text:
                      He Tried Not to Think

He wandered aimlessly. He didn’t think. Thinking took too much effort. He walked. Just walked, because that was all he could do. His phone was in his pocket and he endured the cold while he waited for it to ring. The breeze ran down the street and bit and tore until it worked its way into his skin. He was not walking to anywhere in particular or for any other reason than to stall. The streets were deserted and the park by the lake contained nothing but the geese lagging behind on their journey south.

His mind trailed off. Where could she be? What could she be doing? When was the last time I saw her? Does she even want to see me? Am I simply just wasting my time? No, no, no he thought; don’t let your mind wonder off. Thinking hurts too much. She cannot just be gone without a goodbye or a mere fare thee well.

Nine p.m. she said. We will go to the movies, and then have dinner. It would be wonderful but reality is never like your expectations.

He approached the pond and walked down the hill till he was on the middle of it. He sat down and looked out across. It was calm except for the ripples caused by the wind. The silence was the best part. Silence was a commodity he longed for. He didn’t need everyone telling him that it would be alright, you need to get out some, she isn’t coming, but what did they know?

Snow began falling. He and she were heading down the road one night. The winter storms had rolled in and the snow blinded their way as he drove. The tree lined road was interspersed with the occasional home or driveway leading deeper into the woods. The snow was so bad that it was near impossible to see more than twenty feet ahead, but the road he drove on, he had been on a thousand times and it was practically a straight line. Yet then he saw a blur dash in the road. Then he felt the wheels leave the ground and the crashing of glass and the crumple of steel and the cold air rushing in. The car pushed in around them forcing them closer together as it continued to tumble down the road until they came to a rest with his body pressed against hers with nowhere to move. The next moment he was in the snow with eyes looking over him as the cold embedded itself in his bones.

 He felt his phone in his pocket and looked at the time: ten-thirty. No missed messages, no missed calls, not anything. He put it away and stared at the light on the other side of the lake. He wrapped his hands around himself and stuck them under his arms to stay warm and waited for a call. Ten-forty-five. At ten-forty-five it finally arrives. The phone rings and he answers. Contempt, hate, rage, and longing coursed through him. He didn’t speak immediately. Control was important, nothing good comes from impulse. “Hello my dear. Is it as I fear? Will I still see you here?”

“No my love, I am coming now. I’m sorry, I am sorry I took so long. The people I was with just kept rambling on and on, like loons, but don’t be mad; I will be beside you soon.”

A consolation time, being second, what else should one expect?  Don’t expect anything, no ever expected anything from him, so he was never disappointed. He said. “Okay then. It was your time, and never mine but yours to spend. I just thought it was on you that I could depend.”

He let the cold slip in further. His ears went numb, then his cheeks, and then his toes. Finally he stood up and proceeded home. He opened the door and the warmth hurried out. The couch welcomed him, and hugged around him when he sat down. Eleven o’clock his phone said now. Better late than never he thought. Then twelve came around. Then one, and then finally his eyes fell shut and he gave up.

As the days wore on after the crash he slowly pieced together what happened while in a hospital bed until his memory finally returned and he was able to make sense of everything. Countless faces with sad, pitying smiles expressing halfhearted condolences and apologies paced through the room ceaselessly for days and days. He was constantly in the presence of the one or two who actually cared but they were of no help to him. He asked almost hourly how she was doing but in return he only received saddened faces and pitying looks that he so longed would just go away. Maybe deep down he knew what actually happened. Maybe one day he would be able to actually face it. His mind wouldn’t accept it though. Even when he was cleared to leave he would ask his friends if he could see her.

It went on until people stopped being nice about it. They started shouting, they started to bluntly say what hurt him the most, and they no longer felt the need to give a reassuring lie because it was time to face what happened. It was of course for no use though. The shelter of his mind kept him warm and blanketed from the harsh unforgiving world around him. Then one day people just gave up. He was left to himself. People would show up occasionally but only to drop off food and other groceries. He was slowly being forgotten and left to be a part of the past.

One day though he received a phone call, “Hello my love, it’s been far too long. Will you be busy around nine so that we can dine and once again be fine? How about a movie or we can just be joyous and sing songs until morning’s dawn? I will be there then my dear, don’t fear.” The call ended just after and he was left bewildered but so happy to have heard her. He waited. He waited until nine had become ten and he could take it no more and he had to leave for a walk.

He woke up with hands running through his hair. Cold hands. He looked up and saw her. The smile crept across their faces as they stared. “Hello my love,” he said looking above, “why have you taken so long?”

“Because here my dear, is not where I belong. You have known this for far too long. Yet it appeared I must come along, to remind you that I am always here. I am always there. To be a reminder to you that things only get colder and harder, but never darker”

“But my love you must explain. Why am I in so much pain? Why must you be so delayed?  I have love for you that cannot be swayed, but I would rather just end this masquerade. I would rather you just have always stayed.”

“And one day soon. That will happen for you. Though it may hurt, I promise you will just simply awake. With my hand in your hair and a smile in which we both partake, and I won’t be cold, I will be something you can actually hold. And be far more than Lenore or some forgotten lore. I will be yours.”

And then she was gone. He felt his head. It was still cold. He
checked his phone and saw no calls. No messages. There was nothing at all. There was nothing at all to ease his mind. So he lay there, just trying not to think.

For days after he stared at his phone in the hopes that she would call again. The phone though stayed blank with no calls, messages, or anything of the sort that would light up the screen. He couldn’t take it. He was just there with her. Once again he had her next to him for her to only disappear as before but this time he really was alone. He really didn’t have anyone. He was already become a part of the past. He belonged to a particular moment in time that he could not escape. There was nothing left for him here, so he went to join her.

title: He Tried Not to Think (revised)

question: How do the narrator's friends and family treat him as the story progresses?

answer: The first time they are mentioned, the narrator is in the hospital. A few of them truly care about him, but his refusal to let go of his dead girlfriend starts to wear them out. After it becomes apparent that the narrator is delusional, they start to leave him behind. By the end, the narrator doesn't have any routine friends left.

question: What does the story say about necromancy?


split: train

text:
_“[The band is] from the distant future, and also the 1980’s, and also from outer space, but also from Toronto, so we’re a long way from home.”_ – Tupper Ware Remix Party singer Dr. Sung_
_

[Tupper Ware Remix Party returned to the Pyramid Cabaret for an encore performance less than a week after last show]

Tupper Ware Remix Party returned to Pyramid Cabaret for encore performance less than a week after last show. /DOUG KRETCHMER

Tupper Ware Party Remix band played the Pyramid Cabaret last week. Crowd response was so favourable that Pyramid owner Dave McKeigan invited them back after they finished their tour. So on their way back to the distant future via Toronto they visited Winnipeg again on Tuesday.

TWRP are not your typical rockers. One blurb on the internet described them as an “Elite Squad of Rock Stars from the future.”

The show started off with a drone through the speakers as the lights went down and the eager fans crowded the front of the stage. The drone continued for about 10 minutes before the band hit the stage.

Dressed in futuristic space age outfits, the quartet delivered some fine grooves. Singer/ keyboard player, Dr. Sung proceeded to cross off the songs the band performed on the giant set list he held up every once in a while.

The costumes may be a gimmick, but these guys are talented. From the funky bass riffs of Commander Meowch to the sometimes jazzy guitar licks of Lord Phobos, these intergalactic heroes also tackled New Wave, rock and pop with ease. Stormtrooper drummer Havve Hogan kept it all together with his solid drum beats.

[Commander Meowch's bass riffs were 'purr'fect]

Commander Meowch’s bass riffs were ‘purr’fect. /DOUG KRETCHMER

[Lord Phobos fearlessly delivered everything from jazz to funk to rock and new wave]

Lord Phobos fearlessly delivered everything from jazz to funk to rock and New Wave. /DOUG KRETCHMER

Playing their entire six song EP, _Guardians of the Zone_, which was released Apr. 28, they also played songs from their other EP’s.

For the title track of _Guardians of the Zone_, Dr. Sung got the audience to clap along very fast as the band blazed through the ambitious instrumental track.

The crowd was also asked to help out on _Rock’n’Roll Best Friend_ when the singer asked them to “sing the chorus, two simple notes….weeoowwww weeeowwww.” Seemed like band and audience became best friends after that one.

[Lots of smiles and dancing throughout the night]

Lots of smiles and dancing throughout the night. /DOUG KRETCHMER

Dr. Sung mentioned the band would really like to go to Japan so they wrote the song _Japanquest_. During the instrumental, the good doctor dazzled us with his mastery of the nun-chucks.

The singer added the song is about their search for a Japanese booking agent and, “while no we didn’t meet the Japanese booking agent of our dreams last Wednesday in Winnipeg, it’s not too late. I know you’re out there.”

Most of the songs were sung in a computer voice reminiscent of Neil Young’s _Computer Age_ from 1982’s _Trans_ album.

They threw in a cover of ’80’s Norwegian synth-pop rockers, A-Ha’s biggest hit, _Take On Me_. This seemed to blow away the very hyper audience as they started a chant of “Ho-lee shit, ho-lee shit, ho-lee shit” at the end of the song, to which the band started jamming to for about a minute.

[Dr. Sung checked the songs off the set list as they played them]

Dr. Sung checked the songs off the set list as they played them. /DOUG KRETCHMER

And to make matters even rockier and rollier, they did a very cool cover of Van Halen’s _Jump_ at the end of their 90 minute set. The spandex clad singer pulled off a high jump that rivaled David Lee Roth’s famous jump (well he didn’t jump quite as high but he certainly tried). The audience didn’t need much encouragement to jump along to this, well, jumpy tune.

According to the singer, they had played 69 songs, but according to the set list, the actual number was 16. He thanked the people for showing them how to party on a Tuesday as they left the stage.

Great stage show with some interesting choreographed moves by the band. Lots of smiles and dancing on the dance floor. Love the fact of the anonymity of the band, sort of adds a bit of mystery to them.

[TWRP fan Azure presented each band member with a painting that she did of each of them]

TWRP fan Azure presented each band member with a painting she did of each of them. /DOUG KRETCHMER

After the show, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a quick migration of fans from the front of the stage to the merchandise table in my life. Three quarters of the band, minus the catty bass player signed CD’s and posters and posed for photos with their adoring fans.

One fan, Azure, who brought her father Bernie to both shows, presented four paintings of each member, to the band. When I asked the singer where Commander Meowch was he replied, “You know cat’s, just off doing his own thing.”

[Version 2]

Havve Hogan provided a solid back beat to the grooves. /DOUG KRETCHMER

_All photos by Doug Kretchmer_
_Videos by QUIDAM_

SET LIST

Believe In Your Dreams
ICQ
Baby, NYC
Something About You
Time To Shine
Rock N Roll Best Friends
Makin’ A Move
No Pants Dance
Business Tips
Groove Crusaders
Crushin’ On U
Japanquest
Take On Me
(A-Ha cover)
Pale Blue Dot
The Hit
Jump
(Van Halen cover)

Author: Doug Kretchmer

Doug's artistic endeavours include photography, video art, drawing, poetry and acting. He also has a background in alternative radio in Vancouver where he produced and programmed a radio show from 1997 to 2001. He is involved in Winnipeg's art scene as an active member of Ace Art, Art From the Heart, Platform Gallery and as a producer member of Videopool, where he served as a board member from 2003 to 2009. He is enjoying writing for the CNC, sharing stories and giving a voice to people who might not otherwise be heard.

question: What's the name of the band?

answer: Tupperware Remix.

question: Where did they perform?

answer: Pyramid Cabaret.

question: What kind of outfits did they wear?

answer: Futuristic space outfits.

question: What is the song "Japanquest" about?

answer: Their search for a Japanese booking agent.

question: Write a ~6 sentence summary.

answer: The multitalented band Tupperware Remix performed at the Pyramid Cabaret in Toronto less than a week after their last show. The show was complete with a drone that lasted 10 minutes before the band took to the stage and futuristic space costumes. One song called "Japanquest" was about the band's search for a booking agent in Japan. During the performance, Dr Sung played around with nunchucks. Another song was a cover of Van Halen's "Jump". The audience interacted with fervor and enthusiasm to the entire set.


text:
I can feel his eyes watching me, the warmth from his gaze sends tingles all over my body. It's not normal to feel this way about him, and I never have before. So why do I? Must be the alcohol. I sit back down next to him. My eyes are shut tight, trying not to break into tears but I know he is still looking at me. Up and down my body. I take a peek and there he is practically drooling with a grin on his face. The way his eyes light up made me chuckle. I take a hit and blow the smoke from my cigarette in his face. We start talking, about us. We met in high school. We became best friends right away, we did everything together. Shared secrets and homes. He saved me from myself, you may think it's a cheesy thing to say but damn, it's true. I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for him. I wish I could say some of the credit goes towards my husband, sadly it does not.

My husband and I met my last year of high school. I was a party girl, he was a calm stay at home boy. We barely shared anything in common, but we were close in a way hard to explain. Or so, it felt like that for a good two years. After those two charming years, I began to feel lonely again. He wasn't giving me what I needed in my life. Not any attention, love, care, or hope. I yearned for prince charming, but he never arrived. I brought up the subject or leaving him. He begged me no, so I stayed.

We shortly eloped and moved in together. Then the abuse began, and no, he did not abuse me. I was always drunk. I was always high. I had a bad temper and a loud mouth. I would leave scars on him, but he always forgave me right away, held me tight and kissed me. I went insane because I felt no emotions for this man and I wanted him to exit my life but it never happened. I started to tell him I suspected foul play. Cheating, lying, hiding things from me.

One day, I limped home on a twisted ankle from falling at the bar. It was snowing and I was crying. Imagine my pain, how depressed I was. I make my way inside. I strip down to my tank top and panties. I call out for my husband but no answer. I make my way to the basement, and there he is. Sitting on our couch, having drinks with another female. I'm sorry to say I interrupted the conversation by yelling his name and throwing an old remote at him. It was the nearest object near me. My heart sunk and I finally realized how terrible it was to be cheated on. Boy, was I stupid. Wrong assumption. I walk over to the couch where he lays on the floor bleeding from his nose. The woman sits in fear, looking at me, waiting for me to explode. That's exactly what I do.

I jumped on top of her and began pulling her hair. I soon have all of her hair wrapped in my fist and I slam her head on the concrete floor. She cries, screaming and shouting words I can barely make out, "STOP! NO! BROTHER! HELP!" I puke from the alcohol on her and she gets up and runs. I lay down next to my unconscious husband and kiss him. I wrap his arm around me and fall asleep.

The next day I was arrested, and I found out the woman was his sister. They were planning a trip for vacation. If only I wasn't such a neurotic person, if only jealousy didn't drive me mad. My husband would still be alive. I wouldn't be looking out of prison bars, crying and planning suicide.

title: Murder in the basement

question: Summarize the acts of violence committed during the story.

answer: The narrator beats her husband, leaving scars on him. When she comes home and finds him talking to another woman, she throws a remote at him. Then she jumps on the woman and starts pulling her hair and slamming her head on the floor.

question: Summarize the story's twist ending.

answer: The twist is that while the narrator suspected her husband of cheating on her, the other woman was his sister. They were merely planning a vacation. It also turns out that her violence caused her husband to die.

question: What is the story's theme?

answer: The story's theme is jealousy. It ultimately is a caution tale about how jealousy can be destructive and can result in loss.

question: What actions does the narrator take to treat her abusive tendencies?


text:
I am trying to be a writer, I would like opinions.  Feel free to be as harsh or as flattering as you want, in my eyes its all constructive.  It might be a bit hard to figure out, so I guess also comment on what you think its about.

	The lights were flickering on and off.  He came into view three or four times.  Large bursts of light erupting from a pitch black abyss.  In the room, there were no sounds, no breaths, no heart beats.  When the lights were on the black abyss turned into a room, and the room was all white with blisteringly powerful light spraying off everywhere.  When the lights turned on, maybe a half a second, maybe three quarters, I was able to make out a figure.  Large, dark and angry.  Eyes completely yellow, staring me down.  My eyes reflected in his, the reflection so bright, how could I possibly look away.  I shoved my hands against my temples and squeezed, the man falling in and out of my sight.  The light turned off, a wave of black falling over me, like a midnight black blanket being wrapped around my head on a bright day.  I fell over slightly and felt nauseous.  I tripped on my own feet and my head banged against the floor, or the wall, I’m not really sure which.  At times like these I always ran to the door, kicking and screaming to let me out, to let me breathe, but I always heard the same words every time I banged the door, “anesthesia.”  I would loose track of the door at that point.  First it was on the left, then it was on the right.  Rotating around me like the orbit of a moon sped up.
	They would always turn the lights on at the worst moment, right when I would close my eyes, right when I was going to get some rest finally.  I was a child waiting for a Christmas that never came.  Sometimes, during these fits of light, I would catch the faint glimmer of a shadow over me.  The shadow of a demon like being with the horns of a devil and the knife of a butcher.  Picking and pulling at my well being, the chords of thought being plucked right from under me.  I was never able to move at these moments, never able to reach out my hand and grasp the ephemeral hand over me.  The lights started to flicker again, in and out.  If I was a bucket of sand, they would be emptying me gradually, and each grain of sand that would fall out would just disappear as it left the bucket, with each flicker of the light this would continue to happen.  The bang and the light coming and going from those in front of me who were never actually in front of me.  A worthless fight.
	How long has it been?  A week?  A month?  I’d bang on the door when I could find it.  I’d yell my name just to yell it, just to gain something from a lost experience, right up until that was lost too.  And when I’d yell, I’d cry, because I was yelling my life, my upbringing, my experiences.  After each yell, it would go, after each cry I’d forget.  And on that final day, when there was nothing left to yell, I’d wake up.
	I would wake up lying down, people in white standing over me with light shining down and red tools lying next to me.  Everything is in front of me, but I cant grasp it.  Like a fisherman trying to grab the reflection of a fish going by with his bare hands.  Except now, I am all empty.

title: This is my story (read and criticize)

question: How long has the main character been in the room?

answer: The main character doesn't know, but guesses it could be a week or a month

question: Who is keeping the main character in the room?

answer: That information can't be found

question: What is the antagonist?

answer: A large, dark, yellow-eyed, angry figure which the protagonist can only see for a moment at a time when the lights turn on

question: Where does the light come from?

answer: The reader might assume from lights in the ceiling, but it's unclear

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator is in a room and the lights are flickering on and off. When the lights are on, the room is blindingly bright and the narrator sees a tall, dark, yellow-eyed figure watching them, but the lights stay on for less than a second at a time. The narrator bangs on the door to get out, but the door moves around the room. They can't remember how long they've been there.


text:
The air was cool and the night was calm. The moon glistened on the fresh snowfall.
I rapped the door several times, not using the doorbell as I usually do.
She greeted me with a radiant smile at the door adorn in a scarf and the bells of her snow hat jumped with excitement for what was in store for the evening.
Our hands met as I helped her down the slippery stairs and, with no destination planned, we walked off into the moonlight.
The streets were empty and the snow untouched. The night was ours.
We had conversations about nothing, and reminisced about our days in highschool. Its hard to believe that after all this time we would become re acquainted with one anotherand inevitably fall in love. We reached the end of the cauldesac and I twireled her with my finger tips.
She slipped on the ice.
I caught her mid fall and pulled her close into a passionate embrace.
Her eye lashes were kissed with snow flakes and her cheeks blushed from the cold. Time was standing still and neither of us were meant to be anywhere else at that precise moment.
Our lips met deeply, in the cold of the night.
"There has been somehting I need to let you know" I said with the taste of her lips still on my breath.
"Is that so?" She said cheekly, positively glowing.
"You may say its about us," I continued.
"Go on" she said, with a smile.
"Well, I got in one little fight and my mom got scared. She said, 'Your're moving in with your aunt and uncle in Bel Air'".

title: Just for fun

question: What does the title ("Just for fun") refer to?

answer: The nature of the story, being cheeky and resulting in a pop culture reference.

question: Who are the characters?

answer: They aren't named. They knew each other in high school and are now in love with each other.

question: Summarize everything relating to Bel Air.

answer: Bel Air is mentioned as part of a lyric from a popular show that the narrator recites to their girlfriend, after teasing that there's something she has to know.

question: What season is the story set in?

answer: Winter, presumably.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator arrives at their girlfriend's house and they take a walk in the moonlight, where they embrace and the narrator says there's something the girlfriend has to know. The narrator proceeds to recite lyrics to the theme song for The Fresh Prince of Bel Air.


text:
Rider

Rider

My mom has always been supportive of my career as a musician. My dad never got around to it. The only bands he’d ever listen to were the Beatles and Rolling Stones. He wanted the Beatles played at his funeral, which he got. My mom never talks about the music that she listens to  except for her uncle Alan who toured the Midwest in the 50’s as a troubadour;  he’s still famous in our town.

I haven’t been home in a while, not that I miss it much. I moved to LA when I was 23. I was bored by the people at home. I was bored by my job at the grocery store and tired of not seeing anything. When I moved I had most of my” LA-experiences” during the first six months, right drugs- wrong people, that sort of thing. I thought the substances would inspire me as it seemed to inspire others but that never happened. I also played some gigs with local small-timers but it didn't amount to much.

My fourth summer in LA came around and thats when I met Terrie outside a used-car shop. I’d been looking to replace dad’s station-wagon that I’d driven to the coast. As  I was standing there looking over some of my options I saw the glint of peroxide-blonde hair and sweaty fishnet stockings out of the corner of my eye. I remember the coral lipstick, which I later learned was her favorite, so shiny on those lips. She walked up to me to bum a cigarette. As I’d recently quit smoking I apologized and told her I didn’t have any on me. Disappointed, she asked me for a lighter to borrow if she could bum a smoke from a man that was standing by a newsstand across the street. I didn’t have a lighter either but I reached into my vest pocket for the book of matches I always kept there. As I handed it to her she thanked me and smiled in the most heartbreaking way. I knew that I had to make her mine. Although I was more of what you might call the singer-songwriter type than a rocker, this girl with her glam rock look was something else. Underneath that make up I could see that she was pretty in an old-fashioned way. Later, when we were married, I used to tell her that she was like a burning wheat field blowing in the summer wind; she never understood what I meant and said I was a sucker. Our courtship was quick because her parents were very religious. Terrie was only 21 when we married but they consented and gave us their blessing because I was “a good God-fearing Midwestern boy.”

	Through Terrie I got more involved in the scene and discovered I had a knack for writing catchy riffs. I joined some of the locals who were in need of a guitarist and not long after that we played as support band for a famous band on their US tour. Months of touring and debauchery followed but after rising tensions in the band and disagreements with our management we decided to call it quits.

         Then Terrie got pregnant. She was excited but seeing as her job at the record store didn’t pay much and my being unemployed, I was worried to say the least. Fortunately I lucked out in joining as a touring and studio session guitarist with a band that had just signed  deal with a big label. Unfortunately this meant being on the road for long stretches at a time. Things quickly went downhill in our relationship and it was while touring in Japan that I got the terrible news that Terrie had suffered a miscarriage. She was inconsolable and quit her job. I tried to be home as much as I could to care for her but my obligations took me out of town again. Things between us never recovered after that and I blame myself. Two months after the loss of our child I got a call from Roy, a sergeant in the Marines who tells me he’s in love with my wife and she is in love with him and they are going to Germany. While this news hurt at first I can’t say I was surprised; I kept my nose to the grind to give me something else to think about. One tour lead to another and after 5 years the band went through a lineup change and I was thrust into the role of frontman. Evidently I did something right as we quickly started selling out the largest arenas and stadiums. We got through 3 good tours before ticket sales started to dwindle. These days we play to fairly large clubs and such, I don’t complain, seeing as it brings in good money. I live a private and enjoyable life.
	I’ve never met Terrie since our marriage ended but last I heard Roy was killed in a combat exercise and she had gotten remarried to a journalist. Even though our relationship went to pieces I still cherish terrie and our times together.
	At the venues we play the band usually has extensive requirements to ensure their comfort. My only requests on the rider are one ham sandwich and two fingers of bourbon. I usually go out into whichever city we’re playing that night and walk around while eating my sandwich. Even though the band is still fairly popular people seldom recognize me off the stage. I also try to find a bookstore to buy something by a local author for those long flights and bus rides. Just before showtime I’ll find a quiet spot in the venue and raise a glass for my Terrie.

title: Fisrt Post: "Rider"

question: What are the names of the other band members?

answer: That information can't be found

question: What year does this story take place in?

answer: That information can't be found

question: How long were Terrie and the narrator married?

answer: That information can't be found

question: What is the narrator's name?

answer: That information can't be found

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator dreams of becoming a musician, so he moves to LA at 23 to pursue his dream. He falls in love with Terrie, and they get married. Terrie gets pregnant, but she has a miscarriage. She leaves the narrator for a man named Roy, but the narrator's career starts to take off. Whenever his band plays somewhere, the narrator raises a glass of bourbon for Terrie just before the show.


text:
[Brave the shave]

Become a shaver

Do something amazing by shaving your head and raising money for people living with cancer

How it works

-   Sign up to Brave the Shave
-   Pick your date and location
-   Ask friends and family to sponsor you
-   Shave and share!

Donate to a shaver

Find a shaver

Our Shavers

Across the UK, thousands of incredible people are getting sponsored to shave their hair for Macmillan Cancer Support. Be inspired by their stories

Total raised this year

[]

£2,986,690

Shavers signed up this year

[]

10,454

Macmillan nurses this could fund for a year

[]

56

Shaves this week

[]

91

Shaves completed

[]

10,444

The people you help

HOW MACMILLAN SUPPORTED ALI THROUGH CANCER

When Ali was diagnosed with cervical cancer in 2015, her Macmillan nurse, Jane, was there to help through the difficult cancer treatment decisions she faced.

View more stories

Inspired by our brave shavers?

question: Summarize all the information relating to Brave the Shave.

answer: Brave the Shave is a fundraising by Macmillan Cancer Support to raise money for nurses. A shaver is registered, and friends and family are asked to support the shaver by donating money. 10 444 heads have been shaved in the current campaign and money has been raised to fund 56 nurses.

question: Summarize all the information relating to Macmillan Cancer Support.

answer: Macmillan Cancer Support is raising money by people sponsoring people to get their heads shaved. They have raised £ 2 986 690 from 10 454 shavers, this funds 56 nurses. A story is also included about Ali that was diagnosed with cervical cancer in 2015 and her Macmillan nurse, Jane, that helped her through her difficult cancer treatment.

question: How many shaves have been completed in this campaign?

answer: 10 444 of a possible 10 454.

question: How does this campaign work?

answer: Shavers sign up for a head shave, then their friends sponsor them to get their heads shave. The money goes towards Macmillan Cancer Support.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Macmillan Cancer Support's fundraising campaign is called Brave the Shave. It involves a shaver volunteering to get their head shaved and being sponsored to do so by friends and family. 56 nurses have been funded through this campaign.


text:
Foreword: This was originally posted to /r/leagueoflegends, and makes more sense in the context of the game. You could call it fan-fiction.

-----

"The meta's changed, Singed," Darius smiled. "You don't have any real gap-closers, you just can't keep up." Singed furrowed his brow and took another drink. He'd come to the Rabble Rouser Inn for a nice tonic, not to defend himself.
"I've got speed to make up for it," he mumbled, "and there's my slow..."
"Every champ and their support has a slow, Singed," Zyra mused, "and without items you're no faster than the rest of us. Frankly, your dependence is a liability, especially with less movement items available." No matter how angrily he glared at it, Singed's glass was still in one piece.
"Gap-closers aren't everything," Singed protested. "I can get more health than anyone else with my passive, and with Madred's Bloodrazor gone, I--"
"Hah! Madred's might be gone," Darius interrupted, "but you know as well as I do the Blade of the Ruined King more than makes up for it."
"Never mind a Liandry's Torment," Zyra interjected. Singed was beginning to snarl beneath his bandages. He'd throw them into the counter, if he could find it.
"My poison can push like nothing else," Singed growled, his voice lifting slowly, "and it's very effective at directing, particularly with a Liandry's." Singed shot a look at Zyra as he mentioned it, receiving a glare in return. Darius looked noticeably irritated at the ease with which Singed shrugged off his harassment.
"Magic resist might be less common than before," he snapped "but with a crystalline flask, I'm not that bothered."
Slight foam forming in his mouth, Singed bared his teeth and stormed towards the exit. Darius stomped after him, but as he reached out for Singed's shoulder, he began to feel weak. Singed stopped, and Darius bounced off him, slumping against the wall.
His vision becoming blurry, Darius looked up to see someone crouching down to him. He felt their breath on his cheek, and listened as they whispered into his ear.
"Don't Chase Singed."

title: Singed walks into a bar

question: Who is the main character?

answer: Singed

question: Who is the main character talking to?

answer: Darius and Zyra

question: What are they talking about?

answer: They are talking about a game. Darius and Zyra claim that Singed is a liability. Signed is defending himself, becoming angry.

question: How are the characters feeling?

answer: Signed becomes angry. Darius is irritated that Signed shrugs off his harassment.

question: Write a ~6 sentence summary.

answer: Darius and Zyra are verbally attacking Signed about being a liability in the game they play. Signed defends himself, and is angry. Darius becomes irritated that Signed is able to shrug off his harassment. Signed gets up to leave and Darius stomps after him, reaching for his shoulder. Darius bounces off of him, slumped up against the wall. Someone tells him not to chase Signed.


text:
TEUN is a Dutch masculine given name. It is a short form of Teunis, itself a derivative of Antonius (Anthony).[1] It is also considered a diminutive form of Antonius, Anton, Antoon, Anthonis, Anthoon, Antonie, and Antonis used in Belgium, Netherlands, Suriname, South Africa, Namibia, and Indonesia.[2] As a birth name it has risen in popularity since the 1980s.[3] People with the name include:

-   Teun Beijnen (1899–1949), Dutch rower, Olympic competitor in 1924 and 1928 Summer Olympics
-   Teun Buijs (born 1960), Dutch volleyball player
-   Teun van Dijck (born 1963), Dutch politician and former management consultant, restaurateur and civil servant
-   Teun A. van Dijk (born 1943), scholar in text linguistics, discourse analysis and Critical Discourse Analysis
-   Teun Eikelboom (born 1940), Dutch composer, musician and writer known by the pseudonym Tonny Eyk
-   (born 1947), Dutch photographer

-   (1927–2014), Dutch Old Catholic bishop

-   Teun Jacob (1927–2009), Dutch wall painter and sculptor who lived and worked in Rotterdam
-   Teun van de Keuken (born 1971), Dutch television and radio producer
-   Teun Kloek (born 1934), Dutch economist, Emeritus Professor of Econometrics at the Erasmus Universiteit Rotterdam
-   Teun Koolhaas (1940–2007), Dutch architect and urban planner
-   Teun Luijkx (born 1986), Dutch actor
-   Teun Mulder (born 1981), Dutch track cyclist
-   Teun de Nooijer (born 1976), field hockey player from the Netherlands who twice became Olympic champion
-   Teun Sprong (1889–1971), Dutch long-distance runner
-   Teun Struycken (1906–1977), Dutch politician and a member of the Catholic People's Party
-   Teun Tolman (1924–2007), Dutch politician
-   Teun van Vliet (born 1962), retired Dutch road bicycle racer
-   Teun Voeten (born 1961), international photojournalist specializing in war and conflicts

Theun

-   Theun de Vries (1907–2005), Dutch writer and poet

[1]

[2]

[3] Teun at the Meertens Institute database of given names in the Netherlands.

title: Teun

question: What name is Teun a derivative of?

answer: Teun is a derivative of Antonius or Anthony.

question: When did Teun see an increase of popularity as a birth name?

answer: The popularity of Teun as a birth name has increased since the 1980s.

question: What name was Teun Eikelboom also known as?

answer: Teun Eikelboom was also known as Tonny Eyk.

question: When was Teun Buijs born?

answer: Teun Buijs was born in 1960.

question: What did Teun Jacob do for a living?

answer: Teun Jacob was a painter and sculptor.

question: Who is the only Theun listed on this page?

answer: Theun de Vries is the only Theun listed on this page.

question: Which Teun is a Dutch television and radio producer?

answer: Teun van de Keuken is a Dutch television and radio producer.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Teun is a Dutch name derived from Anthony. It has risen in popularity since the 1980s as a birth name. A list of important Teuns and Theuns is given, stretching back to the 1880s.


text:
Design products for the people who use them, not for your newsroom.

[James Tyner]

On the day I began writing this, I woke up to find a new survey from the American Press Institute that identified one key reason young people pay for news:

  “For younger audiences to be willing to pay, they must bond with your mission and purpose.”

What this means is that news organizations have to do their work with the public in mind. Reporting that is irrelevant, stiff and haughty, self-serving or elitist is not going to strike a chord with an audience looking to subscribe to journalists whom they believe in.

Fighting the journalistic ego that leads to these newsroom-centric (rather than audience-centric) trends has long been my goal. That’s why I’m dismayed every time I see or hear something that shows the ego is still there, such as when reporters withhold information from their peers in the same newsroom or when television anchors frame the “we followed this” aspect of a story as nearly equal to the story itself (see the anchor introduction to this package as an example).

[Image for post]

This screenshot is dated 2:34 p.m. on May 11, taken on an Apple Watch.
For a real-world illustration of ego at work, take a look at this push notification I received from USA Today.

  “He was 8. It didn’t have to end this way. #TheShortList”

The notification contains no name. It doesn’t describe what “it” is or what “this way” is. More than a quarter of the 45 characters in the notification are devoted to “#TheShortList,” which only upon further investigation did I find out is a nightly newsletter from USA Today.

The beauty of push notifications, from the newsroom perspective, is the power they have to drive traffic to stories. In November, The New York Times told Digiday __ that push notifications drive up to 60 percent of global traffic to any given story. There’s also something to be said about the effect of formerly print-focused publications being able to remind users that they exist throughout the day. I would assume that USA Today had all of this in mind when it sent a push notification that contained no apparently relevant information.

But for the audience, the beauty of a push notification is important news when you need it. Push notifications are distracting, yes, but they’re unobtrusive. They’re bite-sized, and you can see them as they come, interact with them if you wish, or just leave them alone.

So when USA Today sends a push alert that’s only meant to drive newsletter traffic, I wonder: Does any of this serve a story? Does any of this make a positive difference for the public? And perhaps more importantly, does any of this serve the audience?

At a time when journalism is as important as ever but is hobbled by less trust than ever, _every little thing_ matters, because it shapes how the industry is perceived and the degree to which our audiences believe in our mission and purpose.

[Image for post]

From left to right: Annie in Facebook Messenger; the Annie app introduction screen, home screen, and chat screen

This semester, we set out to create a news product at USC Annenberg Mediathat would inspire trust in our audience. We settled on a chatbot, available on Facebook Messenger and as a standalone app, and we named her Annie.

Annie exists because we spoke with our audience and identified what motivates them. We tried to get at why they read what they read, why they trust what they trust and why they know what they know. Annie exists because our audience of college students lives on their phones, is always in a hurry and expects thoughtful design and relevant information at their fingertips.

From the start, Annie was intended to _be_ relatable, not just to _seem_ relatable. She’s meant to be what our audience needs her to be: a friend who respects your time and gives you the news you need when it’s convenient for you.

This seems like a small thing, but it’s a big deal. Think about the ways that ego can get in the way of a story: we write convoluted sentences to show our writing prowess; we construct video story packages to fit into a half-hour news show, not a mobile user’s daily routine; we build workflows around the needs of a legacy print product or show rather than putting the larger internet audience first.

To move away from big journalist egos getting in the way of audience trust, we at the Annenberg Media Center designed what Annie says and the way she says it to be calm, relatable and direct. The story synopses are glanceable. The app lets you direct your own news flow. Annie was designed for an audience, not for a newsroom.

For now, Annie provides breaking news notifications and a regular digest of new stories. We have tentative plans to further her mission in later versions, including allowing direct communication with reporters through the in-app chat client. The idea is that being transparent and inclusive with the audience shows that we’re on their level — we’re not above them, we are _with_ them.

Now, Annie hasn’t launched yet. Maybe I’m wrong about all this audience-focused stuff, and I (and she) will be embarrassed. But I believe in Annie and the focus on audience, because this is the only way things can move forward.

It is so, so, so important now to keep this in mind. This year, the public has shown us that it values accurate, full-fledged journalism. But that also means we have a mandate to listen to them and unify the world behind these common facts.

The audience is looking to us for a mission and purpose. And it seems like we as an industry are giving that to them:

But all of this showmanship and branding will go to waste if we can’t deliver what the newly developed audience expects: us to care about them, give them what they need and deserve and make a positive difference.

We can’t let our egos get in the way.

question: Why does the author believe that ego is a problem in journalism?

answer: The trouble lies in the fact that elitist newsrooms are putting themselves first, considering the way they attempt to communicate current affairs. There is an elitist attitude about exclusivity and an unwillingness to adapt to a larger internet audience.

question: How does the author feel this can be changed?

answer: The author uses a chat-bot called Annie as an example. The idea is to have a direct contact who informs the user in short sigestable bursts about news they can connect with. It also connects people directly with other journalists, the author believes this would show that journalists donät consider themselves 'above the reader' but 'with the reader'.

question: What is the main message of the article?

answer: Journalists shouldn't let ego get in the way of giving the readers/viewers what they need from the news.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Ablog post discussing the negative side of ego in journalism and how newsrooms are adapting their strategies to connect to 'young people'. The author offers an example as to how to connect to the reader.


text:
Janette Husárová and Conchita Martínez were the defending champions, but Husárová did not compete this year. Martínez teamed up with Elena Likhovtseva and lost in quarterfinals to Daniela Hantuchová and Francesca Schiavone.

Virginia Ruano Pascual and Paola Suárez won the title by defeating Svetlana Kuznetsova and Alicia Molik 6–7(7–9), 6–2, 6–1 in the final.

Seeds

Draw

Draw

title: 2005 Dubai Tennis Championships – Women's Doubles

question: When was the championship held?

answer: In 2005.

question: Who did not compete this year?

answer: Janette Husárová

question: Who did Martinez team up with?

answer: Martinez teamed up with Elena Likhovtseva.

question: Did Martinez and Likhovtseva win>

answer: No, they lost in the quarterfinals.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer:
Janette Husárová did not compete this year in the championship. Instead, Conchita Martinez teamed up with Elena Likhovtseva.

The two reached the quarterfinals where they lost to Daniela Hantuchová and Francesca Schiavone.


text:
_ALL MY COMPATRIOTS_, also known as _ALL MY COUNTRYMEN_ (), is a 1968 Czechoslovak film directed by Vojtěch Jasný. Considered the “most Czech” of his contemporary filmmakers, Jasný's style was primarily lyricist.[1] It took nearly 10 years to complete the script and it was his greatest work. The movie was based on real people from Jasný's hometown Kelč. The film was banned[2] and the director went into exile rather than recant. It was entered into the 1969 Cannes Film Festival where Jasný won the award for Best Director.[3]

Cast

-   Radoslav Brzobohatý as Peasant František
-   Věra Galatíková as František's wife (as V. Galatíková)
-   Vlastimil Brodský as Organist Očenáš
-   Vladimír Menšík as Jořka Pyřk
-   Waldemar Matuška as Peasant Zášinek
-   Drahomíra Hofmanová as Widow Machačová
-   Pavel Pavlovský as Postman Bertin
-   Václav Babka as tailor Franta Lampa
-   Josef Hlinomaz as Painter Frajz
-   Karel Augusta as Bricklayer Joza Trňa
-   Ilja Prachař as Photographer Josef Plecmera (as I. Prachař)
-   Václav Lohniský as Zejvala (as V. Lohniský)
-   Jiří Tomek (as J. Tomek)
-   Helena Růžičková as Božka (as H. Růžičková)
-   Oldřich Velen as Policeman (as O. Velen)

Plot

The film begins in 1945 and traces the seasonal or annual changes that a small Moravian village undergoes until the Epilogue, which is sometime after 1958.

(1945) The first part establishes the innocence and camaraderie of a village amidst the backdrop of a post-War landscape. Children play with guns and a land mine is discovered while ploughing the fields. A group of villagers detonate it and end the night dancing and drinking in the local pub. They leave at dawn as the sun rises on a beautiful, idyllic landscape and stop to sleep beneath a tree after taking in the view.

(1948) It is just months after the Communists have taken power in February. Loud speakers blare propaganda and announce rations while the farmer František works. We discover that four of the main villagers have converted, namely, the organist Očenáš, the photographer Plecmera, the postman Bertin, and Zejvala. The townspeople disdain them. A landowner must vacate his land so it can become a collective; his wife tearfully removes pictures of Jesus and the Virgin Mary from the walls as the landowner criticizes: “I hope you look after this place, your own looks like a pigsty.” To which the communists respond ominously: “Don't worry! We will show you what we can do!” The communists greedily inspect their winnings (animals, house, a stockpile of wood) and begin to loot for themselves. Meanwhile, a tailor sets up shop with his wife and the help of friends, who warn him that the communists will put an end to his good fortunes. Indeed, a group of communists come and demand he turn over the property on which he has just spent his life's savings and lead a tailoring collective instead.

(1949) Bertin, the postman, is shot soon after we see him and his wife-to-be, Machačová, being fitted for wedding clothes. A funeral is held after which police arrest those they deem responsible. František the noble farmer leads a mass of townspeople to demand the police turn over some of the wrongly accused perpetrators, namely the priest. The organist Očenáš, facing death threats, leaves at his wife's persistence. The photographer's wife, aspiring for status and a new house, implores her husband to fill the position left behind by Očenáš.

(1951) Zášinek comes home drunk from a night at the bar. He hallucinates the ghost of his ex-wife, a Jew. He had divorced her because he feared the Germans and she had died in a concentration camp. Her ghost tells him that she has forgiven him. Nevertheless, his guilt drives him mad. He sees her again at an afternoon soiree and dances with her briefly. Meanwhile, Machačová, “the merry widow,” shows up to the same soiree with the town thief, Jořka. He has been summoned to prison a few days prior and we understand that he is to report that afternoon. After dancing, he bids her farewell and walks off, presumably toward the prison. He stops and pours acid on his left foot, which starts to hiss and boil. He returns a clock he had stolen, repaired, to its rightful owner, then collapses from his wound and dies as white goose down covers him like snow.

(Autumn, 1951) Zášinek is still upset about his guilt. He visits the church to confess. He is shown later at a pub amidst friends and the merry widow. They dine and soon begin to dance, all while being painted. The painting shifts from formless shapes to lackluster diners to a frenzied dance, with Zášinek soon depicted as a devil with a skull. He returns home the next morning drunk and is impaled by a loose bull and dies.

(1952) František's weary father comments on how his strength is failing with age. At a townhall meeting, the communists announce they will take more loans; the panel clap for each other. The audience does not clap; František speaks against the decision and leads away the villagers. The communists seek to destroy him, for “as long as he is around, nothing will get done.” He is arrested; police attempt to get others to sign statements alleging his guilt but with no immediate success—the villagers hold out until they are threatened.

(1954) A communist who had stolen from the original confiscated house returns. He is called a disgrace and dismissed. František has escaped from prison but he is sick and near death.

(1955) František's health rebounds. He no longer has anything but buys a horse and sets to work again. The narrator asks, “which can bear more, a man or a horse? A man, because he has to.”

(1957) Realizing that the village rallies around the noble František, the communists ask him to persuade the others to declare their harvests. František refuses. After being forced, all villagers sign except Frantisek.

(1958) František is taken to the home originally seized from the landowner. It has been poorly taken care of; he agrees to take it on and become the collective's leader. On his way to assume the role, he and his daughter's carriage are stopped by a carnival procession of villagers masked with the heads of animals and monsters. They are gentle to him and he laughs as he continues. The mob moves next to an oncoming car. It is the photographer and his wife. They stop it, pull them out and dance. The photographer's merriment is cut short as he clutches his chest and falls to the snow with a heart attack. Later the townspeople amassed at the pub remove their animal masks and remark: “soon all the people will be gone and all that will be left are the animals.”

(Epilogue) Očenáš returns to the village. He runs into the now-blind and divorced photographer who has tumbled from power. Očenáš asks about František, who he discovers has recently died. The photographer remarks: “the best people go and the blackguards stay.” Očenáš visits František's family and speaks with his daughters, who tell him the farmer's last words were to “listen to the workers in the fields”-- “things will be better when they begin to sing again.” Očenáš departs on his bike and looks back forlornly on the countryside as he laments: “We have made our beds and now we have to lie in them. But have we made them ourselves? What have we done, rather, what have we undone, all my fellow countrymen?”

Accolades

  Date of ceremony                          Award                           Category        Recipient(s)    Result
  ----------------------------------------- ------------------------------- --------------- --------------- -------- -----
  1969                                      Cannes Film Festival            Best Director   Vojtěch Jasný            [4]
  Technical Grand Prize - Special Mention   Vojtěch Jasný
  Palme d'Or                                Vojtěch Jasný
  Plzeň Film Festival                       Golden Kingfisher (Best Film)   Vojtěch Jasný

Sequel

In 1977 an unofficial spiritual sequel _The Moravian Land_ was released. It was directed by Antonín Kachlík. The film was meant to be a counterbalance to _All My Compatriots_. Many actors from All My Compatriots also starred in the _Moravian Land_. It presented collectivization as a positive thing.[5]

Vojtěch Jasný directed _Return to Paradise Lost_ in 1999. It is a loose continuation to All My Compatriots. It stars Vladimír Pucholt as a Czech émigrée who returns home after fall of Communist regime. He comes from the village showed in All My Compatriots. Some characters returned in this sequel.[6]

Notes

[1] Liehm, Antonin. Closely Watched Films: Vojtěch Jasný. 1974.

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

title: All My Compatriots

question: What is All My Compatriots?

answer: a 1968 Czechoslovak film, noted as the greatest work of director Vojtěch Jasný

question: Who played Peasant František in All My Compatriots?

answer: Radoslav Brzobohatý

question: Who won best direct at the 1969 Cannes Film Festival?

answer: Vojtěch Jasný

question: What is Moravia?

answer: the article does not answer this question

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: All My Compatriots is a 1968 Czechoslovak film, noted as the greatest work of director Vojtěch Jasný.


text:
Husna Mazari has always been in the spotlight, since high school his fellow classmates would stare in awe, his parents would display their pride and his teachers would brag about their teaching skills. But to Husna his incredible mathematic skill was just apart of his life that he took for granted day by day.

At school Husna may be the closest thing to a Hollywood actor the local Punjabi boys would see in their lives and at home it was very much the same. He lived in a small hut 10 minutes walk from the school, in his house lived his parents and close family friends; a couple called Ayesha and Ibrahim. Ayesha would help Husna’s Mother with the cooking while Ibrahim was away 11 months of the year teaching in America, but for Husna it saddened him that all they saw in him was a genius mathematician, no one cared if he liked sports, if he liked music or if he even liked mathematics. His life consisted of prayer to Allah, Math, Math, Math and prayer, and he was not content.

It wasn’t until Husna was 20 when he received a letter from the University of Memphis.

Mr. Mazari,

We are pleased to inform you that we would like to offer you a Scholarship to a course of your choice. You shall be given a room to board and an English as a second language tutor.

Dean Roberts

The plane trip amazed Husna never had he dreamed that he would ever be on one, let alone be travelling to America to study in college. The plane flight went fast, Husna had his head pressed against the window the whole time, the passenger next to him, an American with a strong southern accent would occasionally glance over and comment “Alright there fella”, Husna, understanding the tiniest amount of English would say “Yes… the clouds… so high”. He would feel like an idiot because of his lack of knowledge on the English language even though he could solve any equation in his head in the click of a finger.

Husna arrived at the University in the dark of night, everything from the car that picked him up to his 4 metre by 8 metre bedroom he would stare wide eyed and smiling. This has been the best day of his life, only if the rest of his time in America was like this day.

Husna attended his first class in Advanced Mathematics, of course, for every question his professor wrote down he knew the answer but he wouldn’t dare put his hand up to answer. The first few days were like this; eventually Husna had the courage to answer the question the professor had asked “48” Husna mumbled, “I’m sorry what was your answer” the professor stated, “48” Husna said again quietly, there was a shout across the lecture hall “Speak up towel head!” the whole hall giggle and laughed. This was the first time Husna felt afraid.
It had been two weeks and Husna still refused to meet his English tutor, the constant and now effective racist insults started hitting him hard. Now he always thought to himself “What is wrong with my religion?” “What is wrong with my country?” but the question that pressed him the most “What is wrong with these people?” Even though he didn’t dare put his hand up in class again this didn’t stop people from bumping into him on his way to classes, or muttering disgusting insults under their breath loud enough for Husna to hear. The worst thing was, Husna had no one to talk to, and this is what hurt him the most.

Husna had begun to stop eating; he lost weight rapidly and started to skip class. This was unlike him and he began to feel like a stranger to himself. One night in his room he reminisced of his life back in the Punjab province in Pakistan, how people in his school looked at him in awe and respect, this made him sad. After hours of self-mourning he became sick of it, sick of how low he has gotten, sick of how people treated him. He decided to visit his English tutor.

The hallway to the tutor was long and daunting, Husna thought to himself why he had put this off, it was because he was afraid to talk to someone one on one. He reached the door; the sign read “Mr. I. Janwari, ESL Tutor”. With a sigh Husna opened the door, his head hung how until he heard a familiar voice, “Husna what has taken you so long” Husna threw his head up to see the single most satisfying thing he has seen since America, a familiar face, a friend. Ibrahim.

title: Familiar

question: What does the story say about how to be a genius mathematician?

question: What does the story say about Husna Mazari's life in Pakistan?

answer: Husna Mazari was like a Hollywood actor in Punjab (Pakistan) because he was a genius mathematician. He has always been in the spotlight since high school. His fellow classmates would stare in awe, his parents would show their pride, and his teachers would brag about their teaching skills. Husna lived in a small hut with his parents and close family friends, but it saddened him that all they saw in him was a genius mathematician. No one cared if he liked sports or music, and he wasn't content with a life that revolved around Allah and Math.

question: How does Husna's life in America differ from his life in Pakistan?

answer: Husna's life in America was the complete opposite of his life in Pakistan. From a Hollywood-like figure in Pakistan who was always in the spotlight, Husna was bullied and ridiculed for his race and religious beliefs in America. In Pakistan, Husna was confident and knew his place in the world. In America, however, Husna was lost, had no voice, and had no friends. He was afraid to speak even though he knew the answer and he started to question everything.

question: What might have happened if Husna went to see Ibrahim sooner?

answer: Husna would probably get a handle on the English language better. He would've learned how to survive on an American campus from someone who has been there longer than him. Husna would probably be more confident because he knows he has a friend from back home that he can talk to. Ibrahim could also introduce Husna to other Pakistani or Muslim students.


text:
'''Edward Boker Sterling ''' (September 9, 1851 – November 29, 1925), of Trenton, New Jersey, was a philatelist who specialized in the study of United States postage stamps, postal stationery, and revenue stamps.

Collecting interests

Sterling is famous for his collection and study of United States revenue stamps, which are essentially tax stamps on certain goods and commodities issued by the federal government. Sterling amassed one of the finest such collections and sold it to Hiram Edmund Deats in 1888 for what was then the huge sum of seven thousand dollars.

In 1890, he and Deats joined together and purchased seven boxcar loads (amounting to 213 tons) of “excessed” paperwork from the U.S. Treasury. They discovered that the lot contained a “gold mine” of revenue stamps, including unused ones. The government eventually discovered its error, and demanded return of the lot, with most of it being returned.

After selling his revenue collection to Deats, Sterling became a stamp dealer, still specializing in revenue stamps. He made several important purchases, such as the archives of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania security printers and engravers Butler and Carpenter which contained both private and government revenue stamps. The archives contained essays, proofs, “special tax stamps” and other collateral material, most of which he subsequently sold to Deats.

Philatelic literature

Sterling issued his postage stamp catalog of United States stamps in 1887. In 1888, he issued his revenue stamp catalog of the United States, which became the standard reference for revenues.

Honors and awards

Sterling was admitted to the American Philatelic Society Hall of Fame in 1997.

title: Edward Boker Sterling

question: What did Edward Sterling do for a living?

answer: He was a philatelist who specialized in the study of United States postage stamps, postal stationery, and revenue stamps.

question: Who did Sterling sell his stamp collection to in 1888?

answer: He sold it to Hiram Edmund Deats.

question: What are some of the most important stamp purchases ever made by Sterling?

answer: These are the archives of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania security printers and engravers Butler and Carpenter which contained both private and government revenue stamps.

question: Which hall of fame was Sterling admitted to?

answer: He was admitted to the American Philatelic Society Hall of Fame in 1997.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer:
Edward Boker Sterling was a philatelist who collected and studied the United States postage stamps, postal stationery, and revenue stamps.

Sterling had an amazing collection which he sold to Hiram Deats in 1888 for about £7000. Part of Sterling's important collections includes the archives of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania security printers and engravers Butler and Carpenter which contained both private and government revenue stamps.

Sterling was inducted into the American Philatelic Society Hall of Fame in 1997.


text:
YOHANNA PETROS MOUCHE (born November 23, 1943) is an Iraqi Syriac Catholic prelate. He serves as the Archbishop of Mosul.

Early life

Yohanna Petros Mouche was born on November 23, 1943 in Bakhdida, Nineveh Governorate, Iraq.[1] He was ordained as a priest on June 6, 1968.[2]

Career

Mouche was elected as the Archbishop of Mosul in 2011.[3]

In August 2011, he blamed the bombing of the Holy Family Church in Kirkuk on government infighting, concluding that officials were too busy arguing among themselves to keep the country safe.[4]

In August 2014, he visited Christian refugees in Soran, Kurdistan[5]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

title: Yohanna Petros Mouche

question: Who is Yohanna Petros Mouche?

answer: An Iraqi Syriac Catholic prelate

question: What was Mouche elected as?

answer: As Archbishop of Mosul in 2011

question: What did Mouche blame the government for?

answer: For the bombing of the Holy Family Church in Kirkuk

question: Where was Mouche born?

answer: In Bakhdida, Nineveh Governorate, Iraq.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Yohanna Petros Mouche is an Iraqi Syriac Catholic prelate whom was elected as the Archbishop of Mosul in 2011. He has blamed government infighting for the bombing of the Holy Family Church in Kirkuk.


text:
The FEDERAL DETENTION CENTER, HONOLULU (FDC HONOLULU) is a United States federal prison facility in Hawaii which holds male and female prisoners of all security levels prior to or during court proceedings in Hawaii Federal District Court, as well as inmates serving brief sentences. It is operated by the Federal Bureau of Prisons, a division of the United States Department of Justice.

FDC Honolulu is located adjacent to Honolulu International Airport,[1] and is at the airport's western perimeter. The building has twelve stories.[2]

As of 2013 it houses 300 prisoners sentenced under Hawaiian law rather than federal law; the Hawaii state prison system did not have enough capacity for these prisoners.[3]

History

The facility opened in 2001. The first 25 inmates to occupy the facility were scheduled to arrive at FDC Honolulu on July 31 of that year; previously they were held in facilities in the Mainland United States. The first five groups, each consisting of 25 inmates, were made up of inmates within their final two years of their federal prison sentences. FDC Honolulu relieved the Oahu Community Correctional Center, operated by the Hawaii Department of Public Safety. As of June 2001, the Oahu Community Correctional Center, designed to hold 1,000 pretrial inmates, held 1,150 pretrial inmates. The first pretrial inmates from Hawaii were scheduled to move into the federal center one month after the first five groups of 25 convicted inmates had arrived.[4]

As of 2016 the Hawaiian Legislature expressed an interest in acquiring FDC Honolulu.[5]

Notable Inmates (current and former)

+---------+-------+----------------+----------------------------------+
| Inmate  | Regis | Status         | Details                          |
| Name    | ter   |                |                                  |
|         | Numbe |                |                                  |
|         | r     |                |                                  |
+=========+=======+================+==================================+
| Duane   | 95743 | Arrested on    | Subjects of the A&E reality      |
| “Dog”   | -022  | September 14,  | television program _Dog the      |
| Chapman |       | 2006; released | Bounty Hunter_; arrested on an   |
|         | 95744 | on bail the    | illegal bounty hunting warrant   |
| Leland  | -022  | next day.      | issued in Mexico in connection   |
| Chapman |       |                | with their apprehension of       |
|         | 95742 |                | serial rapist Andrew Luster in   |
| Tim     | -022  |                | 2003; the charges against them   |
| Chapman |       |                | were later dismissed.[6]         |
+---------+-------+----------------+----------------------------------+

[1] “FDC Honolulu.” Federal Bureau of Prisons. Retrieved on December 30, 2009.

[2] Bosworth, Mary. _The U.S. Federal Prison System_. SAGE Publications, July 19, 2002. , 9780761923046. p. 235.

[3] Thompson, David. “Field Guide: Honolulu Behind Bars” (Archive). _Honolulu_. July 9, 2012. Retrieved on February 7, 2016.

[4] “New jailhouse ready for first inmates” (Archive). _Honolulu Star-Bulletin_. Wednesday June 13, 2001. Retrieved on December 30, 2009.

[5] “H.C.R. NO. 31” (Archive). Government of Hawaii. Retrieved on February 7, 2016.

[6]

title: Federal Detention Center, Honolulu

question: What does the article say about the inmates housed at Federal Detention Center, Honolulu?

answer: FDC Honolulu holds male and female prisoners of all security levels prior to and during court proceedings in Hawaii Federal District Court. It houses 300 prisoners sentenced under Hawaiian law as the Hawaii state prison system did not have enough capacity for these prisoners. The first five groups of 25 were made up of in mates within their final two years of their federal prison sentences. FDC Honolulu relieved the Oahu Community Correctional Center which was over capacity. Notable inmates include the Chapman family, subjects of the A&E reality television program "Dog the Bounty Hunter" who were arrested for an illegal bounty hunt warrant issued in Mexico in connection with their apprehension of serial rapist Andrew Luster. They were released on bail and charges against them were later dropped.


text:
[]

ISLAMABAD: Pakistanis are signing up for an online campaign that is pleading Muslims to stick to the good old "Khuda Hafiz" of Persian origin instead of the new Arabised version "Allah Hafiz" that became popular during the regime of former military ruler Zia-ul-Haq.
"Khuda Hafiz," traditionally used by Muslims in the subcontinent to bid goodbye, is being taken over by "Allah Hafiz". Most people in Pakistan have switched to "Allah Hafiz," which they think is more religiously correct.
Britain-based Amina Gillani has launched a campaign on social networking site Facebook to bring back the use of "Khuda Hafiz" in common parlance.
"Support Pakistan's innocent, historical goodbye - khuda hafiz. Stand against the essentialist ideology working to remove it from our colloquial discourse.
"All discussions on how either new words and phrases, or (excessive) use and absences of existing words and phrases, impact social realities and experiences are welcome," Gillani posted on her page.
The going has not been easy for the group, which has managed about 1,168 members, including Indians, in the past few months.
"I have been saying Khuda Hafiz all my life and still do but when people stare at you and try to correct you, its then that I flare at them and tell them to mind their own business," wrote Nighat Navaid, a Pakistani national.
"Fi Amanillah is the best if you really want to say it in Arabic. Otherwise there is no harm in saying Khuda hafiz... Allah's name in Farsi (Persian)... is Khuda!" wrote Samiya Mohsin, who signed up for "Bring back Khuda Hafiz".
On the other hand, Abida Nudrat joined in to make a case for "Allah Hafiz".
She wrote: "Allah is the Ism-e-Azam meaning great name... The word Khuda means God which can also be used while referring to the deities".
Sajid Hussain challenged her with: "If it were like this, then why wasn't this word used from 1400 years (ago)".
"Why only in the subcontinent now?" Salman Khan, another member, went a step further and wrote, "Allah ho ya Khuda ho, Ishwar ho, ya God, if it's one God then you are a Muslim".
To counter Gillani's group, "Say only Allah Hafiz" has been floated on Facebook.
Some Pakistani columnists have been writing about the shift from Khuda Hafiz to Allah Hafiz. Khaled Ahmed wrote about "The rise of the Allah Hafizites" a few years ago.
Another leading columnist, Ejaz Haider, wrote that when he was growing up, he never heard anyone say Allah Hafiz: "But the reality is that Khuda Hafiz now has very few takers... It is amazing how we have Arabised ourselves despite our much stronger and direct Persian connection," he wrote.

FacebookTwitterLinkedinEMail

question: What is at the core of the argument between the online campaigns about the choice between two greetings - "Allah Hafiz" and "Khuda Hafiz"?

answer: There is a growing sentiment that Pakistanis (though of Persian origins) are becoming more Arabised, thus favoring "Allah Hafiz" over "Khuda Hafiz".


text:
Machine Tool

I sit here useless, gathering dust. They think I've fulfilled my job and as I got old, they discarded me. Not only discarded but replaced, the youngster replacing being faster, stronger and cockier. Apparently that's all they care about, they've been with me for over 10 years before throwing me away and somehow I'm the non-sentient tool? That's what they think of me, some kind of machine tool. I'm useful if I operate quickly from morn till dusk but after that I'm replaced.

How am I to live? Starved of my fuel? Crippled beyond defence? They haven't given me anything, nothing to show my ten years of service. They just… left me.

I spend my last days sitting on the streets of the Indian slums, the blistering sun piercing my burnt skin; I wish I never took up the job. The title "chain stores" describes my conditions in those sweatshops.

title: [RF] Machine Tool (First Post :D)

question: What was the nature of the narrator's job?

answer: It is not stated.

question: Why did the narrator feel underappreciated at his/her job?

answer: Because after working for at least ten years, the company discarded them without anything and replaced them.

question: Why was the narrator let go of his/her job?

answer: The narrator got older and likely weaker and not efficient enough for the job anymore.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator lost their job when they got replaced by another, despite dedicating at least ten years of service to the company. Now that the narrator was jobless, they felt helpless, useless, abandoned, and unappreciated by the company.


text:
The water-planet Earth has on its surface vast dry terrains named deserts—geographical areas characterized by a severe lack of moisture that strongly discourages plant habitation. One such region, cartographically referenceable as the Country—abstract divisions of Earth; largely having political merit— Africa, saw the unlikely existence of an unyielding plant.

It was the only tree around as far as one could see  ; an anomaly disturbing the horizon. Humans within its locality made use of it in navigation and thus it held sentimental value. It was later termed “The lonely tree”. The following is a short anecdote about this tree written by a human born many decades after the death of the tree:

*The lonely tree that existed in Africa is now widely known and celebrated for unclear reasons. As far as I can tell, people are always looking for and finding such things they claim to be inspired by. Anyway, this tree was somewhat special and more valuable than most trees because it was useful as the sole landmark of the region. One day a drunken truck driver ran it over , destroying it beyond regrowth . The death of their only landmark soured the mood of the people who had become fond of passing by it , perhaps even admiring its unlikely growth. But they moved on and accepted the unfortunate conclusion of a finite natural phenomenon.*

*Upon discovery of this tale by tourists , the tree was given new life via literary and digital recordings of its history.  The history of the tree was deemed to have inspirational and sentimental value by sporadic tale spreaders. They expressed their wishes to have witnessed the tree in its glory despite knowing little about the geographical region , the people who resided there , or how they survived there . A page for this tree even got dedicated on Wikipedia so others may easily find out about it and long for moments past when it stood alone in the African desert . Eventually people sharing this view assembled and put up a metal monument at the location where it once stood; a true testament to their collective communication and desire.*

*The future generations of the local population may ask about the origins of such a contraption in the middle of an otherwise flat desert.*

*Eventually it may become accepted as the lonely tree in the middle of the desert. A later day may see a drunken vehicle operator destroying it*.

title: Lonely tree (not really a short story but I'm new to this)

question: What is the moral of the story?

answer: Perhaps that we become accustomed to destruction and treat our earth with increasing disrespect

question: Why would people place sentimental value on something they had never seen?

answer: Humans are known to place sentimental value on ideals and relics. Perhaps the lone tree was a symbol of survival against the odds. Following the destruction of the tree, people were happy to accept the metal replacement as the lonely tree

question: Why did people long for the return of the tree after it was destroyed?

answer: The tree offered some interest in a flat desert with no other landmarks. People used it for navigation

question: Will people miss the replacement lonely tree, if it is destroyed?

answer: They can rebuild it. It has no life, unlike the lonely tree

question: Write a ~11 sentence summary.

answer:
Planet earth has many deserts where the lack of water discourages vegetation.

In such an area, Africa saw the unlikely existence of an unyielding plant. It was the only tree as far as the eye could see. A human who lived long after the tree had died wrote an accolade to the tree.
The lonely tree, for reasons unknown, was celebrated long after its demise. It was special because it was the sole landmark of the area. One day a drunken truck drive ran it over beyond regrowth.

Tourists, on hearing the story, gave the tree new life through recordings of its history. There was even a Wikipedia page dedicated to its life in the African desert. Eventually people gathered together and raised a steel monument in its memory.

Eventually, people may view the steel contraption as the lonely tree in the middle of the desert and truck driver may destroy it.


text:
PATTI BOWN (July 26, 1931, Seattle, Washington – March 21, 2008, Media, Pennsylvania) was an American jazz pianist, composer, and singer.

Bown began playing piano at age two; her sister was a classical pianist. She studied piano while attending the University in Seattle on a music scholarship. She played in local orchestras toward the end of the 1940s. From 1956 she worked as a soloist in New York City, playing early on in sessions with Billy Eckstine and Jimmy Rushing. She released an album under her own name, _Patti Bown Plays Big Piano_, in 1958 for Columbia Records. The next year she was invited by Quincy Jones to join an orchestra for the European tour of the musical _Free and Easy._ While there she also played with Bill Coleman in Paris. In the 1960s she worked extensively in the studios, recording with Gene Ammons, Oliver Nelson, Cal Massey, Duke Ellington, Roland Kirk, George Russell, and Harry Sweets Edison. Her musical compositions were recorded by jazz legends Sarah Vaughn, Benny Golson, and Duke Ellington. She also recorded with soul musicians such as Aretha Franklin and James Brown. Between 1962-1964 she served as the musical director for the bands accompanying Dinah Washington and Sarah Vaughan.

In the 1970s, Bown worked as a pianist in orchestras on Broadway and composed for film and television. She lived in Greenwich Village for the last 37 years of her life, and played regularly at the nightclub _Village Gate_.

Discography

WITH GENE AMMONS

-   _Up Tight!_ (Prestige, 1961)
-   _Boss Soul!_ (Prestige, 1961)
-   _Soul Summit Vol. 2_ (Prestige, 1962)
-   _Late Hour Special_ (Prestige, 1962 [1964])
-   _The Soulful Moods of Gene Ammons_ (Moodsville, 1962)
-   _Sock!_ (Prestige, 1962 [1965])

WITH ART FARMER

-   _New York Jazz Sextet: Group Therapy_ (Scepter, 1966)

WITH ETTA JONES

-   _Lonely and Blue_ (Prestige, 1962)

WITH QUINCY JONES

-   _The Birth of a Band!_ (Mercury, 1959)
-   _The Great Wide World of Quincy Jones_ (Mercury, 1959)
-   _I Dig Dancers_ (Mercury, 1960)
-   _Quincy Plays for Pussycats_ (Mercury, 1959-65 [1965])

WITH CAL MASSEY

-   _Blues to Coltrane_ (Candid)

WITH OLIVER NELSON

-   _Afro/American Sketches_ (Prestige, 1962)
-   _Fantabulous_ (Argo, 1964)
-   _The Spirit of '67_ with Pee Wee Russell (Impulse!, 1967)
-   _Jazzhattan Suite_ (Verve, 1967)

WITH CAL TJADER

-   _Warm Wave_ (Verve, 1964)
-   _Hip Vibrations_ (Verve, 1967)

WITH BIG JOE TURNER

-   _Singing the Blues_ (BluesWay, 1967)

WITH DAVE VAN RONK

-   _Songs for Ageing Children_ (Cadet, 1973)

WITH EDDIE “CLEANHEAD” VINSON

-   _Cherry Red_ (BluesWay, 1967)

WITH DINAH WASHINGTON

-   _I Wanna Be Loved_ (Mercury, 1961)
-   _Dinah Washington Sings Fats Waller_ (EmArcy, 1957)

title: Patti Bown

question: What does the text say about Bown prior to the release of her first album?

answer: Bown began playing piano at age two, and she later studied piano while attending a University in Seattle on a music scholarship. She played in local orchestras around the end of the 1940s. Starting in 1956, she worked as a soloist in New York City, playing early on in sessions with Billy Eckstine and Jimmy Rushing.


text:
March 3, 2016 / 6:04 PM / CBS/AP

ALBANY, N.Y. -- Bird poop was the likely cause of a December shutdown at a nuclear power plant outside New York City, according to the operator.

An Indian Point reactor safely shut down for three days starting Dec. 14 following an electrical disturbance on outdoor high voltage transmission lines, Entergy Corp. said. An outside expert is analyzing whether what's technically called bird "streaming" was the culprit.

In a report to the Nuclear Regulatory Commission last month, the New Orleans-based company said the automatic reactor shutdown was apparently from bird excrement that caused an electric arc between wires on a feeder line at a transmission tower.

"If it has nowhere to send its electricity, the generator senses that and automatically shuts down," Entergy spokesman Jerry Nappi said.

Plant managers told the NRC they were revising preventive maintenance for additional inspection and cleaning and installing bird guards on transmission towers.

Nappi said he couldn't recall a similar incident in the past several years from birds at Indian Point, which is located along the Hudson River north of New York City. He didn't immediately know what type of bird was suspected. No carcass was found, he said.

Nuclear Regulatory Commission spokesman Eliot Brenner said it's not uncommon for wildlife to trigger electrical outages on transmission lines regardless of the generation source of the electricity. "Squirrels are the biggest offenders," he said.

He didn't know if the NRC was specifically tracking animal-related reactor outages. "They're kind of few and far between, but certainly not unheard of," he said.

A recent radioactive leak at the plant had prompted renewed calls for the site to be shut down, amid growing concerns about the potential damage a nuclear accident could cause in one of the most densely populated parts of the country.

[indian-point.jpg ]
Map showing locations within 10 and 50 miles of Indian Point. CBS News/Google Maps
In the past year alone there have been a number of mishaps at Indian Point, including a power failure in the reactor core, a transformer fire, an alarm failure, and the escape of radiated water into groundwater. The plant sits about 25 miles north of New York City.

Neil Sheehan, a representative for the U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission, told CBS News last month that the NRC is continuing to review the recent tritium leakage at Indian Point.

"We recently sent a radiation protection specialist to the plant to assess the situation and learn more about what happened. He was assisted by our three Resident Inspectors assigned to the plant on a full-time basis," he said in an email.

NRC is also currently reviewing Indian Point's renewal license, which would authorize it to continue operating for another 20 years. But environmental groups say the region needs to utilize other options to meet its energy needs.

question: Why did the nuclear power plant shut down?

answer: Bird excrement caused an electric arc between wires on a feeder line at a transmission tower, and the generators are programmed to shut down if it has nowhere to send its electricity.

question: Do animal-related reactor outages happen often?

answer: Not really.

question: Will the plant do something to prevent similar outages?

answer: They plan to install bird guards on transmission towers.

question: What other accident is mentioned in the passage?

answer: The passage mentions mishaps at Indian Point.


text:
[Coat of arms of the Norwegian Heraldry Society.] NORWEGIAN HERALDRY SOCIETY (, NHF) is a heraldry society located in Oslo, Norway, which was founded in 1969.[1]

The first chairman was Herman Leopoldus Løvenskiold,[2][3] and other founding members include C. S. Schilbred[4] and Jørgen Mathiesen.[5] The Norwegian Heraldry Society organizes lectures and publishes the members' magazine _Våpenbrevet_ (“Letters Patent”).[6] It co-operates extensively with the Societas Heraldica Scandinavica.[7]

In 2014, it co-organised the XXXI International Congress of Genealogical and Heraldic Sciences.[8]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

title: Norwegian Heraldry Society

question: When was the Norwegian Heraldry Society founded?

answer: It was founded in 1969.

question: What are the functions of the organization?

answer: Not answered.

question: Who was the first chairman of the society?

answer: The first chairman was Herman Leopoldus Løvenskiold.

question: How many members are in the society?

answer: Not answered.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The Norwegian Heraldry Society is a heraldry society located in Oslo, Norway, and was founded in 1969.


text:
THOMAS DIAFOIRUS is a doctor from the play _Molière Le Malade imaginaire_ by Molière (1673).[1] He proposes to marry the title-character's older daughter Angélique; Molière portrays Diafoirus as a pedantic man who loves to use elaborate scientific terminology, but is not overly concerned with his patients' actual health. The characters of Thomas Diafoirus and his father “monsieur Diafoirus”, also a doctor in the play, partly derive from the _dottore_ character in the Italian _Commedia dell'arte_, but according to most scholars are very much dramatic devices for voicing Molière's critique of the medical culture of his time.[2]

[1] _Le Malade imaginaire, Comédie mêlée de musique et de danses, Par Monsieur de Molière, Corrigée sur l’original de l’Auteur, de toutes les fausses additions et suppositions de Scènes entières, faites dans les Éditions précédentes._ Représentée pour la première fois sur le Théâtre de la salle du Palais-Royal, le 10 février 1673 par la Troupe du Roi in Les Oeuvres posthumes de Monsieur de Molière, tome VIII, imprimées pour la première fois en 1682, Paris, Denis Thierry, Claude Barbin, et Pierre Trabouillet, 1682 (exemplaire : Bibliothèque Nationale, RES-Yf-4178).

[2] Andrew Calder, _Molière: the Theory and Practice of Comedy_ (London: Athlone, 1993), 124-27; and Gaston Hall, _Comedy in Context: Essays on Molière_ (Mississippi: University Press of Mississippi, 1984), 104-9.

title: Thomas Diafoirus

question: Based on the descriptions in the article, what does "dottore" mean?

answer: It seems it means a doctor.

question: What could Moliere's critique of the medical culture of this time?

answer: It could be that despite being educated, doctors weren't providing good care.

question: Describe Diafoirus.

answer: He's described as a pedantic doctor who isn't really concerned with his patients' overall health.

question: How old would the play be in 2021?

answer: 348 years


text:
I recently received an email from a reader who took issue with my skeptical view of Islam. Between 1963 and 1965, he worked for the Peace Corps in a Muslim area of Nigeria. He came away from the experience convinced that “all people are basically the same” and “all want the same basic things.” Cultural differences, he maintained, were merely surface phenomena.

His view is common among people who came of age in the Sixties and Seventies. And, since many of our society’s controlling narratives were developed in that period, that optimistic view is still widespread. But times change, even if narratives don’t.

For example, the reality in Nigeria today is quite different from what my correspondent experienced in the mid-1960s. It no longer seems that all want the “same basic things.” In fact, many Muslims want to deny Christians some of those basics – such as the right to worship in peace, and even the right to life.

Bishop Joseph Bagobiri of Kafanchan (in northwestern Nigeria) reports that in his diocese alone: “53 villages burned down, 808 people murdered and 57 wounded, 1422 houses and 16 Churches destroyed.” Moreover, last year a report by the International Society for Civil Liberties and the Rule of Law revealed that 16,000 Christians had been murdered in Nigeria since June 2015.

What’s happening in Nigeria has been happening all over the Muslim world. Open Doors USA reports that globally some 215-million Christians face severe persecution, mostly at the hands of Muslims. The question is, which is the real Islam: the peaceable Islam experienced by my correspondent in the mid-Sixties or the aggressive Islam of today?

In the context of Islam’s 1,400 years of aggression, the relatively peaceful interval that began with the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire in the early 20th century seems to be the aberration. At the time my correspondent worked for the Peace Corps in Nigeria, the Muslim world was far more moderate than it is today or was in the past. The Islam he experienced was a marked departure from traditional Islam.

Some of the flavor of that period is captured in an article in the _Chronicle of Higher Education_ by Ali A. Allawi, a former Iraqi cabinet minister:

  I was born into a mildly observant Muslim family in Iraq. At that time, the 1950s, secularism was ascendant among the political, cultural, and intellectual elites of the Middle East. It appeared to be only a matter of time before Islam would lose whatever hold it still had on the Muslim world. Even that term – “Muslim world” – was unusual, as Muslims were more likely to identify themselves by their national, ethnic, or ideological affinities than by their religion.

[]
The face of Islam in Nigeria
In short, Muslim societies were more moderate in those days because they were moving away from Islam. As Allawi notes: “To an impressionable child, it was clear that society was decoupling from Islam. Though religion was a mandatory course in school, nobody taught us the rules of prayer or expected us to fast during Ramadan. We memorized the shorter verses of the Koran, but the holy book itself was kept on the shelf or in drawers, mostly unread.”

The more moderate Muslim world of the last century was not the result of deeper piety, but rather of increased secularization. There are still remnants of that moderation in Muslim lands, but it should be clear to anyone who is paying attention to current events that traditional, by-the-book Islam is once again ascendant. Mini-skirts are no longer worn in Tehran and Kabul as they were in the Seventies, and the hijab has made a comeback almost everywhere in the Muslim world. In other words, the process of secularization has been reversed.

The amazing thing is that much of the Western world hasn’t caught up with the changes. Why? Perhaps because the return of 7thcentury Islam undercuts the multicultural belief that all cultures share the same values. Hence, many prefer to think that the Muslim world is still much the same as it was in the days of King Farouk and the Shah of Iran – that relatively brief moment when “secularism was ascendant.”

Unfortunately, one of the important organizations that still lives in the past in regard to Islam is the Catholic Church. Many in the Church seem to think and act as though it’s still 1965, and that _Nostra Aetate _(which was promulgated in 1965) is still the last word on Islam.

The section on the “Moslems” in _Nostra Aetate_ reflects the multicultural notion that cultural differences are unimportant, and that all people have the same basic desires. Thus, the writers of the document took pains to emphasize the similarities between Christianity and Islam, even going so far as to suggest that the two faiths share the same moral values.

Of course, it’s nearly impossible to ignore the radicalization that so many Muslims have undergone since 1965. But in their anxiety to preserve the _Nostra Aetate_ “narrative” about Islam, Church leaders have found a way to get around this inconvenient fact.  Muslims who persecute and terrorize non-Muslims are said to have “distorted” or “perverted” their religion because, in the words of Pope Francis,“authentic Islam and a proper understanding of the Koran are opposed to every form of violence.”

Indeed, as recently as March 16, Pope Francis told the head of the Organization of Islamic Cooperation that there is no link between Islam and terrorism. On other occasions, the pope had even said that the remedy for radicalization is for Muslims to go deeper into their faith, and find guidance in the Koran. That, of course, is the very opposite of Allawi’s first-hand observation that moderation is the result not of deepened faith, but of “decoupling from Islam.”

Church leaders are still clinging to a view of Islam that should have gone out with the Seventies. Unless and until they acquire a longer view of Islam, they will continue to be part of the problem rather than part of the solution.

© 2020 _The Catholic Thing_. All rights reserved. For reprint rights, write to: info@frinstitute.org _The Catholic Thing_ is a forum for intelligent Catholic commentary. Opinions expressed by writers are solely their own.

question: Who is Joseph Bagobiri?

answer: He is the Bishop of Kafanchan in northwestern Nigeria who reported on the violence being perpetrated by Muslims towards his diocese.

question: What are the numbers in Bishop Bagobiri's report?

answer: 53 villages burned down, 808 people murdered and 57 wounded, 1422 houses and 16 Churches destroyed.

question: According to the International Society for Civil Liberties and the Rule of Law, how many Christians have been murdered in Nigeria since June 2015?

answer: 16,000 Christians

question: According to a report by Open Doors USA, how many Christians face severe persecution at the hands of Muslims?

answer: 215 million Christians

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: According to the post's author, Muslims are more aggressive now compared to the 1960s, and the Islam of the past is much different today due to increased secularization and radicalization. However, the Roman Catholic Church still views Islam as it was in the 1960s - 1970s. Even Pope Francis has urged Muslims to really go deeper into their faith and find guidance in the Koran, telling the head of the Organization of Islamic Cooperation that there is no link between Islam and terrorism. Violence against Christians continues to happen, especially in countries like Nigeria, where 53 villages burned down, 808 people murdered and 57 wounded, 1422 houses, and 16 Churches destroyed in one diocese alone. According to a report by Open Doors USA, 215 million Christians face severe persecution at the hands of Muslims.