text:
CORPORATE TAX IN THE NETHERLANDS deals with the tax payable in the Netherlands on the profits earned by companies. In general, a Dutch company is subject to between 19 and 25% corporate tax (“vennootschapsbelasting”) on its worldwide profits. However, certain items of income are exempt from tax and certain costs are non-deductible.

Worldwide profits

A Dutch company is subject to Dutch corporate tax on its worldwide profits, after taking into account tax deductible costs.

Rate

The 2019 Dutch corporate tax rate is 19% of the taxable income up to and including €200,000, above which the rate is 25%.[1] The lower rate will decrease to 16.5% in 2020. The rates will further decrease to 15% and 21.7% respectively in 2021. These tax decreases are measures which have been implemented by the Dutch government to attract foreign businesses.[2]

Exemptions

Certain items of income are exempt from Dutch corporate tax. The most important items of income that are exempt are:

-   capital gains and dividends derived from qualifying subsidiaries (“participation exemption”)
-   income attributable to a foreign business enterprise (“permanent establishment”).

Participation exemption

Capital gains, dividends and profit participation loan interest derived from a qualifying subsidiary are fully exempt from corporate tax in the Netherlands (“participation exemption”). A subsidiary qualifies for the Dutch participation exemption when:

-   the subsidiary is an active company, and
-   the Dutch parent company holds an interest of at least 5% of such company.

Foreign branch

Any income received by a Dutch company from a foreign branch is exempt from Dutch corporate tax, provided such branch is a permanent establishment or representative.

Anti Abuse clause

The Dutch Corporate income tax regulations have included a great many anti-avoidance clauses since 1969, to avoid abuse of the tax rules by corporations. There have been implemented anti abuse clauses for the participation exemption, interest deductions for hybrid loans and recently for the dividend withholding tax act.[3]

Tax haven

The Netherlands has been known internationally, since at least the 1970s, as a tax haven. A political debate about this issue started in 1977, when economist and social-democratic MP Flip de Kam published a book about corporations transferring large sums to Caribbean countries without paying Dutch corporate tax. Minister Van der Stee admitted that the country was internationally known as a tax haven, but refused to act, arguing that the problem could not be solved on a national level alone.[4] The debate raged for years; in 1986, Representative Willem Vermeend estimated that the country's tax service missed some ƒ4 billion per year due to companies such as The Rolling Stones' holding bv's using the “Caribbean route”.

Dutch tax laws have brought the country into conflict with the European Union several times, starting with strong criticism in the 1999 Primarolo Report. The Dutch government responded by having a group of high-ranking fiscal experts (known with the Ministry of Finance as the “Barbapapa group”) create a smoke screen, changing the appearance of the fiscal system while leaving its structure intact.

Starting 2009, the “tax haven” label resurfaced and sparked political controversy when the White House issued a press release in which the Netherlands was mentioned as tax haven.[5][6] According to various NGO's the Netherlands “can be seen as an intermediary tax haven for foreign corporations”.[7][8][9] In February 2013, the Dutch House of Representatives accepted a motion calling on cabinet members to “reject, and where possible in discussions to insist on not mentioning” the qualification of the country as a tax haven; the motion was drafted by MP Roland van Vliet, a former tax advisor with Ernst & Young.[10] Economist estimated that at the time of the motion, the state earned some €1.5 billion in tax from €12 thousand billion being transferred through the country annually.[11]

, the country harbors holding companies for various multinationals, participates in more than a hundred bilateral tax treaties, and the various exemptions facilitate tax avoidance by corporations. A notable example is most of the holdings of the Agnelli family which are incorporated there.

In June 2014 the EU initiated a new investigation relating to the Dutch corporate taxes as part of a State aid (European Union) case by the Directorate General for Competition. The case was specific to Starbucks.[12] The investigation ended in October 2015, with the EC ordering Starbucks to pay up to €30 million in overdue taxes.[13] The EC exposed in its decision a legal structure commonly used by companies established in the Netherlands to avoid corporate taxation, the so called Dutch BV-CV structure.[14] In 2017, the EU initiated another State aid (European Union) investigation into a special deal on corporate taxation between the Dutch public administration and IKEA.[15]

National and foreign companies known to have special agreements with the Dutch tax service include Starbucks, Microsoft and PostNL. A 2015 FOI request by _de Volkskrant_ to unearth the agreements failed, because these secret agreements are not centrally administered by the Tax and Customs Administration; with even the House of Representatives not having access to them.[16]

[1]

[2]

[3] https://www.pwc.nl/en/insights-and-publications/tax-news/pwc-special-budget-day/amendments-to-anti-abuse-provisions-in-dutch-tax-legislation.html

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

title: Corporate tax in the Netherlands

question: What is the Dutch corporate tax rate?

answer: It is between 19 and 25%. In 2021, the rates will decrease to between 15% and 21.7%.

question: What items are exempt from the Dutch corporate tax?

answer: Capital gains and dividends derived from qualifying subsidiaries and income attributable to a foreign business enterprise is

question: What are some companies that have tax agreements with the Dutch government?

answer: Starbucks, Microsoft and PostNL have special agreements with the Dutch tax service.

question: Why is the Netherlands known as a tax haven?

answer: Not answered.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Corporate tax in the Netherlands ranges from between 19% and 25% for Dutch companies. The rates will decrease to between 15% and 21.7% by 2021. There are a few items that are exempt from Dutch corporate tax, including capital gains and dividends, and income from foreign businesses.


split: train

text:
[cancer]
Killer T cells surround a cancer cell. Credit: NIH

Scientists at the University of Sheffield have identified a protein which causes cells to eat their dying neighbours, helping to prevent inflammation - something which is vital in the fight to stop cancer spreading.

Researchers discovered the Pac-Man like Rac1 protein switches cell function and causes cells to respond to 'eat me' signals omitted from their dying neighbouring cells and clears them away efficiently to minimise damaging inflammation which is linked to a variety of diseases including cancer.

The team, led by Dr Nasreen Akhtar from the University's Department of Oncology and Metabolism, made the breakthrough while studying the female breast to better understand how the organ gets rid of dead cells and surplus milk when it is no longer required.

In pregnancy, specialized epithelial cells within the breast grow to form alveoli that secrete milk. When the milk supply is no longer required the alveoli die and the breast reverts back to a non-pregnancy state.

Breast epithelia also line the mammary ducts which transport milk towards the nipple when required.

Through gene deletion studies, Dr Akhtar and her team found the Rac1 protein is crucial both for the secretion of milk and its removal in the drying-up period that follows.

Inflammatory phagocytes from the immune system are normally recruited to clear up dead cells lurking in tissues and surplus fluids. If too many are recruited for extended periods, they can trigger inflammation within tissues, causing damage.

The study found that the breast epithelia use Rac1 to evade harmful inflammatory phagocytes from the immune system by hijacking their job.

In the first few days after weaning, live breast epithelia eat their dying neighbours and swallow all of the secretions, clearing the ducts from old milk and dead cells. The phagocyte-like breast epithelia then die themselves and these are subsequently cleared up by professional phagocytes from the immune system.

Dr Akhtar said: "By doing the job themselves, the breast epithelia limit both the numbers and time of immune phagocyte infiltration which protects the tissue from becoming damaged.

"Without Rac1, the dead cells and milk flood the interconnecting breast ducts causing them to bloat and triggering chronic inflammation. The bloated ducts then fail to regenerate and produce milk in a future pregnancy."

Dr Akhtar originally began the research in 2009 in collaboration with Professor Charles Streuli whilst at the University of Manchester.

"It is thought that we shed the equivalent of our own body weight in dead cells every year," said Dr Ahktar.

"However, very little is known about how we get rid of them. If immune phagocytes were the only cell type to clear up cell corpses our bodies would be continuously inflamed. It's quite likely that epithelial engulfment occurs in many other organs because this cell type forms the building blocks of our bodies.

Over 90 per cent of cancers come from epithelial cells which is why unlocking the mystery of how they work is essential. It is fundamental to understand how healthy cells work properly in order to fully appreciate why they go wrong when cancer develops, and how best to combat the disease.

The study, which is published today in the journal _Developmental Cell_ will be hugely beneficial to cancer biologists.

Dr Akhtar added: "Rac1 is over expressed in various cancers including breast cancer and Rac1 inhibitors are currently being considered as anticancer therapies.

"However, until now virtually nothing was understood about what Rac1 does in healthy tissue and our study shows that in the breast one of its central roles is to prevent harmful inflammatory responses. Without Rac1 these responses are heightened and prolonged within tissues."Given that sustained inflammation is linked to cancer progression, the findings show that blocking Rac1 might not be a good idea."

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CITATION: Pac-Man like protein which eats dead cells could help in the fight against cancer (2016, September 12) retrieved 1 December 2020 from https://medicalxpress.com/news/2016-09-pac-man-protein-dead-cells-cancer.html

This document is subject to copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study or research, no part may be reproduced without the written permission. The content is provided for information purposes only.

question: Who is this article intended for?

answer: This article is likely aimed at either broadsheet news readers and/or medical professionals given the tone and use of technical language.

question: How does the new discovery work?

answer: The Rac1 protein affects cell function to clear away dying neighbouring cells efficiently, which in turn reduces inflammation which is linked to a number of diseases.

question: What does the new discovery mean for others?

answer: It may help in curing cancer

question: How did this research originate?

answer: The research team were looking to how the breast gets rid of dead cells and surplus milk when it is no longer required. In doing so they found that the breast epithelia use Rac1 to remove harmful inflammatory phagocytes.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Researchers have identified the Rac1 protein, which helps in remove dying cells and preventing inflammation. This discovery was made through studying how breasts get rid of dead cells and surplus milk when no longer needed. This protein may help in identifying means to cure cancer.


text:
1

It had only been a few days since we had left the mainland, and only a week since the infection had been first reported. Corpses scattered across war zones, covered with the settled remnants of radioactive dust from chemical weapons had begun reacting... twitching... moving. It was only a day later that the first scientists and reporters became the first victims and the first living humans turned. From there, the destruction and rate of infection had exploded.

Within 24 hours of the firsts, reports came in of massive hordes of reanimated corpses occupying major cities... turning all that stood in their way. Several countries tried sending their armies to quell the situation, but that only worsened it. Guns only did so much to zombie armies, hundreds of thousands deep, and with large explosions from tanks and bombs, came even wider contamination due to the chemicals in the corpses being disturbed and pushed higher into the atmosphere. It had become airborne...

The only escape was to rural areas, or to the sea. I chose the latter... it was only a matter of time before even the rural areas would not be as safe as people had hoped.

"LAAAAAAND!"

An island... Those in charge had said that there we would be safe from any sort of infection. We were students and teachers. Soldiers and doctors. Men, women, and children. We were, quite possibly, one of the few hopes for maintaining the species.

"Where the hell are we?" Sgt. Reynolds barked at one of the older gentlemen who had been appointed captain of the vessel. The original captain was... well, he didn't make it. Reynolds was a former Drill Instructor and has taken to appointing himself the leader of our group. At least we had someone to tell us what to do... Most of us were so disillusioned with the situation that we could barely talk.

There were only a few dozen of us who had made it onto the ship from the harbor. It was a miracle any of us had made it off the mainland alive, and even more so considering the only food we had we were lucky enough to have recovered from the bowels of the ship. It seemed as if the original captain had been preparing to live at sea until he could come up with a plan as to how the hell he could survive in a world full of flesh devouring corpses... But food for one man only goes so far between a group.
Zombies. They were fucking zombies. All of the films and stories had done nothing more than make us lower our guard as to how real a possibility the walking dead were.

"I have no idea, but we don't have the resources to care right now."
Most everyone was on deck, now, staring at the monolithic island before us. Whether we liked it or not, it was our new home, for now anyways. I, for one, was eager to get off the ship. I had always been afraid of the emptiness of the ocean. Funny how little your fear of the unknown matters when you’re faced with fear of something much greater and much more terrifying. Still, it felt great to know I would be able to step off of that heap I considered to be my floating coffin.
Staring at the coastline, all I could see was sand, and a thick tree line leading into a lush forest. I was looking at trees I had never seen before that looked like they had been there for far longer than I could imagine. Vines and thick brush started to come into view the closer we got. And then something in the trees... Fruit! Or at least something that resembled the fruit I was familiar with! We were going to be able to survive for at least some time longer. Relief flooded my body. Relief that we were going to be ok. That I wasn't going to die at sea with no hope of survival. Relief that...

My eyes locked onto something in the underbrush as we closed in further on the island. Something reflective... but what? The relief turned to panic as I realized what I was staring at. We were being watched. Those were eyes.

I glanced around for Reynolds. We needed to be prepared that we might have company when we landed. The undead? Impossible. Not this far out, there was no way. By the time I had looked back, the eyes were no longer visible to me. Maybe I was seeing things...
"Start unloading some supplies for a reconnaissance team to check out the island and we'll see if we can find any food, shelter, or signs of intelligence on this rock." Reynolds booming voice effortlessly carried itself.

I had convinced myself that I just needed to get off of the boat when a shriek erupted from the forest. A sound like nothing I had ever heard. The sound of a screaming jet engine combined with the emotional tones of something living... something communicating. Birds flew from the canopy of the forest as we all stared silently into the mysterious interior of the island.

"It doesn't matter, we can't stay on board," Reynolds projected over the deck, already knowing what we were all silently wondering.
"Besides, nothing can really be as bad or as frightening as what we've all already seen and been through..."

None of us could have possibly known how wrong he was.

title: I'm writing a short story... well, it's turning into a long story, about zombies and dinosaurs.  I would love some feedback.

question: How is the virus spread?

answer: It's airborne.

question: What was the problem with using tanks and bombs against the zombies?

answer: They released toxins that did more harm to living humans than they did to the undead.

question: Who gets to go to the island?

answer: Students and teachers.

question: Who is the narrator looking for?

answer: Reynolds

question: Write a ~7 sentence summary.

answer: There's been a zombie virus outbreak, resulting in the apocalypse. Initially, tanks and bombers are used against the undead, but the toxic warfare causes too much damage to humans and to the environment. Those in charge explain to the narrator and to Sgt. Reynolds that there is an island that they can go to for safety. A group of them, all teachers and students, heads out. When they approach it, the narrator feels uneasy and hears shrieking in the distance. The narrator searches for Reynolds and sees him, Reynolds says that it doesn't matter what might be lurking on the island-they have no choice but to disembark.


text:
As the title says this is an unfinished work. I use to do a a lot of writing a few years back, found this in an old google docs account from back then. this was dated 12/18/08.

"	Pausing for a moment in front of the semi-mirrored glass that he always thought seemed ill fit for the large stone industrial age building, he runs his hand over his hair. giving his reflection a quick glace head to toe, tugging slightly on his blue dress shirt to make sure it looked just right. Mark always made sure he dressed up on Friday. despite the general attitude of his co-workers to dress casual, he had to be perfect. It wasn't always this way he too had enjoyed and would other wise still enjoy the casual dress code of Fridays at his office had it not been for that Friday back in march. when in his usual scatter brained manner he misplaced his bank card. It being Friday and Mark being in his mid to late 20's he wasn't about to be left stranded home for the week end. So at five when he would have other wise walked out his office, taken a left to the elevator, where he would suffer through the daily unpleasant conversation with bill from HR. bill would go on and on about his plans of various sexual encounters down to the the grittiest of details. though mark would humor bill and cheer him on with the typical machismo fashion of a frat boy, bill was none the wiser that his eye betrayed his every fantasy. he would go home, grab a frozen dinner and proceed to watch what seemed an endless stream of  edited for television movies and infomercials till Monday morning when he'd return to work. spend most of the day searching dating sites in his office with brief interludes of actual work. bill would eat lunch alone as no one could tolerate his attempts at fitting in socially, often descried as pathetic and over bearing when mentioned around the water cooler. the later half of the day was spent day dreaming of fantastic social adventures at night clubs with two, three even four of the sexiest woman any man could desire, draping  over him like a royal robe. then at 5 he would wait to leave his office till he saw mark whom he saw as  his closet friend based solely on their 5 minuets of interaction at the elevator and on the ride to the lobby of the office build. When at the door bill would look at his watch make an exuberant claim about some meeting with a  "smoking hot bitch". at which point Mark would then make his way through the barrage of traffic and into the subway as quickly as possible. Except on that Friday in march. Instead of his usual hurried escape from his office and and even more hurried escape from bill into the sub way he decided he'd make his way over to the bank located just a hundred yards away. it was one of those banks build during the hay day of the industrial revolution. large and comprised of blocks of granite, with the entrance to the lobby ornately defined with marble pillars. All together a very imposing building except for the small detail which mark would often find him self obsessively pondering. the large semi-mirrored windows framed with brushed stainless steel. the type of thing done in the 60's in an attempt to modernize the design, or so he figured.Pushing open the large glass doors, adorn with polished brass mark was, as he usually is taken back slightly by the lobby. It has polished white marble floors that run up the walls to meet the ceiling that was just as impressive. made entirely of some kind of dark wood that was painstakingly crafted by hand.  a patch work of latticed beams  that intersected an oval dome housing a mural and the banks slogan all lit by a grand crystal chandelier. as he took in the rare beauty of such craftsmanship he made his way to the row of wooden counters in the center of the floor. As he stood there looking over the rainbow of forms. Red loan applications, yellow deposit slips, blue withdrawal forms, fliers and pamphlets his eye was slowly drawn to her.

 she was just standing there, paused in the entrance of the lobby. he watched her trying not to seem as of he was. Reaching out and grabbing a pamphlet, fumbling it around in his hand. his head tilted down as if to look like he was reading but his eyes fixed on her."My god, she's beautiful." mark thought to him self as he watched her walk over to the row of tellers to the left of the lobby. she had a swing in her step, her brown curly hair bouncing as she moved. her walk had a swing in it, he hips swayed. Mark found him self fantasizing that she had seen him watching her and was putting on a show  just for him. she had caprices on that hugged her form, emphasizing her womanly curves and a form fitting blue t-shirt. he couldn't help but notice her breasts. she stood about five feet 2 inches but she wore a slight heel, five foot even with out. proportionately her breasts seemed large.

   An over weight elderly man in an old three piece suite that barley fit had made his way to the counter and placed him self directly in front of mark on the opposite side blocking his view. He had lost all focus with what he was doing, perhaps this mans unfortunate placement was for the best. looking down at the pamphlet in his hand he realized he's been flipping through a"

title: stolen love:unfinished:

question: What made the Friday back in March different for Mark?

answer: On that particular Friday evening, Mark went to a bank near his office post-work. Just when he was going through the applications and forms placed his eyes fell on a beautiful woman walking in. Mark could not resist looking at her and admiring how gorgeous she was, he felt like she knew that he was watching her and hence put up a show for him. Unfortunately, an elderly man came and stood before Mark blocking his view making him lose his focus, perhaps for the best.

question: What according to the story are Mark's feelings towards Bill?

answer: Mark is not a fan of Bill's company. Although, they end up meeting daily while taking the elevator which forces Mark to listen to all that Bill would have to say. The five-minute interaction with Bill in the elevator is not something that Mark looks forward to, especially when he speaks of his sexual encounters to the grittiest of details.

question: Summarize what the woman at the bank thinks of Mark.


text:
TERRE BLEUE CREEK is a stream in St. Francois and Ste. Genevieve counties of eastern Missouri.[1] It is a tributary of the Big River.

The source is located at: and the confluence is at: .[2]

Terre Bleue Creek was so named on account of the color of the dirt on its course, _terre bleue_ being a name meaning “blue earth” in French.[3]

[1]

[2]

[3]

title: Terre Bleue Creek

question: What is Terre Bleue Creek?

answer: Terre Bleue Creek is a stream in St. Francois and Ste. Genevieve counties of eastern Missouri.

question: Where does Terre Bleue Creek end?

answer: Terre Bleue Creek spills into the Big River.

question: How long is Terre Bleue Creek?

answer: It is not stated.

question: What does it mean 'Terre Bleue'?

answer: Terre Bleue means blue earth in French.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Terre Bleue Creek is a stream in St. Francois and Ste. Genevieve counties of eastern Missouri that spills into the Big River. Terre Bleue Creek is so named on account of the color of the dirt on its course - 'terre bleue' means blue earth in French.


text:
[] CHARLES ANTOINE DOMERGUE (5 January 1914 in Besançon, France – 31 December 2008 in Antananarivo) was a French naturalist, ornithologist, herpetologist, spelunker and geologist who spent much of his life in Madagascar. He also dealt with the effects of pollution. [Domergue in 1960]

Eponyms

Domergue is commemorated in the scientific name of a species of snake, _Typhlops domerguei_, which is endemic to Madagascar.[1]

Selected publications

-   1942: _Les serpents de Franche-Comté : Description, habitat, reproduction, venin, chasse, vie en captivité, légendes suivis d'une brève étude des lézards_ (). édition Imprimerie de l'Est (Besançon)
-   1962: _Un serpent venimeux à Madagascar : Madagascarophis colubrina._ Bull. Acad. malg.
-   1963: _Observation sur les hémipénis des ophidiens et sauriens de Madagascar._ Bull. Acad. malg., 21–23.
-   1967: _Clé simplifiée pour la détermination sur le terrain des serpents communs de Madagascar._ Bull. Acad. malg.
-   1970: _Notes sur les Serpents de la Région Malgache. Lycodryas maculatus (Günther, 1858), espèce des Comores. Description de deux femelles._ Bull. Mus. Nat. Hist. Nat. Paris, 42 : 449–451.
-   1972–1973: _II. Étude de trois Serpents malgaches : Liopholidophis lateralis (D. & B.), L. stumpffi (Boettger) et L. thieli n. sp._ Bull. Mus. Nat. Hist. Nat. Paris, 77 : 1397–1412.
-   1973: _Notes sur les Caméléons de Madagascar_.
-   1983: _La forêt du PK 32 au nord de Tuléar. Note préliminaire en vue de sa mise en réserve._ Bull. Acad. malg., 61 : 105–114
-   1994: _Nouvelles espèces du complexe Stenophis et Lycodrias._ Bull. Acad. malg. 21 avril.
-   1994: _Notes sur les serpents de la région malgache. X. Boïginae nouveaux des genres Stenophis et Lycodrias._ Bull. Acad. malg.

Decorations

-   _Croix de guerre_ 1939–1945 [Domergue (right) receiving a Malagasy Order of Merit]
-   1946: _Médaille de la Résistance_
-   1950: _Nischan-el-Iftikhar-Orden_
-   July 14, 1967: Legion of Honour

Sources

-   Domergue, Sylvie (2008). “Travelling Through Time - _Voyage dans le temps_: Charles A. Domergue”. _Madagascar Conservation and Development_ 3 (1): 78–83. (in English and French).

[1] Beolens, Bo; Watkins, Michael; Grayson, Michael (2011). _The Eponym Dictionary of Reptiles_. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. xiii + 296 pp. . (“Domergue”, p. 74).

title: Charles Domergue

question: What species is named after Charles Domergue?

answer: Typhlops domerguei, a snake endemic to Madagascar.

question: What jobs did Domergue do?

answer: He was a naturalist, ornithologist, herpetologist, spelunker, and geologist.

question: Where did Domergue work?

answer: Mostly in Madagascar.

question: List Domergue's accolades.

answer: Malagasy Order of Merit, Médaille de la Résistance, Nischan-el-Iftikhar-Orden, and the Legion of Honour.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: Charles Antoine Domergue (5 January 1914 - 31 December 2008) was a French naturalist, ornithologist, herpetologist, spelunker, and geologist. He lived his life mostly in Madagascar. He also dealt with the effects of pollution. He has several accolades and is commemorated in the scientific name of a species of snake, Typhlops domerguei, which is endemic to Madagascar.


text: The sound of the car's transmission dropping into "PARK" rings out in the dark and still August air. He kills the engine. The driver rolls the windows down as the humid summer air rushes into the cab. He puts his head back, closes his eyes, and lets his arm hang out the window. He could hear the muffled sounds from inside the bowling alley, it was a pretty decent crowd inside from what he saw in the parking lot when he pulled up. He could now feel a breeze on his hand outside and he knew it was starting to cool off after the hot and humid day. He can hear the overgrown grass and foliage in the field adjacent to the bowling alley rustle as it blows. He takes a deep breath. His friends house is right around the corner, soon to be filled with the sounds and smells of a good time, but right now...right now was that "cryptic" period as he liked to call it. You know about that, right? The time between leaving the house and actually getting to the party. For John Ross a 10 minute drive could turn into hours of this "cryptic" time. Why? Well, he didn't even know himself. He was only 17, had been driving less than a year so maybe the novelty hadn't yet worn off, maybe he needed to take a break and leave the house, maybe he just like a few hours to himself. He didn't know. There was one thing he did know though, that he liked doing it and those few hours were as good as a vacation. He wanted to soak it all in, the town, the friends, the fun. In a week or two he was leaving for college and so was everyone he knew. He now opened his eyes and looked at the face of the building, the various neon beer logos pierced the darkness and spill onto the ground of the parking lot. All the different colors create a strange glow. He then looks up to notice the moon is being covered by an overcast sky. He looks in the distance and he can see heat lightning on the horizon as if a war were being waged in the heavens. He grabbed the burger on the passenger seat that he had stopped to eat, unwrapped it, and took a bite. He chewed slowly and savored the bite of the cheap burger in the same way he was savoring his few hours of roaming the back roads before meeting up with everyone. The sound of the bowling pins being hit continued to echo into the night as John started up his car again and pulls away into the darkness.

title: Before the Party

question: What is the 'cryptic' time?

answer: That is the time between leaving the house and actually getting to a party.

question: Why does John like the cryptic time?

answer: He is not sure why but thinks it is as good as a vacation.

question: How will John spend his cryptic time?

answer: John will be driving for a couple of hours.

question: Does John mind being alone?

answer: It is not stated, but he probably doesn't mind being alone because he is going to spend a couple of hours driving alone.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: John is seating in his car nearby his friend's house. He is invited to a party but wants to spend several hours driving before he joins the party. He is not sure why he likes the 'cryptic' time - the time between leaving the house and actually getting to the party.


text:
JAN GAYKEMA JACOBSZ. (11 March 1798 – 16 July 1875) was a Dutch painter, draughtsman and botanical illustrator.

Birth

Jan Gaykema Jacobsz. was born at the Wagenweg, in a part of the village of Heemstede that would be annexed in the 1830s into the town of Haarlem. His father Jacob Gaykema was descended from a line of carpenters and construction superintendents, who were originally medieval freeholders from the Dutch province of Friesland. Mother Anna Cornelia van Scherpenseel had a Gelderland/Utrecht background. The infant was christened the same month at the protestant Grote or Bavokerk in Haarlem.[1]

Education

Trained by different teachers, very likely including paternal uncle Haarlem house painter Joost Hendrik Hüne, topographic artist Jan Pannebakker (1755-before 1834) and flower painter Wybrand Hendriks (1744-1831), he refined his art training also at the Haarlem society Kunstmin en Vlijt, which would have been founded by the latter artist. After the years at Kunstmin en Vlijt (1816-1818), Jan worked for more than half a century as an art teacher and as a painter and draughtsman of plants in Leiden, and the then village Leiderdorp. In the years 1824-1837, his paintings were shown at exhibitions of modern masters held in Amsterdam, The Hague and Haarlem. During the first exhibition year, he exhibited in Haarlem, together with the at that time already very elderly Wybrand Hendriks.

Marriage

[Signature under the birth certificate of his son Jan, Leiderdorp, 22 November 1833.] Two years after the completion of his training, Jan Gaykema got married in Haarlem on 24 January 1821, to Maria Elisabeth van Zutphen, one of the daughters of a master house painter and glassmaker on the Lange Begijnestraat near the Grote or Bavokerk. After marriage, Jan and his wife settled in the city of Leiden. Maria Elisabeth would, in a period of twenty years, give birth to fourteen children, of which eight would reach maturity. In the years 1833-1854, Jan and his family lived at a pleasure garden in what was then Leiderdorp, just outside the Leiden gatehouse Marepoort, which he rented from a Leiden textile manufacturer. Back in Leiden, in an advertisement in the _Leydsche Courant_ of October 1855, he offered his services to youth and probably also to adults as a teacher specialized in flower drawing and painting.[2]

Body of work

[Study in pencil and watercolor of the Papaver somniferum and specimens of the Alstroemeria, Gypsophila and an unidentified plant, neither with monogram nor signed, probably about 1865] Images in private property and catalogue descriptions of oil paintings and botanical drawings inform us of his oeuvre as a botanical artist. Heritage institutions which have Gaykema's work in their collections are Naturalis Biodiversity Center in Leiden,[3] the Teylers Museum in Haarlem[4] and the Gelders Archief in Arnhem.[5]

Illustrations for _Kruidkunde_

In 1839-1842 Gaykema made a series of botanical drawings for the scientific survey work on the botany and zoology of the Dutch East Indies, published as _Verhandelingen over de natuurlijke geschiedenis der Nederlandsche overzeesche bezittingen_ by the Natuurkundige Commissie voor Nederlands-Indië (Natural Sciences Commission for the Dutch East Indies). The volume _Kruidkunde_,[6] written by Pieter Willem Korthals, contains illustrations of more than fifty, until then in Europe still unknown plants, for which Gaykema made the mostly watercolored drawings. Both the original drawings and hand-coloured copies of the lithographs are part of the collections of Naturalis, which donated images to the Dutch heritage web portal Het Geheugen van Nederland[7] and Wikimedia Commons.[8]

Illustrations for _Annales_

Fifteen years later, in 1859, Jan Gaykema was able to become the main illustrator of the new international magazine _Annales d'horticulture et de botanique, ou Flore des jardins du royaume des Pays-Bas, et histoire des plantes cultivées et ornementales les plus intéressantes des possessions néerlandaises aux Indes orientales, en Amérique et du Japon_. This was a publication of the Koninklijke Nederlandsche Maatschappij tot Aanmoediging van den Tuinbouw (Royal Dutch Horticultural Society), edited by professor Willem Hendrik de Vriese, the famous collector of Japanese plants nobleman dr Philipp Franz Balthasar von Siebold, and university head gardener Heinrich Witte. In its short period of existence Gaykema - whether or not he drew them from life in the Leiden Hortus Botanicus - made nearly thirty colored plant drawings, of which the Ghent artist Louis-Constantin Stroobant (1815-1874) made engravings on stone, which were printed in color with the latest techniques by the company of this lithographer. The printed text was provided by the Leiden printing company A.W. Sijthoff, which was still young at that time. After the death of professor De Vriese in 1862 the publication of the magazine was stopped.[9]

Life’s end

Gaykema, while still working as an art teacher, died 77 years old, on 16 July 1875, at his home at Noordeinde 53, Leiden, near the corner with the Rapenburg. His remains were buried on the morning of 19 July, at the Leiden reformed cemetery Het Groote Bolwerk. Widow Maria Elisabeth outlived her husband by six years, and in 1881 died in Zoeterwoude, a village adjacent to Leiden.

Notes

[1] Bos-Bliek, _Onze voorouders II_, passim.

[2] _Leydsche Courant_, 8 October 1855, p. 4.

[3] BioPortal of Naturalis Biodiversity Center, Arts Collection

[4] Teylers Museum, nr TvB T 285.

[5] Gelders Archief, Family archives Hoek, inv.nr 259.

[6] _Botanie_ on the first, _Kruidkunde_ on the second title page, available in color at archive.org or, with extra metadata, at Biodiversity Heritage Library.

[7] Het Geheugen van Nederland, name of creator = J. Gaijkema.

[8] Naturalis GLAM project, category Icones art collection at Naturalis Biodiversity Center, search work of Jan Gaykema

[9] Published were vol. 1 (1858) until 5 (1862), of which vol. 2-4 are available in color at archive.org or, with extra metadata, at Biodiversity Heritage Library.

title: Jan Gaykema Jacobsz.

question: What year was Jan Gaykema Jacobsz born?

answer: 1798.

question: What was his profession?

answer: He was a Dutch painter, draughtsman, and botanical illustrator.

question: In which village was he born?

answer: Heemstede.

question: What was his profession when he died?

answer: Art teacher.

question: Write a ~8 sentence summary.

answer: Jan Gaykema Jacobsz was a Dutch painter, botanical illustrator, and draughtsman descended from a long line of carpenters. He was born in 1798 in what was then the village of Heemstede. It's likely that one of his earliest painting influences was an uncle who was a house painter. Gaykema was an art teacher professionally for half a century, and his paintings were shown in exhibits in Amsterdam, The Hague, and Haarlem. He married Maria Elizabeth van Zutphen, whose father was a master house painter and glassmaker. Gaykema would go on to specialize in flower drawing and painting, both of which there is evidence he taught to youth as well as to adults. Gaykema died an art teacher at the age of 77 in 1875 at his home in Leiden. He was survived by his wife.


text:
It's been abnormally cold out. Not the kind of cold that makes you long for an insulated winter jacket, the kind of cold that slowly forces your joints to stiffen and submit. The chord nearly slips from his perspiring hand. His heart triples in speed. He feels it again. The emotion. The one that consumes him. Drove him here. It's like a mute person speaking for the first time, but the joy that came from communication is dashed because they're only able to mumble gibberish for they haven't grasped how to control their newly birthed vocal chords. Or a person thats never laid eyes on the ocean but is dead set that they'll one day live their fantasy life by the sea.

He's brimming with smug amusement for thinking of such an apt analogy. The feeling is tarnished with the all consuming always present emotion of hate. Hate for oneself. And in this lapse of diligence he forgets what he holds. Panic. This time the chord carelessly slips through his hands like so many other important things he was once trusted to protect. Shock, horror and above all else regret. He didn't mean to. He was only testing himself. Testing the world. Proving a point. Spitting in the face of his shame, only to have shame's ugly face lick that spit off and sneer defiantly. All of this thought in the brief expanse that was less then the second it took for the cinder block at the end of the chord to pull his feet out from under him. He doesn't scream. He doesn't reach for the ledge. He only sighs his last exasperated sigh as he committed his last mistake to add to the tally that was all his life had really ever been.

title: Grotesque

question: What is the cord in the man's hands?

answer: It's not clear why he has the cord, but it has a cinder block at the end.

question: What is the man feeling smug about?

answer: He mad an apt analogy about the consuming emotion he had.

question: What is this story's main conflict?

answer: It could either be the man's hatred for himself or the moment he accidentally releases the cord and falls from some sort of structure.

question: How does the man feel about himself?

answer: He hates himself and feels shame.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: A man holds a cord while on some sort of structure. He mentions he feels an all consuming emotion, and expresses his hatred for himself. The cord, which has a cinder block at the end, accidentally slips from the the man's hand and he falls off the structure. He doesn't reach for the ledge and sighs, as he sees this as the last mistake he will make.


text:
NICHOLAS PETER WARNER (born 22 May 1950 in Singapore) is an Australian diplomat, intelligence official, public servant, and the Director-General of the Office of National Intelligence since 20 December 2018.[1][2]

Warner served as the Director-General of the Office of National Assessments from December 2017 to December 2018, the Director-General Australian Secret Intelligence Service (ASIS) from August 2009 to December 2017, and the Secretary of the Australian Department of Defence from December 2006 to August 2009.[3] He is best known and highly respected for his role in “RAMSI” as the Special Coordinator of the Regional Assistance Mission to Solomon Islands.

Education

Born in Singapore, Warner holds a Bachelor of Arts degree with honours in History and Asian Studies and a Master of Arts degree in History from the Australian National University (ANU).

Career

Joint Intelligence Organisation (JIO):

-   (1973–77) Worked in the JIO

Office of National Assessments (ONA):

-   (1979–88), Deputy Head, Current Intelligence Branch and National Assessments Officer for Africa
-   (1980) Australian Liaison Office, Salisbury, Rhodesia

Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (DFAT):

-   (1988–89) Director, South Asia, Africa, Middle East Trade Section
-   (1989–90) Head, Australian Liaison Office, Namibia during the Australian contribution to UNTAG
-   (1990–91) Director, Central and Southern Africa Section
-   (1991–93) Deputy Head of Mission, Australian Permanent Mission to the Supreme National Council, Cambodia
-   (1994–97) Australian Ambassador to Iran
-   (1997–98) Assistant Secretary, Parliamentary and Media Branch and Senior Spokesman
-   (1997–98) Acting First Assistant Secretary, Public Affairs and Consular Division
-   (1998–99) First Assistant Secretary, South and South East Asia Division
-   (1999–2003) High Commissioner, Papua New Guinea[4]
-   (2003) First Assistant Secretary, South Pacific, Africa and Middle East Division
-   (2003–2004) Special Coordinator of the Regional Assistance Mission to Solomon Islands (RAMSI)
-   (2004–2005) Deputy Secretary, Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade

Prime Minister's Office (PMO):

-   (2005–2006) Senior Adviser (International) to the Prime Minister

Australian Department of Defence:

-   (4 December 2006-August 2009) Secretary of Defence

Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (DFAT):

-   (17 August 2009 – 18 December 2017) Director-General, Australian Secret Intelligence Service (ASIS)[5]

Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet (PM&C):

-   (18 December 2017-20 December 2018) Director-General of the Office of National Assessments (ONA)
-   (20 December 2018-) Director-General of the Office of National Intelligence (ONI)

Honours

Warner was awarded the Public Service Medal in 2006 for outstanding public service as High Commissioner to Port Moresby, Special Coordinator for the Regional Assistance Mission to Solomon Islands and leader of the Emergency Response Team which dealt with the kidnapping in Baghdad of Mr Douglas Wood.[6] On 13 June 2011, he was named an Officer of the Order of Australia for distinguished service to public sector leadership through the development of policy, administration and reform in the areas of intelligence, defence and international relations.[7]

[1] “Maintaining a Strong and Secure Australia” Prime Minister of Australia press release, 1 December 2017

[2] “Malcolm Turnbull names spy chief Nick Warner to lead new security agency” The Canberra Times, 1 December 2017

[3] CDF thanks Nick Warner, Defence Media release MSPA 264/09, 13 August 2009. defence.gov.au

[4]

[5] ASIS Director General - Position Bio. asis.gov.au

[6]

[7]

title: Nick Warner

question: Describe some of the roles that Nick Warner held in the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade.

answer: Some of the roles that Nick Warner held in the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade started out with being the Director of South Asia, Africa, and Middle East Trade Section. He was also the First Assistant Secretary of the South and South East Asia Division. And last but not least, Warner ended this era of his career by being the Deputy Secretary of the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade.

question: Describe some of the honors that were given to Nick Warner.

answer: Some of the honors that were given to Nick Warner were bein awarded the Public Service Medal in 2006 for outstanding public service as High Commissioner to Port Moresby. He also was named an Officer of the Order of Australia for distinguished service to public sector leadership. The honors provided to Nick Warner were well deserved by him.

question: What would Mr. Douglas Wood think about Nick Warner?


text:
Rigel looked at her for what seemed the first time to her. She felt him peer down to the dark in her soul. Sensed him delving into what made her her. Prodding, seeking; searching for something in her. As she peered on his face, pallid in the low light of flickering arcane candles, she saw years of trained mental acuity reflected in his concentrated visage. Then with a crack resemblant of firecrackers he ceased to stand before her, but she continued to sense his presence as unbridled fear began to well up in her from the deep dark pits of her soul. Memories she had long buried. Tucked out of her conscious mind. Forgotten by a tortured mind in a fragile state. Claire shrieked as these dark fragments of time tore themselves from the long guarded reaches of her mind and came to play before her eyes as though they were yesterday.

Two young children walking through a field. Bright day. Grain swaying in the gentle breeze off the sea. Cool moisture. Lightning. Thunder. The taste of iron; Smell of blood. The touch of death grazed her child-mind as she turned violently, the world shaking as her senses were bombarded by blast after blast. Her friend lay there, torso burned out by strike after strike of lightning. Corpse blackened. Crisped to the bone. Face frozen in the smile she had been sharing with Claire, innocent and happy. The smell of blood lingered on her face but was replaced by the more pungent odor of burned flesh. Then as if by the lightning itself her self was returned to the dingy cabin with it's arcane tallow candle light and Rigel's penetrating glare.

The thunder still booming behind her eyes Rigel caught hold of her slender frame before she could drop to the dark pine wood of the forest cabin. Her rich auburn hair, as though flowing water, pooled beneath her head as he gently lowered Claire into a lying position. After fetching a soft lamb skin to cover her with Rigel sat back to contemplate what he had found while delving into her memories.

...Perhaps continued

EDIT: Spelling and fyi I think I could continue this for a while I have  character and environment development in mind - but am lacking in overall plot. I don't know where this would go long run

title: Exercise in sensory descriptions

question: Explain what happens in the memory Claire relives.

answer: Her friend is struck by lightning.

question: What is Rigel's power?

answer: Rigel has the power to enter into other people's memories.

question: Why did the author write this story?

answer: To practice writing description.

question: What is the "dark" in Claire's soul?

answer: Presumably her memory of her friend's death.


text:
_CRYPTOPHIS_ is a genus of venomous snakes in the family Elapidae. The genus is native to Australia and Papua New Guinea.[1]

Species

The following five species are recognized as being valid.[2]

-   _Cryptophis boschmai_
-   _Cryptophis incredibilis_
-   _Cryptophis nigrescens_
-   _Cryptophis nigrostriatus_
-   _Cryptophis pallidiceps_

_Nota bene_: A binomial authority in parentheses indicates that the species was originally described in a genus other than _Cryptophis_.

Etymology

The specific name, _boschmai_, is in honor of Dutch zoologist Hilbrand Boschma.[3]

[1]

[2]

[3] Beolens, Bo; Watkins, Michael; Grayson, Michael (2011). _The Eponym Dictionary of Reptiles_. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. xiii + 296 pp. . (_Rhinoplocephalus boschmai_, p. 32).

title: Cryptophis

question: Under what family does Cyptophis fall?

answer: It is under the Elapidae family.

question: How many species are recognized under the Cyptophis genus?

answer: Five.

question: Was the species ever known under a different genus other than Cryptophis?

answer: Yes.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Cryptophis is a genus of snakes (poisonous) under the family Elapidae. There are five recognized species under this genus. Before being named under Cyptophis, the species were originally described in a different genus.


text:
Little Tamboule was proud.  His test was the most beautiful of its kind and of all the priests he was held in the highest regard. Its silicate horns and mail like flaps were garish and avant garde' and as he negotiated the cavernous cloisters of cold anthracite and zircon his tail swished from side to side along the polished floor.

Now Little Tamboule was tall for a human, over 4 feet did he stand and with his tall black mitre atop his tiny head a further 3 feet were added.  And many whispered in corridors that he, Tamboule, would one day attain the rank of Administrator and dwell in the deepest, dampest part of the Cathedral, and dine on only the best and sweetest roots.

And yet Tamboule never did sleep soundly, for during the hours before the dawn he would often awake from disquieting dreams in a delirium and attendants would often find him in the high towers atop a litter of powdered clay which, as a geophage, he consumed in a misguided bid to banish the reoccurring mania.  You see Tamboule hid a terrible secret, one which would summon heavy handed ordinators and scornful justices, and The Pit of The World would await him as punishment.

For Tamboule had legs, as real as the dawn and fleshy and strong. Such appendages were rare amongst his people and those who bore anything but the smallest of atrophied lower limbs were cast into the pit of the slithering thing as abominations, there to dwell for the long night as worms.

And on the night of Kerimas Little Tamboule gibbered and twitched on his mound of clay, and he clung to his chest roots and cones - but this night was like no other, for in his tired, altered state, Tamboule had cast off his test as he fled from his bed chamber and there he lay only with his gown of ermine draped across his body, he legs unfurled and naked for all to see. And a throng of priests descended on the room, a jagged forest of black hats, envy upon their withered grey faces.  Their vestigial eyes gazed upon the atavist, the throwback, the legg'd one who lay on the litter and insulted them so. And many fingers were pointed and horrid slanderous words were levelled at Little Tamboule.  And yet amongst the throng there were those who were saddened by what they saw, like Adir and Themote who had once tutored Tamboule in the ways of the priesthood, many more still were fond of this remarkable prodigy though they stood in silence, powerless to act, and the seething mob lunged forward to engulf his pathetic form.

Tamboule was cast into The Pit of the Earth after a swift trial in which 800 out of the 1000 members of the jury had reported a guilty verdict.  And though he anticipated a quick death dashed on jagged rocks by chance a dweller of the pit, a jovial and terrifying creature called a Tryth had broken his fall. The Tryth was only too happy to aid little Tamboule in his endeavours, in exchange for stories about the world above, of dust storms and cutlery, and porcelain and how people carried smooth coins of obsidian and copper.  The vast tryth, he explained in a guttural tongue, was a vast servitor of a long forgotten people who once called the pit their home. Sadly They had expired long ago and the tryth-kind had eeked out a living feeding on the carrion and fungi that frequented this foul foetid foyer. It was clear that the telling of this story moved the Tryth and copious oily tears rained down on the dry earth of mica clay below.  It was not difficult to elicit help from the bulbous creature and after the 2 had slept they decided to set out in a bid to escape.

A days trek through the tunnels of the worm brought the pair to an even vaster cavern where they sat and rested. Tamboule could feel a breeze emanating from the cavern mouth which sat over a vast canyon, the bottom of which could not be seen in this place so dim as it was.  And it was Tamboules wish that the 2 would fly high over the precipice and to freedom, and he offered the Tryth a most wonderful story in return. It should be said that the Tryst was not suited to flight, so full was his enormous belly and so pendulous was his hilarious head furniture. And to make matters worse the Tryth had a memory so poor he was constantly regaling Tamboule with the same childish queries about ducks and grapes.

But Tamboule persisted and fashioned himself a carriage from earth which he would dangle below the Tryths mighty bulk in the manner of an luxury airship liner and this prompted sad memories of his beloved bone china and fine  bejewelled plates and cups.

Hence forth a fire was set below the Tryth and the smoke filled his vestigial cavity; and Tamboule was taken aback at the sight of the enormous animal growing fatter and fatter like a great balloon.  And the Tryst took to the air and floated gracefully over the seemingly bottomless canyon in an effortless manner, its wings beating a steady cadence while Tamboule regaled and soothed the beast with a sonnet about Ham.  On an exposed promontory just outside the cave mouth Tamboule an d The Tryth sat in silence, their last onion had perished and a noxious worm had made its home in their last apple. The worm taunted the two as they formulated a plan to descend the mountain.

Alas the Tryth grew weaker by the day, so far was he from the irradiated halls deep in the bowels of the earth. And so on the 14th day Tamboule awoke to find that his companion was no more and he felt sad.  A prayer was offered to the sugar ants and the mock moon and far away the strumming of an out of tune harp heralded the Tryths arrival in the beyond and hereafter.  But Tamboule ate well and fashioned himself a skin drum, a dapper cap, a kite and a back pack which he filled with jerky and fat. And from the bones a crude glider was constructed which carried the petty priest down the mountainside to the valley below.

End of part 1

EDIT: Spelling

title: [MF] Little Tamboule

question: What does the story say about why Tamboule lacked sound sleep?

answer: Tamboule had tests that were the most beautiful of its kind, and he was held in the highest regard among all the other priests. However, he bore a terrible secret that plagued his conscience, which caused his inability to sleep soundly every night. Unlike the other priests, Tamboule had legs as real, fleshy, and firm as human legs. Because this feature was rare for his kind, anyone bearing such was cast into The Pit of The World to await punishment and be branded an abomination to their kind.

question: What does the story say about why Tamboule was physically different from the others?

question: What does the story say about the relationship between the Tryth and Tamboule?

answer: After finally being cast away and declared guilty by the majority of the jury, Tamboule expected his death. However, while in the pit, he encountered a terrifying creature called a Tryth who befriended him. The Tryth was more than happy to help Tamboule in his endeavors to escape, despite being wounded. Eventually, after both had fled the seemingly bottomless chasm successfully, the Tryth got weak and passed away.


text:
KARL HEINRICH FROTSCHER (6 May 1796, in Weira – 9 April 1876, in Freiberg) was a German classical philologist, known for his scholarly editions of Xenophon, Cicero, Quintilian and Velleius.

From 1815 he studied philology at the University of Leipzig, where his teachers included Christian Daniel Beck, Gottfried Hermann and Ernst Platner. He served as an auxiliary teacher at the Thomasschule zu Leipzig, and in 1820 became an instructor at the Nikolaischule. From 1822 he worked as a librarian at the Ratsbibliothek (council library), and in 1826 obtained his habilitation at the university.[1][2]

In 1828 he was named an associate professor at the university and promoted to conrector at the Nikolaischule. In 1835 he was appointed rector at the gymnasium in Annaberg-Buchholz, and from 1843 worked in a similar capacity at the gymnasium in Freiberg, a position he maintained up until his retirement in 1865.[3][4]

Selected works

-   _Hiero_ (edition of Xenophon's _Hiero_, 1822).
-   _Quae exstant. Ex recensione et cum adnotationibus Theophili Cortii_ (edition of Sallust, 1825).
-   _Institutionum oratoriarum liber decimus_ (edition of Dionysius of Halicarnassus, 1826).
-   _Marci Fabi Quinctiliani Institutionum oratoriarum liber decimus_ (edition of Quintilian, 1826).
-   _Eloquentium virorum narrationes de vitis hominum doctrina et virtute excellentium_ (1826).
-   _M. Tullii Ciceronis Ad Marcus Brutum Orator_ (with Heinrich Meyer / edition of Cicero, 1827).
-   _C. Velleii Paterculi quae supersunt ex Historiae romanae voluminibus duobus_ (with others / edition of Velleius, 1830).
-   _P. Rutilii Lupi De figuris sententiarum et elocutionis libri duo item Aquilae romani et Iulii Rufiniani de eodem argumento libri_ (with David Ruhnken / edition of Publius Rutilius Lupus, 1831).
-   _M. Tullii Ciceronis Oratio pro P. Sulla_ (edition of Cicero, 1831).
-   _Q. Asconius Pedianus in M. Tullii Ciceronis Orationem_ (edition of Asconius Pedianus, 1845).[5]

[1] Frotscher, Karl Heinrich Sächsische Biografie

[2] Richard Hoche: Frotscher, Karl Heinrich In: Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie (ADB). Band 8, Duncker & Humblot, Leipzig 1878, S. 150.

[3]

[4]

[5] [https://catalog.hathitrust.org/Search/Home?lookfor=%22Frotscher,KarlHeinrich,1796-1876.%22&type=author&inst= HathiTrust Digital Library] (published works)

title: Karl Heinrich Frotscher

question: When was Frotscher born?

answer: May 6, 1796

question: Where did Frotscher study?

answer: The University of Leipzig

question: When did Frotscher retire?

answer: 1865

question: Where did Frotscher work as a librarian?

answer: The Ratsbibliothek

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Karl Heinrich Frotscher was a German classical philologist. He was born in 1796, studied philology at the University of Leipzig, worked as an instructor at the Nikolaischule, retired in 1865, and died in 1876.


text:
The INDIAN 5 RUPEE COIN is a denomination of the Indian rupee. The 5 coin was the highest denominated coin until the minting of the 10 in 2005.

Design of the coin

The Lion Capital of Ashoka is minted on the obverse along with the denomination below. In some 5 coins, the denomination alone was minted on the obverse and the Lion Capital minted on the reverse side. The coins also are minted with the face of Indira Gandhi in her assassination and Jawaharlal Nehru during his 100th birthday anniversary.[1]

Features

-   The 5 rupee Indian coin is minted with cupro-Nickel.
-   The diameter of the coin is 23mm.
-   The weight of the coin is 5.3 grams.
-   The shape is circular.[2]

[1]

[2] https://rbi.org.in/Scripts/ic_coins_5.aspx

title: Indian 5-rupee coin

question: When did the minting of 10 rupee coins start?

answer: 2005

question: What is minted on the coin's obverse?

answer: The Lion Capital of Ashoka and the denomination, although some only have the denomination on the obverse and have the Lion Capital of Ashoka on the reverse

question: What is minted on the coin's reverse?

answer: It's unclear what is typically minted on the reverse, but some have the Lion Capital of Ashoka on the reverse and only the denomination on the obverse

question: What material is the coin made of?

answer: Cupro-Nickel

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The Indian 5 rupee coin is a denomination of the Indian rupee. The coins are circular and composed of cupro-nickel. Until the minting of 10 rupee coins began in 2005, it was the highest denominated rupee coin.


text:
We left the club hours ago and I can still feel the wave of the beat. The perfectly synchronized rush to explosive electronica heaven is building in the sound system of my mind - again. And again.

The chemicals are slightly wearing off so as I tip out of the cab, I fumble in my back pocket for the crushed pack of cigarettes, find the next hapless victim, cradle her in my lips and light up. I have no idea how I'm even standing but I skillfully negotiate against the refrigerated wind and as the relieving foul tasting heat crackles from the suction into my lungs, my head begins to spin - or spin faster really - and I take off again helplessly laughing at the non-existent idiosyncrasies of everyone around me.

Is there anyone around me?

The burning rum purchased at the airport lounge is nauseatingly dancing its way through my digestive system.

Sunglasses on and sleepless, I sidle past the smiling strangers in row 31 and slump into seat A.

The moment my forehead touches the cold glass, my fever subsides. Soon the chill becomes unbearable but I can't move. I'm too high to sleep. All I want to do is tap my feet to the quiet roar of the engine, wedge my face against the window. And stare.

It's a 3 hour flight from New York to Chicago and beaming through the thin haze - how many feet below us? 20,000? 30,000? - lies god's ice tray.

Neatly separated by the fences of past disputes and lawsuits yet to be settled, last night's snowfall purposefully shimmers in random and infinite directions.

Naturally vying for the attention of the other passengers - a standard fair of middle aged business travellers, pretend writers and holiday makers - the world outside cannot compete with the opportunity of a guilt free break from the kids. Or with the - soon to be discarded forever - typing. Or even with the Adam Sandler movie being shown for the 50th first time. Most of the shades are down.

As we chase the sun, stalling its escape behind the horizon, I see another plane frozen in the sky slightly ahead of us, beating us, indifferently flaunting the majesty of the parallel streams in its trail.

Like a yawning peacock, fanning its tail at cooing tourists, it casually gives permission to stare at how effortless it is to be graceful and humble and beautiful.

"Why don't you be beautiful too? Can't you see how easy I make it look?

Now eat my dust."

This is not a race.

There are no television cameras or radio commentators or photographers secretly hoping for a career making collision. No one is cheering along for victory.

Well....

Not on my flight anyway.

But I reckon that's because we're losing.

title: I found this old short incomplete story I wrote a few year back. Interested in any feedback. It's called "Flying high".

question: Where is the narrator?

answer: The narrator is on a plane.

question: Where did the narrator come from?

answer: The narrator came from the club.

question: Where is the narrator flying to?

answer: The narrator is flying to Chicago.

question: Where is the narrator flying from?

answer: The narrator is flying from New York.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator leaves the club and gets on a plane, still high. Sleepless, they watch another plane overtake theirs out the window, and reflect on the fact that no television or radio crews are cheering on their victory.


text:
Reuters Health - Eating foods high in fiber, such as those found in a Mediterranean diet, was tied to a lower risk of gallbladder surgery in a recent French study.

Compared to people who didn’t follow a Mediterranean diet pattern, those who adhered to it most closely had a significantly lower likelihood of needing a cholecystectomy, which is the medical term for an operation to remove the gallbladder, say the authors.

“We found that higher intakes of legumes, fruit, vegetable oil, and (whole grain) bread were associated with decreased cholecystectomy risk, and a higher intake of ham was associated with higher risk of cholecystectomy,” wrote the authors in the American Journal of Gastroenterology.

About 700,000 cholecystectomies are performed every year in the United States, according to the American College of Surgeons. Most are the result of blockage due to gallstones.

“Gallstones are very common, but most of them are asymptomatic, meaning people have no symptoms. If you don’t have any symptoms from your gallstones, there’s no reason to have your gallbladder removed,” said Dr. James Lewis, a gastroenterologist at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia who was not part of the study.

The vast majority of people with gallstones never have problems from them, Lewis said in a phone interview.

“When they do cause problems, then having your gallbladder removed is completely appropriate,” he said.

The new study, led by Dr. Amelie Barre at the University of Paris Sud in Orsay, used information on nearly 64,000 women who were born between 1925 and 1950 and covered by a national insurance plan. Every two years, they answered questions about their health status, medical history, and lifestyle.

Over the course of 18 years, 2,778 of the women had their gallbladder removed.

Women who ate the most legumes, fruits, vegetable oil, and whole grain bread were anywhere from 13 to 27 percent less likely to have gallbladder surgery than were women who ate the least of those foods.

A western dietary pattern - including high consumption of processed meat, canned fish, eggs, rice, pasta, appetizers, pizza, potatoes, cakes, and alcohol - was not linked with either a higher or lower risk for the surgery. There was, however, an association of ham intake with cholecystectomy risk.

But when researchers assigned a Mediterranean diet score to all participants, they found that women with the highest scores were 11 percent less likely to have the surgery compared to women with the lowest scores.

This type of observational study can’t prove that a Mediterranean diet was the reason for women’s lower risk of gallbladder surgery, or that ham intake caused a higher risk. Furthermore, dietary intakes were self-reported at just one point in time. The reports may not have been accurate, and women’s diets may have changed over time.

Still, Lewis said, the Mediterranean-style diet has consistently been shown to be associated with living longer.

“If people really want to think about what they should be eating in order to increase their longevity, it’s very easy for me to recommend to them that they should try and follow a Mediterranean-style diet,” he said.

In fact, the U.S. Department of Agriculture recently advised Americans to follow a diet that is very similar to a Mediterranean-style diet, Lewis noted. (bit.ly/2vHSL8h)

“This is just one of many reasons that we should be following that style diet. If you look at the published literature on dietary patterns, what you’ll see is that Mediterranean-style diet has been associated with a reduced overall mortality but also reduced cardiovascular mortality (and) reduced risks of cancer,” he said.

SOURCE: go.nature.com/2wpsVSL The American Journal of Gastroenterology, online July 25, 2017.

for-phone-onlyfor-tablet-portrait-upfor-tablet-landscape-upfor-desktop-upfor-wide-desktop-up

question: Summarize the findings of the study.

answer: The study found that intakes of high fiber food, such as legumes, fruit and vegetables, decreased the risk of gall-bladder surgery. Intake of ham increased it. The study cannot prove that there is a causative relationship between these things, but the two are correlated.

question: How was the study conducted?

answer: The study looked at 64,000 women born between 1925 and 1950. They were asked questions every two years. Over the course of 18 years, 2,778 women had their gall bladder removed.

question: What foods did not increase or decrease the risk of gall bladder surgery?

answer: A western dietary pattern, including consumption of processed meat, canned fish, eggs, rice, pasta, potatoes, pizza, cakes and alcohol was not linked in any way with a higher or lower risk for surgery. Of the western diet, only ham was shown to have a link to a higher risk for surgery. A mediterranean diet decreased the risk.


text:
It is the summer of 1999 and I am young and I am alive. My sister and I are racing outside now, our bare and naked feet fly across the hardwood floor and onto our tired deck. My prescient mother, resting in a green plastic chair, is already waiting for the two of us to dart into the nightly confines of our very Philadelphian backyard. She’s looking at the pair of us, her smile the starting pistol to an evening of adventure.

I’m grabbing a glass jar and tossing one to my younger sister now. Her and I now dash down the few steps of our porch and step onto our playing field. I can see them all, now. The lightning bugs. They dot our lawn like incandescent snowflakes, occasionally lifting off to find a new temporary resting place. I can almost hear the beat of a thousand tiny wings right now. There must be hundreds here. They paint our yard now, never satisfied with their place on the canvas.

But this wonder is nothing new to my sister and I. We have done this as far as my memory will stretch. We’re dashing off in different directions now, as to cover the most ground. There isn’t a second to waste, not a moment to spare—I’m not sure how much longer the fireflies will glow for us. Now that I’m over by the big tree at the edge of the lawn, I can begin my work.

A particularly gleaming bug is drifting past my eyes right now. I’m going to turn my jar to the side, very carefully now, and… *got him*. Quickly I’m screwing the lid back on my jar. I eye my twinkling prize. It’s crawling on the side of my jar now, exploring his new home, I’m sure. I can’t think of a name for him quite yet, but there will be time for formalities later. Right now I need to continue the hunt.

Bending down now I scoop up a bug at my feet. I’m feeling the minuscule legs of the thing tickle my palm now. I’m assessing my catch. This one is too small. It simply will not do. It needs to grow and mature before I could even consider capturing this luminous soul. I’m going to let it go. I open my palm and it flits away from me, surely rejoining his glowing brethren but this time with a story to tell.

My baby sister and I are darting across our lawn, back and forth now, for what has seemed like only a few moments. We’re laughing, enthralled in the beauty and wonderment of the scene.

“Hey, Dea, I found a really big one right here!” I’m exclaiming to my sister now.

“Fabio, Fabio, I see a really bright one! Come here!” She’s yelling back.

It hasn’t been long but our game is over now. We’re saying good night to the fireflies now and sprinting back up to our wood deck, exhausted from the chase but running on an adrenaline high. I briefly and proudly show my mom the night’s catch and before she can say ‘Oh, wow,’ I’ve already begun staring at my jar, full of little lightning bugs. It’s glowing bright, my suburban lantern.

My usual request to bring the jar inside has been denied again, per usual. Now it’s time for me to make this glass jar for my lightning bugs a home. I’m poking tiny holes in the top of the jar using a pen now so they can breath. I’m going to place some grass in too so they have food. What a nice home I’ve made for Steven, Ross, Fireman, Lightdude, Ember, Doug, Nick, and Eric. *I’m going to say good night to you now, little guys. I’ll see you in the morning!*

Morning is here now and I’m running outside to check on my prized jar. Only one of my fireflies is alive now. He’s slowly crawling across the bottom of the glass, navigating through the bodies of his mothers, brothers, sisters, aunts. His belly is smoldering ever so dimly now, barely casting a light in this hot morning sun. I don’t think they liked the grass I gave them, either.

“Mom, why do my bugs always die in the morning? I even gave them grass this time.” I’m asking my poor mother now.

“Because…” She begins. “Because their light only burns for a night. They burn bright and hot, some more bright than others. Their bellies are big and glow at night but it will only last for so long. In the morning their lightbulb burns out and they die. Their lightbulb burns out, that’s all.”

Shaking my now lifeless and lightless jar out into the yard now, I’m wondering how bright my lightbulb will burn.

title: Bottling up lightning

question: What does the text say about the fireflies the narrator catches?

answer: The narrator names them Steven, Ross, Fireman, Lightdude, Ember, Doug, Nick, and Eric. He leaves them in a jar overnight, and the next morning only one is alive. The narrator dumps their bodies in the yard.


text: Let me tell you a story about my perilous and sometimes absurdly amazing journey to Gettysburg Battlefield in Pennsylvania. So it begins with me setting off from my sleepy little town of -redacted- on a mission; a mission of dire importance to me. It begins on the wild roads of Suburbia that slowly melt from the lull of bustle and humanity to a hush that only comes with rural areas, a hush that creeps up on you slowly and before you know it, the somnolent hush almost puts you to sleep. But I was determined, I was eager to go to this glorious Fabled city of Old so I did not nod off. To keep complete composure, like anyone would, I needed sustenance, preferably in the form of my favorite country buffet. After a raucous feast and courtesies to the wait staff as is the custom, I was off again. The horizon was comprised of the mighty Catoctin mountain at a staggering 1900 feet and the scraggly beard of trees atop it; this mountain man shifting and moving with the ridges as if actual flesh and blood. The contrast of the soaring peaks and the farmland like slabs of concrete laid down flat made for quite a sight and I was struck with the urge to paint, but I was morally contracted to visit the light at the end of my tunnel vision, so I kept trekking. I was close and I could feel it. There is this buzz of excitement, like a small static shock, that flows like the electrons that make up a current through your body. This excitement tingles and slowly resonates stronger and stronger until you reach the generator of the buzz and then it's gone. I could see the gleaming gold buildings, of my destination but I kept my cool and held in the current until I was face to face with the crown jewel of the empire of Civil War history. The shadow of the Round Top hills overlooking the site led me right to the spot where my interest in history would grow exponentially to  point of no return. I departed my rusty steed and I was there, finally

title: Gettysburg (taken from my College entrance essay, please critique)

question: Where does the setting of the story take place?

answer: Gettysburg Battlefield in Pennsylvania

question: What does the narrator feast on before continuing their trek?

answer: Their favorite country buffet.

question: What does the narrator compare the historical site to?

answer: The crown jewel of the empire of Civil War history.

question: How much would the narrator's interest in history grow?

answer: Exponentially to point of no return.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer:
The narrator tells their amazing journey to the Gettysburg Battlefield.
Narrator begins their trekking along the mighty Catoctin mountain until finally arriving at the crown jewel site of Civil War history. This is the place where the narrator's interest in history would grow exponentially.


text:
[Mad Men, Final Season, Matthew Weiner, Peggy Olson, Joan… Betty Draper, Don Draper, women’s liberation, 1960’s, inequality, women’s movement, novels, art, creativity, television, art]

The Show!

Did you see the wonderful last episode of Mad Men? As one who has followed the show for all its years, I have to say that it ended “perfectly”. A few episodes back, I was really wondering how it could ever be wound up to a satisfying conclusion. But Matthew Weiner did it!

[Mad Men, Final Season, Matthew Weiner, Peggy Olson, Joan… Betty Draper, Don Draper, women’s liberation, 1960’s, inequality, women’s movement, novels, art, creativity, television, art]

Osgoode Hall, the Law Courts. In 1973 there were two women’s washrooms in the entire building.

Here’s my perspective: I began practising law in 1973. I had graduated from law school in a class of 130 students where exactly ten percent of the class were women. And we thought that 13 was a _big_ number. Fortunately, the job market for lawyers was pretty good and so I practised law for almost thirty years. What were the relations between men and women in the profession during those years? Very much like what has been portrayed on Mad Men.

I have to say that the television show got it _right!_ Over those years, women’s status was precarious to say the least. Time and again, they were bitterly resented by many  men who did everything they could to undermine women as professionals in the workplace. They were denigrated in sometimes clever, amusing and subtle ways but more frequently in ridiculously crude ways. Mad Men shows the changes in women and men at work.

Go back a generation. My mother, who was a teacher, had to retire the moment she became married in 1938. The generation of women in Mad Men [working in the late nineteen fifties and early sixties] didn’t have it much better. The expected role of women was marriage, raising children and keeping house for her husband. Possible work? Retail, nurse or teacher.

Let’s look at what happened in Mad Men with three of the most central female characters, Betty, Joan and Peggy.

Don’s first wife, Betty, represents the starting point—the 1950’s housewife trying to make a perfect home and family which of course is an impossible task. You might hate her as a mother, as I did, given the way she treated her children. But you could understand how she was who she was. A woman—no, a child herself— who was furious with the repression and the low esteem men had for women. But she did try to fill the role of mother and housewife.

[Mad Men, Final Season, Matthew Weiner, Peggy Olson, Joan… Betty Draper, Don Draper, women’s liberation, 1960’s, inequality, women’s movement, novels, art, creativity, television, art]

The happy housewife… Bobby…Sally! Go watch TV

[Mad Men, Final Season, Matthew Weiner, Peggy Olson, Joan… Betty Draper, Don Draper, women’s liberation, 1960’s, inequality, women’s movement, novels, art, creativity, television, art]

I am NOT meant to be a secretary!

But Peggy! She’s the _new_ woman. Right from the beginning you could see she was about to kick over the traces and fight her way in a man’s world.

So what happens to Peggy? How does she change? I think this picture says it all! In one of the last episodes, she’s moving to McCann Erickson the mega-ad firm.

[Mad Men, Final Season, Matthew Weiner, Peggy Olson, Joan… Betty Draper, Don Draper, women’s liberation, 1960’s, inequality, women’s movement, novels, art, creativity, television, art]

I’m moving up…I hope.

[Mad Men, Final Season, sexual harassment, Matthew Weiner, Peggy Olson, Joan… Betty Draper, Don Draper, women’s liberation, 1960’s, inequality, women’s movement, novels, art, creativity, television, art]

Can I help you? The meeting is in the boardroom

Don’t forget Joan. So beautiful and sexy that she had every man wanting her. And that would suggest she would have some power. Which she did but only on that level. Her story is one of frustration whenever she attempts to move beyond supervising the secretarial pool.  The price exacted for rising up the ranks is steep. She earned her partnership at Sterling Cooper by agreeing with the men to sleep with a client. You may be disgusted with the client but he wasn’t the only one. What about the partners who happily prostituted her?

Here’s Joan at the new ad agency trying to maintain her authority in the new order. The man in this scene is making it clear that he’ll be a great help to her in her climb up the ladder provided she sleeps with him. Just when she thought she had some power, it all comes down to sex.

[Mad Men, Final Season, sexual harassment, Matthew Weiner, Peggy Olson, Joan… Betty Draper, Don Draper, women’s liberation, 1960’s, inequality, women’s movement, novels, art, creativity, television, art]

What a shit.

But several seasons earlier, Betty Draper has begun to change. It’s like watching cracks rip open the street before the full force of the seismic quake strikes. You can see the cool and calculated release of anger in the video where she starts shooting pigeons. In part it’s a story about the women’s movement and the growing assertiveness which was necessary to survive.

You can see the growth of the women’s movement and the growing assertiveness which was necessary to survive. It all happened! I only hope that at least in some ways it is better today.

DID YOU LIVE THROUGH THAT TIME? WHAT’S YOUR STORY? PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT.

Mary E. Martin is the author of two trilogies: The Osgoode Trilogy, inspired by her many years of law practice; and The Trilogy of Remembrance, set in the glitter and shadows of the art world. Both Trilogies will elevate the reader from the rush and hectic world of today and spin them into realms of yet unimagined intrigue. Be inspired by the newly released and final installment of The Trilogy of Remembrance, _Night Crossing_. Presently, _The Drawing Lesson_ is a Wattpad Featured novel which you can read in it’s entirety right here Wattpad.com

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question: What does the text say about the author?

answer: The author, Mary E. Martin, began practicing law in 1973. She graduated from law school in a class of 130 students, 13 of whom were women. She practiced law for almost thirty years, and describes her experience as very similar to what was portrayed on the TV series Mad Men. She is also the author of two trilogies: The Osgoode Trilogy and The Trilogy of Remembrance.


text:
Every morning it was the same old story. I woke at five-thirty and bathed myself. By seven I was on the bus going to school for my daily learnings. I felt as if my life was being dictated by societal and other such forces. It was as if I had no real control over my own life. I felt controlled. I never really expected what was to happen. I felt, I bled, and I learned. I learned with speed and grace unlike any other. There were days when I wondered why that was.

Regardless, I continued on in my daily endeavors, yet I always wanted something more, somewhere I could fit in, a niche so to speak. I continued writing, and learning, and most of all I continued looking. I was looking for a reason to exist, a reason why. I needed more then I had. I needed a reason to live. I needed to know that I was more than just a human encyclopedia or calculator. I wanted to love; I wanted to be able to live. I wanted to see there were more than just learning and acidic words thrown by ignorant masses. The hated were the intellectual and the loved were the unique. Somehow, I managed to be both. I continued fighting the omnipresent pressure to be something I wasn't.

I would not let myself be herded like a sheep. What I didn't yet know was that I was being controlled by even stronger forces. I felt like I was a coded program, not a human. I didn't feel that I could choose my path. I didn't feel that I could choose what to learn. I just did exactly what I was designed to. It was summer when I learned the shocking truth. I was 16 and a half at the time. I was taking a shower, just like usual, and I fell down and my head smashed against the wall. My hand immediately flew to my head to inspect the damage. But I didn't feel blood on this wound.

I raised my hand slowly, a painful shiver running down my spine. I felt not bone, brain matter, or any other organic fluids. I felt smooth metal, and wires. I checked the mirror and I saw chrome and microchips. On one of these chips I found a designation:

>Sentient 162-73a

It was in that moment that I realized I had no purpose. I was a sheep to the programmed herder in my circuits. I was everything I brought myself to despise. I was only a machine, a sentient, who would never know love or feeling. I was only a program living through its code. I was simply an existent being. I wish I could love. I wish I could live. But the cold reality is that I am machine. I am Sentient 162-73a.

title: Sentient

question: How old is the narrator?

answer: 35.

question: How did the author find out they are a robot?

answer: They fell in the shower.

question: How old were they when they found out they were not human?

answer: 16.

question: How can the narrator feel existential angst when they are a robot?

answer: Maybe they have been programmed to form emotional expectations based on their observation of real human behavior around them.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator leads a somewhat meaningless life, as they have since age 16 when a tumble in the shower led to their discovery that they are a robot, not a flesh-and-blood human being.


text:
The TALLAHASSEE BUS BOYCOTT was a citywide boycott in Tallahassee, Florida that sought to end racial segregation in the employment and seating arrangements of city buses. On May 26, 1956, Wilhelmina Jakes and Carrie Patterson, two Florida A&M University students, were arrested by the Tallahassee Police Department for “placing themselves in a position to incite a riot”.[1] Robert Saunders, representing the NAACP, and Rev. C. K. Steele began talks with city authorities while the local African-American community started boycotting the city's buses. The Inter-Civic Council ended the boycott on December 22, 1956.[2] On January 7, 1957, the City Commission repealed the bus-franchise segregation clause because of the United States Supreme Court ruling _Browder v. Gayle_ (1956).

History

Not only were buses segregated, with white riders at the front and black ones in the back, if there were no free black seats black riders had to stand, even if there were free white seats. Furthermore, if there were more white riders than white seats, black riders had to surrender their seats.[3]

Jakes and Patterson boarded a city bus and sat in the only open seats, which were next to a white woman. The driver declared that the two women could not sit where they were sitting, and Jakes agreed to get off the bus if she received her bus fare in return. The driver would not return Jakes' bus fare and drove to a service station, where he then called the police, who subsequently arrested the women. Later that day, the students were bailed out by the Dean of Students.[4]

The day after the incident, the Ku Klux Klan burned a cross in front of the women's residence.[5] News of the cross-burning quickly spread throughout the campus, and Student Government Association officers, led by Brodes Hartley, called for a meeting of the student body. The incidents (the cross-burning and the arrest) were discussed in the meeting. Student leaders called for the withdrawal of student support of the bus company and for students to seek participation in the boycott throughout the community. Reverend Steele, a member of the Tallahassee Interdenominational Ministerial Alliance (IMA) and leader in the NAACP, organized a mass meeting that night. In the meeting, the Inter-Civic Council (ICC) was born from the joining of the NAACP, IMA, and Tallahassee Civic League. The ICC was formed in response to community fear that a NAACP-led protest would be met with state repression. Its leaders held weekly meetings and the Council was highly active in Civil Rights-related activism. The NAACP became involved well after the boycott had been started, when leaders sent a lawyer to defend drivers of boycotters (carpool drivers) who were arrested for driving unlicensed “for hire” vehicles.[6]

Three months into the boycott, the demand for the employment of black bus drivers was met. For months after _Browder v. Gayle_, the government upheld _de facto_ segregation, with the instantiation of an ordinance mandating assigned seats on buses. That led to arrests of blacks who did not sit in the seats assigned to them. Efforts persisted in resisting bus segregation and enforcement of the ordinance became less strict, when blacks again rode the buses.

In 1959, members of the Tallahassee InterCivic Council tested the success of the boycott by riding the newly-integrated buses; they found that the integration was successful.[7]

Sociologist Lewis Killian points out that organizational and community leaders did not gather until after the initiation of the boycott, which highlights the spontaneity of the student-initiated boycott. Furthermore, the boycott was initiated during a time in which Tallahassee's civil rights-related organizational activity was markedly low and the black community in Tallahassee was unprepared for a protest as large as the boycott.

The creation of the ICC provides an example of the emergence of new norms and structures. Although it is widely believed that the centers of Civil Rights Movement activity were organizational and structural bodies such as the black church and the NAACP, a new normative structure emerged in the Tallahassee Bus Boycott.

The boycott presents an overlooked departure from the circumstances of the Montgomery bus boycott, which was planned and precipitated by active individuals and organizations; in addition, the Tallahassee boycott, at least in its initial stages, was separate from and did not model the latter.

Killian finds the formation of the ICC and the spontaneous and irregular nature of the boycott's initiation commensurate with traditional collective behavior theory, which includes such superficially irrational elements as spontaneity.[8][9]

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title: Tallahassee bus boycott

question: In 1956, why was there a bus boycott in Tallahasee?

answer: The boycott was a social movement with the goal of ending the racial segregation in the employment and the seating arrangements of city buses.

question: How did the boycott come to be?

answer: It all started when two Florida A&M university students attempted to defy the segregation rules for a bus and were arrested for it. They were bailed by the Dean of Students, but still subjected to harassment by the Ku Klux Klan who burned a cross in front of the women's residence. The cross burning escalated the situation, student leaders of the school boycotted the bus company and worked with the Tallahassee Interdenominational Ministerial Alliance, and the Tallahassee Civic League. They formed the Inter-Civic Council, and the group heavily supported the student leaders' decision to withdraw student support of the bus company.

question: What were the effects of the boycott?

answer: Three months into the boycott, black drivers were started to be employed. By 1959, segregation was no longer followed.

question: Was there a similar event in history?

answer: Yes, the Montgomery bus boycott was mentioned, though it was stated that the two boycotts are quite different as the Tallahassee boycott did not model the pattern set by Montgomery.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The 1956 Tallahassee Bus Boycott started by the student leaders of Florida A&M University as an answer to the arrest (and the Ku Klux Klan's harassment) of two students. They would be supported by the Inter-Civic Council, formed from the NAACP, IMA, and the Tallahassee Civic League. By 1959, the bus segregation was no longer being followed.


text:
	“What you got?” He looked around nervously, almost waiting for a Health Agent to come swinging down on a vine of nylon and swoop him away.
	The other person, a middle aged woman, looked just as, if not more nervous. “What you need?”
	Still nervous, the man knew just what he wanted. Crisco or, preferably, straight partially hydrogenated vegetable oil. Just one taste of the sick indulgence. The HAs will never know. “HVO?”  HVO, usually pronounced ho-vo, was slang for hydrogenated vegetable oil.
	“You know I gots that shit. Wait right here.” She lifted a dumpster lid nearby. Wrapping the interior of the clean dumpster was a handmade storage shelf lined with bottle after bottle of cooking oils. Next to the rainbow of green and gold oils sat an assortment of baked goods, potato chips, pies and various off-brand margarines. She grabbed a small bottle of the oil and handed it to the man, he slid a fifty into her palm as she did.
	“I was just thinking,” the man said, “do you have any, you know, margarine?”
	“Used to be butter, now they say ya can’t eat margarine. Yeah, I got some right here.” She turned to her dumpster and reached into it for a stick of the only name brand on the shelf, Shedd’s Spread Country Crock, pre-ban packaging, of course.
	When she turned around, the man saw his opportunity. He quietly removed his weapon from beneath his coat, then turned and swung the tire iron down, hard, across the back of her head. Blood sprayed from the wound as the skull caved in beneath the metal rod. A few bits of shattered bone sprayed into the air like impact ejecta, one of them bounced off the man’s cheek. She was dead before she hit the ground. Her body slumped sideways and fell to the wet concrete with a thud; blood began to pool around her head. Ravenous, the man hurried to the dumpster, which still stood open. He peered in. The oils lined the sides of the container. Christmas morning tinseled with liquid gold. He took the pack from his shoulders and began filling it with the small bottles and baked goods. A huge smile creased his face.
	At his feet the woman’s body jerked once. Probably just nerves, the man told himself continuing his gluttonous raid.
	An unexpected noise echoed from the end of the dark alley. He looked up. A silhouette stood, guarding the alley entrance, blocking his impending exit. “Hey! You!” The silhouette yelled.
	The man in front of the dumpster froze, looked down at the body and then at the man at the end of the alley. “Shit.” He knew it was an HA before he even heard his voice, an HA or another oil fiend. Probably both.
	“Hold it right there, junkie” The man began to approach, as he did, he drew his sidearm.
	Pack in hand, the man looked for an out. To his right only the solid brick wall of a pre-21st century building. His left, blocked by an agent of the Reorganized New York Police Department, Health Affairs Division. He glanced up, a fire escape dangled precariously from the side of another brick building. The ladder was at least four feet over his head.

title: The Ban - a short about a dystopian not-so-distant moment.

question: What kind of future dystopia is the setting of the story?

answer: A dystopian society where once commonly available supermarket products have become contraband items. The banned items seem to fall under the general category of what the public perceives to be unhealthy food.

question: Why did the man kill the woman?

answer: He probably did not intend to be a returning customer and had planned to attack her from the beginning.

question: Why is the protagonist wary of the HA?

answer: It appears that the HA's job is to prevent the trade of non-sanctioned edibles. The name of the organization "Health Affairs Division" connotes they are directly in-charge of issues regarding the distribution of banned foodstuffs.

question: What does the man intend to do with the food items he took from woman's stash?

answer: While there seems to be a value in the resale of the goods, there were two lines in the narrative that showed the man's inner thoughts -that he wanted the HVO, and his state when taking the items was ravenous. This implies that he is taking the HVO for his consumption, and to a certain degree to feed his addiction to it.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: While buying illegal hydrogenated vegetable oil products, the man kills the seller and steals of her wares. The man is then spotted by an agent of the Health Affairs Division. Surrounded by a wall and the agent at the end of the path, the man looks up and sees a fire escape ladder overhead.