text:
An indispensable two volume set guide to property and land law in New Zealand
by Neil Campbell (Author) , Toni Collins (Author) , Jody L Foster (Author) , Thomas Gibbons (Author) , Jason Goodall (Author) , D W McMorland (Author) , Struan Scott (Author) , Peter Twist (Author)
Principles of Land Law in New Zealand is an abridged, two volume version of the highly regarded property resource, Hinde, McMorland & Sim Land Law in New Zealand. Continuing the reputation of previous editions, Principles of Land Law in New Zealand offers students and practitioners authoritative commentary on the fundamentals of land law.
Since the last edition, previously titled Principles of Real Property Law, there have been significant legislative and case law updates incorporated by the authors in all chapters with particular focus on the adaptation of the text throughout to incorporate the Land Transfer Act 2017.
• McMorland & Gibbons McMorland & Gibbons on Unit Titles and Cross-leases, 2nd edition, 2020
• McMorland McMorland on Easements Covenants and Licences, 4th edition, 2019
• Campbell Campbell on Caveats, 4th edition, 2019
• Goodall Hinde on Commercial Leases, 4th edition, 2019
• Campbell Campbell on Mortgages, 2014
• Hinde, McMorland & Sim Land Law in New Zealand (online resource)
Neil Campbell
Toni Collins
Jody L Foster
Jason Goodall
Neil Campbell is a barrister at Shortland Chambers, Auckland. He was previously an Associate Professor in the Faculty of Law at the University of Auckland, and prior to that taught at the University of Nottingham.
His practice, teaching, and research are focused on contract law, insurance law, company law, securities regulation, and land law. He has been published extensively in a range of leading texts and peer-reviewed publications. These include: Hinde McMorland and Sim Land Law in New Zealand, Morison's Company and Securities Law, the Cambridge Law Journal, Lloyd's Maritime and Commercial Law Quarterly, the Insurance Law Journal, and the New Zealand Law Review.
View all books by Neil Campbell (4)
View all books by Toni Collins (1)
Jody L Foster is a barrister specialising in general civil litigation, with an emphasis on contract and property disputes and an interest in conflict of laws. Before joining the Bar in 1996, she held positions at Russell McVeagh, Speechly Bircham in London, and Buddle Findlay.
View all books by Jody L Foster (2)
Jason Goodall BCom, LLB(Hons)(Auckland) is a barrister practising from Bankside Chambers in Auckland. He specialises in civil and commercial litigation and is regularly instructed in litigation over commercial leases. After graduating, Jason worked as a judge's clerk for Sir Peter Blanchard in the Court of Appeal. He then practised as a litigator at Russell McVeagh, then at Slaughter and May in London.Upon returning to New Zealand in 2009, Jason moved to the independent bar. He has a wide-ranging commercial practice, with a particular interest in commercial leases and regularly acts for landlords and tenants in the superior courts.
View all books by Jason Goodall (2)
1. Land Law in the Legal System
2. The Doctrine of Tenure
3. Estates in Land
4. Equity and Equitable Estates and Interests
5. Future Interests
6. The Extent of the Landholder's Rights
7. Title to Land
8. The Land Transfer System
9. Title by Registration
10. Caveats
11. Leasehold Estates
12. Concurrent Interests in Land
13. Unit Titles and Cross Leases
14. Land as Security: Mortgages and Other Changes
15. Easements and Profits
16. Covenants Affecting Freehold Land
17. Licenses
18. Capacity to Own and to Deal with Land
McMorland on Easements, Covenants and Licences, 4th edition
McMorland & Gibbons on Unit Titles and Cross-Leases, 2nd edition
Campbell on Mortgages
Hinde on Commercial Leases, 4th edition


text:
Q: Spark - Yarn FetchFailed Exception I have a cluster configuration using Yarn with 3 nodes. Each node has:
4 Cores
8 Gb Ram
500 Gb HDD Space
I wanted to run a Spark job on top of it, but it fails with the above exception. When i run a job with a small test file everything goes well, but when i try a 250mb text file i get an exception.
I am using Python with pySpark to run a clustering with KMeans.
Here are my configurations for yarn and spark:
YARN
    <property>
            <name>yarn.scheduler.minimum-allocation-mb</name>
            <value>2048</value>
    </property>
    <property>
            <name>yarn.scheduler.maximum-allocation-mb</name>
            <value>6144</value>
    </property>
    <property>
            <name>yarn.nodemanager.resource.memory-mb</name>
            <value>6144</value>
    </property>
    <property>
            <name>yarn.nodemanager.vmem-check-enabled</name>
            <value>false</value>
    </property>
    <property>
            <name>yarn.nodemanager.vmem-pmem-ration</name>
            <value>4</value>
    </property>

SPARK
spark.master    yarn
spark.yarn.am.memory 1g
spark.yarn.am.cores 2
spark.dynamicAllocation.executorIdleTimeout 30s
spark.executor.cores 1
spark.yarn.executor.memoryOverhead 1g
spark.core.connection.ack.wait.timeout 600s
spark.network.timeout 800s
spark.executor.memory 4g
spark.port.maxRetries 50

And the errors i am getting (sorry for long post):
2018-06-25 17:23:21 WARN  TaskSetManager:66 - Lost task 1.0 in stage 3.3 (TID 33, worker-02, executor 2): FetchFailed(BlockManagerId(1, worker-03, 45538, None), shuffleId=0, mapId=0, reduceId=1, message=
org.apache.spark.shuffle.FetchFailedException: Failed to connect to worker-03/167.99.250.122:45538
at org.apache.spark.storage.ShuffleBlockFetcherIterator.throwFetchFailedException(ShuffleBlockFetcherIterator.scala:519)
at org.apache.spark.storage.ShuffleBlockFetcherIterator.next(ShuffleBlockFetcherIterator.scala:450)
at org.apache.spark.storage.ShuffleBlockFetcherIterator.next(ShuffleBlockFetcherIterator.scala:61)
at scala.collection.Iterator$$anon$12.nextCur(Iterator.scala:434)
at scala.collection.Iterator$$anon$12.hasNext(Iterator.scala:440)
at scala.collection.Iterator$$anon$11.hasNext(Iterator.scala:408)
at org.apache.spark.util.CompletionIterator.hasNext(CompletionIterator.scala:32)
at org.apache.spark.InterruptibleIterator.hasNext(InterruptibleIterator.scala:37)
at org.apache.spark.util.collection.ExternalAppendOnlyMap.insertAll(ExternalAppendOnlyMap.scala:153)
at org.apache.spark.Aggregator.combineCombinersByKey(Aggregator.scala:50)
at org.apache.spark.shuffle.BlockStoreShuffleReader.read(BlockStoreShuffleReader.scala:84)
at org.apache.spark.rdd.ShuffledRDD.compute(ShuffledRDD.scala:105)
at org.apache.spark.rdd.RDD.computeOrReadCheckpoint(RDD.scala:324)
at org.apache.spark.rdd.RDD.iterator(RDD.scala:288)
at org.apache.spark.rdd.MapPartitionsRDD.compute(MapPartitionsRDD.scala:38)
at org.apache.spark.rdd.RDD.computeOrReadCheckpoint(RDD.scala:324)
at org.apache.spark.rdd.RDD.iterator(RDD.scala:288)
at org.apache.spark.scheduler.ResultTask.runTask(ResultTask.scala:87)
at org.apache.spark.scheduler.Task.run(Task.scala:109)
at org.apache.spark.executor.Executor$TaskRunner.run(Executor.scala:345)
at java.util.concurrent.ThreadPoolExecutor.runWorker(ThreadPoolExecutor.java:1149)
at java.util.concurrent.ThreadPoolExecutor$Worker.run(ThreadPoolExecutor.java:624)
at java.lang.Thread.run(Thread.java:748)
Caused by: java.io.IOException: Failed to connect to worker-03/167.99.250.122:45538
at org.apache.spark.network.client.TransportClientFactory.createClient(TransportClientFactory.java:245)
at org.apache.spark.network.client.TransportClientFactory.createClient(TransportClientFactory.java:187)
at org.apache.spark.network.netty.NettyBlockTransferService$$anon$2.createAndStart(NettyBlockTransferService.scala:113)
at org.apache.spark.network.shuffle.RetryingBlockFetcher.fetchAllOutstanding(RetryingBlockFetcher.java:141)
at org.apache.spark.network.shuffle.RetryingBlockFetcher.lambda$initiateRetry$0(RetryingBlockFetcher.java:169)
at java.util.concurrent.Executors$RunnableAdapter.call(Executors.java:511)
at java.util.concurrent.FutureTask.run(FutureTask.java:266)
at java.util.concurrent.ThreadPoolExecutor.runWorker(ThreadPoolExecutor.java:1149)
at java.util.concurrent.ThreadPoolExecutor$Worker.run(ThreadPoolExecutor.java:624)
at io.netty.util.concurrent.DefaultThreadFactory$DefaultRunnableDecorator.run(DefaultThreadFactory.java:138)
... 1 more
Caused by: io.netty.channel.AbstractChannel$AnnotatedConnectException: Connection refused: worker-03/167.99.250.122:45538
at sun.nio.ch.SocketChannelImpl.checkConnect(Native Method)
at sun.nio.ch.SocketChannelImpl.finishConnect(SocketChannelImpl.java:717)
at io.netty.channel.socket.nio.NioSocketChannel.doFinishConnect(NioSocketChannel.java:323)
at io.netty.channel.nio.AbstractNioChannel$AbstractNioUnsafe.finishConnect(AbstractNioChannel.java:340)
at io.netty.channel.nio.NioEventLoop.processSelectedKey(NioEventLoop.java:633)
at io.netty.channel.nio.NioEventLoop.processSelectedKeysOptimized(NioEventLoop.java:580)
at io.netty.channel.nio.NioEventLoop.processSelectedKeys(NioEventLoop.java:497)
at io.netty.channel.nio.NioEventLoop.run(NioEventLoop.java:459)
at io.netty.util.concurrent.SingleThreadEventExecutor$5.run(SingleThreadEventExecutor.java:858)
... 2 more
Caused by: java.net.ConnectException: Connection refused
... 11 more

)

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


text:
Home \ Prophecy \ Revelation
Article URL: https://lifehopeandtruth.com/prophecy/revelation/seven-trumpets/
How 7 Trumpets of Revelation Will Affect Humanity
by David Treybig
The book of Revelation speaks of seven successive trumpets that will sound prior to the return of Jesus Christ to earth. What do they represent?
The number seven is an often-repeated number throughout the last book of the Bible, the book of Revelation. This book, which was given to reveal what "must shortly take place" (Revelation 1:1), includes seven churches (verse 4), seven golden lampstands (verse 12), seven stars (verse 16), seven "lamps of fire … which are the seven Spirits of God" (4:5), seven seals (5:1), seven trumpets (8:6), a beast with seven heads and 10 horns (13:1), seven thunders (10:3) and seven last plagues (15:1), which are contained in seven golden bowls (15:6-7).
The seven seals, seven trumpets and seven last plagues form an outline of prophetic events that will occur before and at the time of Christ's return to earth. As our articles "Seven Seals," "Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse" and "Wrath of God" explain, the first five of the seven seals represent Satan's wrath against God's people and mankind in general. The sixth seal announces the wrath of God (Revelation 6:12-16).
The seventh seal represents the Day of the Lord—the major theme of the book of Revelation. This seventh seal includes God's judgment upon disobedient mankind in the form of seven trumpet plagues (Revelation 8-9) and seven last plagues (Revelation 15-16).
(Our bimonthly Discern magazine covers issues like this regularly. We'd be happy to give you a free subscription to Discern. Digital subscriptions are available worldwide; print subscriptions are currently available in the United States, Canada and much of Europe.)
Seven trumpets and their meaning
When the seventh seal was opened, John saw seven angels with seven trumpets. As each angel blew his trumpet, John saw terrifying plagues unfold, and he used powerful symbolic language to try to describe what he was witnessing.
First Trumpet: Hail and fire mingled with blood will cause all the grass on earth and a third of the trees to be burned up (Revelation 8:7).
Second Trumpet: A great mountainous burning object will be thrown into the earth's oceans, causing one third of them to become blood, one third of sea life to die and one third of the ships to be destroyed (verses 8-9).
Third Trumpet: John saw a burning star fall from heaven on sources of fresh water, causing the water to become bitter and kill many (verses 10-11).
Fourth Trumpet: The light of the sun, moon and stars upon the earth will be diminished by a third (verse 12).
Fifth Trumpet (also called the first woe): What John could only describe as an unusual type of locust (likely seeing in the vision modern military aircraft) will emerge on the earth that will inflict intensely painful stings upon humans for five months (Revelation 9:1-12).
Sixth Trumpet (also called the second woe): Four angels will be released to kill one-third of the earth's remaining population via an army of 200 million (verses 13-19).
Seventh Trumpet (also called the third woe): As this trumpet is sounding, voices in heaven will say, "The kingdoms of this world have become the kingdoms of our Lord and of His Christ, and He shall reign forever and ever!" (Revelation 11:15).
Impact of the trumpets
Because of mankind's disobedience to His holy and beneficial laws, God will bring this severe punishment upon earth's inhabitants. Because of mankind's disobedience to His holy and beneficial laws, God will bring this severe punishment upon earth's inhabitants. The effects of the first six trumpets will include an ecological disaster of epic proportion. And as the planet struggles to support life, humans will have to endure such intense pain that they will desire to die (Revelation 9:6); and many will indeed die, as noted in the description of the sixth trumpet (verses 13-19).
While one would think that such intense punishment would cause people to repent of their sins, this will not occur. As the Bible explains, "But the rest of mankind, who were not killed by these plagues, did not repent of the works of their hands, that they should not worship demons, and idols of gold, silver, brass, stone, and wood, which can neither see nor hear nor walk. And they did not repent of their murders or their sorceries or their sexual immorality or their thefts" (Revelation 9:20-21).
Humans are going to be so set on their freedom to break God's laws that they will be willing to die for their way of life rather than repent. What a truly sad state of deception Satan has perpetrated upon mankind (Revelation 12:9)!
Because people will not repent, seven additional punishments called "the seven last plagues" (Revelation 15:1) will come upon mankind. While these sobering judgments are destined to come upon the inhabitants on earth, our loving God does not desire any to ultimately perish (2 Peter 3:9) and will in due time give every human an opportunity to understand His way of life and choose whether to obey God or not. This opportunity will come during and after a 1,000-year period of time called the Millennium—a time when Satan will be bound and unable to deceive mankind.
For further study on this astounding plan of God, see:
What Are the Seven Last Plagues?
The Last Great Day
Second Resurrection: A Second Chance?
Resurrections: What Are They?
Judgment of God: The Real Story
The Wrath of God: How to Survive
Three Woes: What Should We Learn?
David Treybig
David Treybig is a husband, father and grandfather. He and his wife, Teddi, have two grown children and seven grandchildren. He currently pastors the Austin, Texas, congregation of the Church of God, a Worldwide Association. He has served in the pastoral ministry for over 40 years, pastoring congregations across six states.
Why Will God Send the Seven Trumpet Plagues?
Learn More About Revelation
Subscribe to Discern Magazine
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redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


A motorcyclist has died following a crash that occurred on Thursday night in Harts Location, New Hampshire.
According to the New Hampshire State Police, the accident occurred on Route 302 when a westbound motorcyclist "failed to negotiate a curve."
The motorcyclist was transported via helicopter to Dartmouth Hitchcock Medical Center where he later succumbed to his injuries.
The name of the victim is being withheld pending notification.


Share the post "The Notorious One"
This self-belief is personified in Dublin native Conor McGregor. He equally maintains strict inner focus and exuberant confidence, which made the 25-year-old's rise to become the darling of the Ultimate Fighting Championships (UFC) brass seem so effortless.
McGregor attributes his success to a personal belief. "It's as simple as you telling yourself that; that's it. All I have to do is tell myself. I tell myself so much and I tell everyone else so much, that I'm going to do this or that.
Possessing a ten fight win streak that saw him capture the Cage Warriors Fighting Championships Featherweight and Lightweight titles, a feat only equalled by Dan Henderson's dominance in the Pride Fighting Championships. McGregor entered the UFC's Octagon in April, and quickly made his mark.
McGregor's last fight in Boston, an event launching the UFC on Fox Sports One, was filled with intrigue. He fought to a decision against Max Holloway, in which the fight was won utilising McGregor's grappling arsenal, all a tactical reaction to an ACL tear caused by an awkward bridge and roll escape from Holloway.
The Irishman was deflated following the win, citing his inability to finish. ACL injuries kill careers, yet he was uncaring in the cage. "I honestly just didn't even acknowledge it. I didn't tell my corner men, I didn't. I just accepted it.
McGregor, a purple belt in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu (BJJ), credits his successes to Ireland's first BJJ Black Belt, John Kavanagh. The leader of the Straight Blast Gym and a man McGregor proclaims as "a genius, he is remarkable at planning movement.
The UFC's featherweight champion, Jose Aldo, will face number one contender Ricardo Lamas on SuperBowl weekend at UFC 169, with McGregor unfazed by Lamas' mentality. "Hype is a funny thing. I don't listen to what people have to say, I just look at the movement.
Plagued with an ACL injury that could leave him side-lined for six months, McGregor's will has been tested, but not broken. "There is a nation of people waiting on me to come back and put on the big show.
With a homecoming fight in Dublin pending his return, McGregor will hope to climb atop the pack and earn his chance to fight Aldo, to win his legacy as a pioneer of Irish MMA.


text:
Here are a few of the articles and essays I have written:
What the Italians can teach us about child-rearing
Globe and Mail Update
Published Thursday, Mar. 22, 2012 2:02PM EDT
Raising children in a country like Canada ought to be easy. With so much expert parenting advice, you'd think we'd only need to choose a method and follow the instructions to turn out a highly functioning adult. Of course, we all know the process is far stickier.
Lately, we've been getting advice from all over. Amy Chua's bestselling Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother explored the discipline-laced Chinese approach, and Pamela Druckerman investigated the French phenomenon of the well-behaved child in Bringing Up Bebe. In this multinational spirit, I would like to offer another foreign perspective on child rearing: the Italian way.
In Rome, where I've lived for the past 10 years and where my seven-year-old son was born, parents are neither tough disciplinarians nor careful monitors of behaviour. And while there is something inherently absurd in offering the land of Silvio Berlusconi, where 80 per cent of men from 18 to 30 live with their parents, as a model of good parenting, there is still an admirable quality to the Italian style.
Walk into any restaurant in Rome, from the ordinary to the elegant, at 10 p.m. and you will find children eating and talking at the table with adults. Sometimes they misbehave and the adults will rein them in with raised voices and cutting hand gestures. Around 11, some of them will be face down in their spaghetti or sprawled over their parents' laps, sleeping while the adults linger over a bitter digestivo.
Children are a positive and integral part of Italian society, and restaurants are one place where you see this attitude. "Because family matters so much, we don't have such strict generational walls like you might see in America," explains Paola Sartorio, a college instructor in Rome and mother of twin five-year-olds. "If you go into a restaurant for lunch you find children, teenagers, adults and grandparents. It's normal to share all the stages of life with our family and community."
It's in public places with friends and family that my own son has learned to eat food in courses, to eat what is served to him, including the anchovies and asparagus, to participate in the conversation, and to be respectful of other people sharing the same space.
Children are not just tolerated in restaurants, they are welcomed with enthusiasm. It's not unusual to see waiters parading the youngest ones around on their shoulders or to see them cadge a little pizza dough for kids to play with at the table. Recently, I had lunch in a tiny, exclusive restaurant. People without reservations were turned away at the door. But, when a young couple arrived with a six-week-old baby in their arms, the waiter brought them in, asked everyone to shove down a little this way and squish a little that way while he fitted in an extra table. The rest of the patrons, far from being annoyed, were delighted to have a baby in their midst.
Italian children have a place in the culture, and the culture has a role in a child's socialization. They don't have to be kept away from adults who might find them noisy or bothersome. At the same time, parents don't present their children as rarefied creatures worthy of adoration. Other than a booster seat for the little ones, they rarely ask for special consideration. People smile at children on the bus, they talk to them at the fruit market, but when they don't eat their vegetables in a restaurant, it's not just their parents who have something to say about it.
It's all a reflection of a kind of ease that Italian family members seem to feel with each other and with different generations. American anthropologists studying family interactions recently reported that American parents were very child-focused and had idealized notions of "family time." The American parents adapt to the children instead of teaching the children to fit in. The researchers noted that this idea doesn't exist in Italian families.
Yet Italian parents are the first to criticize their own methods. The world economic crisis has them worrying that their culture might encourage children to value pleasure over responsibility. They worry that their emphasis on family fosters dependency.
"French children are very well behaved in public," says Andrea Maroni Ponti, laughing while we watch a group of seven-year-olds gleefully whacking each other with sword balloons at a birthday party. "But, maybe they are a little too strict," he adds. "Maybe we need to be more strict, maybe we have to make them a little more serious."
Though the pleasures cultivated by generations of Italians with the arts and with food and camaraderie at the table may not be valued by our current economic system, they are essential to human happiness. Pleasure and beauty are birthrights for Italians, but parents say their children have to learn to appreciate them. In galleries and churches, parents teach children to overcome boredom and to pay attention to the artworks. "This weekend we're going to see the Sistine Chapel," says Chiara Monetti, mother of an eight-year-old. "Our daughter is not excited but she's not negative, she's interested enough."
The idea seems always to teach children to enjoy these things for themselves, rather than to gain knowledge that can be used to their advantage. Italians don't seem to foster competitiveness as other countries do. There are no foreign-language tutors and gourmet cooking classes for toddlers. Maybe all of this competing with each other is counterproductive anyway. A recent article in Psychology Today suggests that trying to give children an advantage over others can leave them unhappily concerned with status, when they really need to learn to get along with others.
Italians throw their children into the mix of daily life in a way that enhances the experience for everyone. They encourage children to understand and appreciate the place of art and culture in a way that gives children a sense of inner happiness. They seem to focus on the pleasure rather than the burden of children in their midst. I think this is healthy for the children and better for society overall. It certainly makes it easier to enjoy being a parent.
Jeannie Marshall is the author of Outside the box: Why our Children Need Real Food, Not Food Products, to be released in early April.
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/parenting/young-children/children-trends/what-the-italians-can-teach-us-about-child-rearing/article2378003/
By JEANNIE MARSHALL
Literary Mama
I am a picture of happy domesticity in my kitchen, chopping mushrooms and crushing cloves of garlic. The evening is warm and the open windows bring the sounds of the street inside. My husband, James, is working at the computer in another room and our son Nicolas is asleep in his bedroom after a busy afternoon in the park. Our apartment is in Rome, on the slope of a hill with a view of the Castelli Romani ahead, a grove of palms and orange trees to the right, and domes and rooftops to the left. The bell in the monastery of San Anselmo calls the monks to vespers at quarter past seven each night; tonight it's my signal to remove the garlic from the oil in the pan and add the pancetta. I take a bottle of prosecco out of the fridge and pour a glass to drink while I cook.
If anyone were watching they would see a woman who has everything. I am loved by the man I love most in the world, we have an adorable toddler, we live in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe and I shop in picturesque markets for fresh local produce where I banter in Italian with the vendors. I am cooking, which is one of my favorite things to do, and drinking a glass of fruity, bubbly wine while I'm at it.
It would appear as if I am actually living my own dream. When I was studying English literature at university I spent half my time reading and the rest of my time trying on the biographies of my favourite writers. I could so easily imagine myself in the Paris of Mavis Gallant and the London and Florence of Henry James. There was little to no evidence of children in the lives of the expat writers I admired, and so I didn't have to work them into my future either. Later, when I studied journalism it was Martha Gellhorn, Janet Flannery and Jane Kramer, three women who wrote (and in Kramer's case, still do write) lucid yet literary prose from Europe. It was always Europe that held my imagination and seemed to be the place where my future must unfold.
Now, here I am in Italy, and it is a romantic picture and a romantic life. It is, it is, and yet I have become a little irritable lately. I am living the future I once dared to hope for, except that in my dreams it was my work, and not my husband's job, that brought me to Europe. In my dreams I was a well-paid journalist, happy and well-rounded with a busy life and a family. I never for a moment imagined that it was the family that would take over my life.
I grew up in the age of working mothers and equality of the sexes. I never looked for a man to save me. But, in spite of having been an independent, single woman, and in spite of having married a man who only ever dated strong, career-oriented women, I have somehow become a housewife and mother.
The deep boom of San Anselmo's bell softens to a resonant echo and slowly fades as the pancetta starts to curl at the edges. I add some chopped tomatoes to the pan. It was James who first made a version of this pasta sauce in Toronto eight years ago, shortly after we moved in together. He was a documentary filmmaker and I was a features writer at a national newspaper. We were busy and full of stories to tell each other at the end of every day, over a glass of wine and a plate of something delicious cooked by whoever made it home first from work.
We kept separate bank accounts in those days but we shared our living expenses. We both loved to cook and we split the cleaning duties down the middle. Our work involved travel and we would return gratefully to each other from our separate adventures in Beijing and Berlin, in Copenhagen and Seattle. We even took a three-month writing trip together to Spain where we set up our desks in Madrid and worked side by side on our separate stories.
It was shortly after that summer in Spain when James was offered a job with a United Nations agency based in Rome. It started slowly with a contract here and another there, but after a few months he was asked to come in full time to make films about issues that affect the lives of people in rural areas of Africa and South America. I was visiting him in Rome when the offer came through. We took a walk during the lunch hour and bought toasted tomato, mozzarella, and basil panini. We sat on a bench overlooking Circo Massimo where the ancient Romans once raced their chariots and we talked.
"So much will change," he said. He seemed excited and also a little worried. "We don't know exactly what we're getting into."
We watched the joggers kicking up dust on the ancient racetrack, and the pigeons moving in on the office workers eating their lunches on the slope of the hill. It was early March, but James removed his jacket and sat in his shirtsleeves and we both wordlessly noted the warmth of the spring air, so unlike the half frozen slush of springtime Toronto.
"The new job will begin in July. We should get married before we leave home," said James, just like that. "And if we're ever going to have a kid, we have to get started on it now." His words were too rushed and worried to be romantic, but he was talking about a lifelong commitment, becoming parents together and having a shared adventure in a foreign country. He accepted the job and we returned to Toronto to settle our affairs.
We had a beautiful Sunday morning wedding in May with our friends and family. I quit my job in June. In July, we packed up our belongings and our two cats and off we went.
Neither of us had ever wanted a traditional relationship where the man goes to work and the wife stays home, but in Rome it started to happen. We moved into a temporary apartment and started to search for something more suitable. But since James had to go to work every day, I did all the legwork. The fresh produce markets were only open in the mornings, so I did the shopping. James would often come home late from work and I was already home even when I was working, so it made sense for me to do all the cooking. It made me feel a little more useful, since I was no longer bringing in half the money. I learned to pay attention to seasonal produce and started to ask advice on how to prepare the unfamiliar greens — beate, agretti, puntarelle — I saw heaped up at the markets.
I was disciplined and I used whatever time was leftover from my house hunting and housekeeping duties to work on articles about Italian politics, culture, social issues, and whatever else seemed interesting. I traveled to Germany and Albania for stories. James was shooting in Peru, Ethiopia, Zambia, and Mozambique. It was in many ways as exciting as ever and perhaps even more so because home base was now an exotic location. But while James was being paid a decent and regular salary for his work, I was paid freelance fees that were set in the 1970s. Worse, I was earning devalued Canadian dollars while I was living on inflated Euros. It came down to money, really. Before Nicolas was even born, it was money that tipped the balance of our relationship.
Despite the decline of my bank account, life was very good. We took driving trips through Umbria and Tuscany where we ate wild boar and black truffles. We spent weekends on the island of Ponza, eating salads and fresh fish. We studied the language and history of Italy. We made friends and created a life for ourselves. My income as a freelancer was sporadic. When I had some money I was content and when I didn't, I felt like the lesser partner in the relationship, no matter how hard I worked.
In the spring, I became pregnant. I thought having a child might change my perspective and make me see money as ours rather than mine or his. I continued to work through my pregnancy, though I slowed down as I grew huge and uncomfortable and increasingly more impatient with the lousy pay. I tried to write a novel at that time. I fleshed out my characters and spent hours each day writing slowly and carefully, polishing and shaping my beautiful story until it seemed, for a moment, to be perfect. Perfect until the doubts crept in and it seemed ridiculous and I erased and started again to shape and to polish. I seemed eternally to be writing the same chapter and it occurred to me one day that this was far too much like Prometheus and his liver, which got me to thinking about what to make for dinner. I closed the computer and went to the market where the woman at the cheese counter told me how to make a simple but sublime sauce for polenta by cooking tomatoes slowly with sweet Gorgonzola.
And then Nicolas — or Nico as he soon became known — was born. For a few months I stopped worrying about my work and my money and even myself and concentrated only on him and his needs. James and I were both touched by his vulnerability. We had thought about sending him to the daycare at James's office so I could continue to work, but it seemed a shame to send such a tiny baby away when it wasn't really necessary. I didn't have a job and no one was demanding that I return to work. So, instead, I resumed my shopping, cooking, and laundry duties and we hired someone else to clean. Any thoughts of finishing my novel while the baby slept seeped away in the dark as I sat up nursing him four or five times a night.
When Nico was almost three months old, the Pope died and every journalist in Europe was on the story. My old newspaper called and asked me to write something. I was completely overwhelmed by the demands of an infant, but I couldn't bear the thought of missing a chance to file a story. James and Nico came with me to St. Peter's Square and I nursed my baby under the Colonnade between interviews. I managed to write three colorful features in as many days. It was exhausting and exhilarating, but not nearly as thrilling as sticking my bankcard into an ATM machine a month later and seeing Euro notes come gliding out. I bought a veal roast — the butcher wrapped it in paper on which he had scrawled instructions for roasting it with honey and herbs — and a bottle of Rosso di Montalcino. For dessert we shared a bowl of perfect, ripe cherries, the first of the season.
It occurred to me even then when Nico was so small and so incredibly demanding that I was having the adventure I had always wanted. And now when I get cranky and irritable about my inability to juggle a child and a career, I try to stop and realize that I am navigating a new language and culture. I'm raising a child in a place that is completely foreign to me, and this is both a challenge and a source of tremendous excitement and interest to one who has always romanticized the foreign, the exotic, the European. The problem right now is only that I have so little time to write it all down. And, I'm afraid, the money I could earn from my efforts wouldn't even be enough to buy a white truffle to shave over our fettuccine.
As Nico grows, I know he will need me less and less. Already, we have a babysitter for a few hours a week so I can work a little. It's a nice arrangement, but paying her only adds to my anxiety because, as a part-time, freelance journalist, there are months when I make more money than she costs us, and months when I do not.
My pasta sauce has to simmer awhile to absorb the soaking liquid from the dried porcini mushrooms I have added, and so I make a salad of curly endive and radicchio with slivered pears, toasted pine nuts, and shaved Parmesan. I sprinkle a few grains of coarse salt over top, drizzle on olive oil, and add three drops of balsamic vinegar, and then take it to James with a glass of wine so he can eat it while he works. Then I return to the kitchen to start the pasta water boiling.
My thoughts drift to Nico, while I wait for the water to heat. I remember the way he stood at the top of the slide that afternoon pretending that he would go down and then stepping back, forwards then back again, enjoying the potential thrill and the tease. I am glad to have been there to see it, to watch him experiment with danger and independence, and to be there to catch him as he came shooting down the slide. I take a sip of prosecco and feel my irritation dissipate with the bubbles. At this moment I am glad to be here at the kitchen counter preparing our dinner. But I want the rest of the romantic dream, too. I want the work that I love and the money to go with it. I want my kid to grow up seeing his parents as equal partners in a relationship. I can't resolve this problem, at least not yet. My current circumstances are unique and rewarding, and I know I contribute something to my son's and my husband's lives other than money. Yet I yearn like a nineteenth century heroine for my own livelihood.
It's 8 o'clock and the bells from Santa Maria in Trastevere chime out the time, reminding me to drain the pasta. It's the Madonna who nudges me back to work, she whose image confronts and rebukes my imperfection as a mother, all over this city. But tonight it makes me smile to think that the most famous woman through the ages is the mother of a son.
I toss the pasta in the pan with the sauce and I imagine that if anyone were watching me they would see a woman who has everything. She is loved by the man she loves and they have a sweet little boy. They live in Italy where they have learned to become parents and have experienced the sacrifices involved. And if anyone were to ask if we are happy, I might pause for a moment — I might even qualify my answer by saying that it is not perfect and there is yet more I would like to do with my own life — but I would have to say that it is like a dream, and yes, we are.
http://www.literarymama.com/creativenonfiction/archives/2007/07/love-and-money.html
Advice From My Father
I saw my father one morning as I crossed Piazza Santa Maria in Trastevere. There he was-a skinny old man with a little island of hair on the top of his head and a patch of suntanned skin on either side-sitting at a table under the umbrellas of Caffé di Marzio. He was finishing off a cappuccino and smoking a cigarette; his old man's body curved in an arc over the table while he read a newspaper, Corriere della Sera.
I was surprised. I would have expected a working man like him to read Il Messaggero or possibly Il Manifesto.
We took a table, my little boy and I, not far from his as the bells in the tower rang ten times. I drank a cappuccino and Nico ate a cornetto while I watched the old man smoke cigarette after cigarette and slowly turn the pages of his newspaper. As much as I felt the urge, I didn't speak to him. My Italian isn't that good and I wouldn't want to make a mistake. What would I say to him anyway, after all this time? "What are you doing here? I thought you were …" But I couldn't say that, not in any language.
Besides, this isn't the first time I have seen him in Rome. Sometimes he sits outside the Bar San Calisto in the late afternoon. I've seen him there with his friends and I've heard him speaking in perfect Italian and also in Roman dialect. I've seen him there drinking a clear liquid, which must be grappa, in a clear glass that looks extraordinarily fragile in front of him. He's a rough-looking man with deep crevices in his face, but he has small and delicate hands. I always thought of him as a beer drinker, though I've never seen him drink it.
In Spain he drank wine. I saw him once there, in Madrid, at a sidewalk restaurant. He looked just like one of the two photographs my mother keeps of him. In the picture he wears a dark suit with a white shirt and a narrow tie. His hair was thin even then, but it was short and carefully styled. You can see that he had intense eyes, dancing eyes, blue eyes that lit you up when you looked at him. In Spain he looked at me. His sharp, blue eyes looked right at me and I felt it. I felt his charm, his ability to make a person feel lucky to be there, lucky to know him.
After he left the table, I saw that he had eaten some kind of stewed meat for lunch and had ice cream for dessert. He had ordered a bottle of Rioja, but only drank half of it. I followed him into a market and I watched him buy pears and a piece of queso manchego. He spoke a beautiful, lisping Castilian and he joked with the man who sold the cheese. He turned to me and in Spanish he told me to count my change and they both laughed, so I laughed, too.
I didn't see him in Berlin. That city is so crowded with ghosts, I don't know how I would ever spot him.
The first time my mother saw my father he was on her neighbor's roof. He was running across the peak of a Victorian row house with a hammer hanging from his belt loop. He wasn't wearing a shirt. He had blonde hair. And those eyes, she could see from the ground, were the most beautiful shade of blue-more like ice than sea, she once said.
This was in Toronto just after World War II. He already had three children with his first wife, and in 1948 he and my mother had a son. And then another, and then a daughter, and then two more sons barely more than a year apart, and then a stillborn girl that they called Theresa. In 1963 they had me. In 1964 his heart stopped.
My father had a friend who came round our house a few times afterward. My mother says that I crawled up to him and sat in his lap. He was old-looking and wrinkled with skin as tough as worn leather. He had blue eyes and a receding hairline, just like my father's.
For me, my father has never existed. He is only an echo of memory, more faint even than the memory of the house where we all once lived together. When I was five or six and desperate for something more tangible than a story, I asked my mother if we could dig him up. She told me that all we would find were bones and teeth, maybe hair. I would have liked to see those things, whatever remained of him.
I've heard that he could be terrifying and sometimes mean, that he drank too much and scared everyone out of their minds. He wasn't easy to love, though everyone seemed to love him. He was one of three sons of Scottish immigrants, all hard drinking, brawling men who wanted to move up in the world, but had no idea how. They knew how to pour a drink and how to enjoy it. And they knew how to talk-talk about the future and their plans and the big house and the fine car that would one day be theirs. They were rich in dreams and they knew how to talk about them.
My father was a carpenter. I'd like to say more but that's the only solid fact I have. Everything else I know about him is someone else's version of the man.
"You're the lucky one," they tell me, my siblings.
They think the quiet and relative stability that ensued after he died was better than the presence of our erratic and charismatic father. They think it all stopped once he was gone. But his influence lingered and is here with me now, present in my restlessness.
Through all the houses and apartments where we lived, through the streets and alleys of little towns, along the shore of the lake, and through the maze of the public housing complex that took us back to the city, stories of my father trailed us and left me feeling that I would one day see him, this person who was present but not here, that he would turn up again. I would wonder sometimes what he would make of me when we met; then I would remember that we're not going to meet. Still, that feeling would return with every story. Until one day the thud of finality hit me and I realized that I would never see my father.
Yet since then I have seen him, from time to time, in the places where I go, in the cities where I have lived. Sitting near him in the Caffé di Marzio I took a napkin and brushed the pastry crumbs from my son's lips. Nico laughed. "It tickles," he said, his blue eyes reflective like ice, his blonde hair so brilliant in the Roman sunshine.
We left the café first. I didn't even try to catch my father's eye.
That night, after a late supper with my husband and a glass of wine, I opened my Italian grammar to work on some verbs. I know how the language works and I can follow its rules, but I'm still waiting for it all to make sense. For me, there is only surface in this language. Things can only be exactly what they appear to be. But the wine made me too sleepy to concentrate and soon I went to bed.
I slept well and deeply, but toward morning I dreamed about my father. He looked as he did in the second picture that my mother keeps. In this photograph he is standing in a field wearing baggy pants and a loose shirt and he looks old and worn out. It was taken the year before he died, when he was 46.
In the dream, I saw him standing in the field in dark corduroy pants and a white shirt, only partly buttoned and untucked. There was a stream behind him. He picked up a stick and started to walk along, poking the stick in the stream. I tried to keep up with him but he seemed to want to get away. He shook the stick at me.
"Leave me in peace," he said. "Why don't you just leave me alone?"
"But I need to know a few things," I told him.
He stopped walking, which seemed to suggest that he was at least willing to entertain a question.
I wanted to say, "Stop, please, and look at what I've done with my life. Look at it and tell me, what do you think?" But that's not what I said when I finally spoke.
"Where did you learn to speak Italian?" I asked, at last.
This made him turn towards me. He looked at the ground and gave me a chance to catch up. Then we walked along together while I waited for him to answer.
"There's something I've wanted to say to you," he said at last, "but you never give me a chance."
I apologized and urged him to tell me what he wanted to say. But he didn't speak. I waited. I stayed quiet while we walked along the stream so that he wouldn't change his mind. Finally, he spoke.
"Don't look back," he said.
Only my father could know of my tendency to go over and over and over the past.
"Once it's gone it's gone. So don't lose time. Just look ahead and do something interesting with what's left of your life."
He ran through a number of such platitudes that are nonetheless true despite being so worn.
My father stepped right in front of me and looked me in the eye, and then he told me to sort out the Italian subjunctive.
"Just use it," he said, in a voice that was soft, though not so terribly kind. "You know how, you're just being shy. You are afraid, but you'll never be fluent if you don't practice."
He looked at me with those sharp, cool eyes.
"Penso che tu stia sognando," he said with such clarity that his voice still rings painfully in my head: I think you are dreaming.
I nodded. He was right, of course, about everything. But I was grateful for the advice even though there was still so much I wanted to know. When I woke up I was asking another question. The words were there, I had said them aloud. But the room was empty. I was talking to myself.
http://www.literarymama.com/creativenonfiction/archives/2009/06/advice-from-my-father.html
One response to "Articles"
Pietro Natalo
Ho scoperto per caso il suo blog. Sono affascinato dalla sua sensibilità e dalla curiosità e apertura mentale che traspare dai suoi articoli. Sono un italiano che spesso non vede quello che Lei con affettuosa narrazione riesce a trasmettere, questo mi induce pensieri dolci e sereni. La ringrazio per la condivisione della sua esperienza di vita nel mio Paese. In questi tempi dove la "globalizzazione" rischia di farci perdere di vista gli aspetti caratteristici e la ricchezza della varie culture del mondo, credo sia importante riconoscere le differenze: apprezzarle, criticarle, viverle e raccontale come sta facendo Lei. Grazie ancora e buon lavoro!


Snippets of stories, short poems, anything concerning writing.
Hi everyone. Like it says above, I'm famous! Well, not really. But I feel kind of important today. Why? I am in the newspaper.
No, it's not the New York Times but still, this paper circulates around all of NW Arkansas which for me, is big.
I hope it might be the beginning for more exposure for my first full length novel, Angel in the Shadows , and also for my short story, Second Chances, A Christmas Story, which is one of 8 Chritmas themed stories in the Soul Mate publication, Sizzle in the Snow.
I am currently working on the second book in the Angel series, tentatively titled, Stone Cold Angel.
Also, when Angel in the Shadows becomes available in print version, (around May or June of this year), I plan to begin do book signings. I am in the process of contacting a few places around NW Arkansas that would allow me to set up a book signing table.
But in the meantime, if you're interested in a good book, please check out Angel in the Shadows or Sizzle in the Snow. Both are currently available on Amazon. And if you do purchase one of these incredible titles, please leave a review on Amazon and Goodreads. Reviews help us authors more than you can possibly know.
Thanks for stopping by. Enjoy!!
Good morning everyone. Here's your second chance to win a digital copy of my debut book, Angel in the Shadows. The winner will chosen at random and messenged on Friday evening. Or if you prefer, you may include your email along with your comment.
In the last book you read/are reading or wrote/are writing, how did you imagine the two main characters to look?
Click the link below to play.
Please include a photo with your comment. Good luck and thanks for playing.
Good morning everyone. It has been 7 months since my debut book, Angel in the Shadows, has been released! I am celebrating by giving away a free digital copy of my book every Monday of this month. For your chance to win, please stop by Facebook and comment on the question I posted.
He had just reached the top of the stairs when he heard a pain-filled scream followed by a heavy thump. Seconds later he was nailed by a terror-stricken woman and not just any woman. Madison.
He got caught her easily enough and without a second thought, he yanked her into the storage closet. She fought him like a wildcat, her fear and terror lending her a strength surprising for someone her size. Twisting and turning, she tried to slip out of his grasp.
When that didn't work, she did the only thing she could and sank her teeth into his hand. Her teeth were sharp and they bit clean through his leather glove, slicing into his flesh underneath. He didn't even register the pain and ripping his hand away, he assumed she would try to scream and run.
Surprisingly, she didn't but she had the auditcity to try and knew in the crotch. Women. They always have to go for the crotch. Aggravated, he pushed her knee away.
"Don't do that. It only make me grumpy," he replied. "Don't scream and don't try to run. If you do, he might hear you and then I'll have to kill him." And that would be another huge mass to deal with. God, what had he gotten himself into?
She was determined he had to give her that. She was going to keep fighting him unless he handled this differently. Making a split decision, he flipped the switch on the wall, lighting up the room. Her eyes widened with recognition.
"Don't scream," he warned, glaring at her. Too late.
She opened her mouth to scream and made a run for the door.
He grabbed her sound her waist and hauled her back, throwing her against the wall. He slapped his hand over again and let his his eyes roam over her skin. The neckline on her dress was low and in a second of pure male weakness, he let his eyes trace over her breasts as they heaved against the right, black material.
"I told you not to scream." he growled. "Don't do it again. Now be quiet and I'll let you go. Understand?" He doubted that she believed him. He wouldn't if he were her.
He removed his hand slowly, ready to slap it back across her mouth should she try to scream again. She didn't. Gasping for breath, she didn't move as he held pinned against the wall but she glared at him with those rich-brown eyes.
They flickered with fear before being replaced with something entirely different. Something akin to determination. She was obviously terrified he was going to kill her but perhaps she wasn't going to go down easily. In spite of himself, he had to admire her fighting spirit and the fact that she'd had the sense to quell the fear in her eyes.
Silly girl. She had no idea how close to death she really was. He let his eyes trail over her once again slowly, from head to toe, pausing at her breasts before continuing downward. Standing awkwardly, she was favoring her left foot. Probably a sprained ankle from the look of it. And her right knee was a mess of blood and torn skin. That was something that would have to be taken care of later. But right now, he needed to know exactly what he hell was going on.
I hope you play. Thanks and good luck!!
Hi everyone. Today is a sad and terrible day for me. I just list a very old, very good friend. My laptop.
'Ol Red and I have been through a lot together.
From the first day I held it in my arms 9 years ago, I felt something special. And I had such high hopes for it. I just knew it would do wonders. When it needed energy, I plugged it in. When it was sick, I took it to the doctor. I took care of 'Ol Red.
And it did! It connected me to my family that lived far away, it played games and music and it entertained my kids and I for many years. It kept my secrets, my pictures and videos, my memories safe. It showed us the world. But that's not all.
'Ol Red helped me achieve my dream to become a published author. Yes, with Red by my side, we wrote not one but two wonderful stories together.
'Ol Red was there for me and I was there for it. When it needed energy, I plugged it in. When it was sick, I took it to the doctor. We made a great team.
But lately 'Ol Red's health has been steadily going down hill. First, it began to lose energy quickly and had to be plugged in more often. Then eventually, it was able to wake up on it's own without a shot of electricity. We went on that way for a long time until today when it's life force, the cord giving it energy, gave up the fight.
So sadly, today, January 7, 2016, I have to say goodbye to ' Ol Red. We've been through a lot together and I will never forget you. You were my first laptop and you will live in my memory forever.
Hi everybody. I just wanted to share this link with you. 28th I e click, you can read some of the best short Christmas stories around. All in one amazing book! How awesome is that? Even better, you can download a digital copy on Amazon for only $2.99. And we love reviews so please be sure to rate our book on Amazon and Goodreads. Thanks and enjoy!
HI EVERYONE! ARE YOU INTERESTED IN HAVING A GOOD TIME? THEN BE SURE TO STOP BY AND HAVE FUN WITH US!!
8 EXTREMELY TALENTED AUTHORS ARE GOING TO BE FACEBOOK ON NOVEMBER 19th, 2015 TO CELEBRATE THE UPCOMING RELEASE OF THEIR STEAMY CHRISTMAS BOOK, SIZZLE IN THE SNOW. THERE ARE GOING TO BE PRIZES AND GIVEAWAYS AND MUCH, MUCH MORE. JUST CLICK ON THE LINK BELOW AND ZIP RIGHT OVER FOR MORE DETAILS!! HOPE TO SEE YOU THERE. ENJOY!!


8 And leaping up, he stood and began to walk, and entered the temple with them, walking and leaping and praising God.
10 and recognized him as the one who sat at the Beautiful Gate of the temple, asking for alms. And they were filled with wonder and amazement at what had happened to him.
11 While he clung to Peter and John, all the people, utterly astounded, ran together to them in the portico called Solomon's.
12 And when Peter saw it he addressed the people: "Men of Israel, why do you wonder at this, or why do you stare at us, as though by our own power or piety we have made him walk?
13 The God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, the God of our fathers, glorified his servant2 Jesus, whom you delivered over and denied in the presence of Pilate, when he had decided to release him.
16 And his name—by faith in his name—has made this man strong whom you see and know, and the faith that is through Jesus3 has given the man this perfect health in the presence of you all.
17 "And now, brothers, I know that you acted in ignorance, as did also your rulers.
21 whom heaven must receive until the time for restoring all the things about which God spoke by the mouth of his holy prophets long ago.
22 Moses said, 'The Lord God will raise up for you a prophet like me from your brothers. You shall listen to him in whatever he tells you.
24 And all the prophets who have spoken, from Samuel and those who came after him, also proclaimed these days.


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text:
Name the Owner
by Pamela Chestek • May 26, 2015 • copyright • 2 Comments
Below are the facts, and here's the question—who owns the copyright? Answer in a later post.
In 1966, songwriter and plaintiff Jack Urbont was aspiring. A friend introduced him to Stan Lee of Marvel Comics fame who was developing a television show called "Marvel Super Heroes." Urbont wasn't familiar with the Marvel superheroes, so Marvel gave Urbont comic books to use as source material. Marvel could reject the works if it wanted, but accepted theme songs for segments for Captain America, Hulk, Thor, and Sub-Mariner, the opening and closing songs and, the subject matter of the lawsuit, the Iron Man Theme. There was no written agreement.
After Marvel accepted the Iron Man Theme, Urbont said he hadn't been paid and he needed money to pay recording costs. Urbont was paid $3,000 and created the sound recording for the Iron Man Theme. Urbont recalled receiving some royalty payments.
Urbont registered the copyright in 1966 and renewed it in 1994. He licensed the theme for use in the 2006 Iron Man movie and on other occasions. He entered into a settlement agreement with various Marvel entities to permit the rebroadcast of the original program; in the settlement agreement Urbont is identified as "Owner" and Marvel as the "Licensee."
Urbont alleges that hip-hop artist Ghostface Killah infringed the copyright in the Iron Man Theme on his album Supreme Clientele, on the Epic Records label, in the first track "Intro" and the last track "Iron's Theme ‐ Conclusion." Sony, the parent of record company Epic Records, claims that Urbont's music was a work made for hire and owned by Marvel, and Urbont claims he owns the copyright. Who is right?
Tags: Copyright Act of 1909, Sony, Urbont, work made for hire
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Sepia Restaurant Sydney, Australia Restaurant Review Blog
Sepia Restaurant Sydney, Australia
Posted on Tuesday, 1st January 2013
Here is the first of a series of reviews from some of the hottest restaurants in Sydney at the moment. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed eating at them. Cheers.
Sepia Restaurant is one of the most exciting restaurants to dine at in Sydney right now. It was borne as a collaboration between British-born Chef Martin Benn, formerly the Head Chef at Tetsuya's, and Sydney seafood king George Costi of De Costi Seafoods. Benn began his cooking career at the Oak Room in London, after which he moved to The Landmark, and later to the Criterion where he cooked under Marco Pierre White. He located to Australia in 1996 and spent some time at Sydney's Forty One Restaurant before moving to Tetsuya's in 1999.
It was at Tetsuya's where he honed the contemporary/Japanese fusion approach to cooking for which Sepia is known. As far as restaurants in Sydney goes, Tetsuya's is legendary, and in 2012 it ranked 76 on San Pellegrino's World's Best Restaurants list. A Head Chef position at Tetsuya was therefore no mean feat, especially as Benn achieved it at the ripe young age of 25.
Sepia opened in 2009, and in a few short years, it has gained notable success. In 2011, the influential Sydney Morning Herald (SMH) Good Food Guide awarded Benn its coveted Chef of the Year title. This was followed by
Sepia winning the SMH Good Food Guide's 2012 Restaurant of the Year, as well as 'Three Hats', the highest possible ranking within the SMH's restaurant rating system.
We elected to go for the eight-course tasting menu for $160 (about £103) which kicked off with an amuse bouche of tuna nigiri with wasabi, soy and puffed rice. The tuna, cut into small pieces and shaped into a nigiri, was beautiful and melted in the mouth. The wasabi and soy worked well with the fish, and the puff rice added a crunchy texture.
Tuna nigiri
Tetsuya's is famous for its signature rock oyster with a vinaigrette of rice vinegar and ginger. Sepia has something similar with a vinaigrette of lime and rice vinegar (at a $5 supplement, about £3.20). Sepia's rock oyster was good, but the vinaigrette didn't quite have the zingy and refreshing refinement of the Tetsuya's version.
Sydney Rock Oyster with Vinaigrette
Kampachi yellowtail came with a sheep's yoghurt for dipping, tonburi seeds, celery, heirloom carrots, pickled aka seaweed and some spiced crispy duck skin that was particularly delightful for its super crunchiness. It was a wonderful combination of fresh ingredients, but on the whole this dish tasted a little dull.
Kampachi yellowtail
My friend asked for a substitution for the yellowtail and was presented with the "scallop sushi"
with pickled ginger, avocado cream and puffed sushi rice, with the rice completing the sushi effect. The scallops were beautifully cooked and had been rolled in nori powder for an added toasty sea flavour. This dish was divine, and the loveliness of the scallop was further accentuated by the acidity of the ginger and the delicate flavour of the avocado.
Scallop sushi
Next was the sashimi of Yellow Fin tuna which had been matched with Jamon Iberico, poached quail egg, white soy jelly, dashi onion cream, Tasmanian wasabi, puffed buckwheat and red elk. A well executed dish, the eclectic and considered combination of ingredients provided many layers of unami flavours. Particularly fantastic was the inspired and tasty dashi onion cream.
Sashimi of Yellow Fin tuna
A dish of butter poached Port Lincoln squid was stunning. The flesh was tender and there was a lovely butter flavour coming through it. Barley miso, cured egg yolk and hints of lemon rind and aromatic sorrel rounded off this satisfying dish.
Port Lincoln squid
Charcoal smoked freshwater eel was rich and robust with flavour. The accompanying yuzu curd was a fantastic match for the eel, although there was just a touch too much of it on the plate. There was a subtle use of licorice in the dish that was very well judged. Tapioca and green almonds added texture and the use of watercress and nasturtium added bite. This was a really lovely dish.
Charcoal smoked freshwater eel
South Australian lamb was of a wonderful, tender quality, and the accomplished goat's cheese and sake kuzu dumpings, and the sprinkling of Japanese land seaweed worked well with the lamb. A black olive miso vinaigrette provided seasoning, and a fennel molasses gave the dish a gentle sweetness.
South Australian lamb
Seared David Blackmore Wagyu sirloin beef was tasty, but I would have preferred it cooked as a thick piece of beef rather than the way in which it had been flattened and then rolled. In that way it would have tasted meatier and been more medium rare. Beautifully cooked ameko mushrooms, Barletta onions, red onion juice, some interesting Tasmanian wasabi fried potatos, crunchy kombu crumbs and citrus soy completed the dish.
David Blackmore Wagyu sirloin beef
A pre-dessert of ginger and white chocolate mousse with carrot and hibiscus was paired with shiso and caramel jelly. Although it was a touch sharp from the strong use of ginger, it was delicious and satisfying nevertheless.
Ginger and white chocolate mousse
A "Spring chocolate forest", consisting of a mixture of chocolate twigs, blackberry jellies and crystallised fennel fronds, was superbly done. Creamy textures of soft chocolate, a hazelnut and almond praline and a divinely tasty rose geranium cream formed the base. On the top was a dollop of sour cherry sorbet and its sharp tangy flavour merged beautifully with the richness of the chocolates. Finally, hints of green tea and licorice completed this exotic experience.
Spring chocolate forest
In a European location, Sepia would easily be a one-Michelin starred restaurant. So technically flawless was the execution of this meal, it was hard to fault it in anyway. The intelligently conceived menu was inspired, and there was a carefully managed juxtaposition of ingredients and flavours that allowed each dish to achieve balance and harmony as well as purpose. It was skillful cooking at its very best.
Sepia Restaurant sports a contemporary look that slots in well with its Sydney Central Business District location. Its slick and dark, and the staff communicate in hushed conservative tones. It may feel a little stuffy for some, but I thought the cooking well worth it.
Service Rating:4/5
Four-course lunch – $130 (about £85)
Eight-course tasting menu – $160 (about £103), and with matching wines – (about £64)
Three courses from the à la carte menu – $125 (about £80)
Excludes drinks and service.
Note: Prices have been converted at exchange rates current at the time of this review.
Website: http://www.sepiarestaurant.com.au/
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TikTok Star Charli D'Amelio Apologizes For Chase Hudson Drama: 'I Felt Betrayed'
By Keerthi Mohan
Charli D'Amelio has apologized for her involvement in the Chase Hudson and Nessa Barrett drama
She said she was "extremely hurt" and "felt betrayed" after Hudson admitted to kissing Barrett
Barrett said she considered leaving social media due to the hate
Charli D'Amelio has apologized for her recent statements involving ex-boyfriend Chase Hudson and fellow TikTok star Nessa Barrett after the two received massive backlash this week for sharing a kiss.
On Thursday, D'Amelio took to Instagram Live to apologize for handling her latest drama with Hudson and Barrett "immaturely." She said it broke her heart to see people she loves being condemned on social media following their public spat.
"I apologize for what I said. I was extremely hurt and I felt betrayed, so I did what I had to do to make myself feel better but I know that that was not the right thing to do and I will make sure that that does not happen again. I don't want to make excuses for myself," she said.
D'Amelio lashed out at Hudson on Tuesday after he admitted to kissing Barrett following his breakup with the 16-year-old social media star in April. Since then, both Hudson and Barrett have been on the receiving end of a lot of criticism online, with some even telling the two to kill themselves.
D'Amelio also said that Hudson, 18, and Barrett, 17, did not deserve the hate they were getting. She went on to reveal that she and Hudson, also known as Lil Huddy, had a very long talk and realized they weren't right for each other. Despite this, Hudson will continue to hold a special place in her heart, she said.
"No matter what happens to anyone, I still love Chase from the bottom of my heart, no matter what has happened," she said.
D'Amelio and Hudson dated for a period of three months before calling it quits in April.
Barrett has revealed her thoughts about the latest drama, telling People on Tuesday that she considered quitting social media due to the hate she had received in the past few days.
While she did confirm that she shared a kiss with Hudson, Barrett explained that it did not mean anything to either of them.
"The narrative that is being spun around me is one of hate and s--t shaming, and the constant DM's and emails of people telling me I'm stupid and should kill myself are getting to be too much for to me bear," she said.
Aside from addressing his kiss with Barrett, Hudson also called out several other TikTok stars for cheating on their partners in a post that is now deleted but was captured by fans.
D'Amelio and Hudson are two of TikTok's most popular stars, with more than 60 million followers and over 21 million followers, respectively. Barrett has 9.3 million followers.
U.S. internet celebrities Charli D'Amelio and Dixie D'Amelio arrive for the Z100's iHeartRadio Jingle Ball at Madison Square Garden in New York on Dec. 13, 2019. STEVEN FERDMAN/AFP via Getty Images
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