dr. Francis would be proud that there was at least one thing he ever did in life without her, however the task was started to please her, because quite frankly, Nola really sucked at it. Cooking. John enjoyed making Nola happy by cooking new things for her. He would start looking up recipes whenever he was taking the bus back from work. The thought of food made him hungry; which made him start thinking about Nola.
“I cook sometimes too, sometimes it can be fun, fills the time.” said John
***
“John come over here.” said Nola
“Wow.” said John
“What do you think?” asked Nola
“Well. . . what is it?” asked John
“Its Goya babe, “Saturn Devouring his sons.” said Nola

“It’s. . . very interesting. Why is Saturn eating his Sons?” asked John
“I do not remember the story quite right. . . something about how he has to protect himself from their potential growth to power or something or that they make him younger? I’m not sure, we will have to look it up later.” said Nola.
***
“Try walking your dog! Exercise is good for the mind and a good way to relax. What type of dog is it?” asked Dr. Francis
“Corgi.”
“I hear there are very smart dogs.”
“Yeah, it knows a few tricks.”
 “Well, glad to hear it” said Dr. Francis “Take care John, I look forward to our next appointment.”
They shook hands and John departed the office building. He got lost in the parking lot looking for his Camry that blended in a lot, he was hungry and not finding his car seemed to make his situation worse. When John got home, he instantly started feeling better, he greeted the dog, which was something he rarely did.
“Hey boy” said John to the Corgi.
Nola’s dog gave him a look, like he knew something was up.
John thought maybe the dog could make him happy, but not as happy as what he was about to do. John walked by the dog, straight to the freezer and reached inside for his wife.

title: [TH] Hungry- Inspired by Breezblocks by Alt-J

question: Summarize how John felt since he and Nola were no longer staying together.

answer: John sat in his counselor's office, looking for something to brighten his mood. He felt guilty about Nola. He carried around a flask, pretending he was a drunk but John hardly ever drinks. Speaking to his counselor, he still had hope that things with Nola could be fixed. The counselor advised John to walk his dog more often so as to get enough exercise to help him feel better. John agreed and proceeded to act on the advice as soon as he got home.

question: Why did John not confess to the counselor about Nola's death?


text:
ROSCOMMON COURTHOUSE is a judicial facility in Roscommon, County Roscommon, Ireland.

History

The courthouse, which was designed by Sir Richard Morrison in the Neoclassical style, was completed in 1832.[1] Following a major fire, which gutted the building, it was restored under the architectural guidance of Christopher Mulvany in 1883.[2] The building was originally used as a facility for dispensing justice but, following the implementation of the Local Government (Ireland) Act 1898, which established county councils in every county, it also became the meeting place for Roscommon County Council.[3] The county council moved to County Hall in December 2015.[4]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

title: Roscommon Courthouse

question: Which architectural style does the Roscommon Courthouse have?

answer: It's Neoclassical.

question: Who directed the restoration efforts after most of the building burned down?

answer: Christopher Mulvany.

question: What was the use case of the building?

answer: It was only a courthouse initially. Later, it also became the County Council's meeting place until 2015.

question: Where did the County Council move?

answer: The text doesn't specify the building but says that they moved to their own.

question: Why did the County Council move?

answer: The article doesn't contain that information.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Roscommon Courthouse is a judicial facility in Roscommon, Roscommon County, Ireland. Initially designed by Sir Richard Morrison, the Neoclassical building was restored with the guidance of Christopher Murray in 1883, 51 years after its completion, necessitated by a major fire. It also served as the meeting place for the County Council in 1898, which lasted until 2015 when the council moved to the County Hall.


text:
The light of the fire glistened off his armor, its warmth comforting him. He slowly stood up, taking in his surroundings. He was on the edge of a cliff, a ruined structure surrounded him. He faced a small altar, tattered tapestries cloaked over it. He could hear waves crashing against the bottom of the cliff, their massive bodies colliding again and again. He took a deep breath, the smell of salt filling his nostrils. He turned away from the warmth of the of the fire and walked to what was once a large doorway. He stopped just outside, the cool ocean breeze took his cloak into the air, flapping against the wall. He tightened the cloak and headed towards the shambles of an old town.
	The buildings were broken and burned, signs of a great battle once fought. The town was empty, quiet. The residents had left long ago. He walked into the center of the town, towards a large statue of a robed woman. The statue’s head faced down, looking at him. Its face was hidden by the stone hood, save for a gentle smile. A plaque at the base of the statue read, “Our Protector”. He looked at the statue, it seemed sad. As if it felt regret for failing this town.
	He left the statue and entered one of the buildings. On the left was a crooked wooden table. The chairs had been scattered and thrown to the floor. A small dresser was in the corner, but He had no interest in looting through it. On the right side was a fireplace, ash and dead logs lay on its floor.
	He left the house and entered its neighbor. This house was different. It was relatively empty, except for a chair and an open chest. He looked inside the chest, empty. He left the house and returned to the center of town. It suddenly felt very familiar to him, but he had no memory of this place. He looked back to the structure with the fire. He must have come through here before, how else did he get there? He tried to recall just how he had arrived at the fire, He remembered the fire, its great warmth like a blanket, its light leading him through darkness. The fire was like a beacon, a light welcoming all. But he could not remember how he had arrived at it. It was as if he had just suddenly appeared there.
	He dismissed that idea immediately, it was nonsense. His head was foggy was all, he would remember sooner or later. He went back to searching the town. He didn’t find much, but he was able to get a lantern with spare candles and a lighting stick. He attached the lantern to his belt, and put the candles into a pouch on his hip. He considered heading back to the fire, but he was curious about this area. He figured that if he explored it more, it would help his memory.
	He followed the edge of the cliff, staring at the violent ocean. The water was white with foam, its surface bubbling. Each crash against the rocks sent it flying, creating a light mist along the cliff wall. He turned his gaze forward, there was a large dark cave ahead. He approached it curiously, yet cautiously. There was something about this cave. He felt a sudden sense of fear. He took the lantern in his left hand and lit it. With his right, he drew the sword that hung at his side, its bright metal glowing in the light. He moved slowly into the mouth of the cave, his lantern dimly illuminating the rocks. As he continued inside, he came upon a narrow tunnel. He tried to look through, but it bent inside.
	As he was about to head in, a noise from behind stopped him. He spun around to see the shadowy figure of a man. Its steps slid along the cave floor as it shuffled towards him. He was about to call to the figure, ask where this cave led out. But before he could speak, the figure entered the light. It wasn’t a man at all, or at least, not anymore. Its skin was gone, the muscles exposed, its face was barely anything more than a skull. Thin strands of hair fell from the scalp, wispy and floating in the wind. The eyes of this creature were empty, no more than holes in this hollow shell of a man.
	It growled and slowly raised its sword, a rusted piece of metal with chips along the edge. It brought it down, but He quickly blocked the strike with his own sword. He kicked the creature back, and swung his blade across its chest. It shook, leaning back from the blow, but seemed unaffected by the strike. He readied his sword, and as it approached again, he thrust his weapon into its chest. It stopped, and fell. He waited, looking at it, worried it might come back. Suddenly, a bright white light left its body and rushed into his. He immediately felt like a part of him had been filled, like he was now incomplete.
	He stared in wonder at the fallen creature, now a lifeless husk. He turned back to the tunnel, and once again felt a feeling of familiarity. Something was pulling him in, the sense of incompletion driving him forward. Something was in this cave, something he needed. He entered the tunnel, his sword pointing forward, should another creature appear. The tunnel had many turns, and more than once he had to twist and shove through tight areas. But he eventually came out the other side, and what he saw left him speechless. The cave opened into a massive cavern. The ceiling was hundreds of feet high, as if a mountain had been emptied out just to fit the structure inside: A huge fortress, made of smooth, featureless stone. Its gate had been raised, a large watchtower above looked out over the cavern. He walked towards the fortress, stopping before a long thin bridge, over a deep gap that fell into darkness.
	He peered over the edge, then picked up a rock and dropped it down into the abyss. One… two… three… four? There was still no sound. He backed away from the edge and looked again to the fortress. The sense of being complete was strong here. Something waited inside that fortress, he knew that if he found it, he would get his answers. He moved forward onto the bridge, slowly sliding one foot forward at a time. As he neared the middle, he heard the snap of a crossbow, and a bolt drove into the wood before him.
	He snapped his head up, and saw the sniper in the watchtower. Like the creature in the cave, it too looked beyond death, a hollow shell. He moved just as another bolt cam flying, this one just missing his shoulder. He ran as fast as he could, though he felt his energy draining. He was just a few feet from the fortress, when he bent over in exhaustion. He tried to move, but the weight of his armor held him. He heard another snap of the crossbow, and felt the bolt dig into his shoulder.
	He moved forward, almost falling over, as he continued towards the open mouth of the structure. He made it inside just as another bolt smacked off the stone behind him. He sat down and examined the wound. It didn’t look too bad, definitely not bad enough to warrant a sip of estus. He stood up and looked about the structure.
	Torches along the walls provided ample lighting, enough that his lantern was no longer needed. He found a doorway that led up to the watchtower, and removed the threat of the sniper. He took a sip from his flask to heal the wounds he had suffered, and looked out at the fortress. Beyond that courtyard was the main building, its many windows giving him a rough layout of the interior. He counted two floors, and at least six rooms. He could see more of the hollow creatures moving about inside. The watchtower led onto the walls, which he used to climb into the second floor. Two of the hollow creatures greeted him. He used the crossbow the sniper had given him, quickly removed the head of the farther one, then dropped it and drew his sword. The hollowed creature seemed undaunted by his actions, and slashed at him with its weapon. The attack was sloppy, and he was quickly able to outmaneuver the creature, and drive his sword into its back.
	He continued this tactic three more times as he explored the floor, quickly dispatching the hollow creatures inside. As he moved from room to room, he noticed that like the village, there were empty chests inside, all having been opened previously. He thought it odd, but figured someone else must have been through here before. But then why didn’t he kill the creatures? The thought quickly left his mind as he moved downstairs, and was ambushed by more of the hollows. Unlike the ones he had fought before, these weren’t wearing any armor or wielding effective weapons. They were clothed in rags and swung broken daggers and thin clubs. He moved to slash at one, when he felt the sting of a blade at his side. He rolled away, and saw there were far more than he realized. They swung wildly, and seemed to have no cooperation. He used this to his advantage, and cut a long sweep while many had their guard down, taking out almost half the group. He readied for another strike, before one of them ran into him, slashing at his armor. He pushed it back and cut it down, then finished off the rest. He drank from his flask again, and felt his wounds close. The flask felt about half full, he would need to be careful.
	He explored the first floor, finding nothing of interest, and no new enemies to fight. He was about to leave when he noticed a rug that had been slightly folded over. He picked it up, and revealed a trapdoor. He opened it and peered inside. The stench of death and decay assaulted him. He dropped down into a tunnel, a light flickered in the distance. He moved towards it, and found himself in a dungeon. Cages filled the room, spiked torture devices hung from the ceiling, blood caked the floor and walls. He felt sick, and had to sit down and steady himself.
	After a while, he stood up and moved forward, cautious of any evil that might lurk here. As he continued onward, the feeling of completion overwhelmed him. He felt it dragging him, guiding him through this nightmare. He moved through the labyrinth of cages, down ladders and staircases, avoiding traps along the way, until there was nowhere else to go. A massive portal, filled with fog, stood before him. He wasn’t able to look beyond it, or hear anything inside. The room he was currently in held no clue about what he would find should he enter, nor any warning not to. The only thing he knew was that every answer he needed lied beyond the fog. Going through would complete him.
	He steeled himself for whatever he would find, drew his sword, and walked into the fog. After the shroud passed, he found himself in a circular room, ropes and chains littered the floor, beds of nails and similar torture devices lined the walls, and much like the area before, evidence of gruesome tortures surrounded him. At the far end, he saw a man, dressed in armor similar to his, if not exactly the same. He felt very familiar with the man, but could not understand why. He moved towards the man, but before he got far, a large creature dropped down in front of him.
	The creature was easily eight feet tall, maybe nine. Its hunched posture made it difficult to tell. The creature’s black robe, tattered and torn, hung from its lanky frame. It looked like a skeleton wearing skin that was much too small.The creature’s face was hidden by its hood, save for a crooked, lipless smile. In its hand, it wielded a long whip, covered in barbs. It lifted the whip above its head, and quickly brought it down.
	He rolled away, just before the whip hit him, then leapt forward and jabbed at the creature’s leg. He made contact, and ripped his blade across. The creature screamed and kicked him away. He flew into a wall, and again rolled forward just before the whip hit. He ran behind the creature, and tried to strike at its leg, but the creature spun around and whipped him before he could. The barbs ripped across his armor, slicing into his flesh. He fell and suffered another kick.
	He felt his vitality waning, but knew he could take at least one more hit. He ran towards the creature, rolling forward as it attacked. He spun around as he got back up, and slashed it its arm. He landed four hits before the creature recovered, then rolled away and downed the estus. It had one more use left. He circled the creature again, this time rolling before the whip hit him, and sliced at its legs. The creature tried to kick him, but lost its balance and fell. He slashed at its sides, tearing the cloak it wore to pieces. The creature smacked him away, and stood back up. As he tried to get up, the whip hit him and tossed him aside. He found himself laying next to the all too familiar man. He looked at the man, and the man looked at him. He couldn’t die. Not now, not when the answers were so close. He struggled to stand up, drank what little of his estus that was left, and charged forward.
	The creature cracked its whip in front of him, snapping right next to his head, but he did not stop. The creature wound the whip back, and lashed it forward, striking him in the chest, but he did not stop. He ran toward the creature, ignoring every attack it made, until his sword dug into its belly. The creature, stunned, raised its arms up and let out a deafening screech, before falling and fading to dust. A yellow flame remained on the floor where the creature once stood, a vessel containing a portion of its mighty power. He picked it up, and broke it in his hand, absorbing the power. He then turned, and approached the man.
	He watched as the man looked up towards him, then with a sigh of relief, disappeared, leaving behind a mass of swirling green dust. He moved forward into the dust, and was assaulted by a barrage of memories. He remembered the fire in the town, and others before it. He remembered moving through the town, taking the items inside the chests. He had gone through the fortress many times, in many different ways, and he had fought the same enemies time and time again. He had found the trapdoor, other times he found a side passage from outside the cave, and he had explored the dungeon, finding areas that he had overlooked previous times. He had fought this beast, and he had died. The memories always ended here, in this room, with his death. And every memory but the first began at the fire, with no knowledge of what had transpired previously. He had made his way back here, countless times before, seeking these memories. But this time, this time he finally killed the beast. This time, he finished the cycle, and was now complete.

title: [FN] Memories Lost to Fire

question: Summarize the description of the town.

answer: The town was empty, quiet. The residents left long ago. There is a statue in the center of town of a robed woman with her head down, marked 'Our Protector'. The narrator is only able to scavenge a lantern with spare candles and a lighting stick from the town.

question: What does the story say happened to the town?


text:
[The Entrance Sign For Wheaton, Maryland. ] WHEATON is a census-designated place in Montgomery County, Maryland, United States, situated north of Washington, D.C. and northwest of Silver Spring. Wheaton takes its name from Frank Wheaton (1833–1903), a career officer in the United States Army and volunteer from Rhode Island in the Union Army who rose to the rank of major-general while serving before, during and after the Civil War.

Wheaton was split into its own CDP by the United States Census Bureau for the 2010 Census, which found its population to be 48,284.[1] The United States Postal Service has assigned ZIP code 20902 to Wheaton, but the Wheaton Post Office is part of the Silver Spring area. Downtown Wheaton is located around the triangle formed by Veirs Mill Road, University Boulevard, and Georgia Avenue.

History

The Three Great Roads

Wheaton developed from Leesborough (named in 1826), a small business district which grew near the junction of three major roads: The first of these is Brookeville Pike (also known as the Washington-Brookeville Pike and later as the Union Turnpike, now Georgia Avenue) a north/south toll thoroughfare running from Washington, D.C., to Brookeville, and eventually to Baltimore.

The second road, Veirs Mill Road (named after a grist and sawmill built on Rock Creek by Samuel Clark Veirs in 1838[2]), was one portion of a much longer thoroughfare connecting westwards to Rockville, Maryland and thence towards the Potomac River and subsequently to Virginia via ferry crossings. This was also known as the “City Road” in Rockville, and around the time of the Civil War it was known also as the “New Cut Road.”[3][4]

The last of these roads was known as Old Bladensburg Road (now University Boulevard) which, as it does in present day, connected Georgetown, Bethesda, Chevy Chase, Kensington, Wheaton, Silver Spring, and Bladensburg.[5]

Mitchell's Crossroads

The business district subsequently became known as Mitchell's Crossroads, named after Robert T. Mitchell's tavern, which was located at northeast corner of Union Turnpike (renamed from Brookeville Pike; now Georgia Avenue) and Old Bladensburg Road (now University Boulevard).

Confederate General Jubal Early's troops marched through the area of their way to invade Washington, D.C..[6] Union General Frank Wheaton successfully led a division to defend Washington, D.C., fighting off an invasion by the Confederate troops at the Battle of Fort Stevens in 1864.[7][8][9] The area also saw them retreat through the area after the failed invasion.[10]

Mitchell's Tavern was thought to exist since around 1865, and it stood until 1940 when it was destroyed by a fire.[11]

After the Civil War

Following the end of the Civil War, the area's first postmaster was George F. Plyer.[12] In October 1869, Plyer, a war veteran, renamed the post office in honor of his commanding officer, General Wheaton.[13]

For many years after the Civil War, the Wheaton area was being only lightly used, mostly for farming, or was undeveloped. In 1871, the first African American Church, Allen Chapel AME Church, was established in this small undeveloped area. This religious body maintained its presence in the Wheaton community until 2000, at which time the New Creation Church purchased the property. Into the early 20th century, civic growth was slow, with a few new businesses being established along the major roads. But as the capital region started to rapidly grow after World War II, Wheaton quickly expanded. The area's first modern post office opened in 1947 (earlier records show that the post office had used the Leesborough name). In addition, the Washington Suburban Sanitary Commission (WSSC) was active, adding new utility infrastructure to the area; as part of that work, and just north of Wheaton, the prominent Glenmont Water Tower was constructed in 1947. And then starting soon thereafter, in 1948, Wheaton was steadily built-out, by several developers, as a part of the modern-day suburbs of Washington, D.C. Today, as an unincorporated town, Wheaton is governed locally by the civic government of Montgomery County.[14] For some modern information databases, such as official Real Estate records, Wheaton (along with several neighboring locales) is considered to be a sub-section of larger Silver Spring.

Demographic shifts

  Year       Non-Hispanic White   Hispanic/Latino      Asian                Black                Multiracial
  ---------- -------------------- -------------------- -------------------- -------------------- -------------------
  1990[15]   align= right | 61%   align= right | 13%   align= right | 10%   align= right | 15%   align= right |
  2000       align= right | 38%   align= right | 29%   align= right | 12%   align= right | 17%   align= right | 6%
  2010       align= right | 26%   align= right | 42%   align= right | 12%   align= right | 18%   align= right | 5%

  : Wheaton, Maryland
  Census data

In the 1950s the area was developed with Cape Cod, ranch houses, and split level homes purchased by white, largely middle class, families; a mix of blue collar and white collar workers. Now, more of this older housing stock is owned or rented by a diverse population.[16]

Between 2000 and 2010, Wheaton's Hispanic population has increased from 29% to 42%. Wheaton's Hispanic population is highly ethnically diverse - as of the 2010 Census, Wheaton is 18.5% Salvadoran, 3.2% Mexican, 2.8% Guatemalan, 2.3% Peruvian, 2.3% Honduran, 1.3% Dominican, 1.2% Nicaraguan, 1% Bolivian, 0.9% Colombian, 0.8% Puerto Rican, 0.7% Ecuadorians, 0.3% Cuban, 0.3% Chilean, and 0.3% Argentine, all numbering over 100 residents.[17] 16.5% of Wheaton's residents were White Hispanics/Latinos, 1% were Afro-Hispanics/Afro-Latinos, 0.6% were American Indian or Alaska Native Hispanics/Latinos, 0.2% were Asian-American Hispanics/Latinos, 3% were Hispanics/Latinos of two or more races, and 20.5% were Hispanics/Latinos from some other race.[18]

Since the collapse of the housing market between 2010 and 2015, a reverse in the area's demographic makeup has occurred with a large influx of white and multiracial young professional families into the area in search of affordable single family housing along the metro line.

MS-13

It was outlined in a 28 page indictment that 21 MS-13 members had committed crimes against 18 victims. Of the 18 victims, 9 were in Wheaton. The crimes against Wheaton residents includes murder, attempted murder with a gun, assault and racketeering [19].

Features

[Brookside Gardens in Wheaton Regional Park] [Platform at Wheaton station] [The New Library and Recreation Center, Which Opened on September 8, 2019.] Wheaton is home to the Wheaton Regional Park, which includes a nature center; riding stables; dog park; a picnic area with carousel and miniature train; an athletic complex with indoor tennis, ice rink, inline skating rink, and ball fields; and Brookside Gardens, Montgomery County's 50-acre (200,000-m²) public display garden. Much of Wheaton was developed in the 1950s. In the 1960s its shopping center, Wheaton Plaza (now known as Westfield Wheaton), was the largest in the Maryland suburbs of Washington, D.C. Wheaton is also home to the Wheaton Library and Recreation center which opened on September 8, 2019.[20] The Wheaton Volunteer Rescue Squad is one of the busiest (11,000 calls in 2007) predominantly volunteer fire departments in Montgomery County. The diversity of the neighborhood is reflected by the high concentration of various ethnic restaurants located in Wheaton, as well as in the composition of the student body of Wheaton High School, part of the Montgomery County Public Schools and located near the intersection of Connecticut Avenue and Randolph Road.

It is served by the Red Line of the Washington Metro system. Spanning 508 feet (155 m), the Wheaton station has the longest escalator in the Western Hemisphere.[21][22]

Since Wheaton has the highest location in the Washington, DC area, it was also the home of the first television license in the United States. Using the call sign W3XK, Charles Francis Jenkins began broadcasting from his home at the corner of Windham Lane and Georgia Ave.[23][24] starting on July 2, 1928.[25]

Other points of interest include

-   The Gilchrist Center for Cultural Diversity - Named after former Montgomery County Executive Charles W. Gilchrist, opened Sept. 8th 2001, it provides services to an increasing immigrant population in Montgomery County.
-   Wheaton Youth Center
-   Ana G. Méndez University System

Designation as a Maryland Arts and Entertainment District

Wheaton has been designated by the State of Maryland as an Arts and Entertainment District, joining Silver Spring and Bethesda as the third district in Montgomery County to receive the distinction. The Arts and Entertainment District designation provides artists working in that area with an income tax break. Developers who create spaces for artists to live and work can be exempt from paying certain property taxes on the value of the renovations for up to 10 years. Designated districts are exempt from admissions and amusement taxes.[26]

Notable people

-   Marat Akbarov
-   Diana Barrera

-   Joe Bonomo
-   Chas Gessner

-   James Gist
-   Laurie Ann Haus

-   Kelli Hill
-   Zach Hilton
-   Marty Hurney
-   Robin Koontz

-   Benjamin F. Kramer
-   Katherine and Sheila Lyon
-   Jim Parsley

-   Michael Parsons
-   Marina Pestova
-   Bill Quinter
-   Ron Weber

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4] The History Of Montgomery County, Maryland, From Its Earliest Settlement In 1650 to 1879 (Boyd, T. H. S.)

[5]

[6] Sween, Jane C.; Offutt, William. _Montgomery County: Centuries of Change_. American Historical Press, 1999. .

[7]

[8] "ARMY CORPS HISTORY: Brilliant Records of the Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh. _The Washington Post_. September 15, 1902. p. 4.

[9] “Gen. Wheaton is Dead: Won His Rank Through Bravery in Battle]”. _The Washington Post_ June 19, 1903. p. 9.

[10]

[11]

[12] “1 Town Named After Leader in Civil War]”. _The Washington Post_. p. C2.

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18]

[19]

[20]

[21] The Five Longest Rides. _The Washington Post_. 2005-06-03. Retrieved 2007-12-11.

[22] Carroll, Caitlin. What's the deal with... the Wheaton Metro station escalator? _The GW Hatchet_. 2005-09-19. Retrieved 2008-06-15.

[23]

[24] The FCC: Seventy-six Years of Watching TV

[25]

[26]

title: Wheaton, Maryland

question: What are the notable features of Wheaton?

answer: Its business district, Mitchell's Crossroads, was named after Mitchell's Tavern, which existed from 1865 to 1940 until it was destroyed in a fire. Wheaton's growth started after WW2. Its population is mostly non-white, with Hispanic / Latinos making up the largest block at 42% of the population as of 2010, followed by 26% white, 18% black, and 5% multiracial. Wheaton was home to the first TV license in the US due to its altitude. Wheaton is designated to be an Arts and Entertainment District by the State of Maryland.

question: What does the text say about how to obtain a professional wrestling license in Wheaton?


text:
Mission 52 - a short story [1682 words]
by Joanna Pogwash

Communications... check.  Control systems... check.  Fuel tank 1 pressure... check.  Fuel tank 2 pressure... check.  Oxidizer pressure... check.  Manifold pressure... check.  Engine pressure... check.  Auxiliaries... check.  On-board... check.  Stabilizers... check.  Navigation systems... check.  All systems... check.  Sequence 1 check... complete.  Green light... proceeding to countdown.

I don't care how many times you practice anything or how realistic the simulator is, it's never like the real thing.  Fifteen orbital repair missions plus three stints in the Space Station, but this time was different.  We were never coming back from this trip.  Planetary colonization is a one-way trip.  There's only enough fuel and supplies for one way, besides there will be nothing to come back to by then.  My heart is racing.  I must calm down.  "Get a grip, kid!  This is just routine." I can hear the seasoned Mission Commander say.  He can sense my anxiety.

My whole life has been a preparation for this mission.  Since I was old enough to hold a crayon, Mom's refrigerator was covered with my spaceships, along with the walls of my room, my sheets, and even my pajamas.  I was destined to be an astronaut and I proclaimed this fact through every backpack, lunchbox, and pair of sneakers I could find and get Mom to buy.  Every decision as I was growing up was made with this destiny in mind: from the courses I took in school, what sport I pursued, and which college I went to.  Each one was a step closer to the Johnson Space Flight Center and ultimately this mission.

There was so much more than my obsession riding on this mission: the fifty-second act of desperation of a dying race... and probably the last.  With the population growing out of control, in spite of epidemics and armed conflicts around the world, the environment becoming more toxic by the day, and resources becoming ever more scarce, mankind simply had to find another inhabitable planet, and fast.  The plankton was dying and with it eighty-five percent of the planet's oxygen production.  Years of waste and chemicals dumped into the sea had set this doomsday clock of nature into this, its final countdown.

Astronomers had located fifty-two most promising planets from among the many worlds that were either too hot or too cold, too big or too small, having no atmosphere or too much atmosphere to allow the solar rays to bathe the surface with life-giving energy.  The days were too long or too short, no oxygen or no carbon dioxide for the plants.  So many things had to be right and within such a narrow range of possibilities, that almost all were excluded, but there were fifty-two.

These fifty-two most promising planets had been arranged in order of proximity, each farther away, each requiring more and more fuel and time, stretching the limits of interstellar travel, and fifty-one had been crushing disappointments.  Each one had some critical flaw, some "show-stopper," as the planetary ecologists referred to them.  The first had such high levels of background radiation that the colonists didn't survive for long.  The second had such high pH or alkalinity that our life, whose building blocks are amino acids, could have never survived outside of the ship.  Each failed mission had sent back the discouraging news.  The colonists had been brave.  I reminded myself that they would have died here too.  Our fate is always the same in the end.

One-by-one the candidate planets had been reached... and eliminated for some insurmountable incompatibility.  One-by-one the hopes of civilization had been raised to a crescendo and dashed to the ground--the precious, life-sustaining ground.  This planet we have always called home.  How could we have come to this point of desperation?  How could we have let these problems fester past the point of crisis to the point of no return?  If we could focus our efforts sufficiently to be leaving, why could we not have focused our efforts sufficiently to preserve what we had?  How many times had I asked these questions?

The trembling of the rocket--the calm before the storm of lift-off--banished these thoughts from my mind as my senses became flooded with the sensations of this indescribable rush, "we have ignition!  We have lift off!  Mission 52 is on its way!"  The feeling of helplessness that overcomes you in the first seconds when you are pinned back, knowing that there is no safety release, no ejection seat, no parachute, and no way to turn back the fury, is both overwhelming and life-changing.  Either you will make it or you won't.  There are no other options and you are headed toward the outcome like a bullet out of a gun.

Six seconds in and something doesn't feel right.  The shaking is too violent.  There is a continuous transition from one sensation to another: the vibration, the pull against my body, the sound of the great thrusters.  "Increase stabilizers."  Twelve seconds in and the shaking returns to normal, or perhaps "expected" would be more accurate.  Twenty-one seconds in and a warning is raised.  "Relieve excess manifold pressure."  Twenty-nine seconds in.  "Close manifold relief."

Everything seems to function as it should for another ninety-five seconds.  With two seconds left in the first stage burn, fuel pump six completely drops out, but I can't feel it.  The acceleration has reached its peak, with the maximum thrust and minimum weight, as the last of the fuel is burned.  It shouldn't matter.  The second stage will carry us into orbit and then up to cruising speed.  When we are safely out of range, I will engage the thermonuclear drive and then relax and enjoy the ride and a very long nap.  The rest should be routine and boring as usual, at least it better be.

Four minutes and fifty-one seconds following ignition and the initial panic that accompanies every lift-off has past.  I begin running through the systems and checks.  Everything seems A-OK.  The brief concern with stabilizers, the excessive manifold pressure, and even the failed fuel pump are far behind me now, floating somewhere in the Atlantic awaiting retrieval, although it will more than likely never be used again.  This mission will be successful.  It had better be successful!

The checks are finally complete and we engage the thermonuclear drive, which will propel our space age Ark to near light speed over a period of several months, during which we will sleep and never notice.  The trip will last over eighty-seven years, but we will sleep through it all.  I engage the drive and key the computer to begin the IVs.  As I drift off, I reassure myself one last time: everything will go as planned and this mission will be successful.  It must be successful, or there will be no one left to care.

As I begin to waken, I feel the vibration and hear the rattle and creaking of the ship.  This is not right.  What else has gone wrong with Mission 52?  The entire left side of my body is unresponsive.  My left eye will not open.  Somehow I throw off the fog of hyper-sleep and manage to sit up.  I'm the pilot and I must make corrections.  I must collect information.  I must make decisions.  Others are stirring.  We have reached our destination and the computer is raising us from the death-like sleep.

We're entering the atmosphere.  This is not supposed to happen.  We're supposed to orbit and collect data, then find a suitable place to land.  This must not happen!  We have no boosters to lift us from this surface.  This elevator only goes down.  The shaking is becoming more violent.  We're descending much too fast.  The angle is all wrong.  As I struggle to gain some control over our fall, I hear the others report.  Each has their own job to do.  "Oxygen is good."  "Cabin temperature is stable."  "This will be a water landing, folks!"  The Commander announces and then adds, "there IS an ocean and we've found it!"

If we hit anything--even water--at this speed we'll be crushed by the impact.  I must get control of the ship!  I must have the thrusters, but that means we'll be going faster before there's any chance of going slower.  I ignite the engines and we are all pressed backward as they kick in.  I hear gasps and see fear on the faces in my peripheral vision.  At last we're pointed upward, but still falling fast.  Too fast.  Much too fast.  The thrusters cannot possibly break our fall.

We hit the water and are battered by the impact.  I shake my head to throw off the mental fog that threatens to engulf my mind.  I have no control as we sink beneath the surface.  "Will this thing even float?" I ask aloud.  It does float!  We slow and then begin to rise. We finally reach the surface and I see waves towering over the ship.  What else could go wrong with this mission?  I had to ask.

We've landed in the middle of a typhoon.  We are rolled and tossed like so much debris.  My nose is broken and bleeding badly.  I spit out fragments of what were my front teeth.  We are slammed into what I can only imagine is a beach.  Over and over again we are tossed and dashed into the unforgiving sand.  As I lose consciousness I see others limp and lifeless, thrown to and fro without resistance.  All I can think to say is: "Mission 52 Has Failed.  I repeat Failed.  All is lost."

"Cool!  A spaceship."

"I saw if first."

"You can have it.  See if I care.  Mine is better anyway."

"Look what I found, Gramps!"

"Where did that thing come from?"

"I found it in the water."

"It belongs to someone.  Throw it back."

"We're the only kids here.  Why can't I keep it?"

"It's covered with germs.  Throw it back... and wash your hands!"

"But he has one and I don't.  It's not fair!"

"It's a reject.  The letters are upside down.  Throw it back."

"I never get to keep anything I find."

"Go build a castle or something and quit complaining."

"When I grow up I'm going to be an astronaut and I'll have a real spaceship.  You'll see."

title: [SP] Mission 52

question: Why are people leaving earth?

answer: With the population growing out of control, in spite of epidemics and armed conflicts around the world, the environment becoming more toxic by the day, and resources becoming ever more scarce, mankind simply had to find another inhabitable planet, and fast. The plankton was dying and with it eighty-five percent of the planet's oxygen production. Years of waste and chemicals dumped into the sea had set this doomsday clock of nature into this, its final countdown.

question: How did authorities choose the 52 planets?

answer: They searched for planets that could sustain life. The planets could not be too big or too small, too hot or too cold. There had to be oxygen and carbon dioxide. The length of the days had to be just right.

question: How successful was the search for a livable planet?

answer: The search for planets had been crushing disappointments. Each one had some critical flaw. One-by-one the candidate planets had been reached... and eliminated for some insurmountable incompatibility. One-by-one the hopes of civilization had been raised to a crescendo and dashed to the ground--


text:
Built up by Theo and his older brother Karl from their mother’s corner shop in the bombed-out rubble of postwar Essen in Germany, the privately controlled Aldi empire now extends to more than 8,000 stores around the world, including 300 in Britain — where its no-frills low-price format rapidly gained popularity during the recession. Though challenged in recent times by rival “discounters” such as Lidl (also German-owned), Aldi achieved sales in 2009 of more than 50 billion euros worldwide.

Little is known of the private lives of the Albrecht family, but Theo’s wealth was estimated by Forbes last year at $16.7 billion, making him the 31st richest person in the world and Germany’s second richest behind Karl at $23.5 billion; the brothers fortunes combined were exceed only by those of Warren Buffett, Bill Gates and the Mexican Carlos Slim.

The Albrechts’ obsession with privacy — living behind fortress-like security on estates overlooking the Ruhr valley, rarely snapped by paparazzi, never making public statements — derived in part from Theo’s experience in December 1971, when he was kidnapped at gunpoint by Heinz-Joachim Ollenburg, a lawyer with gambling debts, and his accomplice Paul Kron. Theo was held for 17 days in Ollenburg’s Düsseldorf office, but so nondescript was his appearance — he favoured cheap, ill-fitting suits — that the kidnappers demanded to see his ID to make sure they had snatched the right man. He responded by haggling over the ransom sum, which was eventually fixed at seven million Deutschmarks, and was delivered to a highway rendezvous by the Bishop of Essen. Ollenburg and Kron were caught and jailed, but only half of the money was recovered. Albrecht went to court to claim it as a tax-deductible business expense.

Theodor Paul Albrecht was born in the Schonnebeck suburb of Essen, in the industrial Ruhr region, on March 28 1922, two years after his brother Karl. Their father was a miner until emphysema rendered him an invalid; their frugal, hard-working mother ran a small food shop and, in the 1930s, the two youths sold buns around the district from a wooden cart. Both served in the German army during the war: Theo with Rommel’s Afrika Corps until he was eventually captured by US troops in Italy in 1945.

When the brothers were released from prisoner of war camps to return to Essen they found most of the city (a major railway centre which had also been the site of Krupps munitions factories) reduced to ruins, But their mother’s house and shop was intact. They began to expand the business with other grocery outlets, experimenting with a no-frills self-service format and a limited range of merchandise. Within a decade, as Germany’s economic recovery gathered pace, they owned more than 100 stores.

In 1961 they adopted the name Aldi (a contraction of Albrecht Discount) and divided the map of Germany in half — along the so-called Aldi Equator — reportedly after disagreeing over whether or not to sell cigarettes. Theo took control of Aldi Nord, still based in Essen, while Karl, reputedly the more dynamic of the duo in their younger days, ran Aldi Sud from Essen’s sister city of Mulheim.

They later divided the rest of the world, if not quite in such a logical way: Theo’s empire expanded into France, Spain, Portugal and Poland, while Karl’s eventually reached Britain and Australia. And both brothers built operations in the United States, Karl under the Aldi banner and Theo as owner of the Trader Joe’s chain of 340 “gourmet” grocery stores that he acquired in 1979.

At home in Germany the group expanded to 4,000 stores, owned via a number of legally separate operating units which allowed the brothers to co-operate when it suited them but to circumvent laws on accounting disclosure for large businesses and to avoid having to deal with a nationwide workers’ council. They ran their operations with military discipline and attention to detail, and in such secrecy that Aldi managers were forbidden not only to talk to the press but even to talk to their own colleagues in other districts.

Growth was funded out of retained profits rather than public capital-raising, and success was achieved by offering no more than a few hundred well-chosen product lines (rather than the tens of thousands found in other supermarkets) at low prices made possible by massive purchasing. This was combined with a high ratio of sales per square metre of floor space, and ferocious cost control — the latter being Theo’s special skill.

Little money was wasted on marketing, and none at all on making Aldi stores look elegant: goods were simply piled up along the aisles in packing cases. Theo himself made a point of using pencil stubs rather than expensive pens. Asked to approve the plans for a new outlet in Holland, he replied that the design was good but the paper it was drawn on was too thick: “If you use thinner paper we will save money.”

A devout Roman Catholic, Theo Albrecht retired from the day-to-day running of the business in 1993, but remained active as chairman of the foundation that is Aldi Nord’s principal shareholder. He is survived by his wife Cilli, their sons Theo Jr and Berthold, who hold management positions in Aldi, and his brother Karl, now 90.

question: What does the text say about privacy?

answer: Little is known about the private lives of the Albrecht family due to their obsession with privacy. The obsession with privacy seems to stem from when Theo was kidnapped at gunpoint and held for ransom. The family lives behind fortress-like security on estates, are rarely snapped by paparazzi, and never make public statements. The Aldi empire is privately controlled, and runs in such secrecy that Aldi managers can't speak to the press or even their own colleagues in other districts.

question: What does the text say about Aldi's divisions?

answer: Aldi was named and divided in half through Germany in 1961. Theo took control of Aldi Nord, and Karl ran Aldi Sud. Later on they further divided the rest of the world. Theo took France, Spain, Portugal, and Poland, and Karl took Britain and Australia. When they took their operations to the United States, more division came when Karl worked under Aldi and Theo became the owner of Trader Joe's in 1979.

question: Summarize Theo's traits.

answer: Theo was the 31st richest person in the world, and Germany's second richest. Theo was a very private person, and little was known about his private life. He favored cheap, ill-fitting suits. Cost control was one of Theo's special skills, once complaining that the paper used for plans of a new outlet was too thick. He was also a devout Roman Catholic, and worked until he was in his 70s.

question: What does the text say about the cost effectiveness of Aldi?

answer: Aldi was created by the Albrecht's as a no-frills-low-price store. To keep costs down there was a limited range of merchandise, a self service format, little money spent on marketing, and none on making Aldi look elegant. Massive purchasing of this limited merchandise also kept prices down. Theo's skill in cost control was a great asset to this.

question: What does the text say about the Albrecht's political leanings?


text:
As the debate rages about how to handle Baltimore’s ubiquitous “squeegee kids,” I was assigned to spend a couple of afternoons with them as a Baltimore Sun reporter. I was covering a city plan meant to help the kids by treating the underlying poverty that officials say is driving them to clean windshields for dollars. I interviewed bureaucrats, nonprofit leaders, police and motorists. The final step was to ask the boys what they thought.

I had already heard what the community thought about _them._ Depending upon whom you ask, they’re lost boys, businesspeople, a public menace.

I found my front-row seat — a caved-in, plastic milk crate — along the traffic median of an I-83 exit ramp. A group of teenage boys, squeegee blades in hand, wove between vehicles near a traffic light, where the ramp meets North Avenue. This was their regular spot, marked by discarded snack wrappers, frayed backpacks and empty glass-cleaner bottles with faded car wash labels.

It took me some time to find this group. Two other batches of squeegee workers declined to speak with me earlier. But when this crew spotted photographer Ken Lam, who was working with me, pointing his camera lens at them, they marched toward us — shouting profanity.

For a moment, I worried we were provoking a confrontation. I’ve interviewed motorists who described aggressive, sometimes violent, interactions with the squeegee workers. Some say the youths damaged their cars and shook their confidence; they fear driving downtown.

I quickly put on a big smile and explained we were there to watch them work and ask a few questions for an article I was writing for the newspaper. The teens softened and returned to their squeegee work, while I walked over to the median.

I spent just two short afternoons with the boys, catching only a brief glimpse of the way the drivers and “squeegee kids” interacted.

Plenty of motorists waved dollar bills at the teens, and others inched their cars forward when they saw the squeegee workers coming — a small gesture that seemed to say they weren’t interested. No one showed outward signs of aggression.

Instead of money, one woman in a car offered the youth a business card and a promise to make them matching T-shirts. Her card said she worked at an organization that offers volunteer mentoring for college success.

Mayor Young and Tisha Edwards,head of Mayor’s Office of Children and Family Success, discuss "Squeegee Alternative Plan" and deployment of bike patrol officers.

Many stared at me as they waited for the traffic light to turn green. One woman rolled down her window — presumably when she spotted Ken’s camera and my notebook — and asked “What outlet?”

I have to wonder if people altered their behavior toward the kids those days, because they knew I was watching. I have the same question about the squeegee workers, who generally tolerated me and my questions.

I heard the boys refer to themselves as “entrepreneurs” and to the drivers as “clients.” They said they have “regulars” who offer money daily at that intersection, which they share with others. A man dressed in a full suit sold bean pies to motorists from a nearby traffic median (the boys said his pies were “the best”). And a panhandler passing by warmly greeted one of the teens by name before continuing down the street.

Part of the appeal of squeegeeing, the teens said, was that they don’t have to rely on anyone besides themselves for money. On a good day, the boys say they can make around $100. On a bad day, they might look out for each other. I watched one teen share a portion of his earnings with a friend, who had made a paltry $14 that afternoon.

Some of the youths reported saving their money — even the coins, which some others tossed away, insulted — for a rainy day or an emergency. Others said they use the cash to pay for necessities: food, clothes and hygiene products. Several of the teens wore the same clothes two days in a row.

It’s not easy work. Some described how their feet were run over by cars and their fingers pinched by windshield wipers turned on without warning.

My work is often done from the comfort of a desk, where deadline pressure makes it tempting to stay — leaning on social media comments and viral videos to color my coverage.

But to really get a sense of an issue, or a group of people, you have to get out in the world.

The milk crate is optional.

_Lillian Reed is a reporter covering breaking news in Baltimore._

question: Why are some people worried about the squeegee boys?

answer: Sometimes the boys are violent. Some call them a public menace. The author has interviewed motorists who had their cars damaged and their confidence shook. This gives the boys a sometimes bad reputation.

question: Why do the boys refer to themselves as entrepreneurs?

answer: The boys are able to make $100 a day, which appeals to them because they do not depend on anyone else for money. Sometimes some boys do not make enough. Then other boys help them.