The SAS PTA elementary book fair will be held from November 30 through December 2 from 7:45 a.m. to 3:15 p.m. in the elementary library. Click title to volunteer.
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Monday, October 31, 2016
2015-16 Annual Report
The year's report reflects many of the events and milestones, key academic indicators, new programs and instructional strategies in each division, the way that we steward our finances, and much more.
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from Singapore American School http://ift.tt/2eu8sU8
Digital Citizenship Week
Digital Citizenship Week is here! Your child will have the opportunity to engage in activities that promote the use of technology safely, responsibly, and respectfully.
from Singapore American School http://ift.tt/2dXg6KI
from Singapore American School http://ift.tt/2dXg6KI
Active Parenting Workshop Registration
Active Parenting is a six part program where each session builds on the previous workshop, facilitated by the elementary kindergarten to grade three school counselors.
from Singapore American School http://ift.tt/2eu9Rdi
from Singapore American School http://ift.tt/2eu9Rdi
Hawthorne by Pennyfarthing
Pennyfarthing Homes brings a stunning new development to Vancouver’s West side. This amazing development will consist of 1-3 bedroom residences ranging from 680 sq ft to 1,433 sq ft over 7 storeys.
The Hawthorne is situated next to the lovely Queen Elizabeth park and just a short walk along Cambie will bring you to the Oakridge mall where you will satisfy all you shopping and dinning needs.
Pricing has not yet been determined. Please register and join our VIP list to be one of the first to receive information
The post Hawthorne by Pennyfarthing appeared first on Vancouver New Condos.
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We Went There: At A Halloween Coffee Costume Party In Oklahoma
Being open for another year seems like a good excuse for a coffee shop to throw a party. Having that anniversary fall somewhere near the end of October is more than reason enough to make it a costume party. And that’s exactly the scene we have here at Foolish Things Coffee in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Celebrating its fourth year in existence, the multi-roaster shop decided to close a little early on October 20th to host an 80s-themed Halloween shindig, A Stranger Foolish Things party, if you will.
There was beer, candy, and a host of local businesses like Hi, Juice., Middle West Chocolate, and Retro Den vintage shop. And of course, there were costumes. Given the Stranger Things nature of the event, a few Barbs, Elevens, and perhaps the cutest Lucas ever were all in attendance. Sadly, there was no Demogorgon, which was a real missed opportunity; maybe the flea thought it was an acrobat and wasn’t able to attend because it got stuck in the Upside Down. Who knows.
via Monica Burgess
As a lover of fake fruit-flavored candies, I thought it would be a good idea to make the trek up from Dallas to Tulsa to triangulate between the three goody bowls until I had gobbled up all the Starbursts, all under the guise of journalism. But it turns out a pretty rad party was happening in between those Halloween candy stations, so I snapped a few pics through which you can experience the festivities vicariously. For full enjoyment, eat a strawberry and orange Starburst simultaneously while reading. Enjoy!
via Monica Burgess
via Monica Burgess
via Monica Burgess
The Stranger Things crew
Barb (via Monica Burgess)
Lucas
and of course, Eleven.
via Monica Burgess
This guy makes coffee in a van. DOWN BY THE RIVER!
via Monica Burgess
via Monica Burgess
Zac Cadwalader is the news editor at Sprudge Media Network.
Photos courtesy of Monica Burgess where noted. Happy Halloween!
The post We Went There: At A Halloween Coffee Costume Party In Oklahoma appeared first on Sprudge.
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Sometimes Your Regulars Come Back
There’s just something about having a regular cafe. I’ve had mine for as long as I can remember—it’s a clean, minimalist space that specializes in delicious coffee drinks, and I’m in there what feels like every single day. Sometimes I get a filter coffee, but I always an espresso, my drink of choice. I’m not the only regular—there’s a whole group of us, I guess—but I do enjoy a special rapport with the staff. Sometimes they even give me a comp’d drink, but no matter what I tip a dollar per beverage, and we always make a little bit of small talk.
“What do you have going on today?”
“Oh not much, you know, just…killing time. It’s busy in here today!”
“Yeah—busy is good. We like it that way.”
When I sit in my regular cafe there’s a laptop in front of me—always a laptop in front of me, another page to fill up, another message to send out into the ether, to the great beyond outside this room. All around me I see people on laptops, young and old, eyes fixed, every last one of us fully occupied by the screens in front of us, passing the time together. The coffee tastes especially good today.
He walked in looking lost, doe-eyed and bleeding from the head—a boy I didn’t recognize. Hardly worth losing track of my place in this email thread, but like the rest of the regulars I looked up for a moment, studying him.
Limping, dripping blood, he shuffles to the front of the cafe and asks the barista,“Where am I?” A trail of bloody footprints lead from the front door, smeared from his dragged left leg, which was…disconnected, you could say, dangling from a grisly thread of sinew where the knee meets the femur. I could see specks of brain and bone from his gaping head wound; I went back to munching on my korvapuusti.
“What can we do for you?”, the barista asked. The soundtrack faded in and out.
“I’ll have…an espresso?”
“Single origin or blend?”
“The uh…the blend? Listen, do you have…a bar towel or something?”
A puddle of blood pooled at his feet. His bicycle socks were soaked in it. The barista motioned towards the unisex bathroom: “Make sure you knock first, but there’s a first aid kit inside—we’ll bring the drink out to your seat.” He nodded and limped off towards the unlocked door. The lights dimmed, flickered and drew level; the sink ran and the hands-free dryer hummed.
The door opened and he emerged, looking just like the rest of us—composed, clean, and ready to get to work. Young and alive and itching to make his mark, send his emails, write his jokes, chat through the daily tasks in Slack, file an invoice, demand a rewrite, and conquer the world beyond this room without ever leaving it. He took a seat at the back, pulled out a slim MacBook, and set himself up behind the glowing glass.
The barista dropped off his espresso, and asked: “Do you need anything else?”
“No, I should be alright here for awhile.”
He was one of us now. Another happy regular served.
The post Sometimes Your Regulars Come Back appeared first on Sprudge.
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It Came From The Espresso Machine
Bagels arrive at Charlie’s cafe much earlier than she does, and they greeted her at the front door, still warm. She grabbed them as she unlocked the front door. The cafe was dark and the hum of the refrigerator comforted her. After turning on the lights, she heard the espresso machine pump click on, familiar yet always a little jarring. But half way through its cycle she heard an unfamiliar chk-chk-chk-chk. Before she could investigate, the pastry delivery arrived.
“We ran out of almond croissants, so I took them off your invoice,” the tired driver said.
Charlie could already hear the complaint of her “large coffee and Washington Post” regular but shrugged it off. “Can’t win them all,” she muttered, signing the invoice during a quick count of the artisanal muffins and loaves. Charlie took out the pastry trays and began to stock the bag of bagels when she noticed the bag had been ripped open. It looked as if someone took a bite of a cinnamon raisin bagel and put it back in the bag. Looking a bit closer, it almost looked like…was it blood? She put the rest of the bagels on the tray anyway.
The final muffins were placed and her co-worker arrived. Charlie started to dial in the espresso. “This coffee is two weeks old,” she complained, thinking about her manager’s over-zealous coffee order. This espresso sucks, Charlie thought. I’ll just add a little chocolate to the bottom of the drinks this morning. Whatever.
Customers started coming in off the street. “Aw, no almond croissants?”
The teachers from the school across the street started to line up, as did Charlie’s queue of drinks. Steaming some soy milk for a large latte she heard the same noise from early in the morning. Chk-chk-chk-chk. The steam wand seemed a little weak this morning, but the machine kept chugging along, so Charlie didn’t really think anything of it. Her scrapes from the morning’s fall started to itch beneath her hastily wrapped bandages. She thought about what she’d eat during her break. Definitely not the bagels, because those were probably tainted and bloodied by whatever tore into the bag.
Her coworker started to play a Kate Bush album and Charlie loudly protested “NOOOOOOO”. She turned on her favorite Mogwai record instead. Love fuckin’ Mogwai.
The third barista came on at 9 and the cafe was full of wet, unhappy people. The floor was slippery and a little Australian girl tripped and started crying. The mother yanked the child up by the arm and sleepily demanded a babycino. When the barista tried to charge her $1 she looked shocked. “The owner never charges me for a babycino!” Charlie despised these two. But before she could mutter her disgust out loud, the machine made that terrible sound again, this time louder. Chk-chk-chk-chk!
Charlie cleaned her milk pitchers and brushed espresso grounds on the floor she turned to her coworkers and asked them to take over while she took her break.
Charlie sat with a ham and cheese croissant in the back on the tiny chair wedged between the ice machine and the mop sink. The mop head was disgusting. Just then she heard the Australian child scream: “MOMMY, BLOOD!” The little girl started to cry again as the mother investigated her bloodied bagel with cream cheese and yelled, “WHAT DID YOU SERVE TO MY CHILD?” Charlie’s coworkers looked dumbfounded. Charlie sank into her chair and let her coworkers deal with it. The customers stormed out of the cafe.
After Charlie’s ten-minute break turned into fifteen, she came back on the floor and kicked her coworker off the machine. “I’m not gonna deal with customers today,” she explained.
The busy morning waned and Charlie’s wounds began to itch again. She looked down and noticed something underneath the espresso machine. Something moving.
Underneath the sopping milk rag, she could see a dozen or so tiny black things scurrying. Taking a closer look Charlie realized what they were: baby spiders. “Oh my god…”
She looked down at her arm and saw more baby spiders, some finding warmth beneath her bandages. Going into full-on panic mode, she realized that her milk pitchers were crawling with them. The machine erupted with baby spiders, pouring out from underneath and from the sides. The chk-chk-chk-chk! started up again, only this time it didn’t let up. Suddenly a hiss came out from the steam boiler. There were little fuzzy spiders everywhere.
A customer screamed, “THERE ARE SPIDERS IN MY CHAI!”
The espresso machine snarled and hissed and the chk-chk-chk-chk turned into a CHUNK CHUNK CHUNK. The top of the machine violently shook and the top burst open, sending a warm chocolate bottle and demitasse flying in the air. The few customers that remained in the cafe and Charlie and her co-workers watched in horror as a large fuzzy arm crept out from the top of the machine. One by one, eight disgusting arms revealed themselves, followed by the beady black eyes of an enormous brown spider. Everyone was frozen with fear.
The spider hoisted itself up, egg sacs still hatching from its behind.
It pulled out a tiny top hat, dusted it off, and put it on while asking the cafe in a deep spider voice: “What’s everyone staring at? I need the Wi-Fi password. I’m just trying to get on the web!”
Frozen in horror, Charlie heard a voice respond to the spider—and it was her own, intoning a phrase she’d repeated countless times to other customers.”Actually? We don’t do Wi-Fi here, but we have some art books and I think there’s a library nearby.”
The spider let out a terrible scream. Its hairy legs began to twitch.
The spider babies began to swarm the cafe, wrapping their victims in a sticky translucent goo. The large spider laughed a deep, hideous beast-laugh. As Charlie felt the warm web wrap around her, she recognized that laugh. The wheezing laugh from earlier!
The spider put on a record and began to feast!
There’s a city, draped in net
Fisherman net
And in the half light, in the half light
It looks like every tower
Is covered in webs
Moving and glistening and rocking
It’s babies in rhythm
As the spider of time is climbing
Over the ruins…
The post It Came From The Espresso Machine appeared first on Sprudge.
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Sunday, October 30, 2016
The Siren & The Worm
The houses on our street were built all at once after the war. My parents were children in them when they were new, but by the time I grew up the houses were already broken and weedy, and the siding engineered by the war scientists had been warped by the sun.
It was the first week of warmth after the winter. It was the year I was fifteen, my first year of service. I was still unused to work and it showed in my dirty uniform, my dirty hair, and the sores around my mouth. My grandmother was always telling me to try to remember to eat an orange once in a while, but it was hard to remember when there was little in the pantry to remind me.
Early in the morning, I made for the freeway and the shop once I crossed it. Trudging down our row of single family dwellings, most of them like mine with a grandmother in the basement, I felt immense sympathy for creatures displaced from their natural environments, especially for the pink and purple worm I saw gasping on the sidewalk. My grandmother said worms were great helpers and I thought perhaps it was time someone did them a good turn. The worm coiled around my finger like a ring of muscle, all friendly. I should have transplanted him to a lawn. It would have been kinder. But I took him to the goddess’s shop.
Although I wanted to parade through the heavy steel door with my prize, I was obliged to cover my left finger with my right hand because Siren might have seen me. The people might have cried out. The other aprons and I milled around, gathering our hair into nets and removing the rings from our noses. We all lined up for the clock. I slipped the worm into my green pocket, so Siren wouldn’t guess I’d brought a fellow foreigner to work, I was sullen as usual.
Every day she pushed me up in front of the slavering crowd and made me perform. That day, I hoped, the worm would somehow help me. Jostling, balancing on spiked shoes, silk nooses around their necks, the people would ask me to do a series of impossible tasks. I was to heat water past the boiling point, mirror the molecular structure of sugar, cure the common allergy to fat, and cause ice cubes to float in hot tea. I was to make coffee that tasted unlike itself and transform a cup of milk into a celebration feast. I was also to smile at insults, do nine tasks at one time, make certain members of the mob disappear when others called for it. There was no time to think, rest, or even urinate. I forgot all about the worm in my apron pocket.
When I remembered my helper, I was struggling to create a blizzard in a vessel. I scrabbled in my pocket, trying not to pinch the worm and sever him. Chunks of ice rattled and my spinning knives screamed, but I paid no notice. The worm lay limp and hot in my palm like a snapped elastic band. In a panic, I started stroking him. He was drying out quickly. I could feel his segments feebly contract. As my blizzard started to liquify, the people’s murmurs grew, and as I lifted my hand to the crusted, dripping faucet with the worm lying abject on my palm, the murmurs grew into an uproar. The noise of the people roared in my ears.
An apron with a collapsed chin and faded pink hair shot me a desperate glance. Her eyes looked like the eyes of the raccoons that roamed our street in a pack at dusk to protect themselves from the stones and hockey sticks of the little kids.
I looked around. The mob was threatening to break down the money counter that separated them from us. I backed up. My hip hit a machine and I couldn’t move any farther. I gently dropped my friend into a basket of boiling hot coffee grounds above one of the big urns. He reared up in solidarity, what must have been his eye-end, his mouth-end, weaving back and forth in the air like a rebel protester’s bullhorn. Inside the jar, the whirling knife started to buck and clatter. The worm, my helper, squirmed around, staining himself and stupidly burrowing down. A few seconds later he stopped. I slammed the rusty basket in.
With a loud jeer, the people called for more ice and air to be whipped into foam, for the blizzard to form anew for each of them, for liquid snow sugar to drink. I turned back to my counter and my knife like a helicopter.
It wasn’t until hours later that the people left for the night. The Siren called for a congregation. Her star-wreathed head loomed against a bar of flickering fluorescent light above the refrigerators. When everyone was there, she grabbed me in front of the other aprons, pulled my wrist behind my back, grabbed a handful of coffee grounds and pushed it into my mouth. Her hair snaked over my shoulder and rolled over my chest and held me still. The coffee was like oily dirt in my mouth. I chewed and swallowed.
Returning home, I tried not to look at the cool green lawns choked with clover and chickweed, lush in the dark. My throat hurt and my bowels felt twisted. The Siren had not paid us after the congregation and I had not been paid in six weeks. I wondered if I was hungry, but the thought of eating the dry oatmeal and canned beans in the kitchen made me more tired than I already was.
The screen door slammed behind me as I entered our house. My parents were in bed, but my grandmother heard me and slowly and loudly climbed the basement stairs. I waited for her in the dark kitchen. There were dirty dishes piled up against the window above the sink. My grandmother’s head rose in the doorway, her scraggy hair shining white. She spoke from the stairwell. “You’re sick, little one.”
I sunk down in the lawn chair at the head of the kitchen table. My stomach was so distended that I sat with my legs spread like a man or a pregnant woman.
My grandmother flipped on the little machine that boiled water by the cup, a wedding present of my parents’. It worked slower now that the element was thick and white with calcium, but it still worked. “To make the worm drink,” she began, “use a worm that has been thoroughly cleaned. To remove a fishy odor, worms are usually boiled with a ginger root. After the stew is filtered it is ready to drink, but more delicious when added to honey or practical sugar.” She reached painfully into the cupboard and pulled out a twisted plastic packet full of dull yellow powder. “Little one. Reach me the sugar.”
Mesmerized, I stood up and took down the white paper sack and sat back down. My back ached. I could feel the grain of the wooden table under my fingers. My hands were raw as peeled carrots.
“Thus, myths about the earthworm are fulfilled, and thus earthworms can safely treat us in terms of commercial good-enough.” My grandmother set the mug in front of me. The drink was sweet and good. My grandmother rubbed my back and my muscles unclenched. A warmth started in my throat and spread down into my body. As my face relaxed, a tear spilled out of one of my eyes. My grandmother dug her swollen knuckles in between my shoulder blades, encouraging me. “There, good.” The pain in my stomach subsided, seeming to flow out through my limbs. I went to bed.
I woke in the middle of the night and stumbled into the dark hallway, tripping over a hairbrush, trying to get to the bathroom in time. I was going to vomit. I planted my arms and legs and hung my head over the sink and stared into the dirty white porcelain basin, saliva pouring into my mouth.
The lightbulb above the mirror whined.
The worm, swollen, three feet long, as long as the Siren’s braid, as whip-like and powerful, reared up in my throat. My mouth filled with cold, segmented flesh, then his eye-end pushed out past my lips. He hung there, his mouth-end bobbing between me and the streaky mirror like a blind eye-stalk searching for its reflection as I started to choke.
Lizzie Derksen is a Sprudge contributor and print publisher based in Edmonton, Alberta. Read more Lizzie Derksen on Sprudge.
The post The Siren & The Worm appeared first on Sprudge.
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Saturday, October 29, 2016
A Cup Of Coffee To Die For
It started as a night like any other. I’m a coffee writer; I’d been at it around a year at this point, and on that particular evening I went out drinking around Tokyo with some local coffee folks; roasters, baristas, cafe managers. That sort of crowd.
We went to a local bar in Shimokitazawa. Clinked beer mugs and ate yakitori. Talked. Everyone had a story that night. I told them I’d never made a good cup of coffee. Ever. Something was always off, I said—perhaps it was my destiny to write about coffee, not brew it. It just takes practice, they said, but I shrugged.
I didn’t think practice would help; I just couldn’t do it. Never had, never would, I thought.
Two beers turned to three, and three to four, and somehow we got to talking about yōkai, the monsters and spirits of Japanese folklore. I was fascinated by their scope; the mix of evil, playful, and good, and the sheer variety that existed—it seemed as though if you imagined them, they existed.
I’d come to think there was a yokai for every season and every occasion, so I asked if there was a coffee yokai, or a tea yokai. I wondered what form such a spirit might take.
I expected a fun story.
Instead, a silence fell over our group. Tension filled the air like a heavy blanket soaked with water. I listened to the sound of meat grilling in the kitchen, and 90’s pop music over tinny speakers. Everyone looked at their feet or their hands. Nobody made eye contact.
And then, after sharing polite excuses, we all went home.
The next day, a friend told me it’s bad luck to talk about the coffee yokai.
“Coffee yokai?” I asked.
He said they spent their time sleeping in the spaces between cracks, and the gathering dust in the corners of rooms—minuscule creatures descended from the funa yurei that once haunted ships at sea.
The coffee yokai woke to the sound of their name, and waited for someone to brew tea or coffee.
“Why?” I asked.
They need a way to enter your body, he said. Water alone makes them ill.
Coffee yokai soak into a fresh brew, and ride it to your belly. From there, they steal a sliver of energy to keep fed. The problem, my friend said, is they call all their friends. You make coffee and drink coffee, make coffee and drink coffee, and the coffee yokai gather, slowly stealing your life.
Eventually, there’s an imbalance, he said.
“An imbalance?”
“You die,” he said. “They kill you.”
“Oh.”
We sat, quiet for a time.
“So… why not just stop making coffee?” I said.
The coffee yokai makes coffee sweet and fruity, he said. It creates a taste the drinker wants more of. A flavor the drinker finds irresistible.
He paused to light a cigarette.
“Those old kissaten owners,” he said, “they don’t brew dark roasted coffee because they think that’s the best stuff. They brew that coffee because they want people to grow a taste for a flavor the yokai can’t stand. And the yokai hate dark black coffee.”
“Ah. I see.”
I thought of the coffee guys from the previous night, now too scared to drink a cup of coffee for fear of inviting invasion. I thought of all the kissaten I’d visited, and tried to think of the smoky, wooden flavor as a savior of people.
It all sounded silly.
The next morning, I woke up as I always did and brewed myself a cup of coffee. Rwanda Musumba, a nice, expressive light roast sent to me by my brother. Flavor notes of pomegranate and stone fruit, the bag said.
I sat sipping that coffee as I watched businessmen walk towards the train station. For the first time I could remember, the bag was right. The flavor notes were spot on. The coffee seemed perfect.
I realized then I was drinking the first cup of good coffee I’d ever brewed in my life.
I paused for a moment. I looked down into the mug I held, and thought of old kissaten owners. I thought of scared baristas and silly stories. Magical creatures.
My eyes became transfixed on the wonderful cup of coffee in my hand. A coffee so good I was suddenly a little frightened. A coffee so good I knew I would be powerless to stop myself from making another.
Hengtee Lim is a Sprudge staff writer based in Tokyo. Read more Hengtee Lim on Sprudge.
The post A Cup Of Coffee To Die For appeared first on Sprudge.
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Friday, October 28, 2016
Hawthorne by Pennyfarthing – An Elite Collection of 44 Luxury Cambie Condos
At a Glance
- 7-storey residential concrete building
- 44 1- to 3-bedroom condominiums
- 3 levels of underground parking
- prime Queen Elizabeth Park location
- minutes from Oakridge Centre shopping
- easy access to Canada Line
- goal of LEED gold rating
Above All Else
Pennyfarthing Homes rises to new heights on Vancouver’s West Side with the introduction of Hawthorne, an elite collection of 1- to 3-bedroom residences adjacent to Queen Elizabeth Park on Cambie Street. Hawthorne redefines modern luxury living through progressive architecture, finely crafted interiors, and exceptionally sized floor plans. Rising seven storeys, above all else, Hawthorne will be home to a limited few.
Be A Presale Condo VIP!
Find Out About New Presales & Get Access to VIP Openings & Special Promotions!
Hawthorne’s superb Westside location provides you with convenient access to all your daily needs. Just a short walk along Cambie at Oakridge, find grocery shopping at Kin’s Farmers Market and Safeway, banks, a pharmacy, post office, public library, telecom providers, medical centre, cafes, restaurants, Hudson’s Bay department store, home decor stores, travel agencies, boutique shopping, and specialty shops. For your recreational needs, there’s skating, swimming, and a gym at Hillcrest Community Centre. Steps away at Queen Elizabeth Park, enjoy a stroll through its lush gardens, exercise your pet at the dog park, play a game of tennis, or hit the links for a round of golf. At Hawthorne, live the high life.
Pricing for Hawthorne
As this project is in pre-construction, Pennyfarthing has not yet released pricing information. However, given the success of Pennyfarthing’s other Cambie Corridor projects, we expect Hawthorne will sell out quickly. Don’t miss out! Sign up to our VIP list above.
Floor Plans for Hawthorne
Final floor plans have not yet been made public. Nevertheless, we know there will be a family-friendly mix of 11 1-bedroom, 21 2-bedroom, and 12 3-bedroom homes. Ground floor residences will all have private patios and the three top floor homes have private rooftop decks. Average home sizes range from 680 to 1,433 sq ft.
Amenities at Hawthorne
Residents will have shared use of a ground floor amenity room with a patio, small kitchen, and washroom. There will also be a shared rooftop deck.
Parking and Storage
Hawthorne will offer three levels of underground parking accessed from the lane. There will be 51 vehicle spaces with two handicapped spots and space for 61 bicycles with 11 lockers and 12 vertical stalls. Thirty-four homes will have in-suite storage, while 13 will have in-room storage.
Maintenance Fees at Hawthorne
Will be released with pricing information.
Developer Team for Hawthorne
Since its formation in 1980, Pennyfarthing Homes has fulfilled the home ownership dreams of nearly 3,000 home buyers throughout the Lower Mainland, Washington State, and California, all the while setting exacting standards of integrity, reliability and professionalism. Following on Bennington House and Grayson, this is Pennyfarthing’s third development in the Cambie Corridor.
To design Hawthorne, Pennyfarthing has chosen Shift Architecture. Shift is a high-performance practice with a track record of respected, inspired projects throughout Vancouver and the Lower Mainland. With proven expertise in multi-family housing, Shift boasts a diverse portfolio of residential, commercial, healthcare, and mixed-use developments. Renowned for its collaborative design process, Shift’s team of core personnel draws upon a deep collective well of experience spanning decades.
Cristina Oberti, a respected interior designer whose name is well-known in Vancouver, will be applying her extensive knowledge and systematic design process to create a unified look and coherent design for Hawthorne that conveys a unique and coherent, yet stylish message.
Expected Completion for Hawthorne
To be announced. Sales start in early 2017.
Are you interested in learning more about other homes in the Cambie Corridor, Kerrisdale, or Southeast False Creek?
Check out these great Cambie Corridor Presales!
The post Hawthorne by Pennyfarthing – An Elite Collection of 44 Luxury Cambie Condos appeared first on Mike Stewart Real Estate Specialist 604-763-3136.
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Contessa at Queen Elizabeth Park – Spacious Cambie Corridor Presale Luxury Condos
Pure West Property Investment in partnership with GBL Architects is proud to bring you their new Luxury Development Contessa located in the very popular cambie corridor. This stunning development will feature a six-storey mid-rise building which will include 18 1-bedroom, 19 2-bedroom, and eight 3-bedroom condominiums. Sizes will range from 608 to 1,177 sq ft. There will also be 3 lane way townhouses. Located on the corner of West 37th enjoy the stunning views of Queen Elizabeth park and withing close proximity you will also have great shopping and dining options.
Be apart of an Amazing community and register now for more information and pricing.
The post Contessa at Queen Elizabeth Park – Spacious Cambie Corridor Presale Luxury Condos appeared first on Vancouver New Condos.
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13 Positively Ghoulish Latte Art Frights
It’s that time of the year: there’s a frightful chill in the air, one that cuts to your very bones. And though you may seek solace in the comfort of a warm, delicious cappuccino, to wrap you up like a frothy caffeinated blanket and make you feel safe, there will be no respite. Not when these ghoulish baristas and their scary latte art are afoot.
For 364 days, these groovy ghoulies pour you tulips, hearts, and rosettas to keep your Instagram double-taps churning. But for just one day of the year, as though under a blood moon spell, they etch, color, and free pour to their sinister dark heart’s delight. Ghouls, goblins, jack-o-lanterns, vampires–these underworld class latte artists are conjuring up something a little more macabre for All Hallows’ Day.
And while the laxative properties of coffee are widely known, these 13 frightful works of latte art will no doubt make you poop a little…from fear!
Sam Low, New Zealand Barista Champion (2016) & New Zealand Latte Art Champion (2013, 2015), Code Black Coffee Roasters, Melbourne, Australia, @_sam_low_
Nate Rivera, Mudsmith, Dallas, Tx, @nomed36
Simeon Bricker, US Latte Art Champion (2014), @simbricks
Dylan Siemans, Onyx Coffee Lab, Springdale, AR, @pouraxial
Sam Penix, Everyman Espresso, New York, NY, @everymanespresso
John Letoto, Greenway Coffee, Houston, TX, @hermitudinous
Make up and modeling by James Duncan
Brandon Paul Weaver, Liberty Bar, Seattle, WA, @brandonpaulweaver
Angie Chun, US Latte Art Champion (2015), Coffee Code, Orange County, CA, @angie_chun
Jared Hamilton, Cultivar Coffee, Dallas, TX, @baristajared
Bethany Hargrove, Wrecking Ball Coffee Roasters, San Francisco, CA, @bethany1.0
Lem Butler, US Barista Champion (2016), Counter Culture Coffee, Durham, NC, @lembutler
Be safe out there y’all, because it’s true what they say: the drinks come out at night!
Zac Cadwalader is the news editor at Sprudge Media Network.
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No More Flat Whites
“He’s the kind of man I moved to New York to find. This cultured man. This foreign man. This man who had been all around the world, and he really has! Surfing in Indonesia, family trips to Greece—which is so smart because their economy just sucks there and everything is super cheap right now. Anyway, he’s done all these things and somehow at the end of the day, he wants to see me. He wants to stand in line waiting an hour for ramen with me and I don’t know how it happened!”
Susan was not being modest as she Skyped with her younger sister Mary, who seemed like she might be forever stuck in Conyers, GA. Not only had Susan made it out, but she had become a successful New York career woman who was now dating a dashing Australian photographer. Sure, her job as an insurance underwriter wasn’t glamorous, but the work day flew by as she daydreamed about what New York adventure she and Colin would have that evening.
Everything about Colin seemed to have been plucked from Susan’s dreams of a perfect man. First, he was a solid six inches taller than her: no small feat considering she herself was tall at 5’10″. His height made it so that her head fit perfectly under his chin on their many Uber rides home, from authentic ethnic dinners in Jackson Heights or immersive underground theatrical experiences in Bushwick.
Then there was his pure, uncompromising Australianness. His passionate pride for his hometown of Canberra. The way he said “Cheers!” to the waitstaff after ordering. And his accent. What an accent! She’d shed her own light Southern twang just before moving to New York. His Australian accent was surely much more dignified than hers had been. It communicated that he had experience, knowledge, ruggedness, and endless charm. In just four months, he had shown her more of the world through his endless curiosity for different New York City cultures than she ever could have imagined as she worked through Conyers’ outdated high school textbooks.
On an unseasonably warm October morning, Susan left her Murray Hill apartment (the affordable part of Manhattan!) ready for it to be 5:00pm already. Colin had been on assignment the previous night, but tonight he’d make up for lost time by taking her to a speakeasy on the Lower East Side where the password for entry was the answer to an old Irish riddle. How did he find such places? She texted “Can’t wait for tonight!” to him and strolled into her neighborhood coffee shop beaming with joy that this was her life. Now, every day was a balance of satisfying routine and unexpected wonder. She approached the cashier.
“Could I have a flat white, please?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, what is that?” the cashier replied.
Susan wondered for a few seconds if she had seen the cashier before. The flat white was an off-menu order, for sure, but in the dozens of times she had been to the shop since Colin had taught her about the incredible coffee beverage from his native land*, no one had ever asked her what a flat white was. She looked over to the espresso machine and recognized the barista. She had efficiently and warmly prepared Susan’s flat whites most mornings and Susan even felt compelled to throw something in the tip jar for her (on occasion).
“She knows what a flat white is,” Susan calmly stated as she pointed at the barista.
“Hey, Emily,” the cashier called. “Do you know how to make a flat white?”
“I have no clue what that is,” Emily said without looking up from her work.
Susan was starting to get annoyed. She had left herself plenty of time for her morning coffee before work but it was essential to her productivity that she be able to sip her preferred drink on the train ride to SoHo. She composed herself and moved toward the barista’s end of the counter.
“You’ve made it for me before. It’s kind of like a smaller latte,” Susan said with a forced smile.
“I’d be happy to make you a cappuccino,” Emily replied. “It’s basically what you’re asking for and we make really good cappuccinos.”
Susan bit her lip and then looked behind her at the long line of people who were clearly getting irritated with this exchange. “No thanks,” she said to the barista and quickly walked out of the shop.
She was a bit ruffled by the bizarre encounter but she needed her coffee and knew that there were plenty of good coffee shops on the way to the train. She stopped in a shop that had an A-frame sign advertising that they had just been named one of the top ten shops in New York—by Thrillist, or maybe it was Eater? Surely such a well-regarded establishment would be able to make her a delicious flat white. Perhaps they’d even become a part of her morning routine after Emily’s betrayal. She reached the cashier after waiting a little too long in line.
“Flat white, please,” she said without her customary politeness.
“I don’t know what that is,” the cashier responded. “Would you like to see a menu?”
Susan felt the room start to spin. “Long black?” she blurted.
“Excuse me?”
“Do you make a Magic??”
“We make-a a…you mean coffee?”
“SMASHED AVOCADO TOAST?!?”
“Zagat says our bacon, egg, and cheese is terrif…”
Susan rushed out of the shop and struggled to breathe. She grabbed her iPhone out of her purse and went straight to Google, where she typed “best flat white in New York City.” In less than a second, Google responded:
“No results found for best flat white in new york city.”
Susan started to wander aimlessly as she lost all sense of time and space. Thrown off of her reliable morning routine and sent into a tailspin of uncertainty, she stared at the ground as she slowly walked down the sidewalk muttering, “No more flat white? No more flat white?”
“Looking for flat white?” a deep voice whispered behind her. Susan quickly turned around to see a glamorous woman in a black jumpsuit lurking in a dark alley.
“Do you know where I can get one?!?” Susan asked, her eyes welling with tears.
“Follow me,” the mysterious woman replied.
Normally Susan would never follow a stranger down a dark alley but a life without flat whites seemed hardly worth living. She kept close behind the woman who confidently strode to a metal door and knocked rapidly. The door opened into a pitch black room. The woman charged in and Susan followed without hesitation. The door slammed and Susan felt many hands grabbing her and forcing her into a chair. She screamed as her arms were tied down. Finally, after she was securely bound to the chair, a dim light came on. The mysterious woman stood in front of her alongside a black-clad old man who looked angry and puzzled.
“Asking for flat whites, were you?” he barked.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” the woman interjected. “You were all supposed to forget.”
“Please, please! What is going on?” Susan cried.
“We are a very powerful faction of concerned citizens known as CDAC,” he stated angrily. “It stands for ‘Committee for the De-Australianization of American Coffee’. Overnight, we have wiped the concept of Australian coffee from the collective consciousness of all New Yorkers. Somehow, you were unaffected.”
“But… but espresso beverages don’t even originate in America!!” Susan replied, bewildered.
“Beside the point!” he yelled with one finger in the air. “Australians with their culture of perfectly good coffee should have kept to themselves. You can’t expect New York baristas to keep track of all these silly drinks! New Yorkers must be allowed to discover coffee on their own terms, through americanos and macchiatos prepared by their own disaffected youth!”
All color drained from Susan’s face. This was a capable group indeed and their grand scheme had not worked on her. She was a danger to all they had worked to accomplish.
“Are you going to kill me?” she whimpered.
“Of course not,” the mysterious woman said as she rolled her eyes. “We’ll let you go.”
Susan had been holding her breath and she finally allowed herself to exhale as a few tears ran down her cheeks.
“After you’ve had a cappuccino,” the old man added.
Two more women in black jumpsuits rolled out a cart with a single-group espresso machine, grinder, and pitcher of milk. One glared at Susan as she ground coffee into a portafilter, tamped it, and locked it into the machine. As espresso steadily pooled in the cup below, she purged her steam wand with her nose upturned, sank the wand’s tip just below the surface of the milk, and introduced air with a pillowy “chhhhhhhhh” sound.
“No!” Susan yelled. “That’s too much air! I can hear that that is too much air! Please stop!”
The woman snarled as she turned off the steam wand, picked up the pitcher, and poured velvety steamed milk into the cup. She presented her work to Susan. An eight-tiered tulip stared back at her.
“That milk texture is too dense! You should hardly be able to pour any latte art in there!” Susan screamed.
“Drink it,” the woman commanded.
Susan considered her options and quickly reasoned that this powerful group could easily ruin other parts of her life if so compelled. She could find one day that all kale had been replaced with iceberg lettuce. She could walk into the Strand Bookstore only to discover there were no traces of any work by Jonathan Safran Foer. She knew what she had to do. She parted her lips and let the woman pour the cappuccino into her mouth. She obediently swallowed large gulps of espresso and steamed milk in an effort to get past this unbearable trauma.
And then, in a flash, she was free and began a slow, bewildered stumble back to her apartment. She couldn’t go into work today knowing that she would have to resign herself to a life of morning cappuccinos instead of the sweet ephemera of a thinly textured flat white. She looked at her phone. Her text message to Colin remained undelivered. She needed to call him. It wasn’t possible that CDAC had wiped the memory of flat whites from the minds of actual Australians, was it? She tapped his name in her recent calls. The phone rang and rang and rang.
Eric J. Grimm is a Sprudge contributor based in New York City, writing on pop culture and film. Read more Eric J. Grimm on Sprudge.
* Editor’s note: Actually the flat white was invented in New Zealand.
The post No More Flat Whites appeared first on Sprudge.
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Picking Pumpkins
I pick the one on the front of the sled!
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School Finance 605: Student Demographics Part 2
School Finance 605
Student Demographics, Part 2
Several weeks ago, we shared demographic information about where SAS students come from (read Finance 603 here). We now move on to information about why SAS families are in Singapore, how long students stay at SAS, and where our families live.
What brings SAS families to Singapore?
Most SAS students are here because of a parent’s job. This year, 50% of SAS parents’ jobs are in one of three sectors: 25% in finance, 15% in manufacturing (semiconductors, electronics, chemicals, and pharmaceuticals), and 10% in information, communication, and technology. Another three sectors account for around 7% each: oil, gas, and energy; consumer goods; and professional services (accounting, consulting, law, relocation, and outsourcing). Compared to last year, slightly more parents now work in finance, while 2% fewer work in manufacturing. The other sectors, including oil, gas, and energy, have remained constant since last year.
Other sectors employing over 3% of SAS parents include SAS itself, government (including the U.S. embassy and navy), and higher education. Smaller numbers work in trade, shipping and logistics, hotels and entertainment, nonprofits, healthcare, property and architecture, food and beverage, and mining. Around 5% of SAS parents provided no data on employment, while 0.1% reported themselves self-employed.
How long do students stay at SAS?
The total time the average student spends at SAS, meaning the tenure of students who are leaving (including graduating seniors), was 4.5 years in June 2016. If we turn to the average tenure for current SAS students (assuming they stay through the current school year), we see this remains at 3.9 years. This number factors in our youngest students, who "bring down" the average because, of course, they can only have been enrolled at the school as long as there have been grades to serve them; a preschool student, for example, can only have been here one year.
Average years of enrollment
Looking at current students’ tenure by grade level, it is not surprising that tenure increases each year in the lower grades, hitting the overall average at grade 6. Middle and high school students’ tenures continue to rise, spiking to 6.5 years in grade 12. This indicates that many families make special efforts to keep their children at SAS through the socially and academically critical years before graduation. Currently, 7% of our total enrollment has attended SAS for ten or more years.
Average years of enrollment by grade
One interesting subset of SAS students that stays significantly longer than average is our group of Student Pass (SP) holders. These children, who make up 11% of SAS students, hold SPs instead of dependent passes, for three main reasons: they have come to Singapore primarily to go to SAS; they are staying here to continue at SAS after a parent’s job has moved on; or they are the children of Permanent Residents who do not themselves have PR status. Many students on SPs live here with one parent, or with a guardian. Current SP students’ average tenure at SAS stands at 6 years, compared with 3.9 years for all students, indicating that this group is particularly committed to remaining at SAS.
Student pass holders, 2016-17
How many students who started at SAS with my child will graduate with him?
Children who enter SAS in the younger grades will see many of their friends move away as they get older, but a few friends will remain right through to graduation day. This year, out of our senior class of 285, we have 23 students (8%) who started here in either the Early Childhood Center or kindergarten: three who enrolled in preschool, seven in pre-kindergarten, and 12 in kindergarten. A further 15 arrived in first grade and 24 in second grade, so over one-fifth of this year’s graduates will have been at SAS for ten years or more.
Of course, the later a student enters SAS, the more friends he will have who have been here the same amount of time or longer. And there is a positive aspect to our student body’s fluidity: many SAS students find that they become skilled at making new friends and more open, flexible and resilient as they go through life.
Where do SAS students live?
Our students live all over Singapore, with the largest concentration of SAS families in the area bounded by the PIE, CTE, AYE, and Clementi Road. This area includes neighborhoods near roads such as Bukit Timah, Dunearn, Newton, Stevens, Orchard, Tanglin, Grange, Holland, and River Valley, as well as the areas surrounding the American Club. The Woodlands neighborhood is also popular with SAS families, accounting for around 450 students. This number has declined since last year, and at 11% of students is lower than most people assume. Other areas with notable concentrations of SAS families include Sembawang, Upper Bukit Timah, Yio Chu Kang, Ang Mo Kio, the ECP and West Coast Highway areas, and Sentosa.
2016-17 distribution of SAS families in Singapore
Each dot indicates a house, condo, or apartment building housing at least one SAS student
We hope that this article helps you more fully understand this year’s SAS community. As always, we welcome your comments, questions, and suggestions for future articles. Please send them to William Scarborough, Chief Financial Officer, at wscarborough@sas.edu.sg. We look forward to hearing from you.
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Thursday, October 27, 2016
Contessa at Queen Elizabeth Park – Spacious Cambie Corridor Presale Luxury Condos
At a Glance
- exceptional Cambie Corridor location
- 3 laneway townhouses
- 45 1- to 3-bedroom condominiums
- short walk to Queen Elizabeth Park
- upscale Oakridge Centre shopping
- Signature BC Liquor Store
- Hillcrest Community Centre
- Canada Line rapid transit station
Spacious Luxury on the Westside
Pure West Property Investments, in partnership with GBL Architects, bring you Contessa at Queen Elizabeth Park, the latest luxury development in the hot Cambie Corridor district. With roomy condominium and townhouse residences ranging from one to three bedrooms, Contessa is ideally suited to families that appreciate the advantages and conveniences of modern urban living. Nearby schools, recreation, and shopping mean you can enjoy a healthier lifestyle from walking and cycling to meet your everyday needs.
Be A Presale Condo VIP!
Find Out About New Presales & Get Access to VIP Openings & Special Promotions!
Situated on the corner of West 37th Avenue and Cambie Street, Contessa’s outstanding location allows you to easily enjoy the lush beauty of Queen Elizabeth Park’s manicured gardens and its numerous leisure activities, such as golf, disc golf, tennis, lawn bowling, and tai chi; or bring your children to Hillcrest Community Centre for baseball, skating, soccer, swimming, and more! Just two blocks away, take care of your grocery shopping at Kin’s Farmers Market and Safeway in Oakridge Centre, then stop off on the way home at Vancouver’s largest Signature BC Liquor Store for the perfect wine to pair with dinner. For endless shopping and dining options, the Oakridge Canada Line station is your express ticket to Vancouver city centre and downtown Richmond. At Contessa, experience the quality of life from human-centred urban design.
Pricing for Contessa at Queen Elizabeth Park
Pure West Property has not yet published pricing information. We recommend interested buyers sign up to our VIP list above to ensure priority notification of new developments. We expect Contessa to be very attractive with buyers due to its liveability and prime location.
Floor Plans for Contessa at Queen Elizabeth Park
As this project is in pre-construction, floor plans have not yet been released. However, we do know there will be three laneway townhomes with private patios, courtyard main entrances, and rooftop terraces with green privacy buffers. The six-storey mid-rise consists of 18 1-bedroom, 19 2-bedroom, and eight 3-bedroom condominiums. A variety of expansive floor plans, with or without dens, range from 608 to 1,177 sq ft. Ground floor homes each have their own private, landscaped patios, while top floor homes have individual rooftop terraces.
Amenities at Contessa at Queen Elizabeth Park
Contessa residents will enjoy a lushly-landscaped outdoor plaza with shaded seating and a children’s play area. At the southern end are community plots for urban agriculture that take advantage of exposure to the sun. A shared rooftop patio offers a warming fire pit with comfortable lounge seating and a communal dining area with all the necessary outdoor cooking amenities.
Parking and Storage
Contessa will provide residents with 51 vehicle stalls and 60 bicycle lockers in two levels of underground parking. Bicycle racks in front of the main building entrance will also be available to visitors. Each townhouse will have its own private underground parking space with direct entry into each residence. Most homes have in-suite storage; five have their own secure storage in the parkade.
Maintenance Fees at Contessa at Queen Elizabeth Park
Will be included with pricing information when available.
Developer Team for Contessa at Queen Elizabeth Park
Pure West Property Investments chose acclaimed GBL Architects to design Contessa at Queen Elizabeth Park. GBL is a progressive Vancouver-based firm of 38 architects, project managers and technicians with a 25-year reputation of providing a full range of architectural services to the private and public sector. GBL design with the belief that form plays a vital role in defining experience through an ever-changing dynamic between sculptural artistry and social responsibility. No stranger to the Cambie Corridor, GBL’s other projects in the neighbourhood include Homei Properties’ Henry at 5389 Cambie, Transca Development’s Primrose, and The Regent at 523 West King Edward.
Expected Completion for Contessa at Queen Elizabeth Park
To be determined.
Are you interested in learning more about other homes in the Cambie Corridor, Mount Pleasant, or Kerrisdale?
Check out these great Cambie Corridor Presales!
The post Contessa at Queen Elizabeth Park – Spacious Cambie Corridor Presale Luxury Condos appeared first on Mike Stewart Real Estate Specialist 604-763-3136.
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