Why shouldn’t the last miserable days of the last miserable month of a miserable summer end miserably? It’s actually kind of appropriate. Anyway, yes, this is how your August expires: with extreme heat. It’s gonna be plenty hot for the rest of the week as well. I guess the good news is that we just may have a hurricane to cool us down for the holiday weekend. Summer 2010, you really outdid yourself. Please make autumn come now.

In a surprise turn of events, I’m going to be both watching and live blogging the Emmys which I have almost no interest whatsoever! So get excited for the scintillating commentary to come! There may be guests! There may not be guests! Here goes nothing/something! (The most recent updates will be on top.)

11:00: It’s over! This was not completely awful! Your regular editors will be back in the morning!

10:57: Modern Family wins for best comedy! Remember when this show started nine hours ago and Modern family was winning all of those awards? They did it again! But more importantly, MANNY IS WEARING A RED DRESS SHIRT AND FEDORA. What’s not to like about this? Also, one of my friends, a girl, just told me, “That middle daughter looks like she gained some weight.” AND SO IT BEGINS.

10:51: Mad Men wins for best drama! Finally, shows people care about! Jon Hamm and January Jones shared a moment on stage. The people who hate January Jones seem to conversely very much enjoy Jon Hamm wearing a tux.

10:50: Tom Selleck was so good on the Marta Kaufman TV show FRIENDS as Monica’s on-again-off-again boyfriend Richard!

10:48: THE PEOPLE INVOVLED WITH THE TV MOVIE TEMPLE GRANDIN SEEM TO BE REALLY PROUD OF THEIR BOOBS BECAUSE THEY ARE ALL OVER THE PLACE. I CANNOT FOCUS ON THIS VERY SPECIAL AND SENTIMENTAL MOMENT BECAUSE THERE ARE WOMAN PARTS EVERYWHERE.

10:46: WHY IS THE MINISERIES SECTION OF THIS ALL SO LONG? DOES ANYONE REALLY CARE? Ooh, Tom Hanks is on TV! I really enjoyed That Thing You Do!

10:40: Al Pacino won something and is tan in a way that is normally a way that you associate with creepy old dudes. That plus the very teased hair is sort of jarring to see, considering the role that Al Pacino played in my more formative years as Don Corleone and Tony Montana. They seem to be less inclined to play him off than the people who put together Top Chef though.

10:26: Miniseries and TV movie awards are not interesting to me at all. You know what does interest me? The movie The Time Traveler’s Wife. I saw this movie today and it was absolutely insane. I can’t really recommend that anyone watch it, because it’s awful, but it’s also completely CRAZY. Oh, Claire Danes seems to have won something. Again, not interested.

10:17: I really like that Jewel song that has to do with the smiley face eggs. That one really holds up.

10:07: You know who else all girls seem to hate (along with Lea Michelle — see below at 8:46)? January Jones. Oh man, in the last year and a half (the tipping point being the Piven incident it seems like) all girls have turned on January Jones, like, hard. It’s insane how angry they all are at her for being “overrated,” or “not talented” (can we be real, she’s very, very good on Mad Men playing a weird ass character in Betty Draper), or the best: “not even all that pretty.” JUST FYI, TEAM JONES Y’ALL.

10:05: Whoa, there was a TV movie/miniseries about Georgia O’Keefe? How not at all interesting to me!

10:02: JEAN LUC PICARD IS IN THE BUILDING FOLKS.

9:56: Is anyone else nervous that Boardwalk Empire is going to suck, because I am REEEEEEEALLY worried about that.

9:53: The Daily Show wins for something varietal and comedy related. As it turns out, their writing staff comes off as very obnoxious when given an opportunity to celebrate themselves on national television!

9:48: BUCKY GUNTS WINS!!! AND HAS A FAMILY MEMBER NAMED BJ.

9:33: Kyra Sedgwick wins for The Closer on TNT (TNT knows drama). It’s a little early in the show to say this, but I think, “Tina would you mind holding my Emmy?” be the quote of the evening that most sums up the entire Emmy awards show!

9:28: Takeaway from The Emmys: I should be selling Avon and realizing that I can probably sell better than I can, and also, I need to eat more turkey because I can potentially lose up to 400 pounds.

9:23: Can we give it up to Jimmy Fallon for how quickly he’s changing costumes? This guy is killing it! (As far as wardrobe changes go.)

9:13: Brian Cranston wins for best lead actor in Breaking Bad. Insert some sort of Friday Night Lights or Malcolm In The Middle joke here.

9:11: Archie Panjabi wins for best lead actress in The Good Wife. I wonder if she’s named after the comic book character Archie? Often times immigrant parents allow their children to choose their own American names and they’re often based on pop icons, I could see that being the case here!

9:04: Aaron Paul wins for best supporting actor in Breaking Bad! While Roger Sterling and Locke and Ben were all very good, Aaron Paul is also very good (I’ve heard) and seems very genuinely excited to have won!

9:02: Matthew Wiener and Erin Levy win for best writing on Mad Men! Did anyone else see Sal cheering in the section of Mad Men cast members who aren’t the famous ones? He looked great!

8:56: I find it hard to believe that the New Orleans Saints do not have a more famous celebrity fan other than Harry Connick Jr. Fun fact, I think he or his wife was once on FRIENDS? Maybe the episode where Chandler’s stuck in the vestibule?

8:52: Top Chef wins for best reality show! The Emmy TV show and I are friendly again. I enjoy Top Chef a lot! Except for this season which seems like it’s too much reality and punnery, too many twists that have less to do with food preparation, but more about drama and pea puree. Also, doesn’t Padma look EXTRA tan?

8:46: You know who hates Lea Michelle? Almost every girl ever. Apparently they’ve all heard she’s a heinous bitch! Seriously, don’t ever tell a girl you think Lea Michelle looks attractive, because they will quickly tell you that they’ve heard that Lea Michelle is such a bitch and totally believe it based on how she looks! Edie Falco just won for a show that was not the Sopranos or 30 Rock. I’m not quite sure how that just happened, Tina Fey also seems confused!

8:38: Jim Parsons from a TV show called the Big Bang Theory has just won for best lead actor in a comedy! One of the people I’m watching this with says that the Big Bang Theory is actually a good TV show? Does anyone else have thoughts on this? I’ve never heard this to be the case.

8:35: Neil Patrick Harris and Betty White won Emmys! As did Ryan Murphy who directed the pilot of the TV show Glee! What a nice jacket Ryan Murphy is wearing — apparently it’s Tom Ford! Tom Ford once told someone I knew that he should never button more than 3 buttons when wearing a dress shirt. Isn’t that so Tom Ford? Also, doesn’t Ryan Murphy look like the guy who worked at Central Perk and had a crush on Rachel?

8:32: Hey, it’s Chnandler Bong on TV! Remember how good that joke was when originally executed on the TV show FRIENDS? I hope that you enjoyed it as much there as you did in 1998!

8:26: Jane Lynch wins for supporting actress in a comedy! I agree with this Emmy winner again! I think that Jane Lynch is the funniest person on the TV show Glee! She also seems really nice right? The Emmys are great! Will they also be fans of sandwiches and the new Kanye West song ‘Monster’? Is this show just an articulation of my interests and opinions?

8:22: Steve Levitan and Christopher Lloyd win for best writing on Modern Family! Wow, they should call this the Modern Family show! But that would probably realistically become very confusing for people looking for it on their DVRs and TV listings. Sidebar: How do you think the other Christopher Lloyd feels about his show with Pamela Anderson on Fox called Stacked quickly becoming the more diminutive, recent. Christopher Lloyd television project?

8:13: Eric Stonestreet wins for best actor in a supporting comedy! Huzzah! This show is great and deserves to win Emmys, in my opinion (I am not on the Emmy award designating committee but maybe I should be as our opinions seem to align!). His speech was heartfelt and the other red headed guy who plays a gay man on Modern Family also seemed to be crying too! This whole Emmys thing is a little more nice and emotionally compelling than I originally believed it to be!

8:11: Going back to the Hamm/White well already Emmys?

8:08: Remember when Jimmy Fallon had weird messy hair and that was like his thing? It was such a thing, him always having messy hair and what not!

8:02: WILL BETTY WHITE CAMEOS EVER STOP BEING FUNNY? Yes! They will! Two minutes ago in fact!

7:55 pm: Apparently a lot of women are wearing navy today. Kelly Osborne does not like people wearing navy in such heavy fabric. It’s amazing that these are facts that are shared on television as though they are noteworthy in any way, shape, or form!

“I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh: it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God’s feet, equal-as we are!” -Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

Some years back, my daughter wanted to attend a mommy-and-me girls’ reading group with her best friend, and I said okay, fine. It emerged that this was a “women of color” mommy-and-me girls’ reading group. I’m kind of honorary “of color,” because I am Cuban, though loads of my milk-white relations were born in Spain. I’ve often thought how bizarre the whole Hispanic thing is, because if you want a white European oppressor and/or pack of genocidal thugs who went around wreaking havoc on indigenous populations, well, Spain will give anybody a run for his money there, and yet we use “Hispanic” as a blanket term for the multi-colored descendants of both oppressors and oppressed. In any case, I rarely hesitate to lay claim to whatever demographic option will create the least fuss, because the whole thing seems so arbitrary anyway, and what I really wish is that everyone was treated fairly and there were no boxes left to tick.

This best friend’s mama had been a great mate of mine since way back in our Lamaze days. Diana is a terrific force of nature, a lawyer of great toughness and moral fiber, or really more like, moral rebar; part African-American, part Native American and part Klingon, we used to say. The two of us had been Lamaze renegades who’d had no truck with the whole la-la-la-the-life-within-me thing of “expecting” (ridiculous word). We laughed openly at the hard-sell tactics used to promote this idea that we must endure an “unmedicated” childbirth and must never ever listen to any doctors or we’d be betraying our Babies, our Nation and Women. We spent half the class joking about how soon we could demand oodles of morphine when The Time Came, etc.

“Hey, I am just trying to avoid a natural death experience, ha ha!” we’d say. “Wake me when the hairdresser arrives!”

Anyway, my daughter and I went along to the mommy-and-me women-of-color book group. It was fun, these lovely women and their daughters, this beautiful house. We all gabbed and had snacks for a while. Later on, I was asked to recommend a book for the girls to read, for next time, and I instantly suggested The Phantom Tollbooth.

THEM (uncomfortable)
“Uh, is that written by a woman of color?”

ME (oblivious)
“Oh God, no.”

THEM
“Is the hero a minority?”

ME (a light dawns)
“No, no, oh no. Um. A boy, Milo, and a talking dog.”
(while wildly thinking how talking dogs constitute very small underclass)

THEM
“Is the writer a minority?”

ME
“No, no! A white guy! This total white guy. I think from New York, or something?”

THEM (patronizing as hell)
“Well, we want the girls to be able to identify with the characters…”

ME (bristling)
“Listen, I have been identifying with Milo since I was eight years old myself. Are you trying to teach these girls that they can’t identify with Milo?”

Of all the dumb things to get into a tussle about. But I found I couldn’t quite wriggle out of it, because it really did drive me wild that these girls weren’t going to be encouraged to read The Phantom Tollbooth. My daughter was embarrassed to see me getting into an actual disagreement with these nice Moms. It might have gotten really awkward but for Diana, who managed with her usual raised eyebrow or two to smooth everything out.

Even so, we never went back, and I often recall the frustration I felt that afternoon.

I cannot help but think that it is flat wrong to teach anyone that he or she should not read, or love, or identify with, any book he or she pleases. Indeed, to my own way of thinking, that’s the whole point of literature. David Foster Wallace had a lovely thing to say in this regard, about Cynthia Ozick.

Here’s what’s cool is that this is this hyper-educated, very seriously Jewish person writing about a culture and ethnicity that I know very slightly, and mostly only from books, and whom I-number one, the prose is just completely luminous, but number two, I find myself feeling stuff for these folks that I sure don’t feel for most of the people who look just like me in regular life.

Literature’s a democratizing force. Its power makes so much of the world accessible to anyone who can read, equally, without regard to anything about “who we are” or where we came from or any of that. If you want to participate in the world of letters, all that matters is your ability to make yourself intelligible, when you write, and to apprehend what is being said, when you read.

It doesn’t matter whether an author is a Great White Author, or a minority author, or anything like that. As a reader, I don’t care if you are a woman of color, a white man or a Lhasa Apso. I only care whether or not your book is any good.

Maria Bustillos is the author of Dorkismo: The Macho of the Dork and

Act Like a Gentleman, Think Like a Woman.

“And you know who a lot of America hates as much as they hate Muslims? New Yorkers.”

Oh my God, psyched! As if they read the Awl and know what a crappy August we’ve all been having, the folks at NASA are holding a contest where the public can choose “wake-up music” for the astronauts who man the penultimate space shuttle voyage, mission STS-133, scheduled to launch November 1st. Go to the NASA website, where you can listen to 40 songs that have been piped in to start astronauts’ days on past missions (and you get to hear the radio communication back and forth with ground control, too) and vote for your favorites. I voted for Elton John’s “Rocket Man,” because… What do you mean because? I would have maybe chosen Bowie’s “Space Oddity,” but that one isn’t available (understandable, when you think about how it ends). You can follow the tally, too. Here are the current vote leaders.

“Star Trek” theme, Alexander Courage: 309,597
“Magic Carpet Ride,” Steppenwolf: 251,110
“Countdown,” Rush: 201,871

That’s so awesome that the “Star Trek” theme and Rush are up there! The astronauts’ fate is in the hands Trekkers or pimply-faced thirteen-year-old-boys (and, ahem, the responsible adults they grow into). The astronauts must be like, “Oh, man, please don’t let those Rush geeks win!” Actually, most astronauts are probably Rush geeks themselves, so… And, man, if Steppenwolf gets piped up there, that’s gonna be one groovy, smoked-out cabin. They should send up a bong shaped like a booster rocket! Other good choices are Stevie Wonder’s “Higher Ground” and Thomas Dolby’s “She Blinded Me With Science” (God bless them!), but I’m pulling for “Rocket Man.” Strangely, Gil Scott-Heron’s “Whitey On the Moon,” is not among the selections.

There’s also another contest, to choose music for the final space shuttle mission, STS-134, scheduled to launch on February 26, 2011. In this one, you can submit your own original music, and NASA will select top entries that the public can vote for. So, Dre, get those demos in by January 10.

To North Carolina, where the past is never dead but sometimes the people are: “A man was hit by a train and killed while looking for a legendary ghost train that is said to haunt the Bostian Bridge, near Buffalo Shoals Road in Iredell County. A group of about 12 amateur ghost hunters were on the train trestle at about 2:45 a.m. Friday, according to the Iredell County Sheriff’s Office. They were there in hopes of seeing a ghost train that crashed on the Bostian Bridge on Aug. 27, 1891. Legend has it that the ghost train returns to haunt the tracks on the anniversary of the crash, which killed 30 people and injured many others.” [Via]

by T. J. Clarke

The bar is over. Law school is over. Everyone else is off on their post-bar vacations: Bali, Greece, Miami, Kentucky. I click through some photo albums on Facebook: happy faces and landmarks. Ryan Murphy didn’t do much better with Eat Pray Love. The destination matters less than being some place else before the unemployment depression kicks in. I am hanging out at Andrew’s. Midtown Manhattan is exotic enough.

Stranded is the better word. I had rented my apartment to a French couple for the week and half I was in California for the bar. Two days before my return flight, Guillaume, the male half of the couple, called to ask if they could stay for an extra week. “We adore New York too much,” he cooed. “Sure,” I said. I told him he should pay for my inconvenience, an extra hundred dollars on top of the additional week’s rent. Guillaume agreed readily.

The stay-cation has its perks. I speak the local language, know the good cheap eats and hotspots. I never went to Time Square when I lived in Brooklyn, but now the lights and shows and grime others travel thousands of miles to see are mere blocks away from my perch atop Andrew’s big leather sofa. I don’t need maps or guidebooks. I know that Junior’s has awesome mouse-dropping cheesecake and the Disney Store has the best princess Halloween costumes. Where I am the tourists come to me.

“What you don’t want to believe is that I like you,” Nan had said.

I was standing in the handicapped-person bathroom stall at San Francisco International Airport when I heard her words. It has been a week and I am still hearing them, every syllable intact. Words punctuated by flushing toilets. “I like you,” she had said. “You don’t want to believe,” she had said. “What.” “Is.” “That.” Flush.

Andrew is good company. He leaves for work at nine-thirty and usually doesn’t get back until eight or nine at night. His first words to me every night are “have you found a job yet?” When I answer, “no,” he pours me a glass of vodka and hands me a box with food-a half sandwich or pizza or stir-fried noodles. Then he pours himself a vodka and a glass of diet Sprite. I spend the next two hours watching him play Final Fantasy or Halo.

During the slow parts he asks me questions.

“So why did you go to law school?” he says, maneuvering the soldiers in the game to jump over ravines and shoot at alien combatants. Blue orbs of light and energy expand to fill the screen. There are failures and mistakes and resurrections, but never death.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Because I got accepted.”

“Why did you take the California bar?” he says, orchestrating an attack on some very large salamanders.

“Can’t we talk about something else?” I say. “The vodka is giving me a headache.”

“Have some Sprite,” he says. Then he gets into the fighting and surviving and forgets about me.

Eventually I lose interest in the flashing lights and explosions on TV. There are only catalogues on the coffee table: Jensen-Lewis, West Elm, Crate & Barrel.

I should have asked Guillaume for two hundred dollars.

Then last night, before shutting off the television, Andrew turned to me. “You’re depressing,” he said.

I was just about to finish my vodka, my sofa-bed all ready and I was in my pajamas, as I had been for most of the day. “Why is that?”

“Just do something,” Andrew said. He was drunk but still coherent. He spilled Sprite on the floor as he brought the used glasses back to the kitchen. I worried that he will break a glass and cut his finger and I won’t be able to convince him to put on a band-aid. It would have been an opportunity to be a useful houseguest.

Nothing like that happened. Andrew turned on the dishwasher but changed his mind and turned it off again.

“Go on a trip or look for jobs or go out to get drunk. Sleep here, but get off the couch,” he said.

“Good night,” I said.

T. J. Clarke is the pen name of a struggling writer. She lives in Brooklyn.

It’s come to my attention that you’ve not been taught to make beef stock. I suppose if someone hadn’t been so busy finding innovative ways to tag blog posts with “doody” and googling images of women in sports bras, you’d not have this egregious hole in your education, but alas. No website can be perfect-although, now it is.

If you want to know how to make traditional, French Culinary Institute-style beef stock here are a few recipes to check out. But honestly? None of you are really gonna make FCI-style beef stock, are you? Me neither. Which is swell for all of us because I’ve got a totally-unorthodox-but-great-for-people-who-have-lives method to share! (I mean you have lives. This is the highlight of my week. Regarding making traditional beef stock: I’m just lazy.)

To start, you’ll need some bones. Bones! The bones can come from anywhere, really. OH MY GOD NO! THEY CANNOT COME FROM YOUR NEIGHBOR’S DOG, NO! Cow bones! We’re talking about cattle bones here. So, let’s say that you maybe made a fucking steak for yourself after a particularly hard Tuesday at the race track? (When are we going to talk about your gambling problem? The kids don’t have shoes.) Save the t-bone and make stock of it!

But also if you ever go for a nice steak dinner I don’t think there’s any shame in asking for the bones to go. Look, you don’t know that waiter, don’t even worry about what he thinks of you for it. He’s already judged you for your wine order, let’s be honest here. After a birthday dinner at Peter Luger’s once, I asked the waiter to doggy bag the bones for me. While wearing a fanciful paper crown on my head. Have no shame.

If your bones are on the small side you can stash them in the freezer until you’ve built up enough of a reserve-maybe 2 or 3 small bones?-to actually get some flavor out of the deal. Or heck, just make a teeny tiny batch! You can probably get 4ish cups of stock out of a weenie t-bone. (I want you to know it is taking all my strength not to make an erection joke here.)

Okay! We’ve got bones! Let’s put them in a large-ish pot. One that has room for 12-ish cups of water. (Yes, ish: just breathe into it.) Along with the bones, you’ll want to add a few aromatics, which is a fusty, cooking-person term for things that smell. Seriously, cooking people? Are so totally full of it. And the ones who aren’t wear Hawaiian shirts, so basically you shouldn’t listen to any of them at all.

Aromatics, in this case, refer first to vegetables. One of the cool things about stock-making is that it’s sort of like the compost pile of the cooking world: You can basically throw in whatever veggies you have lying around the house, even the ends of things that you would normally toss in the garbage. Well wait, not “whatever”-I mean, let’s not be using broccoli to make our stock. I mean the flavorful root-type items: Carrots, celery, onion. You know, rootie things. Oh and old garlic! I almost always have a sprouting halfbulb of garlic lounging indolently in my crisper drawer, and nothing makes me happier than making that little fucker work for it during the last hours of his life. There’ll be no tranquil trashheap for you!

Now then, if you don’t have any of this stuff in the house don’t fret. I don’t want you fretting!

While you’re concentrating on not fretting and breathing into your ish-es, scamper out to the closest market and grab one big onion. You have my permission to skip the carrot and celery, as long as you promise to use an onion. And the sprouting garlic, but you’re going to do that anyway because now you’re imagining hurling your own set of insults at it. Quarter the onion and put it in the pot. Drop in a few whole-peeled, please!-garlic cloves. I dunno, three? Five? If you’re using carrots and celery (one, two, three-ish each?) give them a rough chop and toss them in. They should be fairly large sized pieces since you’re gonna boil the tar out of them and you’re not looking to make carrot and celery soup. 1–3 inches should do it. (Heh.)

There’s one last (solid) thing that needs to go into the pot: peppercorns. Whole peppercorns. Of any variety, but may I ask that you lie to me and tell me you’ve used what’s popularly known as a “peppermill blend”? Because peppermill blends have pink & green peppercorns, and pink & green peppercorns thrill my little soul.

Over this whole mess, and my God will it ever look like a mess, you’re going to pour your water. Somewhere between 8 and 12 cups will be good. Turn the burner on high and bring the whole rank collection of castoff foodstuffs to a boil. This will take quite a while! Like, a half hour-ish (mm hmm). Once it’s boiled, reduce the heat to low, let the boil reduce for a minute or two and then cover the pot. Set your kitchen timer or cell phone alarm or ask the crow who sits on your sundial to caw at you in one hour.

When the hour is up, assess your day: Do you have another half hour to lie about your house reading the Internet? Super! Leave it on the heat for 30 more minutes. Do you have important drinking to do? WELL WHY HAVEN’T YOU INVITED ME? Turn off the heat and go on about your day. But not for too long, okay, because after two or so hours you’ll want to get that pot into the refrigerator.

And this is where my trick comes in: The actual cook time on this stock is 2 hours, max. And since the prep time is virtually nil, you can toss this together and let it go about it’s business during Sunday coffee-in-bed-while-moaning time and still be gussied and out of the house for brunch. The important thing is to put the entire thing-the bones and those pretentious aromatics and the sloth-like garlic and my beloved preppy peppercorns-in the fridge overnight.

Basically you’re steeping the stock and I swear if you ever tell anyone with an ounce of cooking cred I told you to do this I will hunt you down and filet you with my pink chef’s knife.

When you’re ready to transfer your stock (your homemade stock! Take a moment to beam with pride!) to smaller containers for freezing, pull out the pot and prepare yourself for some major fun, because now is the time on Sprockets when we skim! You’re gonna be psyched about this part because it provides almost the same thrill as picking at a scab without any of the pick-your-nose-and-eat-it connotations. Skimming refers to the removal of the layer of congealed fat, which you should immediately hurl it into the rubbish bin, because, eww. A slotted metal spoon works best for this, but beef fat is hardy enough that you’ll be able to lift it using the side of a knife if that’s all you’ve got. Pro tip: The top layer of fat will crack into large glaciers if you sort of tap on it.

Underneath that fat you’re going to find the saddest looking collection of bones and cloves and stalks. You need to strain that stuff out. I like to place a splatter guard over the top of the pot and pour the liquid out into a large bowl, but you can use a traditional colander placed over a bowl.

Whatever works for you, my friend. I mean, who am I to question a person who makes their own stock?!

And welcome to our secret special club.

Jolie Kerr would love to provide you with content while paying you for it.

“I asked if they would mind writing a termination letter, instead of a resignation letter, because I do have a mortgage to pay, and I do have a daughter who’s just started college. And I, frankly, will need the unemployment insurance benefits until I find another job. … And they said fine. They said sure.”
-Former New Jersey Education Commissioner Bret Schundler explains why he requested to be fired rather than resign from his position in order to take advantage of our permissive society’s social safety net. Schundler-a one time rising star in the conservative wing of the Republican party-was dismissed “as a result of errors and misrepresentations… in a matter costing the state $400 million in federal ‘Race to the Top’ money.”

“A recent SEC filing has revealed that LG is expecting to put both a 9.7-inch color e-paper display and a 19-inch flexible e-paper display into mass production by the end of the year.” JUST HOLD ON, NEWSPAPERS!