S.G. Collins doesÂn’t trust the UnitÂed States govÂernÂment. They “lie all the time, about all kinds of things,” he insists, “and if they haven’t lied to you today, maybe they haven’t had cofÂfee yet.” Like some of those who express a simÂiÂlar disÂtrust, he claims he has no way to verÂiÂfy that NASA landÂed on the moon in 1969. But unlike most of that subÂset, he doesÂn’t think the govÂernÂment could have pulled off a conÂvincÂing hoax about it. In othÂer words, AmerÂiÂca “did have the techÂniÂcal abilÂiÂty, not to menÂtion the reqÂuiÂsite madÂness, to send three guys to the moon and back. They did not have the techÂnolÂoÂgy to fake it on video.” CalmÂly, methodÂiÂcalÂly, with a deadÂpan wit, Collins uses the thirÂteen minÂutes of Moon Hoax Not to explain exactÂly why, as improbÂaÂble as the real moon landÂing sounds, a fake moon landÂing would have been downÂright imposÂsiÂble.
“The latÂer you were born,” Collins says, “the more all-powÂerÂful movie magÂic seems.” HolÂlyÂwood could now fake dozens of moon landÂings every day, but they didÂn’t always have that abilÂiÂty. MarÂshalÂing knowlÂedge accrued over thirÂty years as a phoÂtogÂraÂphÂer, he addressÂes each of the points that moon-landÂing conÂspirÂaÂcy theÂoÂrists comÂmonÂly cite as visuÂal eviÂdence of the supÂposed fraud. He also brings to bear facts from the hisÂtoÂry of video techÂnolÂoÂgy, such as 1969’s comÂplete lack of the high-speed video camÂeras, needÂed to shoot the sort of slow motion necÂesÂsary to creÂate the illuÂsion of low gravÂiÂty. And what if they’d shot the entire ApolÂlo 11 teleÂcast on film instead? Collins also knows, and names, exactÂly the probÂlems even the most ambiÂtious, techÂnoÂlogÂiÂcalÂly advanced charÂlaÂtans would have encounÂtered, even—as in moon-landÂing hoax mockÂuÂmenÂtary Dark Side of the Moon—with StanÂley Kubrick on their side.
ColÂin MarÂshall hosts and proÂduces NoteÂbook on Cities and CulÂtureand writes essays on litÂerÂaÂture, film, cities, Asia, and aesÂthetÂics. He’s at work on a book about Los AngeÂles, A Los AngeÂles Primer. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall.
It’s often rememÂbered as the day the SixÂties died. On DecemÂber 6, 1969, the Rolling Stones and a group of West Coast bands put on a free conÂcert at the AltaÂmont RaceÂway near San FranÂcisÂco. The conÂcert was billed as “WoodÂstock West,” but instead of being anothÂer gathÂerÂing of peace, love and music, it was more like a bad trip.
The event was hastiÂly put togethÂer by the Stones to celÂeÂbrate the end of their AmerÂiÂcan tour, their first with guiÂtarist Mick TayÂlor. The stage at the venue was unusuÂalÂly low and was sitÂuÂatÂed at the botÂtom of a hill. To keep the audiÂence of 300,000 peoÂple from engulfÂing the stage, someÂone had the bright idea of enlistÂing the Hells Angels motorÂcyÂcle gang to form a secuÂriÂty corÂdon around the stage in exchange for (essenÂtialÂly) all the beer they could drink.
As the conÂcert descendÂed into chaos, the Hells Angels beat peoÂple with pool cues and motorÂcyÂcle chains. A guiÂtarist and singer for the JefÂferÂson AirÂplane, MarÂty Balin, was knocked unconÂscious. When a man in the audiÂence branÂdished a pisÂtol durÂing an alterÂcaÂtion while the Stones were onstage, he was stabbed and beatÂen to death by memÂbers of the gang.
The whole sorÂry episode is capÂtured in Gimme ShelÂter, the clasÂsic docÂuÂmenÂtary by the brothÂers Albert and David Maysles and CharÂlotte Zwerin. The film was released in 1970 and can be seen above in its entireÂty. Gimme ShelÂter conÂtains eleÂments of a typÂiÂcal rock and roll docÂuÂmenÂtary, with footage of the Stones on the road and playÂing a conÂcert at MadiÂson Square GarÂden in New York. But the main focus is AltaÂmont. The Maysles brothÂers hired a large team of camÂeraÂmen for the event, includÂing filmÂmakÂer Robert ElfÂstrom, MagÂnum phoÂtogÂraÂphÂer Elliott Erwitt and a young George Lucas.
Pope John Paul II had a mixed legaÂcy. Some good, some bad. But whatÂevÂer your take on him, you have to give him this — the PonÂtiff could swing a good bat. VisÂitÂing CalÂiÂforÂnia in 1987, the 67 year-old Pope headÂed to the batÂting cages and startÂed linÂing sinÂgles and douÂbles, maybe even a few triples. As the video proÂceeds, we disÂcovÂer that the switch-hitÂting Pope had preÂviÂousÂly honed his batÂting skills in the VatÂiÂcan SoftÂball League. The clip conÂcludes with the graÂcious hosts givÂing the Pope the royÂal treatÂment, treatÂing him to a nice 1980s-style enerÂgy drink in a styÂroÂfoam cup. PretÂty posh. h/t MetafilÂter
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It seems like not a week goes by withÂout The New York Times writÂing a gushÂing proÂfile about CoursÂera. It’s hard to believe, but back durÂing anothÂer day, there was anothÂer darÂling of the open eduÂcaÂtion moveÂment. And his name was WalÂter Lewin. In a 2007 proÂfile, the same New York Times called him “an interÂnaÂtionÂal InterÂnet guru” and highÂlightÂed his wildÂly popÂuÂlar physics coursÂes recordÂed at MIT. Those coursÂes — find them in our colÂlecÂtion of Free Online Physics CoursÂes, part of our colÂlecÂtion of 825 Free Online CoursÂes — were wideÂly disÂtribÂuted through YouTube and iTunes. Now the MOOCs have come along, and Lewin isn’t letÂting himÂself get swept to the side. On FebÂruÂary 18, Lewin and his MIT colÂleagues will launch a new course on edX called ElecÂtricÂiÂty and MagÂnetÂism. DrawÂing on Lewin’s famous lecÂture series, ElecÂtricÂiÂty and MagÂnetÂism will run 17 weeks, requirÂing stuÂdents to put in about 9–12 hours per week. You can reserve your free seat in the course today and watch Lewin do what he does best.
Above you’ll find find a clip from Wired In, a teleÂviÂsion show proÂduced in the earÂly eightÂies meant to oriÂent viewÂers in the midst of that heady era of techÂnoÂlogÂiÂcal innoÂvaÂtion. Alas, the proÂgram nevÂer aired; only a demo reel and some raw footage surÂvive. But those remains feaÂture no less a comedic lumiÂnary than Bill MurÂray, who even 32 years ago must have been quite a catch for a pilot like this. Though not known for his tech savvy, he has built a repÂuÂtaÂtion for makÂing anyÂthing sound hilarÂiÂous by virtue of his perÂsona alone. This skill he applies to a parÂoÂdy of the everyÂman’s anti-techÂnolÂoÂgy diaÂtribe, as comÂmonÂly heard then as it is today — or as it no doubt was 32 years before the shoot, or will be 32 years from now. “Who thinks up all this high-tech stuff anyÂway?” MurÂray demands. “They start with the digÂiÂtal watchÂes. Tells you the time in numÂbers, the exact time to the secÂond. 3:12 and 42 secÂonds. Who needs to know that stuff? I don’t!”
Keep watchÂing, and that Wired In clip heads to Las Vegas to demonÂstrate for us the wonÂder of solÂid-state carÂtridge softÂware for the Texas InstruÂments Home ComÂputÂer. But if you’d rather marÂvel at more of MurÂray’s parÂticÂuÂlar kind of craft, watch the full sevÂen minÂutes of rant takes above. His riffs, seemÂingÂly scriptÂed as well as improÂvised, of varyÂing moods and pitched at varyÂing enerÂgy levÂels, take him from those digÂiÂtal watchÂes to autoÂmatÂed car facÂtoÂries to R2-D2 to talkÂing dashÂboards to the one idea he does like, robots that ride alongÂside you in your car’s pasÂsenÂger’s seat. “You know what?” he conÂcludes, “They’ll nevÂer do it — because it makes too much sense.” The makÂers of Wired In clearÂly had a preÂscientÂly sarÂdonÂic attiÂtude about the comÂing waves of tech-relatÂed anxÂiÂety; the pilot also includes a jab at the notion of video game addicÂtion from “Pac-Man freak” Lily TomÂlin.
ColÂin MarÂshall hosts and proÂduces NoteÂbook on Cities and CulÂtureand writes essays on litÂerÂaÂture, film, cities, Asia, and aesÂthetÂics. He’s at work on a book about Los AngeÂles, A Los AngeÂles Primer. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall.
In a preÂviÂous post, we brought you what is likeÂly the only appearÂance on film of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle—an interÂview in which he talks of SherÂlock Holmes and spirÂiÂtuÂalÂism. Although Conan Doyle creÂatÂed one of the most hardÂnosed ratioÂnal charÂacÂters in litÂerÂaÂture, the author himÂself latÂer became conÂvertÂed to a variÂety of superÂnatÂurÂal beliefs, and he was takÂen in by a few hoaxÂes. One such famous hoax was the case of the so-called “CotÂtinÂgÂley Fairies.” As you can see from the phoÂto above (from 1917), the case involved what Conan Doyle believed was phoÂtoÂgraphÂic eviÂdence of the exisÂtence of fairies, docÂuÂmentÂed by two young YorkÂshire girls, Elsie Wright and her cousin Frances GrifÂfiths (the girl in the phoÂto above). AccordÂing to The HauntÂed MuseÂum, the stoÂry of Doyle’s involveÂment goes someÂthing like this:
In 1920, Conan Doyle received a letÂter from a SpirÂiÂtuÂalÂist friend, FeliÂcia Scatcherd, who informed of some phoÂtographs which proved the exisÂtence of fairies in YorkÂshire. Conan Doyle asked his friend Edward GardÂner to go down and invesÂtiÂgate and GardÂner soon found himÂself in the posÂsesÂsion of sevÂerÂal phoÂtos which showed very small female figÂures with transÂparÂent wings. The phoÂtogÂraÂphers had been two young girls, Elsie Wright and her cousin, Frances GrifÂfiths. They claimed they had seen the fairies on an earÂliÂer occaÂsion and had gone back with a camÂera and phoÂtographed them. They had been takÂen in July and SepÂtemÂber 1917, near the YorkÂshire vilÂlage of CotÂtinÂgÂley.
The two cousins claimed to have seen the fairies around the “beck” (a local term for “stream”) on an almost daiÂly basis. At the time, they claimed to have no intenÂtion of seekÂing fame or notoÂriÂety. Elsie had borÂrowed her father’s camÂera on a host SatÂurÂday in July 1917 to take picÂtures of Frances and the beck fairies.
Elsie’s father, a skepÂtic, filed the phoÂtos away as a joke, but her mothÂer, PolÂly Wright, believed, and brought the images to GardÂner (there were only two at first, not “sevÂerÂal”), who cirÂcuÂlatÂed them through the British spirÂiÂtuÂalÂist comÂmuÂniÂty. When Conan Doyle saw them in 1920, he gave each girl a camÂera and comÂmisÂsioned them to take more. They proÂduced three addiÂtionÂal prints. The online MuseÂum of HoaxÂesdetails each of the five phoÂtos from the two sesÂsions with text from Edward GardÂner’s 1945 TheoÂsophÂiÂcal SociÂety pubÂliÂcaÂtion The CotÂtinÂgÂley PhoÂtographs and Their Sequel.
These phoÂtos swayed thouÂsands over the course of the cenÂtuÂry, but arch-skepÂtic James RanÂdi seemÂingÂly debunked them for good when he pointÂed out that the fairies were ringers for figÂures in the 1915 children’s book Princess Mary’s Gift Book, and that the prints show disÂcrepÂanÂcies in expoÂsure times that clearÂly point to delibÂerÂate manipÂuÂlaÂtion. The two women, Elsie and Frances, finalÂly conÂfessed in the earÂly 1980s, fifty years after Conan Doyle’s involveÂment, that they had faked the phoÂtos with paper cutouts. Watch RanÂdi and Elsie Wright disÂcuss the trickÂery above.
The daughÂter and grandÂdaughÂter of GrifÂfiths posÂsess the origÂiÂnal prints and one of Conan Doyle’s camÂeras. Both once believed that the fairies were real, but as the host explains, they were not simÂply credÂuÂlous fools. ThroughÂout much of the twenÂtiÂeth cenÂtuÂry, peoÂple looked at the camÂera as a sciÂenÂtifÂic instruÂment, unaware of the ease with which images could be manipÂuÂlatÂed and staged. But even as Frances admitÂted to the fakÂery of the first four phoÂtos, she insistÂed that numÂber five was genÂuine. EveryÂone on the show agrees, includÂing the host. CerÂtainÂly Conan Doyle and his friend Edward GardÂner thought so. In the latÂter’s descripÂtion of #5, he wrote:
This is espeÂcialÂly remarkÂable as it conÂtains a feaÂture quite unknown to the girls. The sheath or cocoon appearÂing in the midÂdle of the grassÂes had not been seen by them before, and they had no idea what it was. Fairy observers of ScotÂland and the New ForÂest, howÂevÂer, were familÂiar with it and described it as a magÂnetÂic bath, woven very quickÂly by the fairies and used after dull weathÂer, in the autumn espeÂcialÂly. The inteÂriÂor seems to be magÂneÂtised in some manÂner that stimÂuÂlates and pleasÂes.
I must say, I remain seriÂousÂly unconÂvinced. Even if I were inclined to believe in fairies, phoÂto numÂber five looks as phoÂny to me as numÂbers one through four. But the Antiques RoadÂshow appearÂance does add a fun new layÂer to the stoÂry and an air of mysÂtery I can’t help but find intriguÂing, as Conan Doyle did in 1920, if only for the hisÂtorÂiÂcal angle of the three genÂerÂaÂtions of GrifÂfiths who held onto the legÂend and the artiÂfacts. Oh, and the appraisal for the five origÂiÂnal phoÂtos and Arthur Conan Doyle’s camÂera? TwenÂty-five to thirÂty-thouÂsand pounds—not too shabÂby for an adoÂlesÂcent prank.
Josh Jones is a freeÂlance writer, ediÂtor, and musiÂcian based in WashÂingÂton, DC. FolÂlow him @jdmagness
What is enterÂing the pubÂlic domain in the UnitÂed States? NothÂing. Once again, we will have nothÂing to celÂeÂbrate this JanÂuÂary 1st. Not a sinÂgle pubÂlished work is enterÂing the pubÂlic domain this year. Or next year. In fact, in the UnitÂed States, no pubÂliÂcaÂtion will enter the pubÂlic domain until 2019. Even more shockÂingÂly, the Supreme Court ruled in 2012 that ConÂgress can take back works from the pubÂlic domain. Could ShakeÂspeare, PlaÂto, or Mozart be pulled back into copyÂright? The Supreme Court gave no reaÂson to think that they could not be.
The CenÂter then goes on to enuÂmerÂate the works that would have entered the comÂmons had we lived under the copyÂright laws that preÂvailed until 1978. Under those laws, “thouÂsands of works from 1956 would be enterÂing the pubÂlic domain. They range from the films The Best Things in Life Are Free, Around the World in 80 Days, ForÂbidÂden PlanÂet, and The Man Who Knew Too Much, to the Phillip K. Dick’s The MinorÂiÂty Report and Eugene O’Neill’s Long Day’s JourÂney into Night, to semÂiÂnal artiÂcles on artiÂfiÂcial intelÂliÂgence.” Have a look at some of the othÂers, sevÂerÂal of which appear in the mosaÂic above.
Ask a phoÂtogÂraÂphÂer from the cenÂtuÂry that just passed to name his or her favorite film, and the answer, very often, will be Kodachrome.
The crisp emulÂsion, beauÂtiÂfulÂly satÂuÂratÂed colÂors and archival staÂbilÂiÂty of Kodachrome made it a senÂtiÂmenÂtal favorite among phoÂtogÂraÂphers long after othÂer, more pracÂtiÂcal colÂor films had all but pushed it out of the marÂketÂplace. The probÂlem was, the very qualÂiÂties that made the film speÂcial stemmed from a highÂly cumÂberÂsome techÂniÂcal process. Kodachrome was a “non-subÂstanÂtive” film, meanÂing the dye couÂplers were not built into the emulÂsion, as they are in othÂer colÂor films, but had to be added durÂing develÂopÂment. The process was comÂplex, and few labs could afford to offer it. Even before the digÂiÂtal revÂoÂluÂtion, Kodachrome was an endanÂgered species.
So while it came as an emoÂtionÂal shock to many phoÂtogÂraÂphers, it was no real surÂprise when the EastÂman Kodak ComÂpaÂny announced in 2009 that it was haltÂing proÂducÂtion of Kodachrome. One of the phoÂtogÂraÂphers who had long-since moved on to digÂiÂtal imagÂing but who was sadÂdened by the demise of Kodachrome was Steve McCurÂry, an award-winÂning phoÂtoÂjourÂnalÂist for NationÂal GeoÂgraphÂic who is best known for his hauntÂing 1984 image (shot on Kodachrome) of a 12-year-old Afghan refugee girl with piercÂing green eyes. When McCurÂry heard the news, he arranged to obtain the very last roll of Kodachrome to come off the assemÂbly line at the Kodak plant in Rochester, New York. The chalÂlenge, then, was this: What do you do with the last 36 expoÂsures of a legÂendary film?
The half-hour docÂuÂmenÂtary above from NationÂal GeoÂgraphÂic tells the stoÂry of that roll and how McCurÂry used it. The filmÂmakÂers folÂlowed the phoÂtogÂraÂphÂer on an odyssey that began at the facÂtoÂry in Rochester and endÂed at a labÂoÂraÂtoÂry (the last Kodachrome lab open) in a small town in Kansas. Over the course of about six weeks, from late May to earÂly July, 2010, McCurÂry travÂeled halfway around the world to make those final 36 expoÂsures. The resultÂing phoÂtographs iclude street scenes in New York and Kansas, porÂtraits of a movie star (Robert De Niro) in New York, intelÂlecÂtuÂals and ethÂnic tribesÂmen in India, colÂleagues in Turkey and New York, and one of himÂself. It’s a remarkÂable take. Although a few of the shots appear sponÂtaÂneous, most are the result of careÂful planÂning. McCurÂry donatÂed all 36 slides to the George EastÂman House InterÂnaÂtionÂal MuseÂum of PhoÂtogÂraÂphy and Film, but you can see almost all of the phoÂtos online at the VanÂiÂty Fair Web site. As McCurÂry tells the magÂaÂzine:
I’ve been shootÂing digÂiÂtal for years, but I don’t think you can make a betÂter phoÂtoÂgraph under cerÂtain conÂdiÂtions than you can with Kodachrome. If you have good light and you’re at a fairÂly high shutÂter speed, it’s going to be a brilÂliant colÂor phoÂtoÂgraph. It had a great colÂor palette. It wasÂn’t too garÂish. Some films are like you’re on a drug or someÂthing. Velvia made everyÂthing so satÂuÂratÂed and wildÂly over-the-top, too elecÂtric. Kodachrome had more poetÂry in it, a softÂness, an eleÂgance. With digÂiÂtal phoÂtogÂraÂphy, you gain many benÂeÂfits [but] you have to put in post-proÂducÂtion. [With Kodachrome] you take it out of the box and the picÂtures are already brilÂliant.
OrnitholÂoÂgists and bird watchÂers rejoice. After a dozen years, The CorÂnell Lab of Ornithology’s Macaulay Library has fulÂly digÂiÂtized its nearÂly 150,000 audio recordÂings (a total runÂning time of 7,513 hours), repÂreÂsentÂing close to 9,000 difÂferÂent species, such as the very unsetÂtling-soundÂing Barred Owl (above). While the colÂlecÂtion also includes the sounds of whales, eleÂphants, frogs, priÂmates, and othÂer aniÂmals, the priÂmaÂry emphaÂsis here is on birds (it is a Lab of OrnitholÂoÂgy, after all), and there is an incredÂiÂble range of calls. CorÂnell recÂomÂmends some of the highÂlights below:
EarÂliÂest recordÂing: CorÂnell Lab founder Arthur Allen was a pioÂneer in sound recordÂing. On a spring day in 1929 he recordÂed this Song SparÂrow soundÂing much as they do today
Most likeÂly to be misÂtakÂen for aliens arrivÂing: Birds-of-parÂadise make some amazÂing sounds – here’s the UFO-sound of a Curl-crestÂed ManuÂcode in New Guinea
Whether you’re an enthuÂsiÂasÂtic birdÂer, pracÂticÂing sciÂenÂtist, or sound-samÂple hunter, you’ll find someÂthing to blow your mind at the extenÂsive colÂlecÂtions of the Macaulay Library. Both amaÂteur and proÂfesÂsionÂal natÂuÂralÂists, for examÂple, can acquire, visuÂalÂize, meaÂsure, and anaÂlyze aniÂmal sounds with a free verÂsion of the CorÂnell Lab’s proÂpriÂetary interÂacÂtive sound analyÂsis softÂware, Raven.
And admirÂers of the astonÂishÂing variÂety and beauÂty of the bird-of-parÂadise should stay tuned for the Bird-of-ParÂadise Project webÂsite, launchÂing this month. Sign up to receive an email when the full site launchÂes. MeanÂwhile, watch the project’s spellÂbindÂing trailÂer below.
If you only know John HodgÂman as the earnestÂly inept “P.C.” of those “I’m a Mac” Apple teleÂviÂsion comÂmerÂcials, you may wonÂder why you’d go to him for writÂing advice. Or maybe you’ve read his books The Areas of My ExperÂtise, More InforÂmaÂtion Than You Require, and That is All. But just because a man can pen three satirÂiÂcal volÂumes of made-up knowlÂedge doesÂn’t mean he can teach you how to propÂerÂly cast your own ideas into print. No, to do that, HodgÂman draws on his shadÂowy past as a litÂerÂary agent, “a bold sevÂen-year attempt to conÂvince myself I didÂn’t want to be a writer.” RememÂberÂing that stint spent readÂing through piles upon piles of subÂmisÂsions, “the most elabÂoÂrate proÂcrasÂtiÂnaÂtion techÂnique that I came up with to avoid writÂing,” he conÂfirms what we all susÂpect: a great many peoÂple want to write for a livÂing, “but luckÂiÂly, very few of them are sane.” And among that same minorÂiÂty, the “mediÂum- to low-talÂentÂed but perÂsisÂtent” sucÂceed where the “mereÂly super-talÂentÂed” don’t.
Here we have an adapÂtaÂtion of a theÂoÂry I’ve often heard, livÂing as I do in Los AngeÂles, applied to film and teleÂviÂsion: while milÂlions of hopeÂfuls turn up every year tryÂing to make it in The IndusÂtry, most of them are idiots. HodgÂman delivÂers his verÂsion of these sage words with a newish look, miles away from the delibÂerÂateÂly stodgy, poorÂly-taiÂlored appearÂance with which he pitched the dubiÂous virtues of the P.C. Behind his ascot, roundÂed musÂtache, and orange-tintÂed aviÂaÂtor glassÂes, he looks like nothÂing so much as a faintÂly disÂrepÂutable HolÂlyÂwood mogul of the sevÂenÂties. But the subÂtle outÂlandishÂness of his self-preÂsenÂtaÂtion belies the sense of his advice. WhatÂevÂer your levÂel of talÂent, put yourÂself in the runÂning with “the peoÂple who keep subÂmitÂting and keep doing and keep makÂing.” And make sure that, while writÂing what you know, you also know what you know.
ColÂin MarÂshall hosts and proÂduces NoteÂbook on Cities and CulÂtureand writes essays on litÂerÂaÂture, film, cities, Asia, and aesÂthetÂics. He’s at work on a book about Los AngeÂles, A Los AngeÂles Primer. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall.
In 1974 DonÂald SherÂman, whose speech was limÂitÂed by a neuÂroÂlogÂiÂcal disÂorÂder called MoeÂbius SynÂdrome, used a new-fanÂgled device designed by John EulenÂberg to dial up a pizzeÂria. The first call went to DomiÂnos, which hung up. They were apparÂentÂly too busy becomÂing a beheÂmoth. MerÂciÂfulÂly, a humane pizzeÂria — Mr. Mike’s — took the call, and hisÂtoÂry was made. It all plays out above, and we hope that Mr. Mike’s is still thrivÂing all these years latÂer.…
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