Thursday, December 10, 2009

Almanacs “The Almanac - Dec. 10 - Post Chronicle” plus 4 more

Almanacs “The Almanac - Dec. 10 - Post Chronicle” plus 4 more


fivefilters.org featured article: Normalising the crime of the century by John Pilger

The Almanac - Dec. 10 - Post Chronicle

Posted: 10 Dec 2009 05:16 AM PST

Today is Thursday, Dec. 10, the 344th day of 2009 with 21 to follow.

The moon is waning. The morning stars are Venus, Mars, Saturn and Mercury. The evening stars are Neptune, Jupiter and Uranus.

Those born on this date are under the sign of Sagittarius. They include Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet, founder of the first free school for the deaf, in 1787; poet Emily Dickinson in 1830; librarian Melvil Dewey, inventor of the Dewey decimal book classification system, in 1851; TV newscaster Chet Huntley in 1911; actress Dorothy Lamour in 1914; actor Harold Gould in 1923 (age 86); actress Susan Dey in 1952 (age 57); and actor/director Kenneth Branagh in 1960 (age 49).

On this date in history:

In 1869, the Territory of Wyoming granted women the right to vote.

In 1898, Spain signed a treaty officially ending the Spanish-American War. It gave Guam, Puerto Rico and the Philippines to the United States.

In 1901, the Nobel prizes were first awarded in Oslo, Norway, and Stockholm, Sweden.

In 1936, Britain's King Edward VIII abdicated to marry American divorcee Wallis Warfield Simpson. His brother succeeded to the throne as King George VI.

In 1941, Japanese troops landed on northern Luzon in the Philippines in the early days of World War II.

In 1950, U.S. diplomat Ralph Joseph Bunche received the Nobel Peace Prize for his peace mediation during the first Arab-Israeli war. He was the first African-American to win the award.

In 1984, the National Science Foundation reported the discovery of the first planet outside our solar system, orbiting a star 21 million light-years from Earth.

In 1990, the communists won a major victory in the first postwar multi-party elections in the Yugoslavian republics of Serbia and Montenegro.

In 1997, the Swiss high court ruled that $100 million of the money that had been salted away in banks by former dictator Ferdinand Marcos would be returned to the Philippines government.

In 2002, the Roman Catholic diocese of Manchester, N.H., admitted responsibility for failing to protect children from abusive priests.

In 2003, the U.S.-appointed Iraqi Governing Council announced the formal establishment of a war crimes tribunal.

Also in 2003, Mick Jagger became Sir Mick after the Rolling Stones' front man was knighted by Prince Charles.

In 2004, an Italian court cleared Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi of corruption charges.

In 2005, more than 100 people were killed when a passenger plane crashed in the southern Nigerian city of Port Harcourt.

Also in 2005, Richard Pryor, who pushed the envelope on racial themes and vulgarity with standup and movie comedy, died of cardiac arrest. He was 65.

In 2006, Gen. Augusto Pinochet, the former president of Chile who seized power in a bloody 1973 coup and ruled the nation for 17 years, died at the age of 91.

In 2007, the U.S. Supreme Court granted federal judges new flexibility in criminal sentencing with a ruling that those judges should have broad discretion in imposing reasonable sentencing with the right to disagree with federal guidelines.

Also in 2007, Russian President Vladimir Putin endorsed Dmitri Medvedev, a first deputy prime minister and chairman of the Russian gas monopoly, as his successor in the 2008 presidential election. Medvedev said he would name Putin as prime minister if elected.

And, Pulitzer winner and new-journalism pioneer Norman Mailer, author of "The Naked and the Dead," died in New York City of acute kidney failure at 84.

In 2008, the U.S. Congress considered a $14 billion rescue package for Detroit automakers General Motors and Chrysler who said they could not survive until the end of 2008 without financial help. But, while the House of Representatives approved the measure, 237-170, the Senate could not muster enough support and the measure died.

A thought for the day: Marcel Proust said, "Only through art can we get outside of ourselves and know another's view of the universe." (c) UPI

fivefilters.org featured article: Normalising the crime of the century by John Pilger

Trek up a live volcano to an ‘island’ in the sky - Oakland Press

Posted: 10 Dec 2009 06:28 AM PST

Click to enlarge

Photos Special to The Oakland Press/JONATHAN SCHECTER Kelly Stone and Jonathan Schechter rest above the clouds on the slopes of Kilimanjaro.

The icy ramparts of Mount Kilimanjaro reach high above the clouds, floating in splendid mirage-like isolation: a magnificent sky island.

At 19,340 feet Kilimanjaro is Africa's highest peak and the largest free-standing volcano in the world, an enormous stratovolcano born of a cataclysmic explosion near the Great Rift Valley over 750,000 years ago.

Trek to Kibo's summit and the edge of the ash pits and you meet forces of fire and ice on this geological wonder of Tanzania. And your senses may be overwhelmed with a discovery that seems other-worldly: This volcano is not dead.

You are surrounded by towering indigo-streaked glaciers, yet lava tubes are visible in the inverted cinder cone of the inner Reusch Crater. Wisps of sulfur-scented volcanic gases rise in rarified air. Coming to terms with these geological realities of apparent contradictions is easier than accepting the satisfying feeling that you have just summited the highest mountain in the world accessible to a mere mortal.

If someone grumbles, "It's no big deal to climb Kilimanjaro, porters do all the work," I have three words for you: Don't believe them. Of the 20,000 that attempt every year, close to 50 percent fail. And some become sick, overcome by a variety of high altitude ailments, a few with life threatening HACE (high altitude cerebral edema) or HAPE (high altitude pulmonary edema).

Trekking Kilimanjaro is one of the most physically and mentally challenging mountain endeavors available to humans without technical equipment: ropes, ice-axes, crampons and oxygen.

This mountain can kill you, but it can also drench you in a wonderful feeling of pure adventure and sheer happiness if you prepare carefully and select your outfitter well. Do that and you just may forget the weight of your day pack, which includes your day's supplies and four liters of water: 8.8 pounds of liquid salvation.

After a detailed Internet search and follow-up phone conversations with possible outfitters, as well as thinking over exactly why I wanted to climb Kilimanjaro, I selected Thomson Safaris and their nine-day Western Approach Route.

Know why you want to climb I wanted to spend the most possible time on the mountain and savor the wondrous nature of the mountain en route to the summit. If you ascend slowly, allowing sufficient time for the necessary acclimatization to extreme altitude, your chances of success soar, and the mountain becomes an intimate friend, not an adversary to be conquered.

Although many trekkers sign on with outfitters offering fiveday routes to save time and money, they have the highest failure rates. Being physically fit and in good health is no guarantee of your ability to acclimatize, but there is a strong undeniable correlation between days on the mountain and summit success.

In the dusty landscape of Ndarakwai Camp I became acquainted with Bostonian teammate Kelly; she's an accomplished marathon runner and toy company executive with a glacier-melting smile, and I met Megan, a world-traveling computer geek from Seattle. That's our team — two women, 16 porters, two guides and me.

Our base camp is a success story of land and wildlife rehabilitation nestled near the mud hut village of Maasai pastoralists. At 4,200 feet, Ndarakwai is a wild and luxurious ranch to acclimate, with canopy beds in raised thatched roof platform tents, superb food and five gallons of water delivered for showers — our last shower for nine days. With an armed anti-poaching escort we take a pre-dinner hike past giraffes and side-step a zebra that succumbed to drought.

While we are smiling with Maasai children in our impromptu cultural experience, we see Kilimanjaro in the distance: tempting, foreboding, beautiful.

Dawn comes quickly with a rich earthy smell. A bushbuck wanders outside Kelly's tent, a baboon stares me down and Megan reports mongoose under her tent platform: This is Africa. Our trek has begun.

Prosper Mtui, our chief guide, silently sizes us up, and we are off to Londorossi Gate of Kilimanjaro National Park. Gear is weighed: No porter may carry more than 33 pounds.

We tighten boot laces and fall in line behind Prosper with our small army of porters — muscular men from the Chagga tribe. In the struggling Tanzanian economy it's a desired job, and Thomson Safaris is noted for their exceptional treatment of porters.

Within a few minutes the porters are all ahead of us — gear balanced on heads and shoulders — heading for Forest Camp, the night's destination, except for Matthew, who stays behind us. In a rainforest world of moss-coated trees and dangling beards of moisturedripping lichens, we encounter black and white colobus monkeys, a species that make me think of giant skunks. As we slip on ponchos during a sudden rain, Megan yelps and wiggles off her pants: ants.

Arriving at 9,281 feet in late afternoon, the pleasure of porters slams into us with the subtlety of a train crash; tents are already pitched. Juice and snacks decorate a folding table and the blessed portable toilet — that is hauled all the way to the summit — is waiting in its special privacy tent. A spicy chicken dinner is served, darkness sweeps across the mountain and we drift to sleep as night-feeding tree hyraxes begin their chatter.

Breakfast, like every meal, is hearty, nutritious, caloric and delicious. Prosper watches us eat. He is our mountain God. Part trek leader, part cheerleader ("You need to drink more!"), part inquiring medic ("How do you feel today?") and quickly a friend, Prosper is a man delighted to share his knowledge. He is very good at what he does and brings a level of comfort to the unknown.

The unknown lies ahead: Shira Camp 1, elevation 11,499 feet. Surprisingly, we make it over the lush green hills and reach camp at the edge of a giant volcanic plateau in five hours. Kelly smiles and shares a secret: This is her first real camping trip. And I share a discovery with her: Always present Matthew treks behind us because he is hauling a Gamow bag, a portable hyperbaric chamber, and oxygen in the event of an emergency.

My first bout of mild altitude illness jabs my brain the next night at just below 13,000 feet. Morning coffee with honey washes down 125 milligrams of Acetazolamide, a prescription I take daily to combat altitude illness, and 600 milligrams of Ibuprofen. Lava Tower Camp, at 15,213 feet, is our day's destination, but first we must cross an expansive ridge line of high desert and are rewarded with excellent views of Kilimanjaro's little volcanic sister, Mount Meru. The other-worldly views and rarified air are breathtaking.

We take heed of the Swahili word "pole-pole": slowly, slowly. A mountain buzzard swoops low as we cross a lunar-like landscape dotted with colossal boulders. White-necked ravens follow our pilgrimage, behaving like flying raccoons: aggressive food thieves.

We ascend Lava Tower, a column of jagged volcanic rock. As I fumble for a handhold on the rocky scramble I feel very mortal. The intensity of the day brings quick sleep, only to be awakened by the need to fill my spare water bottle — with urine. Prosper quizzes all of us in the morning. "Are you drinking?" "Are you peeing?" Answering yes twice is good. Dehydration destroys any chance of a successful summit.

Descending into Great Barranco Valley is a panoramic. We hike down toward Karanaga Camp, elevation 13,231 feet, following the mountain wisdom of hike high and sleep low. It's a fairytale world of bizarre plants, with Kibo's hanging glaciers over one shoulder and the jagged peak of Mawenzi dead ahead but far away. I don't share with my fellow trekkers the story of the western breach tragedy of 2006, when a rockslide killed three Americans.

On a cold morning we start our arduous ascent to rocky Barafu Camp at 15,331 feet, an exposed ridge staging point for the arctic summit. After almost six hours of continuous climbing, including a few hellish minutes on rocks made slick by light sleet, we hike through a cloud bank and reach our destination in full sunshine.

I buy a "I climbed Kili" T-shirt from a ranger in a tinroofed hut. John — our porter who brings coffee tentside each morning — watches, smiles and nods. Now I know I must make the summit.

That night my belly churns with the gushy sounds of growing intestinal pressure. It's a good sign, for HAFE (high altitude flatus explosion) is an altitude malady that means I am acclimating.

But it's the end of the ascent for Kelly in the morning. In the increasingly rarified air she has become highly symptomatic of AMS (acute mountain sickness) and heads down the Mweka descent route under porter escort. She later explains, "I wanted to descend on my own two feet, not be carried down." Her absence saddens the start of our final push.

I look back at the pinkish bank of mountain-swallowing, marshmallow clouds floating below me, take one last gulp of honey-drenched coffee, apply more lip salve, adjust my pack straps and dark glacier sunglasses and fist-bump with Matthew. He warms me with his characteristic thumbs-up salute, and I head for the summit behind Prosper.

The next 4,009 feet of elevation gain takes 10 hours. Each step requires increased concentration and deeper breaths as towering glaciers loom closer. We meet other trekkers coming down. Facial expressions range from sheer delight to "just bury me here." At Stella Point (18,650 feet) with only 690 feet of elevation gain to go, my legs act like bent pistons, steadily jerking me forward in a robotic fashion.

Forty-five minutes later, it's over.

I feel incredible respect and gratitude for Prosper and Matthew as I remove one glove on the summit moonscape and grasp the weathered sign post on the Roof of Africa. Exhausted and exhilarated, I brush away tears and think of the folded piece of paper wedged in my passport, a quote from T.S. Eliot: "Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go."

And I capture the summit pictures I promised Kelly.

Jonathan Schechter lives in Brandon Township and writes a Sunday hiking column and Earth Almanac blog for the Oakland Press. Reach him at oaknature@aol.com

If you go



A visa is required for Tanzania. Check with CDC for vaccinations and consult a travel medicine physician concerning altitude illness. Arrive early to allow for the unexpected: even with an assigned seat I was bounced off KLM for 24 hours in Amsterdam.

For more information, visit www.ThomsonSafaris.com; or www.ndarakwai.com.

fivefilters.org featured article: Normalising the crime of the century by John Pilger

Stimulus money to fund Cattlemen Road project in Sarasota - Herald Tribune

Posted: 10 Dec 2009 06:35 AM PST

The project is expected to trigger several other job-creating efforts, including a hotel and 100,000 square feet of retail space at University Town Center and a $5 million rowing facility at an adjacent lake.

"This is huge news for everyone and we're all very excited because there's so many things this roadway can effect in so many ways, so many positive ways," said Paul Blackketter, a project manager for Benderson Development, which is building University Town Center.

Extending Cattlemen Road from University Parkway to Fruitville Road will not resurrect the 1.7 million-square-foot megamall that Benderson had planned to build at the northeast intersection of University Parkway and the Interstate. But Benderson says the road work, along with improvements at the rowing facility, justifies going ahead with the hotel, restaurants and some retail.

Construction could start on Cattlemen as early as this spring and should take about two years to complete, said Jim Harriott, the county's public works director.

Besides the construction jobs and the economic development potential of the mall and the rowing course, the road would fill an important part of that area's transportation grid, helping ease traffic on Interstate 75.

"It's essentially a triple win," said County Commissioner Nora Patterson.

Funding for the project was made possible by the commitment of federal stimulus dollars to pay for the widening of U.S. 301 north of Sarasota. The state had committed to paying for that project, which was slated to begin in 2011.

Those state dollars for U.S. 301 are now being redirected to pay for $15 million of the cost of the Cattlemen Road project because of the potential for the road to spur economic development. The county expects the road will cost between $17 million and $20 million, and Benderson will probably pay the difference.

Benderson agreed to pay the whole cost to relieve traffic caused by its megamall when that project won approval from the county nearly three years ago. The company was to front the money for construction and be repaid with impact fees generated by the mall.

That plan was scrapped after mall construction was delayed and the economy worsened.

The Florida Department of Transportation deserves credit for bringing the project back by making use of the federal stimulus dollars, said Mike Howe, executive director of the Sarasota-Manatee MPO, which does transportation planning for the two counties.

Using the federal dollars to indirectly fund the region's most promising economic development project has a much broader impact, Howe said.

"You've got the rowing facility and you've got the Benderson project," he said. "It is the perfect ripple effect of the stimulus bill, which is to create jobs and economic vitality."

What excites development and tourism officials about the Cattlemen project is how it will dovetail with the plan to dredge the lake at Nathan Benderson Park, extending it to 2,000 meters, which is the international standard. That opens the door to attracting collegiate and international rowing regattas, said Virginia Haley, president of the Sarasota Convention & Visitors Bureau.

A high-school regatta at the lake drew 10,000 visitors earlier this year, filling local hotel rooms. Instead of the four regattas the lake is drawing this year, the hope is the improved facility could sign a dozen. Plans are not final, but among the features being considered are a five-kilometer track around the lake's circumference, a boathouse that would be a training center for rowing teams and an event center, and improvements to the race course, said county parks director John McCarthy.

"You are looking at events that fill a tremendous number of rooms," Haley said. "With the regattas, you're attracting people who have some spending power."

And maybe they will stay here. Haley said she has been informed that Sarasota will appear in Rower's Almanac list of "Best Cities to Retire and Row."

fivefilters.org featured article: Normalising the crime of the century by John Pilger

Great Outdoors Almanac - Green Bay Press-Gazette

Posted: 10 Dec 2009 01:34 AM PST

GREAT LAKES: Rivers still best bet for anglers

Gale winds will bust up early ice forming on Green Bay this week, at least away from protected shorelines. Even with the sharp cold spell, it'll likely take a week or two before more than an occasional angler walks onto the ice at shallow bays, harbors and marinas.

For now, anyone willing to risk frozen digits would do well to use wool gloves and handwarmers, and stick to the rivers. The Fox and Menominee are giving up some open water walleye, while the lakeshore is producing some browns, steelhead and cohos. Ice is forming on slower sections of rivers, but it's angler beware this early in the game.

  • A wild rumor making the rounds this week is that a 19-pound-plus walleye was caught one early morning on the Fox River. A fish that size would be a state record, and would need to be seen and certified by a fisheries biologist. DNR crews in Peshtigo and Sturgeon Bay say they have not been contacted and don't know anything about the purported prize.

    INLAND WATERS: Be patient, make sure ice is safe

    Some anglers were cautiously walking out on thin ice on smaller ponds and lakes in northern Wisconsin earlier this week, but snow could slow ice formation. Anglers are advised to be patient and check locally for the latest conditions before heading out.

    Once the ice is thick enough for walk-on action on protected bays and along shorelines — generally, 3 inches or more is recommended — concentrate on shallow weedbeds and be as quiet as possible.

    DNR fisheries supervisor Terry Margenau took his first fishing trip Monday and caught a northern pike. He says anglers should take time to get organized before heading out and think safety when they do try first ice. For more tips, visit dnr.wi.gov/fish/faq/icefis.htm.

    HUNTING: Fond du Lac County buck tops record

    Less than one year after Eau Claire's Bob Decker broke a mark that had stood for 29 years with a 16-point Buffalo County buck that scored 233 2/8 as a nontypical, Wisconsin has a state record with Wayne Schumacher's 243 6/8 inch trophy arrowed Sept. 20 in Fond du Lac County.

  • fivefilters.org featured article: Normalising the crime of the century by John Pilger

    On Native Ground - American Reporter

    Posted: 10 Dec 2009 01:34 AM PST

    On Native Ground
    MY BACK PAGES: WATCHING MY CRAFT CHANGE OVER 30 YEARS

    by Randolph T. Holhut
    American Reporter Correspondent
    Dummerston, Vt.

    Back to home page

    Printable version of this story

    DUMMERSTON, Vt. -- I got my first job in journalism at the age of 18 in the spring of 1980. I was a freshman in college and landed a night shift gig at WSPR, a radio station in Springfield, Mass.

    News came over an Associated Press teletype machine at 65 words a minute. Changing the heavily inked ribbons was always a chore, not to mention making sure the paper didn't run out.

    Stories were typed on battered old manual typewriters that dated back to the 1940s.

    Computers? Still a new-fangled technology that hadn't yet seeped down to this level of the business.

    The Internet? There were only a few hundred people using it. If you needed to look up an address, you got a phone book or a city directory. If you needed to confirm a stray fact, you pulled out The World Almanac.

    They were still using reel-to-reel tape recorders, and a razor blade and Scotch tape were your tools for editing audio. It was still an analog world, with dials and meters and black telephones with dials.

    In the fall of 1985, when I started working in newspapers, video display terminals were cutting edge technology. Two years later, I went out and got my first computer - a Radio Shack TRS-80 Model 100 laptop. With its built-in 300 baud modem, I could file a story anyplace I could find a pay phone.

    Cellphones? That was as futuristic as the communicators they used on "Star Trek."

    There were still a few smokers in the first city room I worked in. The barroom downstairs was still a place where you could find reporters between shifts. The building also shuddered just a little from the giant presses when they fired up, and the stairwells were coated with a thin film of ink.

    That first newspaper company I worked for - the Worcester (Mass.) Telegram and Evening Gazette - had four morning and six afternoon editions and a dozen bureaus in the county it published in. There were two separate news staffs, and even though they worked for the same company, the competition was still fierce.

    One of my several jobs was working in the morgue - the newspaper's library - where we still clipped stories out of each day's edition and filed them away in envelopes. When a reporter or editor needed background on a subject, my job was to retrieve the right folders with the right clippings in a room filled with hundreds of cabinets with files that went back decades.

    Pneumatic tubes brought pictures up to the composing room, and page proofs came down to the copy desk the same way. The darkroom was just that, a dark room filled with a dozen photo enlargers and photographers rushing make prints on deadline. I eventually learned how to do darkroom work and how to go from taking the film out of the camera to producing a finished print in under 30 minutes. The photos from the AP came one at a time from a LaserPhoto printer, in 8 minute intervals. Waiting for photos was a constant hassle.

    The old photographers I encountered then were old enough to have used Speed Graphics - the bulky, hard-to-focus 4 x 5 inch cameras that were the newspaper standard from the 1920s to the 1960s.

    The old compositors I encountered then were old enough to remember linotypes and the smell of melting lead.

    The old editors I encountered then were old enough to remember pastepots and black pencils and making and remaking a newspaper on the fly with a few written instructions and a lot of teamwork in the mechanical departments.

    Pagination - making a pages on a computer - was just starting to creep into use. I remember the first such unit - a Mac Plus - which was used to make graphic. Within 10 years of seeing that Mac for the first time, I would be making pages on a computer. The compositors - the wizards with Exacto knifes that could do just about anything you asked, just don't touch the type, please - were out of a job.

    Automation changed lots of things. I was replaced by a computer terminal in the paper's morgue. Indexing was now done with a few keystrokes, not with a heavy steel straight edge tearing pages. Digital photography made the darkroom obsolete. The teletype printers disappeared, and wire service news came flying into the mainframe computers at thousands of words a minute.

    And now I feel as ancient as the people I met when I started out, the tribe that started out in the 1940s and 1950s, when newspapers were king and the work that reporters did was the stuff of movies.

    Twenty years ago this month, I went through my first buyout. The T & G had been sold two years before, and changes were in the works. Being a junior member of the staff who lashed three part-time jobs into something of a living, I was thrown overboard immediately. But I was struck by how many people, the elders of the paper that I looked up to and learned from, chose to take a buyout and leave than stick around and face an uncertain future. Most of that generation left, and I got my first education on the harshness of the newspaper business.

    The morning and evening papers merged the following year. The T & G's bureaus started to disappear. The presses moved out of the hulking old building on Franklin Street and went to a remote site a few miles away. The papers were sold again, this time to The New York Times Co. They eliminated zoned editions this year and the paper is struggling to survive.

    Since that bleak Yuletide two decades ago, I've been through three more newspaper sales. I've become an elder, talking about the old days of afternoon papers, pasting-up pages, teletypes and darkrooms to a generation that Googles phone numbers and needs MapQuest to find an address. And I've watched my profession go from fat and sassy to threadbare and dying in one generation.

    I'm still young enough to be a bridge between the analog and digital eras, and still looking forward to the shape of journalism to come. The tools we have now to tell stories were barely dreamed of when I started out, but I recognize how important they are and working to master them. We just have to remember that the need to tell stories is primal, and that storytellers will always be needed.

    What will the young reporters I work with now be saying when they look back at their careers 20 years from now? Will they be talking about that gruff and crabby gray-bearded editor they had as their first mentor? The rickety first-generation iMacs that they have to use to write their stories on? The lack of reliable Internet and cellphone service? Or will they talk about working in newspapers at a time when they became quaint relics of a bygone age?

    My love for the printed page is still abiding, but it's hard to remember what it was like before the Internet, before desktop computers, before digital cameras and voice recorders, before the avalanche of data that pours from the Web each day, before the 24-hour news cycle, before all the changes that I have seen in nearly three decades of broadcast, print and online journalism. The past is a nice place to visit, but the future is still the place I hope to see.

    Randolph T. Holhut has been a journalist in New England for nearly 30 years. He edited "The George Seldes Reader" (Barricade Books). He can be reached at randyholhut@yahoo.com.

    Copyright 2009 Joe Shea The American Reporter. All Rights Reserved.

    Site Meter

    0 comments:

    Post a Comment