If you suffer from Tinnitus, no matter how severe or how long you’ve had it, I’m sure you’ve developed your own way of coping with it. You have to! Otherwise it could drive you nuts! You may have tried to cure it with some of the following:

Hearing Test
Ear Candles
Ear Syringing
Consultation with an Audiologist Scientist
Anti-depressants
Etc.

If these have all failed you then you may have developed some weird way of coping, like going to sleep at night with low-level music playing, or switching on a fan or some other kind of white noise just to give your ears and your brain a rest.

Click Here to Download the Tinnitus Miracle now

Trying to explain Tinnitus to your local doctor can be so frustrating as they usually just tell you that it will go away after a couple of weeks. And if you go back to them and tell them that it’s still there they may try to tell you that your eustachian tubes are blocked with wax and so you need them syringed. Having your ear canals syringed is not a very pleasant experience, and more often than not, it won’t do anything to help your Tinnitus.

The truth is that medical science really doesn’t have any answers for Tinnitus sufferers. The medical profession have been promising a cure for Tinnitus for more than 10 years now and there could be something on the horizon. Rumour has it that there are currently double blind Neramexane trials going on right now, but it will be another 5 years or so before it hits the shelves – and that’s assuming the trials all go well.

So what do you, as a Tinnitus sufferer do in the meantime? Is your Tinnitus like a muffled drone, which is how some describe it, or is it more like a whistling noise, a rustling noise, or a high pitched buzz? Whatever yours sounds like you just want it to go away forever. Sometimes when you are busy and concentrating on something else, you can make it go away. But you have to go to bed sometime, you can’t have music on all the time – everyone needs quiet time in their lives, why should you be any different?

There’s this guy called Thomas Coleman and his Tinnitus started after sitting in a noisy restaurant for a couple of hours with some friends one night. It wasn’t like a rowdy bar in downtown New York or anything like that, it was just a classy restaurant with a piano playing right next to where Thomas was sitting. The next morning he had a very audible ringing in his ears, but like most of us would, he thought it would go away so thought nothing of it and just went to work.

You can pretty much guess the rest; he went to his doctor and after numerous tests, was told there was no cure for him. He found that he was being short and snapping at his family because of the frustration he felt with the buzzing in his ears. Who could blame him! Shortly after, Thomas became obsessed with finding a natural cure whilst his doctors still pushed for unnecessary surgery.

Click Here to Download the Tinnitus Miracle now

He dedicated 12 years of his life to becoming a student of Tinnitus consuming every book, medical journal, etc. that he could get his hands on. He met with real people that had claimed to have fixed their Tinnitus and interviewed them relentlessly on how they did it. Even though he’d tried all the half-baked natural remedies using herbs, supplements, etc. he kept searching.

Thomas claims, “I was determined to find a cure for myself and others like me – and guess what – I did! Sure, it took months of reading, studying, and experimenting, but I finally found the right combination of treatments that have since eliminated the noise I hear in my ears. I’ve reclaimed my life, and you can too.”

For anyone that has suffered with Tinnitus for a long time Thomas’ claims may sound exciting but un-realistic. Whether you’ve been searching for Tinnitus relief for a few weeks or a few years, we’d all like to think that there is simple cure out there for all of us.

The problem is, because your Tinnitus is so unique to you, so must be the cure. Tinnitus is one of those inflictions where a one-size-fits-all solution will just not work. So what about Thomas’ solution, it may have worked for him, but how can you be sure that it will work for you? This is how Thomas sums up his book:

“Not your standard book on Tinnitus, my guide goes beyond explaining what Tinnitus is (although I do that too). I’ve designed this book to be a road map to recovery, walking you through every stage of the disease from diagnosis and testing to traditional as well as holistic treatment, to help you find your own path toward the freedom from the noise that is disrupting – and ruining – your life.”

So we can see that Thomas claims to have addressed the fact there isn’t a one-size-fits-all solution to Tinnitus. Everyone has their own path to freeing themselves from their Tinnitus and Thomas claims that his book is the road map to success that you have been waiting for.

I must admit, this does sound like the typical hype we are used to seeing on the Internet. But let’s give him the benefit of the doubt for a minute, can he really cure Tinnitus in just 3 easy steps? This is a question we hope to answer in this in depth review of Thomas Coleman’s recently released Tinnitus Miracle™ Proven Holistic 3-Step System For Quieting The Noise In Your Head.

Click Here to Download the Tinnitus Miracle now

The French capital is a tried and trusted destination for meetings and events – but it is still able to surprise. John Keenan reports

Paris MICE hotels and services

Browse MICE and corporate hotels in Paris on the Great Hotels of the World website – including detailed meeting information, photos, reviews and more. 

next event please visit the Great Hotels of the World MICE page.

For more information on MICE events in Paris contact Corine Bernadou:  Tel: +33 (0) 1 49 52 53 96 / cbernadou@parisinfo.com

You must start with the Seine. The river is the reason the city exists and to this day provides a vital artery to commercial life in the French capital. The touristic Bateaux-Mouches are a familiar sight on the waterway, as inevitable as umbrellas in April, but ship-owner Didier Spade has taken a hackneyed concept and given it a postmodern twist. His Clipper Paris is decked out with sofas, banquettes and armchairs and looks more like a determinedly trendy club than a boring boat. The main and sun decks are 200 sqm each and can comfortably accommodate 100 people for a cocktail reception and 150 people for a seated dinner.

It is an example of how suppliers in Paris are bending traditional formats into decidedly up-to-date forms. Over two freezing days earlier this year, in the tutelary company of Helene Hubert from the Paris Convention Bureau, I was introduced to an array of refurbished, remodeled and restored venues which demonstrated that the French capital is capable of surprising the most proficient Paris planner. 
At Cite de l’Architecture et du Patrimoine, opposite the Trocadero, Zoe Macedo, head of events, threaded us expertly through examples of French architecture from the 12th century to the modern age, explaining how the 12 reception rooms and auditorium can be put to use by events and conference organisers. The largest area, the Galerie des Moulages at 3,420 sqm, is more appropriate for a reception rather than anything formal. The Cathédrale area is more manageable at 380 sq m, while the 250 sq m auditorium is a thoroughly contemporary meeting space with all the bells and whistles one would demand.

Across the road on Avenue George Mandel, 6 Mandel is a gorgeous 19th century Parisian townhouse adapted to the needs of the 21st century events planner. The rooms comprise 95 sqm of events space plus a 130 sq m garden within sight and shadow of the Eiffel Tower. I used my imagination and pictured a perfect soiree on a warm’s summer’s eve. The house at 6 Mandel once belonged to Jacques Homberg, Christian Dior’s close companion, and one can imagine the pair shopping for presents at Café Fauchon near the Madeleine. The shop pays homage to all things tasty, tempting and ever-so-slightly transgressive from coffee, condiments and spices to biscuits, patisseries and macaroons… you can practically feel your blood sugar levels heading upwards as you navigate the immaculate aisles. Upstairs a separate terrace is available for meetings of up to 250 people.

Following our visit, Hubert and I worked off the calories with a spirited stroll from the Place de la Madeleine across the Boulevard Haussmann to Rue La Fayette, to see a 120 sqm blank canvass in the heart of the city. Whether L’Appart Lafayette looks elegant, funky or formal is completely down the taste and imagination of the client. Well-suited for product launches and press conferences, this is not the place to bring your dancing shoes – the floor won’t take it. But dancing, playing air-guitar and just about any other form of adolescent exhibitionism is positively encouraged at the ‘rock ‘n’ luxe’ Murano in the Marais area. This is not a hotel, please note: it is an ‘urban resort.’ Meeting rooms are not the top item on the agenda at this property, and if you are the kind of client who balks at the idea of presenting your pitch in a bar-lounge to the accompaniment of a track last heard in Ibiza in the late 90s, then the Murano is not for you. You don’t have to be groovy to stay here, but it probably helps.</p>
Another hip and happening meeting space can be found in the distinctly edgy north-east tip of the city. The Centquatre, a former funeral parlour, is a huge light-filled event space and home to the largest collection of in-house artists in Europe. My visit coincided with a residency by British trip-hop big-wig Tricky and equally as impressive is the 39,000 square metre function space. The publicity material includes much worthy comment about the ‘production of living thought’, but of more practical use are the studios, showrooms and workshops which provide modern meeting and events facilities.

If the artistic innovation at Centquatre is your thing, chances are you will also feel at home in the eccentric environment of the Mama Shelter hotel, close to the Pere Lachaise Cemetery. This property has literally got quirky designer Philippe Starck written all over it – from the ‘provocative’ graffiti in the lift to the comic-book masks and i-Macs in the rooms. Owner Serge Trigano promised me that traditional service values at the 172-room hotel have not been chucked away with the more conventional trappings of comfortable furniture and discreet decorations.

Back on more conventional ground, both literally and figuratively, the Académie Diplomatique Internationale (ADI) on Avenue Hoche, near the Arc de Triomphe and Parc Monceau, is a prestigious location, comprising five separate meeting rooms which can be privatised for up to a total 350 guests. But be warned: you must give plenty of notice as the building normally hosts diplomatic events but can be hired for a few days every month for meetings and special events.

If the accent at the ADI is on the formal, the ambiance at the Païva Restaurant at the foot of the Champs-Élysées is decidedly unceremonious. The former townhouse of a 20th-century courtesan, renovated by renowned interior decorator Jacques Garcia, is a riot of purple and red furnishings – check out the stars on the ceiling. It’s one more instance of how established venues in the French capital are discovering a contemporary twist.

Rooms for improvement

Nestled on the rue de Berri, just off the Champs-Elysees, the Hotel California has no connection with the famous Eagles tune. In fact, the atmosphere is far more Parisian chic than West Coast cool. The 18-room (plus 16 suites) property has nine meeting rooms ranging from the Pasedena 1, which at 25 sqm can hold up to 20 people to the San Francisco II, which has 120 sqm and can accommodate up to 200 people. As sales manager Sylvia Pietsch points out, the property was refurbished in 2004 preserving the comfortable ambience of the old property while installing the thoroughly modern gadgetry that today’s planners insist upon.

Contemporary equipment and spanking new rooms are the dominant themes at the Meridien Etoile. An established player in the Paris meetings market, and now part of the Starwood organisation, the hotel has added two new rooms to its meetings roster: offering 661 and 484 sqm the combined spaces can accommodate up to 1,200 people. The overall meetings offer comprises 25 conference rooms with more than 2,500 sqm of space. Bang opposite the Palais des Congrès, the hotel has 1,025 rooms – chic, it may be; boutique it definitely is not. At the Park Hyatt Paris-Vendôme, all is luxe, calme et volupté. It’s easy to be overawed by the magnificent public areas, festooned with fine art and gorgeous furnishings, but the gracious staff (epitomised during my visit by marketing communications manager Coralie Malazdra) mix a pleasing lack of formality with a practiced professionalism which puts you entirely at ease. The meeting rooms are similarly appealing – 12 all told, from 31 sqm to the beautiful 162 sqm ballroom.

And if you can tear yourself away from the hotel, the best shops in Paris are temptingly on the doorstep – as is the charming Hotel Lotti, tucked discreetly along Rue Castiglione. The property was the brainchild of the Duke of Westminster and the eponymous M. Lotti, one time maitre d’ at the Continental Hotel. Opened in 1910, it retains its old-school atmosphere. Five years ago, the hotel opened a new wing which added 44 bedrooms along with brand new conference facilities. Today the Lotti has eight meeting rooms which can hold up to 100 people. The restaurant – a tasty slice of Italy in the heart of Paris – is also available for group hire.

For my money, the most beautiful hotel ballroom in Paris is located within the InterContinental Paris Le Grand on Rue Scribe. It is one of 21 (count them) meeting rooms ranging from the smallest which can host 10 people for a banquet to the ballroom itself which can hold 600. The hotel is a Parisian landmark Рit opened amid much excitement in 1862 and remains a byword for sumptuous events. The Caf̩ de la Paix is renowned in its own right.

The Crown Plaza on the Champs-Elysees can’t boast such an illustrious history but what it lacks in heritage it makes up for quirky ambience. This is not your standard Crown Plaza – designed by Bruno Borrione (who, almost inevitably, was a student of Philippe Starck) the property is an eclectic mix of natural timbers and modern furnishings. The 300 sqm meeting room can hold up to 260 people.

Last and far from least, the Westin Paris, overlooking the Tuileries gardens, is a gorgeous grand dame of a property. Rivaling the InterContinental for jaw-dropping opulence, this is an unashamedly upmarket place. The meeting rooms – festooned with frescos in the style of the second empire (that’s 1850-1870 for those whose French history is a little rusty) – the total of 1,982 sqm can hold up to 1,000 people. The Salons Castiglione, Feuillants, Mont-Thabor, Rivoli, and Saint-Honoré provide a variety of configurations for events while the Salons Tuileries and Vendome are best suited for lunch or dinners. The flamboyant is 19th-century Salon Impérial is ablaze with gilt chandeliers, red drapes and carpets while the Salon Concorde is a splendid grand ballroom. Style never goes out of fashion.

Feeding creativity

 
Any self respecting event planner has a couple of Paris-based caterers in the address book. If Butard Enescot is not one of them you really ought to do something about it. During a deeply impressive lunch, featuring (among other things) crispy scallops, crayfish mille feuille, lobster marinated in rum and a bitter chocolate truffle, Laetitia Gey outlined the company’s commitment to make each reception ‘a singular moment’. Fine words, but the genuine passion for superlative cuisine was evident in each memorable mouthful. Not exactly a new kid on the block – Butard Enescot was formed in 1997- the company is nevertheless challenging established caterers in the city with dynamism, know-how and supreme skill.

We dined at the beautiful Pavillon Royal in the Bois de Boulogne, and then took a post-prandial stroll to another magnificent events venue, the Pre Catalan. Long a favourite of aristocracy, politicians and high society, the venue is a fabulous choice even if fine dining is not on the menu – it offers 13 elegant rooms ranging from 32 sqm to 800 sqm, and can host from 20 to 1,400 guests for a reception.
In contrast to the formalism of the Pavillon Royal, the Boeuf sur le Toit is an unceremonious Art Deco gem in the heart of the city. Le Boeuf wears it brasserie heart on its sleeve and the tables crowded with local families are testament to its enduring appeal. The diners at the Chiberta are also local but likely to be more recognizable to anyone who keeps an eye on the French press. The restaurant’s Michelin-starred cuisine and seemingly bottomless wine list make it a favourite with the powerbrokers, media savvy, famous – and would-be famous.

 
A more traditional mainstay of typically French high cuisine, the Lassere is as French as foie gras – and how you react to that idea will tell you whether this establishment will strike you as inspired or insufferable – I plump for the former, won over by the polite and informative staff and the unexpected eccentricity of the sliding roof.
On my final evening in the capital Helene Hubert and I dined at La Grande Cascade on the Allee de Longchamp, once more in the Bois de Bologne. A Belle Epoque beauty, the restaurant has a number of private rooms which can be taken over exclusively for groups. We toured the rooms after a lengthy and very Gallic dinner involving game, truffles, and, bien sur, foie ras de canard poivre et sel. Paris has many different faces, but some things never change.

Case study

Toward the end of last year, Paris-based Carlson Wagonlit Travel (CWT) was asked to produce an exceptional event for 80 of the best clients of a well-known financial institution. It was to be an all-inclusive tailormade event; assistance would be provided to each attendee; and the on-site co-ordination would take place in a sophisticated venue renowned for its cuisine.

CWT was charged with end-to-end event management, comprising venue sourcing, delegate welcome, on-site assistance, and around-the-clock service.</p>
The chosen venue was Pavillon Ledoyen.  The Pavillon was built in 1791 by Pierre-Michel Doyen, scion child of a famous catering family. It was redesigned in 1842 and is located amid chestnut trees, beside a manicured lawn and peaceful fountains, within a graceful neo-classical facade.

CWT account director at CWT Meetings & Events in France, Christophe Colvin says: “Our objectives were to create a wonderful experience for these important clients and to introduce new products. The event had to be original and high-end. The delegates were French employees of a large US-headquartered company. For the French people, food is very important – and our presentation reflected this. The delegates were treated like stars; good food, good wine, good conversation.
“The budget was dedicated totally to the event – it was not spent on travel or accommodation. By focusing on the clients exact needs we were able to create a memorable event. For me the twin pillars of a successful event are re-invention and creativity.”

A brief word

We asked a leading Paris-based destination management company to respond to a hypothetical brief:  a pan-European company needs to retain staff and strengthen its upscale brand image internally. The programme comprises a two-day conference including break-out sessions, a keynote address by the CEO and a gala dinner on the final evening.

Michele Hensley, Allied France

The arrival and departure transfers can be arranged via different types of vehicles, from de luxe motor coach, van or private car to motorbike transfer. A two-day conference can be enhanced with activities during the morning and afternoon coffee breaks such as distribution of baby trees, massages, caricaturists, cooking activities or a Paris quiz. The activities will be selected according to the demographic of attendees. For the farewell evening dinner, depending on attendees demographic and budget we suggest one of the following: themed dinner in one of the Paris’ pavilions, or a dinner cruise with entertainment to allow the participants to discover the City while dining, or a fun and interactive dinner in the Funfair Museum or lastly the best in terms of classical dinner an evening in the Palace of Versailles, starting with the visit of the state apartments on a private basis for the participants, followed by a dinner in the gallery of battles along with music and period entertainment and costumes.

Vital indicators: Paris

Value for money – 3

Paris ranks with London and New York as a world-class capital – with world-class prices. You don’t have to have a behemoth budget to get the best out of the city – but it certainly wouldn’t hurt.

Infrastructure – 4

The French capital has been drawing crowds ever since Napoleon Bonaparte launched his first European tour. It knows how to cope with groups of all scale and size.

The X-factor -4

Some clients might claim to have seen it, done it and bought the Eiffel Tower t-shirt – but Paris has ways of reinventing itself which should not tax the imagination of the enthusiastic organiser.

Access – 4

Charles de Gaulle is the busiest airport in Europe bar Heathrow – with all that implies. Not the most centrally located hub, which means transfers demand plenty of aforethought. Brits-based in southern England have the option of the Eurostar – a convenient and speedy, if not cheap, alternative.</p>
Luxury Investment – 3

It’s been two year since the Marriott Rive Gauche shook things up with its 60s-style revival. The five-star hotel sector has been pretty quiet since then.</p>
Conclusion

Paris regularly tops the short-haul league tables for most European event planners. It remains well-placed to capitalise on its strengths when its neighbours, and its own, economic fortunes are revived.

By Michael Webster

Aliso Creek Inn lies in Aliso Canyon on 80 acres, someone measured it we guess and it is 365 yards from the beach. And just down the road from the Montage Resort. They advertise that the resort’s restaurant plays up its views of the golf course and red rocks and we found that refreshingly true. They also urge you to discover the perfect blend of nature, fine wine, fine food and elegant comforts. We found that true too and we want to add. It has a heated pool, spa and lots of parking, a rarity for most anywhere in Laguna Beach. They say they take pride on having the most spacious resort in Laguna beach and that their unpretentious yet impeccable service will make you want to visit again and again! And we would not be doing it justice without mentioning the Nine-hole golf course and pro shop. But we were there tonight for the restaurant and lounge.

The first thing that stuck us going into ALISO CREEK INN was the short drive in. It is in just far enough that you don’t hear the traffic from coast hwy. In a serine valley of gorgeous greens of Laguna Beach’s only gulf course and a majestic mountain view with the fresh water of Aliso Creek running through the beautiful length of the property, then empties into the Pacific Ocean, at one of the cleanest beaches in America, (“Aliso Creek Beach). This is truly a tranquil rustic resort in one of the few Canyon Resorts in all of Orange County.

My wife, and our friend Sam and myself a few years back while walking this natural creek, we recovered imbedded in a recent cliff fall from a previous heavy rain a prehistoric man, woman, child and a dog dating back some eight thousand years. Back then they say that Salmon run the creek and that the area was very popular place to live for the early peoples of the area. They had plenty of food from the abundant sea and the Fish and Crawdads in the creek. And to this day Steelhead, other fish and bright red Crawfish have been reported. We in fact at one time before the pier was torn down, you could bait large Lobster and we had Lobster more then anyone should have in those days. Even though the pier is gone the fishing is still great from the beach.

Getting back to the Aliso Creek Inn the reason we are here and is one of our most liked places, which by the way was recently purchased by the local world class resort, the Montage.

The restaurant is simply magnificent the décor is hearting, the service is great and the food is world class. Its prepared by chef Robert Biebrich who has been extra busy lately because of the 5.4 earthquake we just had and the epicenter was only 4 miles from his house so he has been busy cleaning up the mess.  

Robert says his food philosophy is very basic he likes to use the best products available that are in season and to prepare them simply. His sleek presentations and fresh ingredients are part of the appeal at the casually elegant ALISO CREEK INN.

Due to his background training it is entirely French, so the food is based on French ideals. Robert said “I rarely like to use more than 3 or 4 core ingredients on the plate because I feel simplicity is the best way to showcase nature’s products”.  Robert should know something about both food and wine, having spent the past 4 ½ years in Napa Valley. That experience gave him an extra appreciation for local sustainable products and he is slowly pushing the restaurant in that direction by trying to source out only local products.

We were seated by restaurant manager Jaqeline Kane who was very friendly and also very knowledgeable about the property and the local Laguna area as well and we chatted for some time. Our server Elli was pleasant and really knew her foods and all the details and was able to answer mine and my wife Peggy’s many questions. If and when we looked up and needed anything there she was, seemed like on Q. Everyone, from the hosts to the table clearers, and exudes warmth and friendliness.

Limited to nine appetizers and salads, seven entrees and what turned out be a seven-course dinner for us. The entire menu was surprisingly reasonably priced. All the food served us was by far and away some of the best food we have had in a long time. And considering Peggy and I review restaurants for a living that’s saying something. The opening volley was a new presentation called, Amuse: A crab salad, (big chunks) with avocado puree with a heavenly Thai herb dressing.

Our second offering was a White gazpacho with pickled cherries toasted pine nuts and smoked paprika with warm corn chowder and if you can believe it, it came with fantastic marinated shrimp.

Then come an heirloom tomato and water melon salad with cucumber and whipped balsamic teamed up with roasted asparagus salad with chervil oil and morels a la crème which lift us both breathless it was so good!

Next a seared scallop with piperade, white bean stew and bitter coca emulsion with crunchy sautéed halibut with stirfried beans and shitake mushrooms and truffled mushroom broth. We were in paradise no question about it.

Then fresh from the Roberts kitchen came a whole roasted quail with fennel salad and licorice sauce with crispy pork belly and Santa Barbara spot prawns with fenugreek sauce and shaved Fuji apple. Not to shabby I’d say!

The roasted dry aged New York cut steak put before us melted in our mouths. It rivaled some of the finest Filets we’ve had. It came with rosti potatoes king trumpet mushrooms and red wine jus. Just delectable.

Next was a sampler of house pulled mozzarella with mcevoy ranch olive oil and radish salad truly yummy.

Finally a serious dessert, deep fried square bread pudding about the size of a saltine creeker and about an ½ inch thick with very tasty home made (in their kitchen) vanilla bean ice cream and a out of this world caramel souse tasted from the first bite and than continued throughout the dish. The coffee flavor was deep and rich and melted artfully with this dessert.

Oh and we indulged in the grape from their savvy selections on the short wine list of about 50 or so which emphasize value. Although most of the choices fall into the $20 to $65 range, you could splurge on a Dom Perignon, France, 1998 ($199). But Beringer “Founders Estates” Pinot Noir, California ($28) would do just as well for us.  Or a Stag’s Leap Petite Syrah, Napa Valley ($55). Clos Du Bois, North Coast ($31) is typical of the whites. If you are into Martini’s enjoy their Canyon Sized. They have a large selection and respectable choices of domestic and premium beers.

First prize this year is a job at Araxi Restaurant in Whistler, British Columbia, Canada, a location that Gordon Ramsay said in interviews earlier this year that he wanted to open his own establishment. This isn’t a new restuarant, it opened in 1981 and is already an established dining location at the base of Blackcomb and Whistler peaks. The job will commence in time for the 2010 Winter Olympics to be held in Canada and thus will increase their workload and exposure, under the supervision of Executive Chef James Walt.

This season will have the standard format of 16 competitiors, boys vs girls format, but we are told the initial signature dish competition will be a team challenge – a surefire way to provide even more fireworks amongst a group of competitive professionals who have just met and are trying to stand out!

The Red Team includes Amanda, a twenty seven year old Sous Chef who lives in New York, NY but is originally from Vancouver, WA and Ariel is also a 27 year old Sous Chef from Los Angeles, CA. To keep with the tradition of having a few contestants with ‘unique names’ -twenty three year old Executive Children’s Camp Chef ‘Lovely’ from Chicago, IL will join twenty seven year old line cook Tek from New York, NY (originally Chicago, IL). Melinda is a thirty eight year old private chef from Philadelphia, PA, who’s hometown is nearby Chadd Fords. Texan Sabrina, the thirty four year old Restaurant Manager in Phoenix, AZ will work along side twenty four year old Suzanne who is a Sous Chef in Las Vegas, NV, quite different from her hometown in Milwaukee, WI. The final member of the Red Team is Tennille, who is an executive chef, is 28 working in Fairfax, VA.

The boys team will feature thirty nine year old executive chef in Boston, MA – Andy who’s hometown is Seattle, WA as well as Dave from New Jersey, a thirty two year old Executive Chef currently working in San Diego, CA. Other Blue Team members include thirty four year old Jim, a sous chef residing in Nashua, NH and Joseph, the 27 year old sous chef from Massapequa Park, NY. Kevin is a thirty-five year old executive chef originally from Plymouth, MA now residing in Middleton, CT and Louie, who owns a diner in Fitchburg, MA. Tony is the thrity year old Culinary Store Manager born and bred in Chicago, IL and Van is the twenty six year old fish chef, originally from Buford, GA now living in Dallas, TX.

So now you’ve met the teams, start speculating on who you think the winner will be (which will no doubt be reviewed after the first few episodes). Set your television, TIVO or torrent downloading software for the two hour premiere at 8pm Pacific Time on Tuesday June 21.

As a final side note, for those fans of last season’s show, their is a health update on Robert, the chef that was forced to leave the show after making the top five and geting chest pains while attending the Borgata resort. Follow this link to get the latest http://www.fox.com/hellskitchen/robertH.htm

It has also been announced that the next series of Kitchen Nightmares will air in the Fall – which doesn’t help the rest of us from around the globe, more news when dates are confirmed!

PROGRESSION LITERATURE: THE LITERATURE OF DENOUEMENT:

INTRODUCING A NEW LITERARY GENRE

    What one hears, reads, says, sees, tastes, feels , remembers, and experiences affects our understanding.  It is ‘truth’ as we perceive it.  Remembering, in particular, evokes attitudes and emotions linked to ‘true’ knowledge of past events. Such experiences affect how we experience and interpret the present – especially if a past event is somehow linked to a present or impending event.  For example, if one had been bitten by a white dog in the past, seeing the same white dog again can bring forth an automatic reaction, such as fear or aversion, even if the dog now appears friendly to others, who may then not understand your apprehensive reaction.  Your perception of reality is different, though you and the others are both presented with the identical stimulus and information at the present moment.

       In fact, much of what we might believe to be a ‘fresh’ experience is likely to be based on many past experiences that may or may not be directly related.  A beautiful woman, never before seen by a particular male, may attract, have no effect on him, or repel, depending on past experience/ inexperience.  First impressions are often based on past experience, learned prejudice, or instinct:  a classic study in Scientific American showed pictures of the same male face, but with different amounts of hair, to respondents.   Hairiness ranged from totally bald to long beard and long hair, complete with mustache.  Respondents were asked to put the faces they saw in order, according to attractiveness.  The shaved face, without mustaches and with neatly trimmed hair, was chosen as the most attractive.  Total hairiness and total baldness were lowest on the list.  In addition, the presence of a mustache reduced confidence.  The faces presented were identical in every other respect. Progression from stage to stage of hairiness versus baldness was judged as a factor of attractiveness, but the test subjects didn’t see the face progress in cumulative stages (progression).

    Progression in literature  (cumulative stages of revelation of facts) is what makes reading enjoyable: we aren’t certain of the outcome, and what we think is true can develop in different directions, depending on the information given.  In fact, different readers guarantee different reactions.  A fine novel captures the attention and interest of most readers. 

    Real world experiences are not, generally, as complete as a crafted novel.  Modern writers, of course, reflect the chaos of our emerging modern world in what, for convenience, I term chaotic literature, white noise literature, with more or less deconstruction or minimalist influences.  The result is discomfort for most readers, who must deal with the same stressors in real life.  Time, for example, is short, and many of the most popular works, such as Stephen King’s works, are eagerly read because an entirely different world is spread out to relish and enjoy, however macabre.  Fantasy and science fiction works have their loyal followings, too.  In all writing, ‘truth’ is important — a guideline in the fog, a face in the mirror, or a beacon in the night.  But ‘Truth’ is perceived through a mist of the prejudices we gather in life experiences over time.  Truth’ has impact: among other possible repercussions and reactions to its revelation, emotions and thinking can be stimulated or depressed. At any time, what is perceived in the real world as ‘truth’ can suddenly change.

   Ian F. A. Bell describes Tony Tanner’s approach to this phenomenon in his introduction to Tanner’s The American Mystery:

“Tanner conceives of the dematerialization of language in American literature, the move beyond the structure of binary opposites, as a continuous process of self-invention. This move involves literary strategies of transformation: the construction of ontological identity, character, and modes of representation.  As Tanner observers…if life was in “flux” or constant “metamorphosis,” then writing should be the same.  As Emerson says, “In the beginning of America, was not only the word but the contradiction of the word.” 

Bell goes on to describe Tanner’s analysis of Hawthorne’s language in The Blithedale Romance:

“…The Blithedale Romance does not ask what constitutes the real, much less the Real, as reality is only “known by the conviction that you have not got it.”  As an American Romantic, however, Hawthorne may be suggesting that to know that reality is not real could be the beginning of a Real experience.  Tanner tracks the binaries between fact and fiction, forgery and real money as a means of determining the “true” copy; whether “forging” the uncreated conscience of one’s race or forging money, “both ‘forgers’ work by putting falsities/fictions into circulation.”

And finally, in his study of Melville’s The Confidence Man, Bell notes what Tanner says about “reversibility” and “interchangeability”:

“Melville’s novel about trust and confidence in the new world of America, shows how “reversibility” can be re-cast as “interchangeability.”  This term, which Tanner borrows from Thomas Mann, registers “the multiplicity and sheer ontological dubiety of the self” in a world where identity, as determined by the constructivist nature of language, is constantly being reinterpreted.”

     Whether it is Newspeak, Orwellian style, or Spin City, whether it is a news report or a personal experience, above all, we trust personal experience, and then the Voice of Authority.  Anyone with intelligence, plus sufficient interest in the case, can eventually recognize the spins and spirals in the Official Version of the Kennedy assassination. Calling people who discard the Official Version “conspiracy theorists,” while calling supporters of the Official Version “assassination analysts” exemplifies the polarization that can occur in searching for the ‘truth.’ 

Christopher Sharrett reviews Art Simon’s book, Dangerous Knowledge (concerning truth and imagery in the JFK Assassination debate) with some acerbic insights:

“the endless debate…came to constitute an “epistemological crisis,” as each official and nonofficial investigation refuted a previous truth claim, and interpretation formed a huge Moebius Strip that traps the body politic and renders truth itself indeterminant but continues to provoke discussion.”

Sharrett notes a lack of moral center in these twisting and turnings of the truth:

“Simon invokes Michel Foucault’s remark that “Power has its principle not so much in a person as in a certain concerted distribution of bodies, surfaces, lights, gazes.” This simultaneously compelling, obtuse, and arid remark is emblematic of much postmodern discourse… Foucault’s linkage of the gaze to power is not the sum and substance of Simon’s method, but it does much to turn this work into a studious, eloquent, but labored exercise lacking a real political and moral center.”

Even Official Versions can be abandoned when necessary: enough time has now passed that the Gulf of Tonkin Incident, which provided an excuse to bomb Hanoi, is no longer presented as the ‘actual truth.’  Evidence suggests the incident never occurred, but it’s too late for Hanoi, and for many Americans who haven’t seen the new evidence, American ships were fired upon in the Gulf of Tonkin.  ‘Truth’ for those who have come upon or noticed the new evidence differs from those who did not, and both groups will claim they have ‘the truth.’  Progression of knowledge from the former stance to the latter was incomplete.  Incomplete transmittal of ‘the truth’ occurs constantly, creating divisions and conflicts.  In real life ‘truth’ is almost a commodity.

     Literature can be replenished and reach new heights if the principles of progression and perceived ‘truth’ are properly developed by the innovative writer.  In the examples presented in the small sample collection of short-short stories provided in this paper, the potential range for progression literature (the genre could also be called the literature of denouement) can be stunning – mind-blowing—and i9t can happen in ‘real life’ as well.  Films such as Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction exhibit progression/denouement qualities. A killer known to be dead is shown very much alive after his death, with incredible impact.  To the patrons in a restaurant, terrorized by robbers, they’ll never know that one of their ‘saviors’ later died, or that the two men had come into the restaurant to eat after cleaning out a car full of gore and pieces of brain.  Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire brought the same approach from stage to film: we slowly realize that the ‘truth’ will never be fully known to Stella, whose passions are manipulated by Stanley, her brutal husband.

     Much can be done to fully develop the new genre. The short-short story collection shown here presents controversial religious experiences and interpretations, as felt or reported by persons under widely different conditions.  Time can change ‘reality’ and ‘truth’ for the reader or for those in the stories, as more information is obtained.,  The information might be false, however, leading to false conclusions, which may or may not alter others’ perception of what is ‘true,’ or new information might reveal a ‘new’ or unsuspected truth, or confirm a suspicion.  Anything is possible, for ‘truth’ is what is perceived by each individual, or accepted due to the voice of authority.  Those impacted by the ‘truth’ can create or live in entirely different universes, depending on the individual, to say nothing of the vicarious experiences felt by the reader or viewer (via literature, film, video games, etc.).

    In addition, the writer-as-truth-teller can present the ‘truth’ more vividly and with greater emotional impact, employing the arts as well as the sciences, setting the ‘truth’ in proper proportion to right and wrong, with the potential to sculpt a moral perspective that a simple, arid recounting of events cannot, thus revealing a social aspect and interpretation to ‘truth’ that delivers a personal weight to the individual.  Engels, commenting on the impact of Balzac’s Comédie humaine, observed how Balzac delivered “a most wonderfully realistic history of French society … from which, even in economic details (for instance the re-arrangement of real and personal property after the Revolution) I have learned more than from all the professed historians, economists and statisticians of the period together.”

     A simple progression example is to reveal how two people meet after years of absence.  They assess the differences now present, compared to the past. These may be psychological as well as physical.  What if one person s simply pretending, and isn’t as he seems, or perhaps isn’t the person from the past at all, but is merely masquerading as such?  Would/will/can the other person ever find out?  Perhaps, perhaps not.  Denouement to the reader can be exhilarating, shocking, disappointing, etc., to say nothing of the reactions that can be created by the writer as the story progresses.  Truth becomes an object of itself, with its own life, its own history, created within and outside the progression, and may not be ‘true’ after all.  Yet the ‘truth’ may be more important than ‘reality’ for political, practical, or social reasons.  ‘Truth’ ends up being what we finally believe.  If our information remains slight, or even if supporting facts accumulate, the ‘truth’ remains unchanged unless conflicting information enters that is accepted by the recipient.  And what about experiencing only conflicting, untrue information at the very onset?  We are all familiar with the effects of advertising and propaganda. Hence, ‘truth’ is a hostage of fortune.

     Progression could highlight how people change through time – perhaps a sinner really can become a saint!   Yet another kind of progression involves revelation, where a character is developed before the reader via actions, events, and so on, but then unravels or morphs due to what we next learn.  There is always the chance that what we think we know is not real.  Dialogue – actual conversations – might reveal ‘the truth’ – and can be persuasive – if ‘the truth’ is being fully revealed.  What if it isn’t?  I use the example of  a person thought to be a scammer turning out to be a saint, but seen by the world in the news, upon learning of his suicide (which isn’t presented here) as a man with a checkered reputation who took “the coward’s way out.”  Read the short-short stories yourself, then decide how cruelly you could make the news story reflect the ‘truth’ as the Official Version would have it.  There are two ‘saints’ in the short-short story collection: progression literature tells us much more than meets the eye.

     In the literature of progression, just as in real life, ‘truth’ is indeed in the eye of the beholder, so I hope I will be forgiven for appropriating the cliché for the short-short story collection.  In the examples of progression that I choose to present, brevity is used – but I stress that the objective is not to be gimmicky or to play tricks on the reader, nor necessarily to be brief, for the skilful writer now has a tool of power.  I suggest a respectful treatment of the original perspectives in the foundation stories of progression literature, as they can relate marvelously, in talented hands, to the perspective which emerges or is revealed or appreciated later.

Nevertheless, my thesis material included several foundation stories in the genre which anchored my ideas for progression literature in the domain of short stories Think of the ramifications of knowing a ‘truth’ – unless the dog now treats you in a friendly manner. Where, then, is your ‘truth’ to others?  

     The literature of progression invokes past events, but might now address a different part of a different story altogether, and ‘you’ may be in a different situation: for others, your story of a biting dog may seem utterly senseless, if this dog is known to be friendly to all. And so on. .

Why? Thus untruth, or mistaken perceptions, or misinterpretations, can happen before or after the offering of the  ‘truth,’ and we may be unable to discern which version/experience is ‘true’ even though one story, in this case, involves misperceptions and conclusions based on misconceptions and experiences which were ‘untrue’ but seemed ‘true.’ Denouement cannot bring forth the ‘truth’ because of the sheer volume of conflicting declarations stating the ‘truth.’

    There is the element of the voyeur or the rascal involved in writing the non-fiction novel, related to our concerns, where historical characters are fleshed out fictionally to enhance or comply with a stereotype originally created to advance an Official Version that is controversial. Particularly disturbing is when the stereotype is advanced to ‘truth’ by the new fictionalized treatment. If the writer is actually unfamiliar with the historical person, of necessity then relying on what remains of the ‘truth’ in the Official Version  [or other extant] records, the ‘new truth’ can become the final and lasting impression.  For example, Don DeLillo’s Libra presents a cold-blooded view of Oswald’s treatment of his wife, based on her reports.  The brutal glimpses DeLillo gives us of Oswald’s treatment of his wife are seared into the memory: what Oswald told me about his fights with his wife has no place in the version of the ‘truth’ DeLillo created.  

    Nevertheless, denouement literature, in progression format, can wrest — even from a DeLillo opus — a new and relevant perspective.  David Foster Wallace summarizes the challenges to the writer of great literature in today’s fast-moving world, where entertainment is cheap, easily accessed, and well-designed:

“(There is)a contempt for the reader, an idea that literature’s current marginalization is the reader’s fault. The project that’s worth trying is to [make]…the reader confront things rather than ignore them, but to do that in such a way that it’s also pleasurable to read… Part of it has to do with living in an era when there’s so much entertainment available…and figuring out how fiction is going to stake out its territory in that sort of era. You can try to confront what it is that makes fiction magical in a way that other kinds of art and entertainment aren’t. And to figure out how fiction can engage a reader, much of whose sensibility has been formed by pop culture, without simply becoming more shit in the pop culture machine. It’s unbelievably difficult and confusing and scary, but it’s neat. There’s so much mass commercial entertainment that’s so good and so slick, this is something that I don’t think any other generation has confronted. That’s what it’s like to be a writer now.”

      Progression literature can be exciting and relevant. It can do many things: turn the reader’s perspective upside down, enhance understanding of human nature, restore truth to history — depending on the author’s intentions and abilities.  “The literature of denouement”, or, “progression literature,” in more skilled hands than mine might well provide a revitalization to modern literature, with new depth and excitement in its inimitable approach to crafting.

Judyth Vary Baker   Stockholm, Sweden (degrees in anthropology (BS), Creative Writing (MA), and  English literature and linguistics (ABD)… genre developed at UF and U of LA @ Lafayette 1986-1999

References

Tanner, Tony. The American Mystery: American Literature from Emerson to DeLillo. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2000,242pp., ISBN: 0521783747  £15.95 (Pbk)

Sharrett, Christopher. Review of: Dangerous Knowledge: The JFK Assassination in Art and Film, by Art Simon.

Philadelphia, PA:

Temple University Press, 1996. 257 pp., illus.

Reviewed by Christopher Sharrett

Vol. 22, Cineaste, 01-01-1996, pp 59.

Marx, Karl and Engels, Frederick. On Literature and Art. Progress Publishers. Moscow 1976; p 91. (trans. Andy Blunden)

Brown, Charles Brockden. Wieland; Or The Transformation: An American Tale. Gutenberg’s etext version 2008. 

David Foster Wallace.  Quote from an interview about his best-seller, Infinite Jest, by Laura Miller, for Table Talk, Internet forum.

 =================an example of Progression Literature in fiction:

THE EVANGELIST (story #1)

     The Holy City…a battered fortress of gray and brown and white stone blocks, where two thousand years ago Roman soldiers marched the Jews into the Temple’s center, and slaughtered them…where a thousand years ago the Crusaders had come, with their banners and emblazoned crosses, announcing “Convert or die!” to Muslims, and dying themselves, overcome by those who cried “Death to the infidels!” And where Jesus, in incredible patience, hung from the cross, when a single thought could have saved Him from agonies indescribable… but He was Love Itself, and conquered all of these things.

       So thought Jeremiah Mosley — pale of face, ascetic of form, trembling in his own exquisite agonies because he was – after great financial sacrifices – actually present in Christ’s own city — and Christ might come again at any time, like lightning from the sky, it would be so sudden — Christ would separate the sheep from the goats and save the believers, and was he, Jeremiah, ready for that?  He had come to Jerusalem to seek a saint’s advice, to seek, too, a sure sign that he had really been called to become an evangelist –to spread the Word, the Good News– wherever he might be sent by God, the Living God, not some fairytale character, but the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob who had come to him in a dream, and touched him on the shoulder, and told him, “I love you.”

      He had spent a large portion of his savings to get this fine room overlooking so much of the splendid, if war-ravaged city.  The porters had been civil, even if they had snickered when they saw his battered suitcases and the way he kept his head down and prayed just under his breath.  To them, the young man with black, curly hair was just another fanatic on a pilgrimage.  When they brought the bread and wine to his room as he requested, they were surprised at the size of the tip he gave them. They didn’t know it constituted almost all he had left in the world.

   “I’m in Your hands,” Jeremiah whispered, pouring out the dark wine into two crystal goblets.  One for Jesus, one for him.  He broke the unleavened brown bread into two halves and placed the broken loaf in the center of the little table with its two glasses of wine on either side.  The white tablecloth was pure linen.  With a burst of emotion, Jeremiah threw himself on the floor and whispered, fiercely, “Come, come, Lord Jesus!  Only take a sip of the wine, that I may know You hear me, and that You accept me!”

    Then he waited.  The sun descended, sending trembling, ghostly shadows across the room. Blue mist filled the valley below, and red-orange clouds lit up the sky as the sun inched down, down… and still, he waited.  Sweat beaded on his forehead.  –Please!—I must know this is what You want!— It was such a little sign he sought, just as the fleece that Gideon threw down, asking only for a bit of dew on it, with none on the ground all around.  A sip of wine, when he wasn’t looking…. Was it tempting God? …it is a humble request… only take a sip of the wine, excellent Lord! — Please!—

    On the windowsill, as the sun set, a white dove flew down, sat for a moment looking into the room with its sad supplicant, and then, with a little dip of its beak, and a low coo, it pulled a feather from its breast and dropped it on the windowsill.  On the ivory white shaft was a single drop of dark blood.  The wind whispered away the feather with the evening wind.  The dove dipped its beak in a courtship gesture, then flew off with a whirr of its soft, white wings. 

    Jeremiah was never quite sure that he saw it.

================================================

   He was wearing a two thousand dollar linen suit, hand-made for him by one of the world’s best custom tailors – he had specified only pure white linen — and the glittering diamonds on his hand proved that he was prospering mightily with the people.  Outside his dressing room, as Jeremiah finished grooming his hair precisely as it should be combed, he could hear the choir across the street finishing the hymns he had selected to rouse the people from their torpor into hope and praise to God.  His black hair had thinned and was not so curly as it once had been, but implants had corrected the receding hairline: he looked maybe ten years younger than he really was, and with any luck, he’d outlive all his critics, by God!

     “Pastor Mosley!” came his publicist’s voice, “it’s time!”

     “Just a minute, Rachel!” he answered.

     Rachel was so efficient.  He needed that.  He was such a slacker, such a romantic. He almost put on his Rolex, then decided against it: too showy.  With a spray of Parisian cologne to each wrist, and a quick look in the mirror to make certain his necktie was in perfect order, Jeremiah paused to look more closely at the reflection there:  —Would you buy a used car from this man? — he asked within himself.  His critics said they knew better.

    They said he was crooked… that he stole from the people, filled his coffers with their dollars and threw away their prayer requests.  That healings didn’t take place.  That the Holy Spirit wasn’t a holy spirit, just a sly show calculated to separate the gullible from their money.

     He didn’t know how else to get people to listen, except putting on a show to get their attention.  If it was so wrong, why were there were twenty thousand people out there, waiting for him to come out, and help them transform their lives (as if he could do any such thing!).  It was God who had done this. As always, he felt himself shaking, because he was really, deep down, ultimately a shy man who would have preferred a quiet life in a monastery.  Instead, the show must go on. And on.

      –Please, God!– he whispered to the image in the mirror.  — Please!–  It was his only prayer, just a choked exclamation of half-strangled hope, that some of the people out there would be healed, would have their lives changed because of God’s Hand moving among them.  Ah, the Hand of God!  –Jesus!—he managed to say, before his throat closed up with terror.  To face all those people again!  He had seen so many in wheelchairs come, then leave, disappointed.

    He threw himself down against the mirror, onto his knees, and raised his arms high in the air, letting them finally rest against the mirror.  “God, God, God!” he breathed aloud, and then, with a half-strangled voice, he added, aloud, -“Please, God, have mercy on the poor people!  Take my life, if you want it, but help your sheep!”

    He calmed himself, got up off his knees, brushed away the talcum powder that clung to the knees where they had touched some of the fallen white dust that perfumed his undergarments… he wiped his forehead with a pure linen handkerchief… took a deep breath….

       —–Pastor Mosley!– came Rachel’s almost angry voice on the other side of the door.

       He opened the door, was half-blinded by a bank of photographers and their flashing lights.

      “What are they doing here?”  he demanded, pushing past the photographers, and directing his anger to his publicist, the woman with black-rimmed glasses who held a walkie-talkie to her ear.

      “They say you’re being sued by some guy who claims you didn’t heal his eyes after all,” she replied.

      “He’s a maniac!”  Jeremiah snapped.  “I don’t heal, Jesus does.”  He put on a brave face and began striding down the hall.  He was God’s Man, he could not allow these people to see any fear.  He smiled and kept on walking, his publicist and two underpastors at his side..

      “But there’s some good news, too, Pastor! Someone’s been healed, and they’re calling it a miracle! Yes, Pastor!–  Someone’s been healed!—“  he could hear the excitement in her voice, and in the crowd.  He hoped it was true.

      Deep within, he wondered if a psychological event occurred that had convinced someone they had been healed, or was it a set-up, by someone once again trying to prove the ‘healings’ were all fake?  Maybe this time it was for real.  It did happen, sometimes, despite what his enemies said.  He never knew exactly when anything miraculous occurred, or what to expect from the crowds, for it was just the power of their faith in action.  He remembered what the Bible said, that Jesus visited his own city, Nazareth, but could do no mighty miracles there because the people had no faith.  —A prophet is despised in his own country—

      A lot of ‘miracles’ were just psychological, but even that was something. Better than hopelessness, helplessness. Somebody had to care. And occasionally, there were unexplained, mysterious changes hat doctors couldn’t explain.  He would have liked to have had seen some sign from God during his prayers today, but as usual, he ran on empty.  The signs were so rare. Just enough to keep him from drowning in terror.  Was he doing the right thing?  If not, Jesus could take his life, that was okay.

     –Seek– Christ had said, –and ye shall find.–

     Except for me, he thought. –I do not doubt that You will drink wine with me someday, but it’s been fifteen years now—

     Now he was walking calmly between rows of photographers, reporters, and people begging him to heal them. As if he could heal anybody! “Praise Jesus!” he told the people. “It is Jesus, who will heal you!”  — O You secret, hidden, unattainable, silent Lord…!–

      A drifting sense of peace came over him then.  He got into the elevator and the door closed.  Blessed silence… and most of the photographers and reporters were now cut off.  Now to cross the street…  With the pastors on his right and two security guards on his left, Jeremiah crossed the gauntlet of the street with its masses of shouting people. He entered a huge auditorium, composed himself a minute, hiding behind a big screen, while choirs sang and a huge organ played….the audience had been worked up for about an hour, singing with the choir and watching huge screens that showed miracles and events at other crusades.

       –Please, God!– he prayed, once again the same old prayer, seeking, seeking…stopping in the midst of it — done with crossed arms– to notice that somehow, in the rush, he had lost a solid gold cuff-link.  “Damn!” he said, removing the solitary golden cufflink.  “Lost another one!”

He thrust the cufflink into his coat pocket.

     It was peaceful in the evangelist’s hotel room. A sleepy guard sat on the big bed, making sure nobody who came into the room would steal any of the pastor’s things for a souvenir.  As he half-dozed, two maids entered the room, with dust-cloths and a vacuum cleaner, to freshen it up.  On the mirror, where the famous evangelist’s hands had pressed momentarily against the glass, the white talcum powder had, interestingly enough, created a pair of white doves.  One maid began wiping them away, when, too late, the other, with wide eyes, stopped her.  They both knelt and began to pray, weeping, but Jeremiah never saw any of that, nor did the sleepy guard.

===============Story #2=======

APPEARANCES  (Story #2)

    by Judyth Vary Baker

      There she was, lying on the rumpled bed, the evening light fading. She could see her legs stretched out toward the window with its plum-striped curtains and the green, swaying trees beyond.  There was an ochre glow in the sky, as the sun set, with crimson-edged clouds bathing the darkness. Her legs looked spindly, too thin, but then, she was a model, with the skinny frame desired by clothiers and designers. She wanted to eat, but dared not: outside, where she saw the birds flying in black punctuation points against the red-rimmed clouds, she thought how they could eat as they wished, without a thought as to appearances: they were all soft, downy, fuzzy, fluffy. Fat, perhaps, according to clothiers and designers.

      There were little sparkles of raindrops on the windowpanes, for with the final light came a quick showering down of rain, against the deepening deep blue of the sky.  The yellow and gold of the last sun’s rays faded away to a soft tangerine glow, outlining the tall buildings and skyscrapers that rose on the horizon.  She wiggled her toes, stretched them wide, thought to herself, I have prehensile toes!  She could pick up anything with them – a talent for which none would pay her a penny.  She saw how her knee-bones stuck out more than they should, her thighs began behind the knee-bones, too thin, too thin. But there was no help for it.  She knew that they would put makeup on to hide the dark circles of starvation that made her large, brown, glowing eyes look even more mysterious, and that she’d walk down the red carpet on the arm of Max Taylor, Movie Star, smiling and waving to the adoring crowds, her photo snapped, her gown declared simply ravishing, her hair declared adequate for the occasion.  Max was homosexual and she liked being with him, being ordinarily too exhausted for sex: they made a good pair.

     Well, she had fourteen hours before she had to get ready for tomorrow’s appearance at the Oscars.  Fourteen hours, phone calls turned away, and Room Service bringing up, in another hour, her dinner, composed of a cup of clear broth, a chicken wing, and a leaf of lettuce, with vitamin capsules. She wanted to bathe after that, but wondered if she had the strength. Staying in bed, for she felt so cold, was best: her nails wouldn’t get chipped that way.  Why turn on the telly?  Why not watch the raindrops gather, as the wind blew them sideways on the glass, watch how they merged and became fatter, then dribbled down the clear pane, falling to oblivion… 

     She looked again at the alarm clock: forty-five minutes to dinner.  There was a slight prickling along the bedcovers that crossed her flat belly, and she looked to see what caused it, but nothing was there. The white hotel sheets, the white hotel blanket, the white hotel mattress with its plum-colored stripes, were as in all hotels everywhere: a formal luxury, her common fate in hotel after hotel.  Sheared carpet and sleek lamps and slick wood with glass: the brochures of the hotel, the beckoning pamphlets listing cafes and cabarets and caffe au lait. One hotel was as another: either filled with antiques stiff with gaudy gilt and lace and carved balustrades and flowers, or modern-sterile, Isn’t it Good Norwegian Wood?

     What was life about? She wondered. I’ll strut my stuff a hundred more times, then what?  I wish I could believe in God.

     Incredibly, she felt the electric touch upon her belly again, and again looked down, past her hunger-shrunken naked breasts to the blanket and sheets twisted over her middle in the shape of a white cross, the plum-red stripes making a big “X” as if blocking her empty belly off from the rest of her body.  As she breathed, the “X” went up and down, up and down…and as the night sky darkened to deep purple, she thought she saw the “X” waver, and move sideways.  As it did so, the prickling sensation returned.  This time, she drew the sheet and blanket up to her chin, covering herself.  I’m cold all the time, she thought to herself.  How good the hot broth will feel!  She looked at the clock again: in fifteen minutes, they’d bring dinner.  She remembered, as a child, saying Grace over a meal of bacon, eggs, toast and jam, with hot cocoa on the side, and how her sister and brother grabbed for the last pieces of toast, but she was content to let them go for it, she had more than enough to eat.  Donny was dead, now, and so were Mom and Dad, in the car wreck that so suddenly took their lives. As for Donna, her sister, she hadn’t seen her for several years: Donna was heavy, having had children… ashamed of her stretch marks and her after thighs.

   .  I think I will say Grace over the broth and chicken wing and the lettuce, she thought to herself. Jesus!  I wish You’d appear!  But those things don’t really happen, do they?  It was always mere legend. 

     Then it happened.

     The broth had gone cold.  The lettuce lay untouched.  They had forgotten the chicken wing, but no matter.  She was washed over with heat and warmth, lavished with it….she lay stretched out, her arms flung wide, her eyes moist with tears. She rolled from the bed, drawing the sheet and blanket with her, and the quilt that had twisted to make the “X” as well.  On her knees, she whispered, Thank you!  Thank you! Thank you!

    “But such things are hallucinations,” he told her, as he warily watched her eating a normal-sized meal. “What about your contract?” he asked, anxiously. “If you change sizes, you’ll be fired from Victoria’s Secret, and the rest will follow.  And what will Henri say, if you stop going out with him?  He’s always getting you good film deals.”

     “I’m rich,” she said. “I don’t need Victoria’s Secret anymore. And I don’t need Henri, either.””

     “Well, I’m not rich!” he told her, heatedly. “And you have a contract with me to be responsible. You’ve had a god-damned hallucination.  As your agent, I insist that you see a psychiatrist.”

     “You don’t have that right,” she told him.

     “Of course I do. I‘ll sue you if you don’t go. Then see how rich you’ll be.”

     There she was, lying on the rumpled bed, the evening light fading. She could see her legs stretched out toward the window with its plum-striped curtains and the green, swaying trees beyond.  There was an ochre glow in the sky, as the sun set, with crimson-edged clouds battering the darkness. Her legs looked spindly, too thin, but then, she was a model, with the skinny frame desired by clothiers and designers. She wanted to eat, but dared not: outside, where she saw the birds flying in black punctuation points against the red-rimmed clouds, she thought how they could eat as they wished, without a thought as to appearances.

     Henri would be by tonight, to sleep with her again. He was a powerful Senator.  They met all over the world: her ‘photo shoots’ were all lucrative deals. Some of them were real photo shoots… After all, she was so much thinner than his wife, Bernice, who was trying to get pregnant.  Models on the make were much more fun to be with, and the contracts and magazine covers he got for her made the hotels and the meals and the dreams keep coming.

===============Story #3=====

REVISION  (Story #3)

By Judyth Vary Baker

     “Henri Ballantyne was very near-sighted, and middle-aged, but he still carried a handsome shock of blonde hair, and had the body of an athlete. The fact that his wife had just died made him one of America’s most eligible bachelors, though he was still avoiding dating.  Henri’s career as U S Senator was reaching its pinnacle: he was a powerful man who now found himself stalked by paparazzi, aching for a photo of him with some movie star.  At Bernice’s funeral, Henri had let himself go a little, drinking too much and saying some unwise things about his wife’s untimely and sudden death.  “Of course, those people are fools,” Henri told Charles. “All that blather about rising again, about the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. What I wanted was her, damn it all. Now I have to go find another respectable woman.”

    “Why didn’t you keep your opinion about that ‘blather’ to yourself?”  Charles asked, wishing it had been his wife, instead of Henri’s, who had kicked the bucket. Charles had silvery hair now, and a paunch, but his wife looked even worse. Charles looked down at his bad left foot, that leg two inches too short that made the thick, heavy shoe so necessary, then glanced with scarcely-concealed envy at his younger client, a former Olympic star whose biceps were still firm.  Charles was barely interested in Henri’s latest problem, but it was his job to keep Henri popular. Right now, his job was in jeopardy. Henri surreptitiously lit another cigarette, which Charles ardently hoped the waiter wouldn’t see.

     “Perhaps we should move onto the terrace,” Charles suggested, picking up his wine glass. “There’s a cool spot out there under the umbrellas.”

    “It’s all the same to me,” Henri told him.  They moved outside to the restaurant’s rocky terrace, sheltered under rows of bright red umbrellas with ‘Coca Cola’ emblazoned in white, curling letters. Charles was glad to be back in Budapest: he looked forward to the mineral baths, the good, cheap wine, and the pretty women who would sleep with him willingly, despite his bad left foot.  That clump-clump of his shoe followed him everywhere, and most women glanced down at the thick sole of the shoe, hearing the heavy sound of it, and instinctively avoided intimacy with him.  It wasn’t fair.  Charles was also accursed with a gloomy cast of the eyes, a sad down-turning of the mouth, and with a voice so raspy he couldn’t succeed, as he had dreamed, in politics. He was forced to function as a mere advisor, well-paid to guide candidates into high offices, and keep them there, by making certain they said the right things and did the right things.. At present, he was worried about Henri, whose chances for re-election had been very good, until today. 

   Henri was part of a Senate committee on a fact-finding mission touring the European Union, with a stopover for fun in Budapest, where he had just dined with the Minister of Culture, stating his opinion that religion was a sham, and that Jesus was probably a closet homosexual.  Damn!  Charles sighed to himself. Henri had made his opinion known to the new Minister of Culture – a devout Catholic — not to the old one, who had been an atheist.

      “This story isn’t going to ride well with your constituency in Maryland, Henri.”

       “I know, I know! So what the hell should I do now?”

       “Maybe show up at church. And make sure people know about it.”

     “If you can’t fix this, I’m quitting politics,” Henri told him, peeling off a few thousand into Charles’ hands. “This should cover costs for your quick little trip over here. Do what you can to cover this up. Okay?”

    “I’m not Mr. Fix-It,” Charles complained. “I suggest you stay away from religion altogether after this.  I’m sorry I ever mentioned the word ‘church’ – but how was I to know you’d end up attending a healing session in some Praise-Jesus-Hallelujah cult?”

     “It has twenty thousand members,” Henri said lamely. “And I have to admit, I was entranced.”

     “Hypnotized, not entranced,” Charles corrected. “I should have set up the right church for you.”

     “Yes, you should have,” Henri said. “So now, get me the hell out of this mess!”

     Henri, whose poor vision was the result of a botched operation to reduce his near-sighted condition, couldn’t wear contact lenses anymore and didn’t dare risk a repeat of the operation until methods became more advanced.  Maybe any day, he thought to himself. Meanwhile, he was stuck wearing glasses, and hated it even more than getting old and out of shape. He’d really been caught up in that Jesus-Hallelujah-Praise-God jamboree, and, mesmerized, walked in a daze to the altar, knelt there, and said he believed.  A man stood over him as in a cloud, his vision actually became dark, as if an angel hovered somewhere, blotting out all the hot lights overhead, and then the evangelist asked if he could ‘lay hands’ on him. 

     “Do you believe you can be healed?”

     The fellow looked a little tired and was in a hurry, as there were dozens more who also sought the ‘hands-on’ experience.

     “Healed of what?”

     “Whatever your need is, of course. God will heal you now, if you believe!”

      What was that shiver of hope that flowed over him, as those hands were laid upon his head?    

      He felt an exquisite sense of peace overflow him.  The evangelist’s hands seemed full of electricity.  It was uncanny.  From Henri’s lips burst out his secret desire.:

      “I want my eyes to be healed!”

     “Then – be healed, eyes!  In Jesus’ name!”

    What a fool he’d been!   Such an utter fool!  For nothing had happened. Not a thing. He’d had some blurry spots in front of his eyes, like a thousand little dark dots, just as he came down the aisle to the front, and yes, those little dots disappeared, but that was all. He was still as near-sighted as ever.

     They’re all fakes! he thought to himself. He didn’t see a single person healed at that altar, except maybe one little old lady who said she was healed of cancer. Oh, sure! He’d ‘believe’ when he saw the doctor’s report!  He got the old lady’s name and address. He’d fix that so-called ‘healer’ if she died of cancer.

————————————————————————————————————–

     “Okay,” Henri told Charles, “it is true that the little black spots went away. And the woman with cancer got better. But then she died of a stroke.”

     “But you get those dots in front of your eyes when you drink, Henri,” his manager told him. “It comes and goes. Think of the consequences!  They snapped your picture there, with that crazy preacher’s hands on top of your head. Good God! It’s front page news in every damned tabloid in the country!”

     I know,” Henri said gloomily. “But what can I do?”

     “At least, you didn’t get ‘healed’ of something and feel like you had to proclaim it to the world,” Charles said. “That would have really wrecked everything.”

      “I sure got psychologically drawn in,” Henri admitted. “They have that service set up like a fine art. And of course, I didn’t get healed. I feel like closing down their operation. They’re raking in money like crazy, you know.”

       “I suggest you do nothing of the kind,” Charles told him. “At least, don’t directly be his source of trouble. Just promise me that next time, you’ll stay away from anything to do with churches.  For the rest of your life — or it’s bye-bye, career.”

      “Of course I will!”

      “Instead, start going to hospitals. Go visit some sick kids with cancer. Kiss some lepers. Do something nice, but stay away from the goddamn churches. Maybe they’ll forget.”

      “I hope so,” Henri said. “I sure hope so.”

    It wasn’t the paparazzi who were responsible, as Princess Diana had been hounded, but the auto accident was photographed by the paparazzi.  The stunned senator was photographed, too, mourning the fact that the accident wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t taken so much valium

And here she had been pregnant!

Then the fellow had a nervous breakdown.   The tabloids reported that he killed himself with sleeping pills in the very house where he’d been born. His suicide note was short and pitiful.

      Jesus hadn’t been there to rescue the guy: the evangelist had been on his own in the Valley of Death.  Now Henri was in the hospital.  He’d fallen on some ice and was currently getting his back pulled straight — in traction. He was doubly irritated because he was experiencing double vision from his concussion.

     The ophthalmologist came in, with his apparatus, to check his eyes, and Henri heard him shake his head, as he made little clucking sounds like a mother hen worried about a chick.

       “You’ve had some real problems with these eyes, haven’t you?”

       “A guy like you botched an operation on my corneas,” Henri told him. “Wrecked my chances to get away from glasses.”

       “But the other condition, I mean,” the doctor said. “Just when did you have that operation on your retinas?”  He was peering deep into his right eye with that blasted irritating bright light.

      “What operation? What are you talking about?”

      “Your right retina was obviously torn loose, and was reattached by lasers. The left eye had some work done on its retina, too.”

       “I never had anything done to my retinas!”  Henri thought how the evangelist had laid hands on him, and a kind of bitter horror began to build up inside.

       “Well, it’s been some time, I suppose. Perhaps you’ve forgotten, though I can’t imagine you would.  If it hadn’t been for this obvious emergency operation, you’d be blind in your right eye.”

        The ophthalmologist looked again into the left eye.

       “Yes, same thing, just not as bad” he said. “Your left retina has also been re-attached.  Surely you remember seeing a flood of what we call “floaties” in your eyes? A feeling of a shadow falling down over your eyes, as if a curtain was closing down your vision?”

       O, my God!

       Suddenly, Henri undersood.  The darkness of his vision, as he knelt down, shielding the harsh overhead light from his eyes as he knelt— and the hundreds of little dark spots that swirled in his eyes, as the trembling hands of the evangelist gently touched his head, and Henri had asked to be healed.

      “Oh, God!” he whispered, as he lay stretched out on the hospital bed.  “Oh, God!”

====================Story #4====

REPARATION  (Story #4)

     Jeremiah was ready to die. He had long been prepared for the event. His only regret had been that he’d not had enough true faith to heal everyone upon whom he’d laid his hands – for which he had prepared with much prayer and fasting. He’d never really seen a vision, though others around him reported white doves always landing on windowsills wherever he went – hotel after hotel.

    That was strange, indeed – but he had never seen a single white dove himself. Still, he had tried to follow Christ’s example, believing he could lay hands on people and heal them if they had enough faith, just as the Bible had promised, in Christ’s name.  He’d seen a number of miracles – nobody could deny it!– but there were so few among the thousands he’d hoped to see walk again, be happy again, have hope again. It was distressing, for he also could not deny that there had been hundreds of stunning failures. Psychosomatics. Self hypnosis, maybe. His tireless nemesis, Henri B., had even planted “cured people” in his congregation to proclaim they had been healed.  Jeremiah’s best-selling book, unfortunately, included a few stories from fake ‘healed’ people who had infiltrated the church, paid by Henri B.  They had lied.  They had been included in the book— along with a dozen genuine cases –  (he assumed they were genuine!) – all to glorify God’s name and His holy powers of healing through Christ’s shed blood. Instead, outrage and mockery. Accusations of fraud.  Prostitutes had even come forth claiming he’d slept with them. Lies, lies, lies!

      Henri B., the Senator, revealed that he was sick of scammers acting in God’s name, so he’d paid actors to pretend they’d been healed. The evangelist had not been told by his ‘God’ which people had really been healed. He was utterly clueless. His ‘God’ had let him down.

     All of this had come about because the evangelist had laid hands on the Senator’s head and declared that his eyes had been healed. He had done so on inspiration.  He had been impressed – even certain — that the Senator’s eyes were been about to go blind – yet at the last moment, they had been saved, either by being healed, or because Henri himself had gone to an eye doctor and got operated on.  Whichever way you looked at it, Henri B’s eyes had been saved. 

     But Henri didn’t see it that way.  The doctor – alone—was the healer. Jeremiah had asked him to go to the doctor to have his eyes checked, to make certain they had been healed, and the doctor had insisted on operating.  Since then, Henri B’s persecution had been relentless.  Thoughts of suicide had crossed Jeremiah’s thoughts again and again.  Now, the waiting was over. No more fasting and prayers in the lonely nights. No more tears, lying prone on his face, begging for people to be healed, begging for conversions to his hero, Jesus.  He could even consider this final, terrible event as martyrdom. Dying for Jesus

He finally decided to write that the devil was forcing him to die, it was not his choice at all.

     Jeremiah was so shaky that he only had the strength now to put a little cross under the words “I forgive all my enemies and place all my faith in God’s mercy.” The word ‘mercy’ had a long, smeared trail of ink after it because he could no longer see what he was writing, could no longer feel the pen in his numb hand.  Pain was eating his belly alive.  He dropped the pen, as a convulsion from the drugs he’d taken filled his body. He knew he would soon be dead.  “Father, forgive my enemies,” he tried to say, but with so little breath left, other words came out….

—————————————————————————————————————-

     Henri had moved to a monastery in Sweden.  It was built in the fifteenth century of hand-cut stones. It was cold and had always been cold.  It was dark and had always been dark.  Bernadette – Bernice’s sister — had suggested the monastery as a suitable place for private penance, a new life. The Catholics would let him find some peace in his soul, perhaps, in a primitive way that his take-charge mind could understand.  In his jealousy, he’d murdered his wife.  Then he’d driven the evangelist into bankruptcy, and to his death.

     Too late, he’d learned that the eye doctor hadn’t operated on his eyes. Too late, he realized that the evangelist had indeed – by some unknown power — healed his eyes.  And for doing so, Henri had destroyed him!  Had thrust his church into financial ruin!  A million dollar check fixed that, and his declaration that he had been healed wiped out much of the onus caused by the fake ‘healings’ mentioned in the book that had disgraced the evangelist so soundly. But none of this could bring back the man of God who, in his suicide note, had written, “I forgive all my enemies…”

   As Henri whipped himself (he slashed his body with twenty lashes every evening, except on Sundays), he gritted his teeth and let the fierce pain sink into his flesh.

     “God forgive me, I didn’t know what I was doing!” he prayed, each night when he finished, cleaning the blood from his back and off the stone walls. Then he laid down on the hard, flat bed, letting the cold creep over him. The cold sank into the mass of festering wounds on his back.  With his diabetic condition, he knew he wouldn’t last too very much longer — maybe a year or so.  As for the Brothers and Monks, they thought him a wondrous saint-in-the-making, and with their silent gazes of admiration, they allowed him privacy in his holy efforts to make reparation for his sins, and for the sins of the whole world.

     ‘Brother’ Henri prayed constantly, begging forgiveness particularly from the man he’d destroyed, mindful of the power of that Silent God who had healed his eyes.  How many more blows from the length of electrical cord he wore around his waist (when he wasn’t using it) could his body take? When he had no more strength, he would quit eating. Finally, his pain would be over. Forever.

========Story #5=====

DIVISION  (story #4)

   By Judyth Vary Baker

     Henri Ballantyne was very near-sighted, and middle-aged, but he still carried a handsome shock of blonde hair, and had the body of an athlete. He was one of America’s most eligible bachelors, a powerful man who found himself stalked by paparazzi, aching for a photo of him with some movie star.  Charles, his political manager, was told to find him a suitable lady to date.  Henri still missed his dead wife: “What I wanted was Bernice, damn it. Now that she’s dead,” he told Charles, “you have to go find me another respectable woman.”

Charles had a big Rolodex and a vast reservoir of email addresses, but the combination of Movie Star and Respectable Potential Wife eluded all attempts. Then, a break: Bernice’s sister – Bernadette—called.

        She very well knew that Henri was cheating on her. It was a shame that they couldn’t have children.  Too many times, he’d demanded to know if she had finally become pregnant, only to be told that once again, everything had failed.  When the problem was finally diagnosed as Henri’s fault, not Bernice’s, she celebrated by getting drunk.  The relief!  The blessed relief! Henri, seeking to make himself feel and look better, got an eye operation that same week, but something went awry, and both his corneas were damaged, forcing him to stay in thick glasses. Henri tried to sue the doctor, but papers he’d signed before the operation, and the doctor’s good reputation, resulted in a settlement out of court. Bernice had done what she could to help: she tried to get inside information: she became friendly, before the lawsuit ensued, with the eye doctor, and even had a little minor surgery, which the good doctor gave her free of charge, knowing how upset Henri had been.

        Then came a meeting after regular office hours, when Bernice, noticing that the doctor had the same tastes as she for good music, invited him to accompany her to a Bach concert. It came about almost by accident: she had spotted Henri with a Pretty Young Thing on his arm, and with jealous ire, she called Dr. Richardson.

       They met outside the Concert Hall: he looked very fine with his bright blue contact lenses and his thick, blonde hair, much reminding her of Henri’s own tawny mane.  By evening’s end, she was calling her escort ‘Paul.’ By the end of the month, they were meeting regularly for concerts and more. 

————————————————————————————————————–

    I should feel guilty, she told herself, as she combed through her own dark, glossy curls. But I don’t!  She was still a stunningly beautiful woman.  She carefully examined her still-glamorous figure in the hall mirror, wishing her stomach was as flat as his secretary’s…but who can compete, at thirty-eight, with women fifteen years younger?  She felt a bit under the weather lately – was it age creeping up on her already? — and this made it seem all the more important for her to spread her wings and bring an adoring man into her arms.

Henri is discrete in his indiscretions, she told herself.  And so am I! It’s good that we didn’t have children to complicate matters.  She chose the correct purse for the evening, checked her hairstyle from the back, then took the elevator down to the foyer. Paul had sent a nice New York limo to pick her up – yet unaccountably, as she entered the limo, her thoughts turned again to Henri, who was treating her so much nicer, now that he knew it was his fault, not hers, that there were no babies.

 And he always brings me such nice gifts, now…for it is he, she decided, who is feeling guilty!  He’ll soon be going to Europe, and I’ll be left behind, but we’re only acting as Royals have done for centuries.  Generous to one another in public, and we still even sleep together!  She would not dare compare the two men in bed, for Henri had known her such a long time now, and Paul’s fascination with her might fade.   She should be grateful for good sex with two good men, in a comfortable life.

His spies told him that Bernice was pregnant, and that she had been seeing the very eye doctor who had destroyed his chances to look handsome again!  No – more than seeing the eye doctor!  More than that!  The divorced doctor had two children of his own and was obviously the source of Bernice’s sudden pregnancy.  How dare she!  And next year was election year! Did she think she could hide what she had conceived, when he had photographs, and even a videotape?  True, she was being very careful – she of course did not wish to harm Henri’s reputation – but what in hell possessed her to allow herself to get pregnant?  Damn it all!  

    “Women want babies,” Charles told him. “She knew it was hopeless with you, so—“

      He had to pause until Henri’s teeth stopped gnashing.

     “I have to be very blunt with you, Henri,” Charles told him. “Your little trip overseas, your lack of sorrow when she died, has been noticed. Her family has received a telephone call –“

      “—No doubt from him!”

      “It seems they’ve received information that’s disconcerting to them. Something about your hiring a private detective, who now wants a payoff to remain silent. Or else, he’ll speak to Bernice’s family. They, too, have reputations to consider.”

     “It’s not against the law, what I did,” Henri said gloomily. He tried to pretend that he wasn’t as deeply concerned as he was at the fresh bit of bad news.  The first bad bit was that Bernice’s sister was going to exhume the body, to have an autopsy done.

      “I thought Catholics didn’t do things like that,” he complained.

      “Apparently, sometimes they do,” Charles said. “I suggest you get yourself a good lawyer.”

 “I can’t begin to express to you how much I despise you,” Henri said to Dr. Richardson, who sat uncomfortably with him in the lawyer’s office. “I found her diary, you know.”

       Paul Richardson said nothing.  The smoldering hatred in Henri’s eyes was enough to keep him quiet.  He didn’t want Henri to jump up and choke him or something. They were waiting, with a wary-eyed male paralegal, for word on the DNA test on the dead fetus within Bernice’s womb.  Henri had demanded the test.

     “Another thing,” Henri said. “This all began when she volunteered to spy on you, for your information.  Prior to my bringing a lawsuit against you.”

     “She told me all about that,” Paul said, mildly. “And she apologized.”

     “She never was good at such things,” Henri admitted. “That’s why I was so shocked. That she got away with all of this with you.”

      “You weren’t around much to notice.”

       “I was around enough!” Henri snapped. He dropped his face into his hands, then, as if he were about to weep.  Paul was surprised at this sudden shift of emotion. He hazarded a comment.

       “I think we both have missed her.”

       “If only I had never had that operation!”

       “Well, I’m sorry it was botched up.”

While it seems like the dust has only just settled on the set of Hell’s Kitchen – Fox is cranking out Gordon Ramsay again next month, in season six of the hit television show. This series, I believe was filmed at the start of this year (and another shot straight after it) and will appear on US Television on July 21. This, by my calculations, makes it a Tuesday night instead of the normal Thursday night – I’m unsure of what this means in terms of ratings – but I’m sure the tabloids will report it as a decrease in Gordon Ramsay’s popularity!

First prize this year is a job at Araxi Restaurant in Whistler, British Columbia, Canada, a location that Gordon Ramsay said in interviews earlier this year that he wanted to open his own establishment. This isn’t a new restuarant, it opened in 1981 and is already an established dining location at the base of Blackcomb and Whistler peaks. The job will commence in time for the 2010 Winter Olympics to be held in Canada and thus will increase their workload and exposure, under the supervision of Executive Chef James Walt.

This season will have the standard format of 16 competitiors, boys vs girls format, but we are told the initial signature dish competition will be a team challenge – a surefire way to provide even more fireworks amongst a group of competitive professionals who have just met and are trying to stand out!

The Red Team includes Amanda, a twenty seven year old Sous Chef who lives in New York, NY but is originally from Vancouver, WA and Ariel is also a 27 year old Sous Chef from Los Angeles, CA. To keep with the tradition of having a few contestants with ‘unique names’ -twenty three year old Executive Children’s Camp Chef ‘Lovely’ from Chicago, IL will join twenty seven year old line cook Tek from New York, NY (originally Chicago, IL). Melinda is a thirty eight year old private chef from Philadelphia, PA, who’s hometown is nearby Chadd Fords. Texan Sabrina, the thirty four year old Restaurant Manager in Phoenix, AZ will work along side twenty four year old Suzanne who is a Sous Chef in Las Vegas, NV, quite different from her hometown in Milwaukee, WI. The final member of the Red Team is Tennille, who is an executive chef, is 28 working in Fairfax, VA.

The boys team will feature thirty nine year old executive chef in Boston, MA – Andy who’s hometown is Seattle, WA as well as Dave from New Jersey, a thirty two year old Executive Chef currently working in San Diego, CA. Other Blue Team members include thirty four year old Jim, a sous chef residing in Nashua, NH and Joseph, the 27 year old sous chef from Massapequa Park, NY. Kevin is a thirty-five year old executive chef originally from Plymouth, MA now residing in Middleton, CT and Louie, who owns a diner in Fitchburg, MA. Tony is the thrity year old Culinary Store Manager born and bred in Chicago, IL and Van is the twenty six year old fish chef, originally from Buford, GA now living in Dallas, TX.

So now you’ve met the teams, start speculating on who you think the winner will be (which will no doubt be reviewed after the first few episodes). Set your television, TIVO or torrent downloading software for the two hour premiere at 8pm Pacific Time on Tuesday June 21.

As a final side note, for those fans of last season’s show, their is a health update on Robert, the chef that was forced to leave the show after making the top five and geting chest pains while attending the Borgata resort. Follow this link to get the latest http://www.fox.com/hellskitchen/robertH.htm

It has also been announced that the next series of Kitchen Nightmares will air in the Fall – which doesn’t help the rest of us from around the globe, more news when dates are confirmed!

According to the March 2008, Xpatulator international cost of living comparison, Dubai, United Arab Emirates is the 32nd most expensive city in the world for expatriates to live in.

The findings of the international cost of living comparison of 228 international locations, conducted by the international relocation calculator, shows that Dubai is most expensive for Restaurants, Meals Out and Hotels and least expensive for Communication.

The international cost of living comparison uses the prices of goods and services that expatriates spend their salaries on in each location, and calculates cost of living indexes (COLI) for 13 different basket groups using New York as the base (i.e. New York is equal to 100).

The most expensive city in the world for expatriates is London. At the other end of the rankings, the least expensive city (again – for expatriates to live in) is Harare. On average, goods and services that cost an expatriate US$100 in New York would cost US$126.6 in London, compared to just US$16.4 in Harare, and US98.84 in Dubai.

Dubai Cost of Living Basket

For each aspect of cost of living Dubai is ranked by Xpatulator as follows (Out of 228 international locations, ranked from highest cost of living to lowest cost of living):

•Alcohol & Tobacco (Alcoholic Beverages and Tobacco Products): 104th

•Clothing (Clothing and Footwear Products): 4th

•Communication (Telephone, Internet, and Mobile Communication): 221st

•Education (Creche, Primary, Secondary and Tertiary Fees): 127th

•Furniture and Appliances (Furniture, Household Equipment and Household Appliances): 159th

•Groceries (Food, Non-Alcoholic Beverages and Cleaning Material): 91st

•Healthcare (General Healthcare, Medical and Medical Insurance): 28th

•Household (Rent, Mortgage, Water, Electricity, Household Gas, Household Fuels, Local Rates and Residential Taxes): 5th

•Miscellaneous (Stationary, Linen, General Goods and Services): 32nd

•Personal Care (Personal Care Products and Services): 97th

•Recreation & Culture (Books, Cinema, DVD, Sports Goods etc): 50th

•Restaurants, Meals Out and Hotels: 1st

•Transport (Public Transport, Vehicle Costs, Vehicle Fuel, Vehicle Insurance and Vehicle Maintenance): 159th

The large differences in the ranking of each aspect of cost of living has important implications for people negotiating an expatriate salary in Dubai. Dubai has 3 basket categories that are ranked in the top 5 most expensive places in the world. It would save an expatriate a great deal of money to try and include these items as benefits that are provided by the employer, over and above the salary. Firstly, Dubai is the most expensive place in the world for restaurants, meals out and hotels. Unless these costs are covered to some extent as, for example a paid business expense, eating out will be almost unaffordable to most expatriates. Secondly it would be worth bringing clothing with you from where ever you are based prior to moving to Dubai, as the cost of clothing and footwear is ranked the 4th most expensive place in the world for expatriates. Thirdly and probably most importantly, it is vital that accommodation be negotiated as a provided benefit. The cost of accommodation (rent or mortgage and utilities) in Dubai is ranked 5th most expensive in the world for expatriates. If you were to negotiate an expatriate package that does not include accommodation, you will find a large portion of your salary having to be spent on a house or flat, which will make it very difficult to save money while living in Dubai.

Expatriate Salary Approaches

Cost of living information is used by organisations to establish salary levels for expatriates undertaking international assignments. How the cost of living information is used depends on the pay methodology adopted by the organisation. There are 3 mainstream approaches to establishing salary levels for international assignments, the build-up approach, the salary purchasing power approach, and the cost of living allowance approach.

Salary Build-Up Approach

The build-up approach uses the expatriate’s home salary as the starting point and then builds up the salary package for an international assignment. Typical elements added to the salary are for cost of living differences, hardship differences and exchange rate. Hardship is the relative difference in the quality of living a person and their family are likely to experience.

For example a person earning AUD$100 000 in Sydney taking up an assignment in Dubai would have the following build-up:

Base Salary AUD$100 000 X COLI X Hardship Premium X Exchange Rate = Assignment Package in US Dollars.

Using Xpatulator a person earning AUD$100 000 in Sydney, would earn an assignment package of USD$89 710 in Dubai.

Salary Purchasing Power Parity (SPPP) Approach

The salary purchasing power parity approach seeks to achieve parity between international locations. What would be the equivalent of a salary in Dubai in other places in the world in terms of purchasing power? We compared purchasing power by comparing salary levels adjusted for cost of living differences, and relative hardship using Xpatulator.

A salary of USD$75 000 in Dubai is equivalent to:

•USD$67 980 in Beijing

•USD$57 812 in Johannesburg

•USD$96 089 in London

•USD$71 239 in New Delhi

•USD$79 533 in Paris France

This means that an organisation with a head office in Dubai, and an international office in New Delhi would pay a position that is paid USD$75 000 in Dubai, USD$71 239 in New Delhi in order to achieve the same salary purchasing power in each location.

Cost of Living Allowance (COLA) Approach

Organisations that make use of Cost of Living Allowances (COLA) use cost of living information to determine how much COLA to pay for international assignments. A COLA is an allowance paid to an expatriate to ensure that they are compensated where the cost of living is higher than their home country. Where the cost of living is lower, most organisations do not adjust the salary downwards, they would simply not pay a COLA in such cases. For example of a person earning US$57 812 in Johannesburg sent on an international assignment to Dubai, they would be paid a COLA as follows:

USD$75 000 in Dubai less USD$57 812 in Johannesburg = USD$17 188 COLA in Dubai

The COLA is paid in addition to the individual’s current salary, for the duration of the international assignment, and is typically reviewed on an annual basis, or when the COLI changes by more than 10%.

Excerpt
The following is an excerpt from the book The United States of Arugula
by David Kamp
Published by Broadway Books; September 2006;$26.00US/$35.00CAN; 0-7679-1579-8
Copyright © 2006 David Kamp

Chapter Seven

The New Sun-Dried Lifestyle

“What Dean & Deluca did was give the food market a clean artistry that made it very now, very tied into the moment when SoHo was being noticed,” says Florence Fabricant, the New York Times food-beat scoopmeister, who wrote about the store nearly from its inception. “Jack Ceglic was responsible for a lot of that, the industrial look. And Giorgio and Joel were really fanatic about ferreting out product. It all tied together. And the other important thing they tapped into was the need for prepared foods.”

Indeed, the time had at last arrived when it was socially and economically acceptable for young professionals — and even harried moms in the suburbs — to take home freshly prepared entrées, along with salads and sides purchased by the pound. In an earlier era, prepared foods were problematic: they seemed too fancy and expensive (as Jean Vergnes found out during his brief experiment with Stop & Shop in the sixties), and, for women, they seemed a cop-out, a betrayal of their domestic duties. But with more women in the professional workforce and more people amenable to the general idea of “gourmet” eating, especially if it had the imprimatur of a prestigious shop like Dean & DeLuca or E.A.T., prepared foods started to take off — Rob Kaufelt, who grew up in the supermarket business and now runs Murray’s, the beloved New York cheese store, calls the rise of prepared foods “the biggest change in the grocery-store business over the last thirty years.”

Dean & DeLuca’s secret weapon in this regard was Felipe Rojas-Lombardi, who for a time was a partner in the store with the namesake owners and Ceglic. Peruvian by birth, Rojas-Lombardi had come to Dean & DeLuca by way of the James Beard Cooking School, where he’d risen up through the ranks to become the master’s right-hand man in the kitchen. Rojas-Lombardi had also worked as New York magazine’s in-house chef, their go-to man for testing recipes. This pedigree proved helpful not only in eliciting constant plugs for the store in Beard’s syndicated column and in New York but in the fact that Rojas-Lombardi was a skilled, inventive cook: he roasted chickens tandoori-style, grilled salmon on cedar planks, and went out on a limb with such oddball entrées as elk steak and his notorious rabbit with forty cloves of garlic. “Felipe did some of the first pasta salads that people had ever seen,” says Ceglic. “He did everything with the products we sold, and people cottoned to it.”

“The idea was that if you didn’t know what a sun-dried tomato was, well, here it was, in a pasta salad,” said Dean.

The third point in New York’s prepared-foods triangle, with Dean & DeLuca downtown and E.A.T. serving the Upper East Side, was the Silver Palate, a tiny shop on the Upper West Side, on what was then a drab stretch of Columbus Avenue. The Silver Palate’s genesis lay in a mid-seventies catering company called The Other Woman, a single-person operation run by Sheila Lukins, a young mother of two who cooked out of her apartment on Central Park West. As her company’s name and slogan (“So discreet, so delicious, and I deliver”) suggested, Lukins’s clientele was mostly male: professional men who wanted their dinner parties catered but not in an inordinately fussy, Edith Whartonian fashion.

Lukins was a self-taught cook, more or less — she had taken a course at the London Cordon Bleu while she and her husband lived there, but “it was the dilettante course,” she says. Her greatest inspiration was not Child and company’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking but the more practical, less labor-intensive recipes of Craig Claiborne’s New York Times cookbooks and his Sunday pieces for the Times Magazine. Lukins’s cooking was eclectic but somehow all of a piece — aspirational comfort food: moussaka, lasagna, ratatouille, stuffed grape leaves, and the quintessential Lukins dish, Chicken Marbella, the quartered bird baked after a long soak in a Mediterranean-style marinade of oil, vinegar, garlic, prunes, olives, and capers.

While running The Other Woman Catering Company, Lukins became acquainted with Julee Rosso, a young professional who worked in the advertising division of Burlington Mills, the textile company. Rosso had attended many events catered by Lukins, and was so impressed that one day, she hit up Lukins with a proposal. “She said, ‘So many women are working late now. What if we opened up a shop for them?’” Lukins remembers. The two went into business as the Silver Palate in the summer of 1977, with Lukins as the cook — carting food over from her apartment several times a day to the then kitchenless store — and Rosso as the marketer and front-woman.

“It was a big deal for two women to go into business together in 1977,” says Lukins, who thinks this angle helped the shop get press coverage almost as fawning and widespread as Dean & DeLuca’s. Zabar was the odd man out where press was concerned. E.A.T. was flourishing, and it offered an even more extensive and dazzling line of prepared foods than the Silver Palate, but the proprietor’s truculence precluded him from ever being a press favorite, a circumstance that only got worse in the eighties, when he let loose on the writer Julie Baumgold, the wife of New York’s then editor Edward Kosner, for trying to return some item she’d purchased. (“I told her to go fuck herself, ’cause there was nothing wrong with it,” Zabar says.)

“Eli’s a great merchandiser, and his shop was always spectacular, but I don’t think he liked us at all,” says Lukins. “I think he thought we copied him — and we didn’t. I mean, we were one tiny corner of his shop! But we got the publicity and the good reviews.” Within a year of its opening, the Silver Palate was selling its own product line at Saks Fifth Avenue, including such items as winter fruit compote, Damson plums in brandy, and blueberry vinegar.

Four years later, The Silver Palate Cookbook was published by Workman and became the cookbook of the eighties, not just in Manhattan but throughout the United States. More disciplined and earthbound than The Moosewood Cookbook, yet less intimidating and grown-up than the two volumes of Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Lukins and Rosso’s book was perfect for have-it-all, multitasking baby boomers who wanted to cook well but not all the time. Its introduction recalled the state of affairs that led the two ladies to their decision to open their shop: a new era in which women found themselves juggling “school schedules, business appointments, political activities, art projects, sculpting classes, movie going, exercising, theater, chamber music concerts, tennis, squash, weekends in the country or at the beach, friends, family, fund raisers, books to read, [and] shopping,” and yet were still compelled “to prepare creative, well-balanced meals and the occasional dinner party at home.” The Silver Palate lifestyle offered two solutions: you could use Lukins and Rosso’s recipes, or buy their products and prepared foods.

The very emergence of the word “lifestyle” in the late seventies signaled a progression in America’s food culture. Stylish living wasn’t just for wealthy boulevardiers anymore, but for anyone who considered himself upwardly mobile — and eating, cooking, and food-shopping were about as lifestylish as things got. In 1976, when The New York Times expanded from two to four sections a day, introducing a new daily business section and a rotating fourth section devoted to soft news and service journalism, the first two “fourth sections” to appear were Weekend (on Fridays) and the Living section (on Wednesdays), both of which had a heavy food component. The Weekend section carried the restaurant-review column, which ran longer and held greater weight than it had when Claiborne introduced the column in the early sixties. Whereas Claiborne’s early columns were often roundups, devoting just a blurb or a short paragraph to each restaurant, the new version evaluated no more than two restaurants at a time, with much more intimate, first-person critiques by the Times’ new reviewer, Mimi Sheraton.

The Living section was even more gastronomically inclined, with shopping news and product evaluations from Florence Fabricant; a wine column by Frank Prial (a metro-desk reporter who happened to be an oenophile); health and nutrition news from Jane Brody; recipes, essays, and travelogues from Claiborne; and a new column by Pierre Franey, bylined at last, called “60-Minute Gourmet.” Arthur Gelb, who was put in charge of the new culture sections by the paper’s executive editor, Abe Rosenthal, had wanted to appeal to time-strapped upwardly mobile home cooks by running a column called “30-Minute Gourmet”; Gelb and his wife, Barbara, had been impressed by Franey’s ability to whip up quick, simple, delicious meals in the Hamptons — flounder in a butter sauce, say, or pork chops with capers — after a long day of fishing.

But Franey was still too much of a purist to limit himself to thirty minutes. (Like a lot of chefs, he was also made queasy by the word “gourmet” and preferred the title “60-Minute Chef,” but he yielded to Gelb on that matter.) The first “60-Minute Gourmet” column featured a recipe for crevettes “margarita” — an invention of Franey’s that called for shrimp to be cooked in a sauce of tequila, shallots, and cream, with avocado slices tossed in at the end — and began with a statement of intent (written by Claiborne) that declared, “With inventiveness and a little planning, there is no reason why a working wife, a bachelor, or a husband who likes to cook cannot prepare an elegant meal in under an hour.”

Excerpted from The United States of Arugula: How We Became a Gourmet Nation by David Kamp Copyright © 2006 by David Kamp. Excerpted by permission of Broadway, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Author
David Kamp has been a writer and editor for Vanity Fair and GQ for more than a decade. He lives in New York.

For more information, please visit www.davidkamp.com.

America is a huge continent populated by people whose ancestors immigrated from all over the world, and has restaurants in every city that would suit the taste buds of any visitor. Asian, Japanese, Chinese, Italian, French and Mexican food is quite easy to find in America. Americans are known for their taste in hamburgers and steaks, both of which they excel in. Steakhouse and burger chains dot the landscape.

Starting with New York, which is the first city most visitors land in when visiting America, the top restaurants are the Le Bernadin, with its typically French name and excellent French cuisine and service, is one of the favourite restaurants located in Manhattan. Eric Ripert is the famous chef of the restaurant and his specialties are worth trying. Eric also helps to choose the wine that goes best with his excellently cooked meals. If one wants to try the best Japanese restaurant in New York, then the place would have to be Masa. Masa Takayama has set up the finest and the most expensive Japanese restaurant in New York. The food is exquisite and exotic – but be ready to pay a heavy price. The Per Se may not give the feeling of glamour of dining out at a top restaurant in New York, but once the meal arrives and touches the palette it is absolutely super. There are a number of other top restaurants in New York but now is the time to move on.

City Zen in Washington was recognised as one of the best – or rather the hottest – restaurants in the world. The food is the best of American food, and the wine choice excellent. The other great restaurant is Marcel’s, which has received rave reviews for the French cuisine, prepared by renowned chef Robert. The Oceanaire serves the best fresh sea food, if one enjoys seafood and a relaxed atmosphere to dine in. If you’re hankering for a typical American steak, then there are two of Ruth’s Steak houses in which the atmosphere is warm and friendly – and of course the steaks are prepared to suit personal choices.

Down south in Miami, if one is looking for a lovely dinner after spending a day at the beach or just around town, Miami has a number of top choice restaurants. Chef Allen’s is one of the most highly rated restaurants in Miami and the atmosphere, food and service are all very relaxing and wholesome. The seafood is a specialty and the dining experience can be described as out of this world. Azul is a combination of Asian and Mediterranean dining and the Colorado lamb or the beef sirloin is mouth watering. Some of the best vintage wines are also served here. 

Flying across America to the west coast and landing in San Francisco and then going to a restaurant named E & O Trading Company is quite an experience. But the relaxed atmosphere and the food of this great restaurant is what makes it so popular. Another great bar and restaurant is the First Crush, where the menu changes with the season but the atmosphere remains friendly and trendy.  

There are so many great restaurants in all the cities of America that it becomes pretty difficult to rate them, as each have their own unique touch.    

It is one of the much-loved venues for concerts, movies, and sporting events. Movie Hotel For Dogs ReviewVisited by millions per year, this is one of the most famous cities of the world.

Las Vegas is not like any other tourist attraction. People do not come to this city to enjoy historical monuments and other “normal” vacationing attractions. What this city has and is famous for is the nightlight – it has the casinos, bars, shows, clubs, concerts and beautiful hotels. Nevada declared gambling legal in 1931 and almost a decade after that the first ever casino opened and they never stopped.

Casinos have now taken over the city and every inch of Las Vegas has casinos on offer for tourists. It is because of the popularity of gambling that even most of the hotels offer inside casinos. They make it as easy as that; you do not even need to step out of the hotel for a little gambling experience. Casinos are easily found on Fremont Street, which is off the strip, and on the “Strip” hotels offer this facility as well. In-house casinos are one of the many features of the hotels where many visitors play until the early hours of dawn.

Finding a Las Vegas hotel with a casino is not at all a difficult task. MGM Mirage owns around almost twelve casino resorts here. They have gone to a great degree to make sure that all their guests can enjoy the joys of gambling, regardless of the budget.

Best Hotel Finder Click here

Apart from this company and its line of hotels, another well-known name is the Bellagio, which is also a Las Vegas hotel and casino. The Bellagio is the owner of a Five-Diamond rating, and the hotel lives up to it by facilitating you with much more than only the casino. Soaking tubs, laundry, electronic drapes, two master bedrooms with a living room are a few names facilities this hotel offers.

Landmarks in Sin City, The Stratosphere Las Vegas hotel & casino have the world’s most thrilling rides such as the X Scream or the Big Shot. It allows its guests to dine-in at the well-known revolving restaurant with a cocktail lounge that can put up with more than around 350 guests.

A themed hotel – the New York Casino resort – lives up to its name as it has various versions of skyscrapers that will remind you of New York. This hotel is a wish come true for gamblers as its casino amongst the most well liked Las Vegas hotel casinos. Offering Jacuzzis and marble tiled bathrooms, this hotel gives you ample space in many suites and living room.

Mandalay Bay Resort and Casino is another one of the trendiest hotels. It is a treat for those who can afford it and it prides itself on its 39-story construction, with more than three thousand guestrooms that features modern facilities.

While these are all located on the famous “Strip”, the downtown district displays many activities and entertainment centers as well. Most hotels on the “Strip” have the most luxurious services and facilities but the Hotels and casinos available off the strip offer a few of these facilities too.

Las Vegas is full of promises and knows its target market really well. That is the reason why not only do hotels in casinos are located in the strip of the city but also, off the strip. A less expensive and simpler version of a hotel and casino would be the Railroad Pass Casino resort. This hotel offers comfort and such an environment that even if you are on a tight budget, you feel like you are still partying in the Strip of Vegas. Boardwalk Casino Resort is another example of a similar resort, which assists you even if you are a tight on cash.

The one thing that is common between these Las Vegas hotel and casinos is that they have more than a hundred of gaming tables of craps, blackjack, poker, and similar games. Thousands on an every day scale visit the hotel casinos. This is a reason why the Sin City gets many gamblers throughout the year as it promises great times.

Find Cheapest Hotel Click here