The Soft Rock Classics Show airs every Saturday evening at 8PM ET and encore onMonday evenings at 10pm ET.  Listen Link http://radiomaxmusic.com/media/wma128k.asx
Also check out Daminic’s home page at http//softrockclassicshow.co.nr

Image via Forbes.

In a new feature for Forbes, Deepak Chopra names his “Seven Most Powerful Teachers”.  Among them is His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet, about whom Chopra says:

He is world-famous as the face of Eastern spirituality. His life embodies every truth he speaks, but he also works tirelessly to advance knowledge of the brain in its higher functions. His abiding lesson is about compassion.

Floating around the net today I found a great piece on virtualization that I just had to share.’

I think this guy Brian Madden has his eyes on what is going on with technology. Virtualization has many key components that can work best for those who consider and use it full potential.

Video of the discussion at Forbes

http://video.forbes.com/fvn/virtualization-09/virtualization-revolution?partner=embed

My colleague Rabbi Brant Rosen in Evanston, Illinois quoted my last blog post(see below)  in a recent post of his own about the discussion in the media around the Fort Hood killings.

I am always impressed by the level of thoughtfulness and respect shown by those who respond to Rabbi Rosen’s blog entries. Clearly, there is a community that follows his postings and is open to engaging with diverse views, taking the trouble to post their own thoughts when they agree and when they disagree.

This time, a correspondant expressed his disagreemet with the words quoted from my blog. He wrote, ” Please don’t say ‘well, they have their extremists and we have ours’. There is NO moral equivalence.”

I responded to explain that my raising the example of Baruch Goldstein, the infamous Orthodox Jew who murdered Muslims at prayer on Purim in 1994, was in no way intended to suggest “moral equivalence.” My comments were not about judging the morality of Major Hassan’s act, let alone ranking it better, worse or equivalent to Major Goldstein’s who, by the way, was also a physician with a high army rank. As someone who studies world religion, I certainly would not have attempted to make a moral ranking(or declare “equivalent”) two complex, evolving religious civilizations such as Judaism and Islam.

My judgment involved David Brooks and the responsibility he bears for his choice of words and for the way in which he failed to contextualize his comments about the dangers of radical Islam. He could have done so by noting that the vast majority of American Muslims condemn this version of Islam. He also could have noted that Islam is not the only religion with problematic versions. He did neither. Given the  vulnerability of Muslims as a religious minority at a highly charged moment in history, I though he could have been more careful.

Of course, there are those who are even less careful in what they have to say. Consider this statement by Tunku Varadarajan, a professor at NYU’s Stern Business School and  executive editor for opinions at Forbes.

As the enormity of the actions of Maj. Nidal Malik Hasan sinks in, we must ask whether we are confronting a new phenomenon of violent rage, one we might dub–disconcertingly–”Going Muslim.” This phrase would describe the turn of events where a seemingly integrated Muslim-American…discards his apparent integration into American society and elects to vindicate his religion in an act of messianic violence against his fellow Americans.

Many folks responded positively to this post, with suggestions for websites such as jihadwatch.com or  jihadtube.com where additional information could be found to support the  concerns around “going Muslim”

One correspondant wrote

Any number of people will tell you {about} Bernard Madoff, Ivan Boesky, Michael Milkin, the Rothschilds, the Protocol referring to Capital and Finance in the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, the relative income of the American Jewish household compared to their population, literature through the ages about Jews and their relationship with money…..there are many parallels between your narrative of “Going Muslim” and these narratives of “Going Jew.”  If the above “facts” I listed seem sparse you’ll find plenty at JewWatch.com.

The writer was not suggesting “moral equivalence.” But he was, tongue in cheek, suggesting(at least to me) that people who have suffered from overarching narratives about their group(Jewish greed/Zionist domination) might be especially careful not to help create potentially dangerous narratives about others.

Joaquin “El Chapo” Guzman, drug lord with a $5 million bounty on his head is on Forbes most powerful list 41, that’s a list worth getting on huh?

Oprah’s Leaving the Daytime Talkshow!

Oprah Winfrey will announce today that her talk show will end in 2011 after its 25th season on the air, according to her production company.

“Fifteen years ago, I wrote in my journal that one day I would create a television network, as I always felt my show was just the beginning of what the future could hold” ~ Oprah Winfrey

“After much prayer and months of careful thought, I have decided that next season, season 25, will be the last season of The Oprah Winfrey Show,” the daytime queen said. “Over the next couple of days, you may hear a lot of speculation in the press about why I am making this decision now…and that will mostly be conjecture.

“So why walk away and make next season the last? Here is the real reason: I love this show,” Winfrey said. “This show has been my life.  And I love it enough to know when it’s time to say good-bye. Twenty-five years feels right in my bones, and it feels right in my spirit. It’s the perfect number — the exact right time.  So I hope that you will take this 18-month ride with me right through to the final show.” ~ Oprah Winfrey

Oprah NEWS:

Ferrell, Will — The funnyman topped the consistently starstruck Forbes‘ most recent list/excuse not to do work, as the magazine released its rankings for Hollywood’s Most Overpaid Stars, focusing on “actors who cost more to hire than their box office worth.” I’d like to add the staff of Forbes to my list of “journalists who would rather surf TMZ all day than write about financial news.”

Link: Hollywood’s Most Overpaid Stars (Forbes)

Hudson, Kate – The actress appeared on Oprah Wednesday to promote her upcoming movie Nine when the big O asked how she and Yankee infielder/main squeeze Alex Rodriguez met. After hemming and hawing, Hudson finally admitted it was “like, randomly,” which admittedly is better than the truth that  ”like, I was on the list of ‘to-do’ starlet names he keeps scrawled on the back of a Wendy’s receipt in his wallet.”

Link: Hudson Uncomfortable Talking About Rodriguez Romance (SF Gate)

Kardashian, Khloe — An inside source at “Hip Hop Rx” (which is where I get all my hip hop prescriptions filled) says that behind closed doors, the Lamar Odom/Khloe Kardashian marriage is on the rocks. The source divulges Odom’s confidential claims that whenever he calls her “baby,” she starts drooling like Pavlov’s dog.

Link: Are Khloe Kardashian and Lamar Odom Heading for Divorce? (Hip Hop Rx)

Pattinson, Robert – The pale, British nosferatu tells Entertainment Weekly that for Twilight: Eclipse, “in many ways the hair was 75 percent of the performance.”  So if you’re doing the math, the magic cocktail of Pattinson is made up of 75% hair, 15% brooding emo attitude, 5% sexual objectification by receptionists, 3% adrenaline from Mario Lopez compliments and 2% talent. Oh, wait. Make that 1% talent and 1% the luck to play a character that likely anyone would have become famous playing. Serve cold.

Link: Which of Pattinson’s Costars Does He Find Most Difficult? His Hair (EW)

Pitt, Brad — The actor recently turned down an appearance at the Grand Prix Abu Dhabi, which would have paid $5 million, to spend time with his children. So says Life & Style Magazine, which then promptly paid Pitt $6 million for exclusive pictures of him spending time with his children.

Link: Brad Pitt Chooses Kids Over Cash (contactmusic)

Swift, Taylor — The country/pop star is suing the Sports Cellar, a bar in Idaho, for allegedly playing her music without paying for the right. The nerve, playing music. In a bar. For people. If you’re listening, Beyoncé, I’m playing your album right now — and nobody I’m playing it for has paid me to hear it. Come get me!

Link: Swift Sues Sports Bar After Sting Operation (TMZ)

Forbes came up with a most edifying list this week. Forget the World’s 100 Most Powerful Women, the Celebrity 100, and the Best Cities for Singles (amongst other lists). Their latest list is on Hollywood’s Most Overpaid Stars. Let me tell you I found it so satisfying to see this guy’s name on top of that list.

I’m sorry but I just cannot stand the guy. He is getting less and less funny; well he was never really super funny to me, but Val says so. Anyways. Also on the list are Eddie Murphy, Tom Cruise and… Ewan McGregor. Sorry, Val, but the second man on your man-crush list is in there!

See the full list here! Uh… no, not Val’s man-crush list!

The setting was superb. Nothing would spoil the wedding breakfast.

One of the rules of NaNo is that one writes and DOES NOT EDIT until the required minimum wordcount of 50,000 words (or end of novel, if that adds up to more) is reached. But for your sake, dear Reader, I have edited a little. Corrected spelling and typos. Otherwise it is open to revision and redoing in December

This, therefore, for good or for ill, is an excerpt from my work-in-progress: or NaNo WIP.
I hope you enjoy. It’s a miracle to witness the continuing flow, I can tell you.

All had been made ready for the guests. The bride waited at the head of the stairs

Horses and carriages stood at the gates, a long line of opulence and conspicuous wealth, each waiting its turn to process down the shady lime avenue which heralded the last mile of approach to the house.

Not a family in Aberdeenshire had been ignored. Invitations sent in January by messenger, hand delivered to Clubs and castles throughout the shire ensured that the assembled gathering would be the greatest affair in the social calendar for a generation. John Ramsay Irvine was going to make sure his daughter’s marriage was witnessed by them all. Grooms and stablehands were lined up at the curved façade to help ladies down awkward steps as consorts and cousins and brothers assisted with the finery, petticoats and layers of taffeta and veils billowing in the slight breeze.

The day was glorious: mid June brilliance with a scent of abundance in the air.

A phalanx of footmen ushered ladies into the house to powder noses, while gentlemen were escorted to the gigantic marquée set on the lawn, hands charged with a glass of champagne immediately they stepped under the awning. Butlers and footmen manfully shouldered silver trays groaning under the weight of crystal brimming with bubbles. Chatter was loud but festive. The ladies would join them in a moment. For now the tent was dominated by menfolk catching up with colleagues, discussing the week’s affairs, arrangements for the shooting season in late summer, and whose house-party already had its quota of family and summertime guests.

When the first of the ladies emerged from downstairs boudoirs and stepped into the light of the terrace, a hush descended on the crowd. Every one of them, matron, maid, young miss was adorned in finery, as if they individually were to be the bride: tiaras appeared glinting in the sun: getting a summer airing from safes and velvet boxes they’d nestled in since Christmas or for parties at Hogmanay. Pearls and rubies shone and sapphire necklaces extracted from bank vaults for this special occasion reflected blue light from the lake.

Brother Hugh stood alone, apart from the jostling crowd, waiting for a signal from his mother’s window that Catherine would soon be ready to take his arm; for him to proceed with her to the little chapel across the lawn to the glade of trees down by the lake. But carriages were still appearing, stopping at the great entrance to unload more adorned maidens with doting brothers or fiancés, and trundling slowly off to the Home Farm where grooms and drivers would wait to be summoned again after it was all over. A long procession still stretched down the lime avenue as far as Hugh could see. There was no rush yet to summon Catherine and her maids.

In the upstairs chamber with its four-poster usually reserved for her mother, Catherine stood radiant. She was to wear Great-grandfather’s South Seas pearls and the ruby necklace brought with him from Russia when he was a successful merchant plying Baltic waters to Danzig. It was now family tradition that these, the first glittering evidence of John Ramsay’s fortune, should be worn by every bride since 1758, the year that the adventurer purchased the Straloch estate from the famous cartographer, Robert Gordon of Straloch. It had been Ramsay’s fortune which built the grand mansion in its grounds.

Today Catherine felt like a swan gazing in her mother’s long dress-mirror at the sparkling jewels round her white neck. There was something about these new continental gowns, the low ‘empire’ line made fashionable by the ladies of Napoleon’s court . The British may have defeated the dictator, but his ladies’ fashion sense lingered on. The high bosom and low neckline made her feel dizzy in the shafts of sunlight glancing through the gauze curtains. It danced and shifted, casting a pool of light at her feet. She allowed herself to peer over her sudden perky breasts at the pompom slippers of maroon silk which peeped out below the vanilla silk hem of her gown. Mother was right. This new line may be a little too daring for such a backwater as Aberdeenshire, but it was just the most beautiful creation she had ever seen and she was standing in it, allowing its long pointed sleeves to hug her delicate wrists, the tight waistband to nip her small frame even more closely than she ever would have dared at a normal party.

‘Everything is allowed for a wedding, my dear. Even daring narrow waists and low necklines.’ If her mother’s voice had a hint of disapproval, it was covered by laughter. Tones tinkled in pride at the sight of her daughter’s surprise.

“We may be of merchant stock, but Grandfather knew a jewel or two. And I must say they do add a je ne sais quoi to your already fabulous beauty.’ Her mother laughed again. ‘I may not be the one to say, but it does run in the family.’

She reached out her own silk-gloved hand to caress the folds at the rear of her daughter’s gown, smoothing an imaginary crease.

Bridesmaids in the ante room behind the pillar giggled and, seeing Catherine’s mother smile and beckon, fell into the room in a huddle of lace and satin and pink pumps.

‘Careful, girls. We don’t want any accidents.’

All four glanced at each other and then at their hostess and giggled again.

‘I wish it were all over. No, of course I don’t but Hugh said he’d start the procession at least by two. It must be close to three.’ Catherine’s small face crinkled in a fleeting frown, scanning her mother’s profile. One of the house maids popped her head round the door.

‘Carriages still coming, m’lady,’ she said, bobbing a hasty curtsey. ‘Master Hugh says another glass of champagne should settle the gentlemen. He wants to know if you would like some up here.’

‘Most certainly not. Thank you, Rose. Tell the Master we shall wait for his signal.’ The maid’s head disappeared again.

‘I can see the end of the carriages.’ A tiny gloved hand holding its regulation posy of roses dropped the long curtain at the window and one of the Burnett girls burst into a fit of giggles. Another grabbed the curtain and then she too dropped it with a guilty look. She turned to the other bridesmaids and whispered
‘It’ll be the bridegroom in the very last carriage.’

‘I heard that.’

Catherine was nervous as a kitten. The last thing she wanted to know was news that that her darling, handsome husband-to-be was the last to arrive. She swept the thought aside. Henry was like her brother Hugh: so strong and brave. Such a pity Father was no longer well enough to sit up, far less be wheeled to the ceremony. But until she became Henry’s, Hugh would be her rock. He would more than make up for her father’s infirmity.

Hugh had turned out like his grandfather: he’d continued the work begun by Great-grandfather in the 244 acre estate after he built the palladian mansion, just as father and grandfather had done. Nowadays there was talk in Society of how rash a move it had been, in the time of King George III, to pull down a 13th century building and put up a Georgian palace. But Great-grandfather was an innovator. He knew all the tricks and turns used by wealthy European royalty in his day and his palace was built to the scale and proportions of the great Italian architect, Palladio, whose style thereafter became the fashion.

Straloch had been revolutionary for its time. Now in the early 19th century, It was considered ‘all the rage.’ For a wedding ceremony and breakfast attended by all the County’s best families, its size and style were totally inkeeping. It had precisely the required number of public rooms, a grand ballroom, drawing room, morning room and a dining salon that none could rival. It had outlived its ‘foreignness’ and become a style which other families copied. Burnetts and Forbeses and Irvines all had since pulled down ancient towers and put up a palladian edifice in its place: at Colpy and Keig and Pittodrie, palaces were erected where cramped medieval towers had been. The Ramsay fashion had become the norm. And in Aberdeenshire, a county renowned for its conservatism, that was saying something.

Hugh was more like father in the way he cared for and tended the trees of the avenue, the stately park specimens getting most of his love and attention. And he had recently started a programme of planting the new fashion in trees: beech.

If you listened to Hugh on the endless variety of beeches one could plant… he could bore anyone to tears. It was enough to make her yawn just to think of it. Some day, of course all this would be Hugh’s. Catherine was just fortunate to be able to have such a beautiful backdrop for her Big Day. And as for father’s being an invalid and not really able to know what was going on, was something one just had to be philosophical about. He seemed more himself when she’d spoken to him this morning, wanting to share with him the excitement to come, the huge numbers who would attend. He looked at her through watery eyes, propped himself up on one elbow from the cushions on his daybed and whispered:

‘Be still in the candlelight, Darling.’

She had not the faintest idea what he meant, but she nodded her head and kissed him on the forehead.

Suddenly Annie Farquharson jumped up and down at the window, her pink slippers doing ballet turns.

‘It’s Hugh. He’s signalling to be ready. He’s pulling out his fob watch and pointing. I think he means it’s time.’

‘All right, all right, girls. No need to lose our heads. Now, we all remember the order. When Hugh comes to the door, you four go first. Ahead of him. Follow Catherine’s cousin Jamie to the head of the stairs and wait. Do you hear me? Wait until I get there.’

There came a chorus of ‘yes’.

‘He’s coming. He’s coming,’ Annie bobbed up and down more frantic than ever.

‘All right, Annie. Now into your special order, please girls. We do this as we practiced it. All right?’

Catherine felt remarkably calm. If Hugh was ready, it meant her dear beautiful wonderful sweet loving kind fiancé Henry was already down in the woodland glade by the lake; at this very moment entering the little chapel and waiting for her. The thought made her faint with pleasure. Annie’s sister June had the presence-of-mind to prop her up. She tut-tutted her support.

There was a knock at the door and Hugh was ushered in by a dressing maid. He whispered something in Mother’s ear and looked over at his sister:

‘Ready my sweet princess? I’ve never seen you more glorious than today. Really. And I’m not being brotherly. I really mean it. You could not look more perfect. I think you are right about these new styles. It’s going to be the wedding of the century.

That’s pretty bold, she thought. This is only 1822. Surely newer fashions will one day make all this seem out of date and from a different world. Again, she brushed the unruly thought aside like a wisp of stray hair in her eye, took a step towards him and grasped his outstretched hand.

‘Thank you my darling Hugh. I would not be able to do this without you.’
He smiled and led her to the door.

Each waited her turn to descend the Great Staircase

On cue, the piper at the front door thrummed up his bagpipes and began a low drone. Catherine could see outside sunlit faces turn from the awning towards the front door.

It was beginning.

She held Hugh’s arm in a tight grasp.

‘You’ll be wonderful,’ he whispered.

She smiled up at him, wishing she could say something in return, but her eyes filled with tears and she swallowed instead.

Six pages rushed past carrying golden candelabra from the drawing room to stand in two rows down the great staircase. As one of them came abreast of her and Hugh, he tripped and looked at her wildly as if to apologize for his clumsy nervousness. His companion bent over to help him fix one of the candles which was beginning to work itself loose from its holder, its flame still alight, but shaking. As one page righted himself, the other’s grasp on his own candlestick slipped.

Catherine and Hugh could only stand and watch. In slow motion, the triple glow of golden light wrapped in cherubs and foiled bacchanalian wreaths, began a downward curve towards the staircase. Hugh grabbed his sister tightly, starting to swing her torso out of the way of the falling light. For a moment all Catherine saw was light: a small flame, so tiny it could do no harm, its glow wanting so much to add to the perfection of her day. Its fall was broken by the solid mahogany ball-and-claw knob of the bannister at the head of the stairs. Instead of cascading flame-first down the stairwell into the abyss below stairs, the dislodged candle bounced back and – oh so excruciatingly slowly – turned its menacing beam on Catherine.

Bridesmaids leapt to left and right, each trying to avoid what must happen: the staircase was in disarray. Other candles started to shake and falter.

‘Hold your lights, there’. It was Hugh’s voice, so close to her ear, but it sounded a million miles away.

Her eyes were glued to the falling candle. Why was it taking so long? It should have landed by now. By now she should be able to jump sideways and out of harm’s way. But Hugh’s arm held her tight. She was immobilized. All she could do was watch, frozen in time as the dislodged candle made a soft thump – such a simple sound – and hit the top of the staircase. Candle wax spilled in all directions, some of it sparking with a flame. One tiny spark of wax fell on the hem of her gown and she stared – her eyes wide now, her mouth open in a silent scream of terror – as flames engulfed her vanilla silk underskirts.

One of the butlers held a tray. He stood crouching back by the open door of the room they had left a moment ago. Hugh let go her arm, made a couple of strides across the landing and grabbed two champagne glasses, throwing the contents at her. He missed and the liquid splashed her arm.

‘Bring me a carafe,’ he ordered, his voice sounding more like a general in Napoleon’s army than her own gentle brother.

He grabbed another two glasses and threw. This time they hit their mark, but in the few seconds’ delay, the fire had caught hold. It was burning her silk stockings. She felt heat sear her legs. It seemed to penetrate right through to the bone. Her tears couldn’t help her. Her brother’s champagne rescue was doing a little but not enough. The candle, so small and innocent a flame, was doing its worst.

Fire raged up the front of her skirt, smoke engulfing her face, her neck, the pearl and ruby necklace. A page stumbled towards Hugh carrying a bedroom ewer, its enormous weight of water slowing him down. Hugh grabbed the jug and poured its contents down her uncomplaining front. His left hand held her steady, in case she fell from the sudden mass of water. Nobody spoke. The other pages stood motionless, still in position lining the staircase. Of four bridesmaids, two were crying and two were holding gloved hands in anguish over their open mouths. Mother had stopped rigid in her tracks halfway down the staircase. She and the pages created a flimsy barrier between Catherine and the jostling crowd of onlookers beginning to push into the main entrance hall.

All could see now: she was the centre of attention: this tragic apparition, her faultless coiffure still crowning a face ravaged by tears, sleeves and gloved hands soaking wet but intact.

Rubies glittered as if they knew red was not only a colour but a flame.

And below the waist – nothing – it was all gone. She was naked except for two charred shivering legs, a vestige of maroon slippers looking like something from the Black Death. She collapsed to the floor just as Annie rushed to cover her nakedness with her vanilla stole. The last thing she heard was her mother’s voice:

‘Give her some air. Let her breathe.’

But it was father’s words which she heard in her mind:

‘Be still in the candlelight, Darling. Be still.’

La revista Forbes ha publicado, como hace cada año, la clasificación de los hombres más poderosos del mundo. En los tres primeros no hay sorpresas: Obama, el chino Hu Jintao y Putin. El undécimo lugar se ha asignado al Papa Benedicto XVI y el duodécimo a Silvio Berlusconi. El Papa teólogo vence, pues, por un punto a Berlusconi, definido “pintoresco” por la revista.

 Pocas son las mujeres en la lista:  Angela Merkel (15), “la más potente”, y Hillary Clinton (17).

The financial crisis hits the super-rich as well, says Forbes 400, the ranking list of the 400 wealthiest Americans which was updated this autumn. Within one year they lost a combined $300 billion, about 205 billion Euros. Number 1 on the list is Bill Gates, the Microsoft founder, with an estimated net worth of $50 billion. He had to swallow a loss of about $7 billion. Hit even harder was the investor Warren Buffet who ranks second. According to the American business publication Forbes he lost $10 billion.

But in these difficult times when announcing deficits are on the daily agenda, it is much more interesting to take a look at the winner: Marc Zuckerberg. Within one year the founder of Facebook climbed up from place 321 to place 158 of the Forbes 400. Originally the 25-year-old entrepreneur launched Facebook only for students of Harvard University. After some expansion steps, however, the social network today has more than 300 million members. Zuckerberg explained to Stern, a German news magazine, that it is his goal to gain one billion Facebook users. In Germany, also according to Stern, three-fourths of the 40 million internet users are already members of an online network, and this number is rising. But not only private networks are booming, also in business online networking is growing in popularity such as the business internet portal XING. But futurologists forecast much more: The personal presence on location will not be necessary any more. Research clusters can join their forces in networks. They can study in the same fields of research without being in the same laboratory. Nike picked up this trend: At the Nike+ 10km Human Race the runners don’t have to be present at any of the 30 race venues. Entrants only need a sensor and the corresponding software and with this, they can do their races by themselves at home. Afterwards they synchronize their data via the network. The Nike+ Community has grown to 1.2 million members from 142 countries at the Human Race in 2008.

But the topic of networks does also play an important role for the industry, e.g., to profit from results of the latest research or to educate employees. To push such networks between industry and academia, first and foremost platform- independent solutions and standardized interfaces are essential. The importance of standards is something the machine vision industry recognized early on, and consequently introduced the GigE Vision Standard. At the last Vision show, the three big associations, Automated Imaging Association (AIA), European Machine Vision Association (EMVA) and Japan Industrial Imaging Association (JIIA), entered into an agreement of cooperation for the common development and promotion of new standards in machine vision.

If you also know about the importance of networking: Become a member of our INSPECT network to share existing knowledge over thousands of kilometers. Our goal is one billion users as well – help us in attaining this!

Stephanie Nickl

Editor INSPECT

In my business, ROI is a pretty big deal. Hopefully, Hollywood agrees with me.