Some bits of the left in BC have unhinged from any sort of reality based political change praxis into a romantic, ABBA song. Sadly many of my pals can't even look at the sports and find pleasure in people moving so quickly. I have had many conversations that seems to equate the Olympics with the current governments spending policies. The current political party has been crap for years, they were never going to help the citizens with or without the Olympics. The point is to replace them.
I first saw her speaking when she was interviewed by Errol Morris in his First Person programme called "Stairway to Heaven". Right at the end of her talk that is on the left, the video, cuts into an ad for the institution which hosted the talk and they expressed almost the opposite idea to what she expressed. They declared, over song, that they are going to cure kids of their diseases, and she spoke about how teachers could deal with difference. Maybe that guy with purple gloves wants to shut down the gadget industry. The introductions to her take too long and those people are terribly boring.
The heartwarming trailer on the right seems to warm hearts, it's obvious that the Doctor would want a moving picture show made of her experiences.
Highway 16 East - Yellowhead
Prince Rupert, BC - Elevation: 40 M (131 FT)
Terrace, BC - Elevation: 80 M (262 FT)
Hazelton, BC - Elevation: 305 M (1,001 FT)
Smithers, BC - Elevation: 490 M (1,608 FT)
Prince George, BC - Elevation: 575 M (1,886 FT)
Earlier today I found a vortex of excitement about athletes gathering for a competition and display. This gyre threatens to overwhelm the sensitive population of this drenched, GORE-TEX® encrusted land. Brought to you from my twitter feed.
I have been revisiting some of my magazines applying polish, correcting spelling and creating 2nd editions of some of them. Get you first editions soon, before they are replaced and you are looking like a chump at the auction house.
I spoke with Scott from the institution in charge of giving out numbers that are associated to individuals so that their wages can be noted for purposes of paying tax. He said that everything is going to be cool and someone would call or visit me and give me this number that I am seeking, within seven days, if they don't he gave me a new number to call and another number to tell the person who answers that call. This number will tell them all about my desire for the first number. Once I have the first number, I will take it then take this number to shop, where I chatted with Bobbi and trade my time for lucrative employ in one of the spires and towers of this fair city.
The sensation of hopelessness, futility and a complete absence of motivation describes the condition of depression for some.
While this disease is debilitating, the sensations are often an accurate assessment of the individual's position in our current, accelerated material and information society. In cases where this is true, the proposed cure is a fully enclosed motorised outfit made of hard plastic and aluminium. Once suited up, the individual will have a constant hug and new found protection and agency.
The suit also coaxes the wearer to vote twice in elections. I am sure nobody will object.
Today I tipped my information and cv into many hats as a part of my quest for employment and then began on my 3rd draft of the 7th magazine. There is an article that is giving me some trouble and I am doing all I can to domesticate the trouble into a small, cute and friendly attribute. I got to see a movie sometime during my job shopping and tea drinking and lunch finding. Soon I will post a still from this films end credits, as they are great. Tomorrow I will visit family in Bournemouth, this is exciting as I have yet to meet them. We will be traveling on a big bus that here is called a coach and it will have an internet connection. I will twitter of the novelty of this as I did on the trip to and from Portsmouth.
Gathered my traps and struck out into a rainy day. Down Dog Poo Lane to the tube station to feed currency into a travel card, swapping trains at the station named after another transportation system and to the street named with the always accurate, time based name. I was visiting the top hit for a Google search I did years ago. There was much to look at and like the ocular, somæsthetic vampire I am replenished. Ready for other activities.
A police report has been released to the general public from the show of military power at Shandi's get together. We are all dismayed that this official document doesn't cite a suspect at the party. Nobody remembers being an umbrella pointer. Vancouver Police Report
When trees are cleaved in the sawmill, where I laboured, there were two possible destinations for what falls from them, as they change to planks, boards and other handy shapes. If it was free of bark and not specifically dust, a combination of belts that raced under the floors would deliver their scraps to a number of chippers. These chippers uniformly chop the wood waste, surprisingly, into chips, that in turn fill a steel bin large and high enough for a train car or semi-trailer truck to pass under and in turn be filled to then roll off to another dot of industry. These chips find a new day as paper, somewhere.
The remaining bark and specifically dust falls even lower, to a slow moving set of channels with chains running through them, these chains dragged thought their paths with a block that intersected the chain, creating a shovel. Dust and debris dragged along until it was heaved onto the fast moving, rubber Hog Infeed Belt. The tail spool of this belt almost touched the ground, a metre wide strip of rubber, zooming skyward, cutting through 3 floors where it ends and sprays its cargo into the Hog.
The Hog is a simple machine, a cylinder of perforated steel, on its side 6 metres long, 2 metres in diameter, made of 15 cm thick steel, spinning fast enough to turn whatever falls into it, with a roar, into cookie crumbs. This action is shrouded by a steel jacket with an impressive set of motors on each end of the cylinder to make it all happen.
The Hog Infeed Tail Spool, down below the Hog was currently being hidden by a giant, comical pile of debris, this mess, like the excited, expressive face of a child had a few interrelated parts. A static part, a slowly growing part and a active spraying part. There was some problem with one of the chains feeding this belt and the debris was falling into it off centre, then piling up and then flowing under Hog Infeed Belt and separating it from the Tail Spool which propelled it to its lofty deliver. This injection of debris was causing the fast, wide belt to wobble up and down with far more drama than necessary. Probably causing wear or some other problem that never fill the workers with any concern but torment the managers and the workers who one day wish to be managers.
My job, with others, was to get rid of this pile.
It was 5:00, tired and shovelling, from under the belt, crouched almost into a ball, I could dig and empty the contents of the shovel into a wheelbarrow beside the belt. My friend Jason was driving the wheelbarrow out into the rainy early morning. The shovelling was awkward. Dust was flying into my face. I placed my left leather gloved hand in front of my face while waiting for the wheelbarrow to return. This was a somewhat effective shield to the dust being kicked up by the bottom of the tail-spool and the belts rollers. I shifted my hand away from my face, just a bit, less debris hit it, I moved my arm again reducing my dusting.
In less than a breath, my body was instantly repositioned, where once my shoulders were parallel with the roller, there were now perpendicular, head and trunk twisted, the belt rushing over my head that was now pressed into my right shoulder, hand had touched the roller and that arm was on the other side of the roller, between the belt, the roller was now rotating like a drill under my left armpit, three thoughts, quickly in a row 1. my whole body will have to pass through for me to get out, 2. swearing 3. I have to get out now. Finding footing I pulled and freed the rolled arm. I was told I was screaming, even thought I remember articulating the seriousness of my predicament. Once freed, I sported a shaved left armpit, polished right knuckle, left elbow and tremors.
Time lapse video of night sky as it passes over the 2009 Texas Star Party in Fort Davis, Texas. The galactic core of Milky Way is brightly displayed. Images taken with 15mm fisheye lens.
In April 1989 I came to Santiago for the first time with my parents to visit my brother who was doing post-graduate research in political science after having worked with Paul Sigmund (a conservative scholar of Chilean political history) at Princeton. I don’t know what it was exactly that I liked so much about the city, especially given the nature of a family trip and the usual activities such a trip implies. Whatever it was, I wanted to come back and so my mother bought me a ticket as a graduation gift and I returned after graduating from high school that June.
My return had been welcomed by my brother who made grandiose promises of urban adventures and trips outside Santiago. But when I arrived he claimed to be too busy to entertain me and came up with the bizarre idea of sending me to a private school so that I could meet people my own age. Why I agreed to this is still a mystery to me — because who in their right mind would go back to school the summer after finally completing over a decade of torture? However, as I soon learned, school was quite different here from what I had been accustomed to in the U.S. Students walked in and out of classrooms and hung out in the yard for what seemed to be a disproportionate amount of time, so that the hours flew by and it felt more like leisure time than anything else. After a week I’d made enough friends to drop out. (I’d also developed a crush on the school principle, a recent college graduate from the U.S. who I thought about from time to time many years after).
Around that same week I’d met a classmate of my brother’s who scolded him for sending me to mix with cuicosa pejorative term used in Chile to denote members of the ruling class and suggested that a better idea might be for me to go to La Chile with his brother who was studying history at a campus in a remote part of La Reina. So every morning I took the bus to meet with Julio and his friends and to engage in the same activities I’d participated in at my private school (hanging out in the yard, not attending classes) but, now, with students from a very different social stratum. I soon learned that my new friends were all members of the MIR and that they were generally suspicious of Americans but had made an exception in my case. I won’t even try to deny that for me it was quite exotic to temporarily abandon my sheltered middle class life in suburban Georgia and to suddenly find myself among peers who lived in poblacionesworking class neighborhoods, Chilean and who sometimes didn’t have money to take the bus to get to campus. And if, at the time, I was conscious that I was slumming in Chile, I was also aware that, despite their good intentions and generosity towards me, Julio and his friends also participated in the game in the way they perceived me as a sort of little sister, rich gringa convert connected to them only through a chance, precarious situation. There was the time, for instance, that they took me to a MIR party but blindfolded me on the bus to keep the location of the house where the party was being held secret. Of course I had spent enough time in Colombia by this point to understand the problem of class, especially coming from an ultra-cuica/politically conservative Colombian family (on my mother’s side) and seeing the sense of self-entitlement of family members that contradicted the middle-class values with which I had been raised. This is a complicated subject and of course in the 1970s class differences in the U.S. were still subtle (or at least hidden) enough for Americans to continue living out their deluded fantasy of living in a classless society, blind to the American foreign policy that made this delusion possible. I think that the development of my political orientation, then, was product of both a complicated family background and an education in (and subsequent rejection of) Cold War ideology.
The most vivid memory I have of that summer is one that I’ll never forget and that, in many ways, determines my still idealistic image of Chile (in contrast to my damaged relationship to Colombia). One evening I took the bus with a friend of my brother’s visiting him from Connecticut, to go to an event at the Universidad de Chile, Casa Central. Unaccustomed to the velocity of nighttime bus travel and lost in conversation, we ended up in San Bernardo. I realized we’d gone much too far and another passenger listening in on our conversation offered to show us to a payphone near to his stop but the bus driver, also eavesdropping, turned around and prohibited us from leaving the bus and then told the guy to stay away from us. And so we stayed on until he finished his route after which he drove us back into the city center to make sure we arrived home safely. When I offered to pay him for the extra gasoline he had used for the long trip back he refused and asked me only for one small favor. Instead of money he preferred that I send him a postcard from every city I traveled to and this I did for many years after. I still have his address and as I write this I realize that I am long overdue in sending him a postcard from Berlin.
|decade||drug||reason to buy|
|1960||oral contraceptive||avoiding babies|
|2010||??||the desire to solve problems with pellets|
Finally, yesterday, the last of my things in Canada have made it to my hands in the UK. A stack of paper, around 3kg, costing a considerable sum to move over the ocean. I am all in one place now. Over the weekend Rachæl and I made a pin-point accurate mission to Ikea and now everything is out of their boxes and off the floor and sitting on friendly sounding storage rigs.
Series of meetings have been held over the past 7 months with the secretary general of the United Nations Organization. This ended 3 days ago. It is obvious that you have not received your fund which is to the tune of $9.8million due to past corrupt Governmental Officials who almost held the fund to themselves for their selfish reason and some individuals who have taken advantage of your fund all in an attempt to swindle your fund which has led to so many losses from your end and unnecessary delay in the receipt of your fund.
The National Central Bureau of Interpol enhanced by the United Nations and Federal Bureau of Investigation have successfully passed a mandate to the current president of Nigeria his Excellency President Umaru Yar'Adua to boost the exercise of clearing all foreign debts owed to you and other individuals and organizations who have been found not to have receive their Contract Sum, Lottery/Gambling, Inheritance and the likes.
Now how would you like to receive your payment? because we have two method of payment which is by Check or by ATM card?
ATM Card: We will be issuing you a custom pin based ATM card which you will use to withdraw up to $3,000 per day from any ATM machine that has the Master Card Logo on it and the card have to be renewed in 4 years time which is 2014. Also with the ATM card you will be able to transfer your funds to your local bank account. The ATM card comes with a handbook or manual to enlighten you about how to use it. Even if you do not have a bank account.
Check: To be deposited in your bank for it to be cleared within three working days.
Your payment would be sent to you via any of your preferred option and would be mailed to you via UPS. Because we have signed a contract with UPS which should expire by the end of March 2010 you will only need to pay $220 instead of $520 saving you $300 So if you pay before March 28 2010 you save $300 Take note that anyone asking you for some kind of money above the usual fee is definitely a fraudsters and you will have to stop communication with every other person if you have been in contact with any. Also remember that all you will ever have to spend is $220.00 nothing more! Nothing less! And we guarantee the receipt of your fund to be successfully delivered to you within the next 24hrs after the receipt of payment has been confirmed.
Below are few list of tracking numbers you can track from UPS website to confirm people like you who have received their payment successfully.
Name : Donna L. Vargas: UPS Tracking Number: 1Z757F991598420403 (www.ups.com)
Name : Rovenda Elaine Clayton: UPS Tracking Number: 1Z757F991596606592 (www.ups.com)
Note: Everything has been taken care of by the Federal Government of Nigeria, The United Nation and also the FBI and including taxes, custom paper and clearance duty so all you will ever need to pay is $220.
DO NOT SEND MONEY TO ANYONE UNTIL YOU READ THIS: The actual fees for shipping your ATM card is $520 but because UPS have temporarily discontinued the C.O.D which gives you the chance to pay when package is delivered for international shipping as stated on their website: http://ups.com/us/international/irc/profiles/irc_ng_profile.html?gtmcc=us#C10 We had to sign contract with them for bulk shipping which makes the fees reduce from the actual fee of $520 to $220 nothing more and no hidden fees of any sort!
To effect the release of your fund valued at $9.8million you are advised to contact our correspondent in Africa the delivery officer MR. SMITH WILLIAMS with the information below,
You are adviced to contact him with the informations as stated below:
Your full Name..
Preferred Payment Method ( ATM / Cashier Check )
Upon receipt of payment the delivery officer will ensure that your package is sent within 24 working hours. Because we are so sure of everything we are giving you a 100% money back guarantee if you do not receive payment/package within the next 24hrs after you have made the payment for shipping.
Miss Donna Story
FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION
UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE
WASHINGTON, D.C. 20535
Note: Do disregard any email you get from any impostors or offices claiming to be in possession of your ATM CARD, you are hereby advice only to be in contact with Mr. Williams Smith of the ATM CARD CENTRE who is the rightful person to deal with in regards to your ATM CARD PAYMENT and forward any emails you get from impostors to this office so we could act upon and commence investigation.
Everyone is in on this terrorism theme these days, even I have head, the remake of V leans heavily on this poorly formed device. I would like a bit more diversity in my narratives as terrorism no longer does what it says on the can and only at best provides disquiet.
When I put my neighbourhood in YouTube to see if The Clash wrote a song about it, I discovered this gem that begins at my favourite National Rail station. Woo! I can't wait until they are elected and begin the repatriation and every other country in the world returns their Jutes and Saxons. Oh man the forms to fill out!
Is there a psychological disorder where you believe the noise your neighbour is making is simply just a recording of the noise you made 2 days ago?
Is that simple paranoia?
They must live lives very much like ours. I have never seen this couple, on the other side of our wall and can only speculate. I wonder if he has a blog?