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"The Way It Is" is a song by American rock group Bruce Hornsby and the Range. It was released in the United States in September 1986 as the second single from their debut album, The Way It Is. The song topped the charts in the US, Canada and the Netherlands in 1986,[2] and peaked inside the top twenty in such countries as Australia, Ireland, Switzerland and the United Kingdom.

The Way It Is


Written by Bruce Hornsby, it made explicit reference to the Economic Opportunity Act, also known as the 1964 Poverty Act, as well as the Civil Rights Act of 1964. Musically, the song is characterized by two long piano solos. The song has been sampled by various rappers such as E-40 for his song "Things'll Never Change",[3] by Tupac for "Changes", by DJ Don Diablo for his song "Never Change", and Polo G for "Wishing for a Hero" in 2020.

The opening verse recounts a story taking place at a line for welfare that illustrates a divide between the rich and poor; the second verse recounts ongoing social issues from the voice of someone supporting racial segregation. The final verse recounts the passage of the Economic Opportunity Act in 1964 "to give those who ain't got a little more", and the Civil Rights Act of 1964 as a victory in the civil rights movement against job discrimination, but insists that more is needed.

The Way It Is is Bruce Hornsby and the Range's debut album, released by RCA Records in 1986. Led by its hit title track, the album went on to achieve multi-platinum status and helped the group to win the Grammy Award for Best New Artist. Other hits from the album include "Mandolin Rain" and "Every Little Kiss". Huey Lewis features on harmonica and vocals on "Down the Road Tonight". Lewis also co-produced the song, along with the tracks "The Long Race" and "The River Runs Low".

The original release of the album featured an impressionistic photograph on the cover of Bruce Hornsby playing an accordion.[3] It was originally targeted at the New Age music market and featured slightly different versions of the songs "Down the Road Tonight" and "The River Runs Low."

Once the album's tracks started to receive regular airplay on Pop music stations in late 1986, the album was remixed and was re-released with a new sepia-toned cover featuring a photo of the band superimposed over a photo of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel in Virginia.

Tracks 2 and 5 written by Bruce Hornsby; all other songs written by Bruce Hornsby and John Hornsby. Track times are for the current release of the album. The opening of "Every Little Kiss" features an extended quotation from the opening of Movement III, The Alcotts, from Charles Ives's Piano Sonata No. 2.

Graywolf Press is a leading independent publisher committed to the discovery and energetic publication of twenty-first century American and international literature. We champion outstanding writers at all stages of their careers to ensure that adventurous readers can find underrepresented and diverse voices in a crowded marketplace. More about us

A pattern is a decorative design that often repeats a series of symbols, images, words, letters, numbers, or any other shape. You can see patterns all around you everyday in pictures, in books, on clothing, or on buildings. Sometimes they are part of the basic design of an object. In this building, the windows are all the same size and shape, creating a repeating pattern across the building. Patterns can also be used in writing, especially in poems that rhyme.

Ben Rubin is a visual artist who works with video projections. In this work, he combines text from current and past television news broadcasts, looking for patterns in speech and grammar. Many of Rubin's previous pieces follow a grid pattern, and this one uses the grid of the building as a frame. While in this piece he usually follows the grid to guide his projections, he also sometimes breaks out of the boundaries of the grid.

Ben Rubin is an artist who often creates artworks that isolate text from its original source. His previous works have presented text from Internet chat rooms (Listening Post, 2004) or from current and past issues of the New York Times (Moveable Type, 2007).

Take a look at the headlines of a newspaper from today. Then look at the headlines from a thirty- to fifty-year-old newspaper. What patterns do you see? What has changed and what has stayed the same? Create a collage from the headlines highlighting the patterns you see.

Whether creating a work of intimate or monumental scale, Rubin begins by constructing parameters to convey patterns of thought or behavior. He composes algorithms and computational systems, often relying upon a selected data source to generate nonlinear results. The transformation of the familiar into the unexpected, captured through gracefully simplified forms, results in works that are quietly provocative and that gently turn viewer into participant.

The light projection weaves a tapestry of information into two- to three-minute scenes, each of which has its own compositional rhythm, visual presentation, and internal logic. Projected on an architectural scale, the work offers streams of language that suggest the media-based activities transpiring inside the communication building. To realize the installation, Rubin worked closely with his EAR Studio collaborators, including architect Michele Gorman, data artist Jer Thorp, and statistician Mark Hansen.

Lauren Hanson is a doctoral candidate in Art History at The University of Texas at Austin, specializing in 20th-Century European and American Art. Her research interests include exhibition practices post-1945, memory and artistic practice, constructions of artistic identities, and intersections of art and politics. She is currently completing her dissertation, Creating a Scene: Art and Experimentation in Düsseldorf circa 1958, which addresses how a network of artists, curators, and critics navigated the post-war environment in West Germany.

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In a D&E, the fetus is usually dismembered inside the uterus and extracted in pieces. Old obstetrics books from as far back as the 1700s have disquieting illustrations of the various tools of yore used for fetal dismemberment. Nowadays, powerful gripping forceps are used, making the procedure much less dangerous for the woman.

Except for a small sink, the office was just a regular room, a parlor, with green walls and venetian blinds and a worn rug on the floor. A tall, battered, glass-doored porcelain cabinet stood in a corner. Through the glass, I could see on the shelves a dusty disorderly jumble of stethoscopes, hypodermics, bottles, little rubber hammers, basins, forceps, clamps, speculums, wads of cotton. There were rust stains in the sink and a tired old examining table.

The doctor, a little nervous man with glasses and a bald head, came in. I explained my problem. I have to examine you, he said. And he said: Everything has to be clean, very clean. He went to the sink and washed and washed his hands.

He finished and stood there without saying anything. His eyes were sort of glittering behind his glasses, and he acted as if I was supposed to know what to do next. I glanced around for a gown, but he was looking impatient, so I just took off my underwear and climbed onto the table.

This doctor had a waiting room, with dark walls and a very high ceiling, the front room of the brownstone. It was full of people, facing each other along opposite walls, sitting in old, cracked, brown leather parlor chairs with stand-up ashtrays here and there, like in a bus station. A set of tall sliding wooden doors stood closed between that room and the next. Everyone was smoking, including me. The air was blue.

Several Puerto Rican-looking women chattered away in Spanish and seemed perfectly cheerful. There were a few men, who looked as if they might be accompanying somebody, and some more women who sat silent and staring.

The tall wooden doors separated. A potbellied man in shirtsleeves who resembled Harpo Marx minus the fun stood there. His eyes moved around the room. He looked at the Puerto Rican women, the tall WASP woman, then at me, then the WASP woman again, considered for a moment, turned back to me, and pointed.

The windows in here had been nailed over with plywood, and the floor was ancient linoleum. There was a smell of insecticide. Boxes and bundles of paper were piled high in the dim corners and on a rolltop desk, and along the walls were shelves crammed messily with stethoscopes, hypodermics, speculums. The examining table was the centerpiece of the room, antique and massive, from the last century, dark green leather, steel and ceramic, designed so that the patient did not lie flat but in a semi-reclining position. Instead of stirrups, there were obstetrical leg supports. A tall old-fashioned floor lamp with a rose silk shade and a fringe, the only light in the room, stood next to the table alongside a cylinder of gas. An unlit crystal chandelier dangled in the overhead shadows.

The doctor had a trace of some sort of European accent. German, I guessed. He was about a foot shorter than I was, and behaved with obsequious deference, as if I had dropped in for an afternoon sherry. He gestured toward the examining table with a courtly flourish. I sat between the leg supports while he stood close and asked questions: Last period, how many times had I had sex, was I married, how many men had I had sex with, did they have large or small penises, were they circumcised, what positions, did I like it?

I borrowed the extra hundred from Kat, and enlisted someone I knew to ride out to Jersey City with me on the train, a guy who was something of an ex-boyfriend. Even though I was enigmatic about why we were going to Jersey City at night, he guessed what was up, and seemed fairly entertained at the prospect. 041b061a72


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