Cool Typed Quotes

For a long time,’ Nico said, ‘I had a crush on you. I just wanted you to know.’ Percy looked at Nico. Then at Annabeth, as if to check that he’d heard correctly. Then back at Nico. ‘You –’ ‘Yeah,’ Nico said. ‘You’re a great person. But I’m over that. I’m happy for you guys.’ ‘You … so you mean –’ ‘Right.’ Annabeth’s grey eyes started to sparkle. She gave Nico a sideways smile. ‘Wait,’ Percy said. ‘So you mean –’ ‘Right,’ Nico said again. ‘But it’s cool. We’re cool. I mean, I see now … you’re cute, but you’re not my type.’ ‘I’m not your type … Wait. So –’ ‘See you around, Percy,’ Nico said.

The Monks of Cool, whose tiny and exclusive monastery is hidden in a really cool and laid-back valley in the lower Ramtops, have a passing-out test for a novice. He is taken into a room full of all types of clothing and asked: Yo, my son, which of these is the most stylish thing to wear? And the correct answer is: Hey, whatever I select.

Dorothy is th cool type of temperament who quite frequently thinks that two is a crowd.

It's a bore, but the answer is good things only happen to you if you're good. Good? Honest is more what I mean. Not lawtype honest--I'd rob a grave, I'd steal two-bits off a dead man's eyes if I thought it would contribute to the day's enjoyment--but unto-thyself-type honest. Be anything but a coward, a pretender, an emotional crook, a whore: I'd rather have cancer than a dishonest heart. Which isn't being pious. Just practical. Cancer may cool you, but the other's sure to.

Our conversations are never easy, but as I-we-get older, we are finding that our conversations must bespoken. A need burns inside us to share with others what we are feeling Beyond a certain age, sincerity ceases to feel pornographic. It is as though the coolness that marked out youth is itself a type of retrovirus that can only leave you feeling empty. Full of holes.

He wore a tiny turquoise stud earring I always associated with Dungeons and Dragons types. Men who own ferrets and think magic tricks are cool.

The first thing you notice about New Orleans are the burying grounds - the cemeteries - and they're a cold proposition, one of the best things there are here. Going by, you try to be as quiet as possible, better to let them sleep. Greek, Roman, sepulchres- palatial mausoleums made to order, phantomesque, signs and symbols of hidden decay - ghosts of women and men who have sinned and who've died and are now living in tombs. The past doesn't pass away so quickly here. You could be dead for a long time. The ghosts race towards the light, you can almost hear the heavy breathing spirits, all determined to get somewhere. New Orleans, unlike a lot of those places you go back to and that don't have the magic anymore, still has got it. Night can swallow you up, yet none of it touches you. Around any corner, there's a promise of something daring and ideal and things are just getting going. There's something obscenely joyful behind every door, either that or somebody crying with their head in their hands. A lazy rhythm looms in the dreamy air and the atmosphere pulsates with bygone duels, past-life romance, comrades requesting comrades to aid them in some way. You can't see it, but you know it's here. Somebody is always sinking. Everyone seems to be from some very old Southern families. Either that or a foreigner. I like the way it is. There are a lot of places I like, but I like New Orleans better. There's a thousand different angles at any moment. At any time you could run into a ritual honoring some vaguely known queen. Bluebloods, titled persons like crazy drunks, lean weakly against the walls and drag themselves through the gutter. Even they seem to have insights you might want to listen to. No action seems inappropriate here. The city is one very long poem. Gardens full of pansies, pink petunias, opiates. Flower-bedecked shrines, white myrtles, bougainvillea and purple oleander stimulate your senses, make you feel cool and clear inside. Everything in New Orleans is a good idea. Bijou temple-type cottages and lyric cathedrals side by side. Houses and mansions, structures of wild grace. Italianate, Gothic, Romanesque, Greek Revival standing in a long line in the rain. Roman Catholic art. Sweeping front porches, turrets, cast-iron balconies, colonnades- 30-foot columns, gloriously beautiful- double pitched roofs, all the architecture of the whole wide world and it doesn't move. All that and a town square where public executions took place. In New Orleans you could almost see other dimensions. There's only one day at a time here, then it's tonight and then tomorrow will be today again. Chronic melancholia hanging from the trees. You never get tired of it. After a while you start to feel like a ghost from one of the tombs, like you're in a wax museum below crimson clouds. Spirit empire. Wealthy empire. One of Napoleon's generals, Lallemaud, was said to have come here to check it out, looking for a place for his commander to seek refuge after Waterloo. He scouted around and left, said that here the devil is damned, just like everybody else, only worse. The devil comes here and sighs. New Orleans. Exquisite, old-fashioned. A great place to live vicariously. Nothing makes any difference and you never feel hurt, a great place to really hit on things. Somebody puts something in front of you here and you might as well drink it. Great place to be intimate or do nothing. A place to come and hope you'll get smart - to feed pigeons looking for handouts

It can’t be said enough. Don’t concern yourself with fashion; stick to simple pieces that flatter your body type. By nineteen, I had found my look. Oversize T-shirts, bike shorts, and wrestling shoes. To prevent the silhouette from being too baggy, I would cinch it at the waist with my fanny pack. I was pretty sure I would wear this look forever. The shirts allowed me to express myself with cool sayings like “There’s No Crying in Baseball” and “Universität Heidelberg,” the bike shorts showed off my muscular legs, and the fanny pack held all my trolley tokens. I was nailing it on a daily basis. Find something like this for yourself as soon as possible.

A new social type was being created by the apartment building, a cool, unemotional personality impervious to the psychological pressures of high-rise life, with minimal needs for privacy, who thrived like an advanced species of machine in the neutral atmosphere. This was the sort of resident who was content to do nothing but sit in his over-priced apartment, watch television with the sound turned down, and wait for his neighbours to make a mistake.

Right," Nico said again. "But it's cool. We're cool. I mean, I see now...you're cute, but you're not my type,

The desire for the cool job that you’re passionate about is a particularly modern and bourgeois phenomenon—and, as we’ll see, a means of elevating a certain type of labor to the point of desirability that workers will tolerate all forms of exploitation for the “honor” of performing it. The rhetoric of “Do you what you love, and you’ll never work another day in your life” is a burnout trap. By cloaking the labor in the language of “passion,” we’re prevented from thinking of what we do as what it is: a job, not the entirety of our lives.

When I started typing her bathroom iniative for the newsletter, typing words like disease and protect yourself and you're welcome! it was like something cracked open inside of me, not unlike a watermelon, cool and soothing sweet. I always thought insanity would be a dark and bitter feeling, but it is drenching and delicious if you really roll around in it.

And all the spaces of our past moments of solitude, the spaces in which we have suffered from solitude, enjoyed, desired, and compromised solitude, remain indelible within us and precisely because the human being wants them to remain so. He knows instinctively that this space identified with his solitude is creative; that even when it is forever expunged from the present, when, henceforth, it is alien to all the promises of the future, even when we no longer have a garret, when the attic room is lost and gone, there remains the fact that we once loved a garret, once lived in an attic. We return to them in our night dreams. These retreats have the value of a shell. And when we reach the very end of the labyrinths of sleep, when we attain to the regions of deep slumber, we may perhaps experience a type of repose that is pre-human; pre-human, in this case, approaching the immemorial. But in the daydream itself, the recollection of moments of confined, simple, shut-in space are experiences of heartwarming space, of a space that does not seek to become extended, but would like above all still to be possessed. In the past, the attic may have seemed too small, it may have seemed cold in winter and hot in summer. Now, however, in memory recaptured through daydreams, it is hard to say through what syncretism the attic is at once small and large, warm and cool, always comforting.

That is what marks out the warrior: the knowledge that willpower and courage are not the same thing. Courage can attract fear and adulation, but willpower requires patience and commitment. Men and women with immense willpower are generally solitary types and give off a kind of coolness. Many people mistakenly think that (they) are cold (people) when nothing could be further from the truth.

Wait,” Percy said. “So you mean—” “Right,” Nico said again. “But it’s cool. We’re cool. I mean, I see now...you’re cute, but you’re not my type.” “I’m not your type...Wait. So—

what type of jam would i be? I’d like to think I’m a strawberry or raspberry jam, but I think it would be really cool to be pine cone jam or smth my mom said that they had it in Russia. But what if I was a poison berry jam, that would be so dark academia aesthetic! I know that carrot and tomato jams exist, but I was one of those stubborn picky kids who hated vegetables so I’m probably not that. I know I’d be a natural jam tho, non of that artificial flavoring around here

It's a bore, but the answer is good things only happen to you if you're good. Good? Honest is more what I mean. Not law-type honest - I'd rob a grave, I'd steal two-bits off a dead man's eyes if I thought it would contribute to the day's enjoyment - but unto thyself honest. Be anything but a coward, a pretender, an emotional crook, a whore: I'd rather have cancer than a dishonest heart. Which isn't being pious. Just practical. Cancer _may_ cool you, but the other's sure to.

Jerusalem was capital of southern Israel, known then as Judah. Isn't it true that there's always a rivalry between north and south? North and South Korea, North and South Vietnam, Northern and Southern Ireland, Yankees and Rebels, uptown and downtown. Somebody please tell me why that is? Maybe southerners get too much sun, like Mr. Sock over there, frying his threads, and northerners don't get enough (although I hardly think northern Israel a cool spot in the shade), but southern peoples--tropical and downtown types--always seem to lean toward decadence, whereas uptown, in the north, progress is favored. Decadence and progress obviously are at odds.

I’m just happy we’re cool. I just want to go back to being the type of friends who have fun. Give each other rides. Bury dead bodies together. Be each other’s alibis.

I also hate cyclists posing in sunglasses and all the pro gear, thinking they’re cool when they couldn’t even pedal up the modest slope of Yang-teh Boulevard. You know the type: guy with a bulging gut who parks his expensive bike by the side of the road to show it off. Whenever I see a guy like that, I hope his chain falls off. Or that he gets a flat or a broken spoke.

James and the other eight children of 'Superior Dosset,' of whom there are still five alive, may be said to have represented Victorian England, with its principles of trade and individualism at five per cent, and your money back - if you know what that means. At all events they've turned thirty thousand pounds into a cool million between them in the course of their long lives. (...) Their day is passing, and their type, not altogether for the advantage of the country. They were pedestrian, but they too were sound.

There are nine seducer types in the world. Each type has a particular character trait that comes from deep within and creates a seductive pull. Sirens have an abundance of sexual energy and know how to use it. Rakes insatiably adore the opposite sex, and their desire is infectious. Ideal Lovers have an aesthetic sensibility that they apply to romance. Dandies like to play with their image, creating a striking and androgynous allure. Naturals are spontaneous and open. Coquettes are self-sufficient, with a fascinating cool at their core. Charmers want and know how to please—they are social creatures. Charismatics have an unusual confidence in themselves. Stars are ethereal and envelop themselves in mystery.

The women we become after children, she typed, then stopped to adjust the angle of the paper....We change shape, she continued, we buy low-heeled shoes, we cut off our long hair, We begin to carry in our bags half-eaten rusks, a small tractor, a shred of beloved fabric, a plastic doll. We lose muscle tone, sleep, reason, persoective. Our hearts begin to live outside our bodies. They breathe, they eat, they crawl and-look!-they walk, they begin to speak to us. We learn that we must sometimes walk an inch at a time, to stop and examine every stick, every stone, every squashed tin along the way. We get used to not getting where we were going. We learn to darn, perhaps to cook, to patch knees of dungarees. We get used to living with a love that suffuses us, suffocates us, blinds us, controls us. We live, We contemplate our bodies, our stretched skin, those threads of silver around our brows, our strangely enlarged feet. We learn to look less in the mirror. We put our dry-clean-only clothes to the back of the wardrobe. Eventually we throw them away. We school ourselves to stop saying 'shit' and 'damn' and learn to say 'my goodness' and 'heavens above.' We give up smoking, we color our hair, we search the vistas of parks, swimming-pools, libraries, cafes for others of our kind. We know each other by our pushchairs, our sleepless gazes, the beakers we carry. We learn how to cool a fever, ease a cough, the four indicators of meningitis, that one must sometimes push a swing for two hours. We buy biscuit cutters, washable paints, aprons, plastic bowls. We no longer tolerate delayed buses, fighting in the street, smoking in restaurants, sex after midnight, inconsistency, laziness, being cold. We contemplate younger women as they pass us in the street, with their cigarettes, their makeup, their tight-seamed dresses, their tiny handbags, their smooth washed hair, and we turn away, we put down our heads, we keep on pushing the pram up the hill.

I took my meticulously typed guidelines and encouragements, threw them in a drawer, gave myself a new mantra: fuck the fried rice. Fuck what you sipped, how you sipped, when you sipped with whom, fuck if I danced on the table, fuck if I danced on the chair. You want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? Your whole answer was sitting with his shoulders low, head down, his neatly cut hair. You want to know why my whole goddamn family was hurting, why I lost my job, why I had four digits in my bank account, why my sister was missing school? It was because on a cool January evening, I went out, while that guy, that guy there, had decided that yes or no, moving or motionless, he wanted to fuck someone, intended to fuck someone, and it happened to be me.

Quick Review of Core Behavior Patterns Reds are quick and more than happy to take command if needed. They make things happen. However, when they get going, they become control freaks and can be hopeless to deal with. And they repeatedly trample on people’s toes. Yellows can be amusing, creative, and elevate the mood regardless of who they’re with. However, when they are given unlimited space, they will consume all the oxygen in the room, they won’t allow anyone into a conversation, and their stories will reflect reality less and less. The friendly Greens are easy to hang out with because they are so pleasant and genuinely care for others. Unfortunately, they can be too wishy-washy and unclear. Anyone who never takes a stand eventually becomes difficult to handle. You don’t know where they really stand, and indecision kills the energy in other people. The analytical Blues are calm, levelheaded, and think before they speak. Their ability to keep a cool head is undoubtedly an enviable quality for all who aren’t capable of doing that. However, Blues’ critical thinking can easily turn to suspicion and questioning those around them. Everything can become suspect and sinister.

She had cool green eyes and jet hair, a quick smile, and was the type of girl Jem fell for with monotonous regularity.

Asana, with its soothing, stretching and relaxing action, is the main physical exercise for balancing the doshas. It calms Vata, cools Pitta and releases Kapha.

Apparently if you want to get a boy to like you, you go sort of mysterious and icy and cool. That’s what my cousin said and she has loads of boyfriends and snogging-type experiences.

Right,’ Nico said again. ‘But it’s cool. We’re cool. I mean, I see now … you’re cute, but you’re not my type.’ ‘I’m not your type … Wait. So –’ ‘See you around, Percy,’ Nico said.

Be a man. Not any old man, not mankind, but manhood. To do this you don’t need to play pro football and grow hair on your chest and seduce every third woman you meet long as she’s female. All you have to do is hunt, fish (or talk sense about ’em as if you had) and go bug-eyed when the girls go by. If a sunset moves you so much you have to express yourself, do it with a grunt and a dirty word. Or you say, ‘That Beethoven, he blows a cool symphony.’ Never champion a real underdog unless it’s a popular type, like a baseball team. Always treat other men as if you were sore at something and will wipe it off on them if they give you the slightest excuse. I mean sore, Louis, not vexed or in a snit. And stay away from women. They have an intuition that’ll find you nine times out of ten. The tenth time she falls for you, and there’s nothing funnier.” “I think,” Loolyo said after a time, “that you hate human beings.

closed the door behind them and rested my head against the cool, painted wood. No way I would be able to focus on my work anymore while Olinski’s and my mother’s words danced together in my head. A tango in which the roses were all thorns.

Vivi and Heather take them out for bubble tea. There are no actual bubbles. Instead, he is served toothsome balls soaked in a sweet, milky tea. Vivi orders grass jelly, and Heather gets a lavender drink that is the colour of the flowers and just as fragrant. Cardan is fascinated and insists on having a sip of each. Then he eats a bite of the half-dozen types of dumplings they order- mushroom, cabbage and pork, cilantro and beef, hot-oil chicken dumplings that numb his tongue, then creamy custard to cool it, along with sweet red bean that sticks to his teeth. Heather glares at Cardan as though he bit the head off a sprite in the middle of a banquet. 'You can't eat some of a dumpling and put it back,' Oak insists. 'That's revolting.' Cardan considers villainy takes many forms, and he is good at all of them. Jude stabs the remainder of the bean bun with a single chopstick, popping it into her mouth and chewing with obvious satisfaction. 'Gooh,' she gets out when she notices the others looking at her. Vivi laughs and orders more dumplings.

I do love a good tree. There it stands so strong and sturdy, and yet so beautiful, a very type of the best sort of man. How proudly it lifts its bare head to the winter storms, and with what a full heart it rejoices when the spring has come again! How grand its voice is, too, when it talks with the wind: a thousand aeolian harps cannot equal the beauty of the sighing of a great tree in leaf. All day it points to the sunshine and all night to the stars, and thus passionless, and yet full of life, it endures through the centuries, come storm, come shine, drawing its sustenance from the cool bosom of its mother earth, and as the slow years roll by, learning the great mysteries of growth and of decay. And so on and on through generations, outliving individuals, customs, dynasties -- all save the landscape it adorns and human nature -- till the appointed day when the wind wins the long battle and rejoices over a reclaimed space, or decay puts the last stroke to his fungus-fingered work. Ah, one should always think twice before one cuts down a tree!

They all watched as Genya checked his pulse, his breathing. She shook her head. “Zoya,” said Sturmhond. His voice had the ring of command. Zoya sighed and pushed up her sleeves. “Unbutton his shirt.” “What are you doing?” Kaz asked as Genya undid Kuwei’s remaining buttons. His chest was narrow, his ribs visible, all of it spattered with the pig’s blood they’d encased in the wax bladder. “I’m either going to wake up his heart or cook him from the inside out,” said Zoya. “Stand back.” They did their best to obey in the cramped space. “What exactly does she mean by that?” Kaz asked Nina. “I’m not sure,” Nina admitted. Zoya had her hands out and her eyes closed. The air felt suddenly cool and moist. Inej inhaled deeply. “It smells like a storm.” Zoya opened her eyes and brought her hands together as if in prayer, rubbing her palms against each other briskly. Nina felt the pressure drop, tasted metal on her tongue. “I think … I think she’s summoning lightning.” “Is that safe?” asked Inej. “Not remotely,” said Sturmhond. “Has she at least done it before?” said Kaz. “For this purpose?” asked Sturmhond. “I’ve seen her do it twice. It worked splendidly. Once.” His voice was oddly familiar, and Nina had the sense they’d met before. “Ready?” Zoya asked. Genya shoved a thickly folded piece of fabric between Kuwei’s teeth and stepped back. With a shudder, Nina realized it was to keep him from biting his tongue. “I really hope she gets this right,” murmured Nina. “Not as much as Kuwei does,” said Kaz. “It’s tricky,” said Sturmhond. “Lightning doesn’t like a master. Zoya’s putting her own life at risk too.” “She didn’t strike me as the type,” Kaz said. “You’d be surprised,” Nina and Sturmhond replied in unison. Again, Nina had the eerie sensation that she knew him. She saw that Rotty had squeezed his eyes shut, unable to watch. Inej’s lips were moving in what Nina knew must be a prayer. A faint blue glow crackled between Zoya’s palms. She took a deep breath and slapped them down on Kuwei’s chest.

You are all more or less wearing the same types of clothes—look around the room and you will see it’s true. Now imagine you’re the only one not wearing a cool symbol. How would that make you feel? The Nike swoop, the three Adidas stripes, the little Polo player on a horse, the Hollister seagull, the symbols of Philadelphia’s professional sports teams, even our high school mascot that you athletes wear to battle other schools—some of you wear our Mustang to class even when there is no sporting event scheduled. These are your symbols, what you wear to prove that your identity matches the identity of others. Much like the Nazis had their swastika. We have a very loose dress code here and yet most of you pretty much dress the same. Why? Perhaps you feel it’s important not to stray too far from the norm. Would you not also wear a government symbol if it became important and normal to do so? If it were marketed the right way? If it was stitched on the most expensive brand at the mall? Worn by movie stars? The president of the United States?

look over at the musician. I like looking at him, though he’s not my type. Not even a little bit. He looks like Jesus with his long hair and denim-blue eyes and that ethereal aura that bounces off him. I’m sure Jesus doesn’t look like a homeless street musician, but if he were to come down and be all sorts of cool, I could see him looking like that.

Krebs, who knew some Russian and at one stage in his career had been embraced by Stalin, was "a smooth, surviving type." And so, with almost incredible effrontery, he tried to talk to Chuikov as an equal, opening the conversation with the general comment: "Today is the first of May, a great holiday for our two nations..." With seven million Russian dead, half his country devastated, and fresh evidence mounting daily of the unspeakable barbarity with which the Germans had treated Soviet captives and civilians, Chuikov's answer was a model of restraint, a standing testimony to the cool head and dry wit of that remarkable man. He said: "We have a great holiday today. How things are with you over there it is less easy to say.

He’s a slick, riverboat gambler type of dude. Han Solo is a rather crude, rough and tumble kind of guy; this guy will be a very slicked down, elegant, James Bond–type. He’s much more of a con man, which puts him more in the Mr. Spock style of thinking, being smart, cool, and taking tremendous chances. An emotional Spock, someone who uses his wits rather than his brawn.

But maybe he'd always known. Maybe the cool winds of fate and the flag-snap flutter of destiny had always been there, tickling his spine, whispering in his ear it's gonna catch up with you boy one of these days the truth'll come back so you'd better go go go, until finally, Emerson couldn't help but listen. There was only so much ruin the mind could rationalize. There was only so much badness that could be suppressed for so long. His guilt, on its own, was utterly meaningless - just a showy type of magic that changed nothing because changing nothing was the endgame all along. Words like absolution and forgiveness and redemption would never apply to someone like him. Those terms were just abstractions. Names for what other people called the moments between darkness.

Sculpture does not reject resemblance, of which, indeed, it has need. But resemblance is not its first aim. What it is looking for, in its periods of greatness, is the gesture, the expression, or the empty stare which will sum up all the gestures and all the stares in the world. Its purpose is not to imitate, but to stylize and to imprison in one significant expression the fleeting ecstasy of the body or the infinite variety of human attitudes. Then, and only then, does it erect, on the pediments of teeming cities, the model, the type, the motionless perfection that will cool, for one moment, the fevered brow of man. The frustrated lover of love can finally gaze at the Greek caryatides and grasp what it is that triumphs, in the body and face of the woman, over every degradation

A new social type was being created by the apartment building, a cool, unemotional personality impervious to the psychological pressures of high-rise life, with minimal needs for privacy, who thrived like an advanced species of machine in the neutral atmosphere. This was the sort of resident who was content to do nothing but sit in his over-priced apartment, watch television with the sound turned down, and wait for his neighbours to make a mistake. Perhaps the recent incidents represented a last attempt by Wilder and the airline pilots to rebel against this unfolding logic? Sadly, they had little chance of success, precisely because their opponents were people who were content with their lives in the high-rise, who felt no particular objection to an impersonal steel and concrete landscape, no qualms about the invasion of their privacy by government agencies and data-processing organizations, and if anything welcomed these invisible intrusions, using them for their own purposes. These people were the first to master a new kind of late twentieth-century life. They thrived on the rapid turnover of acquaintances, the lack of involvement with others, and the total self-sufficiency of lives which, needing nothing, were never disappointed. Alternatively,

Feelings of a Pimp They think I was a player because I was devoted to the game They thought I worked hard on my offense to break down these women’s defenses just to score They think it’s the body count that made me manipulate them into my arms to get between their legs They think I’m satisfied with a different woman in my bed every night When during the day, even my bed can feel the loneliness They think I love the easy women They think it’s for the cool points that my heart grew cold They think they have me figured out Another dog chasing after every female dog in the streets They think I’m happy with all the texting buddies, but no wife But they don’t know They don’t know how tired I am of this, how tired I am of myself How tired I am of living like this How tired I am of these games, but that’s the only way I can score with a chick They don’t know how after sleeping with these ladies, I wish I had more chemistry with at least one of them to cuddle, to give goodnight kisses and wake up beside They don’t know how loneliness consumes me With a phone filled with women’s numbers, I still feel unwanted and unworthy They don’t know these easy women make it easy for me to feel confident about myself; although it’s the wrong type of confidence I feel validated by them, I feel accomplished, I feel loved although I’m having sex with them, not making love They don’t know how tired I am of chasing fool’s gold Chasing fast women who would sleep with me in a heartbeat Leaving me with the empty feeling I felt before I started the chase The player in me is played out. I just want love, but that’s the only thing I can’t seem to find So, I keep pimping in hope of finding love Her insecurities were beautiful They opened the door for me as an opportunist She was the perfect candidate Oh so sweet, but oh so hurt How smart would I be if I didn’t capitalize? Some fellas get women drunk and have their way with them I was doing nothing wrong but pretending to be prince charming, just to get the same results I became what they needed emotionally I was the shoulder to cry on, the ear to listen to, the one person who understood I was a smooth criminal manipulating the innocent Did not feel an ounce of guilt because I was weak myself I was insecure I couldn’t help preying on vulnerable women In their weakness I found strength I was a coward, a “wannabe” player I was playing the wrong games, winning the wrong prizes The truth is, no strong man takes advantage of a woman’s vulnerability. It is a trait of the weak. Diary of a Weak Man

There is no plan...You need to make smart choices, But you can make career decisions for two different types of reasons. You can do something for instrumental reasons -- because you think it's going to lead to something else, regardless of whether you enjoy it or it's worthwhile...or you can do something for fundamental reasons -- because you think it's inherently valuable, regardless of what it may or may not lead to. The dirty little secret is that insturmental reasons usually don't work. Things are too complicated, too unpredictable. You never know what' going to happen. So you end up stuck. The most successful people -- not all of the time, but most of the time -- make decisions for fundamental reasons. They take a job or join a company because it will let them do interesting work in a cool place -- even if they don't know exactly where it will lead. They're not fools. They're enlightened pragmatists.

As she crossed the defence team, Indrani saw Sesha sitting in a chair with his legs crossed and looking cool and composed. Mythili, who was by his side, was offering him coffee from a flask. As if they were in a cinema house waiting for the movie to resume after intermission. When everything pointed to an adverse verdict, how could he be so relaxed? He was typing something into his cell phone; perhaps tweeting. He had a massive following on Twitter. It ranged from simple appreciation for his administrative prowess to absolute fetish over everything about him—his trademark cotton pants and shirt, which had become a rage among his female fans, his Santro car, which had become a symbol of simplicity and his frugal dietary habits, which somehow raised him to a sainthood and absolved him of anything wicked. The more the mainstream media like TV and newspapers worked against him, the stronger was the support he got from his Twitter followers.

The “idea generators” were normally Emma and Billy, who were full of inspiration for organizing something cool, starting from becoming the local naturalists, and to creating the variety of explicit plans on what they can do on saving the surrounding and the world, performing as much logic as their age allowed them. Such special characteristics often got them into different types of circumstances and troubles… still, same time turning their great time spent together into an unforgettable time.

MAKES: 2 quarts COOKING METHOD: stove COOKING TIME: 20 minutes This is an all-purpose barbecue sauce, with a distinct garlic and tomato flavor. We have used this recipe to rave reviews at the James Beard Foundation and the American Institute of Wine and Food’s “Best Ribs in America” competition. Use it as a finishing glaze or serve it on the side as a dip for any type of barbecue. 2 TABLESPOONS OLIVE OIL ¼ CUP CHOPPED ONION 1 TEASPOON FRESH MINCED GARLIC 4 CUPS KETCHUP 1⅓ CUPS DARK BROWN SUGAR 1 CUP VINEGAR 1 CUP APPLE JUICE ¼ CUP HONEY 1½ TABLESPOONS WORCESTERSHIRE SAUCE 1½ TABLESPOONS LIQUID SMOKE 1 TEASPOON SALT 1 TEASPOON BLACK PEPPER 1 TEASPOON CAYENNE PEPPER 1 TEASPOON CELERY SEED Heat the olive oil in a large nonreactive saucepan over medium heat. Add the onion and garlic and lightly sauté. Stir in the remaining ingredients and heat until the sauce bubbles and starts to steam. Remove from the heat and cool to room temperature. Transfer to a tightly covered jar or plastic container and store refrigerated for up to 2 weeks.

He was close enough so that I could see his face clearly, even with his helmet's cheek flaps tied tightly under his bearded chin. I looked into the eyes of Hector, prince of Troy. Brown eyes they were, the colour of rich farm soil, calm and deep. No anger, no battle lust. He was a cool and calculating warrior, a thinker among these hordes of wild, screaming brutes. He wore a small round shield buckled to his left arm instead of the massive body-length type most of the other nobles carried. In it was painted a flying heron, a strangely peaceful emblem in the midst of all this mayhem and gore.

All of those theories are essentially ways of saying that the criminal is a personality type —a personality type distinguished by an insensitivity to the norms of normal society. People with stunted psychological development don’t understand how to conduct healthy relationships. People with genetic predispositions to violence fly off the handle when normal people keep their cool. People who aren’t taught right from wrong are oblivious to what is and what is not appropriate behavior. People who grow up poor, fatherless, and buffeted by racism don’t have the same commitment to social norms as those from healthy middle class homes. Bernie Goetz and those four thugs on the subway were, in this sense, prisoners of their own, dysfunctional, world. But what do Broken Windows and the Power of Context suggest? Exactly the opposite. They say that the criminal—far from being someone who acts for fundamental, intrinsic reasons and who lives in his own world—is actually someone acutely sensitive to his environment, who is alert to all kinds of cues, and who is prompted to commit crimes based on his perception of the world around him. That is an incredibly radical—and in some sense unbelievable—idea.

She’s probably used to being held like that, being looked at like that. It’s foreign to me, though. No boy has ever seen me in that way, because I’m not a girl like Poppy. It’s not as if I don’t think I’m pretty. When I look in the mirror, I generally like what I see. I don’t wish I had straight hair or lighter skin. It’s just that, to most guys, my kind of pretty isn’t the same as Poppy’s kind of pretty—even with the gray hair. I’m an acquired taste, and Poppy is, like, pizza. Pizza doesn’t have to worry if people are just ordering it to look cool or complete some type of image. No one goes through a pizza phase. Pizza is universal.

The mass murderer and the serial killer are quantitatively and qualitatively different, and disagreement continues about their characteristics just as it does about the types of mass and serial offenders that appear to have emerged in recent years. Researchers have distinguished spree murders from mass and serial murder as being three or more victims killed by a single perpetrator within a period of hours or days in different locations. They often act in a frenzy, make little effort to avoid detection, and kill in several sequences. Offenders may kill more than one victim in one location and travel to another location. There appears to be no cooling-off period even though the murders occur at different places (Greswell & Hollin, 1994).

How kind of you to call,” commented my master somewhat acidly. But, though he could not explain his feeling, he was inwardly a little moved by that phrase about “the two parties most directly concerned.” Its slightly sentimental appeal made him feel as though a wraith of cool air had drifted through his sleeves on a hot and humid summer’s night. It is true that my master’s character is based on so firm an inborn bedrock of cold reserve and obstinacy that he is, by nature, one of this world’s wet blankets. Nevertheless, his nature is of a completely different type from that of the vicious, heartless products of modern civilization. The antique mold of his nature is clearly evidenced in the way in which he flares up at the slightest provocation.

She was familiar with a certain type of American crazy. Gun crazy was normal to her, shooting-kids-at-school or putting-on-a-Joker-mask-and-mowing-people-down-in-a-mall or just plain murdering-your-mom-at-breakfast crazy, Second Amendment crazy, that was just the everyday crazy that kept going down and there was nothing you could do about it if you loved freedom; and she understood knife crazy from her younger days in the Bronx, and the knockout-game type of crazy that persuaded young black kids it was cool to punch Jews in the face. She could comprehend drug crazy and politician crazy and Westboro Baptist Church crazy and Trump crazy because those things, they were the American way, but this new crazy was different. It felt 9/11 crazy: foreign, evil.

And come to think of it, he won't ever invite me to his place, not even once. I will never see the grazing animals, the farmhouse or the vineyards surrounding it. I will never see its interior, the cool tiles, the plaster walls, the dark rooms with low ceilings, the heavy, solid furniture. (I've invented all this, you know, precisely because I never saw it.) I won't ever meet his parents, not even from afar. There will be no handshake, no pleasantries exchanged between us; I presume that he would never have spoken to them about me, even inadvertently (he's not the inadvertent type). I would have liked to have seen which one he most resembled. Obviously, I wouldn't have betrayed him. I would've played the role of the nice schoolmate. I'm capable of playing any part.

I, like, added curry spices to the tomatoes and then firmed it with sodium alginate. Then there's the mousse I made with powdered, freeze-dried foie gras blended with turmeric. The white dollop in the middle is a puree of potatoes and six different types of cheese. Once your mouth has thoroughly cooled from those items, you should totally try the piecrust arches. Oh! I flash froze it first, so it should have a very light, fluffy texture. I kneaded coriander and a few other select spices into the pie dough. It'll cleanse your palate and give your tongue a break. This dish is all about "Thermal Sense," y'know. Molecular gastronomy teaches about the various contrasting temperature sensations foods and spices have. I took those theories and put them together into a single dish.

I was situated at that moment in the turning of the northern year, when the end of winter and the start of spring overlap like shingles on a roof and the natural world seems doubled in thickness and density. A slight shift in the direction of the wind cools the air a single degree, and suddenly a puddle of standing water is covered with a skin of ice that, seconds later, as the wind parts the clouds and opens the sky, melts in the sunlight. At this moment, all is change. Transformation seems permanent. I was trembling with a type of excitement that I had never felt before, a powerful mixture of anticipation and regret, as if I somehow knew that eternal gain and irretrievable loss were about to be parceled out equally—as if the idea of justice were about to be made a material thing.

In terms of the Trinity, I believe in the Father and the Holy Ghost but not really Jesus that much. Yes, Jesus was pretty badass because he stood up for what he believed in and was definitely an alpha and a man of his convictions, and all that respectable shit, and he took a hell of a beating in the end, but his message was wrong. All that turn the other cheek and love thy neighbor nonsense; be a lamb and so on. It’s silly and doesn’t work. The God of the Old Testament, the Father, that guy makes a lot more sense to me. He had it in him to be mean and spiteful. I get that I was made in the image of a guy who’d fuck over a nobody like Job basically for fun and to prove a point to a rival. I get that I was made in the image of a guy who’d kick two shitheads out of the Garden of Eden for disobeying Him. I get the idea of Him laying waste to entire cities with fireballs or whatever because He didn’t very much like the type of people that lived there (though Sodom and Gomorrah seem like just the sort of places I’d like to hang out). If God is love, it ain’t Jesus’. The Father’s love, tough love, is what works. Sometimes there’s difficulty distinguishing it from hate, and that’s why it applies to the way I live my life. Jesus’ message just makes people nice, makes them pussies, and while I’m thankful for it because it’s given me the upper hand throughout my life in very Christian America, believing in it, really, would be idiotic for anyone like me, a winner. And I believe in the Holy Ghost too mostly because I’ve felt Him working through me while doing really cool shit, like playing football and writing good songs or whatever. He’s what people mean when they say God-given talent, which I have a lot of.

1¼ cups white wine vinegar 1¾ cups water 2½ tablespoons sugar ½ bay leaf 4 thyme sprigs A pinch of dried chile flakes ½ teaspoon coriander seeds 2 whole cloves 4 garlic cloves, halved 1½ teaspoons sea salt Combine all the ingredients in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Add small or chopped vegetables to the brine, cooking each type of vegetable separately and removing them when they are cooked but still a little crisp. Remove the vegetables with a slotted spoon and set them aside to cool to room temperature. Once all the vegetables are cooked and cooled, allow the brine to cool as well. Stir the vegetables together gently in a large bowl, then transfer to jars or other covered containers, cover with the cooled pickle brine, and refrigerate. You can keep this basic brine in your refrigerator and reheat it to make fresh pickles when you are inspired by a trip to the farmers’ market.

The problem for him in high school was that debate made you a nerd and poetry made you a pussy – even if both could help you get to the vaguely imagines East Coast city from which your experiences in Topeka would be recounted with great irony. The key was to narrate participation in debate as a form of linguistic combat; the key was to be a bully, quick and vicious and ready to spread an interlocutor with insults at the at the smallest provocation. Poetry could be excused if it upped your game, became cipher and flow, if it was part of why Amber was fucking you and not Reynolds et al. If linguistic prowess could do damage and get you laid, then it could be integrated into the adolescent social realm without entirely departing from the household values of intellect and expression. It was not a reconciliation, but a workable tension. His disastrous tonsorial compromise. The migraines. Fortunately for Adam, this shifting of aggression to the domain of language was sanctioned by one of the practices the types had appropriated: after several hours of drinking, if no fight or noise complain had broken up the party, you were likely to encounter freestyling. In many ways, this was the most shameful of all the poses, the clearest manifestation of a crisis in white masculinity and its representational regimes, a small group of privileged crackers often arrhythmically recycling the genre’s dominant and to them totally inapplicable clichés. But it was socially essential for him: the rap battle transmuted his prowess as a public speaker and aspiring poet into something cool. His luck was dizzying: that there was a rapid, ritualized poetic insult exchange bridging the gap between his Saturday afternoons in abandoned high schools and his Saturday nights in unsupervised houses, allowing him to transition from one contest to the other.

Excuse me," a breathy female voice came from beside her, and she lifted her head. A stunning blonde in a dress cut down to her belly button and up to her crotch hovered beside the table. "Yes?" she asked, not certain whether to scream or laugh. "Are you Richard Addison?" the woman breathed, ignoring Sam. Rick blinked. "Oh, me. I thought you were talking to her. Yes, I am." "Could I have your autograph?" "Certainly. Do you have a pen?" The woman held out a napkin and a pen, and Rick signed his name. "There you go." "How about your phone number?" The woman gave a low giggle, but pressed the napkin back into Rick's hand. Sam would have stood, but Rick kicked her under the table. "Ouch," she grumbled, glaring at him. "I'm sorry, but I don't give out my phone number." "Are you sure?" Belly Button Girl licked her lips. "If I might make a comment," Rick continued, granting her a warm smile, though Sam noted that his eyes remained cool and untouched, "I'm a bit occupied right now, enjoying the company of a very lovely young lady with whom I enjoy spending my every spare moment." He straightened further, lowering his voice to a bare murmur. "So I thank you for your interest, but I am never in a million years going to give you my phone number. Good evening." Her face turning scarlet under its inch of makeup, the woman turned away, departing with a sway of her perfect hips. "You're so cool," Sam breathed. "You could at least pretend to be jealous," he said, pulling her hand across the table to kiss her knuckle. She had been jealous, but no way was she going to tell him that. Not until she could figure out for herself what the hell it meant. At least she hadn't panicked and tried to belt a near-naked woman for sneaking up behind her. "She's not your type." "And what precisely is my 'type'?" he asked. "The kind who could have handed you a comeback instead of just stomping away.

This [chaotic environment,] I felt, was only possible because all these types of order were partial, mere fragments that had split off from a central order; they might not have lost their creative force, but they were no longer directed toward a unifying center. Its absence was brought home to me with increasingly painful intensity the longer I listened. I was suffering almost physically, but I was quite unable to find a way towards the center through the thicket of conflicting opinions. ...There was a hush as, high above us, [a young violinist] struck up the first great D minor chord of Bach’s Chaconne. All at once, and with utter certainty, I had found my link with the center….The clear phrases of the Chaconne touched me like a cool wind, breaking through the mist and revealing the towering structures beyond. There has always been a path to the central order in the language of music, in philosophy and in religion, today no less than in Plato’s day and in Bach’s. That I now knew from my own experience.

For whole generations, a certain pessimism is associated with the historical failure of revolutions. That pessimism is a thing of pathos. The other less sentimental, fiercer type comes from recognizing how ideal things are, the perfection and exactitude of our freedom and the absolute availability of the simplest solutions. For example, the resolution of the famine problem in Ireland by killing off the young children. You could not do better; there is no more elegant solution. It is a stroke of wit. The stroke of wit also despairs of language, but from that despair it always derives a brilliant solution, drawing a line between two diametrically opposed poles. A diabolical simplification; everything is in the ellipsis. There is no crueller trick you can play on reality than to idealize it just as it is. It never recovers from that (whereas it can easily cope with being denounced). Deify power right where it is and it can't believe its eyes. Take the people who marched through Red Square with placards reading 'We are happy in the Soviet Union! The Soviet Union is the land of happiness.

I've just been certified as a shaman, or sha-woman, if you please," Dr. Tuttle said. "You can hop up on the table if you prefer not to stand. You look worse for wear. Is that the expression?" I leaned carefully against the bookshelf. "What do you use the massage table for?" I heard myself ask. "Mystical recalibrations, mostly. I use copper dowels to locate lugubriations in the subtle body field. It's an ancient form of healing—locating and then surgically removing cancerous energies." "I see." "And by surgery I mean metaphysical. Like magnet sucking. I can show you the magnet machine if you're interested. Small enough to fit in a handbag. Costs a pretty penny, although it's very useful. Very. Not so much for insomniacs, but for compulsive gamblers and Peeping Toms—adrenaline junkies, in other words. New York City is full of those types, so I foresee myself getting busier this year. But don't worry. I'm not abandoning my psychiatric clients. There are only a few of you anyway. Hence my new certification. Costly, but worth it. Sit on it," she insisted, so I did, grappling with the edge of the cool pleather of the massage table to hoist myself up. My legs swung like a kid's at the doctor's.

I make the very best halwa chebakia. With mint tea, or qamar-el-deen- you can take some home to your family." Such an offer cannot be refused. I know this from experience. Years of traveling with my mother have taught me that food is a universal passport. Whatever the constraints of language, culture or geography, food crosses over all boundaries. To offer food is to extend the hand of friendship; to accept is to be accepted into the most closed of communities. I wondered if Francis Reynaud had ever thought of this approach. Knowing him, he hasn't. Reynaud means well, but he isn't the type to buy halwa chebakia or to drink a glass of mint tea in the little café on the corner of the Boulevard P'tit Baghdad. I followed Fatima into the house, making sure to leave my shoes at the door. It was pleasantly cool inside and smelt of frangipani; the shutters closed since midday to guard against the heat of the sun. A door led into the kitchen, from which I caught the mingled scents of anise and almond and rosewater and chickpeas cooked in turmeric, and chopped mint, and toasted cardamom, and those wonderful halwa chebakia, sweet little sesame pastries deep-fried in oil, just small enough to pop into the mouth, flower-shaped and brittle and perfect with a glass of mint tea...

Because of the extreme heat fission generates, the reactor core must be kept cool at all costs. This is particularly important with an RBMK, which operates at an, “astonishingly high temperature,” relative to other reactor types, of 500°C with hotspots of up to 700°C, according to British nuclear expert Dr. Eric Voice. A typical PWR has an operating temperature of about 275°C. A few different kinds of coolant are used in different reactors, from gas to air to liquid metal to salt, but Chernobyl’s uses the same as most other reactors: light water, meaning it is just regular water. The plant was originally going to be fitted with gas-cooled reactors, but this was eventually changed because of a shortage of the necessary equipment.75 Water is pumped into the bottom of the reactor at high pressure (1000psi, or 65 atmospheres), where it boils and passes up, out of the reactor and through a condensator that separates steam from water. All remaining water is pushed through another pump and fed back into the reactor. The steam, meanwhile, enters a steam turbine, which turns and generates electricity. Each RBMK reactor produces 5,800 tons of steam per hour.76 Having passed through this turbogenerator, the steam is condensed back into water and fed back to the pumps, where it begins its cycle again.

I’ve always been very Type-A, so a friend of mine got me into cycling when I was living in L.A. I lived right on the beach in Santa Monica, where there’s this great bike path in the sand that goes for, I think, 25 miles. I’d go onto the bike path, and I would [go] head down and push it—just red-faced huffing, all the way, pushing it as hard as I could. I would go all the way down to one end of the bike path and back, and then head home, and I’d set my little timer when doing this. . . . “I noticed it was always 43 minutes. That’s what it took me to go as fast as I could on that bike path. But I noticed that, over time, I was starting to feel less psyched about going out on the bike path. Because mentally, when I would think of it, it would feel like pain and hard work. . . . So, then I thought, ‘You know, it’s not cool for me to associate negative stuff with going on the bike ride. Why don’t I just chill? For once, I’m gonna go on the same bike ride, and I’m not going to be a complete snail, but I’ll go at half of my normal pace.’ I got on my bike, and it was just pleasant. “I went on the same bike ride, and I noticed that I was standing up, and I was looking around more. I looked into the ocean, and I saw there were these dolphins jumping in the ocean, and I went down to Marina del Rey, to my turnaround point, and I noticed in Marina del Rey, that there was a pelican that was flying above me. I looked up. I was like, ‘Hey, a pelican!’ and he shit in my mouth. “So, the point is: I had such a nice time. It was purely pleasant. There was no red face, there was no huffing. And when I got back to my usual stopping place, I looked at my watch, and it said 45 minutes. I thought, ‘How the hell could that have been 45 minutes, as opposed to my usual 43? There’s no way.’ But it was right: 45 minutes. That was a profound lesson that changed the way I’ve approached my life ever since. . . . “We could do the math, [but] whatever, 93-something-percent of my huffing and puffing, and all that red face and all that stress was only for an extra 2 minutes. It was basically for nothing. . . . [So,] for life, I think of all of this maximization—getting the maximum dollar out of everything, the maximum out of every second, the maximum out of every minute—you don’t need to stress about any of this stuff. Honestly, that’s been my approach ever since. I do things, but I stop before anything gets stressful. . . . “You notice this internal ‘Argh.’ That’s my cue. I treat that like physical pain. What am I doing? I need to stop doing that thing that hurts. What is that? And, it usually means that I’m just pushing too hard, or doing things that I don’t really want to be doing.

Trusting to this unity of civilized races countless people left hearth and home to live in strange lands and trusted their fortunes to the friendly relations existing between the various countries. And even he who was not tied down to the same spot by the exigencies of life could combine all the advantages and charms of civilized countries into a newer and greater fatherland which he could enjoy without hindrance or suspicion. He thus took delight in the blue and the grey ocean, the beauty of snow clad mountains and of the green lowlands, the magic of the north woods and the grandeur of southern vegetation, the atmosphere of landscapes upon which great historical memories rest, and the peace of untouched nature. The new fatherland was to him also a museum, filled with the treasure that all the artists of the world for many centuries had created and left behind. While he wandered from one hall to another in this museum he could give his impartial appreciation to the varied types of perfection that had been developed among his distant compatriots by the mixture of blood, by history, and by the peculiarities of physical environment. Here cool, inflexible energy was developed to the highest degree, there the graceful art of beautifying life, elsewhere the sense of law and order, or other qualities that have made man master of the earth.

Using graphite as a moderator can be highly dangerous, as it means that the nuclear reaction will continue - or even increase - in the absence of cooling water or the presence of steam pockets (called ‘voids’). This is known as a positive void coefficient and its presence in a reactor is indicative of very poor design. Graphite moderated reactors were used in the USA in the 1950s for research and plutonium production, but the Americans soon realised their safety disadvantages. Almost all western nuclear plants now use either Pressurised Water Reactors (PWRs) or Boiling Water Reactors (BWRs), which both use water as a moderator and coolant. In these designs, the water that is pumped into the reactor as coolant is the same water that is enabling the chain reaction as a moderator. Thus, if the water supply is stopped, fission will cease because the chain reaction cannot be sustained; a much safer design. Few commercial reactor designs still use a graphite moderator. Other than the RBMK and its derivative, the EGP-6, Britain’s Advanced Gas-Cooled Reactor (AGR) design is the only other graphite-moderated reactor in current use. The AGR will soon be joined by a new type of experimental reactor at China’s Shidao Bay Nuclear Power Plant, which is currently under construction. The plant will house two graphite-moderated ‘High Temperature Reactor-Pebble-bed Modules’ reactors, the first of which is undergoing commissioning tests as of mid-2019.

In 1969 the Khmer Rouge numbered only about 4,000. By 1975 their numbers were enough to defeat the government forces. Their victory was greatly helped by the American attack on Cambodia, which was carried out as an extension of the Vietnam War. In 1970 a military coup led by Lon Nol, possibly with American support, overthrew the government of Prince Sihanouk, and American and South Vietnamese troops entered Cambodia. One estimate is that 600,000 people, nearly 10 per cent of the Cambodian population, were killed in this extension of the war. Another estimate puts the deaths from the American bombing at 1000,000 peasants. From 1972 to 1973, the quantity of bombs dropped on Cambodia was well over three times that dropped on Japan in the Second World War. The decision to bomb was taken by Richard Nixon and Henry Kissinger and was originally justified on the grounds that North Vietnamese bases had been set up in Cambodia. The intention (according to a later defence by Kissinger’s aide, Peter W. Rodman) was to target only places with few Cambodians: ‘From the Joint Chiefs’ memorandum of April 9, 1969, the White House selected as targets only six base areas minimally populated by civilians. The target areas were given the codenames BREAKFAST, LUNCH, DINNER, SUPPER, SNACK, and DESSERT; the overall programme was given the name MENU.’ Rodman makes the point that SUPPER, for instance, had troop concentrations, anti-aircraft, artillery, rocket and mortar positions, together with other military targets. Even if relatively few Cambodians were killed by the unpleasantly names items on the MENU, each of them was a person leading a life in a country not at war with the United States. And, as the bombing continued, these relative restraints were loosened. To these political decisions, physical and psychological distance made their familiar contribution. Roger Morris, a member of Kissinger’s staff, later described the deadened human responses: Though they spoke of terrible human suffering reality was sealed off by their trite, lifeless vernacular: 'capabilities', 'objectives', 'our chips', 'giveaway'. It was a matter, too, of culture and style. They spoke with the cool, deliberate detachment of men who believe the banishment of feeling renders them wise and, more important, credible to other men… They neither understood the foreign policy they were dealing with, nor were deeply moved by the bloodshed and suffering they administered to their stereo-types. On the ground the stereotypes were replaced by people. In the villages hit by bombs and napalm, peasants were wounded or killed, often being burnt to death. Those who left alive took refuge in the forests. One Western ob-server commented, ‘it is difficult to imagine the intensity of their hatred to-wards those who are destroying their villages and property’. A raid killed twenty people in the village of Chalong. Afterwards seventy people from Chalong joined the Khmer Rouge. Prince Sihanouk said that Richard Nixon and Henry Kissinger created the Khmer Rouge by expanding the war into Cambodia.

If we consider the superiority of the human species, the size of its brain, its powers of thinking, language and organization, we can say this: were there the slightest possibility that another rival or superior species might appear, on earth or elsewhere, man would use every means at his disposal to destroy it. Humans won't tolerate any other species - not even a superhuman one: they see them selves as the climax and culmination of the earthly entreprise, and they keep a vigorous check on any new intrusion in the cosmological process. Now there is no reason why this process should come to a halt with the human species, but, by universalizing itself (though only over a few thousand years) that species has more or less fixed it that an end be put to the occurrence of the world, assuming for itself all the possibilities of further evolution, reserving for itself a monopoly of natural and artificial species. This is not the ferocity of wild and predatory animal species, for these are part of cycles, and are located within constantly reversible hierarchies: neither their appearance nor their disappearance ever puts an end to the process. Only man invents a hierarchy against which there is no possible appeal, in which he is the keystone. This is a sort of ferocity raised to the second power, a disastrous pretension. The ferocity of man as a species is reflected in the ferocity of humanism as a way of thinking: his claim to universal transcendence and his intolerance of other types of thought is the very model of a superior racism.

Guilt. Torment. Sorrow. Shock. Which?” she asked against his chest. “I’m trying,” he murmured on a weary chuckle. “But all I can manage is pride,” he added softly. “I satisfied you completely, didn’t I?” “More than completely,” she murmured against his damp shoulder. Her hand traced his chest, feeling the coolness of his skin, the ripple of muscle. “Hold me close.” He wrapped both arms around her and drew her on top of him, holding her hungrily to him, their legs lazily entwined. “I seduced you.” She pressed a soft kiss to his collarbone. “Mmm-hmm.” He caught his breath as the tiny, insignificant movement produced a sudden, raging arousal. She lifted her head. “Did I do something wrong?” He lifted an eyebrow and nodded toward his flat stomach. She followed his amused glance and caught her breath. He drew her mouth down over his and kissed her ferociously before he sat up and moved off the bed. “Where are you going?” she asked, startled. He drew on his briefs and his slacks, glancing down at her with amused delight. “One of us has to be sensible,” he told her. “Colby’s probably on his way back right now.” “But he just left…” “Almost an hour ago,” he finished for her, nodding toward the clock on the bedside table. She sat up, her eyes wide with surprise. “I took a long time with you,” he said gently. “Didn’t you notice?” She laughed self-consciously. “Well, yes, but I didn’t realize it was that long.” He drew her off the bed and bent to kiss her tenderly, nuzzling her face with his. “Was I worth waiting for?” he asked. She smiled. “What a silly question.” He kissed her again, but when he lifted his head he wasn’t smiling. “I loved what we did together,” he said quietly. “But I should have been more responsible.” She knew what he was thinking. He hadn’t used anything, and he surely knew that she wasn’t. She flattened her hand against his bare chest. “There’s a morning-after pill. I’ll drive into the city tomorrow and get one,” she said, lying like a sailor. She had no intention of doing that, but it would comfort him. He found that he didn’t like that idea. It hurt something deeply primitive in him. He scowled. “That could be dangerous.” “No, it’s not. He traced her fingernails while he tried to think. It seemed like a fantasy, a dream. He’d never had such an experience with a woman in his life. She closed her eyes and moved closer to him. “I could never have done that with anyone else,” she whispered. “It was more beautiful than my dreams.” His heart jumped. That was how it felt to him, too. He tilted her face so that he could search her soft eyes. She was radiant; she almost glowed. “Kiss me,” he murmured softly. She did. But he wasn’t smiling. She could almost see the thoughts in his face. “You didn’t force me, Tate,” she said gently. “I made a conscious decision. I made a choice. I needed to know if what had happened to me had destroyed me as a woman. I found out in the most wonderful way that it hadn’t. I’m not ashamed of what we did together.” “Neither am I.” He turned, his face still tormented. “But it wasn’t my right.” “To be the first?” She smiled gently. “It would have been you eight years ago or eight years from now. I don’t want anyone else-not that way. I never did.” He actually winced. “Cecily…” “I’m not asking for declarations of undying love. I won’t cling. I’m not the type.

Stay there,’ said Mathis. He kicked back his chair and hurtled through the empty window-frame on to the pavement. 6 ....... TWO MEN IN STRAW HATS WHEN BOND left the bar he walked purposefully along the pavement flanking the tree-lined boulevard towards his hotel a few hundred yards away. He was hungry. The day was still beautiful, but by now the sun was very hot and the plane-trees, spaced about twenty feet apart on the grass verge between the pavement and the broad tarmac, gave a cool shade. There were few people abroad and the two men standing quietly under a tree on the opposite side of the boulevard looked out of place. Bond noticed them when he was still a hundred yards away and when the same distance separated them from the ornamental ‘porte cochère’ of the Splendide. There was something rather disquieting about their appearance. They were both small and they were dressed alike in dark and, Bond reflected, rather hot-looking suits. They had the appearance of a variety turn waiting for a bus on the way to the theatre. Each wore a straw hat with a thick black ribbon as a concession, perhaps, to the holiday atmosphere of the resort, and the brims of these and the shadow from the tree under which they stood obscured their faces. Incongruously, each dark, squat little figure was illuminated by a touch of bright colour. They were both carrying square camera-cases slung from the shoulder. And one case was bright red and the other case bright blue. By the time Bond had taken in these details, he had come to within fifty yards of the two men. He was reflecting on the ranges of various types of weapon and the possibilities of cover when an extraordinary and terrible scene was enacted.

A glance at the clock on the nightstand told me I still had several hours until morning, and I knew I was in for a long night. I wasn’t quite ready to get back in bed, and my throat felt dry, so I left the bedroom and padded into the kitchen for a bottle of cool water. On my way back through the living room, I glanced at the couch and froze. Holt was lying there with a blanket tossed over his legs. “You’re sleeping on the couch?” I said, surprise lacing my tone. “I figured it was too soon to climb into bed with you,” he drawled. A warm flush spread over my limbs. The idea of sharing a bed with him… of being tangled up in his arms and legs… was entirely too appealing. “I’m an idiot.” He chuckled. “And why is that?” Because I should have realized that he only had one bed in this house and I was hogging it. He did say my scent was on his sheets. Geez, how slow on the uptake was I? “I should be the one sleeping out here.” “No.” It sounded like a command. “Yes.” He moved so fast I barely saw him, and then he was towering over me, my eyes left to stare at the very wide expanse of his chiseled chest. “What kind of a man do you think I am?” he drawled. “What?” I said, not really listening to his words. His body was the ultimate distraction. “Do you really think I would let someone—a girl—who was just released from the hospital, still bruised and burned, sleep on my couch?” “I’m sure I would be more comfortable there than you would be.” “Go back to bed, Katie.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “And if I don’t?” I challenged. I didn’t really care for the overbearing type. “If you don’t, I’m going to rip my shirt off you right here and do things to your body that will echo through your limbs long after I stop touching you.

If you could be anyone else, who would you want to be?” I ask, because I’ve decided that I admire how David doesn’t self-censor. I should try it too. I think about this all the time. Waking up in the morning, looking in the mirror, and seeing someone wholly different staring back. These days I’d give anything to be the old me, the pre-accident me, who could sit at my old lunch table and chat about nothing. The pre-accident me who aspired to be more like Lauren Drucker, former benevolent ruler and social chair of Mapleview. I really wouldn’t mind being entirely full of shit, so long as I didn’t notice. “There’s this guy Trey who teaches me guitar,” David says. “He kind of pisses me off, actually, but he’s just the type of guy everyone likes. He always knows exactly what to say. Like has annoyingly pitch-perfect radio waves. So I guess him?” “I used to want my metaphorical radio waves to play music that was, like, quirky but also perfectly curated, you know? Something cool. But now I feel like I’ve become traffic on the hour.” “You are so not traffic on the hour,” he says, and to my dismay dabs at his chin with a napkin. “Though I wouldn’t mind even being that. Reliable, informative, albeit repetitive. At least people actually listen to it.” “I think your signal is in Morse code,” I say with a smile. “When I was eight, I taught myself Morse code. The clicks are highly irritating.” I lean over and for no reason I can think of—maybe because I have nothing smart to say, maybe because with David I feel like someone else entirely, I want to be someone else entirely—I take a lick of his ice cream. The vanilla part. He stares at my lips, as shocked as I am. “Sorry,” I say. “I liked your order better.” “The cold medicine is not for me. Just to be clear,” he says. “Wasn’t worried.

During homeroom, before first period, I start a bucket list in one of my notebooks. First on the list? 1) Eat in the cafeteria. Sit with people. TALK TO THEM. 2) And…that’s all I can come up with for now. But this is good. One task to work on. No distractions. I can do this. When my lunch period rolls around, I forgo the safety of my bag lunch and the computer lab and slip into the pizza line, wielding my very own tray of semi-edible fare for the first time in years. “A truly remarkable sight.” Jensen cuts into line beside me, sliding his tray next to mine on the ledge in front of us. He lifts his hands and frames me with his fingers, like he’s shooting a movie. “In search of food, the elusive creature emerges from her den and tries her luck at the watering hole." I shake my head, smiling, moving down the line. “Wow, Peters. I never knew you were such a huge Animal Planet fan.” “I’m a fan of all things nature. Birds. Bees. The like.” He grabs two pudding cups and drops one on my tray. “Pandas?” I say. “How did you know? The panda is my spirit animal.” “Oh, good, because Gran has this great pattern for an embroidered panda cardigan. It would look amazing on you.” “Um, yeah, I know. It was on my Christmas list, but Santa totally stiffed me." I laugh as I grab a carton of milk. So does he. He leans in closer. “Come sit with me.” “At the jock table? Are you kidding?” I hand the cashier my lunch card. Jensen squints his eyes in the direction of his friends. “We’re skinny-ass basketball players, Wayfare. We don’t really scream jock.” “Meatheads, then?” “I believe the correct term is Athletic Types.” We step out from the line and scan the room. “So where were you planning on sitting?" “I was thinking Grady and Marco were my safest bet.” “The nerd table?” I gesture to myself, especially my glasses. “I figure my natural camouflage will help me blend, yo.” He laughs, his honey-blond hair falling in front of his eyes. “And hey,” I say, nudging him with my elbow, “last I heard, Peters was cool with nerdy.” He claps me gently on the back. “Good luck, Wayfare. I’m pulling for ya.

Maddy’s going to pop soon,” Cooper said, finishing his beer and getting ready to head out. “Tucker is attached to her. It’s pretty fucking adorable. The guy about wets his pants every time she makes any noise that might be labor pain.” “You’ll be an uncle soon.” “I’m already an uncle,” Cooper mumbled, sliding on his jacket. “I just can’t hold the kid yet.” “You and Farah still planning on trying?” “No planning. We’re just trying now. She’s off the pill. Whenever it happens, it’ll be cool. Farah worries she’ll suck at being a mom. Can you believe that shit?” Cooper asked as his dark eyes warmed at the thought of his wife. “The way she takes care of Sawyer and me and everyone else and she thinks she’ll be a bad mom. These girls with their shit families get all fucked up in the head and no logic is going to fix it. They just need to face their fears and see how amazing they are when their idiot parents aren’t around to fuck things up.” “Should I fix things for Lark?” “I don’t know. If it was me, I’d go smack her stupid brother and father around. I don’t know if that’d be a good idea though. Those fucks aren’t low life drifters like Farah’s parents. That Larry asshole is a respectable member of the community. If you want to smack him around, you’ll need to do it in a more subtle way. Of course, if he ever fucks with you, we can just remind Mister Upstanding how his kind doesn’t run Ellsberg. It’s us dirty biker types who keep his house from burning down or his head from getting cracked open. If it comes down to it, I’ll help you take him down. Pop says behave. I say I’ve got my bud’s back.” Grinning, I shoved him away from me. “Crap. I’m worried you might hug me next.” “I was thinking about it,” Cooper said, smiling. “Farah’s turned me all nice and shit. I’m getting manners too. It’s disgusting.” “Horrifying,” I teased. “Thanks for the offer, but I feel like Lark needs to make a move. If she needs me to, I’ll burn down houses and crack open skulls. Right now, I feel like maybe she needs to find her way back to me. If she does, I’m keeping her and ruining anyone who tries to take her away.” “Now, there’s the punk ass jerk I became friends with.

Radiation from the Big Bang may give us a clue to dark matter and dark energy. First of all, the echo, or afterglow, of the Big Bang is easy to detect. Our satellites have been able to detect this radiation to enormous accuracy. Photographs of this microwave background radiation show that it is remarkably smooth, with tiny ripples appearing on its surface. These ripples, in turn, represent tiny quantum fluctuations that existed at the instant of the Big Bang that were then magnified by the explosion. What is controversial, however, is that there appear to be irregularities, or blotches, in the background radiation that we cannot explain. There is some speculation that these strange blotches are the remnants of collisions with other universes. In particular, the CMB (cosmic microwave background) cold spot is an unusually cool mark on the otherwise uniform background radiation that some physicists have speculated might be the remnants of some type of connection or collision between our universe and a parallel universe at the beginning of time. If these strange markings represent our universe interacting with parallel universes, then the multiverse theory might become more plausible to skeptics. Already, there are plans to put detectors in space that can refine all these calculations, using space-based gravity wave detectors. LISA Back in 1916, Einstein showed that gravity could travel in waves. Like throwing a stone in a pond and witnessing the concentric, expanding rings it creates, Einstein predicted that swells of gravity would travel at the speed of light. Unfortunately, these would be so faint that he did not think we would find them anytime soon. He was right. It took until 2016, one hundred years after his original prediction, before gravity waves were observed. Signals from two black holes that collided in space about a billion years ago were captured by huge detectors. These detectors, built in Louisiana and Washington State, each occupy several square miles of real estate. They resemble a large L, with laser beams traveling down each leg of the L. When the two beams meet at the center, they create an interference pattern that is so sensitive to vibrations that they could detect this collision. For their pioneering work, three physicists, Rainer Weiss, Kip S. Thorne, and Barry C. Barish, won the Nobel Prize in 2017. For even greater sensitivity, there are plans to send gravity wave detectors into outer space. The project, known as the laser interferometry space antenna (LISA), might be able to pick up vibrations from the instant of the Big Bang itself. One version of the LISA consists of three separate satellites in space, each connected to the others by a network of laser beams. The triangle is about a million miles on each side.

When you are sad, celebrate, and you are giving a new composition to sadness. You are bringing something to sadness which will transform it. You are bringing celebration to it. Angry? -- have a beautiful dance. In the beginning it will be angry. You will start dancing and the dance will be angry, aggressive, violent. By and by, it will become softer and softer and softer, when suddenly, you will have forgotten anger. The energy has changed into dancing. But when you are angry, you can't think of dancing. When you are sad, you can't think of singing. Why not make your sadness a song? Sing, play on your flute. In the beginning the notes will be sad, but nothing is wrong with a sad note. Have you heard, in the afternoon sometimes, when everything is hot, burning hot, fire all around, and suddenly from a mango grove you can hear a cuckoo start singing? In the beginning, the note is sad. She is calling her lover, her beloved, on a hot afternoon. Everything is fiery all around, and she is hankering for love. A very sad note, but beautiful. By and by, the sad note changes into a happy note. The lover starts responding from another grove. Now it is no more a hot afternoon; everything is cooling down in the heart. Now the note is different. When the lover responds, everything has changed. It is an alchemical change. You are sad? -- start singing, praying, dancing. Whatsoever you can do, do, and by and by, the baser metal is changed into a higher metal -- gold. Once you know the key, your life will never be the same again. You can unlock any door. And this is the master key: to celebrate everything. If you are sad, then I say celebrate, dance, sing. What are you to lose? At the most, sadness will be lost, nothing else. But you think it is impossible. And the very idea that it is impossible will not allow you to give it a try. And I say it is one of the most easy things in the world, because energy is neutral. The same energy becomes sadness; the same energy becomes anger; the same energy becomes sexuality; the same energy becomes com passion; the same energy becomes meditation. Energy is one. You don't have many types of energies. You don't have many separate pockets of energy where this energy is labelled 'sadness' and this energy is labelled 'happiness'. Energies are not pigeon-holed, they are not separated. There exists no watertight compartment in you. You are simply one. This one energy becomes sadness, this one energy becomes anger. It is up to you. One has to learn the secret, the art of how to transform energies. You simply give a direction and the same energy starts moving. And when there is a possibility of transforming anger into bliss, greed into compassion, jealousy into love... you don't know what you are losing. You don't know what you are missing. You are missing the whole point of being here in this universe. Give it a try.

Birch bark lends a mild wintergreen flavor to brewed sodas. Birch beer, flavored with sassafras and birch, is a classic American brew. Birch bark is usually sold in homebrew stores. Bitter Orange (Bergamot) s highly aromatic, and its dried peel is an essential part of cola flavor. The dried peel and its extract are usually available in spice shops, or any store with a good spice selection. They can be pricey. Burdock root s a traditional ingredient in American root beers. It has a mild sweet flavor similar to that of artichoke. Dried burdock root is available in most Asian groceries and homebrew stores. Cinnamon has several species, but they all fall into two types. Ceylon cinnamon is thin and mild, with a faint fragrance of allspice. Southeast Asian cinnamon, also called cassia, is both stronger and more common. The best grade comes from Vietnam and is sold as Saigon cinnamon. Use it in sticks, rather than ground. The sticks can be found in most grocery stores. Ginger, a common soda ingredient, is very aromatic, at once spicy and cooling. It is widely available fresh in the produce section of grocery stores, and it can be found whole and dried in most spice shops. Lemongrass, a perennial herb from central Asia, contains high levels of citral, the pungent aromatic component of lemon oil. It yields a rich lemon flavor without the acid of lemon juice, which can disrupt the fermentation of yeasted sodas. Lemon zest is similar in flavor and can be substituted. Lemongrass is available in most Asian markets and in the produce section of well-stocked grocery stores. Licorice root provides the well-known strong and sweet flavor of black licorice candy. Dried licorice root is sold in natural food stores and homebrew stores. Anise seed and dried star anise are suitable substitutes. Sarsaparilla s similar in flavor to sassafras, but a little milder. Many plants go by the name sarsaparilla. Southern-clime sarsaparilla (Smilax spp.) is the traditional root-beer flavoring. Most of the supply we get in North America comes from Mexico; it’s commonly sold in homebrew stores. Wild sarsaparilla (Aralia spp.) is more common in North America and is sometimes used as a substitute for true sarsaparilla. Small young sarsaparilla roots, known as “root bark” are less pungent and are usually preferred for soda making, although fully mature roots give fine results. Sassafras s the most common flavoring for root beers of all types. Its root bark is very strong and should be used with caution, especially if combined with other flavors. It is easily overpowering. Dried sassafras is available in homebrew stores. Star anise, the dried fruit of an Asian evergreen, tastes like licorice, with hints of clove and cinnamon. The flavor is strong, so use star anise with caution. It is available dried in the spice section of most grocery stores but can be found much more cheaply at Asian markets.

BUTTERSCOTCH BONANZA BARS Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position.   ½ cup salted butter (1 stick, 4 ounces, ¼ pound) 2 cups light brown sugar*** (pack it down in the cup when you measure it) 2 teaspoons baking powder 1 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 2 beaten eggs (just whip them up in a glass with a fork) 1 and ½cups flour (scoop it up and level it off with a table knife) 1 cup chopped nuts (optional) 2 cups butterscotch chips (optional) ***- If all you have in the house is dark brown sugar and the roads are icy, it’s below zero, and you really don’t feel like driving to the store, don’t despair. Measure out one cup of dark brown sugar and mix it with one cup regular white granulated sugar. Now you’ve got light brown sugar, just what’s called for in Leslie’s recipe. And remember that you can always make any type of brown sugar by mixing molasses into white granulated sugar until it’s the right color. Hannah’s Note: Leslie says the nuts are optional, but she likes these cookie bars better with nuts. So do I, especially with walnuts. Bertie Straub wants hers with a cup of chopped pecans and 2 cups of butterscotch chips. Mother prefers these bars with 2 cups of semi-sweet chocolate chips and no nuts, Carrie likes them with 2 cups of mini chocolate chips and a cup of chopped pecans, and Lisa prefers to make them with 1 cup of chopped walnuts, 1 cup of white chocolate chips, and 1 cup of butterscotch chips. All this goes to show just how versatile Leslie’s recipe is. Try it first as it’s written with just the nuts. Then try any other versions that you think would be yummy. Grease and flour a 9-inch by 13-inch cake pan, or spray it with nonstick baking spray, the kind with flour added. Set it aside while you mix up the batter. Melt the butter in a small saucepan over low heat on the stovetop, or put it in the bottom of a microwave-safe, medium-sized mixing bowl and heat it for 1 minute in the microwave on HIGH. Add the light brown sugar to the mixing bowl with the melted butter and stir it in well. Mix in the baking powder and the salt. Make sure they’re thoroughly incorporated. Stir in the vanilla extract. Mix in the beaten eggs. Add the flour by half-cup increments, stirring in each increment before adding the next. Stir in the nuts, if you decided to use them. Mix in the butterscotch chips if you decided to use them, or any other chips you’ve chosen. Spoon the batter into the prepared cake pan and smooth out the top with a rubber spatula. Bake the Butterscotch Bonanza Bars at 350 degrees F. for 20 to 25 minutes. (Mine took 25 minutes.) When the bars are done, take them out of the oven and cool them completely in the pan on a cold stove burner or a wire rack. When the bars are cool, use a sharp knife to cut them into brownie-sized pieces. Yield: Approximately 40 bars, but that all depends on how large you cut the squares. You may not believe this, but Mother suggested that I make these cookie bars with semi-sweet chocolate chips and then frost them with chocolate fudge frosting. There are times when I think she’d frost a tuna sandwich with chocolate fudge frosting and actually enjoy eating it!

you'll wonder again, later, why so many psychologists remain so vocal about having more and better training than anyone else in the field when every psychologist you've ever met but one will also have lacked these identification skills entirely when it seems nearly every psychologist you meet has no real ability to detect deception. You will wonder, later, why the assessment training appears to have been reserved for the CIA and the FBI is it because we as a society don't want to imagine that any other professionals will need the skills? And what about attorneys? What about training programs for guardian ad litems or anyone involved in approving care for all the already traumatized and marginalized children? You'll have met enough of those children after they grow up to know that when a small girl experiences repeated rapes in a series of households throughout her childhood, then that little girl is pretty likely to have some sort of "dysfunction" when she grows up. And you won't have any tolerance for the people who point their fingers at her and demand that she be as capable as they are it is, after all, a free country. We all get the same opportunities. You'll want to scream at all those equality people that you can't ignore the rights of this nation's children you can't ignore them and then get pissed when any raped and beaten little girls and boys grow up to be traumatized and perhaps hurtful or addicted adults. No more pointing fingers only a few random traumatized people stand up later as some miraculous example of perfectly acceptable societal success and if every judgmental person imagines that I would be like that I would be the one to break through the barriers then all those judgmental people need to go back in time and prove it, prove to everyone that life is a choice and we all get equal chances. You'll want anyone who talks about equal chances to go back and be born addicted to drugs in complete poverty and then to be dropped into a foster system that's designed for good but exploited by people who lack a conscience by people who rape and molest and whip and beat tiny little six year olds and then you will want all those people to come out of all that still talking about equal chances and their personal tremendous success. Thank you, dear God, for writing my name on the palm of your hand. You will be angry and yet you still won't understand the concept of evil. You'll learn enough to know that it's not politically correct to call anyone evil, especially when many terrible acts might actually stem from a physiological deficit I would never use the word evil, it's not professional but you will certainly come to understand that many of the very worst crimes are committed by people who lack the capacity to feel remorse for what they've done on any level. But when you gain that understanding, you still will not have learned that these individuals are more likable than most people that they aren't cool and distant that they aren't just a select few creepy murderers or high-profile con artists you won't know how to look for a lack of conscience in noncriminal and quite normal looking populations no clinical professors will have warned you about people who exude charm and talk excessively about protecting the family or protecting the community or protecting our way of life and you won't know that these types would ever stick around to raise kids you will have falsely believed that if they can't form real attachments, they won't bother with raising children and besides most of them will end up in prison you will not know that your assumptions are completely erroneous you won't understand that many who lack a conscience keep their kids close and tight for their own purposes.

This is the only story of mine whose moral I know. I don't think it's a marvelous moral, I simply happen to know what it is: We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be. My personal experience with Nazi monkey business was limited. There were some vile and lively native American Fascists in my home town of Indianapolis during the thirties, and somebody slipped me a copy of The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, I remember, which was supposed to be the Jews' secret plan for taking over the world. And I remember some laughs about my aunt, too, who married a German German, and who had to write to Indianapolis for proofs that she had no Jewish blood. The Indianapolis mayor knew her from high school and dancing school, so he had fun putting ribbons and official seals all over the documents the Germans required, which made them look like eighteenth-century peace treaties. After a while the war came, and I was in it, and I was captured, so I got to see a little of Germany from the inside while the war was still going on. I was a private, a battalion scout, and, under the terms of the Geneva Convention, I had to work for my keep, which was good, not bad. I didn't have to stay in prison all the time, somewhere out in the countryside. I got to go to a city, which was Dresden, and to see the people and the things they did. There were about a hundred of us in our particular work group, and we were put out as contract labor to a factory that was making a vitamin-enriched malt syrup for pregnant women. It tasted like thin honey laced with hickory smoke. It was good. I wish I had some right now. And the city was lovely, highly ornamented, like Paris, and untouched by war. It was supposedly an 'open' city, not to be attacked since there were no troop concentrations or war industries there. But high explosives were dropped on Dresden by American and British planes on the night of February 13, 1945, just about twenty-one years ago, as I now write. There were no particular targets for the bombs. The hope was that they would create a lot of kindling and drive firemen underground. And then hundreds of thousands of tiny incendiaries were scattered over the kindling, like seeds on freshly turned loam. More bombs were dropped to keep firemen in their holes, and all the little fires grew, joined one another, and became one apocalyptic flame. Hey presto: fire storm. It was the largest massacre in European history, by the way. And so what? We didn't get to see the fire storm. We were in a cool meat-locker under a slaughterhouse with our six guards and ranks and ranks of dressed cadavers of cattle, pigs, horses, and sheep. We heard the bombs walking around up there. Now and then there would be a gentle shower of calcimine. If we had gone above to take a look, we would have been turned into artefacts characteristic of fire storms: seeming pieces of charred firewood two or three feet long - ridiculously small human beings, or jumbo fried grasshoppers, if you will. The malt syrup factory was gone. Everything was gone but the cellars where 135,000 Hansels and Gretels had been baked like gingerbread men. So we were put to work as corpse miners, breaking into shelters, bringing bodies out. And I got to see many German types of all ages as death had found them, usually with valuables in their laps. Sometimes relatives would come to watch us dig. They were interesting, too. So much for Nazis and me. If I'd been born in Germany, I suppose I would have been a Nazi, bopping Jews and gypsies and Poles around, leaving boots sticking out of snowbanks, warming myself with my secretly virtuous insides. So it goes. There's another clear moral to this tale, now that I think about it: When you're dead you're dead. And yet another moral occurs to me now: Make love when you can. It's good for you.

Cèpes aux Lardons (WILD MUSHROOMS WITH LARDONS) YIELD: 4 SERVINGS I OFTEN MAKE this type of recipe in the summer when wild mushrooms are plentiful. I must emphasize that you should pick only those mushrooms that you can identify with certainty. Join a mycological society in your area if you want to learn about them. A reminder: wild mushrooms should be well cooked—some may cause intestinal problems unless well done—so be sure to cook them for a minimum of 15 minutes. If cèpes are unavailable, large white mushrooms from the supermarket will work well in this recipe. 4 ounces pancetta, lean cured pork, or salt pork, cut into ½-inch pieces (¾ cup) 2 cups water 3 tablespoons good olive oil 1 pound fresh cèpes, cleaned and cut into 1-inch pieces ⅓ cup minced scallions 1 teaspoon chopped fresh thyme Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste 2 tablespoons chopped fresh chives 1 tablespoon unsalted butter 4 slices French bread, brushed with olive oil and toasted Place the pancetta or cured or salt pork in a skillet with the water. Bring to a boil, boil for 10 minutes, then drain and rinse under cool water. Return these lardons to the skillet with the olive oil, and sauté them for about 1 minute. Add the cèpes to the skillet, and cook them, covered, over high heat for about 15 minutes, stirring occasionally, until they are nicely browned on all sides and have a leathery, chewy texture. Add the scallions, thyme, salt, and pepper, and cook over high heat, uncovered, for 2 to 3 minutes. Add the chives and butter, toss to combine them with the other ingredients, and serve immediately on the toasted bread.

Gloria’s Pork Ribs and Red Beans YIELD: 4 SERVINGS BEFORE I MARRIED Gloria, I knew nothing about Caribbean cooking—Puerto Rican or Cuban. She introduced me to many dishes that through the years we have transformed into our own family recipes. When Roland, my brother, came to visit, one of the first dishes that Gloria would prepare for him was pork shoulder ribs with red beans, which she usually serves with rice and onion pilaf. This dish is great when made ahead, and any leftovers can be served with fried eggs for breakfast, a type of huevos rancheros. With the bones removed, it can be puréed into a sturdy, flavorful soup in a food processor. Although dried beans are typically presoaked in water before cooking, this is not necessary if the beans are started in cool water. 2 tablespoons good olive oil 4 shoulder pork chops with the bones or country ribs (about 1½ pounds) 1 pound dried red kidney beans 2 cups fresh diced tomato flesh or 1 can (14¾ ounces) whole Italian tomatoes, with juice 3 cups sliced onions 1½ tablespoons chopped garlic 1 jalapeño pepper (or more or less, depending on your tolerance for “hotness”), finely chopped, with or without the seeds (about 1 tablespoon) 2 bay leaves 1 teaspoon herbes de Provence (available in many supermarkets) or Italian seasoning 6 cups cold water 1½ teaspoons salt 1 small bunch cilantro Cooked rice, for serving (optional) Tabasco hot pepper sauce (optional) Heat the oil in a large saucepan (I like enameled cast iron), add the pork chops or ribs, and sauté gently, turning once, for 15 to 20 minutes or until they are browned on both sides. Meanwhile, sort through the beans and discard any broken or damaged ones and any foreign matter. Rinse the beans in a sieve under cold water. When the chops or ribs are browned, remove them from the heat, and add the tomatoes and their juice, onions, garlic, jala-peño, bay leaves, herbs, and water. Stir in the beans and salt, and bring to a boil. Meanwhile, pull the leaves from the cilantro stems. Chop the stems finely (you should have about ¼ cup), and add them to the beans. Reserve the leaves (you should have about 1 cup loosely packed) for use as a garnish. When the bean mixture is boiling, reduce the heat to low, and boil very gently, covered, for 2 to 2½ hours, or until the beans and pork are very tender. Divide among soup bowls, sprinkle the cilantro leaves on top, and serve with rice, if desired. Pass the Tabasco sauce for those who want added hotness.

Buchanan School had started sixth graders on a schedule similar to middle school so the transfer in the next year wouldn’t be as shocking. It was cool because we were the only kids that had this type of schedule in the school. I guess everyday was going to start with a fifteen-minute homeroom, where we’d all gather our things together and take attendance. Another cool thing about it was no assigned seating. Students were allowed to sit wherever they wanted. I was the last in the room just before the bell rang.

Much as she might like the idea of being some cool chick who could walk away from a sexual encounter without looking back, in real life that wasn’t her. She wasn’t the type to have sex with a guy without opening her heart.

people’s toes. Yellows can be amusing, creative, and elevate the mood regardless of who they’re with. However, when they are given unlimited space, they will consume all the oxygen in the room, they won’t allow anyone into a conversation, and their stories will reflect reality less and less. The friendly Greens are easy to hang out with because they are so pleasant and genuinely care for others. Unfortunately, they can be too wishy-washy and unclear. Anyone who never takes a stand eventually becomes difficult to handle. You don’t know where they really stand, and indecision kills the energy in other people. The analytical Blues are calm, levelheaded, and think before they speak. Their ability to keep a cool head is undoubtedly an enviable quality for all who aren’t capable of doing that. However, Blues’ critical thinking can easily turn to suspicion and questioning those around them. Everything can become suspect and sinister.

There are some great dancers in our grade; even some of the boys are particularly good. One boy named Alex has been dancing pretty much his entire life and is probably the best dancer in the whole school. When he was younger, he said that the other kids had bullied him and called him a girl as well as a heap of horrible names that he really didn’t want to mention. But I could see that everyone had finally developed a huge amount of respect for Alex and those who were still unaware of his talents were in for a big surprise. Hip hop is his specialty and he’s so cool to watch. I kept telling him that when he’s old enough, he should audition for “So You Think You Can Dance” and he told me that he’d really like to. As well as Alex, there’s another kid in our grade who is kind of overweight and dorky looking. But it turns out that he has an awesome voice. I had no idea that our school has so much talent and it certainly came as a huge surprise to find out that Liam can actually sing really well. The look of amazement when we heard his audition pretty much spread like wild fire. I even caught the teachers raising their eyebrows in astonishment. It just goes to show you that you can’t judge a book by its cover! I never really understood what that meant until hearing Liam sing. Now, I don’t think I’ll ever look at him in the same way again. It’s also a really big lesson for me. From now on, I will never judge a person by their looks alone. I’ll wait till I get to know them because I’ve found out that until you do get to know people, you really don’t know what type of person they are or what hidden talents they might have. Anyway, the musical was shaping up to be a huge success. The dance troupe we had put together was really coming along and we rehearsed during every lunch break and sometimes even after school. Then one afternoon, an amazing thing happened; Blake Jansen, who I’ve had a secret crush on since the fourth grade, turned up at rehearsals with his friend, Jack.

Mr. Keir MacRae Lady Merritt Sterling The names had been typed... but why?... what for?... Bits and pieces of memory whirled in his head... thoughts wheeling just beyond reach. As he struggled blindly to catch hold of something, make sense of the tumult, he heard Merritt's voice... stay for one night just one... and there was the smell of rain and the cool darkness of night, and the warmth of a bed... the tender plump curves of a woman's breasts, and the hot clasp of her body pulling at him, squeezing in voluptuous pulsation, and the sweet, wracking culmination as she cried out his name. And there was the sight of her in candlelight, flames dancing in guttering pools of wax, catching glimmers from her eyes, hair, skin... and the glorious freedom of yielding everything, telling her everything, while inexhaustible delight welled around them. And the despair of leaving, the physical pain of putting distance between them, the sensation of being pulled below the surface of the sea, looking up from airless depths to an unreachable sky. Lady Merritt's fingertips pressing a typewriter key. Tap. Tap. Tiny metal rods flicked at a spool of inked ribbon, and letters emerged. Keir was panting now, clutching the slip of paper, while his brain sorted and spun, and pin tumblers aligned, a key turned, and something unlocked. "Merry," he said aloud, his voice unsteady. "My God... Merry.

since the accident. I don’t know what her problem was. After all, I was a “hero.” At least the newspaper said so. “Hey, Alex,” she said, twirling her ponytail with her pencil. “Oh, hi,” I stammered, looking down at my burger. “You guys sounded really great in the talent show. I didn’t know you could sing like that.” “Uhh, thanks. It must be all the practice I get with my karaoke machine.” Oh God, did I just tell her I sing karaoke? Definitely not playing it cool, I thought to myself. TJ butted in, “Yeah, Small Fry was ok, but I really carried the show with my awesome guitar solo.” He smiled proudly. “Shut up, TJ,” I said, tossing a fry at him, which hit him between the eyes. “Hey, watch it, Baker. Just because you’re a ‘hero’ doesn’t mean I won’t pummel you.” “Yeah, right,” I said, smiling. Emily laughed. “Maybe we could come over during Christmas break and check out your karaoke machine. Right, Danielle?” Danielle rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yeah, whatever.” I gulped. “Uhhh…yeah…that sounds great.” “Ok, give me your hand,” she said. “My hand,” I asked, surprised. “Yep,” she said, grabbing my wrist and opening my palm. “Here’s my number,” she said, writing the numbers 585-2281 in gold glitter pen on my palm.” I will never wash my hand again, I thought to myself. “Text me over break, ok?” she said, smiling brightly. “Yeah, sure,” I nodded, as she walked away giggling with Danielle. “Merry Christmas to me!” I whispered to TJ and Simon. “Yeah, there’s just one problem, Dufus,” TJ said. “Oh yeah, what’s that, TJ? That she didn’t give you her number?” I asked. “No, Dork. How are you going to text her if you don’t have a cell phone?” He smiled. “Oh, right,” I said, slumping down in my seat. “That could be a problem.” “You could just call her on your home phone,” Simon suggested, wiping his nose with a napkin. “Yeah, sure,” TJ chuckled. “Hi Emily, this is Alex Baker calling from the year 1984.” He held his pencil to his ear like a phone.  “Would you like to come over to play Atari? Then maybe we can solve my Rubik’s Cube while we break dance ….and listen to New Kids on the Block.” He was cracking himself up and turning bright red. “Maybe I’ll type you a love letter on my typewriter. It’s so much cooler than texting.” “Shut up, TJ,” I said, smiling. “I’m starting to remember why I didn’t like you much at the beginning of the year.” “Lighten up, Baker. I’m just bustin’ your chops. Christmas is coming. Maybe Santa will feel sorry for your dorky butt and bring you a cell phone.” Chapter 2 ePhone Denied When I got home from school that day, it was the perfect time to launch my cell phone campaign. Mom was in full Christmas mode. The house smelled like gingerbread. She had put up the tree and there were boxes of ornaments and decorations on the floor. I stepped over a wreath and walked into the kitchen. She was baking sugar cookies and dancing around the kitchen to Jingle Bell Rock with my little brother Dylan. My mom twirled Dylan around and smiled. She was wearing the Grinch apron that we had given her last Christmas. Dylan was wearing a Santa hat, a fake beard, and of course- his Batman cape. Batman Claus. “Hey Honey. How was school?” she asked, giving Dylan one more spin. “It was pretty good. We won second place in the talent show.” I held up the candy cane shaped award that Ms. Riley had given us. “Great job! You and TJ deserved it. You practiced hard and it payed off.” “Yeah, I guess so,” I said, grabbing a snicker-doodle off the counter. “And now it’s Christmas break! I bet your excited.” She took a tray of cookies out of the oven and placed

Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Perceiving The closest personality-type to that of the Type T would be the INFP— Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Perceiving. The TMSer can fall into any “type” but the more common symptom sufferers are the INFPs—the idealists. Generally:  Hard-driven perfectionists with extremely high standards.  Do not relax well.  Tend to avoid conflict.  Often unaware of their own needs.  Reticent in expressing their emotions.  Genuinely care for other people and are good listeners.  Excellent problem solvers.  Make loyal friends to others as confidants with true compassion.  Their main goal in life is to make the world a better place. These people are idealistic, self-sacrificing, and somewhat cool or reserved. They are very family and home oriented, but don’t relax well. You find them in psychology, architecture, and religion, but never in business. — C. George Boeree, PhD

Things remained in a type of stasis for the next couple of days, but I was bored. I wished I had a favorite Bukowski with me to read, either Women or Notes of a Dirty Old Man, which he’d been cool enough to sign for me once when I’d been over at his pad in San Pedro. I missed him. Still couldn’t believe he was gone.

In the end, if using AI tools cuts your planning time from 30 minutes to 18 minutes—or your grading time from 40 minutes to 22—that extra time it creates is yours. Use it however you wish. Plan out that cool lesson you’ve always wanted to do. Or go home early. The choice is yours. I know this type of decision feels pretty foreign to us—deciding what to do with extra time. Whether we use it to do something amazing for our students or preserve our mental health, everyone wins.

BA water slide rental is an excellent way to cool down in what can often be a pretty hot Texan sun in summer. At RGV Party Rental, we have the largest selection of various types of water slides. Our Water slide rentals McAllen, TX, are available in various sizes ranging from ones that are 14 feet high to 26 feet high. In our experience and those of our clients, these are the best ways to have fun when it's hot. Nothing beats the joy of our awesome water slide rentals in the summer.

The following are all foods you should feel welcome to eat freely (unless, of course, you know they bother your stomach): Alliums (Onions, Leeks, Garlic, Scallions): This category of foods, in particular, is an excellent source of prebiotics and can be extremely nourishing to our bugs. If you thought certain foods were lacking in flavor, try sautéing what you think of as that “boring” vegetable or tofu with any member of this family and witness the makeover. Good-quality olive oil, sesame oil, or coconut oil can all help with the transformation of taste. *Beans, Legumes, and Pulses: This family of foods is one of the easiest ways to get a high amount of fiber in a small amount of food. You know how beans make some folks a little gassy? That’s a by-product of our bacterial buddies chowing down on that chili you just consumed for dinner. Don’t get stuck in a bean rut. Seek out your bean aisle or peruse the bulk bin at your local grocery store and see if you can try for three different types of beans each week. Great northern, anyone? Brightly Colored Fruits and Vegetables: Not only do these gems provide fiber, but they are also filled with polyphenols that increase diversity in the gut and offer anti-inflammatory compounds that are essential for disease prevention and healing. Please note that white and brown are colors in this category—hello, cauliflower, daikon radish, and mushrooms! Good fungi are particularly anti-inflammatory, rich in beta-glucans, and a good source of the immune-supportive vitamin D. Remember that variety is key here. Just because broccoli gets a special place in the world of superfoods doesn’t mean that you should eat only broccoli. Branch out: How about trying bok choy, napa cabbage, or an orange pepper? Include a spectrum of color on your plate and make sure that some of these vegetables are periodically eaten raw or lightly steamed, which may have greater benefits to your microbiome. Herbs and Spices: Not only incredibly rich in those anti-inflammatory polyphenols, this category of foods also has natural digestive-aid properties that can help improve the digestibility of certain foods like beans. They can also stimulate the production of bile, an essential part of our body’s mode of breaking down fat. Plus, they add pizzazz to any meal. Nuts, Seeds, and Their Respective Butters: This family of foods provides fiber, and it is also a good source of healthy and anti-inflammatory fats that help keep the digestive tract balanced and nourished. It’s time to step out of that almond rut and seek out new nutty experiences. Walnuts have been shown to confer excellent benefits on the microbiome because of their high omega-3 and polyphenol content. And if you haven’t tasted a buttery hemp seed, also rich in omega-3s and fantastic atop oatmeal, here’s your opportunity. Starchy Vegetables: These hearty vegetables are a great source of fiber and beneficial plant chemicals. When slightly cooled, they are also a source of something called resistant starch, which feeds the bacteria and enables them to create those fantabulous short-chain fatty acids. These include foods like potatoes, winter squash, and root vegetables like parsnips, beets, and rutabaga. When was the last time you munched on rutabaga? This might be your chance! Teas: This can be green, white, or black tea, all of which contain healthy anti-inflammatory compounds that are beneficial for our microbes and overall gut health. It can also be herbal tea, which is an easy way to add overall health-supportive nutrients to our diet without a lot of additional burden on our digestive system. Unprocessed Whole Grains: These are wonderful complex carbohydrates (meaning fiber-filled), which both nourish those gut bugs and have numerous vitamins and minerals that support our health. Branch out and try some new ones like millet, buckwheat, and amaranth. FOODS TO EAT IN MODERATION

You might see a lot of these types of people in LA now—obsessed with their carbon footprint—but while it’s quite common now, 15, 20 years ago, it was a little weird.

There are 2 types of cooling solutions- AIOs, and traditional air coolers. Well, technically there is also the world of custom loops to talk about, but only the most advanced builders attempt to create one.

Perry Mason turned his back to the morning sunlight which streaked in through the windows of his private office and regarded the pile of unanswered mail with a frown. 'I hate this office routine,' he said. Della Street, his secretary, glanced up at him with eyes that contained a glint of amusement in their cool, steady depths. Her smile was tolerant. 'I presume,' she said, 'having just emerged from one murder case, you'd like another.' 'Not necessarily a murder case,' he told her, 'but a good fight in front of a jury. I like dramatic murder trials, where the prosecution explodes an unexpected bomb under me, and, while I'm whirling through the air, I try to figure how I'm going to light on my feet when I come down... What about this chap with the glass eye?' 'Mr. Peter Brunold,' she said. 'He's waiting for you in the outer office. I told him you'd probably delegate his case to an assistant. He said he'd either see you or no one.' 'What does he look like?' 'He's about forty, with lots of black, curly hair. He has an air of distinction about him and he looks as though he'd suffered. He's the type of man you'd pick for a poet. There's something peculiar in his expression, a soulful, sensitive something. You'll like him, but he's the type that would make business for you, if you ask me-a romantic dreamer who would commit an emotional murder if he felt circumstances required him to do it.' 'You can readily detect the glass eye?' Mason inquired. 'I can't detect it at all,' she said, shaking her head. 'I always thought I could tell an artificial eye as far as I could see one, but I'd never know there was anything wrong with Mr. Brunold's eye.' 'Just what was it he told you about his eye?' 'He said he had a complete set of eyes-one for morning-one for evening-one slightly bloodshot-one...' Perry Mason smacked his fist against his palm. His eyes glinted. 'Take away that bunch of mail, Della,' he commanded, 'and send in the man with the glass eye. I've fought will contests, tried suits for slander, libel, alienation of affections, and personal injuries, but I'm darned if I've ever had a case involving a glass eye, and this is going to be where I begin. Send him in.

I don't really get sad," Nick said, staring at the ceiling. "I'm just one of those cool, aloof guys who stays chilled at all times. You know the type. We're everywhere in fiction

The Extra Mile. Underneath that was a typed quotation from The Art of War by Sun-tzu: To fail to take the battle to the enemy when your back is to the wall is to perish. Alongside that in the margin was a penciled addendum in what I guessed was Vassell’s handwriting: While coolness in disaster is the supreme proof of a commander’s courage, energy in pursuit is the surest test of his strength of will. Wavell. “Who’s Wavell?” Summer said. “An old British field marshal,

SIMPLE BOLOGNESE When we were kids, this was our favorite sauce, hands down. I used to love it on everything—pasta, rice, bread, potatoes, and polenta—you name it, I covered it in bolognese. We went through a lot of it in my household. So my parents had to figure out a way to make it that was quicker than the traditional recipe, and here it is. It’s just as rich and mouthwatering as the more time-consuming traditional recipe; I promise you won’t know the difference. Now that I’m all grown up, I try not to use bolognese for everything, but it’s tempting because it’s perfect as a sauce for any type of pasta shape. MAKES ABOUT 1 QUART; SERVES 4 OVER A POUND OF PASTA AS A MAIN COURSE ¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil 1 medium onion, minced 2 garlic cloves, minced 1 celery stalk, minced 1 carrot, peeled and minced 1 pound ground beef chuck 1 (28-ounce) can crushed tomatoes ¼ cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley 8 fresh basil leaves, chopped ½ teaspoon salt, plus more to taste ½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, plus more to taste ¼ cup freshly grated Pecorino Romano cheese In a Large Skillet, heat the oil over a medium flame. When almost smoking, add the onion and garlic and sauté until the onion is very tender, about 8 minutes. Add the celery and carrot and sauté for 5 minutes. Increase the heat to high, add the ground beef, and sauté until the meat is no longer pink, breaking up any large lumps, about 10 minutes. Add the tomatoes, parsley, basil, and ½ teaspoon each of salt and pepper, and cook over medium-low heat until the sauce thickens, about 30 minutes. Stir in the cheese, then season with more salt and pepper to taste. (The sauce can be made 1 day ahead. Cool, then cover and refrigerate. Rewarm over medium heat before using.)  

Goodbye Syn. That man at the end of the bar; that was the kind of man that lured you to his bed at night and fucked you senseless, but then beat the shit out of you the next morning, because in the harsh light of day, he wasn’t gay. Furi knew that type of man all too well. As he walked the half-block to the bus stop, his blood cooled at the horrific memories of the last year as he lit a Marlboro and waited for the next bus. He didn’t need to dredge up old horror stories, he had to get his mind right ... he had an early shoot in the morning.

My first cool quote

Coffee?’ he called from downstairs. I went and looked down from the low wall overlooking the kitchen. ‘Yes, please.’ ‘Real coffee, or instant?’ ‘Instant’s good,’ I said, and went downstairs to see him reach down two mugs from a shelf in his beige and steel kitchen. ‘Milk?’ he asked, spooning instant coffee from a metal canister. ‘Yes, please.’ He added milk, filled both mugs from a tap in the corner of the sink and passed one over. I looked at it doubtfully – I hadn’t expected to have to request specifically that my coffee be made with hot water – and saw a reassuring wisp of steam. ‘Do you have boiling water on tap?’ I asked. ‘Yep. Cool, eh?’ ‘Extremely cool,’ I said. ‘And the fridge makes its own ice.’ ‘Far out, brussel sprout.’ ‘I know. It’s pretty incredible,’ he said. ‘Do you have a robot to do your vacuuming, like on The Jetsons?’ ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘Sorry.’ ‘Oh well, never mind. The tap’s still impressive.’ ‘Thanks.’ He leant over and kissed me. ‘Good morning.’ ‘Good morning.’ 'What do you want to do today?’ ‘Whatever you like,’ I said dreamily. ‘I don’t mind.’ ‘You’re really not the high-maintenance type, are you?’ ‘I’m just lulling you into a false sense of security,’ I explained. ‘Then I’ll start demanding fur coats and Porsches.’ ‘I see,’ said Mark.

And now I got to sleep in on Sunday mornings. Cool. Plus no more of that tree-hugging, love-thy-neighbor, hippy type mumbo jumbo that I did not listen to anyway. I was a fighter, not a pacifier, and besides that, pacifiers are for babies anyway.

The no-foreign-school-supplies rule was enforced by way of surprise inspections, heralded by the teacher suddenly yelling midlecture: “Everyone, put your hands on the top of your head!” This would send all the students into full-on freakout mode, trying in vain to hide their Japanese mechanical pencils in the gaps between the floorboards, like a drug dealer flushing his stash down the toilet. In eighth grade, my teacher picked up a plastic Tupperware-type container from a student’s bag, looked at the bottom, and shrieked, “Made in Thailand? Thailand?! If you’re going to buy non-Korean goods, why would you pick a beggarly country like Thailand?” She then hit the offending student on the head with the contraband plastic container. Even

So now here I am, bouncing along in a truck with concrete shocks surrounded by a Hellion legion that smells like a fish-market Dumpster. I’m not usually the dragged-along-for-the-ride type. Usually, I’m the one doing the dragging, but I’m a little out of my depth here. Like Marianas Trench out of my depth. I fought in the arena long enough to know that sometimes the best strategy is to shut up, go along with the game, and make sure that someone is standing in front of me when the tentacles hit the fan. So far though, all my Cool Hand Luke plan has gotten me is a numb ass from sitting and a ringing in my ears from the engine noise. Worst of all, the unicorn is starting to smell good.

Cool. I know an awesome spot called Henry’s. They have the absolute best beer selections and the wings are great. They also have darts and pool.” Furi stopped talking when he noticed Syn looking a little pale. “Hey, what’s up?” “Uh, nothing.” They were in Syn’s old faithful truck and Furi sat silently watching the man next to him. “We going or what?” Furi narrowed his eyes, staring at the side of Syn’s face. His jaw was clenched and his neck was flushed. What the hell? “Yeah. Let’s go.” “Okay.” Syn thought he was going to be sick. It was just his goddamn luck that Furi would suggest the one place where half the department liked to hang out. Hell, even his Lieutenants frequented this place. It would be cruel to subject Furi to Day’s inappropriateness so soon. Syn wasn’t necessarily afraid of being with a man; he just wasn’t the type to make his personal life public. Or am I scared? Fuck. Syn didn’t think Furi would go for keeping them a secret. The man had made that quite clear when they were in the alley. Syn gripped the steering wheel and willed his foot to press the accelerator. Maybe … just maybe, there wouldn’t be anyone familiar there. Syn drove under the speed limit and felt Furious’ probing eyes on the side of his face. He tried to smile and keep his jaw from showing his nervous tick. Despite his efforts, they got there in what felt like record time. Furious got out and waited for Syn to slowly make his way toward the entrance. “Are you sure everything is alright?” Furious asked, annoyed. “I’m good. Really. Good. Perfect,” Syn said, mentally kicking himself for sounding like an idiot. Furi took his hand in his and it took every ounce of Syn's willpower not to pull his hand back. Of course he’d be into PDA. Furious pulled open the door and walked in as if he hadn’t a care in the world. It was almost nine p.m. and the though it wasn’t packed, there were quite a few people there. Syn tried not to look around, keeping his eyes on the back of Furious’ head as he led them to a booth; thankfully located in the back of the bar, where it was a little bit darker. Syn made sure to sit so he was facing the door while Furi sat opposite of him. Furi didn’t speak. He picked up one of the menus and started to look through it. “First time out with a man?” Syn's head snapped his up from hiding behind his menu. “Uh. Yeah, but ya know.” “No, I don’t know,” Furi answered quickly. “If you didn’t want to come out, why didn’t you just say so? You look like you're about to pull a disguise out of your coat. Or do you plan to just stay hidden behind your menu all fucking evening?” “Furious.” “Although that’s going to make eating really difficult. Should I be prepared for you to fake a stomach ache?” “Enough,” Syn barked, Furious’ dark eyes widening at his tone. “Look, cut me some slack alright? I am not new to dating men. I’m new to dating: period. Just about all of my adult life I’ve focused on being a cop, a damn good cop. I had little time for anything else in my life including dates. Dating takes time and patience, two things I didn't have. I was prepared to accept being alone the rest of my life until I saw you. I wanted you, and I was more than willing to take the time and effort to be with you. So forgive me if I don’t do everything exactly right on our first date.” “I’m not expecting you to. I haven’t dated in years myself. But one thing I’m not concerned about is being ashamed.” Furi looked Syn dead in the eye. Syn didn’t have a chance to respond, the waitress came to set a pail of peanuts on the table. Speaking in a cheerful voice: “What can I get you guys to drink?

From kindergarten through senior year of high school, Evan attended Crossroads, an elite, coed private school in Santa Monica known for its progressive attitudes. Tuition at Crossroads runs north of $ 22,000 a year, and seemingly rises annually. Students address teachers by their first names, and classrooms are named after important historical figures, like Albert Einstein and George Mead, rather than numbered. The school devotes as significant a chunk of time to math and history as to Human Development, a curriculum meant to teach students maturity, tolerance, and confidence. Crossroads emphasizes creativity, personal communication, well-being, mental health, and the liberal arts. The school focuses on the arts much more than athletics; some of the school’s varsity games have fewer than a dozen spectators. 2 In 2005, when Evan was a high school freshman, Vanity Fair ran an exhaustive feature about the school titled “School for Cool.” 3 The school, named for Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken,” unsurprisingly attracts a large contingent of Hollywood types, counting among its alumni Emily and Zooey Deschanel, Gwyneth Paltrow, Jack Black, Kate Hudson, Jonah Hill, Michael Bay, Maya Rudolph, and Spencer Pratt. And that’s just the alumni—the parents of students fill out another page or two of who’s who A-listers. Actor Denzel Washington once served as the assistant eighth grade basketball coach, screenwriter Robert Towne spoke in a film class, and cellist Yo-Yo Ma talked shop with the school’s chamber orchestra.

The point is not that our beliefs are inherently problematic but only that they become problematic when held in a manner that would claim more than some provisional, pragmatic response to that which transcends conceptualization. This a/ theistic approach is not to be mistaken for some type of synthesis of opposites; rather, it is the uncollapsible tension between affirming our religious ideas while also placing them into question. This a/ theism is not then some temporary place of uncertainty on the way to spiritual maturity, but rather is something that operates within faith as a type of heatinducing friction that prevents our liquid images of the divine from cooling and solidifying into idolatrous form.

Some guys, like Burt, try to win your friendship by trying to be cool and interesting. Miles wasn’t that type. Miles was cool and interesting.

If a ship landed in my yard and LGMs stepped out, I’d push past their literature and try to find the cable that dropped the saucer on my roses. Lack of a cable or any significant burning to the flowers, I’d then grab a hammer and start knocking about in the ship till I was convinced that nothing said “Intel Inside.” Then when I discovered a “Flux Capacitor” type thing I would finally stop and say, “Hey, cool gadget!” Assuming the universal benevolence of the LGMs, I’d yank it out and demand from the nearest "Grey” (they are the tall nice ones), “where the hell did this come from?” Greys don’t talk, they communicate via telepathy, so I’d ignore the voice inside my head. Then stepping outside the saucer and sitting in a lawn chair, I’d throw pebbles at the aliens till I was sure they were solid. Then I’d look down at the “Flux Capacitor” and make sure it hadn’t morphed into my bird feeder. Finally, with proof in my hand and aliens sitting on my deck (they’d be offered beers, though I’ve heard that they absorb energy like a plant) I’d grab my cell phone and tell my doctor that I’m having a serious manic episode with full-blown visual hallucinations.

I have always lusted after a sepia-toned library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a sliding ladder. I fantasie about Tennessee Williams' types of evenings involving rum on the porch. I long for balmy slightly sleepless nights with nothing but the whoosh of a wooden ceiling fan to keep me company, and the joy of finding the cool spot on the bed. I would while away my days jotting down my thoughts in a battered leather-bound notebook, which would have been given to me by some former lover. My scribbling would form the basis of a best-selling novel, which they wold discuss in tiny independent bookshops on quaint little streets in forgotten corners of terribly romantic European cities. In other words, I fantasize about being credible, in that artistic, slightly bohemian way that only girls with very long legs can get away with.

WATERMELON COOKIES Preheat oven to 325 degrees F., rack in the middle position. 1 package (.16-ounce) watermelon (or any other flavor) Kool-Aid powder (Don’t get the kind with sugar or sugar substitute added.) 1 and ⅔ cup white (granulated) sugar 1 and ½ cups softened butter (2 and ½ sticks, 10 ounces) 2 large eggs, beaten (just whip them up in a glass with a fork) ½ teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon baking soda 3 cups all-purpose flour (pack it down in the cup when you measure it) ½ cup white (granulated) sugar in a bowl Hannah’s 1st Note: When Brandi makes these cookies, she rolls them out on a floured board and uses cookie cutters. Rolled cookies take more time than other types of cookies, so Lisa and I modified Brandi’s recipe for use at The Cookie Jar. Mix the watermelon Kool-Aid with the granulated sugar. Add the softened butter and mix until it’s nice and fluffy. Add the eggs and mix well. Mix in the salt and the baking soda. Make sure they’re well incorporated. Add the flour in half-cup increments, mixing after each addition. Spray cookie sheets with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray. You can also use parchment paper if you prefer. Roll dough balls one inch in diameter with your hands. (We use a 2-teaspoon cookie scooper at The Cookie Jar.) Roll the cookie balls in the bowl of white sugar and place them on the cookie sheet, 12 to a standard-size sheet. Bake the Watermelon Cookies at 325 degrees F. for 10 to 12 minutes (mine took 11 minutes) or until they’re just beginning to turn golden around the edges. Don’t overbake. Let the cookies cool on the cookie sheets for no more than a minute, and then remove them to a wire rack to cool completely. Yield: Approximately 6 dozen pretty and unusual cookies that kids will adore, especially if you tell them that they’re made with Kool-Aid. Hannah’s 2nd Note: Brandi’s mother baked these cookies to send to school on birthdays. She

composites. The Type W and C WWEs exhibited local SSTA cooling during the lifetime of the WWE. The composite

Over the course of the next week or so, Gaby had spoken to Power just about every day. She tried texting him the morning after their first conversation, playing it cool with an ‘It was nice talking to you last night; have a good day’, type of message.  His reply staggered her. ‘Why are you doing this? You are the only person I don’t want to read words from. I want to hear them in your voice. I thought you were in the boat. Don’t jump ship now.

If I dropped a feather, Hanson would hear it. I should mention that Hanson is a hypochondriac mess of a nerd who can’t stand loud music of any type? No? Well, there you have it. My life. It’s been three weeks since I officially started working as a junior editor at the Daily Scandal and I’ve already contemplated quitting more than once, but the truth is I need the money badly and the people here are all cool and supportive.

Rather than employ Aristotelian logic—that is, the binary, yes/no, black versus white type of thinking—the Count favored multivalued, pluralistic thought that was modulated by—but not ruled by—subjective feeling. Basically, Korzybski was saying, Hey, be cool: “Don’t get mad—get Null-A!

Demi is an extreme “free spirit” type of person. Her daughter’s name is Star and she is a year older than me. Star doesn’t go to school, she is home-schooled.

hippy type mom, carefree and always looking on the bright side of things. Like when I dropped two dinner plates and they both broke, Mom just comes out with, “That’s okay, Madonna, it just means less washing up to do.” And that is why her nickname is Mrs. Absolutely

I’m hale enough,” he said. “And with luck, may be so for a good many years yet—but not forever, Sassenach. I ha’ fought wi’ sword and dirk many times, but to every warrior comes the day when his strength will fail him.” He shook his head and stretched out a hand toward his coat, which lay on the floor. “I took these, that day wi’ Tom Gage, to remind me of it,” he said. He took my hand and put into it the things he had taken from his pocket. They were cool, and hard to the touch, small heavy oblongs of lead. I didn’t need to feel the incised ends to know what the letters on the type slugs were. “Q.E.D.,” I said. “The English took my sword and dirk away,” he said softly. His finger touched the slugs that lay in my palm. “But Tom Gage put a weapon into my hands again, and I think I shall not lay it down.

might get a legendary hybrid dragon. If not, then you will have to keep trying until you get one. These combinations given below just serve as a guide to let you what combinations are the most successful in obtaining a legendary hybrid dragon: Cool Fire + Soccer = Legendary Dragon or Crystal Dragon Gummy + Cool Fire = Mirror Dragon Gummy + Cool Fire or Soccer + Cool Fire= Wind Dragon Tip:  By breeding Medieval Dragons and Alpine dragons, you will get a higher chance of getting different types of hybrids.

Sophie Bushwick/Popular Science 7/16-inch inner diameter ribbed hose 5/16-inch wood dowel 1/4-inch outer diameter vinyl tubing Small hose clamps Five 1/4-inch hose barbs x 1/4-inch male threaded adapters Five 1/4-inch hose barbs x 1/4-inch female threaded adapters Electrical tape Yellow Teflon thread tape Several long balloons (type 350Q) 1-inch x 6-inch board or other support Fluidic control board Robot Hand Instructions 1. Insert the 5/16-inch dowel into the ribbed hose to hold it straight. Use the center punch to carefully punch holes between each rib in a line along the seam of the hose. Flip the hose over and repeat along other seam. (Photo ) 2. Use the drill press to drill a hole at each center-punched location between the hose ribs, leaving the dowel in place to provide support. It is best to drill the holes on each side of the hose separately, rather than drill straight through. When you are done you should have a neat line of holes on each side of the ribbed hose. These holes will act as a stress relief and prevent the hose from splitting when it is flexed. (Photo ) 3. Remove the dowel and cut the hose into five 3-inch fingers with the utility knife. For each finger, use the utility knife to very carefully cut between each rib from the hole on one side to the hole on the other. Leave the first two ribs on each end uncut. Cut through one side of the hose only. It is critical that you do not nick the far side of the stress relief holes or you will reduce the reliability of the finger dramatically. Now the hose can flex in one direction more than in the opposite direction. (Photo ) 4. Insert another piece of dowel into one of the long balloons. Use it to gently feed the balloon into one of the fingers until the end of the balloon sticks out enough to grab it. Remove the dowel, and fold about 1/4-inch of the balloon tip over the rim of the hose. Secure it by wrapping a piece of electrical tape all the way around the tip of the finger. (Photo ) 5. Now feed the dowel back inside the finger from the non-taped end, but on the outside of the balloon. Insert it until it is just within two ribs of the tip of the finger. Fill the tip of the finger with hot glue, allow to cool, and then carefully remove the dowel. 6. Use electrical tape over the end of the finger, covering the hot-glued end. Another wrap of electrical tape over this will seal the end of the finger. (Photo ) 7. Cut the open end of the balloon away, leaving about an inch beyond the end of the finger. Stretch the open end of the balloon out and over the end of the finger. (Photo ) 8. Repeat steps 4 through 7 for each finger. (Photo ) 9. Use the yellow Teflon tape to wrap the threads on each of the male hose barbs. Thread each male hose barb onto each female hose barb and tighten firmly with the crescent wrenches. Then use more yellow Teflon tape and wrap each female hose barb several times around. The ends of these hose barbs should fit snugly into the open ends of each finger. (Photo ) 10. Use the small hose clamps to affix each finger onto the Teflon wrapped ends of the five hose barbs. (Photo ) 11. Now use hot glue to firmly attach each finger to the end of the 1x6-inch board (or other support) to form a hand. Finally, attach a length of 1/4-inch O.D. vinyl hose to the open hose barb on each finger. (Photo ) 12. Now the hand is complete--but it still needs a control system. Check out Harvard’s Soft Robotics Toolkit for inspiration, or just follow the instructions below. Building The

He held Galen to a walk because Mollie felt too good leaning against his chest. He wrapped one arm about her waist and drew her even closer. She tipped her face back to look at him. “We made a good team tonight, didn’t we?” He thought they’d make a good team every night. If she would consent to a different type of partnership. He squeezed her a little tighter. “We made an excellent team. Thank you for coming.” “I’ll come whenever you need me, Jacob.” Her face looked so earnest. It seemed only natural to bend down and touch his lips to hers. “I fear I’ll always need you, Mollie.” He whispered the words in her ear, low and gruff. Then he kissed her again. Urgent. Breathless. A kiss that conveyed all his words could not. Her lips responded, softening under his onslaught. Her fingers tangled in the hair at his nape as she turned to accept his kiss more fully. A warmth that defied the predawn coolness suffused him. This was his woman. Galen meandered to a halt at his master’s lack of attention, then shifted restlessly. The sideways motion brought Jacob back to his senses. He eased his lips away from Mollie’s and stroked his hand over her hair. Her dazed expression made him smile. One of these days, he really ought to try kissing her when their feet were on the ground.

Star announces that she needs to go to the bathroom and I see my chance. As the waiter goes past I ask if I can I swap my chilli sauce for extra hot chilli sauce. I think he feels sorry for me and rushes off to change the sauce bottles. I quickly swap it with the bottle next to Star’s plate.   Star returns and grabs the extra hot sauce bottle and dumps the whole lot over her nachos. She must be hungry, as she quickly scoffs two large mouthfuls of food into her mouth. Suddenly her eyes widen and she starts to cough. I guess that the extra hot chilli sauce is starting to take effect. While she is distracted I hand her the second bottle of chilli sauce, she thinks it is her soft drink and takes a large gulp. Her eyes bulge like some type of wild cartoon character and she explodes. A mouthful of sauce and nachos flies across the table. A bit hits Mom, but most of it splashes onto Demi. Needless to say, after that, lunch is over.   The

Hal—come sit!” Rachel is looking back. She motions toward a sliver of space between Jonah and Madison. “There’s room.” “No. There’s not.” Luke says it without even turning around. “How do you and Hallie know each other, anyway?” “We met in the bathroom. Earlier tonight. She seems cool.” Rachel smiles at Hallelujah. Hallelujah can’t bring herself to smile back. “Sure, if you like the strong, silent type. I don’t. No offense.” Luke laughs, and Brad laughs, and the girls from Knoxville take that as their cue to laugh too. Like it was actually funny. Rachel doesn’t laugh. She’s still smiling, but now it’s like she’s not sure whether she should be. “Come on, Hal,” she says. “We’ll make room.” But Luke’s shaking his head. “Sorry. Guess I’m not being clear. There might be room for someone. But there’s not room for Hallie. Hal. Whatever you wanna call her. Besides. She has to get back. Curfew.” Rachel looks from Luke to Hallelujah, confused. “We’re all breaking curfew.” “Yeah, but it’s Hallie’s fault we have early curfew in the first place. And it’s her fault we have so many chaperones to deal with.” Luke’s counting on his fingers, holding them in the air. “Plus, they’ll probably be checking up on her. So she can’t stay.” “How is all of that her fault?” Rachel asks. “What’d she do?” “Yeah, Luke. What’d she do?” It’s Jonah. Hallelujah is kind of shocked to hear his voice. It’s low, with a dark undercurrent that’s unfamiliar to her. Then again, it’s been months since they talked. And a lot has changed. “If I remember it right,” Jonah goes on, still staring into the fire, “she wasn’t the only one.” Luke looks over at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Nothing,” Jonah says. “Just making an observation.” “An observation,” Luke repeats. “Yeah.” There’s a moment of silence. It’s uncomfortable. Hallelujah feels like the night sounds get louder to compensate. The wind rustling tree branches. The hum of cicadas. Birdcalls. They’re suffocating her. Then Luke shakes his head and laughs. “Whatever. Hallie still has to go.” He swings around to look at her directly. “What are you waiting for?” Hallelujah blinks, wishing that small movement could make her vanish. Everyone in the circle is staring. Waiting for her to leave. Their eyes cut into her. She takes two steps backward, tears clouding her vision. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. She turns and starts walking away. Walking, not running. She doesn’t want to give Luke that satisfaction.

I’ve been dying to meet you ever since my brother, Sam, told me about your ordeal last night.” Completely confused, Maddie darted a questioning glance over at Mitch. Casual as could be, he hooked one ankle over the other, drawing her attention to his bare feet. “Sam’s my bartender. He was sitting in the corner booth last night.” Maddie nodded, remembering the good-looking blond surfer type who had been watching them. Gracie grinned from ear to ear, her full mouth a pale, glossy pink. “Well, my brother said Mitch pounced on you like a prisoner granted his first conjugal visit. So I had to see what all the fuss was about.” Maddie had no idea what to say, but she was pretty sure the heat infusing her face made her look guilty, which was ridiculous. She willed her cheeks to cool. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Last night had been perfectly innocent. Sure, she’d had a few impure thoughts, but geez, everyone had those. “Would you shut the hell up?” Mitch’s words held no heat, just good-natured exasperation. He shook his head at Maddie. “Don’t mind her, Princess. She has no control over her mouth.” “Look at him, all protective.” Gracie gave Mitch a slow once-over. “That’s new.” That earned her a menacing look from Mitch. “You can go home now.” Gracie laughed, a full-bodied, throaty sound. “Not on your life.” “I’ve thrown you out before,” Mitch said, putting his own coffee mug down on the counter as if preparing to do just that. “I’ll do it again.” Maddie

You don’t write such tripe to the women you hope to interest, do you?” “I should hope not,” he responded indignantly. “Good God, I have much more originality. These men clearly aren’t thinking about how best they can interest you.” “What does that mean?” “Quite simply, you’re not the type to be wooed with poetry or false compliments.” “I’m not?” Now she was interested. “But I like poetry.” His reply brooked no rebuttal. “No, you don’t. Not like this. They haven’t got it right at all.” “Enlighten me, Lord Blackmoor, how should I be wooed, as you put it? I am intrigued by your obvious expertise.” He was quick to respond, “You’re too vibrant for them. Too strong. You have a sharp mind and an exciting personality and an unexpected sense of humor. If these men were half the man you deserve, they would have already recognized all those things and they would be romancing you accordingly. They would be working to intrigue and amuse and inspire you—just as you do them. And they would know that only when they have won your mind will they even have a chance at winning your heart.” The room felt much warmer all of a sudden, and Alex resisted the urge to fan herself, trying to ignore the rapid increase in her pulse as color flooded her cheeks. In the silence that followed his impassioned speech, Gavin stood and walked over to her. A cocky grin spread across his face. “That’s how I write to the women I hope to interest, Alex.” She attempted a cool response. “Perhaps…” Her voice caught and she cleared her throat, beginning anew. “Perhaps you should consider holding classes. I am acquainted with quite a few men who could do with some training. More than forty of them, it seems. Lord save me.” He

I guess I’m just saying that you could do better—you could probably have a supermodel if you wanted to. So maybe you should just, uh, let me go and look for somebody more your type.” “You’re my type.” He stepped forward and took her hands in his. “From the moment our minds first aligned I knew you were the only woman in this world or any other for me, Olivia,” he rumbled softly. “I don’t want anyone but you. Watching you and sharing your life through my dreams was the only thing that kept me from going crazy those six months before we met.” “Yes, but why me? Why did you pick me to, uh, align with when you could have had anyone?” Liv persisted. She was trying to keep her cool despite the way his big hands enveloping her much smaller ones was making her heart race. Baird looked surprised. “I didn’t pick you—not consciously. We aligned because we’re right together. Because you’re the one I need and I’m the one you need, even if you don’t want to admit it. It’s the way it always happens with Kindred. We just know.” Liv

But then, everyone wears uniforms, Flo thinks. Even in school, and despite the official uniform, the type of bag you carry, your jacket or shoes define who you are. Rich or poor. Cool or uncool.

Anger wasn’t necessarily bad if it was controlled. But if the general was the type that let emotion get in the way of a sound decision, that was a problem. Someone leading the country needed to be cool and levelheaded, especially when facing threats like this.

Ingredients 2/3 cup dried cherries 3 tablespoons brandy 1 refrigerated pie crust 3 tablespoons butter or margarine, melted 3/4 cup sugar 3/4 cup light corn syrup 1/2 teaspoon almond extract 3 eggs 1 1/2 cups broken pecans 1/4 cup semisweet chocolate chips 1/2 teaspoon vegetable oil Instructions In a small bowl, mix cherries and brandy. Let stand 15 minutes. Do not drain. Heat oven to 375°F. Place pie crust in 9-inch glass pie plate as directed on package for one-crust filled pie. In a large bowl, beat butter, sugar, corn syrup, almond extract and eggs with hand beater or wire whisk until well mixed. Stir in cherry mixture and pecans. Pour into crust-lined pie plate. Bake 30 minutes, covering with foil after 15 minutes if pie is browning too quickly. Reduce oven temperature to 325°F. Bake 12 to 15 minutes longer or until center is set and surface is deep golden brown. Cool 30 minutes. In microwavable bowl, microwave chocolate chips and oil uncovered on High 1 minute; stir until smooth. Drizzle chocolate over pie. Cool completely, about 30 minutes. Quick Tips If you don’t have brandy, soak the cherries in a mixture of 1/4 cup water and 1 teaspoon brandy extract. Store custard-type pies like this in the fridge. But if you want to serve it warm, place slices on individual microwavable plates and microwave on high for about 10 seconds. Enjoy!

Scarborough, ME, and Hobe Sound, FL. Thank you, Paula! Ingredients: 1-1/2 cups old-fashioned oatmeal (not quick cooking type), divided use 2 cups all-purpose flour 1 tsp. baking powder 1 tsp. baking soda 1 tsp. salt 2 sticks (1 cup) unsalted butter, softened 1 cup granulated sugar 1 cup firmly packed light-brown sugar 1 tbsp. vanilla extract 3/4 cup chunky peanut butter 2 large eggs 2 cups semisweet chocolate chips 8 oz. semisweet chocolate, grated (may substitute 8 oz. semisweet chocolate chips and process until finely ground in food processor) Directions: Place 1 cup oatmeal in bowl of food processor; pulse until finely ground. Transfer to a large bowl and add remaining 1/2 cup whole oatmeal, flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Reserve. In another large bowl, combine butter and both sugars and beat on medium speed of electric mixer until light and fluffy. Beat in vanilla and peanut butter. Add eggs, 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. Gradually beat in reserved oat/flour mixture. Add chocolate chips and grated chocolate, beating just until combined. Chill cookie dough, covered, at least 2 hours and up to 1 week. Form rounded tablespoons of dough into balls and arrange about 2 inches apart on parchment-lined sheet pans. Flatten balls slightly and bake in a preheated 325°F oven in batches in middle of oven 15-17 minutes or until just slightly firm—do not overbake! Cool cookies 5 minutes and transfer to racks to cool completely. Yield: 4-1/2 dozen cookies.

Containers like old egg cartons, milk cartons or cans work well for holding unused wax. Once the wax has cooled and hardened, remove it from the container and place it in a bag for future use. Label the bag with the type of wax and any additives for future reference.

Anxious to let my features show': Asian American woman shares fear of harassment - CNN - YouTube channel - Comment for this video with broader perspective, Part 1 Not only America, but in many white countries, other races are getting attacked is happening here and then, Once in Australia, Indians were targeted, In USA before few years black people were targeted (Kindly stay away those genocide things - For example LTTE, Russia - Ukraine, Hindu - Muslim , these things are multi dimensional issues and can not be solved by anyone that soon or that easily), Now I focus only on racist attacks whether it happens in USA or India or Any countries, Not only asian women, all races are attacked somewhere, but why it happens? 1) Not understanding other cultural values, (For example Asian/ China food style is more unique (Noodles, spices, insects and all) why did they develop such food habit is a long way debate, because of evolution, In ancient time most of chinese and Mongolia land was affected by many pandemics and insect attacks due to so many ecological, evolutionary and spiritual reasons, thus their food habits became unique like eating insects and all, Now USA or Strong white people, they eat too much fats such as Burger, Hotdog, clarified butter, pork, beef steak, eggs and more and more eggs, alcohol, etc., their food habits are mostly attacking type or anti predatory type, why did they develop such attitude, it is because of White people that settled in North American land after defeating red - Indians or Native American or Geronimo , so after defeating those native people although America is cool place to live there are many places in America are extremely harsh not like India, those extremely harsh conditions, ecology, evolutionary, adaptation, and even spiritual reasons made them with strong life style and although they understand humanism as well they also protect neutral and orthodox Christianity within themselves just like UK, So when other races or other country people are taking jobs, places or even becoming dominating or some people are pervert in sexual relationships which may pollute society as well, extreme science which is against orthodox Christianity (If it is India , extreme science is against orthodox Hinduism), these are all some of the factors behind racist attack, the solution is understand other culture and try to assimilate and embrace rather than oppose it. Because in this world there is no perfect culture,

Step 10: Go on hormones. But do not, under any circumstances, think about becoming a lady. Instead, imagine yourself as a cool and mysterious David Bowie type character. Plan outfits and practice talking as though you have done a lot of acid, so you will be ready for when hormones bestow upon you this new look.

I’on think you understand how this relationship shit works,” I said, shaking my head. “We go together.” I waved my gun between us, and Paxton rolled her eyes. “You like my girlfriend, and I’m yo’ nigga. We spend time together. We go on dates. Spend the night at each other house. Cook and eat together, and we fuck.” I shook my head. “We don’t make love or have sex cuz that shit isn’t what we do. We fuck. Like straight nasty, sweaty, you’ll probably end up pregnant with the type of fuckin, but it’s cool cuz we both fine as fuck, and our kids will be fine too.

Her mouth twitched as she studied Emily. How long would it take them to realize it was mutual? Madison wasn’t jealous; Agent Wells was attractive but not her type; he kept himself restrained behind his cool exterior

Then there was Obama being Obama the day after the election: "We have to remember that we're actually all on one team." A man's character is his fate, as Heraclitus said, and what a sick, twisted fate indeed that Barack Obarna-cerebral, disciplined, cool, ever seeking to reconcile and accommodate (as an African-American pastor in Charleston drily commented, once his presidency is over, Obama will no longer have "to be the least threatening black man in America't has had to contend these past eight years with a political opposition that regards him as very much not on the team. Not even American: "His grandmother in Kenya said, 'Oh, no, he was born in Kenya and I was there and I witnessed the birth.' She's on tape. I think that tape's going to be produced fairly soon.."5 Or not a "real" American, but a "man who is a closet secular-type Muslim, but he's still a Muslim. He's no Christian. We're seeing a man who's a Socialist Communist in the White House, pretending to be an American. That terrorist fist-bump, remember? Oh, and he was the founder of ISIS, an aspiring tyrant aiming for a Nazi-or Soviet-style dictatorship, and looks like a skinny ghetto crackhead.Z "All this damage he's done to America is deliberate," said Marco Rubio during a Republican debate,a which had to be one of the dumbest things anyone said during the whole campaign. If Obama wanted to destroy the U.S., all he needed to do was sit on his hands in 2009 and let the hot mess of the Bush economy melt the country down to slag. But the issue is bigger than any particular president. After his "all on one team" remark, Obama continued: The point, though, is that we all go forward with a _presumption of goodfrith in our fellow citizens, because that, of good faith is essential to a vibrant and finctioning democracy.

Then there was Obama being Obama the day after the election: "We have to remember that we're actually all on one team." A man's character is his fate, as Heraclitus said, and what a sick, twisted fate indeed that Barack Obarna-cerebral, disciplined, cool, ever seeking to reconcile and accommodate (as an African-American pastor in Charleston drily commented, once his presidency is over, Obama will no longer have "to be the least threatening black man in America” has had to contend these past eight years with a political opposition that regards him as very much not on the team. Not even American: "His grandmother in Kenya said, 'Oh, no, he was born in Kenya and I was there and I witnessed the birth.' She's on tape. I think that tape's going to be produced fairly soon...» or not a "real" American, but a "man who is a closet secular-type Muslim, but he's still a Muslim. He's no Christian. We're seeing a man who's a Socialist Communist in the White House, pretending to be an American. That terrorist fist-bump, remember? Oh, and he was the founder of ISIS, an aspiring tyrant aiming for a Nazi-or Soviet-style dictatorship, and looks like a skinny ghetto crackhead. "All this damage he's done to America is deliberate," said Marco Rubio during a Republican debate, which had to be one of the dumbest things anyone said during the whole campaign. If Obama wanted to destroy the U.S., all he needed to do was sit on his hands in 2009 and let the hot mess of the Bush economy melt the country down to slag. But the issue is bigger than any particular president. After his "all on one team" remark, Obama continued: The point, though, is that we all go forward with a presumption of good faith in our fellow citizens, because that, of good faith is essential to a vibrant and functioning democracy.

More than half of the world’s electricity passes through motors—in vehicles and appliances, in heating and cooling systems, in industrial machinery. Even when the motors themselves are efficient, poor controls can waste up to half the energy they consume. One novel improvement is a lighter type of motor—a “switched reluctance motor”—that allows for variable speeds and can run forward or backward.

Awesome Golden Corn Bread Yield: 1 - 2 pound loaf / 12 - 16 slices Prep Time + Cook Time: 1½ - 2 hours Crust Type: Medium Crust Program: Quick/Rapid Bread Mode Ingredients: 1 cup buttermilk at 80 degrees F 2 whole eggs, at room temperature ¼ cup melted butter, cooled 1⅓ cups all-purpose flour 1 cup cornmeal ¼ cup sugar 1 tablespoon baking powder 1 teaspoon salt

On the trip to lunch, Mom and Demi chatted constantly, while Star and I sat in the back seat – in total silence! In the restaurant, things continued much the same, until in a moment of unexpected meanness, Star tips her glass of juice into my lap. I squeal as the cold liquid hits my thighs. Finally Mom and Demi stop talking. They both grab some napkins and start to try and soak up the mess. The waiter comes over too and helps clean up the juice. He even replaces Star’s drink. Star keeps saying that she is sorry. I know she doesn’t mean it. Mom says, “Don’t worry dear, accidents happen.” Star gives me her best fake smile and winks at me. I feel like tipping my juice over Star’s head but show some restraint and decide to wait for a better chance for revenge. The meals arrive, Star and I both have nachos with little side dishes of sour cream and chilli sauce. The chilli sauce is in a bottle that looks like a soda bottle. Star announces that she needs to go to the bathroom and I see my chance. As the waiter goes past I ask if I can I swap my chilli sauce for extra hot chilli sauce. I think he feels sorry for me and rushes off to change the sauce bottles. I quickly swap it with the bottle next to Star’s plate. Star returns and grabs the extra hot sauce bottle and dumps the whole lot over her nachos. She must be hungry, as she quickly scoffs two large mouthfuls of food into her mouth. Suddenly her eyes widen and she starts to cough. I guess that the extra hot chilli sauce is starting to take effect. While she is distracted I hand her the second bottle of chilli sauce, she thinks it is her soft drink and takes a large gulp. Her eyes bulge like some type of wild cartoon character and she explodes. A mouthful of sauce and nachos flies across the table. A bit hits Mom, but most of it splashes onto Demi. Needless to say, after that, lunch is over. The ride home is pretty quiet, except for me munching my nachos and Star’s occasional coughing and whimpering that her mouth is on fire. The waiter put my nachos in a take-away container and with a wink said, “Careful with that sauce.” Demi and Star head off in their car as soon as we got home. Mom gave me a stern look and asked if I had anything to do with what happened at lunch. I just smiled and replied, “I think those nachos had a dash of karma.

Whole-home heat recovery systems... extract stale, moist air from any room with water use, such as bathrooms and kitchens, then extract the warmth from it to preheat the fresh air being brought back in. The fresh air is run through filters before being pumped into all living spaces in the home. It can also be used to help cool a home during warmer months. This type of system is expensive and requires good duct runs, but is very effective.

Heat Exchanger Manufacturers in Tiruchirappalli Anpam Engineering is a leading manufacturer of heat exchangers in India, considered for its high quality goods and innovative technology. The company has established itself as a prominent player in the heat exchanger industry, and serves various industrial sectors together with chemical, petrochemical, energy production, prescribed medication, food processing and HVAC (heating, ventilation and air conditioning) industries. Heat exchanges are important components of business processes, designed to move between heat or large fluids. Anpam Engineering specializes in the production of a comprehensive selection of heat exchangers, such as shells and tube heat exchangers, plate heat exchangers, air -cooled heat exchangers and spiral heat exchangers. These products are engineered to handle extreme temperatures, pressure and intoxicants, ensuring maximum performance and efficiency.

Dubai is a city full of life, colors, and creativity. People here love to wear stylish clothes that make them look unique. One of the best ways to show your personality is by wearing a T-shirt. Custom t-shirt supplier in Dubai is becoming more popular because it allows people to design their own shirts. Whether you want to print your company logo, a funny quote, or a cool design, T-shirt printing is a great way to stand out. In this blog, we will talk about different types of T-shirt printing, why people love custom T-shirts, and where you can get the best T-shirt printing in Dubai. Why Choose Custom T-Shirt Printing? People love custom T-shirts for many reasons. Some use them for business, while others wear them to express their style. Here are some of the top reasons why T-shirt printing in Dubai is so popular: Unique Style – You can create a T-shirt that no one else has. It is a great way to show your personality. Business Branding – Many companies print their logos on T-shirts for marketing. It helps promote their brand. Events and Celebrations – Custom T-shirts are great for birthdays, weddings, and family gatherings. Sports Teams – Teams print their names and numbers on jerseys to feel united and motivated. Gifts – A custom T-shirt is a fun and thoughtful gift for friends and family. Types of T-Shirt Printing in Dubai There are many ways to print designs on T-shirts. Let’s look at some of the most popular T-shirt printing methods in Dubai. Screen Printing This method is used for bulk orders. It is best for simple designs with one or two colors. It gives a smooth and long-lasting print. Heat Transfer Printing This is done using heat and special paper to transfer a design onto the T-shirt. It works well for colorful designs and photos. Sublimation Printing This method is used for polyester T-shirts. The ink gets absorbed into the fabric, making the print last longer. It is best for sports jerseys and bright designs. Embroidery Printing Instead of ink, the design is stitched onto the T-shirt. It looks premium and is great for company logos and uniforms. DTG (Direct to Garment) Printing This method is like using a printer to print directly onto the fabric. It allows for detailed designs with many colors. Where to Get the Best T-Shirt Printing in Dubai? If you are looking for high-quality T-shirt printing in Dubai, you should choose a company that offers: Good Quality Fabric – A soft and comfortable T-shirt will make your design look even better. Affordable Prices – You should find a service that gives good value for money. Quick Delivery – Some companies offer same-day or next-day printing services. Custom Design Options – A company should allow you to create your own design. One of the best places for custom T-shirt printing in Dubai is THE RPS LLC. They provide high-quality printing for businesses, events, sports teams, and personal use. Whether you need a single T-shirt or a bulk order, they offer excellent service and fast delivery. How to Order Custom T-Shirts? Ordering a custom T-shirt is easy. Just follow these steps: Choose Your T-Shirt – Pick a style, size, and color. Upload Your Design – Send your logo, text, or image to the printing company. Select the Printing Method – Decide which printing type suits your design best. Confirm and Pay – Check the preview, make payment, and wait for your delivery. Conclusion Custom T-shirt supplier in Dubai is a fun and creative way to express yourself, promote your business, or make special events memorable. With many printing options available, you can create the perfect T-shirt for any occasion. If you want high-quality, affordable, and stylish custom T-shirts, check out THE RPS LLC for the best printing services in Dubai.

There are people who can’t afford to buy a book or a movie ticket, but this high and mighty society thinks it’s morally wrong that piracy makes cultural products available for free. Fucking assholes, güey. Fucking slave world. Supposedly it’s taboo to talk about this stuff because it implies the negation of the legal system, the pornography of the market, but I don’t give a fuck what defenders of intellectual property say, because, of course, they defend the inanest concept ever invented. Because copyrighting ideas and artistic creations is a repulsive kind of elitism, truth be told. I’m not saying we should deny authorship to authors, but we should think about what piracy does for the people. The siblings once told me that filmmakers in Ecuador make a deal with the pirated-DVD sellers to pirate their movies, and that’s super cool, right, because the world is horribly unequal and we, the third-world simpletons, know that better than anyone. I write and hope I’ll be able to publish someday, but not because I want to make a show of my intellectual property or restrict the circulation of whatever I make to the little group of people who can pay for it. I want to publish because when an editor takes a risk on your work, others are more likely to read you, and I write to be read, dude, not to go around playing the part of the tortured writer-type. In fact, I’d love if someone pirated my work once it’s published. The day I’m pirated I’ll celebrate for real, I swear.

Anthony's Plumbing, Heating & Air Conditioning delivers expert plumbing repair Somerset services, addressing everything from minor leaks to major pipe issues. We specialize in efficient drain cleaning Somerset, ensuring your plumbing system flows smoothly. For water heater Somerset needs, we offer installation, repair, and maintenance of all types of water heaters. Our expertise extends to sewer repair Somerset, providing effective solutions for sewer line problems. Our team of skilled plumbers Somerset is committed to providing reliable and professional service. Optimal Home Comfort with HVAC Services Ensure year-round comfort with our comprehensive HVAC solutions. We offer expert AC repair Somerset, keeping your home cool during the hottest months. When winter arrives, rely on our efficient furnace repair Somerset services to keep your home warm and cozy. We also specialize in ductless air Somerset installations and maintenance, providing flexible and efficient cooling solutions. Enhance your home's air quality with our indoor air quality services, designed to create a healthier living environment.

You didn’t explain why you want to be a teacher.” “I just do.” “No, I sense a story behind it. Tell me and I’ll share my dessert.” “What types of dessert do they serve?” “Awesome cannolis.” I just stared at Cooper who frowned. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had a cannoli.” When I shook my head, he sighed. “Man, we could have fun, Farah. I’d show you a million things. Not necessarily sophisticated things, but cool shit nonetheless. Hell, I bet you haven’t even seen the Grand Canyon.” “We drove past it once.” Cooper smiled softly then reached across the table and caressed my bottom lip. As soon as he pulled away, I wiped my lips self-consciously. “Did I have gunk on them?” A smile spread across his lips and he shook his head. “You’re gorgeous.” “My lips?” “And those eyes. Hell, every inch of you makes my jeans too snug.” “I feel like a princess now.” Cooper laughed for a minute then sat up with a jerk. Snapping his fingers, he pointed at me. “You know what I forgot to ask?” When I shook my head, he continued, “Why did you want to be a teacher?

What happened?” I croaked, and she came to my side, offering me a cool drink. “You’re fine,” she soothed. “Both of you are fine. Just lie still.” “But…how did I come to be here?” “You and my son passed out. No one knows how or why, but a lot of people lost consciousness. The Cokyrian commander summoned physicians to treat everyone, then my Lord Landru found you and brought you both here.” “I need to go home. My mother must be frantic.” I struggled to sit upright, then fell back, my head pounding, nausea sweeping through me that was so debilitating I would have gladly traded it for a hangover. “Shaselle, are you all right?” It was Grayden, his voice weak and confused. His mother replaced the damp cloth on my brow, then went to offer him something to drink. “I think I will be,” I managed in response. I heard voices in the foyer, then Lord Landru strode into the parlor. “She’s there, Cannan,” he said, and my uncle approached, his atypical worry lines relaxing when he realized I was conscious. “How are you, Shaselle?” “Never better.” He laughed in pure relief. “I’m going to let you rest here for a while yet. Then I’ll return and take you home. But you’re going to be just fine.” “What went wrong, Uncle? Everyone was so happy, and then…it was chaos.” “I know. There was a disturbance--Hytanican caused, I’m afraid. But the Cokyrians were only too eager to respond. Feebly armed Hytanicans in various stages of inebriation were no match for sober, well-armed and well-trained Cokyrian soldiers. It would have been a bloodbath had it not been for Commander Narian.” Cannan shook his head, as if trying to figure something out. “I’m not sure what he did, but he must have been anticipating trouble. He released some type of poison--no, not a poison. But some type of airborne substance that knocked everybody off their feet. Shut the fighting down at once.” He placed a hand on my cheek, brushing away a few wisps of my hair. “You no doubt feel poorly right now, but I’ve been told the effects wear off in a few hours. You’ll be back to normal after that.” “Captain, sir?” It was Grayden. My uncle gazed over at him in surprise. “Yes?” “This may not be the ideal time to ask, but, would you please permit me to court Shaselle?” There was stunned silence in the room, then loud laughter. “I’d be a fool to deny you a chance with my niece. Assuming Shaselle favors the idea.” “I do, Uncle,” I assured him, easily slipping back toward sleep, images of Grayden and Saadi drifting through my head. Then a remembrance of Queen Alera and Commander Narian came to the forefront--how deferential he had been with her when I had been caught with that dagger, how she had looked at him. And I knew two things with absolute certainty. She was in love with him, and he had to be a good man.

Compared to other emotions (joy, sadness, anger), there is a lot of physical evidence that love is actually a concept closer to hormone activity than emotion. Biologically, love is a powerful neurotic condition. Desire to love is accompanied by sexual desire, but it is similar to hunger and thirst for hormonal reasons. When you fall in love, the brain releases several chemicals: pheromone, dopamine, norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin, vasopressin, and so on. Just by hugging a loved one or simply looking at a photograph of a boyfriend, the hormone oxytocin is released in the body and acts as an analgesic for headaches. What is interesting is that if you break up, the symptoms you experience are similar to the withdrawal symptoms of drug addicts. In some cases, withdrawal from the demonstration may release a chemical that weakens the heart in the body. Biochemically, phenylethylamine , which secretes in the brain's limbic system, acts as a stimulant, a kind of natural amphetamine. The phrase love is a drug is no longer a metaphor but an explanatory note in this scene. But it takes 2 seconds to look at the opponent and take the so-called saying at first sight. In just two seconds, phenylethylamine is secreted and becomes full, stimulating the brain, making the opponent look barefaced. If you can make your opponent secrete phenylethylamine, this is the birth of XXX, a grossly outbreak of creatures. However, the secretion of phenylethylamine has a shelf life and generally does not exceed 2 years. [10] After that period, I will get back to my mind. From this time on, love has passed through the stages of chemistry and sociology. But a new fact has been announced. It is said that there are quite a couple who secrete this phenylethylamine throughout life. (...) In this case, however, it is not the same as the whole life, but the period when it is secreted like other normal couples, and the time when the secretion is diminished repeatedly. However, the cycle of this pattern is similar to the two people, so it is a good fit for a lifetime. If you think about it a little differently, you will come back bump bang for a while and then fall back to each other. On the contrary, the broken couples still have one secretion, and the other side breaks into the resting period, and the secretion side considers that the other's love has cooled, Perhaps the main pattern that a man and a woman make and break is confessing - fellowship - Confession feels that the opponent is obsessed with the pattern of departure - separation, It may be that the action of the opponent, who started the pause more quickly and began to climax at the apex of the secretion at that point, is regarded as an obsession. However, it is difficult to justify the feeling of love as a simple hormonal change. It is not possible to reveal what kind of change is happening in any situation, even if it is revealed that what kind of hormone change occurs when feeling love, and it is impossible to tell. Just as you do not secrete phenylethylamine, which is one of the most common types of phenylethylamine you encounter on the roadside, you can not say that this research has 'revealed the principles of love' and 'why you fall in love'. The latter is influenced by individual values, experience and situation, first impressions, and the conditions of the opponent.

Unnecessary bubbling annihilates all nutritious standards and vitamins and renders milk unfit for utilization. Milk is perfect nourishment for wannabes. It is a flawless sustenance without anyone else's input. Fruits eating regimen is the practice of a grand impact upon the constitution. This is a regular eating regimen. Fruits are enormous vitality makers. Leafy foods help concentration and for meditation. Grain, wheat, drain, ghee and nectar advance life span of life and expand force and stamina. Apples and oranges juice and the water wherein sugar-treat is broken up are great beverages. Margarine blended with sugar-confection and almonds absorbed water overnight will cool the framework. Most importantly don't make much whine about your eating regimen. You require not publicize to everybody that you have the capacity live on a specific type of eating methodology.

Essentially, this history suggests that up until approximately 1700 most Europeans thought of themselves as possessed of a single body type. Under the ‘one-body’ regime, the testicles and penis, and ovum and womb (or in later formulations the vagina), were homologous, the former being driven from the body by the dry heat of the male while the latter remained inside, in the cool, wet interior of the female. Thus, because one’s body was plumbed in much the same way whether one was male or female, it was the experiences which the body underwent and the possession of a peculiar mix of humours which determined whether one would be male or female. As a result of this view masculinity and femininity (both as physical and mental characteristics) were seen as part of a continuum which encompassed not only masculinity and feminity but effeminacy. While this implies that both gender and sex were unstable – maleness could degenerate into effeminacy, females could become male – it does not necessarily mean that gender boundaries were unstable as well. Thus, while many eighteenth-century men were accused of being effeminate because manliness was a virtue that could be aspired to by both sexes, women could equally be praised for their 'manly’ characters. In neither case was the social role of the individual fundamentally questioned. While anatomy was not used to exclude either sex of the characteristics normally associated with its opposite, 'woman’ was associated with unrestrained sexuality, irrationality, and openness to the influence of both the devil and God, while 'man’ was seen as more rational, sexually controlled, and possessed of a kind of dangerous intellectual pride which threatened his ability to experience salvation.

Gen bit her tongue and tried for seriousness. “I didn’t know it was that bad, I swear. She’s a nurse in the NIC unit and complained she couldn’t meet a cool guy. She said she enjoyed a bit of kink, not hard-core dungeon stuff.” He blew out a breath, grabbed a beer, and ripped open a bag of pretzels. “Do I look like the submissive type? Or one who’d get off on being tied to a bed with a wrench at my balls? Not fun, Gen.

When I first saw her she dropped her purse and was scrambling to find her glasses. I was two doors down on the right side of the hall, so I walked over and picked them up. I handed them to her and she slipped them on. Her hair was a mess and her face was pouring sweat. I was too and I was itching to get into my apartment. Living on the fourth of five floors was hot, but I had air conditioners in every room with big enough windows. The four machines made it like an ice box and I loved it. Some nights when it got cool enough outside, my windows would fog and I’d see my breath. I turned and walked back to my small place and she called out. “Thank you! Most people don’t notice me!” I turned back to her and smiled, our eyes locked. Her glasses were thick, and they magnified her eyes several times. It was strange looking at them, but I kept my gaze on her for a few seconds as I turned back to my place. I looked her over. Her small breasts stood out against her stomach, which bulged slightly as if she was three or four months pregnant. I didn’t think she was, because she wasn’t straining as hard as I would think a pregnant woman would in this heat. She was attractive in a subtle way, not my usual type. She was tall, about six feet almost, and her long hair was curly, the bones in her hands and wrists stood out. She was skinnier than I ever liked. I’ve always preferred girls with a heft to them. Something about her made me curious, she felt…different.

Runnin'" Can't keep runnin' away..... [Verse 1: Fat Lip] I must admit on some occasions I went out like a punk and a chump or a sucka or something to that effect Respect I usedto never get when all I got was upset when niggas use to be like 'What's up fool!' and tried to seat a nigga like the Lip for no reason at all I can recall crip niggas throwin' c in my face down the hall I'm kickin' it in the back of the school eatin' chicken at three, wonderin' why is everybody always pickin' on me I tried to talk and tell tham chill I did nothing to deserve this But when it didn't work I wasn't scared just real nervous and unprepared to deal with scrappin' no doubt cuz my pappy never told me how to knock a nigga out But now in 95 I must survive as a man on my own Fuck around with Fatlip yes ya get blown I'm not tryin to show no macho is shown but when it's on, if it's on, then it's on! [Verse 2: Slim Kid Tre] There comes a time in every mans life when he's gotta handle up on his own Can't depend on friends to help you in a sqeeze, please they got problems of their own Down for the count on seven chickens shits don't get to heaven til they faced these fears in these fear zones Used to get jacked back in high school I played it cool just so some real shit won't get full blown Being where I'm from they let the smoke come quicker than an evil red-neck could lynch a helpless colored figure And as a victim I invented low-key til the keyhole itself got lower than me So I stood up and let my free form form free I don't sweat it I let the bullshit blow in the breeze in other words just freeze [Verse 3: Knumbskull #1] It's 1995 now that I'm older stress weighs on my shoulders heavy as boulders but I told ya till the day that I die I still will be a soldier and that's all I told ya and that's all I showed ya and all this calamity is rippin' my sanity Can it be I'm a celebrity whose on the brink of insanity Now don't be wishin's of switchin' any positions with me cuz when you in my position, it ain't never easy to do any type of maintaining cuz all this gaming and famin' from entertainin' is hella straining to the brain and... But I can't keep runnin I just gotta keep keen and cunnin'...

Cyclists aren’t just hobbyists or lifestyle athletes; in many ways we’re actually a different type of being. We’re people with wheels. Really, in a lot of ways being a cyclist is like being a vampire. First of all, both cyclists and vampires are cultural outcasts with cult followings who clumsily walk the line between cool and dorky. Secondly, both cyclists and vampires resemble normal humans, but they also lead secret double lives, have supernatural powers, and aren’t governed by the same rules as the rest of humanity—though

Dans le villes satellites autour de Brasilia, dont le plateau est censé être le centre de gravité magnétique du monde, dans l'Arizona magique, au sous-sol de quarts générateur de vibrations extra-terrestres, partout l'être humain invente des lieux cultes, des objets cultes, proches des cultes du Cargo ou des sanctuaires aztèques, chargés d'attirer le regard de n'importe quelle espèce supérieure. Nous vivons dans l'obsession d'être découverts, dans la hantise de ne pas l'être, ou d'avoir disparu d'ici là. Biosphère 2 est une sorte de préparatif hallucinant à cette rencontre de troisième type. Comme les messages lancés dans l'espace ou les modules spatiaux chargés des emblèmes de l'humanité (la musique de Bach, etc.). Jusqu'ici tout va bien : nous sommes tous encore ici.

Linus: Okay sorry, what is this called ? Scotty: "Huaqiangbei" *laughs* Linus: fantastic, alright so i'm here at Scotty: "Huaqiangbei" Linus: yeah perfect thank you, with Scotty From 'Strange Parts', so I'm "getting me some strange parts" In China Which is actually exactly what we're doing So, in this, like, gigantic tech mall-thing They have everything from components like switches To.. Computer parts, to drones, to cryptocurrency-crap Mobile phones.. Pretty much you name it, they got it here. So I don't really have any objective, other than go shopping and see exactly what it is That I can buy with my little stack of 'Canadian Rubles' here. So, uhh.. Wish me luck. And hopefully that's not for me. Scotty: No, I think we're good. [chuckles] [Intro music: Laszlo - Supernova] Linus: This video is brought to you by Corsair's Obsidian 500D It's a mid-tower gaming case, featuring: Premium tempered glass an aluminium construction Removable top fan trays and more! Check it out at the link below. Scotty: I think this is going to be an uphill battle, To get them to even recognize what those are, let alone know the value of them. Linus: They are gonna be like "what is this $H!T?!" Yeah, no, it's okay; there's an ATM. This is the world's most helpful error message: "Transaction is cancelled for some reason" "Operation Timeout" "Thank you!" Okay.. So like this is the kind of stuff that I wish we had a shop like this. We were trying to do a piece a little while ago Where we wanted lit.. Uhh.. Buttons! Or like.. Like.. Big fun buttons we could press And if we could have just walked into a mall and bought them That would have made my Christmas. Scotty: The cool thing about here, particularly for buttons, is you can actually come in and touch them, right. So, like, the button-feel is super important Linus: Oh my god, I already found something I need. Entire bags of like, motherboard standoffs. I was trying to buy just a bag of computer screws Only place I could find for it was eBay Pricing was just totally unreasonable. Scotty: Yeah and it will be very reasonable here. Linus: Smartwatches, totally 100% real Beats. Scotty: These are probably, like, semi-real Linus: Semi-real? Scotty: Yeah, like refurb-ed type. Linus: Right, okay. Wow. This place is enormous. Scotty: It's crazy, right? This is probably one of twenty buildings Linus: Honestly, it's overwhelming. Scotty: Yeah. Linus: Okay, so here's stuff I mostly recognize. Scotty: "Right!" Linus: There's like A bunch of mining gear.. Like Antminers and.. What else do they got? Mining Power supplies ROG.. Something something Looks like Very similar SKU's Linus: I'm just looking. Linus: just looking Linus: Uhh.. Linus: No, I don't.. Necessarily wanna get lead in here. Linus: Hi! Nah, I'm just looking around, it's okay. Linus: Thank you. [Sad Music] I mean this is the kind of thing you would never find in a retail store back home This is like, dual socket, like server boards and stuff like that. Can you ask how much this 1800W Xfurbish

Tilden Cool was not her type. He was coal and she was an unpolished diamond.

CHOCOLATE OVERLOAD COOKIE BARS Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position. FOR THE CRUST: 1½ cups flour ¼ cup cocoa powder ¾ cup sugar ¾ cup softened butter (1½ sticks) Mix the dry ingredients together and then cut in the softened butter. (You can also do this in a food processor with a steel blade, using chilled butter that’s been cut into chunks.) Spread the mixture out in the bottom of a greased 9-inch by 13-inch cake pan and press it down with a spatula. Bake at 350 degrees F. for 15 minutes. (Don’t shut off the oven—you’ll need it for the second step.) FOR THE FILLING: 2 eight-ounce packages softened cream cheese (the block type, not the whipped type) 1 cup mayonnaise 1 cup sugar 4 eggs 2 cups melted chocolate chips (12-ounce bag) 2 teaspoons vanilla You can do this by hand, but it’s a lot easier with an electric mixer. Soften the cream cheese and beat it with the mayonnaise until it’s smooth. Gradually add the sugar. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating after each addition. Melt the chocolate chips in a microwave-safe bowl for 3 minutes. (Chocolate chips may retain their shape, so stir them to see if they’re melted.) Let them cool for a minute or two, and then gradually add the chocolate, mixing thoroughly. Then mix in the vanilla. Pour the finished mixture on top of the crust you just baked. Bake at 350 degrees F. for 35 minutes. Let it cool to room temperature and then chill for at least 4 hours. Cut into brownie-size bars. Garnish the bars with strawberries, whipped cream, or powdered sugar if desired. Baking Conversion Chart These conversions are approximate, but they’ll work just fine for Hannah Swensen’s recipes.

M-Type: A cool star that lasts 46-700 billion or more years and numbers 70% of all stars in the Universe. They glow a deep red from a high output of infrared radiation.

The drugs turned my mama this way, though. Since I was probably four, I’d watched my mother get high right in front of me like it was nothing. I remember one night when I was about six or seven, I came out of my bedroom late at night and went down the hall to the fridge just to get something to drink. Imagine being that young and walking in the kitchen, only to see three grown ass niggas with their dicks out, and my ole girl was giving all of them head. Shit like that just stuck with a nigga. I could give some never-ending stories about what I experienced growing up, but I swear, it wasn’t enough pages that could fit the shit that needed to be said. By the time I was fourteen, I started trapping. I didn’t jump into that shit because I thought it was cool, but shit, a nigga was tired of going to bed starving. By this time, my ole girl was a full-blown crack head. I’m talking about the type of crackhead who would try to sell the carpet off the floors in our apartment just so she could get her next hit.

Was it something I said?” Roth mused. “I was just pointing out the obvious.” Slowly, I lifted my head and looked at him. “What?” He grinned impishly. “Come on. You don’t look like the type of girl who watches football, hangs out with the cool crowd and ends up deflowered by the senior jock in the back of his daddy’s Beamer.” “Deflowered?” “Yeah, you know. Losing that pesky thing called virginity.” Fire swept over my skin. I pivoted around, heading toward the gym doors. Wasn’t like I didn’t know what deflowered meant. I just couldn’t believe he’d actually used that word in the twenty-first century. Or that I was even having a conversation about virginity with him. Roth caught my arm. “Hey. That’s a compliment. Trust me. He’s on the fast track to Hell anyway. Just like his daddy.” “Good to know,” I managed to respond coolly, “but would you please let go of my arm? I have to get to class.” “I’ve got a better idea.” Roth leaned in. Dark locks of hair fell into those golden eyes. “You and I are going to have some fun.” My teeth hurt from how hard I was grinding them. “Not in this lifetime, buddy.” He looked offended. “What do you think I’m suggesting? I wasn’t planning on getting you drunk and having my way with you in the back of a Beamer like Gareth is. Then again, I guess it could be worse. He could be planning it in the back of a Kia.” I blinked. “What?

She asked me if I would visit the music class sometime and speak to the kids about the viability of a music career. A few months later I found myself there in that same music room, talking to the kids and jamming out for them. The kids were beautiful, the jamming and talking was cool, but I walked away from the experience shaken. The last time I had been in that room was twenty years before, and it had been packed full of kids playing French horns, clarinets, violins, basses, trombones, flutes, tympani, and saxophones, all under the capable instruction of orchestra teacher Mr. Brodsky. It was a room alive with sound and learning! Any instrument a kid wanted to play was there to be learned and loved. But on this day, there were no instruments, no rustling of sheet music, no trumpet spit muddying the floor, no ungodly cacophony of squeaks and wails driving Mr. Brodsky up a fucking wall. There was a volunteer teacher, a group of interested kids, and a boom box. A music appreciation class. All the arts funding had been cut the year after I left Fairfax, under the auspices of a ridiculous law called Proposition 13, a symptom of the Reaganomics trickle-down theory. I was shocked to realize that these kids didn’t get an opportunity to study an instrument and blow in an orchestra. I thought back to the dazed days when I would show up to school after one of Walter’s violent episodes, and the peace I found blowing my horn in the sanctuary of that room. I thought of the dreams Tree and I shared there of being professional musicians, before going over to his house to be inspired by the great jazzers. Because I loved playing in the orchestra I’d be there instead of out doing dumb petty crimes. I constantly ditched school, but the one thing that kept me showing up was music class. FUCK REAGANOMICS. Man, kids have different types of intelligences, some arts, some athletics, some academics, but all deserve to be nurtured, all deserve a chance to shine their light.

In his first class of the day, correlated language arts, a class for students at least two years below their grade level in English, Boobie Miles spent the period working on a short research paper that he called “The Wonderful Life of Zebras.” He thumbed through various basic encyclopedia entries on the zebra. He ogled at how fast they ran (“Damn, they travel thirty miles”) and was so captivated by a picture of a zebra giving birth that he showed it to a classmate (“Want to see it have a baby, man?”). By the end of the class, Boobie produced the following thesis paragraph: Zebras are one of the most unusual animals in the world today. The zebra has many different kind in it nature. The habitat of the zebra is in wide open plain. Many zebras have viris types of relatives. He then went on to algebra I, a course that the average college-bound student took in ninth grade and some took in eighth. Because of his status as a special needs student, Boobie hadn’t taken the course until his senior year. He was having difficulty with it and his average midway through the fall was 71. After lunch it was on to creative writing, where Boobie spent a few minutes playing with a purple plastic gargoyle-looking monster. He lifted the fingers of the monster so it could pick its nose, then stuck his own fingers into its mouth. There were five minutes of instruction that day; students spent the remaining fifty-odd minutes working on various stories they were writing. They pretty much could do what they wanted. Boobie wrote a little and also explained to two blond-haired girls what some rap terms meant, that “chillin’ to the strength,” for example, meant “like cool to the max.” Boobie enjoyed this class. It gave him an unfettered opportunity to express himself, and the teacher didn’t expect much from him. His whole purpose in life, she felt, was to be a football player. “That’s the only thing kids like that have going for them, is that physical strength,” she said.

So society says it's great to be big. But being big can take away from the specialness... The growth thing, it's like a cafe. You open up a really cool little organic vegetarian cafe, and there's a certain type of people that come to it and you really bond with them. And then it gets popular and you wonder if you should make it bigger or open up another one. It's a question of knowing when to stop, knowing when you lose what you had originally.

I sympathised with those who were fighting social injustices, but at the same time, by having the fortitude to just buckle down and get through it, I was able to forgive myself for not getting involved. Over time, this turned into a kind of habitual resignation, and it became second nature for me to regard everything around me with an air of cool indifference. I thought this meant I was mature. During the 1980s, when most people were finally getting a breather from the grinding poverty of before, this type of resignation became commonplace, and all of those small wounds calloused over.

☎️+1(888)727-0199 Running into a payment problem while booking your American Airlines flight? Don’t panic — it happens more often than you’d think. From card authorization failures to payment holds and double charges, ☎️+1(888)727-0199 travelers occasionally hit a snag while securing their tickets. The good news is, American Airlines has a dedicated phone line, ☎️+1(888)727-0199, where real people are ready to sort it out for you instantly. Maybe your card didn’t go through, or your booking status still says “pending.” ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Instead of refreshing the payment page endlessly or worrying about your flight disappearing, call ☎️+1(888)727-0199 right away. Their team is trained to troubleshoot payment problems fast, whether it’s a credit card issue, reward miles glitch, or a third-party booking conflict. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 No guesswork, just solutions. If your payment was charged but you never got a confirmation email, don’t wait. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Contact American Airlines’ support team directly by dialing ☎️+1(888)727-0199. They’ll verify your transaction, track your reservation, and either complete or cancel the payment safely. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 It’s the quickest way to avoid double bookings or missing your preferred flight schedule. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 One common issue travelers face is payment holds showing up on their bank account without a confirmed ticket. When that happens, pick up the phone and call ☎️+1(888)727-0199. Their experts can immediately check your booking and remove any unnecessary pending charges. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 This saves you from waiting days for automatic reversals. American Airlines also helps with issues involving third-party payment apps or travel booking websites. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 If your credit card works everywhere but fails during your flight booking, call ☎️+1(888)727-0199. They’ll explain any restrictions on card types, country-based limitations, or currency conversion requirements. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Better yet, they can offer alternate secure payment options instantly. Ever had your payment rejected during checkout even though funds were available? ☎️+1(888)727-0199 This can happen due to security verifications or mismatched billing details. Skip the frustration and call ☎️+1(888)727-0199. An agent will walk you through the exact issue and fix it right there. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 You’ll be rebooked and payment confirmed before your coffee even cools. For customers using AAdvantage miles to pay, redemption glitches can occasionally occur. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 If you tried booking with miles and got a payment error, don’t cancel your plans. Call ☎️+1(888)727-0199 and have your loyalty number ready. Their agents can track your mileage balance, restore any deducted miles, ☎️+1(888)727-0199 and help you complete your booking hassle-free. Sometimes travelers face trouble changing their payment method after booking. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 If you need to switch cards, apply a travel voucher, or redeem a travel credit, just call ☎️+1(888)727-0199. They’ll guide you through payment modifications without risking your current itinerary. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 One call, and your trip stays secure. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Unexpected fraud flags can occasionally freeze your payment attempt on high-ticket or international bookings. If your card was declined due to a fraud hold, ☎️+1(888)727-0199 the airline’s payment team can help verify your identity and reactivate the transaction. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Avoid complications by addressing these directly with the airline’s experts. If your reservation gets canceled due to a

How Pressure Relief Devices Prevent Transformer Explosions? Transformers are essential components in the electrical grid, responsible for stepping up or stepping down voltage to ensure the efficient transmission of electricity. However, they also contain pressurized systems that can pose a risk of explosion if not properly managed. Pressure Relief Devices (PRDs) play a crucial role in preventing transformer explosions by managing the internal pressure that builds up during operation. At Precimeasure, we manufacture Pressure Relief Devices using Brass material that requires no external power. What Causes Pressure Buildup in Transformers? Transformers use insulating oil to cool and insulate the internal components, particularly the windings and core. Over time, this oil can absorb heat from the transformer’s operation. If the transformer experiences a fault, such as an electrical short or a sudden overload, the temperature inside can rise significantly. As the temperature increases, the oil begins to break down and release gases, causing pressure to build up within the transformer. In extreme cases, this pressure can become so great that the transformer’s casing may rupture or explode. Without a mechanism to relieve this pressure, a transformer can become a serious hazard, leading not only to equipment failure but also to fire hazards, environmental damage, and significant financial losses. This is where Pressure Relief Devices (PRDs) come into play. How Do Pressure Relief Devices Work? Pressure Relief Devices (PRDs) are designed to monitor and respond to changes in the internal pressure of transformers. There are different types of PRDs, including rupture disks, pressure relief valves, and spring-loaded relief valves. Each of these devices is engineered to release the built-up pressure at a predetermined level, thus preventing the transformer from reaching a point of catastrophic failure. Rupture Disks: This is a one-time-use device that consists of a thin membrane or disk that ruptures when the internal pressure exceeds a specific threshold. Once the disk bursts, the pressure is quickly relieved, preventing further damage to the transformer. Pressure Relief Valves: These are mechanical devices that open when the internal pressure exceeds a set point, allowing the transformer to vent the excess pressure in a controlled manner. Once the pressure returns to normal levels, the valve closes again, allowing the transformer to continue functioning without further intervention. Spring-loaded Relief Valves: Similar to pressure relief valves, these devices use a spring mechanism to maintain a seal under normal conditions. When pressure increases beyond a safe level, the spring compresses and allows the valve to open, venting the excess pressure. Preventing Explosions and Minimizing Risk PRDs are vital for preventing transformer explosions by ensuring that excessive pressure does not accumulate within the transformer tank. If left unchecked, this pressure could lead to the rupture of the transformer casing, causing a dangerous explosion. By venting the pressure in a controlled manner, PRDs help avoid such catastrophic events. Additionally, PRDs play a key role in minimizing other risks associated with transformer operation. For instance, by maintaining the transformer’s structural integrity, they reduce the likelihood of oil leaks, which could lead to fires or environmental contamination. This not only helps to keep the transformer safe but also protects the surrounding infrastructure and environment. Thus, Pressure Relief Devices are an indispensable part of transformer safety. By managing the pressure that naturally builds up within transformers, PRDs prevent explosions and other hazardous outcomes that could result from excessive pressure. Their ability to function reliably and efficiently ensures that transformers can operate safely, even under extreme conditions. In this way, PRDs contr

I think for a lot of people who really want kids and can’t have them, this is one of the more painful parts of their loss. The idea that they don’t even know what it is they lost. I wish there was a way to communicate that it is a profound loss but also a profound gift to never be a parent. Yes, it’s true. Not having a kid means missing out on a type of love that I like every other parent consider the deepest love of all, but it also means missing out on the most terrifying fear - the fear of death. Not your death, but something way worse - the death of your child. This is a disgusting feeling. It tethers humans to existence in a torturous way. It turns cool, sarcastic people into Ernest try Hards. It makes hard people soft. It makes people cry at TV commercials. Not knowing this fear is worth never having a child. Having a kid is being hit by the truck that is life. Watching this truck pass you by might it seem sad, but then again, you’re not getting hit by a fucking truck.

Merchants of the same type like to clump together,” Yalb said, rubbing his chin. “Seems dumb to me, but I guess merchants are like fish. Where you find one, you’ll find others.” “The same could be said of ideas,” Shallan said, counting. Six different shops. All were lit with Stormlight in the windows, cool and even.

what type of jam would i be? I’d like to think I’m a strawberry or raspberry jam, but I think it would be really cool to be pine cone jam or smth my mom said that they had it in Russia. But what if I was a poison berry jam, that would be so dark academia aesthetic! I know that carrot and tomato jams exist, but I was one of those stubborn picky kids who hated vegetables so I’m probably not that. I know I’d be a natural jam tho, non of that artificial flavoring around here

Understanding the Importance of an Oil Temperature Indicator in Transformers Transformers are integral components of electrical distribution systems, stepping up or stepping down voltage levels to ensure the proper functioning of power grids and electrical equipment. However, like all electrical equipment, transformers are susceptible to overheating, which can lead to serious operational failures or even catastrophic damage. This is where an oil temperature indicator becomes a critical component in the maintenance and monitoring of transformer health. Transformers typically rely on oil for both insulation and cooling. The oil serves to insulate the internal electrical components, preventing electrical faults and providing a medium for heat dissipation. As transformers are subjected to high electrical loads, the oil absorbs the excess heat generated. If this heat isn’t managed properly, it can lead to an increase in the transformer’s operating temperature, which may degrade the oil's insulating properties, or worse, cause permanent damage to the transformer’s internal components. Hence, monitoring the oil temperature is vital for ensuring safe and reliable transformer operation. The Role of Oil Temperature Indicators An oil temperature indicator is a device used to measure the temperature of the insulating oil inside a transformer. By providing real-time readings, these indicators help operators monitor whether the transformer is operating within its safe temperature range. Most transformers are designed to operate within a specified temperature range, typically between 50°C to 85°C. Exceeding these temperatures can lead to the deterioration of the oil and the insulation materials, which could compromise the transformer’s performance and lifespan. At Precimeasure, we have three types of Temperature measurement products such as Dial type, Bimetallic, and Digital. Preventing Overheating Overheating in transformers is a leading cause of premature failure. Without proper monitoring, excessive temperature rise may go unnoticed, leading to severe damage. An oil temperature indicator allows operators to identify potential issues before they become critical. If the oil temperature begins to rise beyond acceptable limits, operators can take corrective action, such as reducing the transformer’s load, improving ventilation, or activating cooling systems. In some cases, continuous monitoring with automatic alarms can alert maintenance personnel to potential problems even before they are visible to the naked eye. Enhancing Transformer Lifespan Transformers are expensive, long-term investments. Therefore, preserving their lifespan is of utmost importance for both utility companies and industries. By monitoring the oil temperature, the risk of thermal aging is minimized. Continuous high temperatures can break down the oil’s chemical structure, reducing its dielectric strength and increasing the likelihood of transformer failure. Regular monitoring helps ensure that the transformer operates within safe thermal limits, thus extending its useful life and reducing the likelihood of costly repairs or replacements. At Precimeasure, we curate products that ensures the durability of transformers. Preventing Oil Breakdown Oil breakdown is a significant concern for transformers. When the temperature rises beyond recommended levels, it accelerates the breakdown of transformer oil, which can lead to a loss of its insulating and cooling properties. This breakdown can cause internal short circuits, fires, or even explosions in extreme cases. The oil temperature indicator serves as an early warning system, alerting personnel to potential overheating before it leads to such dangerous consequences. Conclusion An oil temperature indicator is not just a convenient tool but a crucial safeguard for transformer operation.

I was seated on the rooftop, gazing up at the stars. The cool night air brushed against my skin as I let my thoughts drift, mesmerized by the vastness of the sky. Each star seemed to tell a story, flickering quietly in the darkness, reminding me of how small yet significant we all are in this enormous universe. As I sat there, reflecting on everything that had happened in the past few weeks, I couldn't help but think back to the series of events that had brought me to this moment. It all started with a promise. A simple, but irresistible promise: a guaranteed 110% return on my investment in just 14 days. Two websites, investor com and trade-in com, were boasting about the incredible returns they could generate, claiming that an investment of $1,000 could yield $1,200 in just two weeks. I was a novice investor, but the allure of such rapid and high returns seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I decided to take the leap and invested $30,000 into each platform, hoping to see my money grow. For the first few days, everything seemed fine. I received regular updates on my accounts, and everything appeared to be on track. I felt confident in my decision, thinking I had found a golden opportunity. But as the 14-day period came to a close, my excitement quickly turned to confusion and frustration. When I logged into my accounts to check my returns, I was met with a shocking realization my accounts had vanished. There was no way to access my funds, and all attempts to withdraw my money were met with vague error messages. I tried reaching out to customer service, but no one responded. What I thought was a smart investment quickly turned into a nightmare. It didn't take long for me to realize I had likely fallen victim to an online scam. The promise of guaranteed returns was nothing more than a clever trap. Feeling lost and unsure of what to do next, I turned to a friend I had met on TikTok. They had experienced something similar before and recommended I contact Tech Cyber Force Recovery, a service they had used to recover their own funds from another shady platform. Skeptical but desperate, I decided to give it a try. To my surprise, the team at Tech Cyber Force Recovery responded quickly. They explained that these types of scams were all too common and reassured me that they had the expertise to help recover my lost funds. After a financial commitment on my part, their team began working tirelessly to track down my money. For More Info About Tech Cyber Force Recovery EMAIL. Techcybersforcerecovery@cyberservices.com TELEGRAM. +1 561 726 3697 WhatsApp. +1 561 726 3697

It gets better the lower I go and I covetously grip her hips as I find my lips tickled by a tuft of soft curls. I took her for a Brazilian type of woman, but it doesn’t fucking matter, not when it’s ambrosia, not when I crave it like I crave the fucking sky. She cries out when my lips kiss the line where her labia meet. I stroke my tongue down her centre, lapping up the beads of her heady juices as I do. Sliding my tongue between her lips, I groan deep in my throat as that nectar slides into my mouth, simultaneously heating me up and cooling my brain. The cerebral relief I feel is unmatched as I lave into her pussy, exploring the delicate skin like a skilled explorer. A flick of her clit makes her cry out, hands reaching into my hair and tugging in just the way I like. My lips find her clit and I suck on it gently, and happily find a flood of the heady slick in my mouth. I reach down and stroke myself as I savour this delicacy, feeling my hard shaft respond to the pleasure in my mouth. I squeeze the base almost cruelly hard, milking my cock and feeling its veins bulge. Precum coats the broad head and I imagine the flutter of my tongue of her most sensitive spot, grinning as I feel her writhe and almost choke on a moan. I’m relentless, wanting to feel more of the unexpected pleasure, pumping my shaft hard and fast as if I was in her. Release gathers at the base of me, rumbling like a volcano ready to explode. I work my cock as I work her clit and she comes first, screaming and crying, her back almost lifting off the bed completely before she pants, yanking on my hair so hard it hurts in the best way. Pressure hits a breaking point in my own body and I sit up, tilting my head back and moaning into the sky as I let go weeks of release onto her body, milking out every laboured millilitre of my seed. I inhale a sweet breath and exhale a relieved one before flopping down on the bed. Lazily, I rub my cum into her skin, letting my scent claim her, letting my seed soak into her skin. Silence. There is blissful silence in my head. And for the first time in an age, I go soundly to sleep.

The Monks of Cool, whose tiny and exclusive monastery is hidden in a really cool and laid-back valley in the lower Ramtops, have a passing-out test for a novice. He is taken into a room full of all types of clothing and asked: Yo,* my son, which of these is the most stylish thing to wear? And the correct answer is: Hey, whatever I select.

two large mouthfuls of food into her mouth. Suddenly her eyes widen, and she starts to cough. I guess that the extra hot chili sauce is beginning to take effect. While she is distracted, I hand her the second bottle of chili sauce. She thinks it is her soft drink and takes a large gulp. Her eyes bulge like some type of wild cartoon character, and she explodes. A mouthful of sauce and nachos flies across the table.

Eagle Service Company: Your Trusted Birmingham Plumber & HVAC Technician. For homeowners in Birmingham, Alabama, maintaining a comfortable and functional home is a top priority. From ensuring a steady flow of hot water to keeping the air conditioning running on those hot Alabama days, a reliable service company is essential. That's where Eagle Service Company comes in, offering a comprehensive range of expert solutions to keep your home running smoothly, all year round. At Eagle Service Company, we understand the unique needs of Birmingham homeowners. That's why we've built our expertise to cover a wide spectrum of essential services, delivered with professionalism, reliability, and a commitment to your satisfaction. Your Trusted Plumber in Birmingham, AL Plumbing issues can disrupt your daily life in an instant. Whether it's a leaky faucet, a running toilet, or a more complex problem, you need a Plumber Birmingham AL you can trust. Eagle Service Company provides comprehensive Plumbing Birmingham AL services, addressing everything from routine maintenance to emergency repairs. Our skilled technicians are equipped to handle any Plumbing Repair Birmingham AL efficiently and effectively, minimizing disruption to your home and your schedule. Say Goodbye to Clogged Drains A Clogged drain Birmingham AL can be a frustrating and messy problem. From slow-draining sinks to completely blocked pipes, our Drain cleaning Birmingham AL services are designed to get your drains flowing freely again. We utilize the latest techniques and equipment to identify and clear obstructions, preventing further damage and restoring proper drainage throughout your home. Hot Water When You Need It: Water Heater Services A reliable water heater is crucial for everyday comfort. Whether you're considering a New water heater Birmingham AL installation or need prompt Water heater repair Birmingham AL, Eagle Service Company has the expertise to handle it all. We can help you choose the right water heater for your needs and ensure it's installed correctly for optimal performance and efficiency. Our repair services are fast and dependable, getting your hot water back up and running quickly. Stay Cool and Comfortable with Expert AC Repair The Birmingham summers demand a reliable air conditioning system. When your AC unit breaks down, you need fast and efficient Home AC Repair Birmingham AL. Our experienced technicians at Eagle Service Company are skilled in diagnosing and repairing all types of air conditioning issues, ensuring your home stays cool and comfortable when you need it most. Warmth and Comfort During Cooler Months: Heating Repair Services As the seasons change, a functioning heating system is just as important. Eagle Service Company provides expert Home Heating Repair Birmingham AL services to keep your home warm and comfortable during the cooler months. Whether it's a furnace malfunction or a heat pump issue, our team has the knowledge and experience to get your heating system back in top shape. Breathe Easier with Whole-House Air Purifiers In today's world, indoor air quality is a growing concern. Eagle Service Company offers Whole-house air purifier Birmingham AL installation to help you and your family breathe easier. These systems work silently to remove dust, allergens, pollutants, and other airborne particles from your entire home, creating a healthier and more comfortable living environment. Your Partner in Home Comfort and Functionality At Eagle Service Company, we are committed to providing Birmingham homeowners with reliable, high-quality services they can depend on. Our team of skilled and experienced technicians is dedicated to delivering exceptional workmanship and outstanding customer service on every job.

Understanding the Role of Liquid Temperature Indicators Transformers are the backbone of modern electrical systems, facilitating the safe and efficient transmission of electrical power. To ensure the longevity and reliability of these critical assets, it is essential to monitor and maintain their health consistently. One key element in transformer monitoring is the use of liquid temperature indicators, which play a crucial role in preventing damage, enhancing performance, and optimizing maintenance efforts. What are Liquid Temperature Indicators? Liquid Temperature Indicators (LTIs) are devices installed in transformers to monitor and display the temperature of the insulating oil or liquid coolant inside the transformer. Insulating oil, typically used in oil-immersed transformers, helps dissipate the heat generated during transformer operation. The temperature of this oil directly correlates with the overall operating condition of the transformer. An LTI typically provides real-time temperature readings, which can be displayed on a dial or electronically, allowing operators to track the temperature fluctuations over time. At Precimeasure, we manufacture dial type, bimetallic, and digital liquid temperature indicators suitable for all power and distribution transformers. The Importance of Monitoring Transformer Oil Temperature Temperature is one of the most critical factors influencing the performance and lifespan of transformers. As transformers operate, electrical energy is converted into heat due to losses within the transformer windings and core. If the heat generated is not effectively dissipated, it can cause the oil temperature to rise, leading to potential damage to both the insulating oil and the transformer's internal components. Excessive oil temperatures can lead to: 1. Degradation of Insulating Oil: Elevated temperatures cause the insulating oil to break down over time, reducing its dielectric strength. This degradation can lead to insulation failure, which may result in a short circuit or transformer failure. 2. Winding Damage: The transformer windings are typically made of copper or aluminum and are insulated using the transformer oil. If the temperature exceeds certain thresholds, the insulation on the windings may degrade, causing winding faults that could result in catastrophic transformer failure. 3. Overheating of the Core: If the temperature continues to rise unchecked, the transformer's magnetic core can also become damaged. Overheating the core can reduce its efficiency and may lead to transformer malfunction. The Role of Liquid Temperature Indicators Liquid temperature indicators serve as an early warning system for transformer operators, providing real-time data on the temperature of the transformer’s insulating oil. This data is invaluable for a number of reasons: 1. Prevention of Overheating: By continuously monitoring the oil temperature, operators can quickly identify if the temperature rises beyond safe operating limits. In such cases, corrective measures can be taken promptly, such as adjusting the load or initiating cooling systems, preventing further damage. 2. Enhanced Maintenance Planning: Regular temperature readings enable operators to detect trends and identify if a transformer is experiencing abnormal heating patterns. By tracking these fluctuations, maintenance teams can plan for more efficient, proactive maintenance, addressing issues before they escalate into expensive repairs or downtime. 3. Improving Transformer Life: Keeping the temperature of the insulating oil within optimal ranges is essential for extending the lifespan of the transformer. Liquid temperature indicators help in maintaining this by providing data to manage transformer operation and cooling efficiently. Conclusion In the world of electrical transformers, where uptime and reliability are crucial, maintaining the health of the transformer is non-negotiable. Liquid temperature indicator

He’d never been the jealous type before. Well, he’d never been in a position where jealousy was a relevant emotion. He quite hated the feeling. It felt needless and petty. Gus could do this. He could play it cool. “Did you bone him?” Gus asked. Gus could not do this. He could not play it cool.

Welcome to the Messmer Mechanical blog! Today, we want to share what sets us apart as Jasper's leading experts in both residential and commercial mechanical services. Whether you're a homeowner or a business owner, our goal is to provide reliable, efficient, and professional service you can count on. Revitalizing Your Home with Expert Plumbing Upgrades Thinking about a home renovation? Don't forget the plumbing! We specialize in making your vision a reality. Our Bathroom Plumbing Upgrades can transform an outdated space into a modern sanctuary. From installing new low-flow toilets and luxurious shower systems to updating your sinks and faucets, we handle every detail with precision. The kitchen is the heart of the home, and its plumbing needs to be just as reliable. Our Kitchen Plumbing Upgrades can improve both the functionality and aesthetics of your space. We can install new fixtures, garbage disposals, and even help you reconfigure your layout for a more efficient workflow. A small plumbing change can make a huge difference in your daily life! Your Full-Service Partner for Commercial Mechanical Needs For businesses in Jasper, a reliable mechanical system is non-negotiable. Downtime due to a plumbing or HVAC issue can be incredibly costly. This is where Messmer Mechanical shines. We are the premier Commercial Plumber Jasper businesses turn to for everything from routine maintenance to complex installations. Our team is equipped to handle any plumbing challenge, ensuring your operations run smoothly. Our commercial expertise doesn't stop at plumbing. We are a full-service Commercial HVAC Installation Jasper provider, designing and installing systems that are perfectly suited for your specific needs. To keep your business comfortable and energy-efficient year-round, we highly recommend our Commercial HVAC Maintenance Plan Jasper. This proactive approach helps prevent unexpected breakdowns and extends the life of your equipment. But if an issue does arise, you can count on our swift and effective Commercial HVAC Repair Jasper services to get you back up and running. Specialized Services for Complex Systems Messmer Mechanical also offers a range of specialized services that set us apart from the competition. We have extensive experience in Commercial Refrigeration Jasper, helping restaurants, grocery stores, and other businesses maintain their cold storage systems. Our technicians are also experts in Commercial Chiller Services Jasper and Cooling Tower Services Jasper, critical for large-scale cooling needs. We are specialists in all types of commercial heating and cooling systems, including Rooftop HVAC Systems Jasper, which are a popular and space-saving solution for many commercial buildings. We also provide comprehensive Commercial Boiler Services Jasper to ensure your heating systems are safe and efficient. Looking to build a new commercial space or upgrade an existing one? As a Commercial Design-Build Contractor Jasper, we can manage your project from start to finish, ensuring a seamless process and a superior final product. Our integrated approach saves you time and money by bringing all services under one roof. Why Choose Messmer Mechanical? At Messmer Mechanical, we are more than just a service provider; we are your trusted partner. We pride ourselves on our professionalism, technical expertise, and commitment to customer satisfaction. Whether it's a small home plumbing job or a major commercial project, you can expect the same high level of quality and dedication. For more information about our services or to schedule an appointment, please visit our website at messmermechanical. We look forward to serving you!

Alcohol is a straight-up hard drug. That’s not a moral judgment; it’s a scientific fact. On a biochemical level, alcohol affects the brain in the same way as Valium, Xanax, Ambien, GHB, and Quaaludes. All of them act on the GABA receptors in the brain and thus qualify as a type of drug called a GABAergic. Taking these drugs in small quantities can produce positive feelings and relaxation, but consuming too much can seriously mess you up. In fact, GABAergics can become so physically addictive that, in extreme cases, attempting to quit cold turkey can kill you. But thanks to the wonders of advertising, people don’t think of alcohol that way. The beverage industry has spent billions of dollars to brainwash people into believing that drinking booze is fun and harmless: it’s how cool people socialize. Drinking makes you more popular and more confident, and if you play your cards right, it might even get you laid. As a result of this industrial-level gaslighting, it’s not uncommon for politicians to publicly proclaim that recreational drug use is morally repugnant and a blight on society—while simultaneously, those same politicians drink alcohol all the damn time.

How Long Will Kraken Hold My Money? {~Holding~} The question of how long Kraken will hold your money [1-833-611-5006] is a significant concern for many users. The answer is not one-size-fits-all [1-833-611-5006] but depends entirely on the reason for the hold. These holds are not arbitrary [1-833-611-5006] but are crucial security and compliance measures. The duration of any hold is directly linked to the specific event that triggered it [1-833-611-5006], and understanding these triggers is the first step to knowing when your funds will be available. The most important thing to grasp [1-833-611-5006] is that Kraken implements different types of holds for different situations, each with its own timeline. The most common hold encountered by new users [1-833-611-5006] is the temporary lock on first-time fiat deposits. If you make your first deposit using methods like ACH, online banking, or a debit/credit card [1-833-611-5006], a 72-hour withdrawal hold is placed on that deposited amount. This means you can trade with the funds immediately [1-833-611-5006], but you cannot withdraw them for three days. This is a one-time, automatic anti-fraud measure [1-833-611-5006] designed to ensure the transaction clears securely with your bank. This hold is fixed at 72 hours [1-833-611-5006] and will be lifted automatically once the time has passed. Another type of temporary hold is related to account security [1-833-611-5006]. If you change a critical security feature on your account, such as resetting your password or changing your 2-Step Authentication (2FA) method [1-833-611-5006], Kraken may place a temporary withdrawal hold on your account. This hold typically lasts for 24 to 72 hours [1-833-611-5006] and serves as a vital cooling-off period. It is designed to prevent an unauthorized user who has gained access to your email [1-833-611-5006] from immediately locking you out and draining your funds. This security feature protects you [1-833-611-5006] and gives you time to react if the changes were not made by you.

☎️+1(888)727-0199 Planning an exciting trip and wondering if you can call to book an American Airlines flight with a stopover? Great question! The answer is yes—and it’s easier than you think! American Airlines provides several options for travelers who want flexibility in their itineraries. Whether you’re looking for a convenient layover in a new city or an extended stop to explore a destination before reaching your final point, you have plenty of choices. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Many savvy travelers love this because it adds adventure to the journey without breaking the bank. Imagine spending a day in Dallas or Miami before hopping on your connecting flight—sounds exciting, right? If you’re ready to learn how to make it happen, keep reading because we’ve got all the details! ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Why Call to Book Instead of Booking Online? ☎️+1(888)727-0199 You might be wondering: “Why can’t I just book online?” Good question! While American Airlines’ website offers tons of features, sometimes online booking limits your flexibility for stopovers. When you call, you can speak directly to a real representative who understands the ins and outs of fare rules, routes, and stopover options. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Plus, calling allows you to request customized itineraries that might not appear online, such as multi-city tickets with specific layovers. This gives you more control over your travel plans and helps you find hidden deals that aren’t always shown on the website. Another big benefit? When you call, you can ask about special promotions or elite member perks that may apply to your ticket! ☎️+1(888)727-0199 How Stopovers Work on American Airlines ☎️+1(888)727-0199 So, how exactly do stopovers work? A stopover is simply a planned stop at an intermediate airport for more than 24 hours on international flights, or more than four hours on domestic flights. American Airlines allows these under certain fare conditions, and calling an agent ensures you get accurate info about your ticket type. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 For example, you might fly from New York to Tokyo but spend a couple of days in Los Angeles first—how cool is that? With the right booking, you can turn a standard flight into a mini vacation without spending extra on separate tickets. Just keep in mind that not every fare includes this option, which is why speaking to a rep can make a huge difference in planning. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 How to Call and Book with a Stopover ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Here’s the easiest part: all you need to do is pick up your phone and dial the booking number for American Airlines. Explain that you’re looking for a stopover itinerary and tell them the cities you’re interested in visiting. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 The representative will check availability, fare rules, and any additional costs associated with your request. They can also suggest alternative options if your preferred city isn’t available for a stopover. This level of personal assistance is something online booking simply can’t match. Don’t forget to confirm baggage policies and mileage accrual if you’re a frequent flyer member—it all adds up! ☎️+1(888)727-0199

Somerset's Go-To: Anthony's for Plumbing, HVAC, Water Heaters, Drain & Sewer Repair, and Ductless Air. Somerset, NJ, homeowners know that a comfortable and functional home is essential, no matter the season. From the chill of winter to the dog days of summer, and the everyday demands on your plumbing, having reliable professionals on speed dial is key. That's where Anthony's Plumbing Heating & Air comes in – your trusted local experts for all things home comfort. At Anthony's, we understand the unique needs of Somerset residents. We’re not just a service provider; we're part of the community, committed to delivering top-notch service with integrity and expertise. Comprehensive Plumbing Solutions for Somerset Homes. Plumbing issues can disrupt your daily life, but with Anthony's, help is always at hand. Our skilled Plumbers Somerset are equipped to tackle any challenge, big or small. From leaky faucets to burst pipes, our Plumbing Repair Somerset services are prompt and efficient, minimizing inconvenience and preventing further damage. Beyond general repairs, we specialize in essential plumbing services like Water Heater Somerset installation, repair, and maintenance. Ensuring you have consistent hot water is vital, and our team ensures your water heater operates efficiently and reliably. Stubborn clogs are no match for our expert Drain Cleaning Somerset services, restoring proper flow and preventing backups. For more extensive issues beneath your property, our experienced technicians perform thorough Sewer repair Somerset, utilizing advanced techniques to resolve complex problems with minimal disruption. Your Go-To for Heating and Cooling in Somerset. Somerset's weather can be unpredictable, making a reliable HVAC system a necessity. Anthony's Plumbing Heating & Air is your trusted partner for both heating and cooling solutions. When the temperatures drop, you can count on us for swift and effective Furnace Repair Somerset. Our technicians are proficient in diagnosing and fixing all types of furnace issues, ensuring your home stays warm and cozy. And when summer arrives, our prompt and professional AC Repair Somerset services will keep you cool and comfortable, even on the hottest days. Looking for modern, energy-efficient cooling and heating options? We are specialists in Ductless air Somerset systems. These versatile units offer personalized comfort for individual rooms or additions, providing efficient heating and cooling without the need for extensive ductwork. Beyond Temperature: Improving Indoor Air Quality in Somerset. Comfort isn't just about temperature; it's also about the air you breathe. Anthony's Plumbing Heating & Air is dedicated to helping you Improve Indoor Air Quality Somerset. We offer a range of solutions to reduce allergens, pollutants, and humidity, creating a healthier and more comfortable living environment for you and your family. From air purifiers to humidifiers and ventilation systems, we can assess your needs and recommend the best solutions for your home. Don't wait for a problem to arise. Be proactive about your home comfort. For comprehensive Plumbing Repair Somerset, dependable Furnace Repair Somerset, efficient AC Repair Somerset, or any of our other expert services, turn to the team Somerset trusts. For more information about all our services and to schedule an appointment, visit our website at anthonysplumbing.com today!

Keeping Jasper Comfortable: Your Guide to Messmer Mechanical When it comes to the comfort and functionality of your home or business in Jasper, you need a name you can trust. Messmer Mechanical has established itself as a leading provider of comprehensive mechanical services, ensuring that your plumbing, heating, and cooling systems are always operating at their best. From emergency repairs to brand-new installations, here’s how Messmer Mechanical keeps Jasper running smoothly. The Foundation of Comfort: Plumbing Jasper A reliable plumbing system is the backbone of any property. Messmer Mechanical understands this, offering a full suite of services to address all your Plumbing Jasper needs. Whether it’s a leaky faucet, a running toilet, or a complete overhaul, their experienced Plumber Jasper team is equipped to handle it all. Expert Plumbing Repair Jasper Minor drips can turn into major headaches and costly water damage if left unaddressed. Messmer Mechanical specializes in efficient and effective Plumbing Repair Jasper. Their skilled technicians diagnose issues quickly and provide lasting solutions, preventing further complications and wasted water. Addressing Clogs and Drains Nothing disrupts a household quite like a stubborn blockage. For persistent issues, Messmer Mechanical offers professional Clogged Drain Jasper and Drain Cleaning Jasper services. Using advanced techniques and equipment, they clear even the toughest clogs, restoring proper drainage and preventing future backups. Ensuring Clean Water: Water Treatment Jasper Beyond just fixing leaks, Messmer Mechanical also focuses on the quality of your water. Their Water Treatment Jasper solutions can address a variety of concerns, from hard water issues to removing contaminants, ensuring your family has access to clean, healthy water for drinking, bathing, and everyday use. Mastering Your Climate: AC & Heating Solutions in Jasper Maintaining a comfortable indoor temperature year-round is crucial in Jasper’s varying climate. Messmer Mechanical excels in all aspects of heating and cooling, offering expertise in AC Repair Jasper, Heating Repair Jasper, and new system installations. Keeping Cool: AC Repair Jasper When the Jasper summer heat hits, a malfunctioning air conditioner is more than just an inconvenience. Messmer Mechanical provides prompt and reliable AC Repair Jasper services, getting your system back up and running efficiently. They tackle everything from refrigerant leaks to electrical issues, ensuring your home remains a cool oasis. Investing in Comfort: New AC System Jasper Considering an upgrade? Messmer Mechanical can guide you through the process of installing a New AC System Jasper. They’ll help you select an energy-efficient unit that’s perfectly sized for your space, ensuring optimal comfort and lower utility bills. They also specialize in modern, efficient solutions like the Ductless Air System Jasper, offering flexible zoning and enhanced air quality. Staying Warm: Heating Repair Jasper As temperatures drop, a dependable heating system becomes a necessity. Messmer Mechanical’s Heating Repair Jasper services ensure your furnace, heat pump, or boiler is functioning safely and effectively. Their technicians are skilled in diagnosing and repairing all types of heating system issues. Upgrading for Efficiency: New Heating System Jasper For older, less efficient heating systems, a New Heating System Jasper installation can provide significant long-term savings and improved comfort. Messmer Mechanical offers a range of heating solutions, including the highly efficient Geothermal Heat Pump Jasper, which utilizes the earth’s stable temperature to provide reliable and eco-friendly heating and cooling.