Podcasts about Aaronson

This week on USA Abroad, we break down Tyler Adams' tough MCL news ahead of Bournemouth's clash with Burnley. We also dive into Aaronson vs. Richards in Leeds, and Jedi Robinson's strong Carabao Cup showing ahead of Fulham vs Forest. In Italy, Pulisic and Milan aim to defend their Supercoppa crown in Saudi Arabia, while McKennie's Juventus host Roma in a key top-five battle. Gio Reyna faces his former club as Dortmund meet Gladbach, and Leipzig vs Leverkusen delivers a massive Bundesliga six-pointer. We wrap with full reaction to the 2025 FIFA Awards: Dembele crowned Best Men's Player (Yamal snub?), Luis Enrique and Sarina Wiegman take coaching honors, and we break down the Best XI. Use my code for $30 off your next order of World Cup Tickets on SeatGeek*:https://seatgeek.onelink.me/RrnK/SOTU Sponsored by SeatGeek. *Restrictions apply. Max $30discount, Min. $200 Purchase Intro (0:00)USA Abroad: Adams injury, Jedi Assist, Gio's return (5:51)FIFA Awards: Dembele wins again, Best XI's of the Past (18:26)#AskAlexi: FIFA Fan Purity Test & More (29:21)One For The Road: Alexi's Christmas with Arsenal (42:30) Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 1 Love, bastards, and what we leave behind. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. The Plumber, The Painter, and the Wind off the Lake Prologue I have never been much for following instructions or doing what I'm told. In eighth grade, we were assigned to make a volcano in science class. I figured that if the eruption looked good with a couple of tablespoons of baking soda, then it would look even better with the whole container! And what better place for a natural disaster than the teacher's desk at the front of the class. I was right; the whole container of baking soda produced an impressive explosion. What I didn't count on, however, was it producing a week-long suspension from school and a beating from my mother. In high school, we had to take an art class to graduate. Our teacher loved still life drawing and would ramble endlessly about how it revealed the beauty that is in the everyday objects that surround us. I guess he wanted us to reveal the beauty in the bowl of fruit that he had put in the middle of the classroom, but the most beautiful things that I could see were Brittany Johnson's D-cups which filled out her sweater gloriously. At the end of the class, there were 29 drawings of a bowl of fruit and one drawing of a beautiful girl's smile (amongst other details). Although I was suspended for two days, I got a date with Brittany who loved my drawing, so I feel like I came out ahead on that one. In my last year of school, the final mathematics exam asked the following question: Determine the points of intersection between the following parabolas and lines. Illustrate fully. While the other students slaved away to solve the listed problems in the allotted time, I fully illustrated a drawing of our math teacher, Mr. Aaronson, dancing a slow waltz in a field of sunflowers with Mrs. Stevens, the geography teacher. It was the worst-kept secret in the school that our two shyest teachers had massive crushes on each other, and after four years of watching them pine away, I thought they could use a little push. I failed the test, but Mr. Aaronson showed my drawing to Mrs. Stevens during a particularly dull staff meeting, and when it made her blush and smile, he finally got up the courage to ask her out. They are now married and have a little girl who is as cute as a button. At the end of the year, Mr. Aaronson asked me if I planned to pursue math in the future, and when I assured him that I did not, he gave me a passing grade. So, what was my problem, you might ask? Was I just one of those kids who didn't give a shit and was destined for mediocrity or failure in life? Like many things, the answer is more complicated than it might first appear, but I am getting ahead of myself. Our story starts on an unusually cold and blustery afternoon in late October, on the north-eastern shore of Lake Michigan about a half hour's drive north of Petoskey, just outside a village called Good Hart. Chapter 1. It had been a busy day. The perfect storm of an early season snap freeze, strong winds, and lake-effect snow meant that there was a couple of inches of snow on the still soggy ground, along with a number of leaky or burst pipes, malfunctioning valves, and boiler issues as people cranked their heating systems up to full for the first time that year. As a plumber, though, I didn't mind. It just meant more work for me, which was always a good thing. At only 25 years of age, and despite being a master plumber, I was generally the last choice for folks to call, even in an emergency. Anyone with money chose one of the larger and more established plumbing contractors, leaving me with the jobs that they didn't feel were worth their time or effort. That's how I found myself pulling into the laneway of an older house, just off Lamkin Road down by the lake, late that Friday afternoon. It was my last job of the day, but I would be working over the weekend to catch up on my backlog, so I wanted to get it done. The house looked like it hadn't been updated since it was built, likely in the late fifties or early sixties, other than a couple of coats of paint and a new roof when the original finally gave up the ghost. The front gardens were neatly tended, however, and the property itself was stunning, with panoramic views in three directions out over the lake. The sun was just beginning to dip toward the western horizon as I drove up, so the trees cast long shadows across the laneway. The house was owned by Mrs. Wilma C. Anderson, who had called me earlier in the day to say that some of her radiators weren't working and that her boiler was making one hell of a racket when she turned it on. I told her to shut the system down and that I would look at it by the end of the day. She sounded quite elderly, and I didn't like the idea of her going without heat for a night during a cold snap. I rang the doorbell and waited until a tiny wisp of a woman answered. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall and looked older than the hills, but her face was full of life, and her eyes had a twinkle that spoke of humor and mischief. "Hi, Mrs. Anderson, I'm Davis Crawford. You called earlier about some issues with your boiler and heating system. How can I help?" Mrs. Anderson gave me an appraising look. "I wasn't expecting you to be such a handsome young man. If I were fifty years younger, I would tell you exactly how you could help me, and then I'd teach you a trick or two I learned over the years. But I am too old for that kind of foolishness these days, so I will just have to make use of your plumbing expertise instead. And please, call me Wilma." I couldn't help but laugh and blush at Wilma's surprisingly raunchy sense of humor. I liked her immediately. "Let's try that again. What seems to be the problem?" "Well, the biggest problem is that I am 91 years old and dying of cancer. The doctors give me less than a year to live. But aside from that, I really can't complain. I have had a good run of it." I cocked my head to one side and gave her a bemused look. "Oh, you were wondering what the problem is with my heating system. Well, I turned it on this morning when I got up, and the boiler sounded like there was someone trapped inside of it trying to hammer their way out. There was a worrisome hissing from some of the radiators, as well, and they weren't heating up worth a damn. "My husband, Phillip, used to take care of those things for us, but he has been gone for almost five years now, so I hate to think what you will find when you look around." "I'm sure I can help you, Mrs. Anderson,;" "Wilma, please." "Sorry, Wilma. Why don't you show me to the basement, and I will try to figure out what's wrong. Then I can get started on fixing it." On the way to the basement stairs, Wilma led me through her crowded but orderly living room. I couldn't help but notice the paintings on just about every surface of its walls. "You have a real eye for art, Wilma. Those paintings are beautiful." Wilma smiled wistfully at me and got a faraway look in her eyes as she replied. "Phillip and I were artists. I guess I still am, but I haven't felt much like painting since he passed on. Phillip painted portraits. He made a surprisingly good living at it; you would be amazed at what rich people will pay to see their lives immortalized in oil on canvas. I never had the knack. Phillip could make even the most corpulent and corrupt industrialist appear regal and wise. I could only ever capture what I actually saw in them, and I quickly discovered that they did not enjoy, or pay for, that kind of introspection. "So, I painted landscapes, and there is always a market for those. But I kept some of my favorite pieces, over the years, as you can see." As Wilma spoke, I took a closer look at the paintings. One, in particular, was striking; a portrait of a beautiful young woman, in her late teens or early twenties, with a stethoscope around her neck and her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was wearing a loose hoodie and was curled up in an Adirondack chair, reading a book. It was not what you would expect from a formal portrait, but it seemed to capture her essence in a way that no photograph could match. I must have stopped moving as I was drawn into the image, so Wilma gave me a minute before she continued. "That's the last painting that Phillip worked on before he passed. He didn't get the chance to finish it, but I still think it's his finest work." I couldn't help but agree. "Who's the model? She's beautiful." "That's my granddaughter, Erin. You can't tell from the portrait, but she's a real firecracker. As a grandparent, you're not supposed to play favorites, but she was very special to Phillip, and it hit her hard when he passed. There is more love in that one painting than in all the other portraits that he painted over his lifetime. Except for his first, of course, of me." "Where are Phillips' other works? Surely, they weren't all commissions that are now locked away in some dusty millionaire's palace." Wilma's expression turned bleak as she contemplated her response. "All of his other paintings were sold after he died. The kids said they would fetch a better price while there was an upswing of interest in his work after his death, so they insisted that they all go to auction as quickly as possible. They were probably right, I guess, although I loved his art more than I needed the money. But how do you argue with your kids when they have just lost their father?" "Do any of your children live nearby?" "They all moved far away. Phillip and I chose a wonderful spot to live and make our art, but a challenging place to raise a family. It's not so bad now, what with the internet, highways, and the like, but when we first moved here sixty-some years ago, it was very isolated. We were young and selfish, and our selfishness cost us dearly. "We thought that our children would grow to love this area over time, like we did. But they never did, and they left as soon as they could get away. My daughter, Samantha, is a retired lawyer and she and her third husband split their time between their loft in Manhattan and their beach house in the Bahamas. My son, Robert, is an oil executive down in Texas. Neither of them has been here in more than a decade, except for Phillip's funeral. "My baby, Max, passed away more than twenty years ago now of cancer. Erin is his granddaughter. She is a pediatrician, and she splits her time between the hospital in Petoskey and the children's hospital down in Grand Rapids. She comes to see me when she can, but she is very busy. My other relatives all live busy lives far away from here. We chose to live here, though, so I can't be too upset that the rest of the family chose to live far away. "But enough about me. What about you, Mr. Crawford? Do you have any children?" "It's just me and my siblings, I'm afraid, and it's been that way for quite some time. My oldest sister, Alison, is 20, and she goes to college at North Central Michigan, in Petoskey. She is planning to become a nurse practitioner. The rest of the gang still lives at home with me. Sharon is 17 now, so she kind of runs the show while I am working; Mary is 15 but going on 30, if you know what I mean; and Lane is the baby of the family at 12." "Where are your parents?" "I don't honestly know. We each have a different father, or at least we think we do. Sharon, Lane, and I have no idea who our fathers are, so there's a chance that we might be full siblings, but I doubt it. My mother never kept the same man around for long. Alison's father has been in and out of jail since before she was born and is currently serving a stint in federal prison. But Mary has it the worst of all of us. "My mother met Mary's dad on a weekend bender in Vegas, and he is a pretty big deal. Rich, famous, the kind of guy you see on TV and the cover of magazines. A real family man, except when it comes to Mary, whom he refuses to even acknowledge. He bought my mom's silence with a lump sum payment and a non-disclosure agreement. That money was supposed to be put in a trust for Mary, but my mom snorted and injected it all in less than a year. Mary has written to her father dozens of times and reached out to him on social media countless more, but he wants nothing to do with his bastard daughter. "As for my mom, she went away for the weekend almost seven years ago now and left me in charge. And I am still in charge, I guess. So, no time for dating or romance for me, and I think that I will be just about done with raising kids by the time that Lane goes off to college." Wilma gave me a look filled with more empathy than I had felt in a long time, maybe ever. "Anyway, I should take a look at your boiler and see what I can do about getting you some heat." I would have called the boiler in Wilma's basement old, but that wouldn't have done it justice. Frankly, it wouldn't have seemed out of place in a museum of heating and plumbing, and it was hanging on to life by the barest of threads. With only a year to live, however, I wasn't going to recommend to Wilma that she replace the whole system with something more modern and efficient. "I think I can fix your boiler so that it will hold on for another year or two, and I can patch a couple of leaks in the lines to the main radiators as well. One line to a radiator at the back of the house is completely shot, so I will shut that one off and be back to replace it later this week." "What's all that going to cost?" "It's free of charge, Ma'am. You've got enough to look after with your health and all, without having to worry about your heating system. I never had a grandma to spoil, at least not one that I know of, so it would be my pleasure to do this for you." "Please, it's Wilma. And it's a grandmother's prerogative to spoil her grandchildren, and not the other way around. But your kindness is mighty appreciated, Davis." It took me a couple of hours to shore up the boiler and repair the lines that were still in reasonable condition before I was finished for the day. As I got ready to leave, I found Wilma sitting alone in the living room reading an old paperback. "I'll call you later this week, once the replacement line for your radiator comes in." Wilma got a mischievous smile on her face. "Why, Davis, are you getting fresh with me?" "If I were older and more experienced, I would in an instant. But I hardly think I can compete with the memory of your Phillip." "Too true, too true. Alright young man, well thank you for taking the time to look after a foolish old woman on a cold October night." "I hardly think you're foolish, Wilma, but it's been my pleasure." I didn't get home from Wilma's until well after nine that night, and by the time I pulled into our gravel driveway, I was beat. The dilapidated old yard light mounted on the roof of the garage shone weakly down on the sloppy mix of gravel and mud that was our yard, and I could hear the excited barks of Munchkin, our rescue puppy. He was a mix of German Shepherd and Cane Corso, with some variety of northern dog thrown in, and he was mighty pleased to see me. I'm glad that someone was. I came into our small three-bedroom rental to find Sharon and Lane sitting at the dining room table working on his math homework. I wish that they reacted like Munchkin when they saw me, but Lane just grunted a hello, while Sharon looked up at me with a mixture of sadness and worry. "Mary is out with the McDougal brothers again. They showed up here a half hour ago, I told her not to go with them, but she wouldn't listen." "The McDougal brothers are assholes," was Lane's addition to the conversation, without even looking up from the table. He wasn't wrong. The oldest McDougall brother, Calum, was a couple of years ahead of me at school and was a bully and a braggart. Two of his three brothers had followed in his esteemed footsteps, while the jury was still out on the youngest, James. "I'm going to go get her. Next time that those boys turn up in our yard, let Munchkin lose on them." "Alright, dinner will be in the oven when you get back. Given 'em hell, Bro." The McDougal brothers lived just outside Pellston in the closest thing to a mansion that you could find in our neck of the woods. Their family owned the largest construction and maintenance company in the area and had most of the Public Works contracts sown up, along with a not inconsiderable portion of the private construction in our region as well. Their parents spent most of their time in Sarasota, Florida, though, and the brothers had free rein while they were gone. As I drove up their long, paved driveway, automatic floodlights came on, illuminating the ostentatious columns that flanked the entrance to their house. I parked in front of the nearest bay of their four-car attached garage while noting that there was another three-car garage further off to the right. I idly wondered who got to park in which garage. Rich people problems, I guess. I walked to the front door and let myself in. From the foyer, I could hear the loud thump of music coming from the back of the house, so I headed that way. As I passed through the kitchen, I nearly bumped into James, who was holding a couple of empty serving bowls. He stopped dead when he saw me, looking nervous, clearly not expecting anyone else to be in their house. Certainly not me, anyway. "Hey James, I am here to get my sister. Where is she?" He hesitated a moment before pointing toward the back of the house. "She's in the game room playing pool with the guys. We didn't force her to come here or anything, if that's what you're worried about." "Maybe that's true, James. But you know she is still a minor, and I am her guardian, so I'm going to fetch her and bring her home." James didn't like the sound of that, but I turned my back on him and followed the music to a large, sunken room at the back of the house, which had an expensive-looking pool table in the middle. The remaining McDougal brothers were either playing pool or smoking up on one of the couches that were scattered around the outside of the room. Calum was presiding over the festivities, while the Pistons game was playing on a wall-mounted TV that was bigger than some movie screens. Despite his family's blue-collar roots, Calum looked like an overgrown frat boy, with his preppy clothes and fifty-dollar haircut. Mary was sitting in the middle of one of the couches, with a McDougal brother on one side and one of their hangers-on on the other. She looked somewhere between uncomfortable and scared, but she gave me a defiant scowl. The music stopped, and everyone looked to Calum and then back at me. There was a nervous tension in the air. "Hi Calum, I'm here for my sister." Calum was now in a bit of a spot; he couldn't just let me come into his home and give him orders without losing face with his brothers and their cronies. But he also knew, or at least suspected, that my sister was underage. And then there was always the Pipe Wrench Incident. That always made people nervous to be around me. "That's not my problem. She told my brother that she wanted to party, so she's here to party. No one forced her to come, and she seems to be having a good time." I wondered if all of Calum's dates looked as scared and uncomfortable as Mary did at that moment when they were having a 'good time'. "Well, since she is still a minor and I'm her guardian, it's a bit of a problem. Or it could be. But I don't want to put a damper on your evening, so I'll just bring Mary home with me and we'll call it a night." Calum looked toward James who had just come back into the room with bowls now filled with potato chips. "Is that true, Limp dick? Did you bring an underage girl home to party with us?" James began to sputter before Calum shook his head in disgust. He pointed over at Mary. "Get the fuck out of here, and don't come back until you're sixteen," he said before turning back to me. "And you. Just get the fuck out of our house." It was a silent drive home. Mary refused to even look at me, staring out the window instead. When we pulled into our yard, Munchkin came running up to greet us, and Mary finally spoke. "You didn't need to embarrass me like that. I'm old enough to make my own choices, you know." "The law says you're still a minor. And you'll always be my sister. Those guys are no good, Mary. You know that." "James is different. He isn't like the rest of them." "Maybe that's true, or maybe not. But you don't hang out in a nest of rattlesnakes, just because there is a garter snake in there with them that you think is cute." After a pause and some continued barking from Munchkin, Mary finally looked over at me. "You're not my dad, you know. You can't tell me what to do." And there it was. It always came down to the same thing with Mary; her father's rejection of her. Over the years, it had undermined her self-esteem and destroyed her self-worth to the point where I wondered if they would ever recover. Unfortunately, I was just smart enough to see the problem, but I had no idea how to fix it. A brother's love can only go so far, I guess. "I know, Mary. I know. But I love you, and I am so proud of you, and I just wish that was enough." We sat in silence for another minute before she replied. "I wish it was too." Chapter 2. It took a couple of days for Mrs. Anderson's new radiator line to arrive, and I gave her a call when I went to pick it up. "Hi, Mrs. And; Wilma. I was just picking up the replacement line for your radiator, and I was wondering if you needed anything else from town, while I'm here. I was going to come by and install the line later this afternoon if that works for you." "That's very kind of you, Davis. Would you mind picking up a few groceries for me? I can send the store a list, so they will be ready for you when you get there." A couple of my calls that day took longer than expected, so it was late in the afternoon again by the time I made it to Wilma's place. The early season snow had mostly melted away, and her yard was now a combination of gravel and thick soupy mud that could swallow a tire as easily as it could swallow a boot. "Thank you for picking the groceries up for me, you're too kind." "It was no trouble at all, especially since I was coming out this way anyway. If you don't mind me asking, how do you usually get them?" "I used to have a young man up the way who would help me with groceries and yard work, and other small things, but now I am pretty much on my own." "What happened to him? Did he move away?" "No, he still lives in the same place that he always has, but I am pretty sure that my family paid him more not to help me than I was paying for his assistance." "What? That seems like a crappy thing for them to do to you." Wilma gave a resigned sigh and then offered me a coffee while she told me her story. "I think I told you the last time you were here, that most of my family has moved on from this place, except my granddaughter Erin. The rest of them already have an agreement in place with a developer, the McDougals, to turn this property into a high-end resort for the Fudgies, so they have someplace to spend their money after visiting Mackinac Island." "Fudgies," was what the locals called the tourists from down south who descended on the upper peninsula in the summer. "If you don't mind me asking, just how much land do you own?" "Well, Phillip and I didn't have much to spend our money on over the years, so we bought up many of the nearby properties when they went up for sale. We ended up with at least a quarter mile of land that fronts onto the lake, without even really trying." I let out a low whistle. "That must be worth a small fortune. I can understand your family's interest." "At first, they didn't care if I stayed in the house after Phillip died. They figured that I would follow soon enough. After a few years, however, they started to get impatient, and it's fair to say that they are now actively encouraging me to leave, by foot, by car, or in a box. They have generously offered to put me out to pasture in a warehouse for the old and infirm, though, to await my impending doom. "With my cancer, their wish is finally going to come true. By this time next year, I will be sipping coffee with Phillip in whatever afterlife we atheists get to enjoy. Actually, who am I kidding? If there is an afterlife for Phillip and me, the first thing I'm going to do when I get there is get on my knees, undo his belt buckle, and then show him just how much I've missed him these past five years. Wilma looked a bit startled as if she had just remembered that I was still there. "I'm sorry, Davis. You probably didn't need to hear that last part. I just miss him so much. I still see him in the trees and along the shore, and I sometimes hear his voice in the wind off the lake." "It's all good, Wilma. I just hope that my brother and sisters get to experience the kind of love that you and Phillip had someday." "What about you, Davis? Don't you deserve to experience that kind of love as well?" "Maybe I deserve it, Wilma, but I don't think I am going to find it. It's been tough; real tough, looking after my family all these years. I have done things that I am not proud of, but that needed to be done. I don't regret them; I would do anything to protect the people I love. But I doubt that anyone would be able to love me, once they found out what I've done." "I think you are selling yourself short, Davis. We are all artists, and we are all worthy of love." With that, Wilma offered to top up my coffee before I started replacing the broken line. As the evening's shadows deepened, I saw her watching me with compassion and concern in her eyes. Once I was finished, I felt her hand on my shoulder, and she gave it an empathetic squeeze. "A penny for your thoughts?" I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at her. "It's my sister, Mary. I am losing her. She is so hurt and angry that she is beginning to make bad choices, and I don't know how to help her. I've tried to be her brother, parent, and friend, but I'm failing at all three." Wilma offered no judgment, good or bad. She just listened, and when I finished, she spoke. "Bring her over this Sunday around noon. Tell her to wear some old clothes that she doesn't mind getting dirty. You can come too if you would like and bring your little brother to do some fishing, but Mary will be spending her time with me." It wasn't easy convincing Mary to come to Wilma's. If you have spent time dealing with teenage girls, you know that they can be as stubborn as late-season ice on the lake. In the end, I resorted to threats and bribery to get her onboard, but she assured me that she would hate every minute she was there. Lane came with us as well, with the promise that we could spend the afternoon fishing off the end of Wilma's dock. By the time we arrived, Mary was sullenly glued to the passenger seat and wouldn't look up from her phone. Wilma waited a few minutes for Mary, but she stubbornly refused to leave the truck. Eventually, Wilma pulled on her rubber boots and walked over to the truck. She looked up at Mary and started speaking. "There are three things that I know are true. "The first, I've already shared with your brother. We are all artists because we are all worthy of love. But many of us lose our way. We are hurt and abandoned, and we are buried in shame. I was like that for many years. But my husband, Phillip, found me and taught me what it is to be loved. Not just the physical act; although he taught me about that as well; but the certainty that I was seen, known, and cherished. He showed me that I am an artist. You are an artist too. "Second, I am old, I have cancer, and I will die. Not today, and hopefully not tomorrow, but soon. And that is okay; we all die. I have lived a good life. And when I do, I hope that Phillip will be waiting for me with a glass of chilled white wine and his beautiful smile. My art may linger for a while once I am gone but, eventually, it too will be lost. "Third, the world is full of bastards. Your brother tells me that you and he are both bastards. I will tell you a secret that I have shared with very few people; I am a bastard too. "My mother was beautiful but poor. Her parents lost everything during the Great Depression, and she worked as a housemaid for a rich and powerful man to support her family. When she fell pregnant, he put her out on the street and refused to recognize her child, his daughter; me. Because of his rejection, I spent too many years steeped in shame and self-loathing. But eventually, I learned a hard truth; my father was a bastard by choice, while I was a bastard by birth. And those of us who are bastards by birth must never let the bastards by choice win. "Come inside when you're ready. I'm too old and it's too cold for me to stand here waiting for you." With that, Wilma turned and slowly made her way back to the house. Surprisingly, after a minute, Mary followed. When they reached the door, Wilma turned to look back at me. "It's time for you boys to go fishing. There is a warm breeze off the lake that will bring you good luck." Lane and I made our way down the hill to the dock in silence, our fishing rods, ice chest, and tackle box in hand. Unlike a seasonal dock that would be taken out of the lake each fall, Wilma's dock could be used year-round and was built with heavy timbers and steel bracing, so it could withstand the crushing force of the winter's ice. When we reached the dock, we felt the warm wind that Wilma had promised, and we chose our lures and began to cast. After a half hour of fishing, Lane broke the silence. "Do you think it's my fault?" "Do I think what's your fault, Bud?" "That mom left us. That she never came back. Do you think it's my fault?" I sighed as I thought about my answer. "No. It's not your fault. It's no one's fault, really, maybe not even hers. It's funny though, she brought some amazing people into this world. I wish she could have seen how incredible you and your sisters have turned out. But she made her choice, and that's on her, not you." Lane thought about my answer before he continued. "But you would be better off without me. Sharon would have more time to study for the scholarship she will need to get away from here. I try to be nice to Mary, to make her feel better, but I just seem to make things worse for her as well. And I see how hard you work to keep our family together. I feel like you would all be better off without me. If I weren't here, maybe Mom would come back home." I took a deep breath and tried to push down the anger that threatened to overwhelm me; anger at my mother for abandoning us, anger at myself for never being enough, and anger at a world that would leave my brother feeling like it would be better off if he didn't exist. I felt the wind off the lake as it blew across my face, drying my unshed tears before they were formed. As I was wondering how to unbreak my brother's heart, a particularly strong gust of wind blew through and Lane's fishing rod bent into a deep arc, the tip dancing wildly as a fish fought against the line. "Dad! Help;" The drag clicked furiously as the fish pulled line, as Lane fought to keep his rod tip up. I quickly set my rod aside and braced him, my hands held loosely beside his as he fought to reel in his catch. We worked together for what seemed like an eternity before he finally fought his fish to the side of the dock. I grabbed the net and saw that he had hooked a steelhead trout that was easily two feet long and must have weighed at least eight pounds if not more. It was a wonder the drag held steady, and his line didn't break during the fight. As I scooped up his catch, the steelhead's silver sides shimmered like polished chrome in the fading light, and it was so big that it took up over half the ice chest I had brought along to store our catch. Lane was flushed with excitement at landing such an impressive fish, and I was so proud of him that my heart almost ached. "Nice work, Son." He just looked up at me for a moment before throwing his arms around me in a hug. In the time since our mother left, he had never called me by anything other than my name. I never tried to be his dad; I didn't think I was qualified, but I guess that all of us need someone in our lives who will love us without conditions or end. "Never think that you're a burden on me or the family. Maybe you need a bit more from us right now than you can give back, but that's alright. Because sixty years from now, when I am old and can't wipe my ass anymore, you are going to be paying me back in spades, alright?" With that, we went back to fishing in companionable silence. I pulled in a few smaller ones, but nothing to match Lane's steelhead. A few hours later, the wind had picked up and it was getting colder, so we packed up our equipment and made our way back toward the house. Halfway down the dock, however, a huge gust of wind swept through, and I heard a cry followed by a loud splash. Turning back, I saw that Lane's foot had slipped through a broken slat, and he had fallen off the dock. Without thinking, I dropped the ice box and rods and jumped into the water to help him. When I got him to shore, he couldn't put any weight on his ankle, and any efforts to do so were met with cries of pain. I quickly collected our discarded fishing gear and set it to one side, before helping him to slowly make his way back up the hill. The November chill quickly took hold of us as we walked, plastering our damp clothing to our skin, and we were shivering uncontrollably by the time we reached the house. I knocked but it took a minute for Wilma and Mary to come out from the studio at the back of the house. "I am sorry to cut things short, but Lane had an accident down at the dock and he sprained or maybe even broke his ankle. I am going to have to take him to the hospital in Petoskey to get it looked at before it swells up any further." Wilma looked at me with concern. "Maybe you should hold off at least for a little while. My granddaughter, Erin, the pediatrician, is coming for dinner tonight and should be here any minute. Why don't we let her take a look at it before you head into town? And let's get you out of those clothes; you must be freezing. I still have some of Phillip's things in the closet that might fit you." A few minutes later, I had changed into a pair of comfortable but slightly musty-smelling pants, with a warm sweater over a well-worn collared shirt. I was both taller and wider than Phillip had been, at least in the twilight of his years, so the pants were a bit short, while the sweater was tight across my shoulders. While I changed, Mary and Wilma had set Lane up on the couch with his ankle elevated on some pillows. I helped him change out of his wet clothing and into an old sweatshirt and shorts that fit over his swollen ankle. Once Lane was settled, Wilma and I talked quietly in the kitchen. "It's getting late, and you must be getting hungry, but I don't think I have enough to feed everyone." I thought for a moment. "We may be in luck. Lane caught the biggest steelhead I have ever seen earlier this afternoon, but I left it down by the dock after the accident. If you have a few potatoes and maybe a veg or two, I am sure I can whip something up that would feed us all." Wilma looked at me with a sly smile. "He cooks, he plumbs, and he cares for his family, all while cutting a dashing figure in my late husband's favorite sweater. You, Mr. Crawford, are a catch." "I am not sure about that, Wilma," I replied with a laugh, "But either way, this catch had better go and get our earlier catch, so I can get started on dinner." It took me almost half an hour to collect our fishing gear and bring it back up to the truck. By the time I was done, an older SUV was parked behind my truck, which meant that Erin had arrived. After I loaded the gear, I used the fishing knife and stained plastic cutting board that I kept in a bin under the back seat to clean and filet the steelhead before heading inside. From the doorway, I could see a head of sandy-blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail sticking up from the far side of the couch, and I heard a calm and melodic voice talking to Lane while Wilma and Mary looked on. I was so lost in that voice that I almost jumped when the latch on the door caught behind me. The head of sandy-blonde hair looked up at the sound, revealing a pair of amber, almost golden eyes. "You must be the father," said that same melodic voice, as those eyes bore their way into my soul. "It's Davis Crawford, and I'm the older brother." "Erin Anderson, nice to meet you. Can you get hold of your parents? We might need to take Lane to the hospital for some X-rays." "No," I replied more harshly than I intended. "No," I tried again, more gently but with an edge to my voice. "Our parents aren't around; I am as close as you're going to get. I am Lane's legal guardian if that helps." There was a slight pause as her amber eyes shifted from surprise to curiosity. "That helps a lot. Why don't you give me 15 minutes or so to take a look at this brave dude's ankle, then we can talk over some options, once I have a better sense of what's going on." "That okay with you, Bud?" I asked as I walked over to the couch. "Yeah, that should be fine," he replied, but his eyes were wide, and his cheeks were flushed. For a moment, I was worried that he might be running a fever, but then I got my first look at Erin, and I understood. Maybe she wasn't classically beautiful like a movie star or swimsuit model, but she was lean and fit, and from what I could see, had more than enough curves in all the right places. It was her face, however, that captured me. She had delicate features accentuated by her high cheekbones, and there was a softness to her expression that spoke of empathy and kindness. Her eyes, though intense, had a warmth that put me instantly at ease. I realized much too late that I had been staring at Erin for an uncomfortably long time while holding the bag of steelhead filets out like some kind of sacrificial offering. While I stood frozen, the look in Erin's beautiful eyes had shifted from curiosity to amusement; I would assume at the fish-carrying simpleton standing in front of her. "Thanks, Dr. Anderson; err, Erin. I appreciate your taking a look at him and; I am going to go cook us up some fish before I make an even bigger ass of myself." Wilma joined me in the kitchen, while Erin continued to assess Lane's injured ankle. We spent the next few minutes dicing the potatoes and veggies and tossing them with some olive oil, salt, and pepper before sprinkling the filets of steelhead with a mixture of herbs. I topped the fish with some slices of a less-than-fresh, but still edible, lemon I found in the fridge, before putting the whole thing in the oven. To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 1 Love, bastards, and what we leave behind. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. The Plumber, The Painter, and the Wind off the Lake Prologue I have never been much for following instructions or doing what I'm told. In eighth grade, we were assigned to make a volcano in science class. I figured that if the eruption looked good with a couple of tablespoons of baking soda, then it would look even better with the whole container! And what better place for a natural disaster than the teacher's desk at the front of the class. I was right; the whole container of baking soda produced an impressive explosion. What I didn't count on, however, was it producing a week-long suspension from school and a beating from my mother. In high school, we had to take an art class to graduate. Our teacher loved still life drawing and would ramble endlessly about how it revealed the beauty that is in the everyday objects that surround us. I guess he wanted us to reveal the beauty in the bowl of fruit that he had put in the middle of the classroom, but the most beautiful things that I could see were Brittany Johnson's D-cups which filled out her sweater gloriously. At the end of the class, there were 29 drawings of a bowl of fruit and one drawing of a beautiful girl's smile (amongst other details). Although I was suspended for two days, I got a date with Brittany who loved my drawing, so I feel like I came out ahead on that one. In my last year of school, the final mathematics exam asked the following question: Determine the points of intersection between the following parabolas and lines. Illustrate fully. While the other students slaved away to solve the listed problems in the allotted time, I fully illustrated a drawing of our math teacher, Mr. Aaronson, dancing a slow waltz in a field of sunflowers with Mrs. Stevens, the geography teacher. It was the worst-kept secret in the school that our two shyest teachers had massive crushes on each other, and after four years of watching them pine away, I thought they could use a little push. I failed the test, but Mr. Aaronson showed my drawing to Mrs. Stevens during a particularly dull staff meeting, and when it made her blush and smile, he finally got up the courage to ask her out. They are now married and have a little girl who is as cute as a button. At the end of the year, Mr. Aaronson asked me if I planned to pursue math in the future, and when I assured him that I did not, he gave me a passing grade. So, what was my problem, you might ask? Was I just one of those kids who didn't give a shit and was destined for mediocrity or failure in life? Like many things, the answer is more complicated than it might first appear, but I am getting ahead of myself. Our story starts on an unusually cold and blustery afternoon in late October, on the north-eastern shore of Lake Michigan about a half hour's drive north of Petoskey, just outside a village called Good Hart. Chapter 1. It had been a busy day. The perfect storm of an early season snap freeze, strong winds, and lake-effect snow meant that there was a couple of inches of snow on the still soggy ground, along with a number of leaky or burst pipes, malfunctioning valves, and boiler issues as people cranked their heating systems up to full for the first time that year. As a plumber, though, I didn't mind. It just meant more work for me, which was always a good thing. At only 25 years of age, and despite being a master plumber, I was generally the last choice for folks to call, even in an emergency. Anyone with money chose one of the larger and more established plumbing contractors, leaving me with the jobs that they didn't feel were worth their time or effort. That's how I found myself pulling into the laneway of an older house, just off Lamkin Road down by the lake, late that Friday afternoon. It was my last job of the day, but I would be working over the weekend to catch up on my backlog, so I wanted to get it done. The house looked like it hadn't been updated since it was built, likely in the late fifties or early sixties, other than a couple of coats of paint and a new roof when the original finally gave up the ghost. The front gardens were neatly tended, however, and the property itself was stunning, with panoramic views in three directions out over the lake. The sun was just beginning to dip toward the western horizon as I drove up, so the trees cast long shadows across the laneway. The house was owned by Mrs. Wilma C. Anderson, who had called me earlier in the day to say that some of her radiators weren't working and that her boiler was making one hell of a racket when she turned it on. I told her to shut the system down and that I would look at it by the end of the day. She sounded quite elderly, and I didn't like the idea of her going without heat for a night during a cold snap. I rang the doorbell and waited until a tiny wisp of a woman answered. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall and looked older than the hills, but her face was full of life, and her eyes had a twinkle that spoke of humor and mischief. "Hi, Mrs. Anderson, I'm Davis Crawford. You called earlier about some issues with your boiler and heating system. How can I help?" Mrs. Anderson gave me an appraising look. "I wasn't expecting you to be such a handsome young man. If I were fifty years younger, I would tell you exactly how you could help me, and then I'd teach you a trick or two I learned over the years. But I am too old for that kind of foolishness these days, so I will just have to make use of your plumbing expertise instead. And please, call me Wilma." I couldn't help but laugh and blush at Wilma's surprisingly raunchy sense of humor. I liked her immediately. "Let's try that again. What seems to be the problem?" "Well, the biggest problem is that I am 91 years old and dying of cancer. The doctors give me less than a year to live. But aside from that, I really can't complain. I have had a good run of it." I cocked my head to one side and gave her a bemused look. "Oh, you were wondering what the problem is with my heating system. Well, I turned it on this morning when I got up, and the boiler sounded like there was someone trapped inside of it trying to hammer their way out. There was a worrisome hissing from some of the radiators, as well, and they weren't heating up worth a damn. "My husband, Phillip, used to take care of those things for us, but he has been gone for almost five years now, so I hate to think what you will find when you look around." "I'm sure I can help you, Mrs. Anderson,;" "Wilma, please." "Sorry, Wilma. Why don't you show me to the basement, and I will try to figure out what's wrong. Then I can get started on fixing it." On the way to the basement stairs, Wilma led me through her crowded but orderly living room. I couldn't help but notice the paintings on just about every surface of its walls. "You have a real eye for art, Wilma. Those paintings are beautiful." Wilma smiled wistfully at me and got a faraway look in her eyes as she replied. "Phillip and I were artists. I guess I still am, but I haven't felt much like painting since he passed on. Phillip painted portraits. He made a surprisingly good living at it; you would be amazed at what rich people will pay to see their lives immortalized in oil on canvas. I never had the knack. Phillip could make even the most corpulent and corrupt industrialist appear regal and wise. I could only ever capture what I actually saw in them, and I quickly discovered that they did not enjoy, or pay for, that kind of introspection. "So, I painted landscapes, and there is always a market for those. But I kept some of my favorite pieces, over the years, as you can see." As Wilma spoke, I took a closer look at the paintings. One, in particular, was striking; a portrait of a beautiful young woman, in her late teens or early twenties, with a stethoscope around her neck and her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was wearing a loose hoodie and was curled up in an Adirondack chair, reading a book. It was not what you would expect from a formal portrait, but it seemed to capture her essence in a way that no photograph could match. I must have stopped moving as I was drawn into the image, so Wilma gave me a minute before she continued. "That's the last painting that Phillip worked on before he passed. He didn't get the chance to finish it, but I still think it's his finest work." I couldn't help but agree. "Who's the model? She's beautiful." "That's my granddaughter, Erin. You can't tell from the portrait, but she's a real firecracker. As a grandparent, you're not supposed to play favorites, but she was very special to Phillip, and it hit her hard when he passed. There is more love in that one painting than in all the other portraits that he painted over his lifetime. Except for his first, of course, of me." "Where are Phillips' other works? Surely, they weren't all commissions that are now locked away in some dusty millionaire's palace." Wilma's expression turned bleak as she contemplated her response. "All of his other paintings were sold after he died. The kids said they would fetch a better price while there was an upswing of interest in his work after his death, so they insisted that they all go to auction as quickly as possible. They were probably right, I guess, although I loved his art more than I needed the money. But how do you argue with your kids when they have just lost their father?" "Do any of your children live nearby?" "They all moved far away. Phillip and I chose a wonderful spot to live and make our art, but a challenging place to raise a family. It's not so bad now, what with the internet, highways, and the like, but when we first moved here sixty-some years ago, it was very isolated. We were young and selfish, and our selfishness cost us dearly. "We thought that our children would grow to love this area over time, like we did. But they never did, and they left as soon as they could get away. My daughter, Samantha, is a retired lawyer and she and her third husband split their time between their loft in Manhattan and their beach house in the Bahamas. My son, Robert, is an oil executive down in Texas. Neither of them has been here in more than a decade, except for Phillip's funeral. "My baby, Max, passed away more than twenty years ago now of cancer. Erin is his granddaughter. She is a pediatrician, and she splits her time between the hospital in Petoskey and the children's hospital down in Grand Rapids. She comes to see me when she can, but she is very busy. My other relatives all live busy lives far away from here. We chose to live here, though, so I can't be too upset that the rest of the family chose to live far away. "But enough about me. What about you, Mr. Crawford? Do you have any children?" "It's just me and my siblings, I'm afraid, and it's been that way for quite some time. My oldest sister, Alison, is 20, and she goes to college at North Central Michigan, in Petoskey. She is planning to become a nurse practitioner. The rest of the gang still lives at home with me. Sharon is 17 now, so she kind of runs the show while I am working; Mary is 15 but going on 30, if you know what I mean; and Lane is the baby of the family at 12." "Where are your parents?" "I don't honestly know. We each have a different father, or at least we think we do. Sharon, Lane, and I have no idea who our fathers are, so there's a chance that we might be full siblings, but I doubt it. My mother never kept the same man around for long. Alison's father has been in and out of jail since before she was born and is currently serving a stint in federal prison. But Mary has it the worst of all of us. "My mother met Mary's dad on a weekend bender in Vegas, and he is a pretty big deal. Rich, famous, the kind of guy you see on TV and the cover of magazines. A real family man, except when it comes to Mary, whom he refuses to even acknowledge. He bought my mom's silence with a lump sum payment and a non-disclosure agreement. That money was supposed to be put in a trust for Mary, but my mom snorted and injected it all in less than a year. Mary has written to her father dozens of times and reached out to him on social media countless more, but he wants nothing to do with his bastard daughter. "As for my mom, she went away for the weekend almost seven years ago now and left me in charge. And I am still in charge, I guess. So, no time for dating or romance for me, and I think that I will be just about done with raising kids by the time that Lane goes off to college." Wilma gave me a look filled with more empathy than I had felt in a long time, maybe ever. "Anyway, I should take a look at your boiler and see what I can do about getting you some heat." I would have called the boiler in Wilma's basement old, but that wouldn't have done it justice. Frankly, it wouldn't have seemed out of place in a museum of heating and plumbing, and it was hanging on to life by the barest of threads. With only a year to live, however, I wasn't going to recommend to Wilma that she replace the whole system with something more modern and efficient. "I think I can fix your boiler so that it will hold on for another year or two, and I can patch a couple of leaks in the lines to the main radiators as well. One line to a radiator at the back of the house is completely shot, so I will shut that one off and be back to replace it later this week." "What's all that going to cost?" "It's free of charge, Ma'am. You've got enough to look after with your health and all, without having to worry about your heating system. I never had a grandma to spoil, at least not one that I know of, so it would be my pleasure to do this for you." "Please, it's Wilma. And it's a grandmother's prerogative to spoil her grandchildren, and not the other way around. But your kindness is mighty appreciated, Davis." It took me a couple of hours to shore up the boiler and repair the lines that were still in reasonable condition before I was finished for the day. As I got ready to leave, I found Wilma sitting alone in the living room reading an old paperback. "I'll call you later this week, once the replacement line for your radiator comes in." Wilma got a mischievous smile on her face. "Why, Davis, are you getting fresh with me?" "If I were older and more experienced, I would in an instant. But I hardly think I can compete with the memory of your Phillip." "Too true, too true. Alright young man, well thank you for taking the time to look after a foolish old woman on a cold October night." "I hardly think you're foolish, Wilma, but it's been my pleasure." I didn't get home from Wilma's until well after nine that night, and by the time I pulled into our gravel driveway, I was beat. The dilapidated old yard light mounted on the roof of the garage shone weakly down on the sloppy mix of gravel and mud that was our yard, and I could hear the excited barks of Munchkin, our rescue puppy. He was a mix of German Shepherd and Cane Corso, with some variety of northern dog thrown in, and he was mighty pleased to see me. I'm glad that someone was. I came into our small three-bedroom rental to find Sharon and Lane sitting at the dining room table working on his math homework. I wish that they reacted like Munchkin when they saw me, but Lane just grunted a hello, while Sharon looked up at me with a mixture of sadness and worry. "Mary is out with the McDougal brothers again. They showed up here a half hour ago, I told her not to go with them, but she wouldn't listen." "The McDougal brothers are assholes," was Lane's addition to the conversation, without even looking up from the table. He wasn't wrong. The oldest McDougall brother, Calum, was a couple of years ahead of me at school and was a bully and a braggart. Two of his three brothers had followed in his esteemed footsteps, while the jury was still out on the youngest, James. "I'm going to go get her. Next time that those boys turn up in our yard, let Munchkin lose on them." "Alright, dinner will be in the oven when you get back. Given 'em hell, Bro." The McDougal brothers lived just outside Pellston in the closest thing to a mansion that you could find in our neck of the woods. Their family owned the largest construction and maintenance company in the area and had most of the Public Works contracts sown up, along with a not inconsiderable portion of the private construction in our region as well. Their parents spent most of their time in Sarasota, Florida, though, and the brothers had free rein while they were gone. As I drove up their long, paved driveway, automatic floodlights came on, illuminating the ostentatious columns that flanked the entrance to their house. I parked in front of the nearest bay of their four-car attached garage while noting that there was another three-car garage further off to the right. I idly wondered who got to park in which garage. Rich people problems, I guess. I walked to the front door and let myself in. From the foyer, I could hear the loud thump of music coming from the back of the house, so I headed that way. As I passed through the kitchen, I nearly bumped into James, who was holding a couple of empty serving bowls. He stopped dead when he saw me, looking nervous, clearly not expecting anyone else to be in their house. Certainly not me, anyway. "Hey James, I am here to get my sister. Where is she?" He hesitated a moment before pointing toward the back of the house. "She's in the game room playing pool with the guys. We didn't force her to come here or anything, if that's what you're worried about." "Maybe that's true, James. But you know she is still a minor, and I am her guardian, so I'm going to fetch her and bring her home." James didn't like the sound of that, but I turned my back on him and followed the music to a large, sunken room at the back of the house, which had an expensive-looking pool table in the middle. The remaining McDougal brothers were either playing pool or smoking up on one of the couches that were scattered around the outside of the room. Calum was presiding over the festivities, while the Pistons game was playing on a wall-mounted TV that was bigger than some movie screens. Despite his family's blue-collar roots, Calum looked like an overgrown frat boy, with his preppy clothes and fifty-dollar haircut. Mary was sitting in the middle of one of the couches, with a McDougal brother on one side and one of their hangers-on on the other. She looked somewhere between uncomfortable and scared, but she gave me a defiant scowl. The music stopped, and everyone looked to Calum and then back at me. There was a nervous tension in the air. "Hi Calum, I'm here for my sister." Calum was now in a bit of a spot; he couldn't just let me come into his home and give him orders without losing face with his brothers and their cronies. But he also knew, or at least suspected, that my sister was underage. And then there was always the Pipe Wrench Incident. That always made people nervous to be around me. "That's not my problem. She told my brother that she wanted to party, so she's here to party. No one forced her to come, and she seems to be having a good time." I wondered if all of Calum's dates looked as scared and uncomfortable as Mary did at that moment when they were having a 'good time'. "Well, since she is still a minor and I'm her guardian, it's a bit of a problem. Or it could be. But I don't want to put a damper on your evening, so I'll just bring Mary home with me and we'll call it a night." Calum looked toward James who had just come back into the room with bowls now filled with potato chips. "Is that true, Limp dick? Did you bring an underage girl home to party with us?" James began to sputter before Calum shook his head in disgust. He pointed over at Mary. "Get the fuck out of here, and don't come back until you're sixteen," he said before turning back to me. "And you. Just get the fuck out of our house." It was a silent drive home. Mary refused to even look at me, staring out the window instead. When we pulled into our yard, Munchkin came running up to greet us, and Mary finally spoke. "You didn't need to embarrass me like that. I'm old enough to make my own choices, you know." "The law says you're still a minor. And you'll always be my sister. Those guys are no good, Mary. You know that." "James is different. He isn't like the rest of them." "Maybe that's true, or maybe not. But you don't hang out in a nest of rattlesnakes, just because there is a garter snake in there with them that you think is cute." After a pause and some continued barking from Munchkin, Mary finally looked over at me. "You're not my dad, you know. You can't tell me what to do." And there it was. It always came down to the same thing with Mary; her father's rejection of her. Over the years, it had undermined her self-esteem and destroyed her self-worth to the point where I wondered if they would ever recover. Unfortunately, I was just smart enough to see the problem, but I had no idea how to fix it. A brother's love can only go so far, I guess. "I know, Mary. I know. But I love you, and I am so proud of you, and I just wish that was enough." We sat in silence for another minute before she replied. "I wish it was too." Chapter 2. It took a couple of days for Mrs. Anderson's new radiator line to arrive, and I gave her a call when I went to pick it up. "Hi, Mrs. And; Wilma. I was just picking up the replacement line for your radiator, and I was wondering if you needed anything else from town, while I'm here. I was going to come by and install the line later this afternoon if that works for you." "That's very kind of you, Davis. Would you mind picking up a few groceries for me? I can send the store a list, so they will be ready for you when you get there." A couple of my calls that day took longer than expected, so it was late in the afternoon again by the time I made it to Wilma's place. The early season snow had mostly melted away, and her yard was now a combination of gravel and thick soupy mud that could swallow a tire as easily as it could swallow a boot. "Thank you for picking the groceries up for me, you're too kind." "It was no trouble at all, especially since I was coming out this way anyway. If you don't mind me asking, how do you usually get them?" "I used to have a young man up the way who would help me with groceries and yard work, and other small things, but now I am pretty much on my own." "What happened to him? Did he move away?" "No, he still lives in the same place that he always has, but I am pretty sure that my family paid him more not to help me than I was paying for his assistance." "What? That seems like a crappy thing for them to do to you." Wilma gave a resigned sigh and then offered me a coffee while she told me her story. "I think I told you the last time you were here, that most of my family has moved on from this place, except my granddaughter Erin. The rest of them already have an agreement in place with a developer, the McDougals, to turn this property into a high-end resort for the Fudgies, so they have someplace to spend their money after visiting Mackinac Island." "Fudgies," was what the locals called the tourists from down south who descended on the upper peninsula in the summer. "If you don't mind me asking, just how much land do you own?" "Well, Phillip and I didn't have much to spend our money on over the years, so we bought up many of the nearby properties when they went up for sale. We ended up with at least a quarter mile of land that fronts onto the lake, without even really trying." I let out a low whistle. "That must be worth a small fortune. I can understand your family's interest." "At first, they didn't care if I stayed in the house after Phillip died. They figured that I would follow soon enough. After a few years, however, they started to get impatient, and it's fair to say that they are now actively encouraging me to leave, by foot, by car, or in a box. They have generously offered to put me out to pasture in a warehouse for the old and infirm, though, to await my impending doom. "With my cancer, their wish is finally going to come true. By this time next year, I will be sipping coffee with Phillip in whatever afterlife we atheists get to enjoy. Actually, who am I kidding? If there is an afterlife for Phillip and me, the first thing I'm going to do when I get there is get on my knees, undo his belt buckle, and then show him just how much I've missed him these past five years. Wilma looked a bit startled as if she had just remembered that I was still there. "I'm sorry, Davis. You probably didn't need to hear that last part. I just miss him so much. I still see him in the trees and along the shore, and I sometimes hear his voice in the wind off the lake." "It's all good, Wilma. I just hope that my brother and sisters get to experience the kind of love that you and Phillip had someday." "What about you, Davis? Don't you deserve to experience that kind of love as well?" "Maybe I deserve it, Wilma, but I don't think I am going to find it. It's been tough; real tough, looking after my family all these years. I have done things that I am not proud of, but that needed to be done. I don't regret them; I would do anything to protect the people I love. But I doubt that anyone would be able to love me, once they found out what I've done." "I think you are selling yourself short, Davis. We are all artists, and we are all worthy of love." With that, Wilma offered to top up my coffee before I started replacing the broken line. As the evening's shadows deepened, I saw her watching me with compassion and concern in her eyes. Once I was finished, I felt her hand on my shoulder, and she gave it an empathetic squeeze. "A penny for your thoughts?" I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at her. "It's my sister, Mary. I am losing her. She is so hurt and angry that she is beginning to make bad choices, and I don't know how to help her. I've tried to be her brother, parent, and friend, but I'm failing at all three." Wilma offered no judgment, good or bad. She just listened, and when I finished, she spoke. "Bring her over this Sunday around noon. Tell her to wear some old clothes that she doesn't mind getting dirty. You can come too if you would like and bring your little brother to do some fishing, but Mary will be spending her time with me." It wasn't easy convincing Mary to come to Wilma's. If you have spent time dealing with teenage girls, you know that they can be as stubborn as late-season ice on the lake. In the end, I resorted to threats and bribery to get her onboard, but she assured me that she would hate every minute she was there. Lane came with us as well, with the promise that we could spend the afternoon fishing off the end of Wilma's dock. By the time we arrived, Mary was sullenly glued to the passenger seat and wouldn't look up from her phone. Wilma waited a few minutes for Mary, but she stubbornly refused to leave the truck. Eventually, Wilma pulled on her rubber boots and walked over to the truck. She looked up at Mary and started speaking. "There are three things that I know are true. "The first, I've already shared with your brother. We are all artists because we are all worthy of love. But many of us lose our way. We are hurt and abandoned, and we are buried in shame. I was like that for many years. But my husband, Phillip, found me and taught me what it is to be loved. Not just the physical act; although he taught me about that as well; but the certainty that I was seen, known, and cherished. He showed me that I am an artist. You are an artist too. "Second, I am old, I have cancer, and I will die. Not today, and hopefully not tomorrow, but soon. And that is okay; we all die. I have lived a good life. And when I do, I hope that Phillip will be waiting for me with a glass of chilled white wine and his beautiful smile. My art may linger for a while once I am gone but, eventually, it too will be lost. "Third, the world is full of bastards. Your brother tells me that you and he are both bastards. I will tell you a secret that I have shared with very few people; I am a bastard too. "My mother was beautiful but poor. Her parents lost everything during the Great Depression, and she worked as a housemaid for a rich and powerful man to support her family. When she fell pregnant, he put her out on the street and refused to recognize her child, his daughter; me. Because of his rejection, I spent too many years steeped in shame and self-loathing. But eventually, I learned a hard truth; my father was a bastard by choice, while I was a bastard by birth. And those of us who are bastards by birth must never let the bastards by choice win. "Come inside when you're ready. I'm too old and it's too cold for me to stand here waiting for you." With that, Wilma turned and slowly made her way back to the house. Surprisingly, after a minute, Mary followed. When they reached the door, Wilma turned to look back at me. "It's time for you boys to go fishing. There is a warm breeze off the lake that will bring you good luck." Lane and I made our way down the hill to the dock in silence, our fishing rods, ice chest, and tackle box in hand. Unlike a seasonal dock that would be taken out of the lake each fall, Wilma's dock could be used year-round and was built with heavy timbers and steel bracing, so it could withstand the crushing force of the winter's ice. When we reached the dock, we felt the warm wind that Wilma had promised, and we chose our lures and began to cast. After a half hour of fishing, Lane broke the silence. "Do you think it's my fault?" "Do I think what's your fault, Bud?" "That mom left us. That she never came back. Do you think it's my fault?" I sighed as I thought about my answer. "No. It's not your fault. It's no one's fault, really, maybe not even hers. It's funny though, she brought some amazing people into this world. I wish she could have seen how incredible you and your sisters have turned out. But she made her choice, and that's on her, not you." Lane thought about my answer before he continued. "But you would be better off without me. Sharon would have more time to study for the scholarship she will need to get away from here. I try to be nice to Mary, to make her feel better, but I just seem to make things worse for her as well. And I see how hard you work to keep our family together. I feel like you would all be better off without me. If I weren't here, maybe Mom would come back home." I took a deep breath and tried to push down the anger that threatened to overwhelm me; anger at my mother for abandoning us, anger at myself for never being enough, and anger at a world that would leave my brother feeling like it would be better off if he didn't exist. I felt the wind off the lake as it blew across my face, drying my unshed tears before they were formed. As I was wondering how to unbreak my brother's heart, a particularly strong gust of wind blew through and Lane's fishing rod bent into a deep arc, the tip dancing wildly as a fish fought against the line. "Dad! Help;" The drag clicked furiously as the fish pulled line, as Lane fought to keep his rod tip up. I quickly set my rod aside and braced him, my hands held loosely beside his as he fought to reel in his catch. We worked together for what seemed like an eternity before he finally fought his fish to the side of the dock. I grabbed the net and saw that he had hooked a steelhead trout that was easily two feet long and must have weighed at least eight pounds if not more. It was a wonder the drag held steady, and his line didn't break during the fight. As I scooped up his catch, the steelhead's silver sides shimmered like polished chrome in the fading light, and it was so big that it took up over half the ice chest I had brought along to store our catch. Lane was flushed with excitement at landing such an impressive fish, and I was so proud of him that my heart almost ached. "Nice work, Son." He just looked up at me for a moment before throwing his arms around me in a hug. In the time since our mother left, he had never called me by anything other than my name. I never tried to be his dad; I didn't think I was qualified, but I guess that all of us need someone in our lives who will love us without conditions or end. "Never think that you're a burden on me or the family. Maybe you need a bit more from us right now than you can give back, but that's alright. Because sixty years from now, when I am old and can't wipe my ass anymore, you are going to be paying me back in spades, alright?" With that, we went back to fishing in companionable silence. I pulled in a few smaller ones, but nothing to match Lane's steelhead. A few hours later, the wind had picked up and it was getting colder, so we packed up our equipment and made our way back toward the house. Halfway down the dock, however, a huge gust of wind swept through, and I heard a cry followed by a loud splash. Turning back, I saw that Lane's foot had slipped through a broken slat, and he had fallen off the dock. Without thinking, I dropped the ice box and rods and jumped into the water to help him. When I got him to shore, he couldn't put any weight on his ankle, and any efforts to do so were met with cries of pain. I quickly collected our discarded fishing gear and set it to one side, before helping him to slowly make his way back up the hill. The November chill quickly took hold of us as we walked, plastering our damp clothing to our skin, and we were shivering uncontrollably by the time we reached the house. I knocked but it took a minute for Wilma and Mary to come out from the studio at the back of the house. "I am sorry to cut things short, but Lane had an accident down at the dock and he sprained or maybe even broke his ankle. I am going to have to take him to the hospital in Petoskey to get it looked at before it swells up any further." Wilma looked at me with concern. "Maybe you should hold off at least for a little while. My granddaughter, Erin, the pediatrician, is coming for dinner tonight and should be here any minute. Why don't we let her take a look at it before you head into town? And let's get you out of those clothes; you must be freezing. I still have some of Phillip's things in the closet that might fit you." A few minutes later, I had changed into a pair of comfortable but slightly musty-smelling pants, with a warm sweater over a well-worn collared shirt. I was both taller and wider than Phillip had been, at least in the twilight of his years, so the pants were a bit short, while the sweater was tight across my shoulders. While I changed, Mary and Wilma had set Lane up on the couch with his ankle elevated on some pillows. I helped him change out of his wet clothing and into an old sweatshirt and shorts that fit over his swollen ankle. Once Lane was settled, Wilma and I talked quietly in the kitchen. "It's getting late, and you must be getting hungry, but I don't think I have enough to feed everyone." I thought for a moment. "We may be in luck. Lane caught the biggest steelhead I have ever seen earlier this afternoon, but I left it down by the dock after the accident. If you have a few potatoes and maybe a veg or two, I am sure I can whip something up that would feed us all." Wilma looked at me with a sly smile. "He cooks, he plumbs, and he cares for his family, all while cutting a dashing figure in my late husband's favorite sweater. You, Mr. Crawford, are a catch." "I am not sure about that, Wilma," I replied with a laugh, "But either way, this catch had better go and get our earlier catch, so I can get started on dinner." It took me almost half an hour to collect our fishing gear and bring it back up to the truck. By the time I was done, an older SUV was parked behind my truck, which meant that Erin had arrived. After I loaded the gear, I used the fishing knife and stained plastic cutting board that I kept in a bin under the back seat to clean and filet the steelhead before heading inside. From the doorway, I could see a head of sandy-blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail sticking up from the far side of the couch, and I heard a calm and melodic voice talking to Lane while Wilma and Mary looked on. I was so lost in that voice that I almost jumped when the latch on the door caught behind me. The head of sandy-blonde hair looked up at the sound, revealing a pair of amber, almost golden eyes. "You must be the father," said that same melodic voice, as those eyes bore their way into my soul. "It's Davis Crawford, and I'm the older brother." "Erin Anderson, nice to meet you. Can you get hold of your parents? We might need to take Lane to the hospital for some X-rays." "No," I replied more harshly than I intended. "No," I tried again, more gently but with an edge to my voice. "Our parents aren't around; I am as close as you're going to get. I am Lane's legal guardian if that helps." There was a slight pause as her amber eyes shifted from surprise to curiosity. "That helps a lot. Why don't you give me 15 minutes or so to take a look at this brave dude's ankle, then we can talk over some options, once I have a better sense of what's going on." "That okay with you, Bud?" I asked as I walked over to the couch. "Yeah, that should be fine," he replied, but his eyes were wide, and his cheeks were flushed. For a moment, I was worried that he might be running a fever, but then I got my first look at Erin, and I understood. Maybe she wasn't classically beautiful like a movie star or swimsuit model, but she was lean and fit, and from what I could see, had more than enough curves in all the right places. It was her face, however, that captured me. She had delicate features accentuated by her high cheekbones, and there was a softness to her expression that spoke of empathy and kindness. Her eyes, though intense, had a warmth that put me instantly at ease. I realized much too late that I had been staring at Erin for an uncomfortably long time while holding the bag of steelhead filets out like some kind of sacrificial offering. While I stood frozen, the look in Erin's beautiful eyes had shifted from curiosity to amusement; I would assume at the fish-carrying simpleton standing in front of her. "Thanks, Dr. Anderson; err, Erin. I appreciate your taking a look at him and; I am going to go cook us up some fish before I make an even bigger ass of myself." Wilma joined me in the kitchen, while Erin continued to assess Lane's injured ankle. We spent the next few minutes dicing the potatoes and veggies and tossing them with some olive oil, salt, and pepper before sprinkling the filets of steelhead with a mixture of herbs. I topped the fish with some slices of a less-than-fresh, but still edible, lemon I found in the fridge, before putting the whole thing in the oven. To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

In this episode of The New Quantum Era, Sebastian talks with Hrant Gharibyan, CEO and co‑founder of BlueQubit, about “peaked circuits” and the challenge of verifying quantum advantage. They unpack Scott Aaronson and Yushuai Zhang's original peaked‑circuit proposal, BlueQubit's scalable implementation on real hardware, and a new public challenge that invites the community to attack their construction using the best classical algorithms available. Along the way, they explore how this line of work connects to cryptography, hardness assumptions, and the near‑term role of quantum devices as powerful scientific instruments.Topics CoveredWhy verifying quantum advantage is hard The core problem: if a quantum device claims to solve a task that is classi-cally intractable, how can anyone check that it did the right thing? Random circuit sampling (as in Google's 2019 “supremacy” experiment and follow‑on work from Google and Quantinuum) is believed to be classically hard to simulate, but the verification metrics (like cross‑entropy benchmarking) are themselves classically intractable at scale.What are peaked circuits? Aaronson and Zhang's idea: construct circuits that look like random circuits in every respect, but whose output distribution secretly has one special bit string with an anomalously high probability (the “peak”). The designer knows the secret bit string, so a quantum device can be verified by checking that measurement statistics visibly reveal the peak in a modest number of shots, while finding that same peak classically should be as hard as simulating a random circuit.BlueQubit's scalable construction and hardware demo BlueQubit extended the original 24‑qubit, simulator‑based peaked‑circuit construction to much larger sizes using new classical protocols. Hrant explains their protocol for building peaked circuits on Quantinuum's H2 processor with around 56 qubits, thousands of gates, and effectively all‑to‑all connectivity, while still hiding a single secret bit string that appears as a clear peak when run on the device.Obfuscation tricks and “quantum steganography” The team uses multiple obfuscation layers (including “swap” and “sweeping” tricks) to transform simple peaked circuits into ones that are statistically indistinguishable from generic random circuits, yet still preserve the hidden peak.The BlueQubit Quantum Advantage Challenge To stress‑test their hardness assumptions, BlueQubit has published concrete circuits and launched a public bounty (currently a quarter of a bitcoin) for anyone who can recover the secret bit string classically. The aim is to catalyze work on better classical simulation and de‑quantization techniques; either someone closes the gap (forcing the protocol to evolve) or the standing bounty helps establish public trust that the task really is classically infeasible.Potential cryptographic angles Although the main focus is verification of quantum advantage, Hrant outlines how the construction has a cryptographic flavor: a secret bit string effectively acts as a key, and only a sufficiently powerful quantum device can efficiently “decrypt” it by revealing the peak. Variants of the protocol could, in principle, yield schemes that are classically secure but only decryptable by quantum hardware, and even quantum‑plus‑key secure, though this remains speculative and secondary to the verification use case. From verification protocol to startup roadmap Hrant positions BlueQubit as an algorithm and capability company: deeply hardware‑aware, but focused on building and analyzing advantage‑style algorithms tailored to specific devices. The peaked‑circuit work is one pillar in a broader effort that includes near‑term scientific applications in condensed‑matter physics and materials (e.g., Fermi–Hubbard models and out‑of‑time‑ordered correlators) where quantum devices can already probe regimes beyond leading classical methods.Scientific advantage today, commercial advantage tomorrow Sebastian and Hrant emphasize that the first durable quantum advantages are likely to appear in scientific computing—acting as exotic lab instruments for physicists, chemists, and materials scientists—well before mass‑market “killer apps” arrive. Once robust, verifiable scientific advantage is established, scaling to larger models and more complex systems becomes a question of engineering, with clear lines of sight to industrial impact in sectors like pharmaceuticals, advanced materials, and manufacturing.The challenge: https://app.bluequbit.io/hackathons/

En esta edición especial aniversario de Conversando con Uesebistas, celebramos 10 años de AlumnUSB con conversaciones íntimas con los miembros de nuestra directiva.En este capítulo, Lino Rivolta entrevista a Ariagne V. Aaronson, Cofundadora y actual Secretaria de AlumnUSB. Ariagne es Ingeniera de Materiales de la Universidad Simón Bolívar, con un MBA especializado en Analítica de Negocios y Mercadeo de Babson College.Hoy es VP of Platform en OptimizeRx Corporation, donde lidera la estrategia y evolución de plataformas digitales a gran escala. Antes de ello, construyó una sólida trayectoria en analítica, operaciones de ventas, marketing y tecnología en diversas posiciones de liderazgo.En esta conversación, Ariagne comparte su trayectoria, su conexión con la Simón Bolívar y su visión del rol que los egresados pueden jugar en el fortalecimiento de nuestra alma mater.

The time has come for Vaden to defend his faith in the face of cold, hard scientific rationality. Will AI take over the world, automating away everything that makes humans distinct? Or can Vaden defend the church of just-ism, the radical belief that AI is simply "just a tool." Scott Aaronson, professor of computer science at UT Austin, goes to head to head against the zealotry. Check out Scott's website (https://www.scottaaronson.com/) and his blog, Shtetl Optimized (https://scottaaronson.blog/). We discuss Scott view's on education. Should we radically reform K-12? Is ChatGPT changing Scott's approach to teaching The religion of "justa-ism" Is AI just a tool? Is there any principle which lets us say that AI won't be as general as humans? Aaronson's thesis of Artificial Intelligence Computational universality vs explanatory universality The many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics Socials Follow us on Twitter at @IncrementsPod, @BennyChugg, @VadenMasrani Come join our discord server! DM us on twitter or send us an email to get a supersecret link Become a patreon subscriber here (https://www.patreon.com/Increments). Or give us one-time cash donations to help cover our lack of cash donations here (https://ko-fi.com/increments). Click dem like buttons on youtube (https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC_4wZzQyoW4s4ZuE4FY9DQQ) Have you been converted? Tell us at incrementspodcast@gmail.com Special Guest: Scott Aaronson.

The USMNT roster announcement is just around the corner, and Alexi Lalas and David Mosse grade a handful of players who need work and who are on the rise ahead of the November window. From Brenden Aaronson's resurgence and Haji Wright's hot streak to Matt Turner's lack of playing time, find out who's making a strong case for selection — and who might be in trouble.

On today's show, Alexi Lalas and David Mosse break down all the USMNT Abroad action as Brenden Aaronson scores for Leeds, Tyler Adams assists and captains second-place Bournemouth, and Chris Richards goes the full 90 for Arsenal. Also in Europe, we've got Gio Reyna logging Bundesliga minutes, Tim Weah's first Ligue 1 assist, and updates on Christian Pulisic and Cameron Carter-Vickers injuries. Plus, the MLS Cup Playoffs heat up — Messi leads Inter Miami, while Philadelphia and San Diego FC make strong starts. We wrap with your #AskAlexi questions on Messi's marketability before saying goodbye to Camp Cupcake.

Leeds United beat West Ham 2-1 at Elland Road – a statement win built on control, energy, and belief. Brenden Aaronson inspired a fierce, front-foot display as Daniel Farke's side showed Premier League maturity at just the right time.

With the second international break nearly behind us, Premier League action returns, and Leeds United have quietly made a solid start to life back in the big time.This week, the lads break down a mixed but promising run of games against Wolves, Bournemouth, and Spurs, where The Whites picked up 4 valuable points. From Calvert-Lewin's impact to Aaronson's flashes of form. And, of course, Farke's ever-debated subs. Looking ahead, we preview two massive fixtures against Burnley and West Ham, both being key tests against sides around us in the table.Is cautious optimism creeping in? Tune in and find out.Enjoying the show? Don't forget to hit the follow button and stay connected with everything Leeds United by following us on social media. Get involved in our polls and join the conversation online!Follow us on: X - @DamnedUnitedPod & Instagram - @DamnedUnitedPod

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Choose Life Have you ever said something that was not heard? How do we know that we have heard the Lord? Are we on track with our first love? This week it was all about listening as we heard from not just one but two special speakers. Rebetzen Jill spoke on the power of the ZIP, and Rabbi Ron Aaronson shared on choosing life.

Abigail Aaronson joins the podcast to read from her debut historical romance, LAVENDER & GIN! She talks about her inspiration for setting the story in Prohibition-era Detroit and how she approaches writing queer characters in historical settings. Then, we play LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT? and she reveals all the rules she loves to break!   00:33 Meet Abigail Aaronson: Sapphic Historical Romance Author 01:58 Reading from 'Lavender and Gin' 18:04 In-Depth Interview with Abigail Aaronson 26:25 Love It or Leave It: Romance Tropes Discussion 31:01 Wrapping Up and Where to Find More   Find out more about Abigail Aaronson: https://abigailaaronson.com/   Follow Queer Historical Romance on Instagram! @queerhistoricalromance   HRS is an affiliate of Libro.fm! Sign up for a new monthly membership and get three audiobooks for the price of one with code HISTORICAL! (As an affiliate, HRS may earn a portion of your purchase, for which we thank you!) Check out the official HRS playlist at: https://tidd.ly/4hgCquh    Find out more about your host Katherine Grant: Instagram (@katherine_grant_romance) TikTok (@katherinegrantromance) Facebook (@Katherinegrantromanceauthor)  Goodreads (https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19872840.Katherine_Grant) Bookbub (https://www.bookbub.com/authors/katherine-grant)   Follow HRS on social media! TikTok (@historicalromancesampler)  Instagram (@historicalromancesampler)

Inside Elland Road Podcast | Farke gets it wrong with Aaronson defence but right with Gray stancewith Graham Smyth & Chris O'ConnorGraham and Chris are back to talk through another week in the world of Leeds United.

Hello Colorado Rapids fans. What a fantastic end to the MLS transfer window and what a dismal performance at LA Galaxy. But hey, Pax10 Aaronson hype. Oh, and Matt and the dog are doing well. Thanks for all the support last week. Rabbi and Red put a bow on our coverage of the Aaronson transfer. The financials are a big deal and likely a one-time thing? There's the USMNT discussion. Commerce City Radio did a more thorough breakdown of that if you haven't listened already. There's the question of where the Rapids go from here and how Aaronson fits in tactically compared to his predecessor. Then we break down that 3-0 loss to LA Galaxy and why it was that bad. We give thoughts on how and when Aaronson, Rob Holding, and Alexis Manyoma will integrate into the squad. We look ahead to Sporting KC. There's an Ask HTHL about the third Rafa.

Hello Colorado Rapids fans. This week on Holding The High Line, we record just in time for some breaking news. There's the Paxten Aaronson rumor, the win over Atlanta United, and the road game against LA Galaxy on Saturday. We banter about Matt's not-so-fun hiking experience and the Pittsburgh Riverhounds stadium project. The guys discuss the breaking Aaronson news and Rafael Santos signing last Friday. We break down the win against Atlanta, Rafael Navarro, Darren Yapi, Noah Cobb, and all. Then we look ahead to a potential must-win game against LA Galaxy? Here's Mark's piece on recent foreign transfer business. Check out Burgundy Wave's Marcelo Balboa content as well.

This podcast is powered by LSJS. Visit lsjs.ac.uk to learn about our Jewish learning journeys & find something that suits you. This week I am delighted to be joined by Shana Aaronson, Executive Director of Magen, where she first began as Social Services Coordinator, supporting families where children had been physically and sexually abused. Magen is dedicated to creating safer Jewish communities in Israel and around the world by developing and implementing programs that foster transparency, prioritizing the well-being of victims, holding perpetrators accountable, and eliminating the stigma surrounding sexual abuse. Their work spans advocacy, education, and direct support for survivors. Shana also volunteers as a Jewish marital law coach and birth assistant for women with histories of sexual and physical abuse. She lives with her family in Mateh Yehuda, Israel. We speak about the difficult but essential work of confronting abuse in religious communities, the role of communal silence, how to shift shame from victim to perpetrator, and what change could look like when survivors are believed and supported. This is a wide-ranging and powerful conversation about truth telling, accountability, and building safer futures.   If you're affected by the issues discussed, please reach out for help. Some community resources are: Jewish Women's Aid – Supporting Jewish women affected by domestic or sexual abuse Magen – Child protection and abuse prevention in religious communities

Hey now, music lovers.    Welcome to Why Music Matters, a podcast where we examine the power and influence that music can wield in our lives.  I'm your host, Jeff Miers.   Today, my guest is the legendary guitarist, performer and band-leader Jamie Holka.    As a musician whose name is mentioned in hushed, reverential tones by his peers, Jamie has earned a reputation as a virtuosic guitarist and a fearless improvisor, whether he's playing blazing electric blues, fiery progressive rock, or effortlessly hip finger style jazz.    The Niagara Falls native is well-loved across the Western New York region, but he's also caught the attention of many of the finest musicians he grew up revering. That's how he ended up as an influential member of the rekindled 1970s progressive rock/jazz fusion ensemble Captain Beyond, with whom Jamie performed between 2017 and 2020.    And that's also how he befriended the brilliant rock drummer Bobby Rondinelli, a veteran of Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow and  Blue Oyster Cult, among many others. Jamie and Rondinelli teamed to create The Gathering, a new album of guitar-centered instrumentals that features heavy input from legendary guests like Deep Purple keyboardist Don Airey, and iconic bassists Billy Sheehan and Kenny Aaronson.  Jamie, Rondinelli, Aaronson and friends will celebrate the release of The Gathering with a show at The Cave, 71 Military Rd in Buffalo, on Friday, June 6, at 7 pm.    During our chat, I asked Jamie about the genesis of his love for the guitar, how it feels to be making music with his childhood idols, and what it means to be an eternal student of music.   Welcome to Why Music Matters, Jamie Holka… -- Produced by 678Main Studio and Creative Services https://678main.com --- Follow Why Music Matters on social media https://instagram.com/whymusicmatterspodcast https://www.facebook.com/whymusicmatterspodcast https://twitter.com/wmmpod

A groundbreaking work of investigative journalism, The Terror Factory: Inside the FBI's Manufactured War on Terror shows how the FBI has, under the guise of engaging in counterterrorism since 9/11, built a network of more than fifteen thousand informants whose primary purpose is to infiltrate Muslim communities to create and facilitate phony terrorist plots so that the bureau can then claim victory in the War on Terror.An outgrowth of Trevor Aaronson's work as an investigative reporting fellow at the University of California, Berkeleywhich culminated in an award-winning cover story in Mother Jones magazineThe Terror Factory reveals shocking information about the criminals, con men, and liars the FBI uses as paid informants, as well as documenting the extreme methods the FBI uses to ensnare Muslims in terrorist plotswhich are in reality conceived and financed by the FBI.The book offers unprecedented detail into how the FBI has transformed from a reactive law enforcement agency to a proactive counterterrorism organizationincluding the story of an accused murderer who became one of the FBI's most prolific terrorism informantsand how so-called terrorism consultants and experts have made fortunes by exaggerating the threat of Islamic terrorism in the United States.Trevor Aaronson is associate director and co-founder of the Florida Center for Investigative Reporting, a nonprofit journalism organization that produces reporting about Florida and Latin America. He was a 201011 investigative reporting fellow at the University of California, Berkeley, where his reporting about the FBI's informants in US Muslim communities resulted in a Mother Jones cover story that won the John Jay College/Harry Frank Guggenheim 2012 Excellence in Criminal Justice Reporting Award.Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/the-opperman-report--1198501/support.

Leeds United are heading back to the Premier League! Jimmy Conrad, Charlie Davies, and Tony Meola are joined by Yorkshire Evening Post's Joe Donnohue to unpack the promotion party and what it might mean for Brenden Aaronson. Could the top flight spell the end of his time as a regular starter? Then, the crew digs into the risks and rewards of promotion—especially for American players eyeing a World Cup roster spot. Is it always better to play up? Or is there something to being a big fish in a smaller pond? Jimmy unveils his USMNT left back depth chart—is it the most fragile position in the pool?And how much energy should Mauricio Pochettino put into recruiting dual nationals? Call It What You Want is available for free on the Audacy app as well as Apple Podcasts, Spotify and wherever else you listen to podcasts.  Follow the Call It What You Want team on X: @JimmyConrad, @CharlieDavies9, @TMeola1 Visit the betting arena on CBSSports.com for all the latest in sportsbook reviews and sportsbook promos for betting on soccer. For more soccer coverage from CBS Sports, visit https://www.cbssports.com/soccer/ To hear more from the CBS Sports Podcast Network, visit https://www.cbssports.com/podcasts/ You can also watch Call It What You Want on the CBS Sports Golazo Network for free on connected TVs and mobile devices through the CBS Sports app, Pluto TV, and on CBSSports.com as well as Paramount+. Visit the betting arena on CBS Sports.com: https://www.cbssports.com/betting/ For all the latest in sportsbook reviews: https://www.cbssports.com/betting/sportsbooks/ And sportsbook promos: https://www.cbssports.com/betting/promos/ For betting on soccer: https://www.cbssports.com/betting/soccer/ To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Kenny has recorded or performed with several notable artists such as Bob Dylan, Rick Derringer, Billy Idol, Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, Foghat, Sammy Hagar, Billy Squier, New York Dolls, and Hall and Oates. Since 2015, he has been the bass player for The Yardbirds! You think he has stories to tell?

Trevor Aaronson - How a Landlord and a Florida PR Firm Helped Trump Kick Off the Tren de Aragua Gang PanicTrump's “Operation Aurora” swept up only one suspected gang member — but set the stage for a radical expansion of government power.Trevor Aaronson is an American journalist. He is a contributing writer at The Intercept and author of The Terror Factory: Inside the FBI's Manufactured War on Terrorism. He was a 2020 ASU Future Security Fellow at New America and a 2015 TED Fellow.Aaronson is the creator and host of the documentary podcasts American ISIS, which tells the story of Russell Dennison, an American who joined the Islamic State as a fighter in Syria; and Chameleon: High Rollers, which investigates an FBI undercover operation in Las Vegas.In January 2023, Aaronson launched a podcast series called Alphabet Boys about "secret investigations of the FBI, CIA, DEA, ATF, and other alphabet agencies". The first season, "Trojan Hearse", focuses on the summer 2020 COINTELPRO-like infiltration of antifa / Black Lives Matter protesters and activists in Denver, Colorado, following the murder of George Floyd in Minnesota in May 2020. The second season, "Up in Arms," tells the story of a DEA narcoterrorism sting that targeted a former FBI informant who claimed to work for the CIA.Aaronson has won the Molly National Journalism Prize, the Data Journalism Award, and the John Jay College/Harry Frank Guggenheim Excellence in Criminal Justice Reporting Award.Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/the-opperman-report--1198501/support.

Trevor Aaronson - How a Landlord and a Florida PR Firm Helped Trump Kick Off the Tren de Aragua Gang PanicTrump's “Operation Aurora” swept up only one suspected gang member — but set the stage for a radical expansion of government power.Trevor Aaronson is an American journalist. He is a contributing writer at The Intercept and author of The Terror Factory: Inside the FBI's Manufactured War on Terrorism. He was a 2020 ASU Future Security Fellow at New America and a 2015 TED Fellow.Aaronson is the creator and host of the documentary podcasts American ISIS, which tells the story of Russell Dennison, an American who joined the Islamic State as a fighter in Syria; and Chameleon: High Rollers, which investigates an FBI undercover operation in Las Vegas.In January 2023, Aaronson launched a podcast series called Alphabet Boys about "secret investigations of the FBI, CIA, DEA, ATF, and other alphabet agencies". The first season, "Trojan Hearse", focuses on the summer 2020 COINTELPRO-like infiltration of antifa / Black Lives Matter protesters and activists in Denver, Colorado, following the murder of George Floyd in Minnesota in May 2020. The second season, "Up in Arms," tells the story of a DEA narcoterrorism sting that targeted a former FBI informant who claimed to work for the CIA.Aaronson has won the Molly National Journalism Prize, the Data Journalism Award, and the John Jay College/Harry Frank Guggenheim Excellence in Criminal Justice Reporting Award.Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/the-opperman-report--1198501/support.

Alexi Lalas and David Mosse recap USMNT's weekend abroad after returning from national duty in CONCACAF Nations League. AC Milan's struggles continued with a loss to Napoli and Santi Jimenez's crucial missed penalty. Why was Christian Pulisic passed over for the responsibility? Weston McKennie and Tim Weah bagged their first win under new head coach Igor Tudor. Chris Richards' side advanced to the FA Cup semifinals over Antonee Robinson and Fulham. They will take on Aston Villa next. Josh Sargent, Brenden Aaronson, and Johnny Cardoso all delivered big goals for their squads. Who will be the one to step up and transfer performances to the USMNT? Folarin Balogun and Malik Tillman also made their returns to league action for their respective clubs. (8:50) The guys dive into USMNT penalty taker power rankings, Bayern's potential legal action against Canada, and Alexi's trip to Park City, Utah to wrap the show. USMNT Abroad (8:50) MLS Recap: Messi scores & Vermes sacked (21:36) #AskAlexi: USMNT penalty taker power rankings (35:10) One for the Road (47:09) Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Adam Aaronson, Sixers beat writer for PhillyVoice, joins me to discuss the Sixers' disappointing season, the previous offseason where they had $60 million in cap space to sign Paul George, the future of Joel Embiid, how keeping their pick changes their outlook, and what else to look out for ahead of the 2025 offseason.You can follow Adam onTwitter at https://x.com/SixersAdamBlueSky at https://bsky.app/profile/adamaaronson.bsky.socialAnd see all of his work on PhillyVoice.com.Please subscribe and share if you enjoyed this. You can follow me on:Third Apron: https://thirdapron.comTwitter: https://twitter.com/YossiGozlanBlueSky: https://bsky.app/profile/yossigozlan.bsky.socialSalary cap sheets: www.capsheets.comLinks: https://linktr.ee/yossigozlan

Join Curt Jaimungal as he welcomes Harvard physicist Jacob Barandes, who claims quantum mechanics can be reformulated without wave functions, alongside computer scientist Scott Aaronson. Barandes' “indivisible” approach challenges the standard Schrödinger model, and Aaronson offers a healthy dose of skepticism in today's theolocution. Are we on the cusp of a radical rewrite of reality—or just rebranding the same quantum puzzles? As a listener of TOE you can get a special 20% off discount to The Economist and all it has to offer! Visit https://www.economist.com/toe Join My New Substack (Personal Writings): https://curtjaimungal.substack.com Listen on Spotify: https://tinyurl.com/SpotifyTOE Become a YouTube Member (Early Access Videos): https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCdWIQh9DGG6uhJk8eyIFl1w/join Timestamps: 00:00 Introduction to Quantum Mechanics 05:40 The Power of Quantum Computing 36:17 The Many Worlds Debate 1:09:05 Evaluating Jacob's Theory 1:13:49 Criteria for Theoretical Frameworks 1:17:15 Bohmian Mechanics and Stochastic Dynamics 1:18:51 Generalizing Quantum Theory 1:22:32 The Role of Unobservables 1:31:08 The Problem of Trajectories 1:39:39 Exploring Alternative Theories 1:50:29 The Stone Soup Analogy 1:56:20 The Limits of Quantum Mechanics 2:01:57 The Nature of Laws in Physics 2:14:57 The Many Worlds Interpretation 2:22:40 The Search for New Connections Links Mentioned: - Quantum theory, the Church–Turing principle and the universal quantum computer (article): https://www.cs.princeton.edu/courses/archive/fall04/cos576/papers/deutsch85.pdf - The Emergent Multiverse (book): https://amzn.to/3QJleSu Jacob Barandes on TOE (Part 1): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7oWip00iXbo&t=1s&ab_channel=CurtJaimungal - Scott Aaronson on TOE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ZpGCQoL2Rk - Quantum Theory From Five Reasonable Axioms (paper): https://arxiv.org/pdf/quant-ph/0101012 - Quantum stochastic processes and quantum non-Markovian phenomena (paper): https://arxiv.org/pdf/2012.01894 - Jacob's “Wigner's Friend” flowchart: https://shared.jacobbarandes.com/images/wigners-friend-flow-chart-2025 - Is Quantum Mechanics An Island In Theory Space? (paper): https://www.scottaaronson.com/papers/island.pdf - Aspects of Objectivity in Quantum Mechanics (paper): https://philsci-archive.pitt.edu/223/1/Objectivity.pdf - Quantum Computing Since Democritus (book): https://amzn.to/4bqVeoD - The Ghost in the Quantum Turing Machine (paper): https://arxiv.org/pdf/1306.0159 - Quantum mechanics and reality (article): https://pubs.aip.org/physicstoday/article/23/9/30/427387/Quantum-mechanics-and-realityCould-the-solution-to - Stone Soup (book): https://amzn.to/4kgPamN - TOE's String Theory Iceberg: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X4PdPnQuwjY - TOE's Mindfest playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLZ7ikzmc6zlOPw7Hqkc6-MXEMBy0fnZcb Support TOE on Patreon: https://patreon.com/curtjaimungal Twitter: https://twitter.com/TOEwithCurt Discord Invite: https://discord.com/invite/kBcnfNVwqs #science #theoreticalphysics Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

On this episode, Jake dives deep into what makes consumers tick (and sometimes flee) with guest Jeremy Aaronson, Chief Revenue Officer at UpSellit. Throughout they explore the art of crafting a stellar online experience and with over two decades in the online space, Jeremy dishes out wisdom on everything from mastering consumer personalization to harnessing AI's future influence. He highlights the common mishaps on e-commerce sites, like poorly implemented carts or lack of personalization, which might send your customers running to a competitor.The discussion weaves through the complexities of today's competitive landscape, touching on strategies like brand-to-brand partnerships and calculated incentives to keep consumers loyal. It's a packed session filled with valuable nuggets for anyone looking to spruce up their e-commerce game, ensuring authenticity and strategic market moves remain at the core of success. So, next time you're thinking "How do we win over that wandering shopper?" remember, it's all in the tweak and finesse.

Trevor Aaronson - The Bizarre Story Behind The FBI Fake Documentary About The Bundy FamilyOct 20, 2024Trevor Aaronson is an American journalist. He is a contributing writer at The Intercept[and author of The Terror Factory: Inside the FBI's Manufactured War on Terrorism. He was a 2020 ASU Future Security Fellow at New America and a 2015 TED Fellow.Aaronson is the creator and host of the documentary podcasts American ISIS, which tells the story of Russell Dennison, an American who joined the Islamic State as a fighter in Syria; and Chameleon: High Rollers, which investigates an FBI undercover operation in Las VegasFrom the Intercept:Ryan Bundy seemed uneasy as he settled into a white leather chair in a private suite at the Bellagio in Las Vegas. As the eldest son of Nevada rancher Cliven Bundy, who had become a national figure for his armed standoff with U.S. government agents in April 2014, Ryan had quite a story to tell.Eight months had passed since Cliven and hundreds of supporters, including heavily armed militia members, faced off against the federal government in a sandy wash under a highway overpass in the Mojave Desert. Now, here in the comforts of the Bellagio, six documentary filmmakers trained bright lights and high-definition cameras on Ryan. They wanted to ask about the standoff. Wearing a cowboy hat, Ryan fidgeted before the cameras. He had told this story before; that wasn't the reason for his nerves. After all, the Bundy confrontation made national news after armed agents with the Bureau of Land Management seized the Bundy family's cattle following a trespassing dispute and the accumulation of more than $1 million in unpaid grazing fees. But the Bundys, aided by their armed supporters, beat back the government, forcing agents to release the cattle and retreatBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/the-opperman-report--1198501/support.

Trevor Aaronson - The FBI Manufactured War on TerrorMar 19, 2023When America declares war, or 'enforces freedom', who profits?Trevor Aaronson joined Ed Opperman to discuss how the FBI actively encourages conflict and escalation in order than certain individuals can profit from nefarious activities. It's a startling insight into how much money can be made from manufactured combat. Trevor Aaronson is a contributing writer for The Intercept and a 2020 ASU Future Security Fellow at New America. He is also author of The Terror Factory: Inside the FBI's Manufactured War on Terrorism and creator and host of the documentary podcasts American ISIS and Chameleon: High Rollers.Aaronson co-founded the nonprofit Florida Center for Investigative Reporting in 2010. Investigations he edited spurred changes to law and policy and won honors from the National Headliner Awards, the National Awards for Education Reporting, Investigative Reporters and Editors, and the Green Eyeshade Awards.Trevor more recently appeared on the Opperman report to discuss his series, the Alphabet Boys.Website             : Trevor Aaronson Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/the-opperman-report--1198501/support.

Dr. Charles Nemeroff (University of Texas at Austin) joins AJP Editor-in-Chief Dr. Ned Kalin to discuss the January issue of the American Journal of Psychiatry. Dr. Nemeroff is a guest editor of the special issue, which takes a close look at the potential, pitfalls, and clinicial implications of psychedelics in mental health treatment. 00:38     Nemeroff interview 02:27     McIntyre et al. 04:06     Ramaekers et al. 05:44     Ghaznavi et al. 08:01     Fonzo et al. 09:17     Wolfgang et al. 10:45     Psychedelics and psychotherapies 12:31     Aaronson et al. 14:17     Pagni et al. 15:31     Kirlić et al. 17:06     Olson Transcript Be sure to let your colleagues know about the podcast, and please rate and review it on Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you listen to it. Subscribe to the podcast here. Listen to other podcasts produced by the American Psychiatric Association. Browse articles online. How authors may submit their work. Follow the journals of APA Publishing on Twitter. E-mail us at ajp@psych.org

Jimmy Conrad, Charlie Davies, and Tony Meola dive into the mailbag to answer YOUR burning questions. But first, the focus is on the Boxing Day action. With Leeds United sitting at the top of the Championship, can Brenden Aaronson push his way into a starting role for the national team? And with Jedi Robinson continuing to turn heads, has Fulham captain even reached his full potential yet? Then it's question time as the guys consider what the USMNT might have looked like had Jesse Marsch taken the reins. The trio also revisit some of the most iconic USMNT kits in history and get into a lively discussion about which players deserve a spot in a Concacaf 5-a-side dream team. Is Mauricio Pochettino managing the most talented group of U.S. players we've ever seen? And finally, with MLS viewership numbers under the microscope, the guys weigh in on how concerned the league should be moving forward.

The lads excuse Aaronson's performances because of his workrate Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Arsenal make the short trip to Tottenham and come away winners; the boys share their thoughts on an important NLD win for the Gunners. Plus, Forest pull off the most stunning result of the young season and Jhon Duran submits his name as an early Goal of the Season candidate against Everton. All that and some El Trafico, Messi and Aaronson as well!***BY THE WAY... Our new premium channel, Caught Offside Plus, is up and running! Just go to https://caughtoffside.supercast.com to sign up! Once you have access to the premium feed, check out our special "welcome episode" from June 24th (we don't think you'll be disappointed) and enjoy the additional Caught Offside content that's soon to be headed your way.And just a reminder: We've partnered up with Manscaped during the month of September! Get 20% OFF @manscaped + Free Shipping with promo code caughtoffside at MANSCAPED.com! #ad #manscapedpod---Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@caughtoffsidepod X: https://twitter.com/COsoccerpodInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/caughtoffsidepod/Email: CaughtOffsidePod@gmail.com Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

HOT TOPIC: La Liga bails Barcelona out of a serious predicament and allows them to register Dani Olmo... but something doesn't smell quite right PREMIER LEAGUE [7:45]: Noni Madueke cooks Wolverhampton on Friday and Wolves on Saturday, Arsenal exorcises some Villa demons, United exorcises zero Brighton demons and Mikey ruins Tottenham's game vs Newcastle (no matter the result) HALFTIME [41:30]: NWSL announces bold changes with new CBA with free agency for all and no-trade clauses... What If: MLS followed suit and eliminated the draft? ROUND THE WORLD [49:00]: MLS hit-it-n-quit-it minute, a brewing crisis involving US Open Cup and Concacaf Champions League and USMNT chatter f/t Aaronson, Pulisic, McKennie and Gio Reyna STOPPAGE TIME [1:00:30]: Ivan Toney's Best Bets and GOAWs

The Morning Footy crew take a look at the EFL which houses several notable American players including Josh Sargent, Haji Wright, Ethan Horvath, Brenden Aaronson, Daryl Dike, Auston Trusty, and Aiden Morris. The group zero in on and assess both Wright's and Sargent's form last season. The former with Coventry City and the latter with Norwich. Then the group debate when players stop progressing in EFL. And finally, a look at Brenden Aaronson's return to Leeds after a loan spell at Union Berlin and what his expectations are for this upcoming season as well as Aiden Morris and his move to Middlesbrough. Morning Footy is available for free on the Audacy app as well as Apple Podcasts, Spotify and wherever else you listen to podcasts.  Follow the Morning Footy podcast on Twitter: @CBSSportsGolazo, @susannahcollins, @nicocantor1, @NotAlexis, @CharlieDavies9 For more soccer coverage from CBS Sports, visit https://www.cbssports.com/soccer/ To hear more from the CBS Sports Podcast Network, visit https://www.cbssports.com/podcasts/ Watch UEFA Champions League, UEFA Europa League, UEFA Europa Conference League, Serie A, Coppa Italia, CONCACAF, NWSL, Scottish Premiership, Argentine Primera División by subscribing Paramount Plus: https://www.paramountplus.com/home/ To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Persuasion can have a huge impact on your sales.But how do you use persuasion without being sleazy or manipulative? Well, David Aaronson of Digital Inbound has the answer.As the owner of Digital Inbound, David is a Cialdini Institute Certified Coach, trainer, and practitioner, specializing in the field of marketing. Our focus is leveraging the Universal 7 Principles of Persuasion (PoP) to help get more prospects to say yes.In this episode, you'll learn:How the human brain works when it comes to making decisions7 principles to persuasion that you can use in marketing, sales, and everyday lifeHow to change your sales approach to be more persuasiveYou can find David at Digital Inbound and on LinkedIn.https://www.digitalinbound.com/influenceIf you liked this episode, please leave us a review on Apple Podcasts!

Glen and Jody's full show from Saturday 6/29

Trevor Aaronson - The Bizarre Story Behind The FBI Fake Documentary About The Bundy FamilyOct 22, 2023"RYAN BUNDY SEEMED uneasy as he settled into a white leather chair in a private suite at the Bellagio in Las Vegas. As the eldest son of Nevada rancher Cliven Bundy, who had become a national figure for his armed standoff with U.S. government agents in April 2014, Ryan had quite a story to tell.Eight months had passed since Cliven and hundreds of supporters, including heavily armed militia members, faced off against the federal government in a sandy wash under a highway overpass in the Mojave Desert. Now, here in the comforts of the Bellagio, six documentary filmmakers trained bright lights and high-definition cameras on Ryan. They wanted to ask about the standoff. Wearing a cowboy hat, Ryan fidgeted before the cameras. He had told this story before; that wasn't the reason for his nerves. After all, the Bundy confrontation made national news after armed agents with the Bureau of Land Management seized the Bundy family's cattle following a trespassing dispute and the accumulation of more than $1 million in unpaid grazing fees. But the Bundys, aided by their armed supporters, beat back the government, forcing agents to release the cattle and retreat."Trevor Aaronson is an American journalist. He is a contributing writer at The Intercept and author of The Terror Factory: Inside the FBI's Manufactured War on Terrorism. He was a 2020 ASU Future Security Fellow at New America and a 2015 TED Fellow.Aaronson is the creator and host of the documentary podcasts American ISIS, which tells the story of Russell Dennison, an American who joined the Islamic State as a fighter in Syria; and Chameleon: High Rollers, which investigates an FBI undercover operation in Las Vegas.In January 2023, Aaronson launched a podcast series called Alphabet Boys about "secret investigations of the FBI, CIA, DEA, ATF, and other alphabet agencies". The first season, "Trojan Hearse", focuses on the summer 2020 COINTELPRO-like infiltration of antifa / Black Lives Matter protesters and activists in Denver, Colorado, following the murder of George Floyd in Minnesota in May 2020. The second season, "Up in Arms," tells the story of a DEA narcoterrorism sting that targeted a former FBI informant who claimed to work for the CIA.Aaronson has won the Molly National Journalism Prize, the Data Journalism Award, and the John Jay College/Harry Frank Guggenheim Excellence in Criminal Justice Reporting Award.Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/the-opperman-report--1198501/support.

Trevor Aaronson - The Bizarre Story Behind The FBI Fake Documentary About The Bundy FamilyOct 22, 2023"RYAN BUNDY SEEMED uneasy as he settled into a white leather chair in a private suite at the Bellagio in Las Vegas. As the eldest son of Nevada rancher Cliven Bundy, who had become a national figure for his armed standoff with U.S. government agents in April 2014, Ryan had quite a story to tell.Eight months had passed since Cliven and hundreds of supporters, including heavily armed militia members, faced off against the federal government in a sandy wash under a highway overpass in the Mojave Desert. Now, here in the comforts of the Bellagio, six documentary filmmakers trained bright lights and high-definition cameras on Ryan. They wanted to ask about the standoff. Wearing a cowboy hat, Ryan fidgeted before the cameras. He had told this story before; that wasn't the reason for his nerves. After all, the Bundy confrontation made national news after armed agents with the Bureau of Land Management seized the Bundy family's cattle following a trespassing dispute and the accumulation of more than $1 million in unpaid grazing fees. But the Bundys, aided by their armed supporters, beat back the government, forcing agents to release the cattle and retreat."Trevor Aaronson is an American journalist. He is a contributing writer at The Intercept and author of The Terror Factory: Inside the FBI's Manufactured War on Terrorism. He was a 2020 ASU Future Security Fellow at New America and a 2015 TED Fellow.Aaronson is the creator and host of the documentary podcasts American ISIS, which tells the story of Russell Dennison, an American who joined the Islamic State as a fighter in Syria; and Chameleon: High Rollers, which investigates an FBI undercover operation in Las Vegas.In January 2023, Aaronson launched a podcast series called Alphabet Boys about "secret investigations of the FBI, CIA, DEA, ATF, and other alphabet agencies". The first season, "Trojan Hearse", focuses on the summer 2020 COINTELPRO-like infiltration of antifa / Black Lives Matter protesters and activists in Denver, Colorado, following the murder of George Floyd in Minnesota in May 2020. The second season, "Up in Arms," tells the story of a DEA narcoterrorism sting that targeted a former FBI informant who claimed to work for the CIA.Aaronson has won the Molly National Journalism Prize, the Data Journalism Award, and the John Jay College/Harry Frank Guggenheim Excellence in Criminal Justice Reporting Award.Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/the-opperman-report--1198501/support.

Can Brenden Aaronson make a success of his return to Leeds? Reaction to the American's homecoming plus the latest summer news.

On this week's episode, it's Taylor hosting with Joe and Graham doing most of the answering... and that leads to an awful lot of American-centric discussion! Questions answered include...1) What should be the next step in Brenden Aaronson's career?2) Which American should Wrexham sign for next season's League One campaign?3) Who would we want on our respective benches, if we were managers?4) Why is David De Gea still a free agent?5) How do we rate Malik Tillman's season at PSV, and what should be his next move?6) Has this season been successful for Ange Postecoglu and Spurs?Sponsors! Today's episode is brought to you by…Mack Weldon! Get 20% off your first order at mackweldon.com by using promo code “TSS”!Shopify! Head to shopify.com/tss for a free trial to help grow your business!JOIN THE TSS+ PATREON!Check out our Patreon, which houses bonus podcasts, access to our exclusive Discord, blog posts, videos, and much more.Become a member today at patreon.com/totalsoccershow! Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

On this week's episode, it's Taylor hosting with Joe and Graham doing most of the answering... and that leads to an awful lot of American-centric discussion! Questions answered include... 1) What should be the next step in Brenden Aaronson's career? 2) Which American should Wrexham sign for next season's League One campaign? 3) Who would we want on our respective benches, if we were managers? 4) Why is David De Gea still a free agent? 5) How do we rate Malik Tillman's season at PSV, and what should be his next move? 6) Has this season been successful for Ange Postecoglu and Spurs? Sponsors! Today's episode is brought to you by… Mack Weldon! Get 20% off your first order at mackweldon.com by using promo code “TSS”! Shopify! Head to shopify.com/tss for a free trial to help grow your business! JOIN THE TSS+ PATREON! Check out our Patreon, which houses bonus podcasts, access to our exclusive Discord, blog posts, videos, and much more. Become a member today at patreon.com/totalsoccershow! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Glen and Jody's Sunday show 5/5/24

Read the full transcript here. What exactly is quantum computing? How much should we worry about the possibility that quantum computing will break existing cryptography tools? When will a quantum computer with enough horsepower to crack RSA likely appear? On what kinds of tasks will quantum computers likely perform better than classical computers? How legitimate are companies that are currently selling quantum computing solutions? How can scientists help to fight misinformation and misunderstandings about quantum computing? To what extent should the state of the art be exaggerated with the aim of getting people excited about the possibilities the technology might afford and encouraging them to invest in research or begin a career in the field? Is now a good time to go into the field (especially compared to other similar options, like going into the booming AI field)?Scott Aaronson is Schlumberger Chair of Computer Science at the University of Texas at Austin and founding director of its Quantum Information Center, currently on leave at OpenAI to work on theoretical foundations of AI safety. He received his bachelor's from Cornell University and his PhD from UC Berkeley. Before coming to UT Austin, he spent nine years as a professor in Electrical Engineering and Computer Science at MIT. Aaronson's research in theoretical computer science has focused mainly on the capabilities and limits of quantum computers. His first book, Quantum Computing Since Democritus, was published in 2013 by Cambridge University Press. He received the National Science Foundation's Alan T. Waterman Award, the United States PECASE Award, the Tomassoni-Chisesi Prize in Physics, and the ACM Prize in Computing; and he is a Fellow of the ACM and the AAAS. Find out more about him at scottaaronson.blog. StaffSpencer Greenberg — Host / DirectorJosh Castle — ProducerRyan Kessler — Audio EngineerUri Bram — FactotumWeAmplify — TranscriptionistsAlexandria D. — Research and Special Projects AssistantMusicBroke for FreeJosh WoodwardLee RosevereQuiet Music for Tiny Robotswowamusiczapsplat.comAffiliatesClearer ThinkingGuidedTrackMind EasePositlyUpLift[Read more]

After scoring the winners for their club sides on the weekend, Brenden Aaronson and Haji Wright have been added to the USMNT roster. Jimmy Conrad, Charlie Davies and Jesse Marsch discuss what each player brings to the team, why Brandon Vazquez was overlooked, and what Leon Bailey's absence from Jamaica's squad means ahead of Thursday's CNL clash. Plus, does the U.S. men's Olympic team stand a chance against France's U23s? Which Americans impressed the most across the pond? And what does Liga MX's dominance in the CONCACAF Champions Cup say about MLS teams? USMNT roster news (06:10): Wright and Aaronson replace Sargent and LDLT; Is the door closed for Brandon Vazquez?  The Reggae Boyz (20:36): Who is Heimir Hallgrimsson?; Bailey cut from roster, Gray suspended for semifinal; Jamaica's other weapons. Olympic ready? (32:37): Marko Mitrović names roster for March friendlies; U.S. Soccer's youth development; expectations for France game. Americans Abroad (45:12): Pass the ball to Pulisic!; Haji Wright: the good and the bad. MLS vs. Liga MX (58:48): What can we learn from the Concacaf Champions Cup? Call It What You Want is available for free on the Audacy app as well as Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Google Podcasts, Stitcher and wherever else you listen to podcasts.  Follow the Call It What You Want team on X: @JimmyConrad, @CharlieDavies9, @jessemarsch For more soccer coverage from CBS Sports, visit https://www.cbssports.com/soccer/ To hear more from the CBS Sports Podcast Network, visit https://www.cbssports.com/podcasts/ You can also watch Call It What You Want on the CBS Sports Golazo Network for free on connected TVs and mobile devices through the CBS Sports app, Pluto TV, and on CBSSports.com as well as Paramount+. Watch UEFA Champions League, UEFA Europa League, UEFA Europa Conference League, Serie A, Coppa Italia, CONCACAF, Lamar Hunt U.S. Open Cup, NWSL, Scottish Premiership, Brasileiro, Argentine Primera División, AFC Champion League by subscribing to Paramount+ Sign up to the Golazo newsletter, your ultimate guide to the Beautiful Game as our experts take you beyond the pitch and around the globe with news that matters. To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Scott talks with journalist and author Trevor Aaronson about an article he published recently at The Intercept. The piece tells the story of Jason Fong, a young Chinese American who was targeted online by some undercover law enforcement officers and federal informants who attempted to persuade him to commit violent acts to further his beliefs. Aaronson lays out the details of Fong's story and argues that it is another example of federal law enforcement working to create and entrap violent extremists. He and Scott then talk about the FBI's long history of carrying out these schemes.  Discussed on the show: “Catfished by Cops: The Hamas Terrorist Who Wasn't” (The Intercept) The Terror Factory by Trevor Aaronson Trevor Aaronson is a contributing writer for The Intercept and executive director of the nonprofit Florida Center for Investigative Reporting. He is the author of The Terror Factory: Inside the FBI's Manufactured War on Terrorism. Find him on Twitter @trevoraaronson. This episode of the Scott Horton Show is sponsored by: Moon Does Artisan Coffee; Roberts and Robers Brokerage Incorporated; Tom Woods' Liberty Classroom; Libertas Bella; ExpandDesigns.com/Scott. Get Scott's interviews before anyone else! Subscribe to the Substack. Shop Libertarian Institute merch or donate to the show through Patreon, PayPal or Bitcoin: 1DZBZNJrxUhQhEzgDh7k8JXHXRjY Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

FROM "THE DUNGEON" TO THE USMNTRog sits down live in Nashville with USMNT and Union Berlin midfielder Brenden Aaronson to talk sibling rivalries, taking to the field in the Champions League and the differences between the Bundesliga and the Premier League.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

In 2016, Flaviu Georgescu was found guilty and sentenced of attempting to traffic weapons to the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, an insurgent group on the U.S. terror list. But when he was arrested by Drug Enforcement Administration agents, he told the officials he was working for the CIA. This week on Intercepted, Trevor Aaronson, contributing writer with The Intercept, joins host Murtaza Hussain to discuss Georgescu's case. In the second season of Aaronson's podcast, "Alphabet Boys," Aaronson tells the story of the DEA operation against Georgescu and how he was targeted by a paid DEA informant. Georgescu, however, had reported the attempted arms trafficking to the CIA and believed he was collecting intelligence for the agency. Aaronson and Hussain discuss their reporting on the case and how the U.S. government may be manufacturing the very crimes they claim to stop. The second season of "Alphabet Boys" is out now.If you'd like to support our work, go to theintercept.com/join — your donation, no matter what the amount, makes a real difference.And if you haven't already, please subscribe to the show so you can hear it every week. And please go and leave us a rating or a review — it helps people find the show. If you want to give us feedback, email us at Podcasts@theintercept.com. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.