With influences like Burning Airlines and Tom Petty, HNMTF’s songs would certainly be at home on local college stations, or classic road-trip mixes that you listen to with your windows down when you need to remember what it’s like to be young and free of obligations. Their beats are infectious and addicting, and the fullness of three vocalists infuses each song with a richness you wouldn’t expect from so few band members.

            Joe, Jeff, and Duncan, the three young Durhamites who make up HNMTF, have been in cohort since the ripe old age of five, with Duncan joining the mix at thirteen. Having played in a series of bands together, they decided to try things for real after graduating from college. Since then their progress has been slow and steady, tortoise style, resulting in an EP, released in 2007, and a full-length album, Looking for Bruce, in 2009, as well as hundreds of gigs, and even a tour in the UK. “It’s really great to have international support like that,” guitarist Joe Hall told encore about HNMTF’s recent overseas tour, “they were all so welcoming, we had a great time.”

            Having such an extensive history together definitely helps the guys when it comes to writing music. “We all write the music together. One of us starts off with a beat or a few chords, and we just build on it until we come up with something,” Hall said. “it’s gotten to the point now where we pretty much know exactly where to go with a song. We tweak it until we like it, Duncan adds the lyrics, and we play it until we know whether or not it’ll really work for us.” And it does work. The song “Nobody Knows” is so enlivening it almost makes you want to burst out of your skin. “Radiation” is another winner, catchy and fun with some seriously heartfelt lyrics. “Duncan wrote “Radiation” after reading a story about a girl who rode her motorbike through the Chernobyl site. That’s how he usually works; he’ll read something interesting and just set it to music in his head I guess.”

            As with any other up and coming band, HNMTF still has trouble getting exposure. “I’d say our biggest challenge is just getting out there, booking shows, getting the attention we want,” Hall told encore, “writing and performing, that’s the easy part. It’s the promoting that’s tough, the business side. Forward motion is an every day goal.”

Hall said that goals are one of the many commonalities the guys have that bring them together. “We have the same frame of mind, we want the same things. We spend a lot of time together, so the tension is definitely a factor, but all in all we’re great friends. It just so happens that we’re in business together.” And for HNMTF, business is good. “Of course we love to perform, but we also really enjoy recording. The pressure is a lot different when money is on the line, but we go in there as prepared as we can be and just get it done” Hall said.

This three-man ensemble is recording its next album next week in Baltimore, and is hoping for a release date sometime this fall. “No promises,” Hall added, “the business is so unpredictable, but that’s what we’re hoping for.

Now, where in the heck did the name Hammer No More the Fingers come from? “Duncan’s grandfather brought back this nail hammering guide thing from China. The instructions were in broken English, and said ‘hammer no more the fingers.’ We’d been working on a band name for a few weeks, so when Duncan brought up the story, it just stuck,” Hall said, “It’s quirky, unique. So I think it fits us pretty well.”

This quirky band will be playing this Friday, March 5^th, at The Soapbox at 10pm. Tickets are $5 at the door, doors open at 9pm.

            “It all comes from a place of sincerity,” Stuart McLamb, the mastermind behind The Love Language, told encore when asked where his soul comes from, “the emotion and passion that goes into such tough times just carries through into my songwriting and recording.” This passion and emotion translates not only into tortured grievances about the past, but mostly into the kinds of “if love be rough with you, be rough with love” rally tunes, the relatable kinds of anthems you’d expect from someone regaining his footing and giving the finger to the past.

            Having bitterly ended a relationship in Raleigh, McLamb found himself back in Chapel Hill living at home and working crappy jobs just to afford gas. His musical past—a few projects in earlier days, namely, a Skynard-inspired southern rock band back in middle school—motivated him to turn his anguish into lyrical form, recording his 9-track album on his own on hand-me-down equipment. Once the record was finished and McLamb decided to perform his songs live, he formed a band of friends to play the instrumentals as he sang his heart out and rocked the electric guitar on stage.

            “It was pretty terrifying at first,” McLamb said about performing such personal songs, “but now—the album’s been out almost three years now—the songs are less personal and more universal. Those wounds have healed, and I have a much different connection with [the songs] now.” After three years of salting old wounds, the first album’s stories have evolved into something different, something that McLamb, his bandmates, and his audience can all live through, even though McLamb was the one who experienced all the heartbreak firsthand.

            “It’s never been a collective thing. It’s always been my songs performed the way I wrote them, and the band understands that,” McLamb confessed. “The former The Love Language band is actually no more. It was hard to incorporate seven people into recording a new record of my songs, so we parted ways.” The first band had a friendly breakup, reforming into two separate entities. The Love Language has formed a new band to perform the songs from McLamb’s upcoming album, “Libraries,” expected for release mid-summer.

Libraries, like McLamb’s first album, “isn’t collaborative. I had some help on a couple of tracks with instrument parts I couldn’t play myself, but I wrote it all, just like the last album,” McLamb explains. That being the case, I’d expect the same energetic beats, perhaps with a fuller sound, and a new arsenal of stories to tell. “It’s really an actualization of all the sounds from the last album that I tried to achieve,” McLamb said. “The album has the same 60’s pop, Beach Boys, full spectrum feel. Only this time it’s bigger.”

McLamb is ready to perform a new repertoire, as the first album is several years old and beginning to wear on him. “There’ always something really transcendental about performing, especially when you’re enjoying the music as much as your audience,” McLamb explained, “I’m just ready for some new songs to play. It’s time.” He expects the record to be released in mid-July, with a tour to follow shortly after.

 McLamb looks forward to performing the new tracks from “Libraries,” but not until the record passes the “car test.” “You know, music just sounds its best in the car,” McLamb mused, “so as soon as the new tracks pass the car test for me, they’ll be ready to go.” So as soon as Libraries hits the shelves, let’s grab a copy and some Cheetos and take a ride around the Port City with our windows down and the music blaring. If our feet start tapping and our faces start smiling, I guess it passes the test!

            For centuries chocolate has been celebrated as everything from a natural fatigue-fighter to a supposed aphrodisiac. More recently, research has found that moderate amounts of chocolate may help lower blood pressure, as well as boosting serotonin levels in the brain, making for a generally healthier, happier sweet-eater. This weekend we Wilmingtonians can celebrate chocolate for yet another reason: it’s friggin’ delicious! That’s right folks; the 8^th Annual Wilmington Chocolate Festival is back in town and ready to put stars in your eyes and inches on your waist.

            The truffles, fudge, cupcakes and candy are just a fraction of the allure of this event. (Ok, a big fraction, maybe like 7/8ths.) The festival also promises on-stage cooking and baking demonstrations by local contributors, raffles with fun prizes like gift certificates and free hotel stays, and even complimentary wine tastings! So swing on by, eat yourself silly, buy some wine, drink it on site if you want, we won’t judge!

            This year’s Chocolate Festival is strategically scheduled just a few days before the big day. That’s right, Valentine’s Day, or as some call it, Singles Awareness Day. Whichever holiday happens to be more relevant this year, this event can provide some convenient (and secretly awesome) benefits. For those celebrating the Hallmark-style red roses and pink cupids day, the Wilmington Chocolate Festival presents a prime opportunity for some undercover investigating. Here’s the scenario: I invite my significant other to the festival under the guise that I want to “spend some quality time” with him. I watch his every move, picking up on subtle clues like contented sighs and extended blinks that may indicate his thorough enjoyment of a particular chocolate. Then, when he least suspects it, bam! I stealthily purchase a staggering quantity of this treat of choice. Ta-da! The perfect V-day present. How easy was that? Throw in a six-pack of the festival’s artisan beers for a man, a bottle of one of the promoted wines for a lady, or even a hat or apron at the Boutique, sheer perfection.

            Single? No prob. The Chocolate Festival presents the optimal non-threatening environment in which to meet fellow singles. For best results, I’d travel alone instead of in a pack. Nothing is scarier than a gaggle of sugar-crazed females with chocolate smeared on their cheeks and desperation in their eyes. Instead, I’d walk slowly, spend time at each display, ask questions, and savor the handcrafted morsels instead of swallowing them whole. And I’d try to remember to check my teeth for raspberry seeds before smiling at the cute pastry chef behind the next exhibit. For those who find comfort in the social scene, the Cape Fear Singles have gathered a group of unattached individuals to attend the event. Check out their website (meetup.com/cape-fear-singles) for bios and carpool information.

             The Chocolate Festival is a great event for families with children as well. Along with the chocolate tastings, an assortment of activities is available in “Candy Land” to keep younger children occupied while parents continue to chocolate themselves into diabetic shock. To fend off chocolate-induced hyperactivity in the very young, savory, non-chocolaty lunch items will be available in “The Lunch Box Café” for reasonable prices. Kids 6 and under even get in free!

Concerned about what kind of dietary damage a day of eating chocolates and sampling wines will do? True, many chocolate varieties—namely, milk and white—contain staggering amounts of calories and sugar. However, darker chocolate boasts unmatched amounts of antioxidants that clear the body of the toxic crap found in other foods (like last night’s pizza-and-hot-wing dinner). Pair dark chocolate and red wine—also known for its heart-healthy antioxidants—and we can have us an antioxidant throw down! Still concerned? Many of the exhibitors have chocolate dipped fruits, such as cherries, strawberries, and oranges which are just teeming with vitamins and other healthy stuff. I can’t think of anything healthier—or more delicious—than a white chocolate-dipped raspberry and a glass of pinot noir!

For those who would like to attend the event for charitable instead of gastronomic purposes, the Chocolate Festival does just as much good for the Wilmington community as it does for its taste buds. As the New Hanover County Senior Resource Center’s primary fundraising event, this festival of yumminess raises over $30,000 annually to support programs such as Meals on Wheels and Emergency Utility Assistance. Sponsors such as Lawler Catering and 101.3FM WWQQ have generously donated their resources to support the event. The Carolina Candy Co., Bannerman Vineyards, and Homemade Gourmet are just a few of the exhibitors that will be providing chocolaty and alcohol-y goodies for sampling.

In addition to the Chocolate Showcase on Saturday and Sunday, an Opening Gala will be held Friday evening from 7-10 with live entertainment by “The Use To Be’s” and a live auction of vacation packages and local art and jewelry. Heavy hors d’oeuvres will be provided by Lawler Catering, as well as local wines by the glass and artisan beers. Tickets are $30 at the door, $25 in advance.

The Chocolate Show will be Saturday, Feb. 6 from 11-6 and Sunday, Feb. 7 11-4. Tickets are $10 at the door, $8 in advance. Advance tickets are available at the Senior Center and at area Harris-Teeter stores. Both events will be held at the Senior Center, 2222 S. College Rd. Additional parking is available at Hoggard High School, with a free trolley to and from the main entrances.

Remember, loyal encore readers, everything is best in moderation, except chocolate. So gorge away! And don’t forget the insulin!

            That 1 Guy began as so many other musicians do, a student of his jazz-musician father in Southern California, and, later, a student of bass at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music. A regular music nerd, he formed a band at 15 and played area weddings and bar mitzvahs until the limitations of band life and playing the bass drove him to set out on his own. “The logistics of touring with five other people just became too much, it stopped making sense. So I decided to free myself, take an opportunity to do what I wanted without having to consult five other people. It was really liberating,” Silverman says. His efforts have landed him three albums and several ambitious tours, performing over 200 gigs a year.

In addition to giving up bandmates, he gave up the bass, too, for good. He started experimenting with sound and with different instruments, going as far as to consult a guitar-maker about the type of instrument he would need to produce the music he had in his head. “I knew the job I wanted it to perform, so the function really dictated the form of the instrument,” Silverman says about his inventive process. “I guess you could say [the creative process] was kind of the opposite of songwriting. I knew what I wanted it to be, the end, it was just coming up with it that was a challenge. In songwriting, you just start with an idea, a word or whatever, and just go with it and see where it takes you.” Typically, the word he starts with in his songwriting is something unorthodox, something one wouldn’t expect to hear in a song. For instance, the song “Packs a Wallop” uses the rhythm of the children’s game “duck, duck, goose” as its back beat. “I like music that makes me laugh,” he says.

His songwriting isn’t the only aspect of his music that has benefitted from his independence as a one-man-band. Because he doesn’t have bandmates to consult about set lists, his performances are largely improv. “I typically let the crowd’s energy dictate my gigs. I like to have a lot of audience participation, call-and-response type thing. I feed a lot off their energy, so the shows are never the same,” Silverman says. Add a few card tricks into the mix, along with some ad-libbed lyrics, and you’ve got yourself one exceptional show. “I broke the string on the Magic Pipe once. It was the most obvious and absurd thing that could go wrong, but I didn’t have a spare. So I just laughed, did a few more card tricks, and had to postpone the gig,” he laughs. “I felt really stupid, and the crowd didn’t find it nearly as funny as I did. I always travel with several spare strings now.”

While That 1 Guy thrives off his live shows, recording albums proves less than agreeable for this self-proclaimed “musical weirdo.” “It’s just really…painful. Recording is very serious business, whereas performing is just fun for me. When I perform in front of a crowd, it’s all just in the moment stuff, but in the studio there is so much more pressure. I don’t like the serious stuff,” Silverman says. However uncomfortable he may be in the studio, his agony pays off. His album sales are impressive, and his shows are often standing room only. He performed in an Australian music festival in front of 50,000 fans, most of whom knew every bizarre word to his songs. “They really seem to like me over there. I got to be on TV and everything,” Silverman says of his success in Australia.

Despite his success overseas, That 1 Guy often has trouble convincing Americans that different doesn’t necessarily mean bad. While his tour boasts over 200 show dates, he still struggles getting his foot in the door at venues he’s yet to perform at. When asked about the challenges of doing things differently, Silverman responded that it’s just as much of an asset as it is a hindrance. While some may have trouble appreciating his unorthodox approach to musicianship, he’s created quite a reputation for himself, especially at festivals. “I’ve played in festivals all over the country, and I’m excited to play the ones I’ve been invited to this year.”

As we were wrapping up our interview, I mentioned Silverman’s untraditional reputation, and asked him how he felt about it. “Well I didn’t set out to be a weirdo,” he says, “but I don’t really mind it. I’ve found a niche for the kind of music I want to play, and that’s hard to come by in this industry. So if my niche is the weirdo niche, I guess that’s where I’ll stay. As long as I get to keep doing my own thing.” Play on, soldier! And don’t forget the strings!

            This classical/bluegrass quintet is comprised of Chris Thile on the mandolin, who released his first of five solo albums at age 13, and is best known for his involvement with the bluegrass band Nickel Creek. Gabe Witcher, a life-long friend of Thile’s, is a coveted violinist, having worked on award-wining soundtracks for movies like Brokeback Mountain and Toy Story. Noam Pikelny is the band’s sought-after banjoist, whose solo album In the Maze made a significant mark upon the world of three-finger style five-string banjo playing. Chris Eldridge studied guitar at the Oberlin Conservatory, and was a founding member of The Infamous Stringdusters, a critically acclaimed bluegrass band.  Paul Kowert, the Punch Brothers’ bassist and most recent addition, joined the band in 2008 after having studied classical bass with renowned bassist Edgar Meyer. Punch Brothers, named after Mark Twain’s short story Punch, Brothers, Punch!  is celebrated for its high-energy, diverse arrangements of bluegrass instrumentals as well as jazz-like improvisation and flow. Their mesmerizing performances have earned the band a Grammy nomination for Best Instrumental Performance for their first album, How to Grow a Woman from the Ground.

            Although the band wasn’t officially formed until 2006, the boys have an extensive web of relationships tying them all together, inevitably moving them to perform and record together. “I think it’s safe to say we all admired each other, enjoyed playing together, and were waiting for the chance to actually do something serious as a group,” Punch Brothers guitarist Chris Eldridge explains in a recent interview. Such a breakthrough came with mandolinist Chris Thile’s separation from his wife in 2005, which elicited a waterfall of creative energy, energy that eventually evolved into a long-form, through-composed piece that is now known as The Blind Leaving the Blind, a forty-minute, four-movement bluegrass piece that recounts a man’s emotional turmoil through the ramblings of a group of friends at a bar. Originally Thile’s ambition, the song was written in part by each of the band members, leaving room for creative freedom within the performance so that it is new each time it’s played. “I still discover new surprises within The Blind Leaving the Blind after having played it for over 4 years now,” Eldridge says. He also explains that, although the song is lengthy and technically difficult, he was never intimidated by it. “Having grown up with an aural tradition and approach to music-making, it was a fundamentally different kind of project than I had ever embarked upon.  But once we started actually learning it and getting it to a place where we could play it, it became rewarding on a different level because it is such a rich and beautiful piece of music.”

            Bluegrass music, as clichéd as it may have become in some circles, is one of the most flavorful ingredients in the American musical stew. Its multifaceted and quick-paced melodies stir up undeniable emotions in listeners, whether pleasant or not, and Punch Brothers’ repertoire is no different. Eldridge explains why the combination of instruments–banjo, fiddle, guitar, bass, mandolin–works so well together, and how the Punch Brothers use them to produce their signature hypnotic sound. “There is a long tradition of these instruments fitting together in a musically complementary way.  Since we all grew up playing bluegrass, we all have an intuitive understanding of how that fit can work.  However, as we’ve gotten older and broadened our tastes and scope, we’ve tried to understand the inner workings of how other genres of music can work; it turns out all good music is basically the same.  It all has strong melody, harmony and rhythm. So if we come up with parts that pass the test of being rhythmically, harmonically, and melodically sound then we will work with those parts to make them compelling and strong.”

            Punch Brothers will be performing tomorrow evening (Thurs. 2/18) at 8pm in the Kenan Auditorium as part of the UNCW Arts in Action Performance Series. The performance is part of the last leg of Punch Brothers’ most recent album tour for the album Punch. The Blind Leaving the Blind can be heard on this album, as well as the energetic “Nothing, Then,” and the more classical “It’ll Happen.” Tickets for the performance are $20 to the public, $16 for senior citizens and UNCW employees, $8 for non-UNCW students, and $6 for UNCW students. Tickets are available at the Kenan Box Office (910-962-3500), or online at www.uncw.edu/presents.

155 Amaryllis Drive

Wilmington, North Carolina 28411

sarahkboggs@gmail.com

865.363.6430

EDUCATION

Maryville College, Maryville, Tennessee

Bachelor of Arts, May 2009

Major: Writing/Communication; GPA: 3.207

Dean’s Scholarship; Dean’s List Fall ’05 and Spring ‘06

Thesis: The Effects of Gender on the Travel Writing Process: A discussion of gender’s influence on writing in general, and on the travel narrative genre in particular.

EXPERIENCE

Encore Magazine: Wilmington, NC, January 2010-Present

Intern

• Published several news stories
• Assembled content for weekly event newsletter
• Learned proficiency in InDesign, FileMaker
• Edited content for print
• Transferred content from print form to website
• Advanced  interview skills
• Created network of contacts

Highland Echo: Maryville College, August 2006-May 2009

Assistant/Graphics Editor; Staff Writer

• Published several news stories
• Supervised staff writers
• Developed interview skills
• Improved editing process
• Designed and produced layout and graphics for publication
• Organized and implemented delivery programs
• Trained new staff members and editors

Writing Center: Maryville College, August 2006-May 2007

Tutor

• Helped improve students’ writing processes
• Edited students’ work and provided constructive criticism
• Tutored non-native English speakers in correct grammar and diction
• Provided assistance with content, grammar, and presentation of student writings

RELEVANT COURSEWORK

Business and Technical Writing          Public Relations Writing

Advanced Rhetoric and Grammar     Journalism

Creative Writing: Nonfiction                Publications

Compositions 110 and 120                    Creative Writing: Fiction

COMPUTER SKILLS

Microsoft Word                Photoshop              Quark

Microsoft PowerPoint    Microsoft Office    Excel

InDesign                              Microsoft Publisher FileMaker 

References and portfolio are available upon request.

            …for the entirety of our Spring Break, feel lucky. That’s right. I know, you wanted to go, you didn’t have enough money and no one else committed and everything else fell through, so now you’re stuck at home for nine days. Well you don’t have to be “stuck.” Take this opportunity to do some spring cleaning. Not the proverbial spring cleaning of your house or your room or your closet, but a spring cleaning of the mind, the body, and the soul.

            You might be wondering what there is to do if you’re not getting hammered and sunburned on a beach with 50,000 other people who are just as cool as you. Well, that all depends on what you would like to accomplish over this week-long blessing.

            First and foremost, leave your books here. Unless you absolutely MUST read over those chemistry notes or do some research for a comp paper, don’t take anything school-related home. This is a break, take advantage of it. Now, you feel better already, don’t you?

            What you’ll do next depends upon several factors: how much time you have to spare, how much energy you want to exert, and of course the amount of available funds.

            If you’re dead-set on getting the hell out of wherever home is for you, then do it. Pack up your car with some good music and snack food and a friend or a sibling, or even a dog, and go somewhere you’ve always been meaning to see. If you’re from around here, the Calloway Gardens outside of Atlanta are blooming this time of year, and Savannah, Georgia and Charleston, South Carolina are always bustling with cheap concerts and great shopping. Also, Asheville, North Carolina has some great restaurants, and the Hot Springs mineral baths are just a few minutes outside the city. Or go stay with a relative who you haven’t visited in a while. Grandma may tell the same stories over and over, but she sure can cook. Take her out to a movie or for an exciting game of putt-putt. If you find someone you know to stay with, this little excursion will only cost you gas and spending money.

            If you can’t afford the gas money (who can, anyway?), I recommend still getting outside the house as much as humanly possible. Sitting inside does nothing but bore you and fill your sinuses with dust. Get outside, go walk your dog, or your neighbor’s dog, or go to the animal shelter and adopt a dog to walk. If you don’t really want it, take it back. Kidding, that’s terrible. Take a hike in the Smokies or some other nearby paradise. Or just go lie out on a blanket and read a book. Sunlight beats the hell out of artificial light any day. If you stay at home, you know mom will be bugging you to help her out in the garden. So do it. Breathing in fresh air while working out your muscles and feeling the sun on your skin will make you feel refreshed and accomplished, not to mention there might be a little cash in it for you.

            If the outdoors is not your scene, take this week off and spend some time on yourself. Schedule a different appointment every other day, like a manicure and a pedicure and a haircut and a deep-tissue massage, to refresh your body and your outlook on life. True, this luxurious living can be a bit costly, but you’re worth it, right? (Isn’t that what those ads keep trying to convince us?) For the more frugal, try a new paint color on your toenails or an exfoliating sugar scrub. These will give you just as much enjoyment for about 1/200^th of the price.

            Another suggestion, and my personal favorite, is to use this week to get some of those creative thoughts out of your head and into reality. If you have the whole nine days to spare and more energy than you know what to do with, take everything out of your bedroom, pick a bright or soothing color of the reject-paint shelf (these are the colors that were wrongly-mixed, and are usually dirt cheap), and start slapping it on your walls. When you’re finished, you will have the satisfaction of having adopted an otherwise unwanted color and giving it a happy home, and will have worn your shoulders and back out to the point that you will get some fantastic sleep every night for the rest of the week. If you lack that sort of energy, take on a smaller project, like rearranging your furniture or the posters on your walls. I recommend looking up Feng Shui techniques, which will ultimately give you a comfortable, functional, Buddha-friendly space that you won’t mind wasting your Spring Break in. If you’re looking to create, go to garage sales and find a beat up dresser of coffee table and make it your own by painting or staining it and adding funky knobs. Your room may be packed with furniture now, but you will be moving out eventually (hopefully) and needing some furniture of your own.

            One last suggestion that will clear your mind and prepare you for a reduced-stress second semester: get all that old unfinished business taken care of. File your taxes. Clean out your junk drawer. Purge your iTunes. Start looking at grad schools and get your parents incredibly drunk over a game of International Rummy to tell them you plan on moving 3,000 miles away after graduation. Make a budget, balance your checkbook, write letters to those old friends and distant relatives who you’ve been meaning to talk to for months. I strongly suggest this last one, as this kind of communication is not only sincere, but fulfilling as well. Get an address book and find your grandparents’ and cousins’ and best friends’ addresses and keep some stationery and stamps handy, write long overdue thank-you letters and simple “I miss you”s or “how ya been?”s. You’ll feel like “the good grandkid” for once.

            Hopefully these few suggestions have given you some sort of idea of what to do with such a lengthy time away from Pearson’s food and the Kamikaze squirrels here on campus. If there is something you want to do, just do it. Simple as that. You’ll feel like you’ve accomplished something and will come back to campus ready for the rest of the semester. Without the sunburn and the hangover.

            The vaccine Gardasil, produced by Merck, is a breakthrough in cancer prevention, expected to successfully prevent a large percentage of cervical cancer cases. Cervical cancer, unlike most other cancers, is caused by a virus called HPV, or human papilloma virus. The vaccine works to eliminate the four most common strands of this virus which are responsible for 70 percent of cervical cancers worldwide. Cydna Savage, Maryville College’s Director of Student Health Services said the vaccine is a “promising medical advance” in preventing disease.

            HPV is the most common sexually transmitted virus, affecting over 50 percent of sexually active adults. HPV often goes undetected and is commonly eradicated by the immune system before ever becoming problematic. The Center for Disease Control and Prevention estimates that by age 50, at least 80 percent of women will have been infected with HPV. Health officials say that although the body naturally eliminates 90 percent of HPV cases on its own, 10,000 women are diagnosed each year with cervical cancer.

            The impact of the vaccine is expected to be tremendous, given that cervical cancer is the second most common cause for cancer death in women. According to the American Cancer Society, it is responsible for killing about 240,000 women globally each year. In trial, the vaccine was successful at preventing 100 percent of the four most common strands, and is expected, in practice, to prevent up to 70 percent of all cervical cancer cases.

            The three-shot series of vaccinations will cost an estimate $360 total, but is expected to be covered by most health insurance companies.

            According to an article from CNN (http://www.cnn.com), since the vaccine only prevents infection of the virus and does not treat existing cases, it should ideally be given before girls become sexually active.

            Although the vaccine is the first cancer prevention treatment of its kind, it is being met with stern opposition. The state of Michigan is attempting to pass legislation requiring girls who are entering middle school to be vaccinated before they are allowed into school. Critics have expressed concern that this kind of requirement will “infringe on parents’ rights and send the message that underage sex is OK” (CNN). Critics also argue that the vaccines that have been required for school attendance in the past have all been for diseases that are communicable by touch, not sexually transmitted.

            Others adamantly argue that any kind of disease prevention is a positive development and should be presented as such. Michigan’s Republican state Senator Beverly Hammerstrom said, “we believe we can save the lives of these girls.” The Family Research Council also agrees and welcomes the vaccine. Last October, the FRC said in a statement that it will, “seek to ensure that there is full disclosure to the public of what these vaccines can and cannot achieve, their efficacy, and their risks (including side effects) and benefits. We believe that adults must be provided with sufficient information to make an informed, free choice whether to vaccinate either themselves or their children for HPV.” Savage commented “I believe anything we can do to prevent disease should be done as soon as it becomes available.”

The Languedoc-Roussillon region is a small, mostly rural area in the South of France that is known for its countryside views and its relaxed, summer-home atmosphere. With a population of just over 2 million, this particular Provencal region is one of the most desirable residential locations in the country, with considerable expatriate appeal. Although Roussillon-Languedoc is centered in the rural countryside of Provence, it effectively manages to be one of the more modern and idyllic areas in southern France, with larger cities such as Nimes and Montpellier to satisfy those who prefer a more modern, urban lifestyle.

Getting There

There are several airports in the Languedoc, both international and local. The Carcassonne, Nimes-Arles-Camargues, Montpellier, Beziers and Perpignan airports are all international, with frequent flights to popular locations such as London, Dublin, and Frankfurt (http://languedoc.angloinfo.com/information/4/airports.asp). The French train system is also easily accessible, with stations in hundreds of cities in France and abroad. The TGV, or high-speed train system, is best for long trips, but tickets must be purchased in advance (http://www.raileurope.com).

Expats

Although the Roussillon-Languedoc area has fewer expatriates than larger French cities such as Paris, an abundance of resources and support systems exist to smooth the transition from transplanted outsider to recognized denizen. Websites such as http://www.frenchentree.com and http://www.the-languedoc-page.com offer convenient resources such as comprehensive school system information, useful demographical data and even lists of local contacts, including English-speakers. The Transitions Abroad program (http://www.transitionsabroad.com) also offers a wealth of information, including advice about finding work, meeting other expatriates, and general “dos and don’ts” about living in France in general, and the Languedoc-Roussillon area in particular.

Schools

The nearest International Schools to the Languedoc-Roussillon area are each 150 miles or more away, making for a difficult commute. However, there is an accredited bilingual school in Aix-en-Provence, only 25 miles from Arles. The International Bilingual School of Provence instructs its students in both French and English, offering an effective way of teaching children French while embracing their English background. Fees start at 7100 Euro per year, with full- and part-time boarding available for additional fees (http://www.ibsofprovence.com/).

Getting Around

Three main highways serve the Languedoc area, connecting the larger cities and running in between the smaller, more rural villages. Traffic increases in the summer months, as this region is a popular holiday location. Since the area consists of smaller cities divided by expanses of countryside, having a car is the most convenient means of travel. However, for those living within Perpignan and Montpellier, there are bus systems that run on a departmental basis, connecting the city to surrounding villages and towns. Traffic reports and bus schedules are readily available.

Settling In

While the French lifestyle is typically portrayed as significantly different than that of America, the real discrepancies are small. For instance, supermarkets are few in number, and high in prices. Most French natives, especially those in less congested villages, rely on their weekly market for their grocery, furniture, and sundry needs. Also, air-conditioning is used with much less fervor than in America, so prepare to adjust to warmer temperatures in the summer, both indoors and out. 

Property

Most expatriates lean toward rentals during their first few months in the area, with furnished homes and apartments being a popular yet inexpensive choice. For instance, a 2-bedroom, 2-bath home with an ocean view can be rented for 500 Euro per month (near Nabonne), and a fully furnished home 2-bedroom home with a pool can be rented for only 800 Euro per month (near Arles). In smaller towns such as Herault, single-story villas with 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms can be purchased for around 220,000 Euro, while homes of comparable size in Montpellier are priced around 400,000 Euro.

            Damn him and that game.

            I glanced at the clock next to the bed, trying to be as motionless as possible. 10:31. I was supposed to be at work at 11.

Maybe I just didn’t hear him try to wake me. I know I asked him to wake me.

I didn’t remember an alarm even going off. I’m usually good about getting up when I need to, especially for work.  I had only had one beer the night before, and I didn’t even sleep that hard. I tossed and turned most of the night because of a weird dream about chasing in circles after something that I couldn’t hold onto.

“I’m being attacked. Dude, they’re trying to kill me, come get my back.”

            Maybe he forgot how long it takes me to get ready and to drive to work. I can’t believe he wasted his money on that game.

            Before the game it was an eight hundred-dollar mountain bike the he used about once a month to get to class when he was running late. Last month is was a thousand-dollar camera that he used all of twice. I was kind of hopeful about that one.

            I leaned up slowly, making sure not to be seen. He was sitting in his underwear at his desk, both laptops open—he’s using his office computer to play now?—with his headset on, staring wildly from screen to screen. His shoulders were hunched over like he was trying to fit in some space too small for his broad body. Books and papers and sticky notes were pushed to the side to make room for his extra computer.

He should really work on his posture. And why isn’t he wearing his glasses?

I rubbed my eyes, still swollen and stinging from the night before.

10:36. Damnit.

I pictured my boss checking his watch, his oversized eyeglasses slipping down his nose. “She’s late. I’m going to have to put this in her file.” I felt a singe of nerves in the pit of my stomach. It was a familiar feeling; I’d been coping with it for months now. There was always a dull burning sensation somewhere between my throat and my ribcage, and if I ignored it long enough I could barely feel it. But if something upset me, it was like I’d eaten an entire jar of jalapenos, and I was going to either breathe fire or puke.

10:44.

            I repositioned myself, hoping to make enough noise that he would notice me moving and remember that he was supposed to wake me. I rolled over once, waited a few minutes, then squinted one eye to see what he was doing. I half expected him to be staring lovingly at me, too entranced by the way the sunlight had settled on my skin to disturb me. Then he would smile that crooked grin, and come run his fingers through my hair like he used to.

            “I’m moving to the next level, I think I got everything I could here. Wait, it was the wrong door. I’m stuck again. Where are you?”

            Maybe I should just get up.

But I didn’t. I rolled back over onto my back and looked around. His tiny apartment was cluttered and disorganized. Every corner was filled practically to the ceiling with soccer cleats, cycling shorts, and other equipment from tossed and forgotten hobbies. An oil portrait from high school hung on his wall, and assorted photographs and sketches from who knows how long ago dotted the walls in mismatched frames. He would have been a promising artist if he had just held onto it for a little longer.

            I noticed the photo of us I had had framed for him was missing from its usual spot above the dresser.

            10:52.

            I rolled over again, this time making sure to let out a little sigh and push my left leg out from under the covers and into his view. He used to tell me that I could be one of those models in the razor commercials. Then all I would have to do would be prance around in heels and lather up my legs with baby oil to look shiny for the cameras and I’d make enough cash for us both. He loved my legs. That would get his attention.

            “Something just shot me. Get it off me! Fuck, I died.”

            11:06. Shit.

            I imagined him sauntering over, crawling under the quilt with me, and running his fingers along my skin until I slowly came to consciousness. Then he would look me admiringly in the eyes, kiss me tenderly, and tell me how beautiful I was when I slept. We would hold each other for a few sweet minutes while the sun streamed through the windows onto his ruffled hair and golden skin. Then he would cook me breakfast while I was showering and see me off to work.

Nothing like that had happened between the two of us in months. If ever.

“I’m back. No I can’t help you, I don’t want to die again. Dude, I don’t care, I don’t have that many lives left and I have more stuff to do.”

Jackass.

I turned my head to the left and smelled the stale cigarettes from the night before still clinging to my hair. The familiar feeling of acidy burning in my throat returned as I remembered.

We had driven his car to our usual bar to meet up with some of his friends. Upon arriving, we went our separate ways without a word; he to the bar, and I to the table by the window to meet the other wives and girlfriends. After a few hours of me sipping a beer and watching him buy rounds of shots, I said goodbye to the girls, none of whom seemed to miss me once I was out of earshot, and walked over to his barstool. He was gesturing to one of his friends, apparently telling some dramatic story, swaying a little as he spoke.

“And then he hovereded over me and, like, buzzed me with a laser er sumthin,” he was saying, swatting at an invisible fly.

“D’you die?” his friend asked, unimpressed.

“No dude! I shot that fucker and got that shiny thing I was lookin’ for.” A look of triumph crossed his glazed eyes. His friend looked skeptical.

“Babe, it’s getting late. I have to work in the morning. You ready?” I laid a hand on his shoulder and massaged the muscles on his neck, working my thumb into his tense shoulder. He shot me a menacing glance, and shooed my hand away.

“One more drink.”

“I’m calling a cab, it’s late.”

“A cab? Why?”

“Because I can’t drive a manual, and you’re too drunk to drive anything. I’ll drop you off before work in the morning to pick up…”

“I’m not going anywheres with you.”

I walked to the door and dialed Sunset Taxi.

Shortly after, the cab arrived and I went back into the bar to gather him up. He was holding his head up with one hand, and toasting a shot with the other.

“Come on, love. Let’s go home.”

Ignoring me, he raised his glass and sputtered some incoherent series of words, apparently toasting something.

“Let’s go. Cab’s waiting.”

“I’mm mnot leafing. I ‘avent ‘ad enough—hic—yet.”

“Well, that makes one of us.”

I pulled him off his stool, dodged the spilled liquor, and dragged him, swinging and stumbling, to the car. He hiccupped and moaned the entire ride, bracing his heavy head oh his wrists, cursing me under his breath.

I paid the cabby, put his arm around my shoulder, and led him up the six flights of stairs to his apartment.

“You ‘mbarrasseded me. Don’t you ever do that ‘gin.”

“Who embarrassed who, dear?” I asked, eyebrows raised.

“You’re a bitch.”

I cleared my throat and shook back my hair. “Drink some water. I’m going to bed.”

Once in bed, I felt the jalapenos burning in my throat again. I swallowed hard and tried to ignore his words. And then, in spite of myself, I burst into tears. I instantly became one of those whiney women who run crying to their girlfriends as soon as their boyfriend insults them in a drunken fit. I hated those women, I couldn’t act like one of them.  Besides, I had no girlfriends to run crying to. I cried harder. Trying to muffle the sound and avoid an inevitably uncomfortable conversation, I buried my head in his feather pillow and sobbed, convulsing.

A few minutes later, he fell into bed and jerked back his pillow, pulling the blankets away from me. I sniffed and rolled over to hide my teary face from view, turning my muffled cries into silent sobs.

“Would you sh—hic—shuddup already? You’re shakin’ the damn bed.”

11:13.

I felt a stinging in my eyes, and blinked hard. On the floor beside the bed I could see, alongside his dirty clothes and a pair of worn out Reeboks, the scrapbook I had made him for his twenty-third birthday three years ago. Its edges were weathered and torn from lying on the floor so long. I imagined myself tucked into a corner between his snow skis and yoga mat, forgotten.

11:17.

I took a deep breath and sighed. Reluctantly, I pulled back the quilt, swung my legs out of bed, and stood up on the scratchy carpet. I walked past his desk, drawing not a glance of attention, and started gathering up my things. Clothes, books, the movie I let him borrow. Toiletries, shoes, a phone charger. I brushed my teeth, changed into my uniform, pulled my hair out of my eyes, and set my shoulders. I was ready.

“Yeah I’m already done. I can’t help you”

I stood behind him, waiting.

“I’m moving on, you’ll find someone else if you look.”

I shifted around to his side, bag in one hand, keys in the other.

Just SAY something.

“Yeah, dude, I’m leaving this place. I’m through here.”

Slowly, but decidedly, I filtered through my keys until I found the one to his apartment. It was bigger than the rest, and had a green rubber cover I had bought to distinguish it from the rest. I held it tight for a moment, remembering the day he’d given it to me and the way it had made me feel. I didn’t feel anything now. I started to unwind it. I circled it and spun it until it was free of the chain, then held it by itself in my clammy palm. I turned it over and stared. It was scratched and bent and beaten with use. Its protective coating had lost its sparkle. It had served its purpose and was finished.

“I’m getting rid of that one, I don’t need it anymore.”

Look at me!

I put the key down on the desk next to his hand. I stood for only a moment, staring at the side of his face, summoning the courage to move my feet. For the briefest of instants, his hands stopped moving, and his eyes darted from the screen, to the key, to the bag on my shoulder. His shoulders drooped, he fidgeted.

I tore my foot from its rooted place on the carpet, and stepped towards the door. Feeling again the burning acid in my ribs, I fought it back and reached for the doorknob.

Don’t turn around. Just go.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror beside the door. My face was stone, my eyes were tired. In the background, I could see the side of his face as he stared at the keyboard. He wasn’t watching me go. I looked away and turned the knob and heard a click from behind me as he closed his computer. I heard him push back his chair as I pulled the door toward me. He was at the door before it had closed behind me.

I paused.

He held the door open as I stood motionless in the hallway.

I started to open my mouth but stopped myself. It’s his turn.

The hinges scraped as the door creaked closed, and the click of the lock echoed in my ears.