Percy Grainger (1882–1961) was an Australian-born composer, arranger and pianist who played a prominent role in the revival of interest in British folk music in the early 20th century. Grainger left Australia in 1895 to study at the Hoch Conservatory in Frankfurt. Between 1901 and 1914 he was based in London, where he established himself first as a society pianist and later as a concert performer, composer and collector of original folk melodies. He met many of the significant figures in European music, forming friendships with Frederick Delius and Edvard Grieg, and became a champion of Nordic music and culture. In 1914, Grainger moved to the United States, where he took citizenship in 1918. He experimented with music machines that he hoped would supersede human interpretation. Although much of his work was experimental and unusual, the piece with which he is most generally associated is his piano arrangement of the folk-dance tune "Country Gardens". This glass negative of Grainger was taken at some point around 1915–1920.Photograph credit: Bain News Service; restored by Adam Cuerden and MyCatIsAChonk
... that the Xinwen Bao was first published during the Lunar New Year to take advantage of its competitors being on hiatus?
... that psychologist Sonya Friedman recommends that women create a totem, a collection of objects that represent important turning points in their lives?
... that the FCC canceled a permit to build a Florida TV station, finding that "the most prominent facility completed within the studio building appears to be a toilet"?
... that a renovation of 240 Centre Street was delayed by several months because a street map was incorrect?
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It is so terribly sad that I have to explain that the above is a JOKE
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!