Sports Jacket Research Articles

Superimposed, Still

Superimposed, Still Kris Cohen (bio) A man in a white shirt and dark tie, microphone pressed to his upper lip, addresses a viewer, us, with his voice. But his eyes are focused on another task (Figure 1). Superimposed on his face is the text that, somehow, we know to be the focus of his work: "statement one: word word word …," with "word" repeated another ten times followed by an ellipsis. The image I'm describing is a still, an extract. This particular still superimposes two video feeds that are themselves intricately mediated: the first image results from pointing a video camera, at very close range, at a small circular calligraphic monitor that hosts the text ("word word word …"); the second results from angling another camera, also at very close range, up at the face of the computer user as he himself stares into a terminal networked to a time-sharing computer. On that terminal, the user, the man in a tie, sees the same text that we see superimposed on his face. The effect is strange, estranging. It is also an invitation. Such a still doesn't freeze or extract; it agitates the proceedings. What it agitates in these two particular video feeds is their aspiration to establish a space for living, dwelling, working that was to be a training in a style of personhood. Computational personhood is one kind of shorthand for the style I want to describe. But whiteness is another, a racial whiteness constituted less as an identity and more as a possibility, an aptitude, an attitude made possible in and as the graphical screen that Douglas Engelbart here demonstrates. Superimposition names the video technique that made the demonstration both illustrative and a marvel. But it will also turn out to be a better name for the infrastructure provided to whiteness by the graphical screen being demonstrated, one that no longer relies on a politics of representation so much as a graphics of superimposition. [End Page 163] Click for larger view View full resolution Figure 1. Still image, from Douglas Engelbart's demonstration of the oN-Line System (NLS) at the 1968 Fall Joint Computer Conference, San Francisco, CA, December 9–11, 1968. That some readers will already know too much about the event that I'm describing while some will have no idea what I'm referring to is itself telling of the particular kind of oblivion into which Engelbart's demonstration of an early graphic computer interface has fallen: both too historicized and not enough. The effect of the superimposition is therefore a strange amalgam. The temptation will be to see it as an allegory, the user superimposed into the new graphicalized field of a computer terminal—an allegory of capture, say, or conscription. But the effect is actually more literal than allegorical. The story I want to sketch briefly, with the still as historical agitator, has to do with how this graphical space generates the racial constitution of the personal computer user. The still is from the demonstration that Engelbart and his team performed for an audience in 1968.1 As described on the website of the [End Page 164] Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA), a funder of Engelbart's work, "Engelbart's terminal was linked to a large-format video projection system loaned by the NASA Ames Research Center and via telephone lines to a [Scientific Data Systems] 940 computer (designed specifically for time-sharing among multiple users) 30 miles away in Menlo Park, California, at the Augmentation Research Center, which Engelbart founded at SRI [the Stanford Research Institute]. On a 22-foot-high screen with video insets, the audience could see Engelbart manipulate the mouse and watch as members of his team in Menlo Park joined in the presentation."2 White button-up shirt, dark tie, the insinuation that a sports jacket has recently been removed—this human figure is superimposed on or into the field of the computer screen (whether on or into, it is in the nature of the graphical screen to render all prepositions inadequate). That field is in some ways most remarkable for its blankness, the fact that there is almost nothing in it, including...

PECULIARITIES OF DESIGN OF SPECIAL CLOTHING FOR AMATEUR MOTORCYCLISTS

The article is devoted to the development of a special protective suit for amateur motorcyclists. As a result of the analysis of the operating conditions of motorcyclists’ sportswear, the most negative environmental factors affecting the driver’s body are identified – wind speeds from 0 to 60 km/h, possible precipitation in the form of rain, blunt objects in case of fall. Clothing for amateur motorcyclists should protect the body from the effects of these negative factors, ease of use, comfort at rest and during intense movements. A characteristic feature of the operating conditions of sportswear for motorcyclists is that a person is almost always in a sitting position on a motorcycle. The method of non-contact optical determination of the main poses and characteristic movements of amateur motorcyclists is used in the work. To ensure a given level of ergonomic fit of the motorcyclist’s suit, it is proposed to use the following characteristics: the range of arms of the dressed person; resistance to accuracy and speed of movements; moving areas of clothing relative to the body when moving; tensile deformation of materials in parts, lack of free folds; horizontality of the bottom of the product, the correct position of the sleeve. The “thread method” was chosen to assess the ergonomic conformity of the clothing design. Using this method allows you to measure the amount of movement of individual parts of clothing and stretch material in garments and assess the dynamic compliance of clothing. To determine the air permeability of materials, it is proposed to use the calculation method, which involves determining the coefficient of air permeability by the nature of the weave, the number of threads on the warp and weft and the raw material composition. The areas of location of windproof and shockproof pads are determined. By setting the frequency of occurrence of structural elements and articulations of costumes of professional motorcyclists, the suit model is finally determined: jacket with a stand-up collar, a central zipper and a sewn-on strap, with reliefs; pants on a belt and with a relief. The design of the suit of amateur motorcyclists (sports jacket and pants) was built according to the method of “Mueller and Son”. Further modeling of reliefs, yokes, cuffs and other structural elements was performed.

Bipolar Disorder: A Springboard to My Higher Self.

Bipolar Disorder: A Springboard to My Higher Self.

Clothing development process towards a circular model

The textile and clothing industry uses many resources. It causes a lot of environmental problems: water pollution, consuming a massive amount of raw materials, energy, chemicals, etc. The garments are produced to be worn and cleaned several times, and their lifespan is considerably reduced. Over 60% of what the consumer buys, becomes unuseful (either the consumer forgot what he/she has, or the product is not fashionable anymore, or it does not fit). It is compulsory and essential to understand the necessity of creating a new balance between the use of resources, the lifespan of the products and consumer behaviour. Closing the loop and building a new understanding of how the textile and clothing industry can exist is the key to the future – to develop and implement the circular business model. This type of business implies some changes in the production flow: the materials are recycled in several rounds, the design process has to take into account several lifecycles of the items (with the same destination or a different one), the products are designed to be re-included in a system where it is possible, and the consumer has to be educated to accept these categories of products. Each stage of the production process has to be sustainable, environmentally friendly and with a low production cost. In terms of a sustainable design process, this paper presents the main stages of the designing process of a garment (leisure sports jacket), with a versatile shape and usage (garment/ backpack). The garment is designed and manufactured to allow and the vice-versa transformation without any technological modifications. By using a creative and feasible design and manufacturing solution, the waste of worn garments will be considerably reduced, and the product lifespan prolonged, as much as it is possible.

Using Careless Speech for Careful, Well-Crafted Writing— Whatever Its Style

I me standing in front of you in a button-down white shirt, necktie, and sports jacket. I’ve created this essay from an informal talk at the annual 2013 AEPL conference, and I used formal dress to call attention to something that my readers often forget: my traditional side. My father ran a men’s clothing store with his father, and they sold high quality, well-crafted clothes. That’s the theme here. I’ve not been fighting all these years just to make writing easier; I’ve been fighting to make writing better. I’ve been trying help people break out of the unclear, roundabout, or mashed-potatoes prose they so often produce—the various weaknesses that commonly result when people try to write right. My recent book is about bringing speech to writing (Vernacular Eloquence: What Speech Can Bring to Writing), so it might seem as though it’s a book about overthrowing old fashioned, writerly standards of writing. But it’s not. It’s a book about how to make writing better—more eloquent. In my opening analogy for the book, I say that it represents not just my wild love affair with speech, but also my conviction that I can bring her home to live with me and my wife, writing, and that we’ll all get along just fine. My focus today is not on the excitement of a new love affair; it’s on my commitment to a stable, long term menage a trois. My goal in the book is to show how we can use the resources of careless speech to create high-quality, well-crafted writing—whatever its style.

FILM IN REVIEW

1 9 6 Y F I L M I N R E V I E W C H A R L E S T A Y L O R ‘‘Tucson.’’ That’s all the aging mobster needs to say. The contempt in his voice conveys the weary disgust of every sharpster who’s ever found himself stuck in Hicksville. What can you say about a place where the menu features ‘‘Wild West pastrami’’? We’ve seen this dingy hotel room a hundred times before, and the only way to tell where we are this time is by the Sierra Club sunset outside the window, the bleeding colors having all the reassuring inauthenticity of a backlot backdrop. So here we go again, with the bad guys either setting up a job or hiding out after one. Only this time the players know they’re reaching the end of the line. ‘‘Older, fatter, uglier’’; that’s how Gameboy Baker describes himself, his silk robe and black dress socks making him look less like a slick operator than an old man running to seed in his accustomed, soon-to-be-outmoded style. And Joe Diamond, in his plaid sports jacket and cream fedora? He could be a retiree headed out to a night at the poker tables. They’re not going to be pulling jobs much longer, and this latest one doesn’t even make sense. We might have guessed it would be a hit, but on the president of the United States? The assignment scares Joe so badly that when Gameboy tells him the target he falls 1 9 7 R to his knees – and all Joe’s being asked to do is shoot the shooter. Why me, Joe wonders. Sure, he owes Gameboy, who set him up in his club. And sure, he stole from Manny and Sal and Uncle Louie, but he always intended to pay them back. The pastrami and celery tonic sitting in his stomach is bad enough, but screw the pastrami. This is setting o√ a worse fire in his guts. The president? Are they crazy? And why does Gameboy talk as if it’s just another job, as if the president were another chiseler destined to wind up in a landfill or in the trunk of a stolen car? This isn’t how business is supposed to proceed. But then, Winter Kills isn’t how a movie was supposed to proceed , either. In the late 1970s you didn’t go out to see Ralph Meeker (as Gameboy Baker) or Eli Wallach (as Joe Diamond) playing the kind of scene familiar from endless late nights slumped in front of the TV flicking the remote. And you sure as hell didn’t expect JFK’s assassination in the midst of some worn-out gangster picture. It’s as if The Late Show had been introduced with the words that in the sixties heralded so much unthinkable news: ‘‘We interrupt this program to bring you a Special Report . . .’’ That sense of dislocation, the feeling of seeing the familiar unfold in a funhouse mirror, is in the very air of the conspiracytheory burlesque Winter Kills, which came and went from theaters in one week in the spring of 1979. Less than sixteen years after JFK’s assassination, here was a picture that treated the legends and gossip and theories that had sprung up around the killing as some insanely complicated joke, less national trauma than national tall tale. In the days before home video, the picture’s very existence could seem like a rumor, even if you had seen it. I did, one of three people in the theater watching the Sunday-night late show in a suburban shopping mall twoplex. (It was that or the o√ering across the way, Firepower, featuring James Coburn, Sophia Loren, and O. J. Simpson.) For years afterward, I wondered whether I had really seen it. Surely I had imagined seeing Elizabeth Taylor and Toshiro Mifune in the same movie? Or John Huston striding across the screen in samurai robe and red bikini underwear? Or so many Hollywood faces who rarely appeared in the new Hollywood of the 1970s – Dorothy Malone, Richard Boone...

The Wages of Syncretism: Folkloric New Russians and Post–Soviet Popular Culture

The Wages of Syncretism: Folkloric New Russians and Post–Soviet Popular Culture

NBC Nightly News with Tom Brokaw

Tower 1 was struck shortly before I boarded my commuter train in North Jersey for my ride to work. Tower 2 was hit not long after, and I watched the towers burn as my train moved slowly across the Meadowlands near Giants Stadium. By the time I arrived in Hoboken, N.J., a riverfront community directly across the Hudson River from Manhattan, all transportation onto the island had been shut down. The city was locked down--tight. Cell phones didn't work. I kept trying land lines hoping to get through to the assignment desk, but they weren't working either. While searching the streets for yet another phone booth to try, I spotted a satellite truck from our local affiliate, WNBC New York. I flagged it down. It was my first piece of luck for the day. They were heading to another waterfront location just south of us to where people from the city were being evacuated, so I hopped a ride figuring I could help with the news gathering. Although the location we were heading to in Jersey City was only about two miles away, it took us almost an hour to get there. Police were re-routing traffic away from the river and up into an elevated area known as the Heights. The South Tower fell as we weaved our way through some back streets. As we reached an overpass, we got a clear sight line of the burning North Tower. Looking past the driver, I watched as the North Tower came straight down, floor upon floor pancaking, the giant transmission tower settling into the dust. The local desk was frantically taking a roll call over the radio of the crews working in the area. One of the crews wasn't answering. It wasn't until close to midnight that I found out the crew was safe. The evacuation site in Jersey City was a long, wide river walk area beside a large series of new office buildings. A local reporter, Pat Battle, was already there broadcasting live from a satellite truck she had arrived in. The evacuees were being dropped off about a hundred yards from the location of the truck, but journalists were being permitted relatively close to the triage area, so I spent about a half hour talking with folks coming off the boats and running information back to Pat. If they didn't want to go on camera, I'd try to get a little story about were they were and how they got out. The director of a daycare center went on camera hoping to get word out to the parents of the children, telling them that everyone was OK and in New Jersey. After one of my trips back to the live location to pass along more info, Pat pointed to a cameraman standing near the satellite truck and said, says he's with the network. His name was Bill Angelucci, a freelancer from Philadelphia who had answered an all-call from the network assignment desk. They told him to get as close to the city as he could and start taking pictures. He showed up right where I happened to be--my second bit of luck for the day. You're with me, I said to him and we headed back to the triage area to shoot some tape. We worked the triage area, first on the perimeter, then inside the area, inching our way closer to the foot of the dock where the evacuees were debarking. On camera we talked with a New York City EMT who had been evacuated on a police boat. He escaped injury by diving under his ambulance when the first tower collapsed, and through the dust and darkness had made his way to the river. The crew hauled him aboard and shoved off just as the second tower began to come down. As we continued to work the area, the one question I kept asking was how could I get on one of the boats heading back into the city. Eventually, a uniformed cop pointed out a man dressed in a tan sports jacket and tie. Talk to the captain, he's in charge, he told me. He was a captain in the Jersey City police force and the senior officer at the scene. I asked Bill to put down his camera and wait while I talked to him. It was early afternoon by this time, and the flow of evacuees had slowed. …

Fiction: Off-label.

When the lights started blinking in the ballroom, quite a few of the regional neuroscience specialists looked rather sick. It was the usual collection of drug reps: the older ones were men; the “kids,” under 30, were of both sexes. We were trying to enjoy the croissants and the orange juice, but there was a growing apprehension. None of us wanted to attend an update on Yettol, our antiepilepsy drug, even as part of a free weekend at a Palm Beach hotel. We knew the drug was way behind in prescriptions for partial seizures: the latest figures showed it was last among ten anticonvulsants. So, what would the company tell us now? Unlike most of the reps, I chose a seat toward the front. I preferred to see the facial expressions and nuances of the speakers at close range. I sought hidden meanings in all things, possibly from having studied psychology and biology in college. The first speaker, Joseph Harnden, the pharmaceutical vice president, strode to the podium after an unnecessary introduction: everyone in the room had met him and had received his weekly e-mails for over a year. He always moved and talked in a hurried manner, but especially so today. Normally he would ceremoniously shed his sports jacket, but today he didn’t pause for that. He lowered the podium, leaned forward on his elbows, and began. “At Elite, we do believe it’s how you play the game that counts. We promote good health, and not profits; satisfaction, and not market shares. An educated, healthy, and satisfied consumer of our products is what we view as winning. When we launched Yettol, we knew there was a crying need for a drug to treat partial seizures, a need unfulfilled in a third of the world’s epileptic patients. Our company had …

A brief history of medical drama

First there was Dr Kildare. If you don't remember Richard Chamberlain, ask your parents, or go and see Towering Inferno. Life was simple for a doctor in the 1960s. He just had to look good and be reassuring. His white coat gleamed almost as much as his teeth. Moral dilemmas happened elsewhere, life was mainly simple choices. Patients liked to cooperate, the doctor was God, his hair was perfect, and he dutifully maintained an expression of concern. Emergency Ward 10 was another American import of the time. It covered similar territory to the above but without the attractive backdrop that was Mr Chamberlain. Enough said. AP PHOTO/NICK UT The 1970s gave us Quincy , which I can vaguely remember. Quincy ME no less. That's medical examiner or coroner if you prefer. He was a heroic pathologist come detective. He had a nose for dastardly deeds (literally) and would conveniently clear up any wrongdoing or criminal conspiracy within the allotted 50 minutes, before the fantastically upbeat theme tune would kick in. Given the post-mortem room setting there was limited glamour. Sadly, he rated poorly in the white coat department, preferring some comedy tunic when he wasn't wearing a beautifully checked sports jacket, cream shirt with enormous collar, and psychedelic kipper tie. Good car though. I always wondered why no …

The Great Life

Everyone calls them Pouce and Poussy, at least that's what their nicknames have been since childhood, and not many people know that their real names are Christele and Christelle. People call them Pouce and Poussy because they're just like twin sisters, and because they're not very tall. To be honest, they're actually short, quite short, and both very dark, with a strange childlike face and a button nose and nice shiny black eyes. They're not pretty, not really, because they're too small, and a bit too thin as well, with tiny arms and long legs and square shoulders. But there's something charming about them, and everyone likes them, especially when they start laughing, a funny, high-- pitched laughter that rings out like tinkling bells. They laugh quite often, almost anyplace, in the bus, in the street, in cafes, whenever they're together. And as a matter of fact, they're almost always together. When one of them is alone (which happens sometimes on account of different classes or when one of them is sick), they don't have fun. They get sad, and you don't hear their laughter. Some people say that Pouce is taller than Poussy, or that Poussy has finer features than Pouce does. That might be so. But the truth is, it's very difficult to tell them apart and surely no one ever could, especially since they dress alike, since they walk and talk alike, since they both have that same kind of laugh, a bit like sleigh bells being shaken. That's probably how they got the idea of starting out on their great adventure. At the time they were both working in a garment shop where they sewed button holes and put pockets on pants with the label Ohio, USA on the right-hand back pocket. That's what they did for eight hours a day and five days a week from nine to five with a twenty minute break to eat lunch standing by their machine. This is like prison, Olga, a coworker, would say. But she wouldn't talk very loudly, because it was against the rules to talk during working hours. Women who talked, who came to work late, or left their post without permission, had to pay a fine to the boss, twenty, sometimes thirty or even fifty francs. There was to be no down time. workers finished at five sharp in the afternoon, but then they had to put the tools away, and clean the machines, and carry all the fabric scraps and bits of thread to the back of the workshop and throw them in the waste bin. So in fact, they didn't really finish work till half past five. No one stays on for long, Olga would say I've been here for two years, because I live nearby. But I won't stay another year. boss was a short man of around forty, with grey hair, a thick waist, and an open shirt displaying a hairy chest. He thought he was handsome. You'll see, he's bound to make a pass at you, Olga had said to the young girls, and another girl had sneered, The man's a womanizer, a real pig.' Pouce couldn't have cared less. first time he came walking up to them during working hours, with his hands in his pockets and his chest puffed out in his beige acrylic sports jacket, the two friends hadn't even looked at him. And when he had spoken to them, instead of answering, they'd laughed at him with their tinkling bell-laughter, both of them, at the same time, so loud that all the girls had stopped working to see what was going on. His face had turned a deep red out of anger, or spite, and he'd left so quickly that the two sisters were still laughing even after he closed the door of the workshop. Now he'll really be looking for trouble. He's going to hassle the shit out of you, Olga had announced. But nothing more ever came of it. foreman, a man named Philippi, had simply supervised the rows where the two sisters worked more closely. As for the boss, he avoided coming anywhere near them again. That laugh of theirs sure was devastating. At the time, Pouce and Poussy lived in a small two-room apartment, with the woman they called Mama Janine, but who was really their adoptive mother. …

Thermophysiological effects of two different types of clothing under warm temperatures.

This paper is aimed to investigate which part of the body should be uncovered by clothing for the heat stress to be lessened under the influence of an ambient temperature increase from 32 degrees C to 40 degrees C. Two types of clothing were used as experimental garments: one was turtle necklined sports jacket with short sleeves and short pants (HALF) and the other was open round necklined sports jackets with long sleeves and short pants (OPEN). Both types of clothing were made of 100% vinyl. Uncovered area was same between HALF and OPEN. Five males volunteered as subjects. The subjects wearing either HALF or OPEN sat quietly in a bioclimatic chamber for 160 min, where ambient temperature (Ta) was gradually increased from 32 degrees C to 40 degrees C by 2 degrees C every 30 min with a relative humidity of 40%. Thermophysiological parameters such as esophageal temperature (Tes), tympanic temperature (Tty), local sweat rate, skin temperatures at 11 sites and evaporation were continuously measured. Main findings are as follows: 1) Tty was kept lower significantly in HALF than in OPEN during warm exposure. 2) An increase of local sweat rate was significantly lower in HALF. 3) Skin temperature at abdomen region was kept lower significantly in HALF, reflecting lower core temperature in HALF. It is concluded that HALF seems more beneficial than OPEN in reducing heat strain during warm exposure, due to more effective cooling by evaporation from the uncovered forearms (HALF) than from the uncovered upper trunk (OPEN).

Hymns of Sedition: Portraits of the Artist in Contemporary African-American Drama

JAMES C. McKELLY Hymns of Sedition: Portraits of the Artist in Contemporary African-American Drama The 1959 production of Lorraine Hansberry's A Raisin in the Sun presented a picture of the African-American family that white American culture generally found to be charming, heroic, and hospitable in every respect. Part of the reason for the unparalleled enthusiasm of the play's reception is that it posed no real threat to this dominant culture. Like thousands ofworking-class post-war families, the Youngers place their faith in the bourgeois virtues of frugality and hard work, and aspire to the material satisfaction and cultural inclusion which the free market promises to those who embrace it with vigor and imagination. In her play, Hansberry never strays from her implicit premise that American democratic capitalism can be the vehicle of African-American political and economic ascent. She celebrates Walter Lee's vision of "an executive's life," complete with a black Chrysler ("More elegant. Rich people don't have to be flashy"), a black gardener, and a son sitting on the floor surrounded by the catalogues of "all the great schools in the world" (Raisin 89). Although, as C.W.E. Bigsby points out in The Second Black Renaissance, Hansberry firmly establishes Walter Lee as "a black Willy Loman, self-deceiving and self-destructive" (216), Walter Lee's failure, rectified in the climactic moment of the play, is not Willy Loman's unrectifiable tragedy. Loman has entrusted a life of hope and labor to the integrity of a system that in the end is revealed as ethically bankrupt; Walter Lee sins against the universally-held, and hence universally-applauded, American imperatives ofhonesty and digArizona Quarter/} Volume 48 Number 1, Spring 1992 Copyright © 1992 by Arizona Board of Regents issn 0004-1610 James C. McKelly nity which his authot promotes as sacred. In Hansberry's world, the only bad business which Walter Lee is guilty of practicing is entrusting his investment to another black man. Even the would-be radical Beneatha, Hansberry's only slightly camouflaged self-portrait of the artist, never strays far from the wellworn path of middle-class upward mobility. An aspiring doctor of twenty, she is a college undergraduate, and as such does not suffer from lack of opportunity or choice. Rather, she seeks an adequate means of "self-expression," and unabashedly displays a typically undergraduate, self-conscious dilettantism in her search: she has explored horse-back riding, play-acting, and guitar lessons, and has yet to discover her medium. Her politics never rise above the level of rhetoric and iconoclastic posture. Her atheism provokes a slap from her mother, and a humbling, if not humiliating, lecture to which she submits in shame: '"Now—you say after me, in my mother's house there is still God'" (39). And although she is taken by the handsome Nigerian Asagai, who offers her an awareness of the glory of African history, she is equally drawn to George Murchison, a merchant's son, the scion of the new black bourgeoisie resplendent in upper-middle-class collegiate gear: white buckskin shoes, cashmere V-neck sweater, and tweed sports jacket. The play concludes with this rivalry between the prince of tradition and the prince of assimilation still unresolved, with Beneatha happily suspended in a condition offree choice and uncircumscribed potential . Beneatha is confused but optimistic and her assumption that the Ametican system, though resistant, will eventually accommodate het desire to achieve the self-expression for which she longs is one which the play never seriously places in doubt. But something changed. In 1962, four years after the successful debut of Raisin, Hansberry proposed another version of the AfricanAmerican artist. She contradicted her own role as the authot of Raisin, presenting an artist less amenable to the white cultural establishment and, as a result, more threatening to white political authority: While an excessively poignant Porgy was being instilled in generations of Americans, his truer-life counterpart was ravaged by longings that were, and are, in no way alien to those of the rest of mankind, and that beat within them the stuff of truly great art. He is waiting yet for those of us who will...

A June Wedding

The relatives have come. They are happy it is a wedding. Yet it is something even more than that. For the first time they feel they can fully join the rebel spirit of their children, who now have come to the fringes of middle age. Almost half of the brides and grooms were previously married to other persons and divorced. But whatever unease the parents may feel, they are comforted and indeed excited by the moving and tasteful promise of modern consciousness joining ancient tradition. Notes and papers are passed back and forth among the older men; occasionally an older man will furtively hand a younger man an envelope and the younger man will quickly place it in the inside pocket of his sports jacket. real Wed-In, one of the older men says with a slightly ironic laugh. And he repeats the same observation again to a number of people, not in an ugly or cynical mood, but more in the mood of a person who has seen it all, will move with the times, but never lose his equilibrium. The older women gather relatives and friends together, then call one of the five hardworking photographers roaming the auditorium to take pictures of the people they have just assembled. The older women are all beautifully dressed, animated, and warm. The mothers are a little more anxious than the rest, hoping that this time their sons and daughters will finally find some real peace and that this love will, unlike the previous relationships or marriages, not send their children into those awful and terrifying depressions. Some of the younger women who are getting married, cruelly disappointed in their previous relationships with men, have had lesbian affairs. Although they sincerely feel these affairs were important for their development, they concluded that the same problems inevitably develop in both straight and gay relations. The men, sensing this all along, have related exclusively to women. The grooms are gracious to the various guests, particularly attentive to the relatives of the brides. Most are dressed informally; the few dressed in tuxedoes seem especially jaunty. The best men all are wearing beards. All are drinking scotch and though they do not look exactly alike, all seem equally delighted at the role they will play in the events of the day. Some of the brides move about from guest to guest, speaking briefly but intimately with each person. Others look anxious, wringing their hands and flashing smiles at friends. The air conditioning in the gymnasium and the warmth of the large number of people keep the room temperature very pleasant. A guest list is placed by the entrance of the gym.

The Transfer of Fibres Between Clothing Materials During Simulated Contacts and their Persistence During Wear: Part I—Fibre Transference

The persistence of wool and acrylic fibres has been studied on the surface of six representative articles of clothing during various periods of wear to a maximum of 34 hours. The initial rate of fibre decay was rapid for all the garments studied and the highest proportion of the original fibres which remained after 4 hours of wear was 18%. The rate of fibre decay was indistinguishable for wool and acrylic fibres on all garments studied. The three jackets and two sweaters despite the considerable differences in their construction and appearance, produced very similar rates of fibre decay. Fibres were lost at a significantly higher rate from a finely textured sports jacket and very rapidly from a cotton laboratory coat. In some of the experiments the length of fibres was recorded throughout, and the size distribution was found to be relatively constant during wear. This paper is intended to assist the forensic scientist with the interpretation of fibre evidence in those cases which involve fibre contacts, an area in which at present there is no documented knowledge. The possible mechanisms which could control fibre persistence on the surface of textile materials are briefly discussed.