Icarus

Icarus' father, Daedalus, a talented craftsman, attempted to escape from his exile in Crete, where he and his son were imprisoned at the hands of King Minos, the king for whom he had built the Labyrinth to imprison the Minotaur. Daedalus, the master craftsman, was exiled because he gave Minos' Daughter, Ariadne, a clew of string in order to help Theseus survive the Labyrinth.

Daedalus fashioned a pair of wings of wax and feathers for himself and his son. Before they took off from the island, Daedalus warned his son not to fly too close to the sun, nor too close to the lake. Overcome by the giddiness that flying lent him, Icarus soared through the sky curiously, but in the process he came too close to the sun, which burned his wings. Icarus kept flapping his wings but soon realized that he had no feathers left and that he was only flapping his bare arms. And so, Icarus fell into the sea in the area which bears his name, the Icarian Sea near Icaria, an island southwest of Samos.

Hellenistic writers who provided philosophical underpinnings to the myth also preferred more realistic variants, in which the escape from Crete was actually by boat, provided by Pasiphaë, for which Daedalus invented the first sails, to outstrip Minos' pursuing galleys, and that Icarus fell overboard en route to Sicily and drowned. Heracles erected a tomb for him.

2008 Madcap Masquerade Ball Fashion Show

2008 Madcap Masquerade Photos
Here and Here

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Madcap Masquerade benefits Pittsburgh Parks
Conservancy
Saturday, November 01, 2008
Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

Forget ghoulish Halloween parties. The Pittsburgh Parks Conservancy's Madcap Masquerade had a breathtaking new setting this year that was anything but dark and spooky. A giant clear tent was erected in Schenley Plaza, the jewel the conservancy carved from a parking lot. The newly restored fountain and the Festival of Lights projection on the Cathedral of Learning created a colorful backdrop for the fabulous bash inside. Imaginative costumes, wonderful fall fare by Bob Sendall's All in Good Taste, Bo Wagner's Tribute to Sinatra and the Latin sounds of Americas Latin Orchestra combined for a rollicking good time. Throw in the University of Pittsburgh's drum line and a Carousel Couture fashion show and no wonder the 485 guests stayed late!

Sponsoring UPMC Health Plan CEO Diane Holder served as honorary chair for the gala produced by Nancy Byrnes Events. Tori Mistick produced the related fashion show. The benefit raised $220,000.

Correction/Clarification: (Published Nov. 4, 2008) Nancy Byrnes of Nancy Byrnes Events produced the Pittsburgh Parks Conservancy Madcap Masquerade benefit on Oct. 25, 2008. Tori Mistick produced the fashion show that was part of the event. Ms. Mistick was credited in this report as originally published Nov. 1, 2008 with producing the entire event.

Neg. OOC Result

The Singapore Grand Prix - The Big Picture - Boston.com

The Singapore Grand Prix - The Big Picture - Boston.com

"Formula One Racing held its 800th race on Sunday in Singapore,with the Singapore Grand Prix - also the first Formula One race held at night. Organizers built, then lined a 5 kilometer track with over 1,600 lamps, said to be four times brighter than those used at football stadiums. Twenty drivers drove 61 laps for a total of 309 kilometers at speeds sometimes approaching 300 kilometers per hour - in a country that once banned the sport, in part for promoting reckless driving. Driver Fernando Alonso of Renault won the race with a time of 1:57:16.304. (25 photos total)"

(Spanish driver Fernando Alonso of Renault reacts after his car developed problems during the qualifying session at the Singapore Grand Prix on September 27, 2008. (BAY ISMOYO/AFP/Getty Images)

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Bobcat Housing Market

Quote of the Week:

"They are great neighbors, and as long as they don't want to baby-sit my kids, it's not a problem." - Scott Brown


A family of feline squatters has moved into a foreclosed home in Lake Elsinore. Residents of the Tuscany Hills development first noticed the bobcats about a week ago.

By David Kelly, Los Angeles Times Staff Writer
September 5, 2008

With real estate values plummeting and foreclosed homes sitting empty, a family of bobcats apparently decided the time was right to pounce.

So last week, they slipped out of the parched foothills of Lake Elsinore and into a spacious, vacant home in well-groomed Tuscany Hills.

Residents of the development got their first look Aug. 27 when the feline squatters -- at least two adults and three kittens -- lolled atop a wall outside the Spanish-style house.

Someone called 911, reporting mountain lions. Four police cruisers showed up and officers ordered everyone inside. But soon they were out snapping photos along with the neighbors.

Bobcats are not known to attack humans, said Monique Middleton of Animal Friends of the Valley, which provides animal-control services.

"But are they pussycats? No. Can they do a lot of damage? Yes," she said. "They usually look for a food and water source, and there is an old koi pond in the backyard and that's where they are headed."

She said she expected the animals to move on in a few weeks, when the kittens are old enough to travel.

Tuscany Hills has been hit hard by foreclosures, and the house on Vista Palermo has been empty at least six months, neighbors said.

Said Scott Brown, who with his wife, Karen, moved here from Long Beach to be close to nature: "They are great neighbors, and as long as they don't want to baby-sit my kids, it's not a problem."

david.kelly@latimes.com
http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-bobcats5-2008sep05,0,2286826.story

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My Dad

My Dad was named Joseph John Papp, and he was born on October 21, 1937. He died on May 24, 1989 - the day before my 14th birthday. He'd been sick for some time before he finally succumbed to liver cancer, but even knowing months in advance that his condition was terminal didn't prepare me for what life would be like after his death. The utter desolation that washed over me in the days after his funeral mass and burial were like nothing I'd ever experienced.

I'll never forget sitting on the side of my bed, with my dad next to me, bawling my eyes out about how I didn't want him to go; this was a few weeks before he died. He was a very strict disciplinarian, having been raised Irish Catholic in Cleveland, and the oldest of three brother and one sister. Up until that point in my life, Dad was much more of an authority figure and provider than a friend, as our relationship simply hadn't matured to that stage yet. I loved him, just like my mom and brother both loved him, but he was still the guy who you didn't want to get punished by so better not to be bad, or at least not get caught being bad.

But on that day, father and son sitting side-by-side in a child's bedroom and struggling to understand the reality of death and its impending effect on our family, we shared a moment of admiration and sorrow and love that I'll never be able to properly describe to anyone, because it was something so personal.

Dad's dying devastated me and the sense of loss was more than profound. That day in my bedroom, he'd implored me to take care of my mother and watch out for my kid brother, but after he was gone I couldn't even watch out for myself.

I'd always had a fascination with bicycles, even though I had no idea that there was an entire sport built around racing them. It was my dad's death that opened a door for me into the world of cycling - in the weeks following Dad's passing, my Uncle Jimmy, Dad's younger brother by two years, bought me a black 12-speed Schwinn World Sport from Baker's, a shop in our town of Bethel Park, Pennsylvania.

While I truly liked cycling, I pursued it so vigorously for two other reasons: it was a faster means to get away from the sadness and emptiness that Death had brought me, and I found several surrogate fathers through the sport who - perhaps unbeknown to them - helped me to experience some of what it must have been like to grow into young adulthood with a dad.

Alas, even the strongest cyclist on the best bike - even one who dopes - can't outpace Death forever...even if the chase takes place across continents.

When I left Italy in 2006, it was with the hope that I could quickly replace the support and sustenance I'd sought from cycling with something healthier and more stable: my own family. And by that I mean a wife, who I knew loved me very much, and eventually children. Unfortunately, as has been chronicled here and throughout the media, the high-stakes gambit that Yuliet and I made failed miserably at the hands of Fidel Castro, leader of one of the most evil totalitarian regimes to ever hold power in the modern era.

To say that didn't go according to plan would be an understatement, and it further catelyzed the reaction that culminated on the 31st of August this year, when my Uncle Jim died. Despite almost always keeping my head down and pushing the big ring, Death finally ran me down and delivered his package.

Sitting in St. Francis de Sales Church on September 6th, with the few remaining members of my immediate family needing only a couple of pews to accommodate us all, I listened as Rev. John Vrana presided over James S. Papp's funeral mass. While the day was horrible enough with Uncle Jim's being gone, it was during mass that Death caught me, and ended a chase that had started a little more than 19 years and three months prior.

One of the scriptures read during the liturgy was Lamentations 3:17-26:

"My soul is deprived of peace, I have forgotten what happiness is; I
tell myself my future is lost, all that I hoped for from the Lord. The
thought of my homeless poverty is wormwood and gall;
remembering it over and over leaves my soul downcast within me.
But I will call this to mind, as my reason to have hope: the favors of
the Lord are not exhausted, his mercies are not spent; they are
renewed each morning, so great is his faithfulness. My portion is the
Lord, says my soul; therefore will I hope in him. Good is the Lord
to one who waits for him, to the soul that seeks him; it is good to
hope in silence for the saving help of the Lord."

I'm admittedly a wayward Catholic, but at that moment, the last lines of defense that I'd established to "protect" myself from the grief of my father's passing were broken. Death recognized his moment, which came when Rev. Vrana spoke the names of those family members who'd died before my Uncle Jim - including, of course, Joseph Papp. Suddenly I was a boy of 14 again.

I'm so sorry for not taking better care of my mother, for not being as supportive a brother as I might have been otherwise and for generally growing apart from my family as I raced around the world on a bike. But I now understand and can acknowledge that my own father's death nearly two decades ago haunted me, and influenced so many of those decisions that I made both consciously and subconsciously.

If I could have just one last chance to speak with Dad, I would tell him how much I miss him and love him, and how sorry I am for not having been a better man since he died.