Alert Box Quotes

Sadly, the signals that allow men and women to find the partners who most please them are scrambled by the sexual insecurity initiated by beauty thinking. A woman who is self-conscious can't relax to let her sensuality come into play. If she is hungry she will be tense. If she is "done up" she will be on the alert for her reflection in his eyes. If she is ashamed of her body, its movement will be stilled. If she does not feel entitled to claim attention, she will not demand that airspace to shine in. If his field of vision has been boxed in by "beauty"--a box continually shrinking--he simply will not see her, his real love, standing right before him.

Wires run from under the back door into the first-floor bedrooms, where amplifiers alert Malorie and the children to any sounds coming from outside the house. The three of them live this way. They do not go outside for long periods of time.

My in-box floods, as it did last summer, with alarming crime-alert messages from campus security. Shooting in the early evening. Sodomy in the morning. Decapitation at 3:30 in the afternoon. I wonder when is a nonbeheading time to go out and buy ginger ale.

Smokers always waxed poetic about the ritual of it, how a large part of the satisfaction was packing the box and pulling the foil wrapper and plucking an aromatic stick. They claimed they loved the lighting, the ashing, the feeling of being able to hold something between their fingers. That was all well and good, but there was nothing quite like actually smoking it: Leigh loved inhaling. To pull with your lips on that filter and feel the smoke drift across your tongue, down your throat, and directly into your lungs was to be transported momentarily to nirvana. She remembered- every day- how it felt after the first inhale, just as the nicotine was hitting her bloodstream. A few seconds of both tranquility and alertness, together, in exactly the right amounts. Then the slow exhale- forceful enough so that the smoke didn't merely seep from your mouth but not so energetic that it disrupted the moment- would complete the blissful experience.

This is nice,' Melody said, picking up a red leather box with a vintage watch inside. 'Yes, it is nice. It's the watch I gave Walker as a wedding gift.' 'He gave it back?' 'Actually, he sold it back to the person I bought it from who alerted me and I reacquired it.' 'I'm sorry. That sounds upsetting.' 'It was. Very. Especially since he sold the watch to buy combs for my long hair and without knowing what he had done I sold my hair to buy a leather case for this watch.

This is nice,' Melody said, picking up a red leather box with a vintage watch inside. 'Yes, it is nice. It's the watch I gave Walker as a wedding gift.' 'He gave it back?' 'Actually, he sold it back to the person I bought it from who alerted me and I reacquired it.' 'I'm sorry. That sounds upsetting.' 'It was. Very. Especially since he sold the watch to buy combs for my long hair and without knowing what he had done I sold my hair to buy a leather case for this watch.

Better take her uniform -- all that gear," the second MetaCop suggests, not unlewdly. The manager looks at Y.T., trying not to let his gaze travel sinfully up and down her body. For thousands of years his people have survived on alertness: waiting for Mongols to come galloping over the horizon, waiting for repeat offenders to swing sawed-off shotguns across their check-out counters. His alertness right now is palpable and painful; he's like a goblet of hot nitroglycerin. The added question of sexual misconduct makes it even worse. To him it's no joke. Y.T. shrugs, trying to think of something unnerving and wacky. At this point, she is supposed to squeal and shrink, wriggle and whine, swoon and beg. They are threatening to take her clothes. How awful. But she does not get upset because she knows that they are expecting her to. A Kourier has to establish space on the pavement. Predictable law-abiding behavior lulls drivers. They mentally assign you to a little box in the lane, assume you will stay there, can't handle it when you leave that little box. Y.T. is not fond of boxes. Y.T. establishes her space on the pavement by zagging mightily from lane to lane, establishing a precedent of scary randomness. Keeps people on their toes, makes them react to her, instead of the other way round. Now these men are trying to put her in a box, make her follow rules. She unzips her coverall all the way down below her navel. Underneath is naught but billowing pale flesh. The MetaCops raise their eyebrows. The manager jumps back, raises both hands up to form a visual shield, protecting himself from the damaging input. "No, no, nor' he says. Y.T. shrugs, zips herself back up.

NASA had convened a conference to explore the benefit of a new kind of training: Crew Resource Management. The primary focus was on communication. First officers were taught assertiveness procedures. The mnemonic that has been used to improve the assertiveness of junior members of the crew in aviation is called P.A.C.E. (Probe, Alert, Challenge, Emergency).* Captains, who for years had been regarded as big chiefs, were taught to listen, acknowledge instructions, and clarify ambiguity. The time perception problem was tackled through a more structured division of responsibilities. Checklists, already in operation, were expanded and improved. The checklists have been established as a means of preventing oversights in the face of complexity. But they also flatten the hierarchy. When pilots and co-pilots talk to each other, introduce themselves, and go over the checklist, they open channels of communication. It makes it more likely the junior partner will speak up in an emergency. This solves the so-called activation problem. Various versions of the new training methods were immediately trialed in simulators. At each stage, the new ideas were challenged, rigorously tested, and examined at their limits. The most effective proposals were then rapidly integrated into airlines around the world. After a terrible set of accidents in the 1970s, the rate of crashes began to decline.

Why is this? How can experience be so valuable in some professions but almost worthless in others? To see why, suppose that you are playing golf. You are out on the driving range, hitting balls toward a target. You are concentrating, and every time you fire the ball wide you adjust your technique in order to get it closer to where you want it to go. This is how practice happens in sport. It is a process of trial and error. But now suppose that instead of practicing in daylight, you practice at night—in the pitch-black. In these circumstances, you could practice for ten years or ten thousand years without improving at all. How could you progress if you don’t have a clue where the ball has landed? With each shot, it could have gone long, short, left, or right. Every shot has been swallowed by the night. You wouldn’t have any data to improve your accuracy. This metaphor solves the apparent mystery of expertise. Think about being a chess player. When you make a poor move, you are instantly punished by your opponent. Think of being a clinical nurse. When you make a mistaken diagnosis, you are rapidly alerted by the condition of the patient (and by later testing). The intuitions of nurses and chess players are constantly checked and challenged by their errors. They are forced to adapt, to improve, to restructure their judgments. This is a hallmark of what is called deliberate practice. For psychotherapists things are radically different. Their job is to improve the mental functioning of their patients. But how can they tell when their interventions are going wrong or, for that matter, right? Where is the feedback? Most psychotherapists gauge how their clients are responding to treatment not with objective data, but by observing them in clinic. But these data are highly unreliable. After all, patients might be inclined to exaggerate how well they are to please the therapist, a well-known issue in psychotherapy. But there is a deeper problem. Psychotherapists rarely track their clients after therapy has finished. This means that they do not get any feedback on the lasting impact of their interventions. They have no idea if their methods are working or failing—if the client’s long-term mental functioning is actually improving. And that is why the clinical judgments of many practitioners don’t improve over time. They are effectively playing golf in the dark.11

dragging Katie with her, half-patting her back as she slid the cardboard box onto the island. In the box, Ariel’s phone dinged with a new message alert. Ariel picked it up as she scooped Katie into a full hug, making soothing shushing noises. She let her daughter cry into her shoulder, waiting it out. Over Katie’s shoulder, Ariel opened the screen for her messages. Maybe it would be Dylan, with some uplifting birthday getaway planned that would help both Ariel and Katie get over this awful day. But it wasn’t. Ariel gaped at the phone screen. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” The text was from Dylan, but it wasn’t anywhere near about mistletoe and ski slopes. It simply said: This just isn’t working out. It seems like we’re going in different

The house had another special feature, one that was required for an industrialist in that era. On the second floor, hidden in the second bedroom, known as the family bedroom, was a closet that served as a panic room. This closet had a call box that could be used to alert the police, the fire department, or the hospital. This was no extravagance: Wealthy men received threats of all kinds. In 1889, for example, W.A. received a letter threatening his life if he did not pay the writer $400,000. He didn’t pay, but he was prepared for trouble if it arrived.

Back in Portland, Oregon, Diehl realized that another fundamental problem involved communication. Engineer Mendenhall had spotted the fuel problem. He had given a number of hints to the captain and, as the situation became serious, made direct references to the dwindling reserves. Diehl, listening back to the voice recorder, noted alterations in the intonation of the engineer. As the dangers spiraled he became ever more desperate to alert McBroom, but he couldn’t bring himself to challenge his boss directly. This is now a well-studied aspect of psychology. Social hierarchies inhibit assertiveness. We talk to those in authority in what is called “mitigated language.” You wouldn’t say to your boss: “It’s imperative we have a meeting on Monday morning.” But you might say: “Don’t worry if you’re busy, but it might be helpful if you could spare half an hour on Monday.”5 This deference makes sense in many situations, but it can be fatal when a 90-ton airplane is running out of fuel above a major city. The same hierarchy gradient also exists in operating theaters. Jane, the nurse, could see the solution. She had fetched the tracheotomy kit. Should she have spoken up more loudly? Didn’t she care enough? That is precisely the wrong way to think about failure in safety-critical situations. Remember that Engineer Mendenhall paid for his reticence with his life. The problem was not a lack of diligence or motivation, but a system insensitive to the limitations of human psychology.

Different departments want different things. Health departments want people to be more physically active. Environment departments to meet air quality and carbon reduction targets. Education wants kids arriving at school alert and happy, which active school journeys do. Business wants people healthy and productive, taking fewer sick days, which active commutes do. Local councils want thriving high streets. Cycling and walking policies tick all these boxes and more.

I looked up sharply, displeased to find Donald’s attention on Catherine, who’d been silent at my side throughout the entire confrontation. She offered him a soft smile. “Can I call a car for you, Mr. Rockford?” His mouth fell open then slammed shut. She’d stumped him with her politeness, and I was quietly amused. Catherine had a way of handling the men I met with on a daily basis. Her manners never failed her, but she had a cutting edge beneath her soft outer layer. “No, you can’t call a car for me, young lady.” “Oh, that’s too bad.” She gestured politely to the door. “If there’s anything else I can do to make your exit easier…” His nostrils flared, and his eyes fell on her belly. “You really want to bring a kid into the world working for a man like this? What kind of mother are you—?” That was enough. I jerked him back by the collar of his sports jacket before he could complete his filthy question and marched him toward the door. He resisted, but the old guy wasn’t much more than bones and paunch beneath his tailored suit, so the little fight he put up was laughable. Once he was on the street and my security team was alerted to keep him there, I rejoined Catherine in the lobby. Her lips were rolled over her teeth, eyes on her feet. “Do you have anything to say, Catherine?” She shook her head. “No. Nothing at all, Elliot.” She held her notebook against her chest, her gaze averted. On anyone else, I might have taken her response at face value and believed she was interested in the uninspired architecture of our new building. But not Catherine. She’d been holding herself back from day one. If I hadn’t been so impressed by the ingenuity she’d shown in making an entirely new outfit from the lost and found box—a discarded cardigan, athletic leggings, an oversized blazer, and a tie as a belt—I wouldn’t have hired her. Not because her résumé wasn’t up to snuff. It had been fine. And it wasn’t because her answers to my questions had been anything less than passable.

Words jumped out of him, from the back of cereal boxes or subway ads, and he stayed alert to their subversive properties, their double and hidden meaning. Olivia Laing about Basquiat

Because—are we really here, alive, if we interface with the world via a small black box? I don’t want my brain in a vat. I don’t want to be fed with input from the equivalent of a cerebral implant until I can’t tell fiction from reality. Don’t you see those people?” I motioned with my free hand to a line of customers waiting for their coffee orders to be filled. “Look at them. Where are they looking? They’re not looking at each other, they’re not looking at the art on the wall or the sun in the sky; they’re looking at their phones. They hang on to every beep and alert and message and tweet and status update. I don’t want to be that. I’m distracted enough as it is by the actual, tangible, physical world. I’ve embraced the efficiency of a desktop PC for work and research, and I even use a laptop on my own time, but I draw the line at a cell phone. If I want social media, I’ll join a book club. I will not be collared and leashed and tracked like a tagged Orca in the ocean.

Poor Runa has had to bring me a box of tissues and tend to me while I attempt to get it together. Spoiler alert, I haven’t gotten it together.

A high-profile example of this type of data bias appeared in Google’s “Flu Trends” program. The program, which started in 2008, intended to leverage online searches and user location monitoring to pinpoint regional flu outbreaks. Google collected and used this information to tip-off and alert health authorities in regions they identified. Over time the project failed to accurately predict flu cases due to changes in Google’s search engine algorithm. A new algorithm update in 2012 caused Google’s search engine to suggest a medical diagnosis when users searched for the terms “cough” and “fever.” Google, therefore, inserted a false bias into its results by prompting users with a cough or a fever to search for flu-related results (equivalent to a research assistant lingering over respondents’ shoulder whispering to check the “flu” box to explain their symptoms). This increased the volume of searches for flu-related terms and led Google to predict an exaggerated flu outbreak twice as severe as public health officials anticipated.

Tomorrow will be what you make of it. Be alert. Be engaged. Most importantly, be true to yourself so you don’t have any regrets. At the end of the day, no matter your reason for coming here, you need to feel good about what you do and what this place does to you. Remember, we don’t become anything without allowing it.

Historian Bernard Bailyn writes that the framers “never abandoned the belief that only an informed, alert, intelligent, and uncorrupted electorate would preserve the freedoms of a republican state.”47 The electorate—not just the elected—must be dissuaded from corruption. Because the new government was founded on the authority of the people, the people themselves must have integrity and be publicly minded in order for the nation to thrive.

There’s nothing there except for her word, and what good is that when she was the one sending you all those texts. But you wanna know the kicker? You want me to crack an egg of knowledge over your head?” I didn’t answer. Christmas wiggled his fingers in the air, and then sang “Spoiler alert! Regina’s the one who asked me for help. It’s not the other way around this time.” He pounded the butt of his fist against the table. “Man! I hate ruining surprises!” My heart stopped. I patted my chest with my open palm to get it going again. Okay, not really, but that’s what it felt like. Christmas could see the confusion on my face and he continued to floor me with his words. “I’m sure by now you’ve noticed the show choir has been absorbed with the set they’ve been creating all afternoon. It’s quite elaborate, and everyone in the show choir is required to help, but… has Regina been helping at all? Has she been sweating away, moving huge boxes back and forth with the other kids in the show choir?” I paused. “No. She’s been running around the mall taking selfies. But… her parents were here. They came to watch her performance.” Christmas snapped his fingers at me. “Connect those dots, Valentine…” “But if Regina’s not in the show choir, then her parents can only be here because they think she’s in it,” I said, staring at the table. “But why would she lie to them?” “Cha-ching!” Christmas was giving me a hint. “Don’t forget that membership is $200 a month!” “That’s why Regina seems to have so much money all the time,” I said. “She faked being a member of show choir to keep the money for herself. But… why the selfie game? Why send us all over the mall?” “Because I told her to,” Christmas chuckled. “Yeah, that was all me. She came to me, asking for help to cancel the entire trip, which I actually tried to do earlier.” Little light bulbs were switching on in my head. “That’s what the sign was for this morning.” And then I remembered the girl who shouted. “That was Regina in the cafeteria! She tried to start a food fight so the school would cancel the show before we even boarded the buses!” “Didn’t work,” Christmas said. “I knew it wouldn’t, but that didn’t stop her. She came to me again at the mall and asked for my help, so I did. I told her exactly what to do, and she did it perfectly, distracting you like the bugs you are.” “Distracting us?” I asked. Christmas turned around. “She’s planning on sabotaging the show choir performance. If they don’t perform, then her parents will never learn that she’s not in the club.

can with what you have. 4. Pick a night in the very near future to try this. We call this an intention, and once a date is set, your spirit guides will be 'on alert,' so to speak. A few guidelines before we start. It's important that you do not abuse this ceremony. It is meant for special occasions and not to be used 'regularly.' If you are tempted to try this every night, it will surely not work. Now, while it is best to do during a special occasion such as Christmas, anniversaries (such as weddings), dates of death, etc., you most certainly can do this at any other time. So, feel free to try this out in the next day or so. In fact, I encourage you to do so! I wouldn't do it tonight if you are reading this book for the first time. I'd suggest tomorrow night at the earliest. Here's the ceremony as I have done it many times. I like to have my candle, memento, and paper on my night stand. With that said, my mom would use the fireplace mantle and, once completed, go immediately to bed. Get yourself ready for bed. You want this ceremony to be the very last thing you do before you go to sleep.

Spoiler alert: people suck. Somebody opened Pandora's box -- surprise, surprise, the men would all blame the woman for it -- and out flew all the evils into the world: death, disease, hatred, envy, and Twitter. The bucolic sausage party was no more. Now men could kill each other. And, more important, now men had something to kill each other for: women, and the resources that attracted women. Thus, began the stupid dick-measuring contest also known as human history. ("Everything is Fucked", p.125)

Fear is the gift. It’s how I will stay alert and alive.

Only Read/Answer Emails Twice a Day In the past I would have my email client open all day, every day. I would be working on something and then get distracted by the email alert in the bottom of my computer screen and instantly click over to see from who and what it contains. The solution is to only check your emails twice a day. I do it once in the morning and once straight after lunch. The rest of the time I am distraction free. This is not only a technique I use but one that has been suggested by some of the most productive people in the world. Michael Hyatt, Scott Belsky, Leo Babauta to name a few. Try this out for a week. If you are someone like me who receives numerous emails a day, you will immediately see the benefits of using this.

You telling me you’ve dated a Black guy before?” Surprise colors the look he gives me. Surprise and something else. Something warmer. I wish I could surprise him, but I can’t. “No, I’ve never dated a Black guy.” An imp prompts my next comment. “What am I missing?” The warmth overtakes the surprise in his eyes, spiking to a simmer that heats the gold in his brown eyes molten. “Oh, you don’t want to know.” Grip’s voice goes a shade darker. “It might spoil you for all the others.” “You think so?” A sensual tension sifts into the air between us. “They say once you go Black.” He stretches out his smile. “You won’t go back.” A laugh pops out of my mouth before I can check it. “And that’s your experience? Have you been disappointed by the rest of the female rainbow?” My pulse slows while I wait for him to respond, like if my heart hammers I might miss an inflection in his voice. He puts me on high alert. “Oh, no. By no means.” Grip leans back, considering me from under heavy eyelids. “I don’t care what color a girl is. I like the color of smart, the shade of funny, and sexy is my favorite hue.

There’s no official checklist, but here’s what we suggest: Take email off your phone. Take all social media off your phone, transfer it to a desktop, and schedule set times to check it each day or, ideally, each week. Disable your web browser. I’m a bit lenient on this one since I hate surfing the web on my phone and use this only when people send me links. But this is typically a key facet of a dumbphone. Delete all notifications, including those for texts. I set my phone so I have to (1) unlock it and (2) click on the text message box to (3) even see if I have any text messages. This was a game changer. Ditch news apps or at least news alerts. They are the devil. Delete every single app you don’t need or that doesn’t make your life seriously easier. And keep all the wonder apps that do make life so much easier—maps, calculator, Alaska Airlines, etc. What Knapp put in one box and labeled “The Future.” Consolidate said apps into a few simple boxes so your home screen is free and clear. Finally, set your phone to grayscale mode. This does something neurobiologically that I’m not smart enough to explain, something to do with decreasing dopamine addiction. Google

is unbuttoning his shirt. He pulls the ends out of his trousers. ‘Come here,’ he says. I go up to him. ‘Have I told you how beautiful you looked tonight?’ I nod. ‘Have I told you how proud I was of you tonight?’ I nod. ‘Hmmnnn… I am in danger of being boring.’ ‘I love boring men.’ One end of his lips curve. ‘Whoa… High alert… Edible sexy ahead,’ I whisper. ‘Serve warm, eat whole,’ he says as