text:
SWEET INSPIRATION is the title of a Dan Penn/ Spooner Oldham composition written for and first recorded in 1967 by the Sweet Inspirations for whom it had afforded a Top 20 hit reaching #18 on the Billboard Hot 100 in the spring of 1968: a live version by Barbra Streisand - in medley with “Where You Lead” - would also become a Top 40 hit.

Background

The song was recorded in April 1967 at American Sound Studio in Memphis in the sessions for the Sweet Inspiration's self-titled debut album produced by Tommy Cogbill and Tom Dowd. Spooner Oldham and Dan Penn had observed the recording session for two tracks intended for _The Sweet Inspirations_ album, which moved Oldham to suggest to Penn that they two could write a stronger song for the group - (Oldham quote:) “As we walked [from the studio] up the steps to [the company's] offices, Dan said: 'You got any ideas?' I said: 'What's wrong with 'Sweet Inspiration'?” Working with a single guitar Oldham and Penn wrote “Sweet Inspiration” in between an hour to ninety minutes upstairs, then returned to the studio and ran through the song for the Sweet Inspirations and the other session personnel, Penn singing the song to Oldham's guitar accompaniment. Although Tom Dowd called for a lunch break (Dan Penn quote:) “Spooner had [the opening rolling guitar] lick down so good the musicians wouldn't go eat...They knew by what was happening we could [immediately] cut [the track]” which was completed in a single take: Dowd and his coterie on returning to the studio from their lunch break were played the completed track of “Sweet Inspiration” - (Oldham quote:) “We basically gave 'em a gift. It was fun to see a creative idea come to fruition in about three hours time.”[1]

Issued as the fourth single from _The Sweet Inspirations_ album, “Sweet Inspiration” reached a _Billboard_ Hot 100 peak of #18 in the spring of 1968 also ranking as high as #5 on _Billboard_'s R&B chart.

Barbra Streisand version

_Main article_:_Sweet Inspiration/ Where You Lead_ live medley
Barbra Streisand would reach #39 on the _Billboard_ Hot 100 with her 1972 single “Sweet Inspiration/ Where You Lead” a medley of “Sweet Inspiration” with “Where You Lead” which was the advance single from Streisand's live album _Live Concert at the Forum_.

Other versions

The first evident recorded “cover” of “Sweet Inspiration” was that by Diana Ross and The Supremes in collaboration with The Temptations on _Diana Ross and The Supremes Join The Temptations_ a collaborative album by the two groups released November 1968 for which “Sweet Inspiration” was recorded with Diana Ross and Eddie Kendricks as lead vocalists.

King Curtis recorded the song on his 1968 album Sweet Soul

Wilson Pickett recorded “Sweet Inspiration” for his March 1970 album release _Right On_, Picket having recorded “Sweet Inspiration” in a 29 August 1969 session at Criteria Studios (Miami) produced by Dave Crawford, which yielded five album tracks. [2]

In the autumn and winter of 1975-76 the Yandall Sisters would have a Top 40 hit in New Zealand with their remake of “Sweet Inspiration” which would peak at #8 on 31 October 1975.

Rita Coolidge recorded “Sweet Inspiration” for her May 1978 album release _Love Me Again_.

In 1989 Dutch female quartet Sisters would have reach #58 on the Nederlands Single Top 100 with their remake of “Sweet Inspiration” taken from the group's album _Near Me_.

Vonda Shepard recorded “Sweet Inspiration” for her 9 November 1999 album release _Heart and Soul: New Songs from Ally McBeal_.

Jackie de Shannon recorded “Sweet Inspiration” in a 2 December 1970 session at Capitol Recording Studio (Hollywood): the track was first issued as a bonus track on the 2006 CD release of de Shannon's 1971 album _Songs_. [3]

The Derek Trucks Band on their 2009 release, Already Free, did a cover of Sweet Inspiration, creating a blues version of the song.[4]

The song has been sampled by Ice Cube in his 1992 track “Check Yo Self” and by Salt-n-Pepa on 1993's “Shoop”.

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

title: Sweet Inspiration (song)

question: When was the song first recorded?

answer: The song was first recorded in April 1967.

question: How did the idea of composing the song come up?

answer: While observing recording sessions of two tracks intended for The Sweet Inspiration album, it moved Oldham to suggest to Penn that they could write a stronger song for the group.

question: What was the song's ranking by Billboard?

answer: The song reached #18 on the "Billboard" Hot 100.

question: Which was the first cover recorded of the song?

answer: The first cover was recorded by Diana Ross and The Supremes in collaboration with The Temptations.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer:
Sweet Inspiration is a composition written by Dan Penn/ Spooner Oldham. The song was first recorded in 1967 by the Sweet Inspirations. Oldham got the idea of writing a song while observing recording sessions of two tracks that were intended for the Sweet Inspirations album.

The song was ranked #18 on the Billboard Hot 100.

The first cover of the song was recorded by Diana Ross and The Supremes in collaboration with The Temptations.


split: train

text:
The Office Bathroom

So there I was, sitting on the toilet in the bathroom, minding my own business. In walks another patron for one of the other porcelain thrones. He takes the one furthest from me. Minutes go by, no major release from their anus. Meanwhile I am sitting there on Reddit, taking my time as I have already released the majority of my demons.

Suddenly, there is a tremor in the stalls. And what must have been a soft paste explodes from the ars of patron number 2. The kind that makes little popping sounds as it comes out in a medium-thick stream of smelly bile. Pop, pop, poppity pop it went. Followed by what can only be described as a cartoon fart. *BLARRRT* I giggle at the misfortune on this stranger as they may have held that poo to avoid my ridicule. But they failed.

As I proceed to clean myself, it hit me, a smell that is the enemy of any nostril. At first, it came it light waves and was mixed with fresh air, confusing me, not alerting me to the poop scented dangers that would soon approach. I stayed strong and kept my breathing to a minimum. I opened the stall door and ran to the sink. I was safe. I made it out alive. Or so I thought...

I looked myself in the mirror and watched as I gagged on the smell of another's feces. It was a silent gag, the kind that only makes your eyes water and your stomach churn. The water flowing from the faucet, my mind racing with images of rotten chocolate pudding.

At last, the soap was off of my hands and I made my way to the towel dispenser, dispensing several towels. I dried my hands and left the bathroom as quickly as I could, stomach in shambles and eyes a glazed over with pain.

title: The Office Bathroom

question: What is the narrator doing while sitting on the toilet?

answer: The narrator is on Reddit while sitting on the toilet.

question: Who is the narrator?

answer: The narrator is not named, but it is assumed that they are a worker.

question: How does the narrator describe the other person's fart?

answer: They describe it as a cartoon fart.

question: What image comes to the narrator's mind when he smells the other person's feces?

answer: Images of rotten chocolate pudding come to their mind.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator is sitting on the toilet on Reddit when another person comes in and enters a stall. After some silence, some popping and farting noses come from the other person's stall. The narrator giggles and leaves their stall to wash their hands. They catch a whiff of the other person's feces and become nauseous, trying to leave a quickly as possible.


text:
The band of riders moved in line between the towering walls of the red-rock valley. Their ponies paced onwards, heads bent in exhaustion. They were following a hard packed trail to somewhere, for now only deeper into the cliffs. The water was gone, the food was gone, but not the gold.

“Ey’ Billy, see that crag some way up?” The grizzled man called Desmond was gesturing ahead. A dozen feet from the valley floor was a shadowed crack in the rock face. It was perhaps large enough for a boy to squeeze into, and out of sight.

“I do Sir,” said Billy. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve; this heat was something from a nightmare. Thinking how close they had come to going home, he could cry. A month of panning in the Rio del Oro had yielded them a nugget of gold worth thousands. Billy could have bought his Mama a ranch, and for all his brothers and sisters. He remembered smiling at the thought of being a hero.

That all changed when they were ambushed during the night at their river-camp. The group fought for their lives and fired wildly into the dark. Five of the original eight escaped into the desert, carrying with them whatever had been strapped to their ponies. After two days of pursuit across hell they came to a valley. “No man’s fortune is his own in the West,” Desmond had said, before leading them onwards.

Now the group moved towards the crag, and stopped. Desmond helped Billy upwards and into the shadow. He handed him one of their two remaining rifles. “Stay quiet, wait till you see em’ coming round the bend. Then start pickin em’ off! We’ll be a bit ahead ready to ambush.” Desmond gave the boy a rickety-smile and a half-filled canteen he had hidden away.

Billy watched the rest of the men ride around a bend and disappear. Then he gulped the canteen, curled into the shade to wait, and sobbed.

The sun was setting, the group made it about a mile since they had left Billy. Desmond suddenly exclaimed in anger as he looked ahead. The walls of the valley rose upwards, and then joined together, it was a dead-end. The other three men murmured, frightened. Desmond took off his old sombrero and trailed a hand through his grey hair, ripe with sweat.

What was his plan now? They were outgunned, and he had left Billy behind as a distraction, hoping the boy would be trigger-happy. Thoughtfully, he reached into his satchel he rubbed a dense rawhide bundle. Then turning his pony to the remaining men, a troop of dusty Spaniards, he withdrew the bundle and opened it. They all managed a smile as the fat lump of gold gleamed in the shadowed valley.

“Como el sole,” said one of the Spaniards.

“El sole,” the rest agreed.

A breeze crept forth from where they had come, cooling them all for a moment. Just then came a crack, like a rock dropped from above, and then another, and then a whole succession. Gunfire, it danced among the rock walls.

Desmond dropped from his mount, and walked to the end of the valley. Two of the Spaniards drew revolvers and the last had a rusted pistola. They crowded behind a red-rock boulder, preparing their weapons. In the shadows of the towering rocks, Desmond was busy digging a hole, laughing the whole time.

title: ~Los Desperados~ (Critiques appreciated)

question: How is the reader supposed to feel about Billy?

answer: Readers are supposed to feel sympathy for Billy.

question: What genre is this story trying to fit into?

answer: Looking at the descriptions of the places traveled through in the story, the things happening in the story, and even the way characters talk, it would seem that this is a Western!

question: How does the desert imagery affect the story?

answer: The author is very precise with their depiction of the desert imagery. At the beginning, we're in a red rock valley with the sight of a large crag up ahead, and by the end, we're at the end/bottom of that valley, with a light breeze cooling our characters, who are all hiding behind huge rocks waiting for their enemies. The desert frames the characters actions throughout.


text:
The farmer examined his apple trees. They were withered. Rain that never came teased him now, dabbling his face. But the growing season was over. The crop had failed. Knobby little apples hung from limp branches, the acuity of their thirst long since passed as they had shriveled into hardened corpuscles of seeds, preserving their contents in resignation. Worthless fruit. It was harvest time, and there was nothing to reap.

The farmer looked towards his dilapidated house. His wife watched from the doorway, holding a dirty child. Another clung to her knees. Small voices could be heard from deeper within the sagging, musky hovel. There would be no crop this year. There was nothing to sell. There was nothing to save. His wife's face was empty. She knew. Her arms bounced the baby on her hip, but her eyes betrayed her soul. She held his gaze, and their eyes communicated what they could not say. There was neither a question nor an answer to be had. They simply knew.

The farmer turned back towards the sun-baked, dusty orchard. The sky continued to mock him, sprinkling bits of water over his impotent crop, insolently offering hints of life months past due. The farmer turned his head towards the sky and its wispy clouds. Drops moistened his lips. Even still it did not *rain*. This was an insincere offering, a sadistic intimation of life and happiness when there was already no hope for that. Like asking a dying man to attend a festival as his last breaths rattle through his chest.

The farmer again turned back towards his house. His wife was no longer standing in the doorway. The wind began to pick up, and the sky's final insult was not enough to keep the dust from whipping apart from the ground and stinging his eyes. He covered his face with his collar and walked stiffly towards his home. His bones ached. They had all been rationing as well as they could. They were all skinny. The children cried too much. The baby was sick. There wasn't enough milk for it.

And there was nothing to harvest. There had been no miracle. They had not been saved. He couldn't sell this withered fruit. Nor could they consume it themselves. His mind felt dead. He felt as if he were already gone. He felt so weary. He wondered if there was anything to be done. Anything at all.

He stepped inside, and his family looked at him expectantly. They knew he would provide for them. He was a father. A husband. It was his duty. He was an honorable man. He would do his duty. He looked at each of the small, grimy faces and then to his wife. Her eyes held the same tired pain as his own, he knew. There was no blame in them, no reproach. Just an aching weariness, the final expression of one who is passing beyond their capacity to endure. The look of defeat.

He sat at their table. It was a leaning artifact, an heirloom no one else had wanted. He put his head in his hands for a moment. But he straightened up. He looked again at the faces that surrounded him, looking upon him for their salvation. He told them of the rain outside. It had come at last, he said. There was still some time. In only a little while the fruit would absorb the water, the long-awaited water. They would have fresh apples, and applesauce, and fritters, and pies, and they would sell their surplus and they would eat fresh bread, and would buy a roast from the butcher and display their harvest at festival time. The rain had come, he said. Everything will be alright.

He got up from the table and walked back outside. The rain had stopped, and the wispy clouds were growing thinner as the sun returned, shining down with the warmth of Hell.

He gazed out over his orchard. There was one thing he could do, he thought. He could talk to the Seer. He picked a piece of withered fruit from the nearest tree and put it in his pocket. After pausing for another moment to look once more upon his little dried-up orchard and house, he began to walk purposefully. He walked for hours.

Dusk had begun to fall. He was walking up a hill. There was a crumbling stone tower at the top, and even in the twilight the grass around it was slightly greener than one might consider natural in the midst of such a devastating drought. Or so he supposed. It was hard to tell. He reached the top of the hill, and faced a heavy, oaken door deep-set in the masonry.

He raised the heavy brass knocker and let it fall. The impact boomed through the tower and into the air around him. There was not an immediate answer, so he lifted it again. The second impact rang like the first, and a few bats careened out of the highest portions of the tower, where stones had fallen away and left spaces for them to reside. The door swung open, but no one was there. A steep, winding stairwell led down into the bowels of the hill. The farmer peered into the gloom, and seeing nothing, began making his way down the steps.

The tower went deep. Far more of it existed beneath the earth than above it. As he descended, he thought about his family. His home. His orchard. All was lost. He imagined being the last of them to die. How he would have to bury them all, because he was the strongest. Because that would be his duty. Husband. Father. Mortician. Grave-digger. Priest.

The stairs ended. He could see nothing in the dark, save a bluish glow a short distance ahead of him. A reflecting pool. A small, robed figure hunched over it, silhouetted. The farmer approached the Seer. When he stood at his side, the Seer turned his gaze toward the farmer and faced him with white, marbled eyes which did not see light.

“Give me the apple.”

The farmer was startled, but reached his hand into his pocket. His fingers closed around the gnarled, inedible fruit. He withdrew his hand and presented it into the Seer. The Seer examined it for a moment, then threw it into the pool. The water swirled. The farmer's eyes grew wide as he beheld his house, his orchard, his family. His sagging house. His dry, dead, dust-covered orchard. His starving family. He felt the Seer's gaze upon him.

“What do you want to see?”

The farmer wanted to know if there was a way out. If there was anything to be done. If the orchard could be saved. If there was food anywhere to be found. I there was a way to avoid burying the ones he loved. The Seer reached inside his robes and pulled out a handful of indiscernible matter, which he deposited into the swirling pool.

“Here is the future.”

The scene remained the same for a moment. And then clouds began to roll in. A peal of thunder. The farmer saw his family come out of the house to watch the sky. His wife, still holding the baby, lifted her free arm towards the heavens in rapturous anticipation. The other children ran into the orchard excitedly. The sky turned dark and vital, rich and grey with moisture. The clouds swelled and burst above them. Torrents of life-giving rain drenched them and the orchard. Rivulets of water ran between the parched roots, more than enough. The apples took new shape. The orchard became heavy with ripe fruit, abundant with good apples. They had all been saved.

The farmer continued watching the pool. He watched his family pick the apples. There were so many. They were all laughing in the rain. They were happy. The rain, the rain... His wife turned and looked out of the pool into his eyes. Her face was radiant. She was again the woman he had fallen in love with. Their children danced and played in the puddles, and the fear was gone.

The farmer thanked the Seer. He had been wrong to despair. The rain would come. The rain always came. He should have known. The rain always came. He began running towards the stairs, but the Seer's voice stopped him dead.

“You mustn't go back.”

The farmer slowly turned around. He looked at the Seer with disbelieving eyes. His elation had turned to dread in an instant. He didn't move. His shoulders sagged, and he only waited for the Seer to speak again. The Seer beckoned towards the pool.

“They will only live so long as you watch them from here. If you go back, they will die. They will shrivel into dust. And then you will bury them with your own wasting hands.”

title: Apples

question: What was he growing?

answer: Apples

question: Did the Seer help him?

answer: No, the Seer showed him the future.

question: Did the rain come in the end?

answer: It will come in the future.

question: Did the farmer's family die in the end?

answer: The farmer's family will stay alive as long as he doesn't return home.

question: When was the last time it rained?

answer: Information not found.

question: Was this happening only to him or more families or farmers?

answer: Information not found.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: A farmer and his family are desperate because their orchard produced no fruits meaning they won't be able to support themselves. The farmer goes to seek help from the Seer. He is shown a bountiful future in which rain finally came but the Seer warns him that his family will only live this future if he doesn't return home.


text:
_SARGE_ is a 1976 album by Delroy Wilson, originally released on the LTD label in Jamaica and the Charmers label in the UK. The album was produced and arranged by Lloyd Charmers, and featured the biggest selling reggae single of 1976, Wilson's cover version of Bob Marley's “I'm Still Waiting”.[1] The single's success led to a similarly themed album, with Wilson singing versions of well-known songs over Charmers' arrangements, including covers of “My Conversation”, “My Cecilia” and “Too Late for the Learning”.[2] _Sarge_ was chosen as one of 100 “essential reggae CDs” by Rough Guides and is widely regarded as Wilson's best album.[3]

The album was re-issued in 1986 on Trojan Records.

Track listing

1.  “I'm Still Waiting”
2.  “My Conversation”
3.  “Moving Away”
4.  “I Don't Want To See You Cry”
5.  “My Cecelia”
6.  “Ain't That Loving You”
7.  “Got A Date”
8.  “Every Body Needs Love”
9.  “Green Green Grass Of Home”
10. “Too Late For The Learning”

Personnel

-   Vocals: Delroy Wilson
-   Drums: Derrick Stewart, Mikey “Boo” Richards
-   Bass guitar: Val Douglas
-   Brass: Roots Casanovas
-   Guitar: Willie Lindo
-   Keyboards: Lloyd Charmers, Harold Butler
-   Backing vocals: The Charmers
-   Special Effects: Lloyd Charmers
-   Producer: Lloyd Charmers
-   Engineer: George Raymond & Frank Aggarat

[1] Barrow, Steve & Dalton, Peter (1999) _Reggae: 100 Essential CDs - The Rough Guide_, Rough Guides, , p.92-93

[2]

[3] Larkin, Colin (1998) _The Virgin Encyclopedia of Reggae_, Virgin Books,

title: Sarge (album)

question: When was Sarge released?

answer: Sarge was released in 1976.

question: Who released Sarge in the UK?

answer: The Charmers label released Sarge in the UK.

question: Who arranged the album?

answer: Lloyd Charmers arranged the album.

question: Who chose Sarge was one of 100 essential reggae CDs?

answer: Rough Guides chose Sarge as an essential reggae CDs.

question: When was Sarge reissued?

answer: Sarge was reissued in 1986.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Sarge is a reggae album by Delroy Wilson. It was originally released in 1976 and is considered in the top 100 reggae CDs by some. It was reissued in 1986 and has ten songs on the album.


text:
     "The city is in a state of chaos. Monsters run rampant and there's no safe place to hide. The only thing left for me to do is run. Or, if you're like me, head right into the blazing city to search for someone. Not just any "someone" mind you. I've had a bone to pick with this guy for eight years. I'll admit, however, I'm a damn fool for coming to the city alone." A creature's roar is heard nearby. "Damn," Skylar begins running. The creatures are closing in on her as she runs through the remains of the ruined city. As she turns a sharp corner she suddenly collides with another person. The man falls back frantic as he too was running for his life. "Watch it you bloody moron! You want to die in this shit hole!?" The rant stops short as Skylar recognizes the man she collided with. To her shock and delight, it was just the person she was looking for.
     "Bradford, Avery Bradford is right here in front of me, and yet I can't just enjoy my revenge. Not yet anyway..." The creatures that were chasing both Bradford and Skylar take their stance on overturned cars, waiting to pounce. Skylar slowly reaches for the revolver on her hip and the sawed-off on her back. Bradford sat crying into his palms, apparently not the man he once was eight years ago. The creatures growled and finally made their move. The one above Bradford pounced first. Skylar quickly unloaded her revolver into the creature and it crumpled in front of Bradford, nearly crushing him. She then turned, both hands on her sawed-off, and pulled the trigger twice. Both creatures heads turned into cloudy messes of crimson. Skylar sighed, loaded her shotgun and revolver, and kept her revolver in hand while strapping the shotgun to her back once more.
     Skylar turned her head and saw Bradford standing up slowly, obviously surprised at the events that had just taken place. He looked at the bodies of the creatures, then to Skylar who's face was covered by a car's high beams. He slowly made his way towards her smiling and thanking her, but stopped short when Skyler stepped out of the high beam's light. Bradford's face turned from delight to horror at the realization of who this woman was. "B-but how? Why? You're, you're supposed to be dead." Skylar smirked, "You mean just like my sister? Like my father? I'm surprised you recognize me, but I am glad you do. That just makes this whole situation better."
     Bradford kneeled before Skylar and began pleading to leave him be. "Please, I didn't want to do it. That was the old me. I was desperate. I've learned my lesson, you don't need to do anything more." Skylar lifted her revolver and placed it in-between Bradford's eyes. "You were desperate? Desperate enough to rape a girl? Desperate enough to kill a protective father? No, you just wanted to satisfy your own desires and now when you're on the other end of the barrel, you regret those decisions. Funny how different you are now from when I first saw you." Bradford lifted his hands up, "Please, just tell me, why would you save me if you were just gonna end up killing me?" Skylar leaned in closer to emphasize the point she wanted to make. "You really think, that after eight years of searching I'm gonna let some freak-show do my job for me?  No, this was personal, and I'm seeing this through to the end. That's why I saved you."
     Bradford closed his eyes and waited for the end. Skylar reasserted herself and clicked the safety off. "Hope you enjoyed the last eight years. Time to say goodbye." As she uttered her last word the trigger pulled and all went silent. Skylar wiped tears from her eyes. She let the revolver fall from her grasp and turned to walk into the night.

title: Killing Monsters

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

answer: This short story can be classified under fiction or fantasy.

question: Who are the main characters in this story?

answer: The main characters in this story are Bradford and Skylar.

question: What crimes did Skyler accuse Bradford of?

answer: Skyler accused Bradford of raping a girl and killing a protective father.

question: Why did Skyler save Bradford from the creatures?

answer: She saved him from the creatures so she could kill Bradford himself.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This story describes a girl's quest to kill the person who had killed her sister and father.


text:
Hypothermia. Happily, not a single racer went home with this as a prize on Saturday. With a forcast that called for both wind, rain, sleet and more obviously, bitter cold, we had a wonderous BC Cup #5 at the South Surrey bike park. 106 racers graced the course with excellent results, and awesome prizes. Tiny bags of campfire were provided by Poler Stuffto ensure full functioning fingers.

You can see photos at the Daryl-Evans Flickr here, as well as some choice shots from Doug Bronsat his Flickr here.

The first race of the day was our 10:30 start: Cat ¾ Men, Citizen Men, and Citizen Women. As the rain had yet to start, the racers contended simply with the strong headwind off the road start. This years course featured more swtichbacks, a flyover at the new SCORE park and a nice run through the rhythm section of the bike park. The Cat ¾ race provided early action, with the group switching leaders and chase for the first 3 laps. The Citizen racers were not far behind. Cat ¾ contenders Matt Hornland (Mighty), Brett Wakefield (Local Ride), Jacob Hartsoch (BFF), Paul McCloskey (Mighty) and David Morrissey (Escape Velocity) were the top 5, with top Citizen Men Rob Parkin, Garry Bone, Andrew Touvinen, James Ingham and Brian Reguly  and our three Citizen Women, Danielle Stevens, June Rosemary and Donna-Marie Tarver getting some R&B Beers and Rocanini Coffee. Our Mens U17 riders shredded as well, with Carsten Lapointe (Zimich Coaching) coming in 1st ahead of Pete Whalen (Local Ride) – they didn’t get beer.

Master ¾ Men took to the course with the largest field of the day, as well as the first of the freezing rain. 31 racers battled on the slippery course while Matt Barber and Nick Berry added color commentary and hot-dog handups. Our top five were James Cameron (Pro City), Simon Pulfrey, John Irvine (HR Block), Tyler Dumont (Physiomoves) and David Newbeck – top 3 took home some great stuff from Genuine Innovations, Lezyne, CatEye and RaceFace. Not to mention the beer and coffee.

Open Women and Masters Women were battling it out as well during the 12 o’clock callup, with a bit smaller field. Open Women finished with a top 3 of  Jean-Ann Berkenpas (Xprezo), Sandra Walter (Local Ride) and Joele Guynup (Condo/Marin Bikes) and our Women’s Masters came in with Glenowyn Carlson (Team Alliance) taking first and Barbara Zimich down 1 lap. Gore and Brodie provided additional prizes!

Our final event, Masters ½ and Elite ½ came up as the rain was at it’s worst – 60 minutes of suffering at the hands of mother nature and Jeff Hanninen’s wicked course design.

Our Masters ½ had a commanding field of 15, with our usual suspects commanding attention as they tore apart the course. In the top 5 you can see most of your BC Cup leaders vying for those all-important points. In order of finish: Bob Welbourn (Cannondale/CX West), Kim Steed (Steed Cycles), Derek Shiers, David Kvick (Rocky Mountain/Different Bikes), Jascon Fluckiger (Daryl Evans).

A smaller field, 5 elites started ahead of the Masters, with Kevin Noiles (Sportique) taking theCima Coppi handmade arm warmers as a holeshot prize; Kevin Calhoun (Rocky Mountain) looked strong though he had to be tired from bringing all the amazing swag from Cycles Lambert to the race for our winners. As the course wore on, Drew MacKenzie was steady but succumbed to the effects of a running race the day before (I swear running is bad for you), though he’s got bigger designs on SSCXWC San Fran. Sven Sturm (TREK Red Truck) kept the smile on, with Mike Berkenpas (Local Ride) looking large and in charge on the rhythm section. Noiles took the day with a powerful showing, Sturm coming second and Berkenpas coming in 3rd.

The day ended with some BBQ servings from Nick Berry, and the Brodie Romax frame/fork drawprize going to Brent Hambleton.

Thank you again to everyone that came out, to the volunteers from Darly-Evans and Mighty Riders and we hope to see you out at CX Provincials Nov 27th, as well as the BC Cup Finals on Dec. 3rd.

If you are interested in having Matt Barber MC your upcoming race, contact me at matthew@cantileverandpress.com

question: What does the passage say about racing categories?

answer: There are 8 racing categories mentioned in the text. Groups were separated by sex (women, men) and expertise (citizen, master, elite, open). They ran in the following chronological order: Cat ¾ Men along with Citizen Men and Citizen Women; Master ¾ Men; Open Women and Masters Women; Masters ½ and Elite ½.

question: Summarize what the passage says about the race's sponsors.

answer: For the event, Poler Stuffto provided bags of campfire and Nick Berry provided BBQ food. Race prizes were contributed by Genuine Innovations, Lezyne, CatEye, RaceFace, R&B Beers, Rocanini Coffee, Gore and Brodie, Cima Coppi, and Cycles Lambert. Brodie Remax provided a drawprize.

question: What does the passage say about skateboards?

question: What does the passage say about the location?

answer: The race took place at the South Surrey bike park in BC. The course featured switchbacks, a flyover, and a run through the park's rhythm section. Larger and smaller fields were used for different categories.

question: What does the passage say about a DJ gig?


text:
(Reuters Health) - People who smoke e-cigarettes might have an increased risk of developing pneumonia because the vapor could help bacteria stick to cells lining the airways, a small experiment suggests.

FILE PHOTO: An exhibitor staff member uses an electronic cigarette at Beijing International Vapor Distribution Alliance Expo (VAPE CHINA EXPO) in Beijing, July 24, 2015. REUTERS/Jason Lee

Traditional cigarettes have long been linked to an increased risk of pneumonia, but it’s been less clear whether e-cigarettes might have the same effect.

To find out, researchers did a series of laboratory experiments to see whether exposure to e-cigarette vapor might increase levels of a molecule produced by airway lining cells, called platelet-activating factor receptor (PAFR).

Pneumococcal bacteria use PAFR to help them adhere to airway cells.

First, the researchers exposed some human airway epithelial cells in culture dishes to e-cigarette vapor. Compared to cells that weren’t exposed, those that were had PAFR levels three times higher.

Then, they exposed mice to e-cigarette vapor and found higher PAFR production in the rodents who inhaled the fumes.

Finally, the researchers asked 17 people who were regular vapers to come smoke an e-cigarette in the lab. Compared with these participants’ PAFR levels measured before the vaping session, there was a three-fold increase in PAFR levels an hour after people smoked e-cigarettes.

“The take-home message is that it is over-optimistic to assume that all of the adverse effects of cigarette smoking are reduced by switching to vaping,” said senior study author Jonathan Grigg of Queen Mary University of London.

“It also raises the question that, even if we have not proved that vaping increases the risk of pneumonia, for young people taking up vaping for the first time, a precautionary approach would suggest that the risk should be assumed to exist until proved otherwise,” Grigg said by email.

Big U.S. tobacco companies are all developing e-cigarettes. The battery-powered gadgets feature a glowing tip and a heating element that turns liquid nicotine and flavorings into a cloud of vapor that users inhale.

Even when e-liquids don’t contain nicotine, the lungs are still exposed to flavoring chemicals when the e-liquids are heated and the vapors are inhaled.

Some previous research, mostly in lab experiments, has linked exposure to these flavorings to an increase in biomarkers for inflammation and tissue damage. This type of cell damage can lead to lung problems including fibrosis, chronic obstructive pulmonary disorder and asthma.

In the current lab experiment, PAFR levels surged in human nose lining cells in culture dishes exposed to e-liquids with nicotine and in cells exposed to nicotine-free vapor. This was accompanied by increased adhesion by pneumonia-causing bacteria.

Even though the study is small and the results must be verified in larger human trials, the findings still suggest that e-cigarettes aren’t risk-free and shouldn’t necessarily be considered a safe way for people to try to curb use of traditional cigarettes, the researchers conclude in the European Respiratory Journal.

At least when it comes to pneumonia, nicotine patches or gum may be a safer option for smoking cessation, the researchers note.

“PAFR expression is enhanced in cigarette smokers and patients with chronic obstructive pulmonary disorder and has been hypothesized to be mediating enhanced adhesion of bacteria to epithelial cells and subsequent development of pneumonia,” said Ilona Jaspers, deputy director of the Center for Environmental Medicine, Asthma & Lung Biology at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.

“The data shown here suggest that vaping e-cigarettes could also increase expression of PAFR in relevant epithelial cells,” Jaspers, who wasn’t involved in the study, said by email. “In general, I would refrain from calling e-cigarettes ‘safer’ than cigarettes, but would suggest calling them causing ‘different’ effects than cigarettes.”

SOURCE: bit.ly/2nV3Ts7 European Respiratory Journal, online February 7, 2018.

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

question: What methodology did researchers use to study the effects of e-cigarette vapor?

answer: The researchers tested both human airway epithelial cells, mice and live human subjects on the effects of their exposure to e-cigarette smoke. Then they took the PAFR levels of all subjects, compared to a control group. They found that all subjects had significantly higher PAFR levels.

question: What is the main takeaway the article suggests?

answer: The main lesson is that switching to vaping does not counteract the effects of smoking. The other precaution is that for young people vaping there is a risk of pneumonia, even though they have not proved that yet. It is clear that it still has an adverse effect on the lungs.


text:
Sky spinning, trees leaning in and one bird swoops through all the crooked wood. I am lying here in sunken dark and death kneels over me, whispers penance in my left ear, pounds smartly at the throb of 2 a.m. blood on my knuckle.

A long time ago you could have shown me how the sky looked catastrophic as the sun slipped away breathing fire. A long time ago you could have let me fall in love with your angled good looks, your swarming lies of art and people and pale, tortured love stories. A long time ago you could have found me chain smoking behind the library and told me my eyes made you weak.

Instead I found your breath at the back of my neck, cool against my skin flushed with other people's body heat. You sank into the cozy sway of a crowd dancing. Said two words.

A along time ago you could have kissed me on the top of my head, laid me down carefully and listened to the whistle of my breath as I slept.

"Hey you" and I was tucked into the curve of your jaw, I was singing cheap rum and silence packed your smile. I was kissing brick and you cradled me well like I fit into you naturally. All I could see was road slicked mercury light and a dim sketch of your face straining, the feeling drained prickly numb from my legs, sky hopping up and down, up and down in your soft, strange rhythm.

And after everything you brought me here, where I've spilled blood before: my skinny eight-year-old knee on a sharp shock of ground; climbing trees cat-like at twelve, reaching up then shaking at the height; sipping beer cross-legged on a log trying to impress a boy.

After everything you stood useless at the foot of me, eyes shifting like two hands moving in perfect sync, like two hands clasped in prayer. An ease in your quiet.

Everything swallowed in black, all wrapped up neat in night blindness; it's winter so there is no green to frame your face, nothing to soften twitching branches needling up and out.

You are on holy ground now. Don't let the trees bite you on your way out; don't see my glazed eyes in yours as you make a mirror check. Don't notice the murmur of me in the dead air of your apartment, microcosms of dust swirling like small galaxies or flecks of ash falling.

*Better to have never loved,* you might say. You don't want that hurt clinging in you.

title: To Girls Who Feel Grounded

question: Does the narrator's beloved love her back?

answer: It's not clear he does.

question: Is she going to date the guy she likes?

answer: It seems like he would rather not.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: A girl sees a boy she used to have a huge crush on at a party. She tries to impress him by drinking beer, but reflects on the fact that she will not let him have the effect on her he used to.


text:
„Purge it!“ Ramsey looked down to the screen. His fingertips hovered above a small rectangle which would unleash hell. Again, the sharp voice cut through the mayhem on the bridge. „Commander, I need your acknowledgement. Purge it!" Since the spaceship was already shaking from missile hit after missile hit, nobody noticed his trembling hand.
His gaze wandered a little higher to the massive observation window. The curvature could clearly be seen, seperating ground and heaven. Ramsey remembered being down there once, sitting in a space port with some friends from the academy and listening to an interesting history talk.

He had purged a moon six months before. There were riots on the small colony Triton-4, and Benson had ordered the same command. It was just a small colony. But together with the eight other colonies on the moon they were building a new jumpgate in Neptun's orbit. The first one was fully operational and orbiting Uranus, about 12 billion spacemen had already traveled to their new homes a few dozen lightyears away. It was a slow process, and an expensive one. Luckily the people on the surfaces volunteered for the hard work – at least all the officers told so.

But now he was in doubt. A big fleet of construction ships was hovering near the sun, ready to install the solar panels for the giant Dyson sphere. Ramsey hadn't fully grasped the concept, but it was something like a bubble around the sun. It would still let some light pass through, but could harness the energy and solve all their energy problems.
Somehow, the people down their didn't like that and broke the 70 year long peace by blowing two of the construction ships up. Things escalated quickly and a week later the Omega's weapon systems were programmed to destroy 500 million km², ready to tansform the surface into a billowing, red-glowing mass.

Their spaceship was built for only one thing: Annihilating surfaces. With a length of 327 meters it carried an arsenal of the most devastating weapons ever created, and after its deployment the third world war came to a grinding halt. That was 90 years ago, and while much bigger ships were built, all of them combined still couldn't match the unique firepower of the Omega.
It was a tool of peace and stability, his captain said. Ramsey remembered watching the surface of Triton evaporate under their glowing beams and heavy bombardement, but he didn't feel peaceful at all.

"Shield system critical", the computer voice rattled. They could sustain the attack for another minute, maybe two. Unless he touched the small rectangle. But he couldn't do it. "Captain, this is insane. We can't decide the fate of 9 billion people." - "We can, and we must. As they shot our unarmed construction ships down, they knew what they did. And you know what to to, acknowledge my order and purge those surfacemen!" Captain Benson clenched her fist. "Commander, now!"
Surely she was right. Her orders came directly from the artificial intelligence, and it had never been wrong. If he touched the rectangle, he would be the hero of the day and the war was over. But if he didn't, the missiles from the surface would break their shield in a few seconds and then their armored hull in a few more. There was no more time to think. His finger jerked down.

In a millisecond, the computer scanned his DNA and initalized the launch process. "Authentication phrase", chattered the computer voice. Ramsey stared through the observation window at the soft glow of the atmosphere.   The authentication phrase glared in his thoughts like the sun. He chose it a long time ago, as he visited the planet. It was after a history talk – maybe an hour long and illustrated with lots of pictures. Beautiful pictures from the ancient times. Their history. Slowly, he uttered the authentication phrase. "Earth ... is ... beautiful."

title: I don't like happy ends [~650 words]

question: What is the setting of the story?

answer: The story takes place in outer space on the Omega, a spaceship designed to annihilate surfaces.

question: Who is the main character?

answer: The main character is the Commander.

question: What other important characters are there?

answer: Captain Benson, the commanding officer on the ship; she orders the Commander to fire.

question: What is the main character's mission?

answer: The Commander's mission is to blow up the planet Earth and the 9 billion people living on it.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: The story takes place in outer space on the Omega, a spaceship designed to annihilate surfaces. The Commander is hesitating to follow the orders from Captain Benson; she has instructed him to fire the laser that will destroy the planet Earth and the 9 million people on it. The people of Earth broke a 70 year long peace treaty by attacking two construction ships that were building panels to harness the sun's energy. The Commander fires the laser.


text:
Disclaimer -- I haven't done any real non-work related writing in many.. MANY years.. I have probably committed a thousand and one grammatical atrocities and don't even realize it.  I just finally decided I miss writing and threw together a short story off the top of my head in about 15 - 20 minutes.

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

It wasn't quite yet midnight.  The day we had anticipated for months.  We had everything packed and I was desperately trying to sleep for the long trip ahead of us.

Tossing and turning we struggled to pass the time as minutes turned to hours leading up to now.  Eleven Fifty Five pm and All I want to do is hit the road now, not at 8am as we planned. Suddenly, a shatter from the garage.  "What is happening? What is going on!" I thought, as I nudged John next to me. "John, John.. did you hear that?!" "Wha-snarfle-snar-gull-uggg* is the response I got "I nudged him a second time, harder still "John! Somebody is in our garage!" This time John woke up and seemed as concerned as I was.

John went to the safe and got a 9mm pistol, loaded it up and started for the downstairs.  I made for the phone to call the police..  Dead.. the line was dead.  How could this be? This couldn't be happening, not to us, not now.. On this day of all days.

I check back at the clock.. 12:20.  Today, today is supposed to be the greatest day of our recently married lives. I realize soon that John has been gone for 20 minutes and I haven't heard another sound from the entire house.  Frozen in time for what amounted to 5 minutes, I wasn't sure what to do.  I finally mustered up the courage to step out of bed and throw on my Bathrobe.  I too grab the other gun from the safe and struggle to remind myself of the training that John and I took last summer at the Police shooting range.  I loaded up the clip and locked it into the gun.  Through the dark and quiet house I tip-toed silently as a mouse.  I made my way to the door leading to the garage and listened.  voices.. John.. and.. 2 voices I did not recognize.  I stood silently trying to listen.  A Standoff.  It sounds like John is in danger.  Without sight, I am left to my own imagination of what the situation looks like just beyond the door.  Guns in the air, pointed at one another.  Everybody making threats and nobody backing down.  Uncertain how to help, I tip-toed to the outside leading door furthest from the garage.  I made my way to the yard.  I have no idea at this point if I am making any correct decisions or just struggling to make the situation worse.  Around the outside of the house I snuck, gun in hand, safety still on as to not accidentally fire in my nervous state.

I made my way to the window just outside of the garage. The window is open, "This must be how they got in, I thought.  Shoot, the shades are closed though" It was obvious there was no way I was going to be able to see through this window without being heard.  I can now hear the conversation inside the garage much more clearly than from behind the interior door.   I don't know what to make of the things I am hearing.  John seems to know these 2 people.  They are referencing each other by name.  Some sort of argument ensues.  I can only make out some of the conversation.. "Money owed.  Gambling.. Here to collect"

Could it be? Could John have a secret life of gambling and crime?  5 years together and I've never known?  How could this be.  All those late nights at the office. I never imagined anything else.  All those "Business" phone calls.  I just couldn't believe it.  I hear John is trying to convince them to leave the car, and everything in tact.  They keep saying it is the only thing worth any value.

In my nervous state, shocked at the things I am learning I unknowingly dropped the gun to the ground as it made a loud "thud" and a "scraping" sound across the gravel.  I hear one of the men gasp and start heading towards the window.  I quickly pick the gun back up and point it at the shades.  The shades fly up and I am face to face with a man I've never seen before, gun drawn.  Now things are a 1 on 1 standoff.  Me with my gun and this man and John with his gun and the other man.  I refuse to come inside the garage and insist that they leave empty handed.  Things turn from bad to worse when the man shoots a bullet over my shoulder to scare me. I immediately pull the trigger to fire back... "Shit, I didn't release the safety" Now struggling in a panic at what to do the man starts to laugh and reaches out to grab the gun from me.  By now, the neighborhood is awake and surely police have been called.  I manage to release the safety just in time to shoot the stranger in the hand as he is reaching to grab the gun from me.  He backs up and the other man Shoots John.  John shoots the other man and the man I shot in the hand shoots me.  We are all down, I laid there in the cold gravel, still outside of the garage.  In the distance I can hear sirens looming as I lose consciousness.

2 days later I wake up in the hospital.  John is no where to be found bedside or otherwise. I have no idea what has happened.  As I come to and I adjust to my place in this hospital bed I am finally informed of the news.  "John didn't make it" The nurse said "We did everything we could but the wound was too damaging."

As I lay there contemplating my current situation, I replayed that night in my head every single second in repetition.  Could I have done anything more?  Should I have done something differently?  What happened to my dearest John?  What happened to the assailants who broke into our house?  As these questions raced I didn't notice the 2 assailants being wheeled down the hallway passed my room with police in tow.  They were on their way to county lock up pending trial.

I couldn't believe it, a dream of a life shattered in one single hour.. It just goes to show that you never really have ti all, or if you do, it's only on loan as long as someone agrees that it is okay for you to keep it. From that day fourth, I never could take that drive into the country.

title: The long road to loneliness

question: What does the story say about how much John owed in gambling debts?

question: What does the story say about the narrator and John?

answer: The narrator and John have been together for 5 years and have been recently married. They were planning to leave on a trip to the country, a trip that they had anticipated for months. They both took firearms training at the Police shooting range last summer.

question: What does the story say about the outcome of the standoff between John, the narrator, and the two men?

answer: The narrator shoots one man in the hand as he was grabbing the gun from her. He shoots back and she goes down, losing consciousness. John and the other man in the garage shoot each other. They're all down. The narrator wakes up in the hospital. John's gunshot wounds were too much and he didn't make it. The two assailants survived and were headed to county lockup pending a trial.

question: Summarize how the narrator's feelings towards and John changes throughout the story.

answer: The narrator and John start off as a recently married couple who are excited to go on the road trip they've been planning for months. The excitement for the trip is shattered when two men break into their garage. The narrator overhears John talking to the two men like he knows them. She learns that John has been lying to her about staying late at the office and taking all those "business calls" - he was just out gambling and the calls were from the people he owed. She feels shocked and betrayed, but still backs up John by telling one of the men that they should leave empty-handed.


text:
I am an old man with old shoes. The leather loafers fit comfortably upon my aching cankerous feet. Penniless tongues for a penniless misfit, both made around the 1930s.  Worn and torn and faded and aged just to how I like, the day began when I slipped out of the cold sheets of her bed and into the warmth of my shoes. My shoes; thoughts are rolling around inside my head, trying to find the day that has come. Scratching the few strands of gray left, chaff falls beside my hand on the bed. I’m not awake yet. Her head is still on the pillow. She’s asleep and the dawn has already come.

I get up, walking to low lit bathroom filled with dying lavender, and recall my father and his shoes. Mr. Sallanger had worn loafers like mine, back when they were still all the fad. We had enough money back then. Not like now. The world changes and the toothpaste stays the same. The water runs and I see him in the mirror, staring back at me. Yes, Papa, I’ll get it done. I did do it and that was that.

My teeth are surprisingly strong; made to last and made to chew. They sparkle and gleam from the rinse. Dentures are all the craze in here. Damned loonies! I hear them rummaging out in the florescent lamp lit hall.

title: Happy

question: Who is the narrator?

answer: Unclear, describes himself as an old man with old shoes.

question: Who is the narrator sleeping next to?

answer: Unclear, seems to be a woman.

question: Who is Mr. Sallanger?

answer: Unclear

question: Who is rummaging out in the hall?

answer: Unclear

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator wakes up. The person next to him in bed is still asleep. He walks to the bathroom, and hears rummaging out in the hallway.


text:
The OTTAWA HUNT AND GOLF CLUB, often referred to as OTTAWA HUNT or the HUNT CLUB, is a private golf and curling club in Canada, located in Ottawa, Ontario. Founded in 1908 as a hunting club, it has hosted many world-class professional and amateur golf tournaments, along with many high-profile Canadian curling events.

History

With golf entering into a boom period after World War I, with enormous demand for new facilities, the Ottawa Hunt Club expanded into golf in 1919. Its South and West nines, usually paired together as its main tournament course, were designed by Willie Park, Jnr. (1864−1925), a two-time British Open champion (1887, 1889), one of the era's top golf architects, and a member of the World Golf Hall of Fame.[1]; [2]

Its curling facility was opened in 1959, and has six sheets of ice.[3]

Redesign history

[Club house] The golf course was redesigned, mainly for its green complexes, by Tom McBroom in 1989. The club's latest renovation, with a primary aim to implement more expansive practice facilities, was performed by Dr. Michael Hurdzan in 2013; this work reduced the par from 72 to 71, as one par-four hole was replaced by a new par-three hole.[4]

Important tournaments hosted

Men's events

The Club hosted the Canadian Open in 1932; this tournament was won by World Golf Hall of Famer Harry Cooper.

Ottawa Hunt hosted the Americas Cup golf matches in 1960; this event (which ended after 1967) saw the United States, Canada, and Mexico compete in amateur team play. The American team was led by future World Golf Hall of Fame members Jack Nicklaus and Deane Beman, yet defeated Canada only narrowly, by 21.5 to 20, with Mexico trailing in third place.[5]

It hosted the Canadian Amateur Championship in 1937; this event was won by Canadian Golf Hall of Fame member Ross Somerville, for his last of six titles. It hosted the Canadian Amateur Championship in 1960; this event was won by Canadian Golf Hall of Fame member Keith Alexander.[6] It hosted the Canadian Amateur Championship in 1970; this event was won by Allen Miller, who turned professional shortly afterwards, and went on to win on the PGA Tour.

Women's events

The club hosted the 1994 du Maurier Classic, then a major championship, on the LPGA Tour, won by Martha Nause with a score of 279 (nine under par) for four rounds.

It hosted the LPGA Tour's CN Canadian Women's Open in August 2008, celebrating the club's centennial. Katherine Hull won with a score of 277 (−11), one stroke ahead of runner-up Se Ri Pak, with Yani Tseng a further stroke back in third place;[7] Tseng set a new ladies' competitive course record with 64 (–8) in round two, spread over two days due to weather.[8] The 2008 edition of the tournament set new attendance records, with more than 70,000 fans, and raised more than C$1 million for charity.

In 2017, the club hosted the CP Canadian Women's Open, which was won by Sung Hyun Park, who had earlier won the 2017 U.S. Women's Open. Canadian superstar Brooke Henderson, who grew up in Smiths Falls, Ontario, less than an hour's drive from Ottawa Hunt, set a ladies' record for the newly redesigned course with a third-round 63, eight under the revised par of 71. Henderson is an honorary member of the Ottawa Hunt Club.

Golf champions at Ottawa Hunt

-   1932 Canadian Open, won by Harry Cooper []
-   1937 Canadian Amateur, won by Ross Somerville []
-   1960 Canadian Amateur, won by Keith Alexander []
-   1960 Americas Cup Matches, won by the United States of America []
-   1970 Canadian Amateur, won by Allen Miller []
-   1994 du Maurier Classic, won by Martha Nause []
-   2008 Canadian Women's Open, won by Katherine Hull []
-   2017 Canadian Women's Open, won by Sung Hyun Park []

Curling

-   1961 Diamond D Championship []
-   2010 Canadian Senior Curling Championships []
-   2014 Canadian Mixed Doubles Curling Trials []
-   2015 Canadian Mixed Doubles Curling Trials []
-   2015 Travelers Curling Club Championship []

[1] _The Golf Course_, by Geoffrey Cornish and Ronald Whitten, 1981.

[2] wghof.org

[3] ottawahuntclub.org

[4] ottawahuntclub.org

[5] ''Golf in Canada: A History", by James A. Barclay, 1992.

[6] _History of Golf in Canada_, by L.V. Kavanaugh, 1973.

[7]

[8]

title: Ottawa Hunt and Golf Club

question: Summarize everything related to the club during the 1960s.

answer: Ottawa Hunt hosted the Americas Cup gold matches in 1960. The United Stated, Canada, and Mexico competed in amateur team play. Jack Nicklaus and Deane Beman led to American team, which came in first. The club also hosted the Canadian Amateur Championship in 1960, which was won by Keith Alexander.

question: What does the article say about being a good golf player?

question: Summarize everything related to tournament winners.

answer: Word Gold Hall of Famer Harry Cooper won the 1932 Canadian Open. The American Team won the Americas Cup golf matches in 1960. The Canadian Amateur Championship in 1937 was won by Ross Somerville. Keith Alexander won that same championship in 1960, while Allen Miller won in 1970. The LPGA Tour in 1994 was won by Martha Nause. Katherine Hull won the LGPA Tour's CN Canadian Women's Open in 2008. The 2017 CP Canadian Women's Open was won by Sung Hyun Park.


text:
I got really bored, and wrote this weird story about a psychotic guy with a split personality, dealing with tiny ordeals in his life, like waiting for a package in the mail, it basically covers a few days following his descent into insanity, and the resulting confusion when he returns to his original state of mind, its not entirely serious, and some parts may seem out of place, maybe you will get a chuckle out of the end, who knows.
it reads like a diary, constructive feedback is welcome but please remember this was the result of intense boredom, and is in no way a professional piece of text, i wrote it for fun, it mainly focuses on somebodies fascination with the dull and mundane.

day 4 of waiting for package.

the package has not yet arrived, the predicted delivery date was the 10th of june, as you can see, today is not the 10th of june, but still i sit at my letterbox, pen ready in my hand to sign for my package, weeping endlessly, i don't think i can endure this suffering for much longer.

the mailman has visited, but with him, no packages, i inquire as to their current location, but all i get is a swift dismissal and some pathetic excuse claiming that he does not handle the shipping, only the local deliveries, to this i give him a swift middle finger, and tell him to notify me when my package is on its way.

it has been exactly 76 seconds since i wrote that last body of text, and still, no package, seconds feel like months, minutes feel like years, hours feel like decades, i have lived a long, prosperous life in the past 6 hours, but to my bewilderment, still...no package has blessed me with its beige and crinkly glory, i decide to sit back down by the letterbox, novelty calendar by my side, clock perched at my knee, ticking endlessly.

day 5 waiting for package

i fall asleep at the door, and when i awake i notice a small red slip hanging from the half closed letterbox, my eyes widen, could this be it? has my day of reckoning finally come? no, it is a "sorry we missed you!' notification slip, i silently curse the wretched postman for not doing as i asked and take the slip, pinning it to the bathroom door adjacent to me, and continue my endless wait.

day 6 waiting for package

i have watched the sun set and rise, all within a matter of seconds, i do not know what happened to my clothes, i do not know why my hair has been torn out, all i know is that my ball of postal love is now its way to my very location, this thought fills me with glee, and then it fills me with endless melancholy, at the wait i face, i consider buying plane tickets to the US, so i can go and collect it myself, but i quickly dismiss the idea, realising that if i had the money to do that, i could have just bought first class.

I realise it has only been 2 days, but my red hot brain simply does not care, rattling inside my head, bouncing off the walls of my skull, every single lobe and cortex filled with the image of a perfectly square, brown package with a neatly placed, anatomically perfect sticker in the middle, and in glorious black text, my name and address, obviously i will have to defile this work of consumerist art, but for now the idea of it being sat there, in all its glory, fills me with a feeling of pure elation, like drinking a bottle of human endorphins, and then rolling around on a soft, silk carpet.

day 8 waiting for package

My wait has become torture, an acute sense of pure dread, time means nothing anymore, all of the letters and scam slips that have been delivered lie in a crumpled heap on the floor below the letterbox, i keep them there so that when my package arrives, it will have a soft cushiony landing, consumed in unpaid bills and religious propaganda.

i painted the walls red, i don't know why, nor do i have memory of this incident, all i know is that my walls are now red, with a slight hint of magenta, and a picture of someone elses child is pinned to the back wall, my deep descent into insanity has taken me to the dark depths of my own subconscious, painting colours i had not seen before, flinging at me balls of compacted sound, so tightly packed that i could see wavelengths leaking from the tiny cracks that litter its surface, my mind feels ready, volatile, the moment the package slides through my now immaculate letter box, i will burst through the door and cut the postmans trachea with a long thin knife. Although i do not remember leaving this spot, it seems i now have a large array of sharp weapons surrounding me in a perfect semi circle.

i no longer know how long i have been waiting here, i have not slept, i have not eaten, i simply phase out of my own body and sit there, completely still, for hours and hours, my ear drums feel like thin ice, a hint of pressure and they will smash, cracking my surroundings and instantly making me aware of my imminent doom, or in this case, my imminent salvation, i will sacrifice this postman to the gods of logistics and shipment, in hope they reward my dedication with a gift only a great deity could give.

my package arrived and its a fucking yoga dvd, this isn't what i fucking ordered, wait...what did i order? i run outside and hastily drag the dead and bleeding postman into my hall and frantically pace the room, where the hell have i been? what have i been doing? who the fuck ordered this yoga dvd? why are my walls red? why is there a dead guy in my living room? oh god there is blood everywhere, little flecks of bloody skin are stuck to the fur on the carpet, what the fuck am i gonna tell my insurance company? i went into a frenzy of psychosis while waiting for a package and murdered a postman in cold blood?

i consider the obvious, and dash for the yoga dvd sat in a crumple of stupid fucking beige packaging, i tear the protective film off and violently open the dvd, a note is delicately slid beneath the disc, i take a moment, compose myself, and pull the note from beneath the disc, appropriately named "Betty's 5 Star Workout" on the back of the slip of paper, there is a note that reads:

"regards, us.”

title: [MF] Untitled short story i wrote.

question: Why is it foolish to ask the postman where the parcel is?

answer: The parcel is scheduled to arrive on the 10th. It is not yet the 10th. The postman receives a bag of mail to deliver to the houses in his area. He has no insight into where in the system the parcel is.

question: On day six what are the signs of mental deterioration?

answer: Clearly, more than a few seconds have passed between the setting and the rising of the sun but perhaps the narrator slept. It appears as though he may be naked and has torn out clumps of hair. He considers buying plane tickets to the US to collect his parcel. That doesn't make sense since the parcel is in transit. He thinks compulsively about the package and he becomes elated by the very thought.

question: How and where did the narrator get the red paint to paint the room?

question: Why is the narrator disappointed with the contents of the parcel?

answer: The narrator has put his life on hold. He has been waiting at the front door for four days. He has descended into psychosis. He has killed the postman. When he finally receives the parcel, he doesn't remember ordering it and he probably has no use for the yoga DVD.


text:
WILLIAM PERKINS BLACK (November 11, 1842 – January 3, 1916) was a lawyer and veteran of the American Civil War. He received America's highest military decoration – the Medal of Honor – for his actions at the Battle of Pea Ridge, Arkansas, in 1862.

Biography

He was the brother of John C. Black, Commander of the Grand Army of the Republic, who was also a Medal of Honor recipient. The Black brothers are one of only five pairs of brothers to have received the Medal of Honor.

In 1867, together with Thomas Dent, Black founded the law firm of Dent & Black. As a lawyer, Black was best known for having served as defense counsel to the people charged with inciting the Haymarket Riot of 1886.

Medal of Honor citation

Rank and organization: Captain, Company K, 37th Illinois Infantry. Place and date: At Pea Ridge, Ark., 7 March 1862. Entered service at: Danville, Ill. Born: 11 November 1842, Woodford, Ky. Date of issue: 2 October 1893.

CITATION:

  Single-handedly confronted the enemy, firing a rifle at them and thus checking their advance within 100 yards of the lines.

title: William P. Black

question: How long did William Black live?

answer: 74 years.

question: Why did William Black get a Medal of Honor?

answer: For his actions at the Battle of Pea Ridge, Arkansas, in 1862.

question: What were Black's actions at the Battle of Pea Ridge?

answer: He single-handedly confronted the enemy, firing a rifle at them and thus checking their advance within 100 yards of the lines.

question: How many pairs of brothers get the Medal of Honor?

answer: Only five.


text:
[]

_He's played wide, through the middle, as a second striker, off a target man, as the lone man up top: so who better to give us a masterclass on how to play as a striker with a host of different partners than Wayne Rooney?_

HOW DOES PLAYING ALONGSIDE A PLAYER LIKE DIMITAR BERBATOV DIFFER FROM PLAYING ALONGSIDE A SHORTER, NIPPY PLAYER LIKE JERMAIN DEFOE OR MICHAEL OWEN?

I have to change my style. Berba likes to drop in and get touches on the ball so I tend to stay as high as I can and leave the space for him to get on the ball. A player like Michael likes to try to get in behind so I have to drop in. Luckily, playing in our team you get a lot of possession and a lot of touches so it’s not too much of a culture shock.

HOW MUCH DID YOUR ROLE CHANGE AFTER THE DEPARTURE OF RONALDO?

For two or three seasons I had to play a lot out wide and Ronaldo played through the middle, so that changed straight away. For the team, when Ronaldo was out wide, you knew he would come inside and shoot, do a few tricks. Now with Valencia, you’ve got to be on your toes more in the box because he will move in and cross it more than Ronaldo did.

WHAT ABOUT CARLOS TEVEZ?

Carlos was a lovely fella, an honest player who ran for 90 minutes every week and you can’t ask for any more from a team-mate. I think he realised early on that I’m quite an unselfish player, that if he was in a better position I would give him the ball and that if he stayed up I would drop back to cover. We’d work for each other and because we lived round the corner from one another, we’d drive each other to training, drive to the airport together for away games. It was a bit easier to communicate with him on the pitch – his English wasn’t too good and sometimes we’d have these long car journeys in silence!

HOW MUCH OF YOUR GAME NOW IS STILL THE INSTINCT THAT 16-YEAR-OLD KID HAD AT EVERTON?

At Everton, it was just excitement and pure desire. I just wanted to win every ball, chase every ball and after an hour of the game I was knackered. Now I’ve realised I can’t play like that, you have to save something for when the ball comes to you around the box. I’ve definitely improved through experience and coaching. The more you practice, the better you are in front of goal in a game situation. The more instinctive stuff, when the ball comes and you’ve got to do something quick, that’s brilliant. When that happens, I don’t know exactly what I’m going to do, so the defenders have got no chance of knowing! It just takes over you, the ball comes and you don’t really realise what you’ve done until it’s happened.

YOU DON’T SEEM TO SHOOT AS MUCH FROM LONG RANGE ANYMORE? HAS THAT BEEN COACHED OUT OF YOU OR IS THERE ANOTHER REASON?

I don’t do it as much because I don’t get into those positions anymore. I’ve been playing on the shoulder more of guys like Tevez and Berbatov, trying to get in behind, and you don’t receive the ball so deep. You don’t get the ball, turn and shoot as much. You’re just trying to get in the box. I’m still a passionate player, and that’s important to have in your team – players who can lift the team and lift the crowd as well. Obviously, I love to shoot and shoot and shoot. But the best players are the ones who shoot at the right time, who make the killer pass over shooting when that is the right decision.

WHAT DO YOU STILL NEED TO WORK ON?

My left foot’s better – I’ve worked on that a lot. My heading’s got better, just by working on my timing on when I meet the ball in the air. Once you’ve got into a routine, it’s muscle memory, your body takes over and it becomes natural.

LET’S TALK ABOUT SOME OF THE ROLES YOU HAVE TO PLAY AS A STRIKER...

1. PLAYING OUT WIDE...

You have to support the forwards. I’ve played in the middle and if you don’t get support from out wide it’s really difficult to hold the ball. When you’re defending you need to tuck in and make sure their full-back doesn’t make runs off you. And you have to be more aware of what your own full-back is doing. If he’s running outside you, it’s better to cut in; if he’s going inside, you stay out wide to create more space for him. All the time, you’re making movements off your full-back, the forward, whatever. There’s a lot of decision-making but that’s what all the best players are great at. It happens so quickly, you have split-seconds to make the decisions and you have to make sure you make the right ones.

2. PLAYING PLAYING OFF A MAIN STRIKER...

You need to always look at your midfielders, check on their positions. You want to get onto the ball behind their midfielders but in front of the back four. Try to turn them quickly and get players in. Try to get a shot off. Or just keep moving and trying to make space, because it’s so cramped in there. Sometimes it doesn’t look like you’re doing much but physically it’s tough because you’re constantly moving. You’ve got responsibility for their deepest midfielder, their holding player, and you have to get in his face and stop him from getting on the ball. As soon as you lose the ball you’re dropping back into midfield. In that position, I want the ball into my feet rather than in front of me because there’s so little room and it’s hard to get under control.

3. YOU'RE THE LONE FRONT MAN...

You have to run the channels, hold the ball up, bring team-mates into play. When the ball goes wide you get into the box, in a good position. The most important thing is holding the ball up, though, because if you can’t do that, it brings pressure on the team. You have to accept you’re not going to get as much of the ball as you would as the man playing off; you won’t get as many chances but you’re doing it for the team. It’s hard when you’re 5ft 10in and you’re up against centre-halves who are 6ft 3in but it’s my second favourite position after playing off another striker. Out wide would be third choice.

Also see:
Rooney: Big match preparation
Rooney: Coping with pressure games

question: In what different ways did Wayne Rooney play striker?

answer: He has played wide, through the middle, as a second striker, off a target man and as the lone man up top.

question: Who did Wayne Rooney share a car with on their way to practice or an away game?

answer: Carlos Tevez.

question: How much did Rooney's role change after the departure of Ronaldo?

answer: He played out wide, while Ronaldo player through the middle. That changed right away when Ronaldo left. He is playing with Valencia currently, he has to be on his toes in the box because Valencia will move in and cross it more than Ronaldo did.

question: Is Rooney a selfish player?

answer: No, If another player is in a better position he would give him the ball and drop back if the other player stays up.

question: What does Rooney still need to work on?

answer: He says that his left foot and heading has gotten a lot better. Once you are in a routine, it is muscle memory.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Wayne Rooney has played Striker in multiple ways with multiple different players. He knows how to play with Michael Owen, Ronaldo, Carlos Tevez and Dimitar Berbatov. He also describes the ways in which he has matured and what his current focus is.


text:
_PIRANHA HEIGHTS_ is a one act play by Philip Ridley. It is Ridley's seventh stage play for adults and premiered at the Soho Theatre, London in 2008.[1] The production was the second collaboration between Ridley and Soho Theatre Artistic Director Lisa Goldman whom Ridley dedicated the play to in his preface of the published text. The play also featured Luke Treadaway in one of his earliest professional stage credits, who along with actor John Macmillan was filmed for Ridley's 2009 horror film _Heartless_, during the play's original run.[2][3][4]

_Piranha Heights_ serves as the third and final instalment in Ridley's unofficially titled “Brothers Trilogy”, having been preceded by _Mercury Fur_ and _Leaves of Glass_.[5][6][7]

The play was later revived at The Old Red Lion Theatre in 2014 for which Ridley substantially revised the script.[8]

Plot

The play takes place on Mother's Day where Alan is in his mother's flat. Unexpectedly his brother Terry turns up, having been missing since after their Mother's death several weeks before.

Terry has brought along with him a fifteen-year-old girl called Lilly who lives in a squat below the flat. She wears a hijab with niqab, speaks in an unusual mix of English and an unknown Middle-Eastern language and also claims to have endured many horrors as a victim of an Islamic war in an unspecified country.

Tension mounts while the anger builds between the two brothers as they argue over who should inherit the flat, as well as argue their conflicting memories of their deceased mother.

Eventually Lilly's partner The Medic arrives. He is a sixteen-year-old boy who frequently swings from being overly grateful to extremely angry. He along with Lilly look after a plastic baby doll called Bubba which they treat as if it is their own child.

Also showing up at the flat unexpectedly is Alan's 15-year-old son Garth, who for years has hidden his true psychotic personality, enjoying to inflict cruelty onto others under the influence of his imaginary friend called Mr Green.

Taking place in real-time and spanning approximately ninety minutes in length, chaos ensues in the flat as the characters go to extreme lengths to achieve their aims.

Notable Productions

PREMIERE

15 May 2008 at the Soho Theatre, London.
Directed by Lisa Goldman.

-   Alan - Nicolas Tennant
-   Terry - Matthew Wait
-   Lilly - Jade Williams
-   Medic - John Macmillan
-   Garth - Luke Treadaway

Shortlisted for _The MOBIUS Best Off-West End Production_ Award at the 2009 WhatsOnStage.com Theatregoers Choice Awards[9]

2014 REVIVAL

11 November 2014 at the Old Red Lion Theatre, London.
Directed by Max Barton.

-   Alan - Alex Lowe
-   Terry - Phil Cheadle
-   Lilly - Rebecca Boey
-   Medic - Ryan Gerald
-   Garth - Jassa Ahluwalia

Reception

The original production received generally positive reviews.

Michael Coveney of _WhatsOnStage.com_ gave an enthusiastic review, awarding the play five stars, writing that “With this truly remarkable new play, Philip Ridley completes an East End trilogy of siblings and apocalypse – the others were _Mercury Fur_ and _Leaves of Glass_ – that will one day be rated one of the high water marks of British drama in the first decade of this century” adding that the production was “a work of dark fantasy and genius.”[10] Philip Fisher of _British Theatre Guide_ gave a positive review, stating that the play “is the theatrical equivalent of a gigantic Jackson Pollock splatter painting. It is shocking with little surface meaning but is addictive and, to some, inexplicably attractive.”[11] Aleks Sierz for _The Stage_ praised the play, writing that “although the imaginary element of the play is often outrageously cruel and breathtakingly audacious, it is always firmly grounded in the emotional truth of character” and that “it really feels as if Ridley has single-handedly brought white-knuckle excitement and appalling truth back to the new [play]writing scene.”[12]

_The Guardian_ critic Lyn Gardner, though giving a mostly positive review, only awarded the play three stars, saying that it is “not a show for everyone and definitely not for the faint-hearted.”[13] _Time Out London_ gave a mostly positive review remarking that “there is some fine writing here, combined with moments of knuckle-whitening tension” and that the play “evokes the all too recognisable violence and madness of modern Britain.” However, the magazine criticised elements of Ridley's writing, saying that the “script never quite decides whether it's a farce or magical realism” and also added that “[it is] a bit of a mess structurally – as if three separate plays are fighting for attention.”[14]

On seeing the original production actor Ben Whishaw, who had starred in two of Ridley's previous adult plays (_Mercury Fur_ and _Leaves of Glass_), remarked that It was “extraordinary and very moving. It put me in a kind of trance. I love the way he [Philip Ridley] writes about fantasy, truth, honesty and lies with such courage, passion, humour and poetry. I think he's a true original”[15]

However, the play was not greeted with praise from all reviewers. Ian Shuttleworth in his prompt corner column for _Theatre Record_ took a dislike to Ridley's use of Lilly's character speaking most of the play in a made-up Middle-Eastern type language, stating that “a character spouting vaguely Middle-Eastern gibberish which is meant to be Arabic prayer is going to be seen with some justification as insulting – not because we're living in sensitive times and need to be politically correct or whatever, but simply because it has all the unsubtlety and laziness of those 1970s TV sitcoms where Europeans or Mexicans were inherently funny simply because they sounded different, and any stereotypical different sounds would do.” He, however, wrote, explaining that he understood that the “character has a point inside the play” but stated that the character “has implications beyond [outside the play’s context]; and I think it's too easy to give the writer a free pass because of claims that he's being bold or challenging” adding that “often [Ridley] doesn't know when to stop.”[16]

[1]

[2] Luke Treadaway's CV on Hamilton Hoddell's website

[3] John Macmillan's CV on Curtis Brown's website

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8] Webpage of the revised play-text of _Piranha Heights_ on Bloomsbury Publishing's website

[9] Webpage of the 2009 WhatsOnStage Theatre Awards

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14] webpage of the 2008 production of _Piranha Heights_ on Time Out London's website

[15]

[16] Ian Shuttleworth's Prompt Corner review on his website for the 11/2008 issue of _Theatre Record_

title: Piranha Heights

question: What does the text say about Piranhas?

question: What does the text say about Piranha Heights?

answer: Piranha Heights is a one-act play by Philip Ridley. It is Ridley's seventh stage play for adults and premiered at the Soho Theatre, London in 2008. The production was the second collaboration between Ridley and Soho Theatre Artistic Director Lisa Goldman, whom Ridley dedicated the play to in his preface of the published text. The play also featured Luke Treadway in one of his earliest professional stage credits. Piranha Heights serves as the third and final installment in Ridley's unofficially titled "Brothers Trilogy", having been preceded by Mercury Fur and Leaves of Glass.

question: Summarize the plot of Piranha Heights.

answer: Alan is in his mother's flat on Mother's day when his missing brother, Terry, suddenly turns up. Terry, who has been missing since after their mom's death several weeks ago, has brought along a fifteen-year-old girl called Lilly. Lilly lives in a squat below the flat, wears a hijab, speaks in an unusual mix of English and an unknown Middle-Eastern language, and claims to have endured an Islamic war. The brothers argue over who should inherit the flat and conflicting memories of their deceased mother. Eventually, Lilly's 16-year-old partner "The Medic" (who has extreme mood swings) and Alan's son Garth (15-years old, psychotic) both arrive, and chaos ensues in the flat as the characters go to extreme lengths to achieve their goals.

question: What does the text say about how the critics received Pirahna Heights?

answer: The original production of Piranha Heights received generally positive reviews. Michael Coveney of WhatsOnStage.com gave an enthusiastic review and awarded the play five stars. Philip Fisher of British Theatre Guide also gave a positive review, stating the play is the theatrical equivalent of a gigantic Jackson Pollock splatter painting. However, some reviewers disliked the play. Ian Shuttleworth wrote in his column, Theatre Record, disliked Ridley's use of Lilly's character speaking most of the play in made-up Middle-Eastern type language, stating that it can be seen as insulting.


text:
EDITH MARGARET FAULSTICH (May 22, 1907 – September 4, 1972) of New Jersey and New York City, was a philatelist and philatelic journalist who specialized in postal history and postal covers. She encouraged the development of that field in philately.

Family history

She was born as Edith Margaret VanderPoel, daughter of Andrew Case VanderPoel and Margaretha Bollinger.

As a child, Faulstich developed the nickname “Dee.” The development and transformation of the name came from her Swiss-German grandfather, Conrad Bollinger who was from Beringen. Whenever he tried to pronounce “Edith” it always came out “Edit.” It sounded like he was always saying “eat it”. To avoid embarrassment, he began calling her Dee. Thereafter, and throughout the remainder of her life, she was known as “Dee.”

Faulstich's family history dates back to the 16th century, with the Bollinger's coming from Berigen, Switzerland and the VanderPoel's coming from Holland. The VanderPoel family is derived from the VanderPoels who owned property and sawmills on the Hudson River and lived within the surrounding area of Kinderhook, Columbia County, New York Ref. Map of the Division of Kinderhoock, Patent Granted in 1686.

Raised in Montvale, New Jersey, she attended Park Ridge High School and New York University.[1]

Collecting interests

Faulstich started stamp collecting as a hobby with her two young sons. In the beginning, it was a way for Faulstich and her children to do something together. Faulstich “had a 'yen,' a longing, to write” and she was not a shy person.

In the beginning with her philatelic work, Faulstich wanted to know how people communicated before preprinted government stamps, before 1840. She then wanted to promote and increase awareness about the value and need for postal history.

Faulstich spent 25 years researching the postal mail of the American Expeditionary Forces who were forgotten about and left in Siberia, from 1917 to about 1920, after World War I. Her research, files and letters were donated to Stanford University, after her death. And, a very limited publication of her book was edited and published privately by her sons for the families of the Siberian soldiers she corresponded with.

Postal history of the world

Many of Faulstich’s postal history collections were rated as world class. Possession of her list of collections is noted in the Robert A. Segal Auction[2] 120 East 54th Street, New York, NY 10220. The following is a sample partial list of a few of Edith M. Faulstich's collections.

-   Two of her most important collections were _Canadian Expeditionary Forces in Siberia during World War I_ and _American Expeditionary Forces in Siberia._ see reference, Hover Institute, Stanford University, California,
-   Earliest Forms of Written Communication
-   Covers of a Great Age. 14th-17th Century, Europe and Mediterranean Areas (Italy, Central Europe, Belgium, France, Netherlands, Greece, Switzerland
-   “Cito” Covers which were considered the first regular special delivery covers. This is also a subject upon which Faulstich wrote a monograph based on her collection
-   The Evolution of the Envelope. A specialized collection of 37 cover from the old parchment scrolls, self-tied strips of parchment up to 1830 when the envelope was well developed
-   French Civilian Covers
-   French Autographs
-   War Covers
-   North Russia “Operation Polar Bear”
-   Disaster Covers
-   America-Colonial Covers Before French & Indian War (1677–1742)
-   French & Indian War Covers (1755–1763)
-   Canada Covers (1767–1814)
-   The McKenzie Rebellion Letters ( 1837–1938)
-   Prisoner of War Covers, Siberia
-   United States, Stampless Covers
-   Ship & Railroad Markings
-   Westerns & Territorials
-   Valentine Covers
-   Civil War Patriotic Covers
-   1860 Pictorial Issue
-   Bank Note Issues
-   Switzerland
-   Texas Covers Specialized
-   United States PostMaster Provisionals

Philatelic literature

In addition she wrote stamp columns for the following newspapers and publications:

1) 'Newark Sunday News' for 26 year (Nov. 24, 1946–1972),
2) 'The Record“, Hackensack, New Jersey ( 1961–1966),
3) 'Bergen Evening Record” (January 16, 1922 -Sept 14, 1968),

Faulstich was also editor of:
4) _Postal History Journal_ from May 1957 (Vol.1. No.1) to 1967,
5) _Western Stamp Collector_,
6) _Covers_, and
7) _The Essay-Proof Journal_.

Philatelic activity

Faulstich was a founding member of the Postal History Society of the Americas (later renamed the Postal History Society (PHS), Inc.) and dedicated much of her time campaigning for the acceptance of postal history as a valid category of philatelic exhibitions. She was the first woman president of the PHS.

Honors and awards

Edith Faulstich was inducted into the American Philatelic Society Hall of Fame in 1973.

[1] Eisenbraun, Mildred. “Edith M. Faulstich, 65, stamp expert and author”, _The Record_, September 6, 1972. Accessed August 19, 2020, via Newspapers.com. “Edith M. Faulstich of 37 Inwood St., formerly of Montvale, N.J., and founder in 1945 of the Pascack Stamp Club, died Monday in United Hospital, Port Chester. She was 65. She was born in Brooklyn and lived in Montvale until 1951. After graduating from Park Ridge High School and attending New York University, Mrs. Faulstich's interests in stamp collecting made her an international figure in philatelic circles.”

[2] #440t & #452 Auction Books, Nov. 19-21, 1973 and May 28–30, 1974

title: Edith Margaret Faulstich

question: What is a philatelist?

answer: That information can't be found, though presumably it has something to do with stamp collecting.

question: How did Edith Margaret Faulstich acquire the nickname Dee?

answer: Her grandfather was embarrassed by his inability to pronounce her name, which would always come out sounding like "eat it", so he began calling her Dee instead.

question: List the named members of Edith Margaret Faulstich's family.

answer: Andrew Case VanderPoel (her father), Margaretha Bollinger (her mother), Conrad Bollinger (her grandfather)

question: Name five of Edith Margaret Faulstich's collections.

answer: Earliest Forms of Written Communication, French Civilian Covers, Disaster Covers, Canada Covers, Bank Note Issues

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: Edith Margaret Faulstich was a philatelist who specialized in postal history and postal covers. She developed an interest in stamp collecting after taking it up as a hobby with her sons. Many of her postal history collections were rated as world class. She was also a founding member of the Postal History Society of the Americas.


text:
This morning, I felt great. Finally over the awful death of an illness I've had for the past three weeks, I came into work, kicked the snow off my shoes, said "fuck", and proceeded to ruin my fingerprints typing paperwork. (That's really fast, you guys.)

A good day; for once I haven't spilled coffee on my pants, for once I felt good and healthy. So with excitement, I take a bite of my professionally made turkey sandwich...complete with, and I say this with broken tears, Dijon mustard. My favorite. With elation...I bite, I type, I lose focus,

I choke.

I actually choked bad enough that I had to give myself a gritty version of the Heimlich maneuver against my very hard, very wooden desk. With a couple thrusts, a slurry of inhuman noises, I am literally looking at this sandwich...telling it to fuck itself in every forced exhale. As if Death itself was saying, "I'm still watching, bro", a piece of moist bread flies out of my mouth...and on to the floor.

Moist. Bread.

Covered, like my dreams, in off-white diluted Dijon.

Now, this is my lesson to you. Never take for granted your life, for mine could have just ended in a dark basement in Detroit, choking on something I use to soak up soup.

At least, when they found me...my pants would have been without a stain. "Coffee-less..." they would say. "Respect."

*Pounds chest* *Collapses lung*

title: Moist Bread

question: What city does the story take place in?

answer: Detroit

question: What is the narrator's job?

answer: the narrator processes paperwork for a living

question: What is the Heimlich maneuver?

answer: a technique used for dislodging a blockage from a person's airway

question: What is the significance of the narrator's pants being "without a stain"?

answer: the story does not answer this question

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator returns to work after a long illness and chokes on part of a turkey sandwich. He coughs up the chunk of sandwich and advises the reader never to take life for granted.


text:
WILLIAM SILVER OLIVER, M.D. (1836 in Kilfinane[1] – 27 April 1908 in Farnborough) was an Irish-born Canadian military surgeon remembered for describing Oliver's sign. He graduated in Halifax, Nova Scotia and entered the Army in 1857, serving mainly in India and Canada. He was Honorary Deputy Surgeon-General stationed at Halifax, Nova Scotia on his retirement in 1883.[2] He designed the Canadian Army's infantry equipment after serving with the 60th Rifles and witnessing first hand the needs of infantry soldiers.[3] He died after a long illness, having spent the last 3 years of his life in England.

[1] Evening Mail, Halifax, Nova Scotia, 1 May 1908. Text on Ancestry.co.uk

[2] Obituary, incl. war record, _Br Med J_. 30 May 1908; 1(2474): 1337.

[3] Army Accoutrement, William Silver Oliver Canadian patent.

title: William Silver Oliver

question: When was Oliver born?

answer: 1836

question: Where did Oliver graduate?

answer: Halifax, Nova Scotia

question: What was Oliver's job following his retirement from the Army?

answer: Honorary Deputy Surgeon-General

question: When did Oliver die?

answer: April 27, 1908

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: William Silver Oliver, M.D. was a Canadian military surgeon. He was born in 1836 in Kilfinane, Ireland, and is best remembered for describing Oliver's sign. He graduated in Nova Scotia and served in the Army from 1857 to 1883, after which he became Honorary Deputy Surgeon-General. He died in 1908 after a long illness.


text:
Hamilton

Premier Kathleen Wynne said she wants to allow photo radar in school and community safety zones. Merulla said the Red Hill and Linc parkways should be allowed to use the tool.

Premier Kathleen Wynne said she wants to allow photo radar in school and community safety zones

[]

Ten collisions were reported to police on the Red Hill Valley Parkway on Saturday. (Bob Hatcher)

City councillor Sam Merulla said he'll seek to declare Red Hill Valley and Lincoln M. Alexander parkways "community safety zones" to make them eligible for new provincial photo radar rules.

Ontario Premier Kathleen Wynne announced Tuesday her government will allow photo radar, but only  in school zones and "community safety zones" like streets near daycares and senior citizen residences, where speeders can expect significantly higher fines if they're caught.

Hamilton doesn't currently have any community safety zones. A 2001 report from city staff recommended against installing them.

But that's not stopping Merulla. The Ward 4 councillor said he'll push to have the 90-km/h parkways declared as community safety zones to be able to use photo radar there.

His rationale: School buses regularly use the Red Hill and the Linc, and thus should receive added safety measures to keep school kids safe.

"At the end of the day the only people who ever complained about photo radar are speeding," he said. "As long as we have the signage, it's not a gotcha scenario.

"People will know where these areas are and all they have to do is slow down."

A political and controversial history

Photo radar, where a speeding car is photographed and the owner sent a photo and a ticket in the mail, has a political and controversial history in Ontario. Critics say it's a money grab by governments. Former premier Mike Harris campaigned on a promise to kill the program after it had been implemented in the mid-1990s.

The city's traffic superintendent, David Ferguson, said staff will evaluate the pros and cons of photo radar and what its impact could be on the city's existing road safety efforts. But, Ferguson said, it will be some time before cities could actually use it.

Merulla asked for a safety review of the two parkways last year after two 19-year-olds — Jordyn Hastings and Olivia Smosarski — died in a crash on the Red Hill in May 2015. They were in a Mazda that crossed a median and hit a van driven by a 28-year-old woman, who walked away with minor injuries.

In one day in October 2015, police dealt with 10 reported collisions on the Red Hill alone.

The city has told Ontario officials it wants to install photo radar on the parkways after a motion Merulla brought to that effect last year.

question: What does "community safety zone" mean?

answer: In this article, the term is about traffic regulations. It refers to areas in a city where vulnerable people, such as children and the elderly, tend to concentrate.

question: What does the criticism that the photo radar system is a money-grab mean?

answer: It means that the system may be used to issue fines even in reasonable cases or minor infractions.


text:
[South Mountain Reservation of the Essex County Park System] [Administration Building]

The ESSEX COUNTY PARK SYSTEM is the name given to the parks department located within Essex County, New Jersey,[1] United States of America. The Essex County Department of Parks, Recreation and Cultural Affairs is in charge of the upkeep and preservation of the parks, reservations and a number of other facilities, including golf courses and trails.

[1]

title: Essex County Park System

question: What is the Essex County Park System?

answer: a name given to the parks department located within Essex County, New Jersey, United States of America

question: Who is in charge of the upkeep and preservation of public parks in Essex County, New Jersey?

answer: The Essex County Department of Parks, Recreation and Cultural Affairs

question: Where is Essex County?

answer: New Jersey, United States

question: Where is New Jersey?

answer: United States

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The Essex County Park System is a name given to the parks department located within Essex County, New Jersey, United States of America.