Tide Dance

Secret Games: Collaborative Works with Children 1969-1999. Book Review

2009-05-23T20:35:00.000-06:00

For thirty years, Ewald has been collaborating with children around the world, teaching them to make photographs and tell stories about their lives and dreams. Her work began as a student at Antioch College, working with Native American children in New Brunswick and Labrador. Many of her collaborations have been published previously, beginning with Appalachia: A Self-Portrait in 1979, and I Dreamed I Had a Girl in My Pocket in 1996, which documents her work with children of different castes in a remote village in India.

Secret Games is an extensive retrospective of Ewald's projects, with excellent reproductions in both color and black and white, accounts of her experiences working in very diverse cultural settings, and stories by children. Ewald's path has led her from Appalachia to Chiapas, Mexico, to South Africa, to Saudi Arabia, and most recently to the creation of a Visual Literacy program with children in Durham, North Carolina, to address issues of race and identity.

Ewald has been interested in creating communities of children that bridge gaps caused by race, class, ethnic, and cultural differences, trusting that the common experience of discovering a visual language helps to overcome those differences. She proclaims no strong agendas, and in truth, is very modest about her intentions. Ewald consistently steps back and allows the voices of the children to speak. She invites the fresh expression of their rich and fantastic worlds of play and their well-informed and sometimes disturbing views on life and death.

Ewald is courageous, generous, and gifted in her abilities to liberate these stories, which authentically reflect children's lives and concerns.

Math Attack

2009-05-13T20:23:00.000-06:00

play more math games here

2009-05-01T20:00:00.000-06:00

That's it...I can't take it anymore...

What does this girl...

And this lovely young lady...

have in common? Give up?

They were both married to it:

Oh my does this make my blood boil.

Now, I don't know much about Debra, the blonde, of whom I only know about because she was in two episodes of Miami Vice (which I just watched...again...thanks to TNN). I looked her up on the IMDB and, sure enough, she was married to Mr. Personality up there (and I wish he wore a mask like his pathetic namesakes on Fox). Carre, on the other hand, is famous for two reasons; 1) she blue steeled her way through a Razzie-nominated performance in "Wild Orchid" in which she and the smirk up there actually were bumping butt-uglies for real during the climatic fuckfestfreeforall, and 2) she barely survived a stormy marriage to said-scumbag that drove her to bulimia, depression, and heroin, the last of which she almost overdosed on. That's right, in between dodging Mickey's punches (sometimes successfully, sometimes not) she shot up brown sugar. I feel bad for her...

Almost.

Mickey Rourke, at the beginning of his career, shot out like a cannonball onto the American film screen. With his early roles in Diner, 9 1/2 weeks and Angel Heart, his soft voice but intense performances inspired talk of him being the next De Niro or Pacino. However, a series of really bad choices (Wild Orchid being the pinacle) led to his demise as a serious Hollywood player, as well as his bad behavior, out of control drinking and drug use, and ill-advised pathetic foray into professional boxing (He got knocked out with one punch). But...

BUt BUT BUT...the ladies just could resist this douchebag.

I have no details about Mickey and Debra...I can only assume the worst and thank God the poor girl is still alive.

Carrie, though still alive and kicking as a plus size model, was not so lucky. Mickey spent their entire relationship either beating the crap out of her, or, especially so, any guy who would look at her the wrong way. Apparently, Carrie, upon going into Alcoholics Anonymous, befriended a guy who suggested they go to the gym together. Old Mickey found about this, went to the gym, and beat the shit out of him. Class. Pure class.

What continues to baffle me is why women continue to jump once more into the breach dear friends of adultery, black eyes and bruised jaws. I know bad boys keep you ladies on your toes but give me a fucking break. This is why I say I “almost” feel sorry for them. If a guy hits, you, run. Get a divorce and a restraining order. Any guy who would hit a woman is a scumbag, pure and simple. And you can’t change them. I’m sure I’m simplifying a more complicated matter, but…but but but…just leave the bastard already!!!

But back to where the blame really lies…

Suarez and I have talked about waiting until Mickey is about 65 or 70, and then tracking him down and beating the shit out of him. We figure we’ll push him in his wheelchair down a flight of stairs, and then take revenge on behalf of every woman who has been dumb enough to be with him. POW I’ll bet Carrie/Debra/takeyourpick SLAM didn’t like getting SMACK the shit kicked BANG out of SPLISH them.

I wouldn’t feel the least bit sorry about it.

But we’ll wait until he’s old and frail.

I hope he doesn’t find this entry.

Then again, we can’t be the only ones who hate him.

Fastest Card Trick

2009-05-01T01:12:00.000-06:00

Fastest Card Trick. Downloadable Movie

Some Interesting Facts!

2009-04-28T11:12:00.000-06:00

Stewardesses' is the longest word typed with only the left hand.

And 'lollipop' is the longest word typed with your right hand.
(Bet you tried this out mentally, didn't you?)

No word in the English language rhymes with month , orange, silver, or purple.

' Dreamt' is the only English word that ends in the letters 'mt'.
(Are you doubting this?)

our eyes are always the same size from birth, but our nose and ears never stop growing.

The sentence: 'The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog' uses every letter of the alphabet.
(Now, you KNOW you're going to try this out for accuracy, right?)

The words 'racecar,''kayak' and 'level' are the same whether they are read left to right or right to left (palindromes).
(Yep, I knew yo u were going to 'do' this one.)

There are only four words in the English language which end in 'dous': tremendous, horrendous, stupendous, and hazardous.
(You're not possibly doubting this, are you ?)

There are two words in the English language that have all five vowels in order: 'abstemious' and 'facetious.'
(Yes, admit it, you are going to say, a e i o u)

TYPEWRITER is the longest word that can be made using the letters only on one row
of the keyboard.
(All you typists are going to test this out)

A cat has 32 muscles in each ear.

A goldfish has a memory span of three seconds.
(S imilar to most men)

A shark is the only fish that can blink with both eyes.

A snail can sleep for three years.
(I know some people that could do this too.!)

Almonds are a member of the peach family.

An ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain.
(I know some people like that also. Actually I know A LOT of people like this!)

Babies are born without kneecaps.
They don't appear until the child reaches 2 to 6 years of age.

February 1865 is the only month in recorded history not to have a full moon.

In the last 4,000 years, no new animals have been domesticated.

If the population of China walked past you, 8 abreast, the line would never end because of the rate of reproduction.

Leonardo Da Vinci invented the scissors

Peanuts are one of the ingredients of dynamite!

Rubber bands last longer when refrigerated.

The average person's left hand does 56% of the typing.

The microwave was invented after a researcher walked by a radar tube and a chocolate bar melted in his pocket.

The winter of 1932 was so cold that Niagara Falls froze completely solid.

There are more chickens than people in the world.

Winston Churchill was born in a ladies' room during a dance.

Women blink nearly twice as much as men.

Now you know more than you did before!!

The bunny and the snake

2009-04-04T19:52:00.000-06:00

Once upon a time, in a nice little forest, there lived an orphaned bunny and an orphaned snake.. By coincidence both were blind from birth. One day, the bunny was hopping through the forest and tripped over the snake and fell down.

'Oh, my,' said the bunny, 'I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I've been blind since birth and can't see where I'm going. In fact, since I'm also an orphan, I don't even know what I am.'

'That's ok,' replied the snake. 'Actually, I too, have been blind since birth, and also never knew my mother. Tell you what, maybe I could slitherall over you, and figure out what you are so you'll know.

'That would be wonderful' replied the bunny. So the snake slithered all over the bunny, and said, 'Well, you're covered with soft fur, you have really long ears, your nose twitches, and you have a soft cottony tail. I'd say that you must be a bunny rabbit.'

'Oh, thank you, thank you,' cried the bunny, in obvious excitement. The bunny suggested to the snake, 'Maybe I could feel you all over with my paw, and help you the same way that you've helped me.' So the bunny felt the snake all over, and remarked, 'Well, you're smooth and slippery, and you have a forked tongue, no backbone and no balls. I'd say you must be a team leader, a supervisor or possibly someone insenior management

Scotch with two drops of water

2009-03-28T20:04:00.000-06:00

Scotch with two drops of water.
A lady goes to the bar on a cruise ship and orders a Scotch with two drops of water. As the bartender gives her the drink she says, " I'm on this cruise to celebrate my 80th birthday and it's today."
The bartender says, " Well, since it's your birthday, I'll buy you a drink. In fact, this one is on me."
As the woman finishes her drink, the woman to her right says, " I would like to buy you a drink, too."
The old woman says, " Thank you. Bartender, I want a Scotch with two drops of water."
" Coming up," says the bartender.
As she finishes that drink, the man to her left says, " I would like to buy you one, too."
The old woman says, " Thank you. Bartender, I want another Scotch with two drops of water."
" Coming right up," the bartender says. As he gives her the drink, he says, " Ma'am, I'm dying of curiosity. Why the Scotch with only two drops of water?"
The old woman replies, " Sonny, when you're my age, you've learned how to hold your liquor. Holding your water, however, is a whole other issue."

Letter to dogs and cats

2009-03-01T14:29:00.000-07:00

The following was found posted very low on a refrigerator door.

Dear Dogs and Cats: The dishes with the paw prints are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.

The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Racing me to the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn’t help because I fall faster than you can run.

I cannot buy anything bigger than a king sized bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue sleeping on the couch to ensure your comfort, however. Dogs and cats can actually curl up in a ball when they
sleep.. It i s not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other, stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out on the other end to maximize space is nothing but sarcasm.

For the last time, there is no secret exit from the bathroom! If, by some miracle, I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, meow, try to turn the knob or get your paw under the edge in an attempt to open the door. I must exit through the same door I entered. Also, I have been using the bathroom for years - canine/feline attendance is not required.

The proper order for kissing is: Kiss me first, then go smell the other dog or cat’s butt. I cannot stress this enough.

Little Sally

2009-02-11T08:09:00.000-07:00

Johnny's little sister 'Little Sally' came home from school with a
smile on her face, and told her mother.
'Frankie Brown showed me his willy today in the playground!' Before the
mother could raise a concern, Sally went on to say, 'it
reminded me of a peanut.'

Relaxing with a hidden smile, Sally's Mum asked. 'Really small, was
it?'

Sally replied, 'No.....salty.'

The Prem Season

2009-02-11T00:56:00.000-07:00

Crystal Palace 0 Barnsley 1

Neil Redfearn returned to haunt Crystal Palace with the goal that gave Barnsley the first Premiership win in their 110-year history.

The midfielder has waited more than a decade to savour life at the top, watching his old team-mates bob in and out of the elite three times since he departed for Watford in 1988.

But his superb 56th minute drive wrecked their hopes of leading the English first division for the first time since they were tagged the 'Team of the 80s' under Terry Venables in September 1979.

And it gave Danny Wilson's gritty Tykes renewed confidence for the awesome challenge they face this season, much-needed after their debut defeat at home to West Ham on Saturday.

No wonder his players embraced each other in emotional scenes on the final whistle.

Skipper Redfearn, who arrived at Oakwell via Oldham for 150,000 in 1991, was the major force behind their promotion with 17 goals.

And he was inspired to take advantage when John Hendrie dispossessed a dozy Simon Rodger, taking up the ball and angling inside from the right.

There still seemed little danger when he swung his left boot from 25 yards, but he caught new goalkeeper Kevin Miller by surprise, his shot dipping inside the top right-hand corner.

It was a shocker for Palace and their new star, Attilio Lombardo, especially after their impressive win at Everton, but though Bruce Dyer cracked a shot against the bar in the 78th minute, they could not recover.

In truth, though both newly-promoted sides have spent around ?4million each on reinforcements, their football still smacks of the Nationwide and both will surely be lucky to stay clear of relegation.

Lombardo was an immediate hit with the home fans on his home debut, though Yorkshire grit soon dented the veneer of sophistication he brings to Steve Coppell's side.

And the Londoners' other big name signing, striker Paul Warhurst, was replaced after 68 ineffective minutes.

If it had not been for Miller, a ?1million signing from Watford, Palace would have succumbed more easily to the wily 36-year-old Hendrie.

If there is one side who should not give Wilson's men an inferiority complex this season, it is Palace, who finished four places below them in division one last season and only graduated via the play-offs.

They took a 1-1 draw from Selhurst on their way to automatic promotion and though record signing Macedonian Georgi Hristov is still not considered fit enough for a full debut, they more than matched the home side.

Lombardo, the ?1.6million signing from Juventus, showed nice touches, as one would expect for a player of his pedigree, but he will need time to find a mutual wavelength with mainly journeymen colleagues.

His passing was exquisite at times, though not always anticipated by histeam-mates, and one wonders how long he will keep running so hard to demonstrate he is not here just for the money.

Barnsley, for sure, will run like whippets all year to protect their new-found status and were denied a 30th minute lead by the remarkable athleticism of Miller.

Hendrie should never been allowed to make so much progress, twisting and turning David Tuttle and Marc Edworthy, before cracking a shot which looped up off a defender's boot, wrong-footing Miller. But he managed to spring backwards and hook the ball off the line.

Three minutes later Dean Gordon burst on to a rebound to get clear on theleft side of the area and drilled the ball low across the face of goal, where both Lombardo and Warhurst lunged without connecting.

Almost immediately at the other end Hendrie planted a cross on to the head of the unmarked Darren Barnard, who brought another fine save from Miller.

Then Hendrie sent Miller low to his right to hold a crisp shot before thewhistle gave both teams a welcome chance to rehydrate.

Dyer showed great strength to win a running tussle with Arjan de Zeeuw and get clear on the right-hand side of the Barnsley box in the 50th minute, but Watson blocked the shot at the base of his near post.

A minute later the Barnsley goalkeeper had an amazing escape, parrying Dyer's close-range shot at the feet of Kevin Muscat, who somehow hoisted the ball over the gaping goal from six yards.

The home fans appealed in vain for a penalty when Lombardo was dumped onhis backside by Dutchman de Zeeuw.

Barnsley were rocking, yet within minutes they were celebrating and then England Under-21 goalkeeper Watson set about protecting their precious goal.

Lombardo set up Rodger with a quick chance to atone, but his cracking shot was saved by Watson with his legs.

Substitute Neil Shipperley got clear on the left, but ignored the calls of better-placed colleagues to try and chip the goalkeeper, and his effort wafted beyond the far angle.

Dyer then burst through to crack his drive against the underside of the bar, Lombardo appealing that it had crossed the line on its way down before being cleared behind.

Watson made sure of the three points in the final seconds, flicking over Dyer's downward header from the most awkward angle.

Teams

Crystal Palace: Miller, Edworthy, Gordon, Roberts, Tuttle, Linighan, Lombardo, Warhurst, Dyer, Rodger, Muscat.

Subs: Shipperley, Veart, Nash, Hreidarsson, Fullarton.

Barnsley: Watson, Eaden, Appleby, Sheridan, Moses, De Zeeuw, Hendrie, Redfearn, Wilkinson, Bullock, Barnard.

Subs: Leese, Marcelle, Liddell, Bosancic, Hristov.

Referee: N Barry (Scunthorpe)

sorry to burst your bubbles....

2009-01-04T21:55:00.000-07:00

hey look what i found at triggur

NOOR FARIDAH

Expression
Noor Faridah is empowered by hurting other peoples' feelings.
oh yeah, i get this a lot! twice this year. but i didn't do it on purpose. honest! ;)

Personality
Noor Faridah is a shivering ball of rage waiting to explode.
NOT TRUE!

Natural
Noor Faridah is a genetic freak of nature.
ngehahahahaha

Emotional
Noor Faridah hates happy people.
that is a lie!

Character
Noor faridah is a pessimistic whiner.
well....

okay, no friday5 this week as the questions are all...well, not fun.

okay this guy, in my class, whom i have a crush on asked me out for a drink justnow. but i said no mainly because of my alter-ego asked me to say so. nak jual mahal la konon! cheh! okay i think i've given you enough details. i better stop before i made a complete fool outta myself. i am a fool am i not? ngeahahaha. *ngork baby*

enamiix will be getting his porsche boxter in two years time. lucky him! i want a red mini cooper! ngeahahahaha.

i'm so happy! *dances*

i think i'm a pathological liar.

multiple personality disorder is freaky!

esp is fun. i wish i have esp!

2009-01-02T01:54:00.000-07:00

Am in Ude's room rite now waiting for quant lab. submitting my lab report and checking out from that lab forever, ever, ever today!! yeay!! thanks a lot coz this semester is going to end. and not going to the banquet coz i dont feel good.

Ways to get a woman naked!

2008-12-03T15:48:00.001-07:00

* Picture her as a banana: peel her!
* Hypnosis.
* Set her clothes on fire.
* Convince her a spider or something creepy is in there with her.
* Unleash a swarm of starving moths.
* Try putting on her clothes while she's still wearing them.
* Crank the heat up.
* Lube her up and she'll slide right out.

Is 'Genuine Windows Validation' a Good Thing?

2008-11-15T13:02:00.000-07:00

Windows XP Professional

Microsoft announced it will require "genuine Windows validation" in mid-2005 for anyone running Windows XP or Windows 2000 Professional who attempts to download security patches manually. Users of other operating systems, and those who obtain security patches automatically via enabling Automatic Updates, will be exempt for now.

"Genuine Windows validation" involves determining whether or not the operating system has been purchased legally or not. The process, similar to Windows Activation, does not require the consumer to divulge private information to Microsoft.

Some of the media coverage about this speculates that preventing illegal copies of Windows from obtaining patches is going to make for a huge number of compromised systems. This idea is, to say the least, hilarious. It makes the assumption that someone running an illegal copy is more likely to get patches via manual downloads than Automatic Updates. I don't think so!

The problem is that most people don't get any updates at all, whether their installation is legal or not. I see no reason that Microsoft's shareholders should continue to allow illegal copies of Windows to run at all, but no doubt a large number of people who have such copies installed don't even know they've got an illegal OS in the first place.

They got it when they bought a cheap PC, or purchased the OS separately from a store that had bogus stock.

No doubt eventually Microsoft will make "genuine Windows validation" mandatory for all security updates, and no doubt there are some who fear that eventuality also. My response to that concern is equally simple -- get a legal copy before it happens. If withholding security updates makes for greater compliance with the law, then so be it.

Legal? How to tell.

Not posted for while...

2008-10-24T01:34:00.000-06:00

Been busy..thats why i need others to contribute. 200 and odd hits and still no emails asking to join, oh well! I might get the message soon...end of season looms and nothing to play for....clear out expected in summer i should imagine...but Mr Hart will bring in his own...QPR match was one of best this season....bloke behind me wragged me all over when we went 3-2 up....never spoke to him before....ahhhh the beauty of football allows you to touch people that you never touched before....ah thats gotta be worth the ?270 a season. Nardis gone now....no possible signing by the sounds of things.....good luck nardi...you've been a good highlight of a half decent season.

Next seasons away kit officially black...looks good. Better than some we've had. I say bring back the stars from the 80's shaw carpet sponsored shirt...or was it hayseldens????

7 years ago last Monday....we were the best team that walked the earth.

A delerious saturday

2008-08-06T01:05:00.000-06:00

Today Ashok,Gsb,sandeep [and ofcourse me!] got together to visit the visvesvaraya museum.Sandeep came over to my place and we rode to the museum. Ashok joined us at the museum. so did gsb but, As usual he made us wait! . The ground floor at the museum hosted the engine room. On display were gears,valves, two stroke , four stroke engines, air craft engine donated by rolls royce, cochran boiler donated by our own college UVCE. The energy balls were also a delight to watch though i thought they could have been maintained better. On the first floor was the fun science room. It had some good exhibits such as an apparatus to find the reaction time of the body, whispering disc where we could observe the sound waves reflection. Also the electronics section contained some of the oldest mainframes from IBM 1401, 1402. Then we headed out to the restaurent "Mainland china" on st. Marks road which was suggested by Ashok. we had rice, noodles [chinese restaurant!], veg. fried wonton, spicy and almond soup. It was good.An interesting thing about this place was that it had mirrors on one side which was difficult to notice and ashok and i were thinking it was a big restaurant!!. It was 3:30 PM and were unable to get the ticket for mumbai matinee which ashok was very eager to see.So we went to planet M on brigade road. we spent 2 hrs !! inside it. It contained some good music, of all kinds from regional to games. I bought myself a cassette "Nature collection :vitality " the music to keep you going while sandeep got himself "Nature collection : unwind" the music to relax the mind. Ashok , gsb and sandeep were on a shopping spree. each of them got a couple of cassettes. Some of them which i remember are "carpenters : gsb", " pt. ravishankar : ashok", "romantic flute : ashok" , "golden flute : sandeep".
Then we all headed back home. If i did not have the task of getting my sister her honda activa then probably we would have ended up seeing mumbai matinee

john mayer - message in a bottle

2008-06-21T23:27:00.000-06:00

took jeeyoung to her first walnut high school football game today! yeah too bad not many people were there so it wasn't that fun. school sucks even more than i thought. i give up on trying to do well & participate in french CLASS. the only thing that keeps me in there is my desire to learn french >:(

yeah whatever no one likes a whiner. oh and EvERYONE must read the SCENE section of the first issue of the hoofprint because i designed it! and it is beautiful! text-wrapping and fantabulous headlines! :) plus the content is good (except for SOME stuff).

And he can't understand
how everyone goes on breathing when true love ends
His mother whispers quietly...
Heaven's not a place that you go when you die
It's that moment in life when you actually feel alive
So live for the moment
And take this advice, live by every word
Love is just a hoax so forget everything that you have heard (forget everything)
the spill canvas - tide

can't keep my cool

2008-03-04T02:17:00.000-07:00

Ambition; 10 years from now...

Q: Married or free-soul?
married

Q: If married, at what age??
28

Q: Kids? (M/F)
2; one of each

Q: Pets?
a fat russian cat

Q: Home country?
subang; so i can be near mima and pipa. or maldive; just for the beauty of it.

Q: House or apartment?
a house.

Q: Near beach or mountain?
beach

Q: Describe it
tuscany style. with outdoor rain shower and jacuzzi.

Q: Music that plays in your living room?
depends on the mood

Q: What's on your bookshelf?
novels. self help. cooking book. magazines.

Q: What's in your fridge?
food la...

Q: Personal car or public transport?
personal

Q: If personal car, what is it?
a car that could state the fact that 'I AM STABLE!'

Q: Own your company or be a common worker?
own one.

Q: If it's your own, what are they?
a publishing house maybe

Q: PC or Mac?
Mac all the way baybee!

Q: Describe your working place
nice working environment. nice people around.

Q: Fashion on work?
hmm...

Q: City you'd visit often for business?
all over.

Q: For pleasure?
pangkor island. jumeira island in dubai. datai in langkawi.

Last question:
Q: Where and what are you doing 10 years from
now?
well, i would certainly hope that i will have a job, own a house, own a car, a massive amount of money in my account, a good husband, kids, still in contact with tyiara, stef and sofia.

Superdad and Vomit in Paradise

2007-12-02T10:39:00.000-07:00

I guess it's inevitable. Now that daughter goes to preschool, it seems that we pick up all kinds of viruses and such that make us all violently ill. Before the past couple of months, throwing up was not a regular part of my existence. Apparently it is now.

Kids throw up easily. They just do it, and they feel better and go back to sleep. They don't fight it. We grown-ups, on the other hand, fight the urge and dread the experience so much that I think we draw out the process even longer. After the last 13 hours, I can definitely say that the thought is much worse than the actual experience. And once you get last night's dinner out of the way, the dry heaves don't even have to make you get out of bed. What's Gladware for after all? We can have a couple of vomit bowls in every room so we don't even have to go looking for a receptacle. ("Use it, reuse it and you can still afford to lose it." If only they knew.)

Superdad helped us all through the whole night. Maybe he was energized by the short but sweet lovemaking we did last night. I like to watch the Amazing Race, and last night was the premiere. It reminds me of many of our "vacations" in various countries. It's fun to see that others devolve into yelling, sobbing and throwing maps at each other when they get frustrated too. Superdad had been more than a little pouty after going all of about one week without sex. Of course that week included my period, a three-night camping trip where sex is pretty much impossible in close quarters, and an overnight visit from his parents where they slept in our playbed. I guess he got so used to the everyday routine that a week just about killed him. Anyway, we made everybody happy with a nice half-hour session and then watched the show.

Shortly after we had gone to sleep, I heard daughter sobbing. I have to admit that I figured it was just a bad dream, and I did not jump up and rush to her side. I waited. The sobbing continued. I called to Jay, but he was out cold. So I got up and found most of the partially digested remnants of last night's dinner in daughter's hair. She was shivering. I started on the clean up. Jay woke up a few minutes later and joined the party, getting daughter into a warm shower to clean up and warm up. We got the linens changed and got daughter back into bed. The heaving sessions continued and Jay stayed with her.

I was feeling a bit weak so I headed back to bed with son. I should have known. A short while later I made a mad dash to the bathroom to expel my own dinner. Half-digested spinach salad is one scary sight. I spent a fun night with son in our bed nursing him and waking up to shove a bowl under his face or my own as we both periodically heaved. We did get some sleep too though.

Superdad didn't sleep much as daughter continued to heave most of the night. To the extent that he slept, he did so on a crib mattress on the floor of daughter's room. A crib mattress does not do much to support 160 pounds of Superdad.

Superdad's flaw is, of course, his propensity to sympathy vomit. He fought it off all night long, but he's still shaking in his supershoes, fearing what might be to come.

But Superdad came through for us all. He stayed home from work to care for the family. He's got the laundry going non-stop. And he's currently amusing daughter with art projects in the kitchen. She could do art projects all day so that's no small feat. I've kept down a Coke for a good hour and son insisted on eating an orange, so we may be seeing the light.

Thank you, Superdad. I knew you would come through for us. Maybe if I can get the smell of vomit off my breath we can take advantage of the afternoon at home later.

2007-11-20T08:09:00.000-07:00

Melbourne's Finest:
My Mom's chili
Sister's cornbread
beaches
Dad's porkchops
BASKIN ROBBINS
Having one of my best friends (aka Jessica Goodwin) here!*

*She did fantastic on her meet today! Big Ups to her!!

2007-11-01T20:19:00.000-06:00

Had some extreme deadly nightmare these past few days. I wonder what do those dreams mean. Maybe its time for me to go. Or maybe one of my family. To all the people who have been reading my blog ever since, thanks a bunch and a sincere apology goes to y'all. I hope life will be better.

2007-09-04T01:48:00.000-06:00

i rented emma today and i despite my hate for gwenyth paltrow, i loved it! i was really surprised how much "clueless" followed the plot of emma. makes me want to read it now! and damn i wish i had a mr. knightley. sadly, i have no male childhood friends, so my hopes are shot.

anyways my mom has been going through my dvd collection lately in an effort to "learn some english." and she asked me why i haven't been trying to buy movies hoping she won't notice, and i replied that she told me i couldn't anymore. so she thought about it and was like "okay, you can buy movies, but not too much or too expensive, and they better be good." as if anything i buy is untasteful :D but yeah, that was really cool. haven't bought anything yet b/c i'm still cheap and waiting for those good deals to come around. my movie collection is pretty complete at the moment..though emma would be a nice addition to have with my clueless dvd. hmm..... :)

Boldly gone: 'Star Trek: Enterprise' cancelled

2007-07-29T01:01:00.001-06:00

UPN announced Wednesday that it would not renew "Star Trek: Enterprise" for a fifth season.

"Enterprise" will end its run on Jul 13, thus bringing to a close 18 years of "Star Trek" spinoffs on TV.

Though "Enterprise" had struggled with low ratings during its fourth season, the timing of UPN's announcement came as something of a surprise to fans. Networks typically announce cancellations or renewals in Jun or Jul.

"I'm surprised they announced it this soon," said Steve Krutzler, editor of Trekweb.com. "Now that the series [has] gotten good, I'm really going to miss it," said a user on TrekToday.com's message boards.

Though UPN entertainment president Dawn Ostroff said recently that "we're very happy with the ideas and execution" of the show, "Enterprise's" cancellation was widely expected.

The show had been moved to Fridays from Wednesdays at the start of the fall season, and Leslie Moonves, co-president and co-chief operating officer of Viacom, the parent company of UPN, said at a January press event that "Star Trek" "may be a franchise that should be rested a year or two."

The last few episodes of "Enterprise" were its lowest-rating outings; the Jan. 28 episode garnered 2.5 million viewers, "Enterprise's" smallest audience ever.

The series also has faced stiff competition on Fridays in recent weeks from Sci Fi Channel's "Stargate SG-1," which on Jan. 28 performed better than "Enterprise" in certain key demographics, according to a Sci Fi press release.

Two fan groups had actually been working to save "Enterprise" before the cancellation was even announced, but many followers of the sci-fi franchise were philosophical about the demise of the series.

"There probably need to be a few years off," Krutzler said. "There probably need to be some new people coming in who are interested in going forward in a different direction."

"It's sad from cultural perspective that this chapter has come to an end," Krutzler added. "But maybe it will come back better."

Executive producer Manny Coto told the Tribune in December that if UPN did greenlight a fifth season of "Enterprise," he had ambitious plans for it.

As the fourth season closes, "we'll be headed toward the founding of the Federation," Coto said. "I would love to make that a season-long arc… It becomes an arc about trying to bring different cultures together which is a really resonant idea for our time. I would love to come back and we would do some serious research on the founding of the UN, how that came together."

"Enterprise" will make its debut in syndication in the fall, and executives at Paramount Television say more is in store for "Star Trek."

"All of us at Paramount warmly bid goodbye to `Enterprise,' and we all look forward to a new chapter of this enduring franchise in the future," David Stapf, president of Paramount Network Television, said in a statement.

The original "Star Trek" series ran from 1966-'69. "Star Trek: The Next Generation," which debuted in 1987, ran seven seasons, as did "Star Trek: Voyager" and "Star Trek: Deep Space Nine." At times, there were two "Trek" series on the air.

shit happens...

2007-05-24T01:16:00.000-06:00

You can fool some people sometimes
But you cant fool all the people all the time..heh

oh, i just have to tell you that, you're not as bad at being a fool yourself kan? because you let me fooled you!

you're so full of it, why don't you just drop dead?

Irish prostitute

2007-04-15T15:16:00.000-06:00

An Irish girl returned home to her family after a five-year absence. When she walked through the door, her father cursed at her, "Where have ye been all this time? Why did ye not write to us, not even a line? Why didn't ye call? Can ye not understand what ye put yer old ma thru?"

The girl burst into tears and wailed, "I am sore sorry, Da! I...I became a prostitute, and I was ashamed..."

"Ye WHAT!!?" Her father roared. "Out with ye, shameless harlot! Sinner! You're a disgrace to this family!"

"Ye'r right, Da, I'll leave. I just wanted to give mum this luxurious fur coat, title deed to a ten-bedroom mansion plus a savings certificate for $5 million."

"Ye what?" Her father asked, astounded.

"And this solid gold Rolex for me little brother," the girl continued, "...and for ye daddy, that sparkling new Mercedes limited edition convertible yonder, plus a membership to the country club..." she started towards the door and added, "And if ye decide someday to forgive me, I wanted to invite everyone to spend New Years' Eve on board my new yacht in the Riviera."

"What was it ye said ye had become?" her father asked.

"A prostitute, Da! I'm sorry." And she opened the door to leave.

"Oh, Jesus!" Her father exclaimed. "Ye scared me half to death, girl! I thought ye said a Protestant. Come here and give yer old man a hug."

The Prank

2007-04-15T15:14:00.000-06:00

By Lisa Papademetriou

Here's one activity I'll have to leave off my college applications, Lexi thought as she shifted in her seat. The unofficial Prank Committee was meeting. Every year, tradition calls for a few seniors at Stanforth Academy to pull a practical joke on the school. It isn't exactly a school-sanctioned activity, but it isn't forbidden either. Which is why Lexi was now sitting at the Big Blend, sipping a smoothie and listening to the others discuss prank options. "No way can we loosen the bolts on every single school desk in one night," Carl was saying. He was the smartest guy in the class. If there were an election, he'd be voted Most Unlikely to Get Busted, which is why he was perfect for the prank.

"I like Tate's idea," Suzan chirped. She had red streaks in her hair today, to match her red-and-black paisley tights. Suzan was borderline goth, but — oddly enough — she had tons of school spirit. She was Lexi's best friend and the reason Lexi had agreed to help with the prank. "Let's go with that," Suzan said with a nod, "and soap flakes in the pool."

"Soap flakes are environmentally unfriendly," said a girl named Cat. "And I'm not sure it's ethical to bring a goat into the school." Lexi shot Suzan a sideways look. In her batik tie-dyed shirt and ripped jeans, Cat looked like a poster child for Earth First. She was president of the school's animal-rights group, and Lexi wasn't exactly sure how she ended up on the Prank Committee. "Why don't we just do what they did last year?" Cat suggested.

"Oh, please," Tate said, waving his hand dismissively. "That was so lame."

Even though she agreed, Lexi gritted her teeth. Tate could be amazingly annoying. OK, truth: She and Tate had a history. He'd placed a rubber snake in her lunch bag in third grade, and Lexi retaliated by smearing peanut butter in his gym shoes. They had never really gotten along since then, which was why Lexi was tempted to argue with him now. She resisted the urge.

"I agree," Suzan put in. "So the lunch tables were out in the quad — big deal."

"And the year before that, the prank didn't even make sense," Lexi added. The seniors stole the cafeteria's silverware — forcing everyone to eat with their fingers. Unfortunately, they had done it on pizza day so it lacked punch. "We need to go all-out this year. Forget soap flakes — let's use dye in the pool," Lexi suggested. "Green, maybe?"

Tate gave her an approving glance. He had razor-sharp features — a nose fit to slice bread, distinctly high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. His black hair often flopped over his right eye, as it did now. "Great idea, Lexi. And the goat will be fine," he added, "He belongs to my uncle. Believe me — I'll make sure he doesn't get hurt."

Suzan looked at Cat with lifted eyebrows. "Sound OK?"

Cat shrugged. "I'll buy the dye," she offered. "I know where I can get some that's made from plant extracts."

Slurping the end of her blueberry-and-wheatgrass drink, Suzan put the cup down and grinned. "Perfect!"

"Where's Suzan?" Tate asked three days later from the top step of the side entrance, readying to start the prank.

"She'll be here," Carl assured him as he cupped his hands around his eyes and looked through the glass doors. "She'd better be. She's got the keys."

"How did she get them?" Tate asked.

Lexi shrugged. "Last Christmas, she gave the janitor a box of chocolates that her parents had bought for the teachers. They've been friends ever since."

"Man, it wasn't easy to get Henry here." Tate cast a glance at the goat, who was standing at the end of a rope. "I thought he was going to chew off half the upholstery in my brother's car." As if to prove Tate's point, the goat leaned over to nibble the cuff of his jeans.

"This dye wasn't cheap," Cat added.

Even though it was nearing the end of May, Lexi shivered inside her sweat-shirt. It was 7 o'clock, and the sun had set. Light shone dimly from street lamps at the curb's edge. The ancient oak trees at the front of the school cast nearby shadows. Stanforth Academy was an old building with a massive limestone entrance, but it didn't have much charm. Now, in the almost-dark, it seemed sinister, like a jail. "This place is giving me the creeps," Lexi said.

A single white light cut through the darkness and into the parking lot. "That's Suzan's Vespa," Lexi said.

Suzan loped across the lawn. "You got it!" she cried when she saw the goat, which made everyone else realize they had been whispering.

"Bring the keys?" Tate asked.

Suzan jingled them. "Bingo!" she said as a key slipped into the lock. She gave it a twist and shoved the door open.

Footsteps echoed against the floor as the pranksters hustled down the hall and up the stairs. "OK, Lexi and Tate, you guys know what to do," Suzan said as she unlocked Mr. Sparks' history classroom. "We're headed to the gym. Once you're done, get out as fast as you can. I'll make sure the side exit is locked up."

Lexi gave her friend a wistful wave as Suzan let the door swing closed. She wished she could head to the pool with the others instead of staying with Tate. But Carl insisted that she and Tate were the funniest in the group, so they were to write all over Mr. Sparks' whiteboards — stuff like, I learned more about history when I was back on the farm! As if the goat had written it.

"Look!" Tate said, pointing at what he'd just written: Smells better in the shed!

Lexi snorted. "Hilarious," she said.

Tate frowned. "What have you got?"

History books: taste great, less filling, she scribbled. "That's ba-aa-aa-ad," Tate bleated, goat-like. Lexi threw an eraser at him, and he ducked, laughing.

They wrote a few more, and finally Tate said, "OK, let's get out of here."

"See you later, Henry," Lexi said to the goat. She put her hand on the doorknob. It didn't move. She tried again.

"What's up?" Tate asked.

"I think it's locked." Lexi shoved her shoulder against the door. Nothing.

"Let me try."

"It's locked," Lexi repeated. "You can't do anything."

Shoving her aside, Tate grasped the handle. Then he banged on the door. "It's locked," he said.

Lexi rolled her eyes. "I just said that."

Tate spun to face her. "Why didn't you make sure it was open before Suzan took off with the keys?"

"Like this is my fault?" Lexi said. "This goat thing was your idea!"

Tate opened his mouth, and Lexi prepared herself for a cutting comment. But he took a deep breath and said, "How are we going to get out of here?"

They turned toward the windows. "It's three floors up," Lexi said.

"Maybe we could tie my jacket to your sweatshirt," he suggested. "We could jump the rest of the way."

"That's the dumbest idea ever," Lexi told him as a loud thud sounded behind them. Henry was trying to nose his way into a desk and had succeeded in shoving it against the wall. "Besides," Lexi went on, trying to ignore the goat, "the windows don't even open all the way."

"We could break one," Tate said.

"And climb through broken glass?"

"Got a better idea?"

Lexi glanced around the room. Her heart was pounding. Suddenly, her eyes lasered in on a possible solution. "Transom!" she cried, looking up at the small window over the door.

"Genius!" Tate said. "I'll give you a boost." Interlacing his fingers, he nodded for Lexi to put her foot in his hands.

She winced, but there was no other way. At least, not one she could think of. She kicked off her shoes, grimaced at the hole in the toe of her left sock, and put her right foot in his hands.

"I'll lift you on three," Tate said. "One, two, three…"

Lexi reached for the edge of the transom, wrapping her fingers around it. Tate shoved her upward while she struggled to pull herself through.

Tate grunted. "You can do it!"

Her arms shook with effort as her chin reached the ledge, then her head went through- "I can't!"

"Come on, you have to!" Tate pushed up against her legs.

She flailed like a frog and pulled harder. "I can't do it, Tate!" Lexi snapped. "Let me down!"

"No!"

"Let me down!" She kicked at him, then fell to the floor in a heap.

Henry looked up. He gave her a puzzled look, then bent back over the pencil box he had been investigating.

"What now?" Tate asked, sinking to the floor beside her.

"Maybe I could boost you" she said.

Tate gave it some thought. "I could probably pull myself through," he said. "Do you think you could lift me?"

"Clearly, I'm incredibly weak," Lexi said dryly, making Tate smile. "But maybe you could stand on a desk and pull yourself up a little. Then I'll push you the rest of the way."

So Tate pulled and Lexi pushed. He lifted himself higher, higher, then he was through. "Oh, crap!" he shouted as Lexi gave him a shove that sent him over the edge, head first. He landed with a thud.

"Are you OK?" Lexi shouted.

Tate's head popped up. He gave her a smile, and Lexi's head felt light. We're getting out of here, she thought. It worked. We're going to get…

And that's when Tate ran off.

For a few minutes, Lexi couldn't believe what had just happened. He'd ditched her! He'd just left her here to spend the night alone with a goat in a creepy classroom. Lexi felt her blood boil and a sudden urge to strangle someone. Tate was the prime target, of course, but at this point, she'd settle for Suzan — the one who had gotten her into this.

Lexi climbed on top of the desk and tried again to pull herself up again. Her arms throbbed. It was useless.

She sat on the floor while Henry munched a page from the Flannigan-Murtry Guide to American History: Teacher's Edition. She lay down in front of Mr. Sparks' desk, imagining what Tate would tell Suzan. Probably something like, "Lexi had to go home. She said to tell you she'd see you tomorrow."

Why did I ever trust him? she thought. Why? But for a moment, they had been a team. Everything else — the arguments, the rubber snake, the peanut butter, all of that — had disappeared.

Now, she was going to get blamed for the goat and probably the pool dye, too.

She looked at the clock. Ten past 9. Halt an hour had passed since Tate had left. Only 10 hours and 50 minutes until Mr. Sparks unlocks his room and discovers her…with a goat.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Lexi sat up straight as the door swung open. Tate stood there, water dripping from his face and trickling onto the beige carpet, turning it a bluish-green. Suzan was right behind him.

"Sorry!" Suzan said brightly. "There were technical difficulties at the pool."

"I thought you weren't coming!" Lexi cried as she scrambled to her feet. She glared at Tate. "Why didn't you open the door before?"

"It was locked — both sides," Tate explained. "I had to get the keys. Sorry it took so long." A drop of water dripped from the tip of his nose.

"Why are you both wet?" Lexi asked.

Suzan snorted. "Oh, that lousy dye Cat got," she said. "She poured it in, and it sank, making a solid-green splotch on the bottom of the pool. We were wondering what to do when Tate showed up. He said we should jump in and kick the water until it spread around."

"My legs are killing me," Tate complained. But he was smiling.

Suzan swiped her wet red-and-black bangs from her face. "Let's get outta here," she said with a grin.

Lexi waved to the goat. Tate flipped off the lights, and Suzan locked the door. "I can't wait for tomorrow morning," she said as they squished and squeaked down the hallway.

As they stepped outside, Lexi breathed in the cool night air. Mission accomplished, she thought. Carl and Cat had already left. "I guess that's it!" Suzan said. She gave Lexi a damp hug, then took off on her Vespa.

"Did you really think I wasn't coming back?" Tate asked Lexi.

"I didn't know," she admitted.

"I wouldn't do that to you."

It took all of Lexi's strength not to blurt, "Are you kidding me?" But she could see Tate was serious. "I'm sorry," she said at last. "I just got worried."

Tate nodded. "Come on," he said. "I'll drive you home." He unlocked the passenger door to his brother's Jetta and held it open for her.

"I can't wait for tomorrow. Everyone will be shocked! A green pool — and a goat in history class!" he said as he slid into the driver's seat.

"Yeah," Lexi responded. "You sure are full of surprises."

"We are," Tate corrected. He grinned, his teeth flashing white in the darkness. "We're a team."

He looked so happy that Lexi just couldn't help laughing. Tate Islip and Lexi Jones, a team? It was hard to believe. But he'd come through for her. When she least expected it.

"I guess we are," she said at last.

Lexi is helping to plan a surprise that will shock the school … but is the joke on her?

"We need to go all out. Forget soap — let's dye the pool," Lexi suggested. "Green, maybe?"

Lexi couldn't believe what happened. He'd left her to spend the night with a goat.

Kansas

2007-03-04T01:08:00.000-07:00

By Antonya Nelson

The girls left early, the two-year-old being driven to Montessori by her seventeen-year-old cousin. Three of their four parents lay in bed hungover; the fourth had risen unsteadily to fix breakfast, nauseated by her new pregnancy. Standing dazed at the stove, Anna had felt grateful to her niece, Kay-Kay, for her morning cheer, her willingness to dress little Cherry Sue, settle her in at the table, wash her face and hands--one of them bound in a bright-green cast--and then carry her off to school. Cherry Sue had been singing about babies, waving her bandaged fist like a maraca. She sang about everything these days, gesturing wildly, as if her life were a musical.

"Don't forget her plug," Anna told Kay-Kay, meaning the pacifier.

"My plug, my plug," Cherry Sue chorused.

Anna was in despair about her second pregnancy, and furious with her husband, Ian, for having announced it to everyone. Now she had no choice. In her daughter's songs the new baby already had a name--'No White or Toto--and everyone at Montessori had congratulated Anna. She was still exhausted from having Cherry Sue, who had only this month finally been weaned--by force. Just when Anna had thought she might actually repossess her body, here she was a hostage again. In more ways than one. Having another child with Ian meant that she was further delayed in leaving him. If it weren't for Cherry Sue, she and her husband would have gone their separate ways years ago, but now their fates seemed impossibly knotted. He refused to use condoms, and he failed to withdraw because he wanted her pregnant; the baby was a weapon that he could plant like a bomb. Cherry Sue loved him, and so would the new child; children didn't know any better. He was like the Devil, Anna thought: somebody who kept his deceits hidden until it was too late, until you were already implicated in them.

"Bye, Aunt Anna," Kay-Kay said, with Cherry Sue hoisted on her hip, riding her cousin like a horse. Anna sniffed sentimentally. The girls were the only two people in the house who got along a hundred per cent of the time. Often mistaken for sisters (even, alarmingly, for mother and daughter), they were both fair and freckled, light-eyed, and plump in a healthy way.

"Bye-bye, Mama," Cherry Sue sang out. "Don't cry, Mama."

"Don't cry," Kay-Kay joined in, smiling brightly. Four years ago, her adolescence had descended on the household like a lit match in a powder keg. Now the disaster had passed. Gone were the frightening clothes, the angry music, the Sharpie-marker makeup. Restored was the pretty child who bathed every day and made conversation with her family.

"Goodbye," Anna said, sighing and waving at the girls.

It was a sunny day in Wichita, the birds were pouring their hearts out in trees just beginning to bud, and Anna fell asleep in the back-yard hammock, waking later with a sunburn, the skin on the backs of her thighs imprinted with hemp netting like a rump roast.

The family cell-phone plan had seven subscribers, their numbers each one digit apart. Kay-Kay's was the easiest to remember, 246-2460, and she was the one most frequently called.

Her father, Henry, often forgot to turn on his phone or to charge it; he left it places--restaurants or jacket pockets. (Cherry Sue carried around one of his phones that had gone through the wash.) Henry was the oldest parent in the house, fifty-eight, a psychiatrist, a mild man who let life happen to him, let the people he loved talk him into things--like cell phones or children or trampolines. This was his third marriage, and his wife, Emily, Anna's sister, was a generation younger than he. He kept marrying women in their twenties, having a daughter with them, then divorcing. Probably this would be his last marriage and daughter; he'd stayed in this one the longest, seeing Kay-Kay into puberty and beyond. The other girls he'd left when they were still in grade school, two half sisters whom Kay-Kay barely knew. One had married a cop. The other was a lesbian whose lover had been a patient of her father's. Wichita was just that size, big enough for lesbians and psychoanalysis, small enough for impractical, coincidental cross-pollination.

Anna and Emily's mother--known to everyone in the family as Nana--remembered to carry her cell phone with her, but she often mistook it for other objects: the TV remote, a radio, her glasses case. Nana lived across town in a condo that she left only on Tuesdays, when she made her "rounds": hairdresser, physician, bridge club, grocery. Occasionally, Kay-Kay stayed over at her grandmother's. That had been one of her dodges, during the time of trouble--saying that she was with Nana when she was simply at large. She had also thrown parties at Nana's condo, Tuesday-afternoon blowouts, where she shared with her friends the old woman's pharmaceuticals and liquor. Some late nights she had sneaked off with Nana's car. For Christmas this year, however, Kay-Kay had embroidered a set of pillowcases for her grandmother, with bluebells and daisies, sheep and a shepherdess, and "I Love Nana" in rose-colored thread. The rest of the family was still taking in this revised self, this hellion turned hausfrau.

Emily and Anna had programmed into their cell phones the identical ring-tone for Kay-Kay's calls, an assaulting electronic jangle that ended on a sour interrogative. Recently they had discussed changing it, since it no longer seemed to suit Kay-Kay. She had become someone more dulcet, they said. They had yet to settle on a new Kay-Kay ringtone, though they were reminded of the need every time the girl called, setting off that noise that never failed to startle.

Ian's phone had a lock on its functions. Because he violated others' privacy, he assumed that they would violate his. He had his phone in his possession at all hours, clasped in his palm like a gun. It was set to vibrate so that he alone would know when he'd been summoned. When Kay-Kay had stolen his cocaine stash, Ian had been frustratingly unable to report the theft to anyone but his wife. In debt himself--to Anna and her family, to his boss, to all his friends--he'd felt especially outraged. He was owed, by somebody: an apology, a sum of money, carte blanche.

The seventh phone belonged to Kay-Kay's ex-boyfriend Wesley. For two years Wesley had lived in the house, eighteen when he moved in, yet not in any way an adult; Kay-Kay, only fifteen back then, had seemed more mature. Wesley's parents were divorced, living in different states; he had no real home of his own, no address or phone number. Including him on the family plan cost an extra $9.99 a month: nothing, really. Henry paid the bills without giving them much thought. He was generous by nature. And, as a therapist, he made a lot of money, his life financed by other people's troubles. Why shouldn't he contribute to the welfare of his daughter's boyfriend? When Wesley had needed a root canal, it was Emily who made the appointment. The family had coached him on his A.C.T.s, and he still stopped by to consult about perplexing pieces of the grownup world--student loans or car insurance. He was a working boy who had loved Kay-Kay dearly, and who, when he lived in the house, had kindly tolerated her teasing, about her status as a minor and his as a statutory rapist. Now he had a new girlfriend, Lucy, who was exactly-- exactly--like the Kay-Kay they'd known three years ago. She even sounded like the old Kay-Kay whenever she happened to answer Wesley's phone--sullen, stoned, suicidal. For just a second, you could be fooled, suddenly jerked back into the nightmare.

Midmorning, Emily rolled out of bed. In the kitchen she found the usual mess: Anna's sloppy breakfast makings, eggshells, milk left out to spoil, as well as the residue of the previous night's drinking--empty bottles and glasses, a crusty bowl of salsa, the tart odor of pickle juice, desiccated cheese rinds. Emily muttered as she ran hot water. She had been forever in this role: a mother first to her little sister, through their childhood and beyond, then to her husband, and then, of course, to Kay-Kay. Now, since Ian had declared bankruptcy and he, Anna, and Cherry Sue had moved in, she was a mother to her brother-in-law and her niece as well. And then there was Nana, who seemed more and more in need of mothering herself--unpleasant mothering, of the variety that involved wheedling and deception, and that would soon include feeding and diapering.

Responsibility was plaguing. Sometimes, to fight it, Emily was purposely irresponsible--she drank too much. She enjoyed drinking, the bright pup of the wine bottle relinquishing its cork, the gentle bell of stemware leaving the rack, the silly conversation over snacks and music, her brother-in-law showing his most tolerable self in service to the party, Henry just so happy to see everybody get along.

Emily had turned forty a week before. She hadn't thought she'd mind it, but evidently she did.

She drank cold water, then hot coffee. Some days, there was nothing but fluid.

Kay-Kay had left her school binder behind in a pool of syrup on the kitchen table. Emily pried it off and carried it upstairs to her daughter's bedroom, where she stood at the door. For years she'd snooped in Kay-Kay's life, read her diary, slit open the seams of her coat, turned over the dresser drawers, shoved a hand between the mattress and the box spring. She didn't want to do those things anymore. Suspicion was soul-killing. She told herself that Kay-Kay deserved her trust. She tossed the binder onto the bed and shut the door.

Sometimes at noon Kay-Kay came home from school. For a while, last fall, as she began her climb out of rage and wretchedness, she had brought friends back with her for lunch. She'd been proud of her quirky home life then, proud of her rambling old house with its many airy rooms, a place where you might come across her Aunt Anna sunbathing nude on the porch, or her father brandishing a civilized glass of Merlot at midday. "For my heart," he would say. "Purely medicinal." At noon, her boyfriend, Wesley, would be rising, zipping himself into his coveralls, ready for his shift at the lube pit; cute Cherry Sue would be humming in her high chair, Emily serving up lasagna or soup. It was a capacious kitchen, with a dining table made from an ancient farmhouse door, eight expectant chairs. Flowers in vases, fruit in bowls, cursing in the conversation.

But these days Kay-Kay mostly came home alone. She was getting ready to leave: high school, her friends, this house. Her future, Emily hoped, held college, Europe, Africa; what else had they been prepping--as well as preserving--her for but departure? Once upon a time, Emily had believed that she would do these things herself: attend Harvard, adopt orphans, observe the world from the basket of a hot-air balloon. But then she'd fallen in love with Henry--scandalously her elder, and married, to boot--and then with this funky old house, and then her daughter had been born… .

Today, Kay-Kay didn't come home for lunch.

Indulging his hangover, Henry rose from bed only long enough to cancel his appointments and lumber back. Fridays were half days anyway. Emily doubted that he'd even opened his eyes between bed and phone. He was a bear, gruff, kind, loyal to a fault. He had grown soft in their nineteen years together; she was his last wife, he always said, last and best. He'd had a starter wife for practice, and another for refining his skills. Now he performed with forbearance, faith, and patience, permitting Emily to be the hotheaded one while he stood by.

"Admit it!" Emily had accused him crazily on her fortieth birthday. "I'm the oldest woman you've ever slept with! Old women are witches! No one even notices them, let alone finds them attractive. You don't find old women attractive, admit it!"

"Not yet," he'd confessed mildly.

Still woozy now, Emily decided to join him in bed, nudging herself against his furry chest. They lay together into the afternoon, bound in a cocoon of indolence: it was spring again, and they had arrived here with their girl, after a long, treacherous journey, and it seemed that only now, just now, were they safely out of the woods. Henry slept, wheezing, and Emily lay in his arms, and it wasn't until three o'clock, when Anna borrowed Emily's car to pick up Cherry Sue, that anyone realized that something was wrong.

"You phoned this morning," Miss Juliet said, proving it by producing the form with the time, Anna's name, and the fact that Cherry Sue wouldn't be coming to school today. All the Misses at Montessori had the same voice, blameless and assured. If Cherry Sue wasn't there it wasn't their fault.

Kay-Kay's cell phone sent all calls immediately to voice mail. Her greeting was a leftover from the year before. "Kay-Kay says shut up and fuck off!" a boy yelled, Sid Vicious-ly. It wasn't even Wesley but a stranger, with Kay-Kay's slurred laughter in the background.

The next number Anna hit was her husband's. Like Kay-Kay, Ian was sending callers to voice mail. Shaking, Anna phoned her sister, and Emily (who always answered) advised driving to East High. "School's not out yet. Maybe she took Cherry Sue with?"

"Maybe."

"Show-and-tell?"

"Sure."

At the house, Emily closed her eyes, thrown instantly back into the grim fright of the year before, and the year before that, and the year before that: her daughter, a force of nature, out wreaking havoc. "God damn it, Henry!" He sat up blurrily, his face imprinted with his own palm, as if he'd been slapped. She clapped the phone shut and threw it at him, fear leading directly to rage, and her husband, right there, ready to receive it.

School was letting out when Anna arrived. The wind had picked up, and dirt filled the air, trash flattened into the chain link. She drove against the current of muscle cars and trucks surging around her, unnerved by the exuberance with which the teen-agers handled their vehicles, their lives. They yelled and honked and screeched their tires, lighting cigarettes and popping up through sunroofs and out back windows, some riding on hoods, dust and exhaust whirling as they revved their engines. Anna scanned desperately for her niece's gold Celica, still willing to forgive Kay-Kay if she found her there. Plenty of students came to school with their babies, or with their big embarrassing bellies held before them like basketballs. Anna guessed that Kay-Kay wasn't beyond vying for some attention, a different kind of attention than she'd been accustomed to getting these past few years, when she'd been warned and suspended and flunked and arrested and handed poor marks not only in performance and attendance but in attitude and appearance as well--in personality, it seemed.

Often, Anna had defended her niece, even envied her--as if on behalf of her own former self, both patriotic and nostalgic for a lost homeland.

Now she searched the thinning trickle of cars and pedestrians with growing pessimism.

"They're not here," she told Emily on the phone, driving home.

"Where's Ian?" Emily demanded.

"I don't know." Anna had no idea what Ian did with himself; borrowing her sister's car had become a daily necessity.

"We ought to find Ian." He had been helpful on a few occasions. He'd located tolerable community service for Kay-Kay after her possession conviction. He'd stayed up all night talking to the speedy girl when the other adults were utterly worn out. Once, when she'd declared that she would be fine with being a prostitute, he took her to the seedy side of Wichita, to some strip clubs he knew, just to give her a taste.

"You call him," Anna said. "He won't answer me."

Sure enough, Ian took Emily's call. The noise at his end of the line suggested a submarine. "Where are you?" she asked.

"Work," he said flatly. "What do you want?"

"I wonder if you've seen Kay-Kay. She took Cherry Sue this morning, but they didn't go to school." On his end she could hear a door close, an echoing clatter. Racquetball court, she guessed. He practically lived at the club, hanging out in the seating area of the juice bar, disguising himself as a healthy body-builder type when in fact he made most of his income dealing drugs in the parking lot and the men's locker room. His uniform was a warmup suit. A sport bottle full of vodka. Of particular appeal was the fact that he had an excuse to exit his in-laws' house every morning, leaving his killjoy wife and her stuck-up family to themselves.

Or at least that's what Emily thought he thought. She had no idea what really went on in her brother-in-law's head. He'd been hanging around in her life since he was a bratty neighbor boy ten years her junior. Often, she imagined the two words he'd most like to say to her: Whatever, bitch. Now she couldn't tell if his lack of reaction meant that he was thinking or merely stunned or already concocting a story. His silence was hermetic, and she was tempted to hang up. But Kay-Kay sometimes confided in Ian--he had the tactical advantage of being the other acknowledged delinquent in the house. Drunk, he could be endearing. The night before, for example, he'd done hilarious imitations of all four principals in "The Wizard of Oz" as if they'd been pulled over for driving under the influence.

Sober, however, he defaulted to paranoia. "I know what you're thinking," he said.

"No, you don't," she assured him.

Ian said, "Let me get back with you," and hung up.

"'Get back' with me?" Emily said to Anna, who was coming through the mudroom door. "He said he'll get back with me."

"He's an asshole," Anna said for at least the hundredth time. Then she turned her pleading, tear-streaked face to her big sister. "Where are they?"

Meanwhile, Henry had pulled himself out of bed to perform his ritual: driving around. He had done this whenever Kay-Kay or any of the pets had disappeared. It never paid off, but it seemed somehow necessary, a biological imperative. He was confirming that the obvious explanation didn't prevail: the lost dog wasn't chasing tail at the park or lying like a rug in the road; the girls weren't parked down at the Dairy Queen or visiting any of Kay-Kay's known acquaintances.

The last time she'd run away, she'd taken a bus to Burning Man; the time before that, she'd hitchhiked to Ohio. But she'd never before had her own getaway vehicle. It was Henry who had insisted on buying Kay-Kay a car, even though Emily was opposed. They'd argued for weeks--the girl had totalled two of the family cars in a single year!--and later Emily had grudgingly acknowledged that he had been right: Kay-Kay had got a job to pay for gas, had not had one ticket or wreck, and often volunteered for trips to the grocery store or to drop off Cherry Sue.

But now look what had happened. Wait around long enough, Emily thought, and you can win any argument.

Henry slapped at his jacket pocket before he left, to show her that he had remembered his phone.

"Pointless," Emily said, of his errand. "Complete waste of time."

Anna began to cry again. "I'm being punished!" she said to Emily.

"For what?"

"Bellyaching about Cherry Sue! Being pissy about being pregnant!"

"Oh, please, Anna. You're not being punished."

"Why can't I learn to keep my big mouth shut? Just count my fucking blessings?" Anna threw herself into a kitchen chair.

"Stop it, stop it. You're hungry." Emily was already pulling open the cupboard doors. "You need to eat."

That evening, the usual emergency-vehicle sirens seemed especially frequent and jarringly loud; the wind blew so hard that it whistled through all the old house's cracks. Tornado season was upon them again; possibly they'd end up in the basement tonight.

Their three cell phones lay on the scarred kitchen table while Emily microwaved leftovers for Henry and Anna. She herself had taken a Valium.

It was Anna who noticed the wall calendar. "Today is Friday the thirteenth!" she wailed.

"Kay-Kay doesn't know that," Emily said. "She loses track of what month it is, let alone the date."

"I probably should have seen my patients today," Henry said reflectively, a napkin tucked like a bib into his collar. "Some of them are surely superstitious." He had stopped at the police station while he was driving around and ascertained that there'd been no accidents involving a gold Celica, no ambulance summons for a teen-ager and a toddler. His oldest daughter's husband, Buzz, was a cop; he'd promised to keep an eye out. "The desk sergeant asked if I wanted to report a kidnapping," Henry told Emily and Anna. "I mean, really." He rocked his head in disbelief; he'd never grown accustomed to thinking of Kay-Kay as a criminal, even when she'd been arrested and charged, found guilty and made to pay--this despite the fact that he made his living hearing how people were routinely failed by their loved ones. At the office, he used the when-did-you-stop-beating-your-wife approach, asking not if but how often his patients fell short. With his daughter, however, he was as blustering and dumbfounded as a sitcom stereotype, a dad handicapped by blind love.

Tonight, Henry kept positing the same fuzzy scenario. "She's doing something for somebody," he said. "Somebody in crisis, who called her on her way to school. And then it was more complicated than she thought--it snowballed."

"If somebody lured Kay-Kay with a phone call," Emily said, "it wasn't about helping someone."

"But why take Cherry Sue?" Anna asked. "Why run away with a two-year-old? I'm always trying to run away from her."

"Kay-Kay would never let anything happen to Cherry Sue," Henry assured his sister-in-law.

"Not on purpose," Emily amended.

Henry gave his wife the familiar disappointed look. "Please, Em," he said, not wanting to believe her heartless.

"I didn't mean what I said about running away from Cherry Sue," Anna said pleadingly. "She's a lot of work, but she's good company. Much better company than her dad." Nobody disagreed with her.

The house phone rang, and Emily answered, then held it up so that they could all listen to the high-school-attendance-office recording letting them know that their "son or daughter missed one or more classes today."

"Oh, fuck you," they chimed in unison while the voice went on in its flat scolding way about what steps should be taken next. They'd heard it many, many times before. Kay-Kay's trouble, however often it had involved officials--the rule-makers and the rule-enforcers--had never been solved by them.

The mudroom door slammed open but yielded only Wesley, the ex. "Find her?" he asked. He wore his dirty garage coveralls with his name on the pocket, long-sleeved because his boss couldn't abide tattoos. "I drove by Nana's, just to see if her car was there, but it wasn't …" Wesley trailed off. "It smells good in here."

Emily offered him food, but he declined, gesturing toward the driveway, where the new girlfriend, Lucy, was smoking a cigarette.

"I'll stop by the hookah bar," he volunteered. "And maybe Java the Hut. I've got my cell."

"Good man," Henry said.

"Thanks, Wes," Emily said, smiling wanly at him. She'd always thought he was too nice for the likes of Kay-Kay, who, Emily believed, required a little wickedness.

"WHERE R U??" Anna text-messaged Ian at midnight. It embarrassed her not to know where her husband was, not to know for sure that he wasn't somehow involved in the girls' disappearance. Her mother had labelled him a hoodlum years ago; as a teen-ager, he'd stolen dogs in order to claim the rewards. Anna herself had collected the cash, since she looked more like a savior than Ian. Another time, he'd shown her how easy it was to break into homes, summoning a locksmith and waltzing right into the neighbors' house. Ian had handed down to Kay-Kay his black shirt with a neon-yellow "SECURITY" emblazoned on the back. In it, you could go anywhere, do anything.

"Looking for girls," he texted back. Anna knew that this was true--but which girls?

She glanced up to find her big sister glaring at her, giving her an order. "You should sleep." Pregnancy was insistent that way. This new baby, no bigger than a plum, was overruling her ability to stay alert on behalf of her other baby. She left her phone with Emily, knowing that its ring might not rouse her.

Emily sent Henry to bed, too. He kissed her cheek, leaving her on the couch, where, every hour, she dialled Kay-Kay's number.

At four-thirty, her daughter finally responded. A couple of lines of text appeared: "We r fine Dont worry! Luv u."

The message proved that Kay-Kay was in possession of her phone, her wits, and her cousin. Nevertheless, Emily began to cry, and, of course, this was when Ian arrived home, sneaking in like a thief.

"What?" he said, alarmed.

"She called," Emily said. "They're fine, she says."

He smelled of a bar. She wanted to kill him--for being who he was and not someone else, for catching her in tears. He had never liked her, not even when he was a child. Always he'd preferred Anna; always he'd chosen Anna over Emily. Now he was beholden to Emily, her unhappy house guest. He blinked his heavy-lidded eyes. "A couple of people have seen her today," he said, dropping into the easy chair.

"Really?"

"They think so. Cherry Sue is hard to miss, specially with that cast on her arm. They had breakfast at the I-Hop by Nana's, then around noon they were out busking with a guitar in Old Town."

"Where have you been?"

"Everywhere."

"Buzz knows to look for her."

"Buzz?"

"Henry's son-in-law, the cop."

Ian scowled now; Emily thought she could read his mind: What good was a cop to them? Hadn't Ian himself supplied the most useful information yet?

"I talked to her earlier," he said, rising.

"What?"

"She said that we really upset her last night. She's feeling disappointed in all of us, you and me and Anna and Henry, all of us. She said she--"

"She called you?"

His mouth snapped shut, and Emily knew that he wouldn't open it again. Whatever, bitch. Fuming, she listened as he made his way up the stairs and down the hall to the room that he and Anna shared.

On Saturday, the sky was murky, churning with a wind that seemed to want to tear the roof from the house. Henry called Buzz to confirm that nothing bad had happened overnight on the police radio band. Emily made herself turn Kay-Kay's room upside down, page through her journal, sniff at her jewelry box, open her closet and drawers and CD cases. But Emily knew that if Kay-Kay wanted to hide something these days it would be in her car, in the trunk she could lock.

"What else did she say to Ian?" Emily finally asked Anna. Pride had prevented her from asking him. Pride, and the fear that he would tell her that it was none of her fucking business. Like a teen-ager, he had the capacity to shame you--even when you knew he was in the wrong.

"She said that we were terrible role models." Anna was making bread, keeping busy. She leaked a tear or two into the dough, continuing to knead.

"Terrible role models?" Emily and Henry said together. Henry was making a "Missing" poster, with photographs--Cherry Sue in nothing but a diaper, Kay-Kay still sporting braces. He'd had to find a photo where her hair was its natural color, not the coal-black she'd dyed it until last Christmas.

"That's what Ian said she said." Anna wasn't sure that she believed her husband. It would be just like him to try to take advantage of the situation to punish his wife and her family.

"I was telling stories about my patients," Henry said, chastened. "About the stalker, and a few of my chem-deps--"

"You never said any names," Anna assured him. "You're always really careful to protect privacy."

"Still, I shouldn't have been talking about them."

"I'm sure that wasn't it."

Emily sat across from Henry at the table, staring into her coffee as she tried to reconstruct the evening; she was prepared to take responsibility. But for what, exactly? For having been too drunk to remember, she supposed. She could recall Ian making them all laugh: the cop pulling over the drunks on the Yellow Brick Road, the Lion, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, even that wacky dwarf, representative of the Lollipop Guild. And round-heeled, blasted Judy Garland, in her earnest full-throated way, inviting the officer for a romp in the poppy field. It had seemed like a good evening, Kay-Kay joining them for dinner, sticking around as the hour grew late, rocking Cherry Sue on her hip, helping Anna fix snacks, changing the CD when Ian complained about Henry's music. Emily had the impression that they had been trying to please the teen-ager, all four of the adults staging an impromptu production called "Life Is Worth Living," right here at this very table.

What they had learned about Kay-Kay, during the past few years, was that she truly could not see the point, that she did not care whether she lived or died. And, if she did not care, what was to stop her from following whatever impulse seized her? Sleep with a stranger? Why not? Inject an unknown drug? O.K. Hitchhike, wander the streets, invite outlaws into her life and hallucinations into her head--all of it without regard for what her family kept calling "the consequences," a future with her in it. They all agreed that it was Cherry Sue who'd saved her, Cherry Sue who'd been able to light what otherwise seemed a dark void--by loving Kay-Kay as passionately as she did, by assigning Kay-Kay special status as queen of her heart. Her name had been the second one Cherry Sue said, right after Mama; when she finally learned to walk, it was Kay-Kay's arms she aimed for and fell into.

"What do you think?" Henry asked now, holding up his poster. He put himself into motion without waiting for an answer. He would photocopy it, and then drive around posting it: in Old Town, on Douglas, by East and the other high schools, at Wal-Marts and gas stations and bars and grocery stores and truck stops and at both of the big malls. "I'll have my cell," he assured Emily, patting his pocket.

"Absolutely futile," Emily told Anna when he was gone.

They watched through the window as branches flailed in the wind above the trampoline, Ian's sole contribution to the household. He had brought it home the same way he did all his dubious belongings, with the implicit instruction that no one ask questions.

The trampoline vibrated, like a living thing. When it was first set up, Cherry Sue and Kay-Kay had climbed right on and begun to bounce together, holding hands. They danced on it to Kay-Kay's boom-box music; they loped around its rubber surface singing about the Muffin Man; they lay upon it in the dark, after it had absorbed the sun all day, watching as the stars popped on.

Emily hadn't wanted to accept the trampoline, not because it came from Ian but because she had foreseen the broken limb or crushed skull. Somebody would be made to pay, she knew. Some bone would have to be offered up. In the end, the sacrifice was Cherry Sue's, her little left wrist. Off to the E.R. they'd raced, the two-year-old sobbing into Kay-Kay's neck while Emily weaved through traffic, Anna riding shotgun, crying uselessly. Emily had met her daughter's eyes in the rearview mirror, a complicit glance between them, the levelheaded ones. Emily had liked that moment.

Now, with her sister flour-dusted and sad before her, Emily recalled another piece of Thursday evening's conversation. This had concerned their childhood. When they were young, and shared a bedroom, it had been Emily's habit to lie on the bunk above Anna and cross-examine her about her imaginary friend. Every night, the same conversation: "Tell me what she looks like," Emily would insist.

"No."

"What's she doing right now?"

"I'm not telling."

Night after night Emily wheedled, by turns threatening and pleading. She was a bully and she had to win. Finally, she'd pledged, "If you tell me her name, I'll name my first child after her." This promise she'd made at age nine. Down below, a long silence came from her four-year-old sister.

And then Anna had said, "Her name is Kay-Kay."

"That's why you named me Kay-Kay?" Kay-Kay had asked, Thursday night.

"You knew that already," Emily said, tilting her empty wineglass once more into her mouth, not wanting to open a third bottle.

"I did not."

"I didn't, either," Anna claimed.

"I've told you both, a thousand times." The thing about being Anna's sister was that, by the time Emily made good on her end of the deal, Anna had forgotten it was owed--was totally nonplussed over the telephone when Emily called blissfully from the delivery room. But Anna had been a scornful teen-ager herself then, repulsed by her sister's marriage to a man practically their father's age.

That had been a long time ago. Now Anna knew all about the tender sentiment attached to babies and their names. When she was pregnant herself, she'd agreed to the name that Ian chose; at that point, she had wanted him to stick around. "Cherry Sue," he'd declared. "Just like my first Z car, may she R.I.P."

"I don't even remember having an imaginary friend," Anna said to Emily now, as if she, too, had been trying to reconstruct Thursday night. "Maybe I already knew that the imaginary ones worked out better than the real ones?"

Ian entered the kitchen. "You got a problem with reality?" he said to Anna.

On the table, one of the cells rang with Kay-Kay's awful tone. It was Anna's, a text message: "How much Ch Sue weigh?"

"Why is she asking me this?" Anna cried.

"What the fuck?" Ian said.

Emily took only a moment to process the request. "She's giving her Tylenol," she deduced. "She wants to get the right dose."

"I don't know how much Cherry Sue weighs!" Anna burst into tears.

Ian said, "What could it be, like forty?" He was making fists, flexing his elbows as if hefting barbells.

"Twenty-five," Emily instructed. She remembered from the E.R., when the bone had been set. "Let me text her back."

"Thanp" was Kay-Kay's reply.

Saturday night was a repeat of Friday night, with the actors now sick of their roles, stuck in the production. Ian had not come home, and Anna's new baby was urging her to bed. Henry had developed the dark circles beneath his eyes that indicated that a migraine was coming, and Emily was furious at the helpless way he looked out from their depths. "A hundred posters," he'd said, accounting for his exhaustion. There was a fleet of pill bottles on his night table, the place where his age was most evident. "Go to bed," she snapped. "I'll stay here with the phones."

At 2 A.M., Wesley called. There was wind and static on his end. He was outside a party from which he had been banished, but he thought that Kay-Kay might be there. "Lucy needs to chill," he explained, so he was going to drive her home, but he gave Emily the address.

It took Emily two seconds to decide to call Ian instead of waking either of the others; as usual, he took the call, albeit unhappily. "Yeah?" he said. He, too, was standing outside a party. He smelled of bonfire when he picked Emily up ten minutes later.

"This is a weird address," he noted. "You sure she'd be here?"

"No," Emily said. The address, it turned out, was a house in a new subdivision, not yet finished, with a baby-blue Porta-Potty tilting in the front yard, stakes and PVC pipes strewn about, the only lights coming from within the giant structure itself.

To Ian's credit, he performed beautifully as party crasher. He nodded as they entered the massive front door, murmuring a few "How's it going's as they pushed through the crowded rooms, Emily following in his wake. The place was cavernous, echoing, warmed by body heat, smelling of sawdust. Men with stringed instruments played folk music in a corner. The people milling around, holding plastic cups and cigarettes, were older than Kay-Kay by a decade or more. Many wore cowboy hats; a yard-long sheet cake rested on a set of sawhorses.

Ian said, "This isn't a party, it's a hoedown."

"I'm looking for Kay-Kay," Emily said hopefully to the man tapping the keg in the kitchen.

"Hey, yeah," he said. "Where is that chica?" Everyone recognized the name and nodded, smiling fondly, but no one had seen her. Ian accepted a plastic cup of beer, then grimaced as he drank.

"I was picturing teen-agers," Emily confided to him. Some bit of Kansas miscreance, a meth lab maybe.

"You were picturing a big-ass opium den of iniquity," Ian scoffed. "I guess I was, too."

Emily canvassed the first floor, just to make sure, and then headed upstairs, carefully, since there was not yet a rail. Here were the future bedrooms, five of them, each white, and blank, vacant bathrooms, the smell of new carpet still in rolls. Out the windows, other hulking houses, dark like quiet ships. Was it just fatigue that made everything seem strange to her? she wondered. She dialled Wesley. "Where did you think she might be, exactly?"

"I couldn't get to the upstairs."

"I'm there. It's totally empty."

"Huh. Hang on, Emily." Wesley was talking to somebody on his end. "I'm at St. Francis," he said apologetically. "Lucy may have O.D.'d."

"May have?"

"She turned blue. Now she looks better--her mom says she's hypoglycemic, so sometimes that happens--but we're already here …" he trailed off, sighing. Once again at the hospital: he'd performed a similar duty on Kay-Kay's behalf, not that long ago. ("If one is good," Kay-Kay had explained, "why wouldn't two be better?") "I'm sorry," Wesley said. "I thought Kay-Kay might have been staying at that place. She knows some of the guys working on it. I gotta go, Emily. We're up."

"Good luck, Wes," she said.

Emily went back downstairs to find Ian accepting a second beer from the man in the kitchen. "Coors?" he asked Emily. "Cake?"

"No, thanks. I was hoping somebody had seen my daughter."

"They're not here," Ian said, downing his beer in one wincing swallow.

"Thanks for coming!" a few people called as they exited.

In the car, Ian snorted. "Yee-haw." Then he grabbed his thrumming phone. "I'll drop you off," he said, studying its screen.

Anna, in her dream that night, birthed an apple. A green apple. The same green as Cherry Sue's cast. In her last dream, she'd had a small black monkey, his chattering mouth full of teeth, his hair greasy. In another, she'd produced kittens, a litter of three, and one had died, just quit breathing right before her eyes. She wondered sometimes what her brother-in-law, the professional interpreter of dreams, would say about hers, what he would know about her if he heard what went on in her sleeping head.

Tonight the tornado warning siren swooped into Anna's dream but didn't wake her; it was Emily who pulled her to her feet and led her down into the basement, where the three of them leaned against each other on the moldering couch, waiting for the all clear.

Sarah, Henry's oldest daughter and Buzz's wife, arrived Sunday morning with the sun. Heavy, stoic Sarah with the hairdo, holding a hot casserole before her. Besides the oven mitts, she was dressed for church. Her greeting was a list of ingredients: egg, sausage, hash browns, cheese. "And cream-of-mushroom soup," she finished. Sarah always wore a sorrowful expression in her father's house, as if she saw all of its inhabitants headed in that handbasket toward Hell. At first, Emily had reciprocated, pitying Sarah back. Later, when Kay-Kay had gone wild, she simply refused to make eye contact.

The sky was blue, the air still. Emily began thanking her stepdaughter perfunctorily. At this, Sarah gazed demurely out the kitchen window, saddened but not surprised at what had befallen this group of savages. Then her brow furrowed. Out there on the trampoline slept the two missing girls, plus someone else. You could see the blond heads tipped together, little Cherry Sue's neon-green cast on top of the tarpaulin covering them. "Thank you, Jesus," Sarah murmured, pointing. "There they are," she said.

"Ian said you were upset by us Thursday night."

"Why did he say that?"

Emily glared at her brother-in-law, who glared back. Whatever, bitch. "You weren't?"

"I may have been." Kay-Kay shrugged. She had the air of someone to whom blame could not be attached, nor shame or repentance, either. "It's temporary," she'd said of the rainbow tattoo on her shoulder, before Emily could ask. Cherry Sue had a matching one on her thigh.

Ian said, "I thought you were on the run from the Man."

Kay-Kay scoffed. "That's you, not me. Why weren't you all worried about poor Nana?"

The third person sleeping on the trampoline had been Anna and Emily's mother, also missing these past two days. She, and her little dirty-white dog, unmissed by her children. This was unforgivable, according to Kay-Kay, though she was clearly also bemused.

"I thought you'd been carjacked," Henry confessed, wiping his eyes. "I thought you'd picked up hitchhikers and got stolen, a good deed gone bad." He kept laying his hand on Kay-Kay's shoulder, as if never to let her leave home again. Kay-Kay studied the "Missing" poster. "I'll have to go take those down," he said.

Kay-Kay nodded. "I'll help."

Why weren't they angrier? Emily wondered. Why had the girls' return inspired so little in her and Anna and Henry and Ian besides relief? What was wrong with them that this was their reaction--this sense of gratitude, as if Kay-Kay had performed a rescue rather than the reverse? Cherry Sue nuzzled at Anna's neck, absolutely fine, a faint sunburn on the bridge of her nose and her cheeks as if from healthy recreation.

"You never once dialled Nana's cell," Kay-Kay said. "We checked."

"I wasn't thinking of her," Emily admitted. "You O.K., Mom?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Nana sat at the table with her dog in her lap, no worse for wear, unkempt in her usual way. She had enjoyed her trip with the girls. Medicine Lodge, a hundred miles southwest, was her home town. She hadn't visited there in she didn't know how long. "We stood in the back yard of the old farmhouse."

"That's right, Nana. For our picture."

"That fellow with the cart full of cans took it for us."

"You gave him a dollar."

"And then Nipper ran off after a rabbit."

"That's right."

Nana looked relieved, as always, to have her memory confirmed. She wore her standard floral muumuu; her hair hardly existed anymore, a few white tufts. Her fingers twitched in her pet's fur, which was filled with twigs and burrs and mulberry fluff. She had not panicked when picked up by her granddaughter on Friday morning; for all she knew, it was a plan they'd made. "They've always had the best pie at the Toot Sweet," she recalled. "And we slept in a motel." Moe-tel.

"I sleep with Kay-Kay," Cherry Sue said, smiling slyly.

"You drove to Medicine Lodge and checked into a motel?" Ian asked skeptically.

"Nana wanted to visit the old homestead," Kay-Kay said. "It's pretty out there. Some places, you can't even get phone reception."

Sarah had served everyone a glass of milk, though only Cherry Sue ever drank the stuff. As soon as she'd seen the girls and their grandmother, Sarah had phoned Buzz to say that she would be missing church today. Called to a higher need, she'd tucked a dish towel into her waistband and begun spooning out her eggy casserole while the family sat obediently. The blandness of the offering went with the blandness of the adventure being described. From the old woman and the baby they learned that there'd been burgers along with the pie, Tylenol for teething, television, some jumping on the beds, games of go fish, a walk around Nana's old land and ruined house, the three of them holding hands, moving slowly, trailed by Nana's little dog, trotting along leashless.

Emily listened, marvelling, exhausted: the most dramatic things, it seemed, had been happening here at home, in their heads. They had woken this morning from an experience that was precisely like a nightmare--Technicolor catastrophes, figments of imagination, suspicion, now totally erased in the light of an ordinary day. There hadn't even been storms in Medicine Lodge, the bad weather passing just north of there. "We should call Wesley," she noted absently. He'd no doubt had a bad dream or two himself.

"I texted him," Kay-Kay said. "He's still at St. Francis with the freak."

"Nipper's a bad dog," Cherry Sue reported, pulling out her pacifier." You a bad dog," she sang at the animal.

"Nipper tends to run away," Nana said, plucking at his nasty fur. "Just to scare us silly. Oh, we called and called, till we were blue in the face." But then she wasn't certain and turned uneasily to Kay-Kay.

"Hours, Nana," Kay-Kay assured her. Both Emily and Anna waited for the girl to make a meaningful ironic comment, to let them know that she, too, had run away for the thrill of scaring some people silly, of taking their concern out for one last whirl. But Kay-Kay went back to forking up the sausage-and-egg casserole, drinking milk. Apparently, she'd forsaken her decade-long vegetarianism. On the back of the hand holding the fork was a seven-leafed marijuana plant she'd carved into it in ninth grade, a faint, fading white. She'd removed the metal stud from her tongue and the ring from her lip, so silverware went in and out without clinking. If she wasn't careful, Emily and Anna thought at the same time, she would run to fat, like Henry's other daughters.

She hadn't gone anywhere alarming. She hadn't done anything dangerous. Could they be disappointed?

"Oh, hey, check out the picture," Kay-Kay said, wiping her mouth and flipping open her phone. She found the image.

Around the table went the cell phone, everyone squinting at the mini-picture of Nana, Kay-Kay, Cherry Sue, and Nipper. They stood beside a broken storm-cellar door, above them the bleached Kansas sky. Three big grins, and Nipper with his nose in the air, preparing to run. "I'm gonna get a print made for you, Nana," Kay-Kay told her grandmother. She took back her phone and gazed into its tiny depths. "In black-and-white, don't you think? Wouldn't that be best?"

TheNewsBoy

Because it's probably true

2007-01-28T11:02:00.000-07:00

1: Under no circumstances may two men share an umbrella.
2: It is ok for a man to cry ONLY under the following circumstances:
a. When a heroic dog dies to save its master.
b. The moment Angelina Jolie starts unbuttoning her blouse.
c. After wrecking your boss' car.
d. One hour, 12 minutes, 37seconds into "The Crying Game".
e. When she is using her teeth.
3: Any man who brings a camera to a bachelor party maybe legally killed and eaten by his buddies.
4: Unless he murdered someone in your family, you must bail a friend out of jail within 12 hours.
5: If you've known a guy for more than 24 hours, his sister is off limits forever unless you actually marry her.
6: Moaning about the brand of free beer in a buddy's fridge is forbidden. However complain at will if the temperature is unsuitable.
7: No man shall ever be required to buy a birthday present for another man. In fact, even remembering your buddy's birthday is strictly optional.
8: On a road trip, the strongest bladder determines pit stops, not the weakest.
9: When stumbling upon other guys watching a sporting event, you may ask the score of the game in progress, but you may never ask who's playing.
10: You may flatulate in front of a woman only after you have brought her to climax. If you trap her head under the covers for the purpose of flatulent entertainment, she's officially your girlfriend.
11: It is permissible to drink a fruity alcohol drink only when you're sunning on a tropical beach... and it's delivered by a topless model and only when it's free.
12: Only in situations of moral and/or physical peril are you allowed to kick another guy in the nuts.
13: Unless you're in prison, never fight naked.
14: Friends don't let friends wear speedos. Ever. Issue closed.
15: If a man's fly is down, that's his problem, you didn't see anything.
16: Women who claim they "love to watch sports" must be treated as spies until they demonstrate knowledge of the game and the ability to drink as much as the other sports watchers.
17: A man in the company of a hot, suggestively dressed woman must remain sober enough to fight.
18: Never hesitate to reach for the last beer or the last slice of pizza, but not both, that's just greedy.
19: If you compliment a guy on his six-pack, you'd better be talking about his choice of beer.
20: Never join your girlfriend or wife in discussing a friend of yours, except if she's withholding sex pending your response.
21: Phrases that may NOT be uttered to another man while lifting weights: Yeah Baby! Push it! C'mon, give me one more! Harder! Another set and we can hit the showers!
22: Never talk to a man in a bathroom unless you are on equal footing: i.e. Both urinating, both waiting in line, etc. For all other situations, an almost imperceptible nod is all the conversation you need.
23: Never allow a telephone conversation with a woman to go on longer than you are able to have sex with her. Keep a stopwatch by the phone. Hang up if necessary.
24: The morning after you and a girl who was formerly" just a friend" have carnal drunken monkey sex, the fact that you're feeling weird and guilty is no reason for you not to nail each other again before the discussion about what a big mistake it was occurs.
25: It is acceptable for you to drive her car. It is not acceptable for her to drive yours.
26: Thou shall not buy a car in the colors of brown, pink, lime green, orange or sky blue.
27: The girl who replies to the question "What do you want for Christmas?" with "If you loved me, you'd know what I want!" gets an Xbox. End of story.
28: There is no reason for guys to watch Ice Skating or Men's Gymnastics. Ever.

Holiday travel survival guide

2006-12-16T12:36:00.000-07:00

See the sights (and relatives, too) without the usual health hassles.

Lack of sleep, lurking germs, bathroom issues, and a host of other travel travails can complicate anyone's holiday trip. Indeed, getting sick on vacation is an all-too-common problem: As many as 63 percent of travelers say it's happened to them, surveys show. Is there a better way to go? Absolutely. All it takes is smart planning. Here's our expert-endorsed to-do list.

Outsmart airplane germs
Problem: You're getting a scratchy throat from the recirculated air at 30,000 feet, and the hygiene-challenged guy behind you is hacking up a lung.

Solution: Relax. Airplane air isn't quite as dirty as you think, says Roy DeHart, MD, MPH, former commander of the Air Force School of Aerospace Medicine in Texas. It's cleaner than the air in most restaurants or crowded offices. But if someone within two rows of you is coughing or sneezing, try to move to an empty seat. Also:

• Drink plenty of bottled water--desert-like cabin air dries your mouth and nose, making you more susceptible to germs.

• Avoid the coffee and tea. A recent inspection found fecal bacteria in 17 percent of planes' water, which is used to make those beverages.

Survive a snot parade
Problem: Your nephew's the cutest snot factory you've ever met. Can you play with him without catching the plague?

Solution: Gently steer clear of his germy hands, toys, and anything else he touches. And if you want to get cuddly:

• Wash your hands frequently (especially before you eat and after you hold him) and be sure to keep a hand sanitizer handy.

• Avoid touching your face unless you've just cleaned your hands.

• Enjoy the moment. Little kids catch 10 to 12 infections per year, but adults' immune systems are much stronger.

Keep it regular
Problem: You have trouble going when you're away from home.

Solution: Get moving. Sitting in an airport or in front of the TV with family is sure to slow things down, so take a walk each day. Also:

• Start eating high-fiber foods like beans and grains or taking fiber supplements before your trip, and drink 6 to 8 glasses of water daily.

• Seize the opportunity when the urge strikes you. Putting it off can bring on constipation.

• Sit on the toilet for a few minutes the same time each day, like after breakfast, even if nothing happens. If you're still stuck, take a stool softener with docusate (like Colace or Doculax) For more help, see "Beat the Belly Blues" on page 120.

Sleep Like a baby
Problem: The pillow's too flat, the comforter's too hot, and you miss your ceiling fan.

Solution: Bring a little bit of home along with you--like your favorite pillow. Also:

• Stick to your usual bedtime, and don't sleep in.

• If you're drinking more caffeine than usual (who doesn't on vacation?), try to lay off after lunch. For alcohol, make it 3 hours before bed.

• Lower the thermostat if you can--many people sleep best when the room's around 65 degrees. Can't escape a stuffy room? Pack a tiny travel fan, like Magellan's ($8.85; 800-962-4943 or www.magellans.com).

• Stay busy during the day, and get lots of sunlight (with sunscreen, of course). Regular exposure to sun helps set your body clock.

• If you're desperate, ask your doctor about using a nonprescription medicine like Benadryl or Tylenol PM at bedtime. (But keep in mind that most contain an antihistamine, which can leave you groggy.)

Avoid allergies
Problem: You're allergic to cats, but your Aunt Betty has a house full of felines (and dander, fur, and hairballs).

Solution: Make a note to remember your allergy medicines. If you forget them, buy a nondrowsy antihistamine like Claritin, Alavert, or a generic so you're not zonked your whole stay. (Get the 24-hour, extended-release version.) Nonprescription cromolyn nasal sprays like NasalCrom can make the reactions less intense. A decongestant like Sudafed may do the trick, too. More tips:

• Move throw pillows, blankets, and stuffed animals--whatever might be full of dander--to a closet. If pets have been on the bed, strip the bedding and replace it with clean linens. Or, better yet, bring some linens from home.

• Explain to your aunt how sick cats make you and ask her (nicely!) if she'll board the kitties during your stay--make sure you offer to pay for it.

Wipe out hotel willies
Problem: You're staying at a nice hotel, but you can't stop thinking about news of a bedbug comeback.

Solution: Be vigilant when you arrive. No matter the hotel (room rates have nothing to do with the risk of infestation), make sure you:

• Check for droppings, which look like small red or brown stains or spots. (You won't see the bugs because they only come out at night, says Susan Jones, PhD, associate professor of entomology at Ohio State University.) Pull back the bedspread and check the sheets, then the mattress and box springs. And give the baseboards and upholstered furniture a once-over. Bedbugs can travel 100 feet when hunting a meal.

• If you see droppings, tell the management and ask for a room on another floor. Ditto if you wake up with itchy mosquito-bite-like welts. (You probably won't feel the bite when it happens.) Bedbugs may make you scratch, but they don't transmit infections.

• Even if the room seems clear, keep your suitcase zipped and on a luggage stand, and don't leave clothes lying around. The bugs love to hitchhike on clothes and in luggage.

By Eric Steinmehl

13,000 people playing chess in Mexico City, a new world record

2006-10-30T10:29:00.000-07:00

More than 13,000 people have crammed into Mexico City's central square to set a world record for the largest number of simultaneous chess games. Read more at BBC News.

Did You Know?

2006-10-08T21:12:00.000-06:00

By early October 1781, British general Charles Cornwallis ordered horses that were behind the lines of siege to be killed so that they would not starve to death.

American commander in chief George Washington refused to accept a salary during the war.

In an attempt to fool British general Henry Clinton, American general George Washington ordered his men to build big camps outside New York City, to make it appear as if the Continental Army were preparing to stay there.

The British did not evacuate New York City, their last position in the United States, until November 25, 1783 -- more than two years after Yorktown.

Sixteen-year-old John Quincy Adams, son of John Adams, Served as his father's secretary and helped prepare paperwork for the Treaty of Paris. Both father and son would later become presidents of the United States.

The loss at Yorktown, Virginia, was such a devastating blow for Great Britain because one-third of all its North American forces were Stationed there.

See more interesting facts

10 Tips Deer-Hunting Success

2006-10-03T14:28:00.000-06:00

GO PUBLIC While it's difficult to gain access to private lands, every state has public wildlife management areas, including federal lands. Many public lands offer excellent hunting opportunities.
TAKE A CHANCE Experiment with new ideas and products. Many hunters still believe that calling and rattling for whitetails won't work in their area. You'll never know if you don't try.
VISUALIZE THE SHOT If you're hunting from a tree stand, practice shooting from every angle. When a deer appears, you'll know better how to move without being detected and which shots are impossible or very difficult because of obstacles.
SWEEP UP If you're in a ground blind, clear leaves and brush from around your feet. If a deer suddenly approaches and you must change positions, rustling noises could alert it to your presence.
IGNORE THE MOON Some hunters won't go out on a day following a full moon because they believe the deer are active all night and don't move in daylight. Wrong. Deer are always someplace, and you should hunt whenever you can.
GET MOBILE Don't spend all your time in one spot, unless you've patterned a buck and want to wait him out. Otherwise, be flexible and try new areas.
BE SURE If you're hunting does and your management plan is to protect young bucks, look long and hard before pulling the trigger. The doe might be a button buck.
DON'T FORGET SAFETY When you hunt with a firearm, wear hunter orange clothing whether the law requires it or not. Likewise, always use a safety harness when in a tree stand or climbing to and from it.
PRACTICE FOR ACCURACY Don't even think of hunting unless you've practiced enough with your firearm or bow to be consistently accurate.
COUNT ON LUCK During an Arkansas hunt a guide showed me a tree stand and said a big buck was once seen from it, though he hadn't been spotted for a few seasons since. Other tree stands with more potential were available but I opted for the first one. The big buck decided it was time to pay a return visit. I shot him and learned that simple luck always plays a hand in a hunter's success.

Advice From Master Hunters

2006-10-02T08:03:00.000-06:00

TAKE IT Slow Francis Mose, a veteran woodsman in New York's Adirondacks, taught me how to still-hunt the woods for whitetails. On one hunt I walked parallel to him about 10 yards away, copying his movements. At first I found it annoyingly difficult to imitate his snail's pace, but after seeing the effectiveness of his approach, I became a believer.

ROCK OUT Western hunter DeMarr Dudley showed me how to outwit a crafty mule deer buck. On a Utah hunt, he threw rocks into a weedy draw that was barely as wide as a pickup truck. Nothing happened, but Dudley kept it up. After the 15th rock hit, a buck came boiling out as if he had been scalded.

PATTERN THE DEER New York hunter Paul Jeheber directed me to sit on a particular rock in southern New York while he and a pal put on a drive for whitetails. He pointed out two trails coming off a ridge where deer might travel. Sure enough, he was right. A buck ran out. I shot it and learned the importance of patterning deer and knowing their escape routes.

STAY ON STAND Famed Kentucky hunter Harold Knight put me on stand in Tennessee near some fresh scrapes and told me to stay put until noon, even though the weather was hot, because the rut was cranking up. I was skeptical, but when a big 1 O-point buck emerged in the laurel with his nose to the ground and headed to the scrapes, I had a change of attitude. Because anything can happen at any time during the rut, a hunter is better off staying in his stand all day if possible.

50 States For Deer

2006-10-02T07:11:00.000-06:00

A deer-hunting road warrior reminisces about his lifelong odyssey and lessons learned along the way.

Outside it was cold and raw, the kind of day best spent indoors. The gales and blowing snow made hunting almost impossible, but I was on a mission. I was in North Dakota, hunting alone on public land and fulfilling a lifetime quest. I had set out to hunt all 50 states for deer, and North Dakota was the last stop on my itinerary. I didn't get a deer on that trip, but I drove home smiling anyway. The long 50-state odyssey was finally over.

I conceived the idea to hunt deer in every state about 10 years ago One day, out of curiosity, I jotted down all the states in which I had hunted and was surprised when the total came to about two dozen. I resolved then to try to hunt all 50, and the adventure began. Toward the end, I'd drive my pickup truck from my home in Wyoming and hunt a cluster of states in a particular region, spending at least three days in each. During one such journey, I was on the road for 41 days. I put 14,000 miles on my pickup and managed to hunt six states. In some instances I simply drove in, bought a license across a counter, located a state wildlife management area on a map and went hunting. In others I hunted with friends or outfitters. Whether I hunted in a group or alone, I always had a great time.

BORN TO HUNT
I began hunting as a child near my birthplace in New York. I bought my first deer tag when I was 14, the minimum legal age at the time. After high school and a two-year stint at a small forestry college in northern New York, I journeyed to a Western college to work toward a bachelor's degree. One of my first priorities after arriving in Utah to study forestry was to plan a mule deer hunt with some classmates.

So it began; my first Western hunts occurred in the 1960s, when hunting for mule deer was at its best. Big bucks were pushovers, even on public land. Other than Utah, most of my early mule deer hunts were in Colorado. Permission to hunt ranches was easy to come by in those days. Now virtually every private acre in prime deer country-East or West-is leased or closed to hunting altogether.

In the late '60s, I left the West temporarily to work for the U.S. Military Academy at West Point as post forester and game warden. Eight years there taught me a lot about whitetails. At the time the hunting world barely knew what a scrape was and had no clue about the significance of a rubbed tree, except that a buck did it.

During that period I hunted New York extensively, chiefly the Catskill Mountains. If I wasn't hunting with my buddies in the deer camp there, I was probably in the Adirondacks, where my family had a cottage. There were no tree stands in those days, though hunters sometimes nailed planks on branches and perched there. Mostly we sat against trees or stood in spots where we thought we might see deer. Or we conducted drives. Somewhere along the line I realized I missed the West and began to spend my vacations hunting deer and elk in the Rockies.

HOME AGAIN
I heeded the call of open spaces in 1974. For a time I worked in Utah as a wildlife biologist for the federal government. At that point, I began to explore new horizons, hunting deer in various Western states as well as exotic locales outside the Lower 48. I wrote hunting articles part-time and tried to gain as much information as possible about distant and unique places.

Profound changes were occurring in the hunting world. Private lands were being leased in a feverish effort to wrest control of exclusive hunting rights, and mule deer populations were plummeting. Meanwhile, whitetails were multiplying rapidly all over the country and also moving into Western landscapes traditionally inhabited by mule deer.

My life took a dramatic turn in 1978 when I became Western Editor for OUTDOOR LIVE, and later Editor-at-Large. My job required me to travel and learn, and one of the first things I discovered was that the deer-hunting world was in transition. Hunters were talking excitedly about new strategies that involved scrapes, rubs, rattling and calling. Some companies were beginning to manufacture deer grunt calls and cover scents. Others were ramping up the manufacture of light-weight tree stands and climbing aids.

A new world was opening, and I was eager to spend as much time as possible in it. By 1980, I had about as many states on my "Hunted" list as on my "Still to Hunt" list, though at the time I wasn't counting. I shared hunting camps with mentors such as Murry Burnham, owner of Burnham Brothers Calls. Burnham introduced me to rattling. After learning the basics, I used the rattling technique elsewhere. I found it to be effective anywhere there is a fairly even buck-to-doe ratio.

The '80s brought profound changes in deer-hunting strategies. We learned more about deer communication and breeding habits. I was continually amazed at the knowledge that was being amassed and put to good use. Tree-stand hunting became the preferred strategy, and companies such as Trebark, Realtree and Mossy Oak couldn't manufacture camouflage garments fast enough. I added more states to my list, especially those in the Midwest and South, and continued to hunt the West extensively.

As I traveled, I was exposed to regional differences in hunting techniques, governed mainly by habitat and regulations. Everywhere, hunters had begun to learn the importance of supplemental nutrition for deer via specially formulated plantings, as well as the importance of selective harvest.

In the mid-'90s, I got to know Tony Knight, who introduced a popular version of in-line muzzleloader. Intrigued by my quest, Knight became my traveling companion to a number of states.

Considering I have 50 states under my deer-hunting belt, you might assume I'm a happy camper. Well, almost. In a number of them I never squeezed the trigger, by choice or chance; and in a couple I never saw a deer. Sometimes I arrived when the season was well under way, and competition with other hunters was intense. Stormy weather worked against me in some cases. So my "new" crusade is to revisit the 11 states where my tag went unpunched and perhaps ultimately take a deer in each. If I don't, though, I won't be disappointed. Just having the opportunity to hunt all 50 states has been tremendously satisfying.

Outdoor Life

10 Tips from the No-Fad Diet

2006-09-30T22:16:00.000-06:00

1. Set a personal weight-loss goal and write it down. Start with a goal of losing about 10 percent of your current body weight.
2. Keep a food diary for one week. Write down everything you eat and drink.
3. Pay attention to what you are eating now and why. Identify the sources of your personal "hidden" calories, such as eating your child's leftovers.
4. Substitute fat-free or low-fat milk for whole milk, and save about 65 calories for each eight-ounce serving.
5. Watch nutrition labels: Products labeled "low-fat" can be high in calories. For example, low-fat yogurt can be high in calories. Enjoy fat-free, no-sugar-added yogurt instead for a fraction of the calories.
6. Include high-fiber foods, such as whole grains, fruits and vegetables, in your diet. They take longer to digest, so they make you feel full longer. In addition, many fruits and vegetables contain water, which provides volume but not calories.
7. Cut your favorite candy bar into bite-size pieces. Wrap each piece in plastic wrap, and store the pieces in the freezer. When a sugar craving hits, unwrap and eat one piece. By the time the candy thaws in your mouth, your craving may be satisfied.
8. Identify the nonessential, high-calorie foods you buy out of habit. Stop buying them! If they're not in your pantry, you won't eat them.
9. Make extra amounts of your favorite low-calorie foods and freeze individual portions. It's an easy way to control portion size and have handy options available for last-minute meals and snacks.
10. When eating out, consider having two low-calorie appetizers instead of an entree. It will help you feel satisfied and full without splurging on calories.

Diet Advice. . . Straight from the Heart Association

2006-09-28T20:25:00.000-06:00

New No-Fad Diet offers eating and activity options, shuns extremes.

THE SOUTH BEACH DIET, the grapefruit diet, The Zone, the ice-cream diet and now… the American Heart Association diet? Unlike its rivals on the bestseller list and in popular women's magazines, the new "personal plan for healthy weight loss" from the nation's leading cardiovascular health organization doesn't promise rapid weight loss or require you to abandon balanced eating habits. The book's name makes the intent clear right on the cover: No-Fad Diet (Clarkson Potter, $24.95).

"The intent on doing this was to try to get around the faddish diets," explains Robert Eckel, MD, recently elected president of the American Heart Association (AHA) and a professor of medicine at the University of Colorado. "The theme is based on behavior, nutrition and physical activity."

Bottom line, the book makes clear that weight loss is all about calories. "To lose weight you really have to eat less than you burn," says Dr. Eckel. Subtract about 500 calories a day from what you now eat and you'll lose roughly a pound a week. That's not exactly the "magic" or "instant" weight loss promised by fad diets--but it's a plan the AHA says will work and that ordinary people can sustain.

The No-Fad Diet is also refreshingly free of no-no's. Says Dr. Eckel, "There's no forbidden food…. All foods can be part of a healthy diet--it's really about what the overall diet looks like."

That flexible approach carries over into the variety of options the book presents. First you might want to try the "switch and swap approach," which is based on the idea that you can subtract calories by making small but effective changes in your daily eating patterns. Keep a food diary, this approach advises, and look for opportunities to shave calories with changes you'll barely notice. At breakfast, for example, if you substitute a tablespoon of all-fruit spread for the margarine on your toast and switch from whole milk to fat-free, you've cut 135 calories and the day's barely started.

The second strategy is dubbed "the 75 percent solution." It's as simple as it sounds: Eat three-quarters of what you do now. You can continue to eat most of the things you like--just eat less of each. This approach seems to work particularly well for busy people on the go, according to the AHA.

Finally, the book presents more than 190 recipes and shows how to use them as elements in two weeks' worth of daily menus calculated at 1,200, 1,600 and 2,000 calories. The recipes don't look like you're "dieting": They range from pork tenderloin with cranberry salsa to pumpkin praline mousse, from risotto with porcini mushrooms and chicken to soba noodles in peanut sauce. (See the sample on the next page.)

But there's more to weight loss than what you eat--which the No-Fad Diet, unlike many of its faddish counterparts, acknowledges. The book takes a triple-pronged approach to losing weight, beginning with "Think Smart" (setting goals, getting started, dealing with setbacks), followed by its "Eat Well" strategies and then advice on how to "Move More." This section walks you through a fitness self-assessment and goal-setting. Next, in keeping with the book's "one size doesn't fit all" philosophy, it again serves up three alternative strategies--you can find the one that suits you best:

• The Lifestyle Approach --Commit to performing small activities throughout your day, on top of what you normally do, to add up to an increased amount of total activity. These extra activities could range from golf to square dancing to hiking and backpacking.

• The Walking Program --A six-week plan to get from 10 minutes of walking on most days to 30 minutes a day, seven days a week.

• The Organized Activity Option --Participate in scheduled classes or play sports to add activity into your life.

The book also shows how to mix and match these active strategies to create a combination that suits your interests and schedule.

In formulating its No-Fad Diet, the heart association drew on a team of in-house experts and recipe developers, plus more than a dozen nutrition experts including Alice Lichtenstein, DSc, Gershoff professor at Tufts' Friedman School of Nutrition Science and Policy. Though the AHA has previously published heart-healthy cookbooks, this is its first self-proclaimed "diet" book. Proceeds from book sales will go to fund heart research.

Recipe Sample HAM & BROCCOLI WITH ROTINI
From the American Heart Association's No-Fad Diet, published by Clarkson Potter.

4 quarts water
6 oz. dried whole-wheat or regular rotini
1 1/2 cups small broccoli florets
1 large red bell pepper, cut into thin strips
1 cup frozen whole-kernel corn, thawed
4 slices reduced-fat American cheese
3 oz. low-fat, lower-sodium ham, thinly sliced and chopped
2 Tbsp. fat-free milk
¼ to ½ tsp. dried thyme, crumbled
1/8 tsp. salt
1/8 tsp. cayenne

In a stockpot, bring the water to a boil over high heat. Boil the pasta for 7 minutes.

Stir in the broccoli and bell pepper. Cook for 2 to 3 minutes, or until the broccoli is tender-crisp. Drain well in a colander. Return to the pot.

Stir in the remaining ingredients. Spoon the mixture onto plates.

Yield: 4 servings, 1 1/2 cups each

Per serving: Calories: 292. Total fat: 5 grams. Saturated fat: 2.5 grams.

Polyunsaturated fat: 0.5 grams. Monounsaturated fat: 0.5 grams. Cholesterol: 19 milligrams. Sodium: 587 milligrams. Carbohydrates: 48 grams. Fiber: 3 grams. Sugar: 7 grams. Protein: 17 grams.

Source: Tufts University Health & Nutrition Letter, Sep2005

Chasing Down a Killer’s Story

2006-08-28T03:34:00.000-06:00

By: Tolme, Paul, Atkins, Ace, Ordoñez, Jennifer, Newsweek

A venerable cold-case squad probes a convicted murderer’s claim to 48 victims.

Former FBI and CIA agent Charlie Hess hadn’t expected to spend his golden years chasing killers. He was happily retired from crime fighting, living his dream of “a Robinson Crusoe existence” with his wife in a thatch-roof home in Baja, Mexico. But that was before Christmas Eve, 1990, when their son-in-law was fatally shot by burglars in Colorado Springs and Hess and his wife decided to move to Colorado to be with their widowed daughter. The killers were eventually caught, and through the whole ordeal Hess formed close ties with members of El Paso County, Colo., Sheriff’s Office. So when the sheriff asked Hess in 2001 if he would start a cold-case unit for the overburdened agency, Hess readily agreed. “I felt it was a way to do something productive, rather than grow old sitting on the couch watching TV,” says Hess, now 79.

Four years ago Hess began nursing a relationship with convicted murderer Robert Charles Browne, whom law-enforcement officers suspected might be a serial killer. Hess started sending letters to Browne, and the two eventually held face-to-face meetings. “He was lonely, and I showed interest,” says Hess. In the course of their meetings, Browne, who claims to have killed 48 people during a three-decade rampage, has provided Hess with details of 19 killings. Officials have already verified details Browne gave them in seven of those cases. If Browne’s claim holds true, that would rank the 53-year-old with the Green River Killer as the nation’s most prolific serial murderer. But that’s a big “if,” given that killers behind bars often lie about their “successes.”

So far, authorities have been able only to tie Browne definitively to the murders of two teenage girls: 13-year-old Heather Dawn Church in 1991 and 15-year-old Rocio Sperry in 1987. Browne was convicted in 1995 of the Church murder and given a life sentence; a second life sentence was added after he pleaded guilty on July 27 to Sperry’s murder. The task of evaluating Browne’s other supposed victims–by the FBI and law-enforcement officials around the country–is daunting, given that many of the cases are so old. “It’s too early to determine whether there’s any validity to his claims,” says Lt. Col. David Shaw, director of the Mississippi Bureau of Investigation, which is looking into Browne’s allegation that he killed two men near the Alabama border, dismembered their bodies and dropped them into a swamp some 25 years ago.

Meanwhile, Hess and his fellow cold-case workers have stayed on Browne’s trail. The volunteer group has come to be known as the Apple Dumpling Gang, both for a 1975 Disney comedy featuring a couple of hapless outlaws and because the group likes to gather for pastry at a German bakery in Colorado Springs. In addition to Hess, it includes a former investigator on the JonBenet Ramsey murder case, 71-year-old Lou Smit, and a former newspaper publisher and crime reporter, Scott Fischer, 60. Smit is the de facto leader, but Hess was tapped to approach Browne because the inmate holds Smit responsible for putting him behind bars in the Church case (Browne now claims he didn’t kill the girl).

Hess wrote his first letter to Browne in May 2002; he would send about 20 in all, and Browne responded to most. Hess kept him up on New Orleans Saints football scores, and Browne carped about the discomforts of prison. On Browne’s birthday, which is Halloween, Hess sent the prisoner a birthday card with a picture of a snowy owl: Browne wrote back that it was his favorite bird of prey. Hess eventually started giving Browne details about his family life, even telling him about his son-in-law’s murder. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Browne wrote. “I felt that if he was going to share with me, he needed to know that I would share deep personal feelings with him,” Hess says. Browne agreed to a meeting in September 2004, the first of several sit-downs between Hess and the 6-foot-2, 200-plus-pound prisoner. Browne controlled these interviews, deciding what information about the alleged killings to give Hess. Since pleading guilty last month to Sperry’s murder, Browne has stopped talking, on the advice of his state-appointed attorney. (The attorney did not respond to a call seeking comment.)

Browne never provided a motive, but he did speak of the peacefulness of going “rambling,” his term for his hunts. He also mentioned negative feelings toward women–who “try to present themselves to be one thing, and then always prove to be something else,” he wrote to Hess. He described one of his alleged victims as a “slutty, low-life woman.” Browne’s motivation is also a big question mark: Does he relish the idea of going down in infamy as one of America’s top-two serial killers? Or is it something else? Detective Ed Majors of the Tulsa Police Department has been working on tips Browne gave about two murders in Oklahoma, and he has met with the prisoner. “He didn’t seem like someone who’s in prison. Not hard at all,” Majors says. “He just wants to resolve this and give closure to the families.” It will take a lot more work by Majors and the Apple Dumpling Gang before those families find out whether closure will ever come.

http://www.st0ries.com/

The Engineer and the Management Man

2006-08-26T02:26:00.000-06:00

A man in a hot air balloon realized he was lost.
He reduced altitude and spotted a woman below.
He descended a bit more and shouted, "Excuse me, can you help me?
I promised a friend I would meet him an hour ago, but I don't know where I am."

The woman below replied, "You are in a hot air balloon hovering approximately 30 feet above the ground. You are between 40 and 41 degrees north latitude and between 59 and 60 degrees west longitude."

"You must be an engineer," said the balloonist.
"I am," replied the woman. "How did you know?"

"Well," answered the balloonist, "everything you told me is technically correct, but I have no idea what to make of your information, and the fact is I am still lost. Frankly, you've not been much help so far."

The woman below responded, "You must be in management."
"I am," replied the balloonist, "but how did you know?"

"Well," said the woman, "you don't know where you are or where you are going. You have risen to where you are, due to a large quantity of hot air. You made a promise which you have no idea how to keep, and you expect people beneath you to solve your problems.

The fact is you are in exactly the same position you were in before we met, but now, somehow, it's my fault!"

Funny Animals

2006-07-29T18:00:00.000-06:00

See more on http://adamdrayer.blogspot.com/

Silly Jokes

2006-07-29T17:58:00.000-06:00

A little boy went up to his father and asked: "Dad, where did all of my intelligence come from?
The father replied. "Well son, you must have got it from your mother, cause I still have mine"

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"Mr. Clark, I have reviewed this case very carefully," the divorce court Judge said, "And I've decided to give your wife $775 a week,"
"That's very fair, your honor," the husband said. "And every now and then I'll try to send her a few bucks myself."

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A doctor examined a woman, took the husband aside, and said, "I don't like the looks of your wife at all,"
"Me neither doc," said the husband. "But she's a great cook and really good with the kids.

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Two Reasons Why It's So Hard To Solve A Redneck Murder

1. All the DNA is the same.
2. There are no dental records.

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A blonde calls Delta Airlines and asks, "Can you tell me how long it'll take to fly from San Francisco to New York City?"
The agent replies, "Just a minute..."
"Thank you," the blonde says, and hangs up..

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Two Mexican detectives were investigating the murder of Juan Gonzalez "How was he killed?" asked one detective.
"With a golf gun," the other detective replied. "A golf gun?
What is a golf gun?"
"I don't know. But it sure made a hole in Juan."

Lol

2006-07-29T17:57:00.000-06:00

One night, President George W. Bush is tossing restlessly in his White House bed. He awakens to see George Washington standing by him. Bush asks him, "George, what's the best thing I can do to help the country?"

"Set an honest and honorable example, just as I did," Washington advises, and then fades away.

The next night, Bush is astir again, and sees the ghost of Thomas Jefferson moving through the darkened bedroom. Bush calls out, "Tom, please! What is the best thing I can do to help the country?"

"Respect the Constitution, as I did," Jefferson advises, and dims from sight.

The third night sleep is still not in the cards for Bush. He awakens to see the ghost of FDR hovering over his bed. Bush whispers, "Franklin, what is the best thing I can do to help the country?"

"Help the less fortunate, as I did," FDR replies and fades into the mist.

Bush isn't sleeping well the fourth night when he sees another figure moving in the shadows. It is the ghost of Abraham Lincoln. Bush pleads, "Abe, what is the best thing I can do right now to help the country?

Lincoln replies, "Go see a play."

Funny Toys

2006-07-29T17:50:00.000-06:00