text:
[Plein Air Painting on Campobello Island and Lubec, Maine, with Michael Chesley Johnson]

_"SMALL WORKSHOPS FOR THE SERIOUS STUDENT"_

Schedule/Signup | Important Information | Customized Workshops | Video | About Michael Chesley Johnson

**Our 16th Season Teaching Plein Air Painting Workshops in Downeast Maine and the Canadian Maritimes!**

Join plein air landscape painter Michael Chesley Johnson for small-size outdoor painting workshops and painting retreats in Lubec, Maine, July-August 2021.

_LOOKING FOR A SMALL WORKSHOP?_ Plein Air Painting Maine plein air painting workshops are limited typically to only 4-6 students. You'll get much more feedback and personal help in these small workshops.

Only 90 miles from Bar Harbor, Maine! Lubec (Maine) and Campobello Island (New Brunswick) are quiet, beautiful retreats for the plein air painter. Think romantic lighthouses, cobblestone beaches, cliff overlooks, broad meadows, working harbours - and lobster! Lubec, Maine, is a historic working waterfront with many opportunities for the painter. Adjacent Campobello Island is home to both the Roosevelt-Campobello International Park and the Herring Cove Provincial Park. Both locations provide lodging and dining to make sure your workshop week is an enjoyable one!

Workshops run Tuesday-Friday, 8-12 Eastern, 9-1 Atlantic. This leaves you plenty of time in the afternoons to explore the area -- or, you can paint more on your own! Lubec, Maine, and nearby Campobello Island offer hiking, biking, kayaking, whale watch tours and more!

_PRICE OF EACH WORKSHOP - ONLY USD $300, NOT INCLUDING LODGING._ **PASSPORT, PASSPORT CARD OR ENHANCED DRIVER'S LICENSE HIGHLY SUGGESTED SO YOU CAN VISIT MICHAEL'S STUDIO ON CAMPOBELLO ISLAND.**

_CLASS SIZE IS LIMITED, SO RESERVE SOON!
Click Here for Schedules and Sign Up_

GROUP WORKSHOPS. If you are part of a painting group, any of the weeks in may be used as a "private" workshop for your group! Contact me to make arrangements.

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COVID-AWARE WORKSHOPS

To keep students safe, and for everyone's peace of mind, Michael's plein painting workshops will be kept small in size. The studio will allow for plenty of room for students to spread out. Once in the field, everyone must practice "social distancing." Until further notice, face coverings will be required. This will help everyone to enjoy a comfortable and low-risk experience. Thank you!

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Also Offering Plein Air Painting Workshops in Arizona, New Mexico and Elsewhere in the Southwest at www.PaintTheSouthwest.com.

_ONE OF THE COUNTRY'S TOP PLEIN AIR PAINTERS,_ Michael works in oil and pastel in the American Southwest, coastal Maine and the Canadian Maritimes. He has been an invited artist to many national plein air painting events over the years and has competed in challenging locations such as the Grand Canyon.

Elected a Master Pastellist by Pastel Artists Canada in 2008, he is a Signature Member of the American Impressionist Society and the Pastel Society of America and a juried member of Oil Painters of America. He is the author of _Backpacker Painting: Outdoors with Oil & Pastel_ and _Through a Painter's Brush: A Year on Campobello Island_. A long-time contributor to _The Pastel Journal_ and Contributing Editor for _The Artist's Magazine_, he lives and paints on Campobello Island, New Brunswick, and in northern New Mexico. (Michael also teaches workshops in the winter in the American Southwest. Michael also specializes in teaching small-size plein air workshops in oil and pastel for the intermediate and advanced level painter and for painters desiring mentoring. Visit www.PaintTheSouthwest.com for details. He also travels to teach. Visit the workshop schedule page of his website for details.)

Michael also has a large archive of tips and techniques for the plein air painter on his blog.

_DON'T MISS THIS OPPORTUNITY TO STUDY WITH A MASTER!_

question: What makes Michael Chelsey Johnson a master?

answer: Michael was elected a Master Pastellist by the Pastes Artists Canada in 2008. He is also a member of prestigious artist groups. Michael teaches plein air workshops for the intermediate and advanced level painters indicating an intimate knowledge of his craft.

question: What is plein air art?


split: train

text:
“You should put on some long pants,” I advised my brother.

We headed down through a yellow field of tall grasses.  Its slope converged at the center like a valley, here, high among the San Francisco foothills.  The Western sun shone gently upon our earnest escapades.  I wanted our adventures to embody the spirit of this city, a mystical bastion of all freedoms.

The field's ending was demarcated by a sort of incomplete fence, probably put there decades ago by the Spanish or the young American imperialists.  We stumbled to the gate, which hung open perfectly and allowed the cool ocean breeze to pass through like a gust of its own breath.  Matt was waiting on the other side.  He was a year older and wiser, well acquainted with the ways of the city's center.  He'd told us stories about all of the nooks and strange neighborhoods, the nudists and the secret passageways and the unique chill you could feel when you ate ice cream on the beach near the Golden Gate Bridge.

Matt was just the person I wanted to see.  Though I knew it would disappoint my brother, my goal would be aided by this traveler's expertise with the city's heartbeat.  I bid my time as we made our way through the less fertile crags of the hills, full of rocks, mosses, and bird droppings.

We overcame the precipice, and I could see a large numbers of graves in the direction we were heading in.  As we approached, I heard a slight buzz.  Matt groaned and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

“I have to get home for dinner, guys.  Sorry.  Maybe tomorrow.”

*Damn*, I thought.  I consoled myself with the knowledge that I couldn't have asked him now, anyway.  I could still enjoy this exploration- what appeared to be an antique cemetery, alone with my similarly-minded brother.  We stepped up, upon the artificially elevated ground of the yard, and looked around.  The rows went on for what seemed like forever.  I noticed a huge chamber near the center, which had to be a tomb for someone important.  As I went along, I observed the dates on the graves.  I was surprised at the age: they were almost exclusively from the mid-to-late 1700s, and the few exceptions were only slightly newer.  One must have been a young boy: his date of death was just before his eighth birthday.  Some had flowery patterns carved into the sides, and there were the customary cherubic angels tending to the invisible gardens growing atop the headstones.

I reached the massive tomb.  The faded brown doors exuded an antiquated feeling, and I could see that the stony sides were cracking.  Looking around and discovering no unwanted observers, I drew closer.  I saw notes and small trinkets scattered upon the small floor in front of the entrance.  Upon further inspection, the door was missing one of its bolts.  This rendered it almost imperceptibly ajar, but the opening was there.  I cautiously took another step forward and heard a crunch under my foot.  Curious, I leaned down and picked up the note.

The handwriting was scrawled hurriedly, and I could barely make it out on the piece of paper that was shredded at all corners.  After a little scrutiny, I picked out the strange message:

“NOT ME AGAIN”

I dropped it and ran blindly from the tomb.  My eyes scanned the graveyard and I realized that I didn't know where my brother was.  I tripped and fell, and collected myself against General Juan Pablo de la Trinidad's epitaph.  Slowly, I was able to calm myself, and rationalized it by acknowledging the likelihood of bored vandals.

My brother came trudging up from the left.  “A lot of old graves,” he quipped.

I brushed off my jeans, embarrassed at my former fright.   The sun now hung just a nickel's width above the Pacific, and I reminded my brother that we should head back.  I hadn't talked to Matt or seen the cool parts of the city, but I had tomorrow.  I still had to visit Fortunata, and who knew what she might show me?

title: The Old Cemetery

question: What does the narrator require of the day's escapades?

answer: The narrator wanted the adventures of the day to incorporate the spirit of San Francisco, the bastion of all freedoms.

question: Why would the narrator's brother be disappointed by the fact that she wanted Matt to accompany them?

answer: Perhaps her brother doesn't like Matt much. Also, the brother is "similarly-minded" so perhaps the inclusion of a third person would upset the plans for the day.

question: What surprised the narrator about the cemetery?

answer: The age of the graves which dated back to the 1700s

question: Why was the door of the large tomb open?

answer: The door was missing one of its bolts

question: Why did the writing on the note frighten the narrator

answer: Tombs can be scary places. Perhaps she thought that this was a message from the occupant of the tomb.

question: Why was the narrator embarrassed?

answer: In the light of day, she wasn't sure why she had been frightened.


text:
I could feel the powerful throbbing of my racing heart against the wet stone floor. As I laid there I could sense every motion within my body from the blood rushing from my fingers to my toes and the expansion of my lungs as I inhaled, the following emptiness as I exhaled and every single hair standing up on my back from the cold.

I was naked and I felt cold. There was naught but a light breeze breaking the thundering silence. I opened my eyes only to close them again. They felt so very dry. After I rubbed my eyes I once again opened them to find myself lying down in the dark. I stood up and noticed my lack of clothing. The cool breeze had stopped. The following silence was so unbearable that I started tapping my bare feet against the stone floor. Not a sound. I tapped harder. Not a sound. I crouched down and started smacking the floor with the palm of my hand. Not a sound. I stomped on the stone floor trying to create the smallest inkling of a noise as my desperation grew more intense. Not a sound. I jumped up and down but not a sound wave was produced.

That's when the roar that can only be described as infinite started. The mind numbingly powerful roar the likes of which I have never heard. It was a sound that had no source and had no end. A sound that traveled indefinitely and that could not be escaped. I turned around cowering while covering my ears, screaming, trying to overpower the sound, to no avail. That is when I noticed the sliver of light in the dark. I made my way towards it and it turned out to be the crack of a door. On the other side of the door was a desert and the warmth of the sands heated the air through the doorway and I felt beckoned to lie down in it.

I thrust myself through the doorway to be engulfed by the warm sands but I could not feel it. I knew the sand was warm but I could not feel it against my skin. I dug deeper trying to get the sand in closer against my skin but I could not feel the heat. I could feel the weight of the sand pressing against me as I made my way down in the sand but could not feel the heat. I kept digging until I could no longer breathe. The pressure against my chest was immense and yet I did not feel the need to breathe, so I continued digging.

Light. I was instantly blinded as it hit my eyes. I felt shaken and the weight was unloaded but there was still an overbearing pressure and there was the cold, the now much more extreme cold cold. As I looked towards the horizon of the desert I could see the outlines of another person. A person wearing something that was being carried by the wind. A dress perhaps? Charging through the sand with not a care for anything but to reach this dress wearing someone I thought, what is this place? What am I doing here? Why am I here?

As I reached the figure in the dress I grabbed it's arm and swung it around only to see a young woman bloodied on one side of her face with a cut splitting her head on the left side. On the right side there was but the remnants of a what was once a face, now charred beyond recognition. I could recognize her. I closed my eyes and as I opened them again I came to.

I was in a car. In the driver's seat. There was smoke everywhere, as well as shards of glass. I looked up and there she was just opposite to me, in a car crumpled up in to the hood of mine, engulfed in flames. My sight got blurry and I heard sirens in the distance. What is this?

title: A desolate inside

question: What is the origin of the roar?

answer: The origin of the roar is uncertain. The narrator is not able to produce any sound on the stone floor he finds himself, then the roar cowers the narrator.

question: Where does the narrator find themselves?

answer: The narrator is naked, cold and lying on a stone floor. Physically, the narrator is in a car wreck.

question: Why didn't the narrator notice the crack and the door before?

answer: The narrator was not looking for it.

question: Why could the narrator not feel the warmth of the sand?

answer: The physical body of the narrator was not there, the journey described was a mental journey. The physical body of the narrator is in car wreck.

question: Why did the narrator not feel the need to breathe?

answer: The physical body of the narrator was not there, the journey described was a mental journey. The physical body of the narrator is in car wreck.

question: Where did the narrator end up or when did the narrator stop digging the hole?

answer: Light, according to the text. The narrator is confronted with light and feels extremely cold. The narrator then notices a person wearing something that is being carried away by the wind.

question: Who is the narrator?

answer: The narrator is having an out-of-body experience. The narrator is physically car wreck looking at the woman opposite in a car crumpled up in the hood of the narrator's car.

question: Write a ~7 sentence summary.

answer:
The narrator wakes up, naked and cold, on a stone floor. All attempts to generate sound fail, until a roar fills the space. The narrator escapes from the sound through a door that leads to the desert. The narrator covers themselves in sand, not feeling any heat or the need to breathe, until there is light. When the narrator reaches the figure on the horizon, it is revealed that the figure is a woman with a badly disfigured face. The narrator recognizes her and opens his eyes.

The narrator is in a car, there is smoke everywhere and the woman is opposite in a car crumpled up in the hood of the narrator's car.


text:
No Excuses

My fist hit her face.

Somehow it reminded me of the first time I picked her up for a date, when I had brought her flowers.

Her bones were thin and soft, they gave way easily to my anger. The whole experience was less satisfying than I had hoped. I had wanted to crush her, to destroy her as she had done to me. But I didn’t want it to feel like smashing a bug or taunting a retard, which is how it felt.

I wouldn’t say it was disappointing though, either our first date or our last meeting. I gave her all that she deserved.

For three years she had pumped emotion into me. Filled me with love and caring, topped me off with a fiery lust, emotions that I hadn’t known existed. Then she threw gasoline onto what she had created and it blew up in her face.

I thought that she was the one. She told me that I was right and that she felt the same way. I was young and dumb, stupid enough to believe such things.

It felt like I was betrayed by my faith. Like I had died and stepped to a pair of pearly gates, only to have the man standing there with the checklist laugh at how I had spent all my life following the wrong book. You fucking idiot. You really believed that’s how it goes?

So yeah, while I was hoping that her jaw held a little stronger, I wasn’t disappointed to feel a couple of her teeth loosen under my fists. I hoped that every time she kissed another man she would remember me, that I would be part of her love life forever. At least I knew she would be thinking of me when she went to the dentist.

Our impacts on each other scarred us both. She broke me in her own ways. I now know the monster I can become. I know that sometimes there are no excuses.

title: No Excuses (335)

question: Who are the main characters of the story?

answer: The guy and his ex-GF.

question: Why did the man punch the woman?

answer: She broke his heart and he felt betrayed.

question: How does punching his ex-GF's face remind him of their first date?

answer: That information can’t be found.

question: How did they impact each other's lives?

answer: Negatively, because she broke his heart and he broke her face.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: In an act of rage for breaking his heart, a spiteful guy punches his ex-girlfriend in the face, breaking her jaw and several teeth. He hopes the physical scars he inflicts on her will always remind her of him. He knows he can become a monster and there are no excuses.


text:
[Analysis banner]

-   PRESIDENT DONALD TRUMP TOLD CNBC THAT HE'S NOT HAPPY WITH THE FEDERAL RESERVE'S INTEREST RATE HIKES, CHALLENGING CENTRAL-BANK INDEPENDENCE AND SENDING THE US DOLLAR LOWER.
-   FORMER OBAMA ECONOMIC ADVISER LARRY SUMMERS SAYS THE COMMENTS ARE "ONE MORE STEP IN WHAT SEEMS LIKE A PRESIDENTIAL STRATEGY OF TURNING THE UNITED STATES INTO A BANANA REPUBLIC."

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It's almost surprising that it took this long, but President Donald Trump has finally done it. As critics worried, his general disdain for institutions was bound to reach the Federal Reserve at some point.

And so it was on Thursday that Trump, in an interview with CNBC, broke with a long-standing tradition of US central bank independence, where presidents do not comment on interest-rate policy lest such decisions become politicized. Trump said he is not happy with the Federal Reserve's recent drive to move interest rates higher after nearly a decade of rock-bottom borrowing costs.

"Because we go up and every time you go up they want to raise rates again," Trump said in an interview set to air in full Friday. "I don't really — I am not happy about it. But at the same time I’m letting them do what they feel is best."

Except it's not up to Trump to "let" the Fed do anything. The Fed's job is to try to balance maximum employment with low, stable prices. Its behavior, in good times, is dictated by the path of the economy, not the whims of politicians.

That's why Lawrence Summers, former US Treasury Secretary under President Bill Clinton and advisor to President Barack Obama, took to Twitter to criticize the president in strong terms.

"Attacking central bank is one more step in what seems like a Presidential strategy of turning the United States into a banana republic," Summers tweeted.

"What’s next?" he asked in a follow up tweet. "Tariffs? Attacks on individual companies? Big tax cuts for friends? Demonization of immigrants?Gaudy decoration of Presidential aircraft? Govt staffed by generals?Politicizing law enforcement? Economic policies to enrich the first family?"

And Trump isn't the only White House official take opine on the Fed. Just recently, White House economic adviser Larry Kudlow told Fox Business Network he hoped the Fed would raise interest rates "very slowly."

Summers worries these types of remarks could have the opposite of their intended effect, forcing the Fed to tighten the monetary spigots more quickly to counter the overt political pressure.

The former White House economist is a frequent critic of Trump's, having previously railed against everything from his infrastructure plan to what Summers saw as an ill-timed and poorly-conceived tax cut plan.

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question: Who is Larry Summers?

answer: He is a former economic advisor to President Obama.

question: In this article, does Trump have a positive view of the Federal Reserve's interest rates?

answer: No, he is critical of them.

question: What is the source of this article?

answer: The text doesn't say.

question: Does Larry Summers approve of President Trump's remarks in this article?

answer: No, he is concerned that they will have a negative impact.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: This report discusses remarks President Trump gave to CNBC regarding his disapproval of the rise in the Federal Reserve's interest rates. It also includes counter-arguments from economist Larry Summers, who shares concerns about Trump's interference with the actions of the Federal Reserve.


text:
A long meeting of the City Council committee chaired by West Seattle/South Park Councilmember LISA HERBOLD just concluded with a vote supporting a small but significant expansion of SCHMITZ PARK.

[]

We published the SOUTHWEST SEATTLE HISTORICAL SOCIETY‘s announcement of this on Sunday. (They’re a supporter, though not a party, to the matter.) []Today the CIVIL RIGHTS, UTILITIES, ECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT, AND ARTS COMMITTEE heard from the 5,000-square-foot site’s owner BRUCE STOTLER _(right)_ and from West Seattle-residing former Councilmember TOM RASMUSSEN, who shepherded the proposed purchase until his term ended two years ago, and handed it over to Herbold.

Stotler said at today’s meeting that he wanted to make sure his parcel on the southeast edge of the forested preserve – donated by the Schmitz family more than a century ago – wouldn’t someday become a “megahouse with a five-foot yard.” Under terms of the deal with the city, he will sell it for $225,000 but retain a “reservation of life estate” interest so he can continue living there until he dies (or if he chooses to move), at which time the city takes full ownership and will demolish Stotler’s house. The money will come from the levy-funded SEATTLE PARK DISTRICT.

The city originally didn’t have the money for this, the committee was told, but Stotler didn’t give up. And, said Parks’ CHIP NEVINS, “It’s important to protect the edges of these parks from encroachment by development.” The site might also be part of a new pathway into the park someday, Herbold noted.

The two committee members in attendance, Herbold and Councilmember MIKE O’BRIEN, both voted to approve the deal, and the full council will have the final vote sometime next month.

question: What did the Seattle City Council decide?

answer: To support an expansion of Schmitz Park.

question: Who owns the land that will constitute the expansion?

answer: Bruce Stotler.

question: How much will the city pay for his land?

answer: $225,000.

question: Where will the money come from?

answer: From the levy-funded Seattle Park District.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The text is an article about the future expansion of Schmitz Park in Seattle, detailing the city council's opinions and the deal they made with the land owner.


text:
[]

The Flint Water Plant water tower in Flint, Mich. CARLOS OSORIO/AP HIDE CAPTION

TOGGLE CAPTION

 Carlos Osorio/AP

[]

The Flint Water Plant water tower in Flint, Mich.

 Carlos Osorio/AP

Michigan Attorney General Bill Schuette says his office has filed a civil lawsuit against two companies involved in Flint's lead-tainted water crisis. The damages could reach hundreds of millions of dollars, he says.

"The more I discover and decipher," Schuette says, "the angrier I become. ... People committed crimes, and a global company and a Texas company botched the job of providing safe drinking water."

Schuette says the lawsuit accuses Veolia, a France-based resource management group, of negligence, fraud and public nuisance "for its actions and failures to act responsibly, which contributed to the water in Flint being poisoned."

Texas-based firm Lockwood, Andrews & Newnam Inc. (LAN) is accused of negligence and public nuisance. Leo A. Daly Co., the parent company of LAN, is named in the suit. LAN's Michigan-based affiliate and three Delaware-based affiliates of Veolia are also named.

"In Flint, Veolia and LAN were hired to do a job and failed miserably," Schuette tells reporters. "They failed miserably in their job — basically botched it, didn't stop the water in Flint from being poisoned. They made it worse, that's what they did."

The crisis in Flint started when the city switched to a new water source in 2014. As we have reported, "Water from that new source, the Flint River, was not adequately treated with corrosion controls and this caused lead from pipes to contaminate the water. The city switched back to its original source late last year." It was too late to reverse the damage to the pipes — which meant the children of Flint were "drinking from a lead straw," as Schuette says.

You can find a step-by-step look at how the crisis unfolded here.

Schuette describes the role that LAN played like this:

  "LAN was hired by officials in Flint in 2011 to study and review the feasibility for using the Flint Water treatment plant for water supply for Flint residents and industrial users. In the summer of 2013, LAN was hired to operate and help operate the water treatment plant using Flint River. The switch from Lake Huron water to Flint River water occurred on April 25, 2014. ... LAN botched the job, failed to help operate the water treatment plant without any — let me repeat without any — corrosion control program. This meant that lead leached into the water that would go to your home."

Veolia was hired in February 2015, he says, amid reports of elevating lead levels in the water:

  "Veolia was hired as Flint's water quality consultant, hired to fix the problems at the water treatment plant. Veolia hired an interim report on Feb. 18 of 2015 that completely misrepresented the quality of the Flint water. .. Veolia stated that the water, quote, was safe. Veolia also callously and fraudulently dismissed medical and health concerns by stating that quote, some people may be sensitive to any water."

He adds that in March 2015, Veolia recommended that an acid called ferric chloride be added to the water supply — which only served to exacerbate the corrosion of the pipes. "In other words, Veolia made a bad situation worse," he says.

This new lawsuit comes after state officials filed criminal charges against three people in April — two officials with the state Department of Environmental Quality and a water official from Flint. Schuette says that he is expecting to file further criminal charges "soon."

In an email to The Two-Way, a LAN spokesman says that Schuette "blatantly mischaracterized the role of LAN's service in Flint." He says LAN "had no responsibility for water quality," and that the company will "vigorously defend itself against these unfounded claims."

Veolia did not immediately respond to news of the lawsuit. Veolia is also involved in a Massachusetts lawsuit over more than ten million gallons of sewage spilled into wooded lands around the city of Plymouth.

Special Prosecutor Noah Hall says there has been a flood of lawsuits representing individuals in Flint. But he adds: "Unlike the individual plaintiffs, who can cover claims for their personal injury and the damage to their property, for the loss of their livelihood, the state of Michigan – and only the state of Michigan – can recover damages to the cost that the crisis has imposed, and continues to impose, on the state of Michigan."

Flint's recovery will require a state effort, he says. And any damages collected from this lawsuit are meant to "address really the kind of broader, more systematic public health implications of lead poisoning and what it does to the community."

question: Who is the author?

answer: Carlos Osorio of the AP.

question: Which organizations are being targeted for negligence in the Flint water crisis?

answer: Veolia, a France-based resource management group, Texas-based firm Lockwood, Andrews & Newnam Inc. (LAN), Leo A. Daly Co., the parent company of LAN, as well as LAN's Michigan-based affiliate and three Delaware-based affiliates of Veolia are also named.

question: What happened to Flint's water?

answer: They changed water source, failed to provide corrosion control at the water treatment plant, elevating lead levels; furthermore, they added ferric chloride making the situation worse.

question: What does Veolia have to say for itself?

answer: No comment.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Officials have filed a civil lawsuit against companies involved in Flint's lead-tainted water crisis: Veolia, a France-based resource management group, Texas-based firm Lockwood, Andrews & Newnam Inc. (LAN), Leo A. Daly Co., the parent company of LAN, as well as LAN's Michigan-based affiliate and three Delaware-based affiliates of Veolia are also named. They changed water source, and failed to provide corrosion control at the water treatment plant, elevating lead levels; furthermore, they added ferric chloride making the situation worse. Veolia did not immediately respond to news of the lawsuit.


text: It’s 8:45, the sun is down and the evening breeze is rolling in threw the leaky windows. A girl with dark hair and a crooked smile is forced out of her Internet binge by a stout orange cat. The cat purrs with a selfish intent. The girl with the dark hair reluctantly stands up. A cool breeze rushes down her legs as she dashes to but on some p.js. She chooses the blue ones. The blue p.js appear to be her favorite. She picks them every time. The girl with the dark hair, and the stout orange cat strut across the linoleum floors towards the kitchen. She drags her finger gingerly along the white wall. Arriving the girl with the dark hair reaches for the cat food. Opening it from the left side she feels the stout orange cat walk between her legs. She pours the food into a silver rimed bowl, just one inch above the top. After placing the food back in the corner the orange stout cat eats her feast. After a quick goodbye pat to her kitty the girl with the dark hair returns to her lair where she rekindles her computer to her lap.

title: The Girl With The Dark Hair And The Stout Orange Cat - Me

question: Who is the narrator?

answer: The story is narrated in the 3rd person. The narrator is the author.

question: What is the story about?

answer: It's about a girl browsing the internet until she has to feed her cat.

question: What is the significance of this moment?

answer: It appears to highlight something all cat owners have to deal with: a cat interrupting them in order to be fed.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: A flash-fiction story about a girl choosing her favourite pyjamas and feeding her cat.


text:
The shadows of the hanging puppets spread like ink across the wooden floor. As the sun rose lazily into the pink sky, its newborn beams slunk their way through the windowpanes and splashed across the man’s workshop. The puppets on the ceiling remained unfinished; he was too eager to complete one at a time, choosing instead to leave half-clothed and unpainted wooden men dripping from the ceiling like flies caught in a spiderweb, waiting to be devoured.

Not all met such a fateful end. He had completed hundreds, if not thousands of puppets over the course of his lifetime. Naturally he favored some over others, their eyes twinkling brighter and their limbs moving more fluidly as they danced between their strings. He had grown careless with a few of them, though, and this pained him still today when his eyes found them in the crowds of the wooden men. Beautiful, but crippled with missing limbs or cracked bodies that the man felt were not worth repairing.

But today he focused his attention on one specific puppet - a small boy whose arms hung too long for his body. He cradled the plain wood in his hand, his fingers gently cupping the boy and surrounding him with the warmth of his skin. Marveling at the sturdiness of the torso and the gentle curve of the joints in the arms, the man allowed himself a few moments of wonder, running the pad of his finger along the pale moon face. Moments like these still caught him by surprise even after years upon years of perfecting his craft. It was this rush of appreciation, bringing a leap to his old heart, that dragged him from his sunken bed with the dawn each morning. After composing himself, the man reached for his worn paintbrush and the bottle of paint at his elbow. Dipping the bristles into the deep black pool, he began the arduous process of bringing the boy into being.

He chose to create the eyes first, believing that their brightness would inspire him to create every aspect of the doll with as much shocking beauty. Two black dots broke apart the paleness of the face, and from those dots blossomed streaks of blues and yellows edged with white. The eyes seemed to glisten as the light from the morning sun danced across their glossy surface. The rest of the face was constructed with as much care and attention, from the downy eyebrows to the splashes of pink that stained the puppet’s rounded cheeks. A light brown tunic adorned the sloping shoulders, hanging loosely around the wooden body and fluttering slightly with each sigh from the old man’s open lips. He covered the smooth head of the puppet with a mop of brown hair; it curled slightly under the weight of the sun’s warmth, framing the face in a halo. The old man leaned back into his chair, the low creaking serving as the bell to signal that his work was done. Or nearly done. Now came the crucial moment, the one that the man anticipated the most throughout the construction of the men.

He brought the painted face to his lips. The fumes drifted into his nose and mixed with the earthy smell of the wooden body. The smell was like an old friend, familiar and welcome in the stillness of the shop. Inspired by this calmness, the man closed his eyes and slowly breathed in the musty air and sunbeams that hovered between the boy’s face and his own. With this breath, he drew in every ounce of happiness, beauty, sorrow, peace, wonder, and passion that he could muster. At last, the breath of life flowed from his lips and wrapped around the unfeeling face of the puppet boy in his hand.

The eyes no longer glistened - they burned. The flush of color in the cheeks became more than paint, blood blossoming beneath the surface of the rounded cheeks. The limbs bent, the chest throbbed with life, the chin raised itself so the eyes could meet their maker. As the puppet began to explore the movement of his small body, the man threaded firm knots of string through the arms and shoulders, anchoring the boy to a wooden beam. The man allowed himself a few precious moments of that fleeting sense of wonder. His own eyes soaked in the blueness of the puppet’s. The corners of his mouth curled as he gazed upon his creation, and in turn, the puppet gazed upon the withered face of the man, grey with age and exhaustion. Dreading what must come next, the man lifted the boy from the table and carried him gently into the back of the shop until they reached a door. The door itself was nothing remarkable - simple oak, a brass handle in need of polishing. Pushing open the door, the man guided the puppet into the candlelight that illuminated the vast space.

Hundreds, perhaps thousands of puppets spread across the room, each moving on strings of their own accord. Dancing, walking, talking, playing, living were the puppets, each one unique in a testament to the man’s dedication to his craft. With only the slightest amount of hesitation, the man placed the boy upon the closest shelf, nudging him towards the bustling in the center of the room. Slowly, wobbling on his wooden feet like a newborn doe, he gave the man a single glance before he disappeared into the crowds, never stopping to look back.

He knew to expect this. They never looked back. Their tender eyes, once seeing only him, grew drunk on the sights and sounds of their own kind. He thought by now that letting them go might become easier, but a small whisper in his mind always hoped for recognition in their eyes; a sense of validation. He wanted to know that they remembered him and his rough hands, cradling them as they woke from their slumber into this world. But if they did, they never showed him, growing so accustomed to the opening and closing of the doors that they never even noticed his presence in the room.

Just like every night before this, he allowed the smile to fall from his face before he closed the oak door. Any sounds from their world were quieted, and he was once again alone, though each night felt lonelier than the one before. He returned to his table and closed his paints, rinsed his brush, and blew out the dying flame of his candle. Suddenly overtaken by a quiet so heavy that it hung on his very shoulders, he locked the door to the shop and climbed into his sunken bed, waiting for the dawn to seek him out from the darkness.

title: Breath of Life

question: Describe the puppet the narrator focuses on.

answer: A small boy puppet with arms that are too long and a sturdy torso. He has two black dots for eyes, a pale face, splashes of pink on his rounded cheeks, and a light brown tunic.

question: Describe the setting.

answer: A puppetmaker's workshop, with unfinished puppets on the ceiling.

question: Why is the process painful for the puppetmaker?

answer: Because the puppets seem to forget about him after he sees them off, ultimately leaving him alone.

question: What is special about the puppets?

answer: The puppets are alive, able to dance, walk, talk, and play.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: An old puppetmaker wakes up and goes to his workshop. Today, he focuses on finishing up a young boy puppet. He applies the paint and finishing touches and then breathes life into the puppet. He then takes the puppet into a room where all the other living puppets dance and play. The puppet seems to forget about the old man, who retires to his bed, once again alone.


text:
Riot

The street was full, packed from side to side. Hundreds, thousands of people, streamed down the avenue.

A low roar came from the crowd. Windows shattered as they passed store fronts. Car alarms sounded, and then faltered and fell into submission. Street signs were bent, and then disappeared into the bulk of people.

They kept marching forward, an unstoppable mass of humanity. Maybe it was caused by ever increasing taxes, it could have been a court judgment that they didn’t agree with, possibly their sports team won a championship. They could have been rebelling against unfair laws, or wars they didn’t agree with.

The angry mob of people may have been supporting any cause that could be imagined, yet it didn’t stop the fact that they were marching through their own city, destroying their own stores and their own cars, ruining the streets that their tax dollars paid for. Their reasons for rebellion didn’t stop the fact that when a man fell down the crowd didn’t pause, it still pushed forward. Feet marched right over their fallen brothers and sisters.

Ahead of them was a monument. A depiction of freedom maybe, or possibly a building that housed their government’s leaders, ahead of them could have simply been an open area where the group could disperse. But blocking their way was a single line of armed troops.

Dressed in black riot gear, helmets with plastic visors hanging down over their faces, men stood holding tall shields, armed with large automatic weapons. In front of them were sandbags and red and white striped saw horses. Behind them were big black vehicles, armored to the teeth, like children’s toys.

From the top of one vehicle stood a speaker and from that speaker an emotionless voice demanded that the people halt and disband. The speaker warned of the use of deadly force if they continued.

But the crowd had no choice; even if the people in front stopped they would be trampled by the people surging forward behind them. That wasn’t what they thought though. The force behind them made them feel unstoppable. As a single unit of people they felt invincible.

The gap between the two forces closed. Weapons were drawn, cocked and aimed.

A final warning was given to the crowd, the speaker sounded like it didn’t expect any sort of change to actually occur.

A man, dressed in black, held a gun and aimed it into the crowd. His mouth moved, the word ‘Ready’ was heard. His eyes focused on where his bullet would be sent. He opened his mouth again, ‘Aim’ came out of it. Which was redundant, everyone had already planned on where their projectiles would be placed. ‘Fire’, was the final word that was heard before people started to fall down before them.

Guns fired rapidly, automatic weapons built for slaughtering people sawed through the oncoming mass of humanity. They fell in lines. Like waves they crashed to the cold asphalt.

The gunmen showed no emotion as they laid people down to rest, they were coldly following orders. There was no moral objection; morals played no part in their job.

The onrushing people marched over their fallen brethren, stepped over the slippery bodies and pushed closer to the men who were firing upon them before they fell in heaps themselves.

Guns began smoking. Empty shells popped out and piled up on the ground at the feet of the men dressed in black.

The crowd seemed to be never ending, only slightly slowed by the mounds of the fallen bodies that they had to overcome on their way to their goal behind the men who protected it with deadly force.
The men worked like machines reloading their weapons, bodies lubricated by sweat, silently repeating trained motions.

Guns began to overheat, and were automatically discarded, traded for side arms. The mob of people seemed to pick up their pace, getting closer as hot assault rifle after hot assault rifle was replaced by cool, single shot, side arm.

The crowd over took the saw horses first, still falling to bullets, still piling up and being walked over. The wood splintered crushed under the trampling force of the publics will.

Next they overcame the sandbags, which were soon hidden underneath the smashed and bleeding faces, arms, legs and torsos of those who fell while crossing them. Bullets screamed, cutting through air and flesh, destroying.

Finally, as they approached the men dressed in black, whose job it was to protect what was behind them, whose task it was to keep order, while they were still falling to bullets being fired and they over too even them. Black uniform after black uniform, the men were engulfed by the oncoming crowd. One gun after another went silent.

In the end, after hundreds of bodies had been tallied, after the crowd had stormed whatever had been their destination. Men and women were laid into the ground. Those men in black who shot down the oncoming crowd were laid in graves besides those who they shot. Their tombstones shared the same last names as those people from the oncoming crowd that they were laid next to.

In the end, we seek a moral. Yet we may find only chaos.

title: Riot

question: What is the mob angry about?

answer: It's not clear. The narrator only speculates that they are marching for some sort of perceived moral.

question: Does this story have an antagonist?

answer: There is no clear antagonist, but it may be implied that the rioters/mob are the antagonists due to the chaos they have caused.

question: Who is behind the emotionless voice?

answer: That information can't be found specifically, but it does belong to a police figure.

question: What is the most negative event of the story?

answer: The most negative may be the rioters and authorities dying.

question: Who are the main characters?

answer: There are no specific main characters, but the story revolves around a mob/riot.

question: What type of weapons are used in this story?

answer: Guns, automatic weapons, and sidearms are mentioned.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator describes the violence and destruction that ensues when a mob of angry rioters takes over their own city. They clash with people of authority and there are casualties on both sides. The narrator suggests they were seeking a moral but only found chaos.


text:
The AMERICAN SCHOOL OF ANTANANARIVO (ASA) is an English-language international school in Antananarivo, Madagascar for students from Pre-Kindergarten through High School. It provides an international education to around 260 students aged 3 to 18 from over 30 countries. Its campus is located in the Le Park compound in Alarobia, about 4.6 km from the city center.

ASA became an International Baccalaureate (IB) World School[1] in March 2013. It has offered the IB Primary Years Programme since 2013 and the IB Diploma Programme since 2018. In July 2017, ASA moved to a new campus in Le Park compound in Alarobia.[2] There are 35 teachers and 245 students representing 30+ nationalities.

Accreditations and Affiliations

The school is accredited by the Middle States Association of Colleges and Schools, and graduates receive a U.S. High School Diploma. ASA is also authorized by the International Baccalaureate Organization to offer the Primary Years Programme (3-12 years old) and the Diploma Programme (16-19 years old).

Campus

ASA's campus is located in the Le Park[3] compound in Alarobia.

Academics

Education at ASA is divided in three levels: Pre-Kindergarten, Elementary and Secondary.

-   Pre-Kindergarten (ages 3–4): a full day pre-school following the IB Primary Years Programme curriculum combined with a play-based approach
-   Elementary (Kindergarten-Grade 5): IB Primary Years Programme with special subjects[4] including arts, music, physical education, technology & maker space, French and Malagasy
-   Secondary School (grades 6-12): The secondary program is based on the best of American Curriculum which culminates in graduates receiving a U.S High School Diploma. The program offers a mix of core subjects and elective courses.[5] Grades 11 and 12 follow the IB Diploma Programme, and the first IB DP exams will take place in May 2020.

Tuition

ASA is a non-profit school, and approximately 97% of its income derive from tuition. For the 2019–20 school year, annual tuition rates range from $12,500 (Pre-Kindergarten) to $21,320 (High School). School fees include a one-time pre-registration fee of $150, an annual registration fee of $250, and a one-time capital levy fee of $5,500. Tuition and fees are set each year by the school's Board of Trustees.

[1] https://www.ibo.org/school/004590/

[2] http://www.park.mg/

[3] http://www.park.mg/

[4] https://sites.google.com/asamadagascar.org/esspecials/home

[5] https://sites.google.com/a/asamadagascar.org/ms-hs-course-guide-18-19/

title: American School of Antananarivo

question: What is the attraction of the International Baccalaureate program?

answer: It provides a rigorous curriculum that is internationally standardized and recognized.


text:
Character Bio: Janeway

_This was one of two character bios I worked on about ten years ago. The character of Janeway in my reviews has obviously evolved since then, and some of my opinions have changed over time. Nevertheless, people have been wanting to see more of the old school material, so here it is, warts and all._

[]Janeway, Kathryn
Rank: Captain
Nickname: Captain Crunch
Place of origin: Indiana, Earth
Primary Responsibility: Devising convoluted rationalizations for really stupid and dangerous plans while vetoing any opposition
Psychological Disorder: Manic-depressive, delusions of grandeur, caffeine addiction

[] There are several points of view on the character of Captain Janeway and its acceptance by viewers of the program. One is such vehement hatred that it often turns into bashing of actress Kate Mulgrew, who plays her. I grant that she is naturally responsible for that voice (more accurately, I think a carton of Marlboro's a day are responsible), but for the most part some of these people go way too far. Kate Mulgrew doesn't do a bad job of acting on Voyager, she's just acting out the part of a character who's intolerable. Attacks on her are uncool; bring in the writers, producers, and directors if you're going that route.

On another end, you have Mulgrew herself, who stated in an interview that she believes that fanboys weren't ready to accept a female captain. I can't speak for the entire male populace, but as far as I'm concerned that's rubbish. I couldn't stand Neelix either, but it wasn't because I'm prejudiced against cast members of Benson (I quite like Odo, actually).

There's another group, like the Comic Book Guy, who find Janeway sexy. The less said about this, the better.

[]So, if it's not sexism, what is the reason for the loathing? Well, let's talk about the launch right out of the gate. Janeway was grating from the first moment. Picard was similar (coming off as a bit of a grouch), but Sisko was quite a pleasant individual in the first episode when it didn't involve Picard, and we knew why that was. But Janeway was micromanaging everything, and everything seemed tainted with smugness, even down to the insistance that she only be referred to as "captain." I've got no problem with her being captain, or even with wanting to always be called "captain," (although it sounds pretty damn insecure when you think about it), but she seems to just relish the thought of reminding these two yahoos that she's the captain and they are a couple of peons she can send down to the lava planet to see if the situation is dangerous enough to warrant spacesuits. I practically expected her to get on the communicator and announce to the whole ship "I'm the captain! MEEE!!! I hold your lives in my hands! My every whim is law, I'm the god, I'M THE GOD!!!" But of course, we have to save that for future episodes.

But perhaps the best example of what was completely wrong with her the first episode would have to be the ending. That would be how they wound up stranded in the Delta Quadrant, when Janeway blew up the Caretaker's array that they could use to get home. The problems with this are numerous. First, as Tuvok points out, there's a little thing called the prime directive, which says that her interfering in the Kazon-Ocampan conflict that was emerging was a no-no. Second, she wasn't just stranding her crew, but Federation citizens who are not compelled to follow her orders and whom it's her job to protect (even if they are criminals). Perhaps if you spent more time at the casino you would be less inclined to gamble with the lives of anyone unfortunate enough to be on your ship. Third, hasn't anyone heard of a timer? Christ, if John Conner can get ahold of one, I'd frickin' hope that a brand new Federation starship would be able to find something like that.

[]Further confounding the mix is that Janeway is a Mary Sue. If you don't know, a Mary Sue is a character that exists as an idealized version of the writer. In this case, Janeway is not only captain, but she knows everything. And yet, of course, she's still a sensitive person because even though she verbally castrates every member of her crew, she confides privately of her devotion for every single one. Pardon me while I puke. Let's take a look at the second episode, Parallax. Tom Paris, being only a pilot and not schooled in advanced Starfleet bullshit dynamics, is completely torn down by Janeway when he offers to fly her to the bullshit crack in the event horizon. Granted his tone could be construed as a little smug, but she insists that only someone schooled in high-level quantum balderdash should make this trip, "and unless you've been hiding your credentials, that's not you." Paris must have been thinking: "Gee thanks, you know my morale had dipped a bit finding out you stranded me out in the middle of nowhere cause you're too f**king stupid to use a fuse, but that de-balling just picked me right up. Why don't you just make me Neelix's assistant and complete my total humiliation." However arrogant Paris might have seemed, Janeway comes across as having an ego that threatens to have an event horizon of its own.

[]
One great thing to note throughout the series is that Janeway has all the moral empathy of a tarantula. What do you do if someone steals the lungs of your crewmember? Obviously you let them keep them, because it's wrong to take away someone's vital organs, even if they rightfully belong to someone else. Now, what do you do if they want to punish a member of your crew by having them relive being murdered constantly for the rest of their lives? Answer: Let them! You don't want to interfere. Now, if someone won't tell you what you want to know, what do you do? You risk killing the prisoner as you interrogate them, because they are clearly the evil ones, and you are morally righteous in what you do. And this woman had the gall to pass judgment on Capt. Ransom? Based on what I've seen of Janeway, I think she's developed the Prime Directive Mark II, which is "We cannot interfere in internal affairs of other races, unless it will make our lives miserable."

There are two running gags in Voyager. One is their limitless supply of shuttles, often remarked throughout the web. The other, which doesn't seemed to be noted much outside this website, is that Janeway loves to add people to the crew. She hands out comm badges to people like they were Tic Tacs, and apparently the only requirement to getting one is to fire on Voyager or be a certifiable nut. Getting a comm badge from Janeway is equivalent to having a dog pee around your house: it's a marking of territory, and probably shouldn't be taken as a compliment.

[]Here's another great example of Trek logic in action: if you were a science officer, you are automatically an expert on everything. Okay, I can see why she would be schooled in the science of made of Trek physics when it comes to black holes, but she also knows everything about engineering, biology, nanotechnology, and anything else you might come up with. She even assisted the Doctor in brain surgery! How many times does Picard take over Engineering? How many times does Archer take the helm? How many times did Kirk get into a fist fight.... okay, bad example. And Sisko? He was too busy changing his hair styles to do whatever the hell he used to do.

Janeway has her proponents, of course. I've no doubt some of them will be outraged by this description and will take the time to write and explain to me how wrong I am and how obviously threatened I must be by a woman in command. Let me just say this: I worked in a project run by a woman that required as long as twenty-hour work days, would go literally weeks without giving a day off (including weekends), and expected perfection from all of us. Yet she never, not once, pulled any of the kind of crap that Janeway would pull on her crew weekly. In fact, if Janeway was running our project I'm sure she would have been thrown out back and handed over to an angry mob while the police turn a blind eye. "Do what I say" is not leadership, especially when you're responsible for condemning your crew to exile, and if any of my bosses had ever done that to me, then no matter what their gender, I'd have kicked their ass when it got around to my turn in the "kick the dumbass boss" queue.

[]Captain Janeway is the only character we've seen past the ending of the final episode of Voyager. In any sane universe, she should have, at best, been formally reprimanded, and at worst imprisoned. Instead we find she has been promoted to the rank of admiral, and we actually see her order Jean-luc Picard to the Romulan homeworld. Janeway, who couldn't search for a group of terrorists without screwing it up, is ordering around a man who almost single-handedly prevented a Borg conquest of Earth, revealed the Bluegill conspiracy, and helped halt the Klingon Civil War. Janeway isn't worthy to order his "Tea, Earl Grey, Hot" from the replicator, nevermind his ship. If there were any justice in Trek, she would be confined to a mining colony with the important task of turning big rocks into small ones.

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question: Who is Kathryn Janeway?

answer: She is the captain of the Starship Voyager in the fictional Star Trek universe.

question: Summarize everything relating to Kate Mulgrew.

answer: She is the actress who plays Captain Janeway in the TV show Star Trek: Voyager. Some fans of the Star Trek franchise hate Captain Janeway so much, they end up bashing Mulgrew, who is only doing her job as an actress. The post's author says that Mulgrew isn't a bad actress - she's just playing an intolerable character. Mulgrew stated in an interview that Capt. Janeway gets so much hate because some fanboys weren't ready to accept a female captain, which the author thinks is rubbish. One group finds Mulgrew's character sexy.

question: What is a "Mary Sue" and how does it relate to Kathryn Janeway?

answer: A "Mary Sue" is a character that exists as an idealized version of the writer. Janeway is a perfect example of a Mary Sue character because she's not the only captain, she knows absolutely everything - from brain surgery to engineering to nanotechnology. Yet, Janeway is still a sensitive person because even though she verbally castrates her crew, she privately confides her devotion to each one.

question: What are the two running gags in Voyager?

answer: They have a limitless supply of shuttles and Janeway loves to add new people to the crew, handing out comm badges like candy.

question: Write a ~7 sentence summary.

answer: The post's author writes a bio for Kathryn Janeway, a fictional character who is the Captain of a starship on the TV show Star Trek: Voyager. He writes about everything that is wrong with the character and explains why so many fans of the Star Trek franchise loathe Capt. Janeway so much, they go as far as attacking Kate Mulgrew, the actress who unfortunately plays the captain. The post's author says that Janeway is an insecure, manic-depressive narcissist with delusions of grandeur. Her ego is too big for her, she has zero empathy, doesn't care for her crew, and doesn't care about the Prime Directive. Janeway continuously berates her crew, is poor at planning missions, and poorer at executing said missions. She doesn't deserve to be in command of the Voyager and should just be marooned on a mining planet.


text:
Authorities in the west suburbs are conducting a death investigation after the body of an infant was found in unincorporated Wheaton.

In an emailed statement sent Monday afternoon, the DuPage County sheriff’s office said the infant was found Monday along Plamondon Road.

A woman who would only give her first name, Stella, showed NBC 5 where she witnessed the gruesome discovery in her upscale neighborhood.

Local

[]

[]

"There was a baby, a blanket and a bag," she said.

Someone saw the bag in the road in the morning, then a few feet away into a wooded area, a discolored, lifeless infant, Stella said.

"You don't do that to a baby," she said.

Stella said some landscapers found the baby this morning on a private drive off of Plamondon Road, but no one knows who the mother is.

No additional details, including the child’s gender, were provided, though the sheriff’s office asked anyone with information on the death to call (630) 407-2400.

An autopsy has been ordered for tomorrow by the DuPage County coroner.

question: What are authorities investigating?

answer: The death of an infant

question: Where was the body found?

answer: On a private drive off of Plamondon Road in Wheaton.

question: Who found the lifeless infant?

answer: A woman named Stella along with a blanket and a bag.

question: Who is the mother?

answer: No one knows who the mother is

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Authorities are investigating a death after the body of a lifeless infant was found in Wheaton. A woman named Stella made the gruesome discovery and no one knows who the mother is.


text:
Alexandria[1] | related-c = Overseas Chinese | native_name = | native_name_lang = | languages = | related_groups = }}

CHINESE PEOPLE IN EGYPT form one of the smaller groups of overseas Chinese; however, they are a very diverse community with a history reaching back for over a century.[2]

Students

Egypt, and specifically Cairo's Al-Azhar University, has long been an important destination for Chinese Muslims seeking Islamic learning. The earliest Chinese government-sponsored students to attend Al-Azhar were a group of four sent in 1931.[3] However, individual Chinese scholars, such as Yusuf Ma Dexin, the first translator of the meanings of the Qur'an into Chinese, had been going to Al-Azhar on their own as early as the 19th century.[4] The Republic of China (1912–49) sent Hui Muslims like Muhammad Ma Jian and other Hui Muslim students to study at Al-Azhar in Egypt.[5] The Fuad Muslim Library in China was named after Fuad I of Egypt by the Chinese Muslim Ma Songting.[6]

Imam Wang Jingzhai studied at Al-Azhar University in Egypt along with several other Chinese Muslim students, the first Chinese students in modern times to study in the Middle East.[7] Wang recalled his experience teaching at madrassas in the provinces of Henan (Yu), Hebei (Ji), and Shandong (Lu) which were outside of the traditional stronghold of Muslim education in northwest China, and where the living conditions were poorer and the students had a much tougher time than the northwestern students.[8] In 1931 China sent five students to study at Al-Azhar in Egypt, among them was Muhammad Ma Jian and they were the first Chinese to study at Al-Azhar.[9][10][11][12] Na Zhong, a descendant of Nasr al-Din (Yunnan) was another one of the students sent to Al-Azhar in 1931, along with Zhang Ziren, Ma Jian, and Lin Zhongming.[13]

A Hadith(),(It is not a real Hadith but was a popular slogan among Arabic speakers in Middle East in the 19th-20th centuries. It spread to China via Hui Muslim students like Muhammad Ma Jian who studied at Al-Azhar in Egypt) a saying of the prophet Muhammad, spread to China, which says “Loving the Motherland is equivalent to loving the Faith” () ( __).[14][15]

Hui Muslim General Ma Bufang and his retinue including Ma Chengxiang moved to Egypt before being appointed as ambassador to Saudi Arabia. Exchanges were interrupted during the Cultural Revolution, but resumed in 1981; the group of ten sent from China to Al-Azhar that year included three Uyghurs, six Hui, and one Kazakh. By 1992, that number had reached thirty-four students, of whom twenty-eight were Uyghurs.[16] , there were about 300 international students from China in Egypt, of who the major portion were studying at Al-Azhar.[17] China also provides scholarships to students at other universities, such as Cairo University; some students privately complain that the Chinese government prefers to sponsor those studying science and place various obstacles in the way of those studying religion.[18]

Migrant workers

Chinese construction companies began making inroads in Egypt in the early 1980s, soon after the reform and opening up of China's economy; they were able to underbid local construction companies by importing labourers from China, despite high unemployment in Egypt. Chinese workers have a reputation for being skillful, diligent, and efficient. Dru C. Gladney states that the number of Chinese construction workers in Egypt peaked between 1985 and 1987, at about 10,000 people, but declined again to around 5,000 by 1992.[19]

Traders and entrepreneurs

Individual Chinese traders and entrepreneurs began arriving in Egypt in the late 1990s and early 2000s; they came largely from Zhejiang, Fujian, and the Northeast. They commonly open businesses in the restaurant, garment, and telecommunications sectors. Many of their restaurants serve Cantonese cuisine due to its popularity among Egyptians, though there are few migrants actually from Guangdong.[20]

As of June 2008, the more than 500 Chinese companies in Egypt had invested a total of US$450 million of capital. Manufacturing products in Egypt allows them to take advantage of cheap local electricity and water, as well as local labour which may actually be cheaper than that of China in some sectors, such as garments.[21]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7] ed. Kurzman 2002, p. 368.

[8] ed. Kurzman 2002, p. 373.

[9] “China Magazine, Volumes 6-7” 1941, p. 21.

[10] “China at War, Volume 6” 1941, p. 21.

[11] “Asia and the Americas, Volume 42, Issues 1-6” 1942, p. 21.

[12] “Asia, Volume 42” 1942, p. 21.

[13] 编导：韩玲 (Director: Han Ling) 摄像：李斌 (Photography: Li Bin) (央视国际 (CCTV international)). 2005年02月24日 16:22.

[14]

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18]

[19]

[20]

[21]

title: Chinese people in Egypt

question: What has been an important destination for Chinese Muslims?

answer: Cairo's Al-Azhar University in Egypt for Islamic learning.

question: Summarize China's construction influence in Egypt.

answer: China began constructing inroads in Egypt in the early 1980s, underbidding local construction companies by importing laborers from China.

question: Explain the type of businesses Chinese traders and entrepreneurs open in Egypt.

answer: They commonly open businesses in the restaurant, garment and telecommunication sectors.

question: How much have Chinese companies invested in Egypt?

answer: More than 500 Chinese companies in Egypt have invested a total of US$450 million of capital.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer:
Egypt has become an important destination for the Chinese. From students learning Islam to companies constructing roads with cheap Chinese labor.
More than 500 companies have invested a total of US$450 million in Egypt.


text:
She sat at the edge of her hospital bed looking out to the misty morning rolling over the city. She watched the birds roll and play with the wind that came off of the sea; she did this every morning. It had been hard for her these past few weeks, ever intensive treatments or  experimental drugs, she was fighting but losing her stamina.
	She got up slowly cringing at the feel of the chilled floor on her bare feet. She supported herself with the iv, she found it sad that  she was so young but she needed help just to walk down the hall.
	She was on her usual morning stroll around the hospital to see if there was any new excitement this morning. She noticed her favorite nurse and gave her a wave but she looked right past her with very sad look on her face. This wasn’t uncommon some mornings, they were always busy.
She walked to one of her favorite hallways, it was her favorite because of the pattern on the carpet in this section of the hospital. Also it was one of the most used hallways in the hospital and from here she could sit in one of the big couches and watch people as they came or left. She loved watching people leave, walking out into the morning daylight, she was envious.
	It was then that she noticed the kind looking elderly man sitting contently alone on one of the couches, it looked as though he was pondering something with a happy gaze on his face. She didn’t know what it was but there was something about this kindly looking old man that seemed so familiar to her, and so she decided to make a friend this morning.
	She loved talking to new people and hearing their stories of why they were there, Sometimes she comforted, sometimes she waited with people expecting new family members. Those were her favorite, seeing the joy on the family's faces when they got to see a new baby; she hadn’t felt that kind of joy ever.
	As she approached the old man he broke his stare into the distance and greeted her with a kind warm smile.
	“What’s your name my dear?” he asked with  a slightly trembling deep voice as she sat down next to him.
	“Katherine, but my friends just call me Kathy. You can call me Kathy.” she said so sure of herself, though she appeared so weak.
	“Ahhh Katherine, what a beautiful name. You know I had a daughter named Katherine, she was so beautiful.” he replied giving the young girl a slight wink.
	She giggled at this, “So what brings you here today mister?”
	“Ahh, just visiting someone. I was waiting for them to come get me, you see I can’t walk that well anymore.” He said with a slight grin showing in his eyes.
	“Well...” Katherine coughed slightly “Well, I can’t walk that well either so that makes both of us!” She smiled at the old man.
	“What is your favorite animal Kathy?” The old man asked softly.
	“Well any type of bird really.” She responded with happiness in her weak voice.
	“Have I got a story for you.” Said the old man.
	He told her all about birds and it was the most amazing story she had ever heard. He told about his time as a pilot, flying so fast and gracefully with the birds, rolling and playing on the currents of winds. She was entranced. He told her about his time paragliding, “Sometimes it was as if I had wings, just like the birds.” he told her.
	They talked for hours it seemed but no one came to meet the old man.
	“Well I’ve taken up enough of you time mister I really should get back to my bed.” Kathy started to get up.
	“Do you have time for just one more story Kathy?” The old man asked.
	“Well I guess just one more.” She sat back again getting comfortable.
	“Well this one is about a strong young girl. She was so beautiful, but she had such a horrible illness.” There was a hint of sadness in his voice. “She fought for so long, but her body became so tired.”
	Kathy saw a tear rolling down the old man’s face. She looked away and noticed her parents rushing into the hospital through the big glass doors, tears in their eyes. She got up as fast as she could calling to them, but they just kept on walking to the elevators and got in.
	She turned around to the old man confused “What’s going on mister?” she asked.
	“They can’t hear you sweetie, that’s why I’m here” he replied.
Goosebumps raced across her body because, it was then that she knew exactly who he was, she knew he’d seemed familiar.
	“But why did you make me fight, why did you make me feel all that pain? Why would you do that to me?” She was becoming upset.
	Another tear rolled down his face. “My sweet Kathy, all the pain you felt I felt doubly, I tried to let you fight it, I really did. You are one of the strongest people I’ve ever watched over, I wanted you to win, but some fights we just can’t. Please, understand I was always with you, I was always holding you through the worst of it.” There was pain in his voice.
	She walked back to him and wiped the tears from his face, she was walking more stable now. “It’s okay, I know it’s time.”
	With this the old man slowly stood up. “I have and will always love you so very much Kathy, you are always so strong.” The wrinkles had faded from his face now as he stood up.
	“Would you like to go for a nice walk Kathy?” The man inquired.
	“Only if you’ll tell me those wonderful stories again.” She said with a smile.
	“Come, I’ll show you.” He took her hand and they walked through the big glass doors together, into the beautiful morning light.

title: The Visitor (also it's my first post, please be nice!)

question: What is wrong with the girl?

answer: She probably has cancer since the doctors are using intensive treatments and experimental drugs in an effort to heal her.

question: Why does the nurse ignore her?

answer: It could be that the nurse didn't see her wave or perhaps the girl is already dead and walking to her destined meeting in the hallway.

question: How is the old man related to Katherine if at all?

answer:
The old man says that he had a daughter called Katherine, but he can't be her father because her parents arrive at the hospital while she is speaking to him. Katherine may have been named after her mother or grandmother so the old man is likely her grandfather or great grandfather.
Perhaps he's God since Katherine seems to think that He could have taken away the pain and sickness.

question: Why does the nurse look sad?

answer: Perhaps working with sick and dying people makes her sad or she may have personal problems of her own.

question: Write a ~16 sentence summary.

answer:
The narrator sits on the edge of her hospital bed. She is fighting for her life but she’s losing stamina. She takes a walk with her IV. She waves at her favorite nurse who looks sad and ignores her. She walks into the hallway where she likes to watch people coming and going.

She sees an old man who looks somewhat familiar. She loves talking to new people so she approaches him. He smiles brightly. He asks her name. She responds – Katherine. He says he had a daughter by that name. He is waiting for someone to come and get him.

He starts to tell her stories of his days as a pilot. Then he changes to a story of a girl whose body was frail and who fought so hard but couldn’t carry on anymore. He’s come to fetch her because her fight is over. She’s happy to
walk out of the door with him into the bright sunshine.


text:
Every day I see the same man.

From our tower watch I can see the land surrounding our mounted fort for miles before it shifts into the undulation of hills and peaks in the distance. I do not know how long I have been here but time seems…inconsistent. I can drowse for a moment and find the weather changed or landmarks subtly moved.

Or him advancing the mountain stair to our gates.

The first I saw the interloper was when he met my brothers of the initial watch, through my binoculars I saw his clumsy movements founder against the might of their steel, seeing him broken and thrown into a crag – a morsel for carrion birds.

Yet time passes and he returns.

Further now he advances, I watch as my brothers repel him with greater difficulty, on and on until I spied the watch a broken ruin. He is not the speck I once saw in the difference, this figure now dwarfs the pygmy I once saw shattered and vaulted into the mountain’s maw.

I do not know for how long his progress has been spread but I see him now reaching the top of our stair, the castle a bare hectare from his feet.

My brothers quicken to strike him dead but no longer is he simply a man, if ever was, this dragon rends their flesh, so rotten now with age, and now advances to the seat of our absent monarch.

For the longest time I had forgotten the tang of fear with its nostalgic bitterness. Gazing upon my own fetid flesh I smile, this day I meet Victory’s sweet embrace or Death’s.

title: [FN] Chosen

question: Who is the narrator?

answer: a guard on a watch tower outside of a castle

question: Is the monarch in the castle?

answer: no

question: Who is the man the narrator observes from the tower?

answer: an unwelcome interloper

question: Does anyone in the story have supernatural powers?

answer: the man the narrator fights

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator, a castle guard, observes an intruder. Upon confronting the intruder, the intruder appears to present supernatural powers, and kills the narrator's companions.