Couch Important Quotes

It needs to be said that sometimes my mom forgets important details when she talks. Like the time she told us she was considering leather (couches, it turns out), or when I was little and she said, "Here's a napkin to put your balls in" (the Atomic Fireballs that I was eating, she meant).

When she sat on the couch I jumped up to be with her and I put my head in her lap. I could feel some of the tension and sadness leave her. I was giving Mom comfort. This was more important than going for walks, more important than helping feed the cats—it was the most important job I had. I knew I should sit with Mom for as long as she needed me.

The lounge usually holds his couch, his easels, inks and oils, and original handmade paper imported straight from Kappa—Nihon of the Old World. The center of the lounge is always for the stage—a raised, soft, armless sofa where his subject poses. But this evening isn’t about the stage or his art. This evening, the lounge shouldn’t hold needless furniture. Tonight, Kuhawk is for one book. Tonight, all the moonlight coming through the transparent globe should illuminate only the Devil’s Book—the first key to everything the Mesmerizer seeks. Oh, the trouble he took to earn it!

Have you ever felt that there was something going on in life that not everyone was aware of?' Rose asked, turning her mug around in her hands. Bear relaxed a bit more deeply into the couch, and put on a mock-solemn look. 'Explain thyself.' 'As though there's a story going on that everyone is a part of, but not everybody knows about? Maybe 'story' isn't the right word- a sort of drama, a battle between what's peripheral and whats really important. As though the people you meet aren't just their plain, prosaic selves but are actually princes and princesses, gods and goddesses, fairies, shepherds, all sorts of fantastic creatures who've chosen to hide their real shapes for some reason or another. Have you ever thought that?

I know we have only been together for a little over a year,” I explained, quickly. “Maybe it’s too soon? I understand if it’s too soon. It’s just that how you feel about the way we kiss? I feel that way about everything we do together. I love it. I love to be inside you, I love working with you, I love watching you work, I love fighting with you, and I love just sitting on the couch and laughing with you. I’m lost when I’m not with you, Chloe. I can’t think of anything, or anyone, who is more important to me, every second. And so for me, that means we’re already sort of married in my head. I guess I wanted to make it official somehow. Maybe I sound like an idiot?” I looked over at her, feeling my heart try to jackhammer its way up my throat. “I never expected to feel this way about someone.

If I could go back in time I'd make the same choice in a snap. And yet, there remains my sister life. All the other things I could have done instead. I wouldn't know what I couldn't know until I became a mom, and so I'm certain there are things I don't know because I can't know because I did. Who would I have nurtured had I not been nurturing my two children over these past seven years? In what creative and practical forces would my love have been gathered up? What didn't I write because I was catching my children at the bottoms of slides and spotting them as they balanced along the tops of low brick walls and pushing them endlessly in swings? What did I write because I did? Would I be happier and more intelligent and prettier if I had been free all this time to read in silence on a couch that sat opposite of Mr. Sugar's? Would I complain less? Has sleep deprivation and the consumption of an exorbitant number of Annie's Homegrown Organic Cheddar Bunnies taken years off my life or added years onto it? Who would I have met if I had bicycled across Iceland and hiked around Mongolia and what would I have experienced and where would that have taken me? I'll never know, and neither will you of the life you don't choose. We'll only know that whatever that sister life was, it was important and beautiful and not ours. It was the ghost ship that didn't carry us. There's nothing to do but salute it from the shore.

Michael Talbot yet lives, Mr. Black,” Simon Peter said to the dark entity before him. Mr. Black produced a large dark ledger from his robes. He spent a moment shifting through the voluminous pages. “Ah, here it is. That is impossible. I collected him on October 11th at 3:33 am. I can most assuredly tell you he is where he should be.” Simon Peter swept his arm, a vision of a small ranch home came into view, more importantly the lone figure sitting on the couch reading the Bible.

The Idiot. I have read it once, and find that I don't remember the events of the book very well--or even all the principal characters. But mostly the 'portrait of a truly beautiful person' that dostoevsky supposedly set out to write in that book. And I remember how Myshkin seemed so simple when I began the book, but by the end, I realized how I didn't understand him at all. the things he did. Maybe when I read it again it will be different. But the plot of these dostoevsky books can hold such twists and turns for the first-time reader-- I guess that's b/c he was writing most of these books as serials that had to have cliffhangers and such. But I make marks in my books, mostly at parts where I see the author's philosophical points standing in the most stark relief. My copy of Moby Dick is positively full of these marks. The Idiot, I find has a few... Part 3, Section 5. The sickly Ippolit is reading from his 'Explanation' or whatever its called. He says his convictions are not tied to him being condemned to death. It's important for him to describe, of happiness: "you may be sure that Columbus was happy not when he had discovered America, but when he was discovering it." That it's the process of life--not the end or accomplished goals in it--that matter. Well. Easier said than lived! Part 3, Section 6. more of Ippolit talking--about a christian mindset. He references Jesus's parable of The Word as seeds that grow in men, couched in a description of how people are interrelated over time; its a picture of a multiplicity. Later in this section, he relates looking at a painting of Christ being taken down from the cross, at Rogozhin's house. The painting produced in him an intricate metaphor of despair over death "in the form of a huge machine of the most modern construction which, dull and insensible, has aimlessly clutched, crushed, and swallowed up a great priceless Being, a Being worth all nature and its laws, worth the whole earth, which was created perhaps solely for the sake of the advent of this Being." The way Ippolit's ideas are configured, here, reminds me of the writings of Gilles Deleuze. And the phrasing just sort of remidns me of the way everyone feels--many people feel crushed by the incomprehensible machine, in life. Many people feel martyred in their very minor ways. And it makes me think of the concept that a narrative religion like Christianity uniquely allows for a kind of socialized or externalized, shared experience of subjectivity. Like, we all know the story of this man--and it feels like our own stories at the same time. Part 4, Section 7. Myshkin's excitement (leading to a seizure) among the Epanchin's dignitary guests when he talks about what the nobility needs to become ("servants in order to be leaders"). I'm drawn to things like this because it's affirming, I guess, for me: "it really is true that we're absurd, that we're shallow, have bad habits, that we're bored, that we don't know how to look at things, that we can't understand; we're all like that." And of course he finds a way to make that into a good thing. which, it's pointed out by scholars, is very important to Dostoevsky philosophy--don't deny the earthly passions and problems in yourself, but accept them and incorporate them into your whole person. Me, I'm still working on that one.

If it’s really important to you, I could like, pick you up and throw you on the couch or something.” That was all it took to start the giggles going again.

What, I pray you, is of such vast importance that I be roused from my couch?

It is important to recognize when you have been detached from life for too long. The fact is you are still alive, and I can only imagine that your loved one would want you to go on living. I highly doubt they would have said to you, "When or if I die before you, I want you to spend the rest of your life sitting on a couch staring at the wall. Please fulfill this important task for me.

Baby girl, this is your mother. I know I’ve given you explicit instructions to trace this into your yearbook, but they’re my words. That means this is from me, my heart, and my love for you. There’s so many things I want to say to you, things I want you to hear, to know, but let’s start with the reason I’m having you put these words in your senior yearbook. First of all, this book is everything. It may be pictures, some names of people you won’t remember in five years, ten years, or longer, but this book is more important than you can imagine. It’s the first book that’s the culmination of your first chapter in life. You will have many. So many! But this book is the physical manifestation of your first part in life. Keep it. Treasure it. Whether you enjoyed school or not, it’s done. It’s in your past. These were the times you were a part of society from a child to who you are now, a young adult woman. When you leave for college, you’re continuing your education, but you’re moving onto your next chapter in life. The beginning of adulthood. This yearbook is your bridge. Keep this as a memento forever. It sums up who you grew up with. It houses images of the buildings where your mind first began to learn things, where you first began to dream, to set goals, to yearn for the road ahead. It’s so bittersweet, but those memories were your foundation to set you up for who you will become in the future. Whether they brought pain or happiness, it’s important not to forget. From here, you will go on and you will learn the growing pains of becoming an adult. You will refine your dreams. You will set new limits. Change your mind. You will hurt. You will laugh. You will cry, but the most important is that you will grow. Always, always grow, honey. Challenge yourself. Put yourself in uncomfortable situations (BUT BE SAFE!) and push yourself not to think about yourself, your friends, your family, but to think about the world. Think about others. Understand others, and if you can’t understand, then learn more about them. It’s so very important. Once you have the key to understanding why someone else hurts or dreams or survives, then you have ultimate knowledge. You have empathy. Oh, honey. As I’m writing this, I can see you on the couch reading a book. You are so very beautiful, but you are so very humble. You don’t see your beauty, and I want you to see your beauty. Not just physical, but your inner kindness and soul. It’s blinding to me. That’s how truly stunning you are. Never let anyone dim your light. Here are some words I want you to know as you go through the rest of your life: Live. Learn. Love. Laugh. And, honey, know. Just know that I am with you always.

One evening I came home and there on the couch I found my husband, Tom, with a freshly fledged crow sitting calmly in his lap. They were busy watching Star Trek: The Next Generation; since Captain Jean-Luc Picard was in the middle of an absorbing monologue, they hardly registered my arrival, but finally they both glanced my way, Tom looking a bit sheepish, the crow nibbling bits from a can of gourmet cat food. I thought of something Bernd Heinrich wrote, inspired by his raven studies, "Living with another creature, you naturally feel closer to it the more activities that can be shared, especially important activities like watching TV.

But for your own state of mind, for your own well-being, it’s important to take a second and remember the people who love you and support you. The people who make you happy. The people who make you one of the lucky ones.

I get you’re a commando and all, but just so I know for future reference, do commandos need to pin women to their couches in order to share things they think are important?” He out-and-out smiled before he answered, “Yeah.

Don’t make me out to be something worth saving. We both know I’m a waste.” His voice was so quiet. “I wish I was better at telling you why you have to stay here. I wish I could put into words the part of my heart that has your name written on it. That part hurts right now. You have to be here. You love life too much. You’re so important. I wish I could make you understand this.” He tried to smile at her valiant efforts. “I would keep you if I could. You can sleep here, right on this couch. Beckett, I will let you hold this baby when it comes.” She touched her stomach. “Does that tell you how much you mean to me? It’s the only thing I can come up with.” He shrugged. “Mouse would be disappointed. He’d feel like he didn’t do his job if you died…Eve loves you. Wherever she is—in this strip club—is that what you’ve been wishing for?” Beckett shook his head. “No, right? She loves you. You can’t kill someone she loves. You just can’t.

The Magpie Poet The magpie poet lined his poems, with a nest of shiny objects: engagement rings returned by ex-lovers, lipstick and keys found beneath his couch's cushions, even shards of his mom's silver hand mirror, too filled with images to discard. His nest of luminous memories held his yellow eye, his offspring. More importantly, it held him. Each poem he wrote was a pro tem refuge he could hide in, a safe house to rest his head after another sleepless night.

Procrastinators often follow exactly the wrong tack. They try to minimize their commitments, assuming that if they have only a few things to do, they will quit procrastinating and get them done. But this goes contrary to the basic nature of the procrastinator and destroys his most important source of motivation. The few tasks on his list will be, by definition, the most important, and the only way to avoid doing them will be to do nothing. This is a way to become a couch potato, not an effective human being.

Talking with men about what kind of man they wanted to be in a relationship helped me to identify the important questions women should ask themselves when looking for a man. How does he deal with emotion? Can he manage anger and sadness, or will he blow up or stuff it down? Will he act out and attack, or withdraw? How does he deal with stress, because life is full of that, and women should know that the man with whom they share their lives can make it through with them. Can he be comfortable with love, with giving and receiving? Can there be mutual support, each being the other’s rock and safe place? Can he maintain his love when she frustrates him and things are difficult between them? Can their love not be the place where they lose themselves and their individual voices, but the place where they find them?

Every culture has its own creation myth, its own cosmology. And in some respects every cosmology is true, even if I might flatter myself in assuming mine is somehow truer because it is scientific. But it seems to me that no culture, including scientific culture, has cornered the market on definitive answers when it comes to the ultimate questions. Science may couch its models in the language of mathematics and observational astronomy, while other cultures use poetry and sacrificial propitiations to defend theirs. But in the end, no one knows, at least not yet. The current flux in the state of scientific cosmology attests to this, as we watch physicists and astronomers argue over string theory and multiverses and the cosmic inflation hypothesis. Many of the postulates of modern cosmology lie beyond, or at least at the outer fringes, of what can be verified through observation. As a result, aesthetics—as reflected by the “elegance” of the mathematical models—has become as important as observation in assessing the validity of a cosmological theory. There is the assumption, sometimes explicit and sometimes not, that the universe is rationally constructed, that it has an inherent quality of beauty, and that any mathematical model that does not exemplify an underlying, unifying simplicity is to be considered dubious if not invalid on such criteria alone. This is really nothing more than an article of faith; and it is one of the few instances where science is faith-based, at least in its insistence that the universe can be understood, that it “makes sense.” It is not entirely a faith-based position, in that we can invoke the history of science to support the proposition that, so far, science has been able to make sense, in a limited way, of much of what it has scrutinized. (The psychedelic experience may prove to be an exception.)

It has been a long trip,” said Milo, climbing onto the couch where the princesses sat; “but we would have been here much sooner if I hadn’t made so many mistakes. I’m afraid it’s all my fault.” “You must never feel badly about making mistakes,” explained Reason quietly, “as long as you take the trouble to learn from them. For you often learn more by being wrong for the right reasons than you do by being right for the wrong reasons.” “But there’s so much to learn,” he said, with a thoughtful frown. “Yes, that’s true,” admitted Rhyme; “but it’s not just learning things that’s important. It’s learning what to do with what you learn and learning why you learn things at all that matters.” “That’s just what I mean,” explained Milo as Tock and the exhausted bug drifted quietly off to sleep. “Many of the things I’m supposed to know seem so useless that I can’t see the purpose in learning them at all.” “You may not see it now,” said the Princess of Pure Reason, looking knowingly at Milo’s puzzled face, “but whatever we learn has a purpose and whatever we do affects everything and everyone else, if even in the tiniest way. Why, when a housefly flaps his wings, a breeze goes round the world; when a speck of dust falls to the ground, the entire planet weighs a little more; and when you stamp your foot, the earth moves slightly off its course. Whenever you laugh, gladness spreads like the ripples in a pond; and whenever you’re sad, no one anywhere can be really happy. And it’s much the same thing with knowledge, for whenever you learn something new, the whole world becomes that much richer.” “And remember, also,” added the Princess of Sweet Rhyme, “that many places you would like to see are just off the map and many things you want to know are just out of sight or a little beyond your reach. But someday you’ll reach them all, for what you learn today, for no reason at all, will help you discover all the wonderful secrets of tomorrow.

You don’t realize how much of life is built for relationships until, newly single, you find yourself with a broken ankle, cooped up on the couch in your one-bedroom apartment, and you need to go to the restroom. The problem is, you’ve knocked your crutches over and the pain prevents you from moving too much at all. You go through the Rolodex in your head of whom you can call, and every one of them has someone more important than you in their lives to take care of. You have to weigh how much of a bother you’re going to be, and how much you can rely on them. (Obviously you can rely on your friends. Obviously I’m not saying you can’t, but there is always a limit of how much before you’re a burden.)

The girl seemed even younger in sleep, and smaller, as if part of her had vanished into the couch. With her asleep, Pike believed he was seeing her Original Person. Pike believed each person created himself or herself; you built yourself from the inside out, with the tensions and will of the inside person holding the outside person together. The outside person was the face you showed the world; it was your mask, your camouflage, your message, and, perhaps, your means. It existed only so long as the inside person held it together, and when the inside person could no longer hold the mask together, the outside person dissolved and you would see the original person. Pike had observed that sleep could sometimes loosen the hold. Booze, dope, and extreme emotions could all loosen the hold; the weaker the grasp, the more easily loosened. Then you saw the person within the person. Pike often pondered these things. The trick was to reach a place where the inside person and the outside person were the same. The closer someone got to this place, the stronger they would become. Pike believed that Cole was such a person, his inside and outside very close to being one and the same. Pike admired him for it. Pike also pondered whether Cole had accomplished this through design and effort, or was one with himself because oneness was his natural state. Either way, Pike considered this a feat of enormous import and studied Cole to learn more. Pike’s inside person had built a fortress. The fortress had served, but Pike hoped for more. A fortress was a lonely place in which to live.

I want to be married,” I blurted. “I want you to marry me.” Fuuuuuuuck. And so my entire carefully constructed speech was thrown out the window. My grandmother’s antique ring was in a box in the dresser—nowhere near me—and my plan to kneel and do everything right just evaporated. In the circle of my arms, Chloe grew very still. “What did you just say?” I had completely botched the plan, but it was too late to turn back now. “I know we have only been together for a little over a year,” I explained, quickly. “Maybe it’s too soon? I understand if it’s too soon. It’s just that how you feel about the way we kiss? I feel that way about everything we do together. I love it. I love to be inside you, I love working with you, I love watching you work, I love fighting with you, and I love just sitting on the couch and laughing with you. I’m lost when I’m not with you, Chloe. I can’t think of anything, or anyone, who is more important to me, every second. And so for me, that means we’re already sort of married in my head. I guess I wanted to make it official somehow. Maybe I sound like an idiot?” I looked over at her, feeling my heart try to jackhammer its way up my throat. “I never expected to feel this way about someone.” She stared at me, eyes wide and lips parted as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. I stood and ran over to the dresser, pulling the box from the drawer and carrying it over to her. When I opened the box and let her see my grandmother’s antique diamond and sapphire ring, she clapped a hand over her mouth. “I want to be married,” I said again. Her silence was unnerving, and fuck, I’d completely botched this with my rambling nonsense. “Married to you, I mean.” Her eyes filled with tears and she held them, unblinking. “You. Are such. An ass.” Well, that was unexpected. I knew it might be too soon, but an ass? Really? I narrowed my eyes. “A simple ‘It’s too soon’ would have sufficed, Chloe. Jesus. I lay my heart out on the—” She pushed off the bed and ran over to one of her bags, rummaging through it and pulling out a small blue fabric bag. She carried it back to me with the ribbon hooked over her long index finger, and dangled the bag in my face. I ask her to marry me and she brings me a souvenir from New York? What the fuck is that? “What the fuck is that?” I asked. “You tell me, genius.” “Don’t get smart with me, Mills. It’s a bag. For all I know you have a granola bar, or your tampons, in there.” “It’s a ring, dummy. For you.” My heart was pounding so hard and fast I half wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like. “A ring for me?” She pulled a small box out of the bag and showed it to me. It was smooth platinum, with a line of coarse titanium running through the middle. “You were going to propose to me?” I asked, still completely confused. “Do women even do that?” She punched me, hard, in the arm. “Yes, you chauvinist. And you totally stole my thunder.” “So, is that a yes?” I asked, my bewilderment deepening. “You’ll marry me?” “You tell me!” she yelled, but she was smiling. “Technically you haven’t asked yet.” “Goddamnit, Bennett! You haven’t, either!” “Will you marry me?” I asked, laughing. “Will you marry me?” With a growl, I took the box and dropped it on the floor, flipping her onto her back.

Do you ever get tired of being so funny? It's a nice little smoke screen, but I know you. Confident people do stuff. They get stuff done. They make things, even if it's just making money. You know what you're making?" "It doesn't matter." "You're making our couch sag. That's about it. You're making your mom sad because you're not trying. You're making your siblings miserable because you're acting like you're miserable." "I am. I'm depressed and on a bunch of drugs. I want to take more of them every day just to feel different." "This isn't depression and that's not their fault. But I don't want to fight. I think what we're about to do is going to give you a way to make some progress." "There's nothing important about lifting weights." "There's nothing insignificant about progress. Let's just give it a try.

L'isolement Souvent sur la montagne, à l'ombre du vieux chêne, Au coucher du soleil, tristement je m'assieds ; Je promène au hasard mes regards sur la plaine, Dont le tableau changeant se déroule à mes pieds. Ici gronde le fleuve aux vagues écumantes ; Il serpente, et s'enfonce en un lointain obscur ; Là le lac immobile étend ses eaux dormantes Où l'étoile du soir se lève dans l'azur. Au sommet de ces monts couronnés de bois sombres, Le crépuscule encor jette un dernier rayon ; Et le char vaporeux de la reine des ombres Monte, et blanchit déjà les bords de l'horizon. Cependant, s'élançant de la flèche gothique, Un son religieux se répand dans les airs : Le voyageur s'arrête, et la cloche rustique Aux derniers bruits du jour mêle de saints concerts. Mais à ces doux tableaux mon âme indifférente N'éprouve devant eux ni charme ni transports ; Je contemple la terre ainsi qu'une ombre errante Le soleil des vivants n'échauffe plus les morts. De colline en colline en vain portant ma vue, Du sud à l'aquilon, de l'aurore au couchant, Je parcours tous les points de l'immense étendue, Et je dis : " Nulle part le bonheur ne m'attend. " Que me font ces vallons, ces palais, ces chaumières, Vains objets dont pour moi le charme est envolé ? Fleuves, rochers, forêts, solitudes si chères, Un seul être vous manque, et tout est dépeuplé ! Que le tour du soleil ou commence ou s'achève, D'un oeil indifférent je le suis dans son cours ; En un ciel sombre ou pur qu'il se couche ou se lève, Qu'importe le soleil ? je n'attends rien des jours. Quand je pourrais le suivre en sa vaste carrière, Mes yeux verraient partout le vide et les déserts : Je ne désire rien de tout ce qu'il éclaire; Je ne demande rien à l'immense univers. Mais peut-être au-delà des bornes de sa sphère, Lieux où le vrai soleil éclaire d'autres cieux, Si je pouvais laisser ma dépouille à la terre, Ce que j'ai tant rêvé paraîtrait à mes yeux ! Là, je m'enivrerais à la source où j'aspire ; Là, je retrouverais et l'espoir et l'amour, Et ce bien idéal que toute âme désire, Et qui n'a pas de nom au terrestre séjour ! Que ne puîs-je, porté sur le char de l'Aurore, Vague objet de mes voeux, m'élancer jusqu'à toi ! Sur la terre d'exil pourquoi resté-je encore ? Il n'est rien de commun entre la terre et moi. Quand là feuille des bois tombe dans la prairie, Le vent du soir s'élève et l'arrache aux vallons ; Et moi, je suis semblable à la feuille flétrie : Emportez-moi comme elle, orageux aquilons !

Lend stood up, shouldering his duffel bag, as I walked back into the living room. “Where do you think you’re going?” I snatched his coat away and held it. He just got here. There was no way I was letting him go anywhere else. “I happen to have very important things to do.” “What on earth is more important than watching Easton Heights??” “Christmas shopping for you?” I dropped the coat into his arms and opened the door. “Take your time.” “Glad to know I’ll be missed.” “Have fun!” I leaned up and kissed him hard, then shoved him out and sat back on the couch with a sloppy smile on my face. “Best boyfriend ever.” “Shut. Up. Now.” Arianna didn’t move, eyes fixed on the television. A firm knock sounded on the door. “And tell Lend he can just walk in already!” “Did you forget something?” I said as I opened the door, surprised to see a short black woman in a suit. And not Lend pretending to be one, either.

New Rule: Democrats must get in touch with their inner asshole. I refer to the case of Van Jones, the man the Obama administration hired to find jobs for Americans in the new green industries. Seems like a smart thing to do in a recession, but Van Jones got fired because he got caught on tape saying Republicans are assholes. And they call it news! Now, I know I'm supposed to be all reinjected with yes-we-can-fever after the big health-care speech, and it was a great speech--when Black Elvis gets jiggy with his teleprompter, there is none better. But here's the thing: Muhammad Ali also had a way with words, but it helped enormously that he could also punch guys in the face. It bothers me that Obama didn't say a word in defense of Jones and basically fired him when Glenn Beck told him to. Just like dropped "end-of-life counseling" from health-care reform because Sarah Palin said it meant "death panels" on her Facebook page. Crazy morons make up things for Obama to do, and he does it. Same thing with the speech to schools this week, where the president attempted merely to tell children to work hard and wash their hands, and Cracker Nation reacted as if he was trying to hire the Black Panthers to hand out grenades in homeroom. Of course, the White House immediately capitulated. "No students will be forced to view the speech" a White House spokesperson assured a panicked nation. Isn't that like admitting that the president might be doing something unseemly? What a bunch of cowards. If the White House had any balls, they'd say, "He's giving a speech on the importance of staying in school, and if you jackasses don't show it to every damn kid, we're cutting off your federal education funding tomorrow." The Democrats just never learn: Americans don't really care which side of an issue you're on as long as you don't act like pussies When Van Jones called the Republicans assholes, he was paying them a compliment. He was talking about how they can get things done even when they're in the minority, as opposed to the Democrats , who can't seem to get anything done even when they control both houses of Congress, the presidency, and Bruce Springsteen. I love Obama's civility, his desire to work with his enemies; it's positively Christlike. In college, he was probably the guy at the dorm parties who made sure the stoners shared their pot with the jocks. But we don't need that guy now. We need an asshole. Mr. President, there are some people who are never going to like you. That's why they voted for the old guy and Carrie's mom. You're not going to win them over. Stand up for the seventy percent of Americans who aren't crazy. And speaking of that seventy percent, when are we going to actually show up in all this? Tomorrow Glenn Beck's army of zombie retirees descending on Washington. It's the Million Moron March, although they won't get a million, of course, because many will be confused and drive to Washington state--but they will make news. Because people who take to the streets always do. They're at the town hall screaming at the congressman; we're on the couch screaming at the TV. Especially in this age of Twitters and blogs and Snuggies, it's a statement to just leave the house. But leave the house we must, because this is our last best shot for a long time to get the sort of serious health-care reform that would make the United States the envy of several African nations.

claque, aka canned laughter It’s becoming increasingly clear that there’s nothing new under the sun (a heavenly body, by the way, that some Indian ascetics stare at till they go blind). I knew that some things had a history—the Constitution, rhythm and blues, Canada—but it’s the odd little things that surprise me with their storied past. This first struck me when I was reading about anesthetics and I learned that, in the early 1840s, it became fashionable to hold parties where guests would inhale nitrous oxide out of bladders. In other words, Whip-it parties! We held the exact same kind of parties in high school. We’d buy fourteen cans of Reddi-Wip and suck on them till we had successfully obliterated a couple of million neurons and face-planted on my friend Andy’s couch. And we thought we were so cutting edge. And now, I learn about claque, which is essentially a highbrow French word for canned laughter. Canned laughter was invented long before Lucille Ball stuffed chocolates in her face or Ralph Kramden threatened his wife with extreme violence. It goes back to the 4th century B.C., when Greek playwrights hired bands of helpers to laugh at their comedies in order to influence the judges. The Romans also stacked the audience, but they were apparently more interested in applause than chuckles: Nero—emperor and wannabe musician—employed a group of five thousand knights and soldiers to accompany him on his concert tours. But the golden age of canned laughter came in 19th-century France. Almost every theater in France was forced to hire a band called a claque—from claquer, “to clap.” The influential claque leaders, called the chefs de claque, got a monthly payment from the actors. And the brilliant innovation they came up with was specialization. Each claque member had his or her own important job to perform: There were the rieurs, who laughed loudly during comedies. There were the bisseurs, who shouted for encores. There were the commissaires, who would elbow their neighbors and say, “This is the good part.” And my favorite of all, the pleureuses, women who were paid good francs to weep at the sad parts of tragedies. I love this idea. I’m not sure why the networks never thought of canned crying. You’d be watching an ER episode, and a softball player would come in with a bat splinter through his forehead, and you’d hear a little whimper in the background, turning into a wave of sobs. Julie already has trouble keeping her cheeks dry, seeing as she cried during the Joe Millionaire finale. If they added canned crying, she’d be a mess.

Somehow, the strife made our marriage better. We got back to holding hands and making out on the couch, touching each other during the day, and cuddling in bed. We’d been distracted by everything, and now we returned to what was important. We laughed; we had fun. I felt again like we were made for each other. There is a point for everyone, I think, where physical attraction is everything, and it can lead to love. A person looks beautiful to you, and therefore you love them. Beyond that, as you grow with them, as your love deepens, your perception of beauty starts to deepen. At that point, what you love becomes beautiful-or rather, you are better equipped to recognize the inherent beauty. We were there. Chris would gaze at me in the mirror from the bedroom as I was getting ready for bed, and his eyes would be filled with love. I would lie next to him on the bed and just feel loved, secure in the knowledge that the most amazing man in the world had me in his arms. And yet, there was a little part of me, a nagging part, that told me I didn’t deserve all this happiness. I remember calling a girlfriend around this time and raving about how our marriage seemed to have gone to a new level: Amazing. Then I added, “But I feel like something bad is going to happen to one of us. Because it’s just too perfect.

She was interviewing one of my favorite television actors, Don Johnson of Miami Vice. As he reclined on a couch in his lovely home, Don told Barbara about the joys and difficulties in his life. He talked of past struggles with drug and alcohol abuse and work addiction. Then he spoke of his relationships with women—how exciting and attractive he found them. I could see his energy rise and his breath quicken as he spoke. An air of intoxication seemed to fill the room. Don said his problem was he liked women too much and found it hard to be with one special partner over a long period. He would develop a deep friendship and intimacy, but then his eyes would wander. I thought to myself, this man has been sexually abused! His problems sounded identical to those of adult survivors I counsel in my practice. But then I reconsidered: Maybe I’ve been working too hard. Perhaps I’m imagining a sexual abuse history that isn’t really there. Then it happened. Barbara leaned forward and, with a smile, asked, “Don, is it true that you had your first sexual relationship when you were quite young, about twelve years old, with your seventeen-year-old baby-sitter?” My jaw dropped. Don grinned back at Barbara. He cocked his head to the side; a twinkle came into his blue eyes. “Yeah,” he said, “and I still get excited just thinking about her today.” Barbara showed no alarm. The next day I wrote Barbara Walters a letter, hoping to enlighten her about the sexual abuse of boys. Had Don been a twelve-year-old girl and the baby-sitter a seventeen-year-old boy, we wouldn’t hesitate to call what had happened rape. It would make no difference how cooperative or seemingly “willing” the victim had been. The sexual contact was exploitive and premature, and would have been whether the twelve-year-old was a boy or a girl. This past experience and perhaps others like it may very well be at the root of the troubles Don Johnson has had with long-term intimacy. Don wasn’t “lucky to get a piece of it early,” as some people might think. He was sexually abused and hadn’t yet realized it.   Acknowledging past sexual abuse is an important step in sexual healing. It helps us make a connection between our present sexual issues and their original source. Some survivors have little difficulty with this step: They already see themselves as survivors and their sexual issues as having stemmed directly from sexual abuse. A woman who is raped sees an obvious connection if she suddenly goes from having a pleasurable sex life to being terrified of sex. For many survivors, however, acknowledging sexual abuse is a difficult step. We may recall events, but through lack of understanding about sexual abuse may never have labeled those experiences as sexual abuse. We may have dismissed experiences we had as insignificant. We may have little or no memory of past abuse. And we may have difficulty fully acknowledging to ourselves and to others that we were victims. It took me years to realize and admit that I had been raped on a date, even though I knew what had happened and how I felt about it. I needed to understand this was in fact rape and that I had been a victim. I needed to remember more and to stop blaming myself before I was able to acknowledge my experience as sexual abuse.

I’m sorry, Rosie,” Silas says when he sees the sadness in my eyes. I shake my head, trying to brush the look away, but Silas isn’t easily deterred. He hesitates, then leans on the counter beside me, moving slowly as if he needs verification that each move is acceptable, wanted. “Hey,” he says, resting two fingers on my arm. It starts as a friendly gesture. I press my lips together as he slides his palm up my arm and around his shoulders. Silas paused, and though I’m not certain, I think he realizes that the touch is far more friendly as well—a thought that makes me dizzy but practically forces me to move my own hand to the small of his back. I close my eyes and inhale, and I feel Silas’s breath on my forehead, hear his relaxed heartbeats. His lips are so close to me, I could easily tilt my head back and kiss him if I were braver. It’s hard to not sigh, like the exhausted breath is building up in my chest and I’m holding it back, though more than anything I want to release it, to truly hold myself against him— Scarlett’s shower cuts off. Silas snatches his arm away and I lean back up, head swirling from the quick change. “Um . . . right,” Silas says, looking startled. He looks at me. “Okay, back to studying Potentials, wolves, important stuff . . .” He shakes his head as if he’s casting away a mental fog. I bite my lip. I want to get out of here—I need to get out of here, or the thumping desire for Silas is going to consume me. There’s no way Scarlett won’t figure it out if I can’t escape and get my mind off him. It’s just for a little while—I can go get groceries or something. Silas will help her research. We can’t keep paying for Chinese food. I meet Silas’s eyes, dashes of sky color in the monotone apartment. “I’ll be back,” I say, then dart for the door. “Wait!” he whispers sharply. He lunges toward the couch and tosses me the belt with my knives on it. “Just in case.” I catch it with one hand and swing it around my waist. Silas gives me a sly smile—does he know the affect that smile has on me?

Have you talked about how many children you’d like to have?” “Yes, sir,” Marlboro Man said. “And?” Father Johnson prodded. “I’d like to have six or so,” Marlboro Man answered, a virile smile spreading across his face. “And what about Ree?” Father Johnson asked. “Well, she says she’d like to have one,” Marlboro Man said, looking at me and touching my knee. “But I’m workin’ on her.” Father Johnson wrinkled his brow. “How do you and Ree resolve conflict?” “Well…,” Marlboro Man replied. “To tell you the truth, we haven’t really had much conflict to speak of. We get along pretty darn well.” Father Johnson looked over his glasses. “I’m sure you can think of something.” He wanted some dirt. Marlboro Man tapped his boot on the sterile floor of Father Johnson’s study and looked His Excellence straight in the eye. “Well, she fell off her horse once when we went riding together,” he began. “And that upset her a little bit. And a while back, I dragged her to a fire with me and it got a little dicey…” Marlboro Man and I looked at each other. It was the largest “conflict” we’d had, and it had lasted fewer than twelve hours. Father Johnson looked at me. “How did you deal with that, Ree?” I froze. “Uh…uh…” I tapped my Donald Pliner mule on the floor. “I told him how I felt. And after that it was fine.” I hated every minute of this. I didn’t want to be examined. I didn’t want my relationship with Marlboro Man to be dissected with generic, one-size-fits-all questions. I just wanted to drive around in his pickup and look at pastures and curl up on the couch with him and watch movies. That had been going just fine for us--that was the nature of our relationship. But Father Johnson’s questioning was making me feel defensive, as if we were somehow neglecting our responsibility to each other if we weren’t spending every day in deep, contemplative thought about the minutiae of a future together. Didn’t a lot of that stuff just come naturally over time? Did it really serve a purpose to figure it out now? But Father Johnson’s interrogation continued: “What do you want for your children?” “Have you talked about budgetary matters?” “What role do your parents play in your life?” “Have you discussed your political preferences? Your stances on important issues? Your faith? Your religion?” And my personal favorite: “What are you both going to do, long term, to nurture each other’s creativity?” I didn’t have an answer for him there. But deep down, I knew that, somehow, gravy would come into play.

With the relief of knowing I had passed through a crisis, I sighed because there was nothing to hold me back. It was no time for fear or pretense, because it could never be this way with anyone else. All the barriers were gone. I had unwound the string she had given me, and found my way out of the labyrinth to where she was waiting. I loved her with more than my body. I don’t pretend to understand the mystery of love, but this time it was more than sex, more than using a woman’s body. It was being lifted off the earth, outside fear and torment, being part of something greater than myself. I was lifted out of the dark cell of my own mind, to become part of someone else—just as I had experienced it that day on the couch in therapy. It was the first step outward to the universe—beyond the universe—because in it and with it we merged to recreate and perpetuate the human spirit. Expanding and bursting outward, and contracting and forming inward, it was the rhythm of being—of breathing, of heartbeat, of day and night—and the rhythm of our bodies set off an echo in my mind. It was the way it had been back there in that strange vision. The gray murk lifted from my mind, and through it the light pierced into my brain (how strange that light should blind!), and my body was absorbed back into a great sea of space, washed under in a strange baptism. My body shuddered with giving, and her body shuddered its acceptance. This was the way we loved, until the night became a silent day. And as I lay there with her I could see how important physical love was, how necessary it was for us to be in each other’s arms, giving and taking. The universe was exploding, each particle away from the next, hurtling us into dark and lonely space, eternally tearing us away from each other—child out of the womb, friend away from friend, moving from each other, each through his own pathway toward the goal-box of solitary death. But this was the counterweight, the act of binding and holding. As when men to keep from being swept overboard in the storm clutch at each other’s hands to resist being torn apart, so our bodies fused a link in the human chain that kept us from being swept into nothing. And in the moment before I fell off into sleep, I remembered the way it had been between Fay and myself, and I smiled. No wonder that had been easy. It had been only physical. This with Alice was a mystery. I leaned over and kissed her eyes. Alice knows everything about me now, and accepts the fact that we can be together for only a short while. She has agreed to go away when I tell her to go. It’s painful to think about that, but what we have, I suspect, is more than most people find in a lifetime.

I was getting my knife sharpened at the cutlery shop in the mall,” he said. It was where he originally bought the knife. The store had a policy of keeping your purchase razor sharp, so he occasionally brought it back in for a free sharpening. “Anyway, it was that day that I met this Asian male. He was alone and really nice looking, so I struck up a conversation with him. Well, I offered him fifty bucks to come home with me and let me take some photos. I told him that there was liquor at my place and indicated that I was sexually attracted to him. He was eager and cooperative so we took the bus to my apartment. Once there, I gave him some money and he posed for several photos. I offered him the rum and Coke Halcion-laced solution and he drank it down quickly. We continued to drink until he passed out, and then I made love to him for the rest of the afternoon and early evening. I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up it was late. I checked on the guy. He was out cold, still breathing heavily from the Halcion. I was out of beer and walked around the corner for another six-pack but after I got to the tavern, I started drinking and before I knew it, it was closing time. I grabbed my six-pack and began walking home. As I neared my apartment, I noted a lot of commotion, people milling about, police officers, and a fire engine. I decided to see what was going on, so I came closer. I was surprised to see they were all standing around the Asian guy from my apartment. He was standing there naked, speaking in some kind of Asian dialect. At first, I panicked and kept walking, but I could see that he was so messed up on the Halcion and booze that he didn’t know who or where he was. “I don’t really know why, Pat, but I strode into the middle of everyone and announced he was my lover. I said that we lived together at Oxford and had been drinking heavily all day, and added that this was not the first time he left the apartment naked while intoxicated. I explained that I had gone out to buy some more beer and showed them the six-pack. I asked them to give him a break and let me take him back home. The firemen seemed to buy the story and drove off, but the police began to ask more questions and insisted that I take them to my apartment to discuss the matter further. I was nervous but felt confident; besides, I had no other choice. One cop took him by the arm and he followed, almost zombie-like. “I led them to my apartment and once inside, I showed them the photos I had taken, and his clothes neatly folded on the arm of my couch. The cops kept trying to question the guy but he was still talking gibberish and could not answer any of their questions, so I told them his name was Chuck Moung and gave them a phony date of birth. I handed them my identification and they wrote everything down in their little notebooks. They seemed perturbed and talked about writing us some tickets for disorderly conduct or something. One of them said they should take us both in for all the trouble we had given them. “As they were discussing what to do, another call came over their radio. It must have been important because they decided to give us a warning and advised me to keep my drunken partner inside. I was relieved. I had fooled the authorities and it gave me a tremendous feeling. I felt powerful, in control, almost invincible. After the officers left, I gave the guy another Halcion-filled drink and he soon passed out. I was still nervous about the narrow escape with the cops, so I strangled him and disposed of his body.

I thought I’d been getting along fine with the weekend visits and occasional summer sleepovers, but suddenly I was aware of all I’d missed, the little intimate everyday things that amounted to a real relationship. I remembered Dad tucking me in at night when I was little, sitting next to me on the couch watching TV, taking me to the hardware store with him to buy some small item he needed and, afterward, stopping off to get an ice cream cone. Despite everything everyone said about spending “quality time” with kids, I realized that it was “quantity time” that was more important. I never cared what I did with my dad, I just wanted to be with him for as much time as possible.

What super-sure looks like A multitude of fascinating factors come under the ‘looking confident ‘umbrella. There isn’t space here to explore the thousands of subtle signs that signal confidence. I cover them in my book How to Talk to Anyone. However, here are a few hints to tide you over. Self-assureds do the following things instinctively. You can do them consciously until they become second nature. 1. When you are at a gathering, do not stand close to the wall or by the snacks. Walk directly to the dead-centre of the room. That’s where all the important people instinctively stand. 2. When you are going through a large door or open double doors, don’t walk on one side. Walk straight through the middle. It signifies confidence. 3. At a restaurant, unless there is an established hierarchy, go for the seat at the end of the table facing the door. That is the power position. 4. Sit in the highest chair in a meeting or on the arm of the couch – but not higher than the boss! 5. Make larger, more fluid movements. Confident people’s bodies occupy more space. Shys take as little as possible, as if to say, ‘Excuse me for taking up this much of the earth.’ 6. Keep your hands away from your face and never fidget. 7. When you agree with someone, nod your head up from neutral (jaw parallel to the floor), not down. 8. When walking towards someone and passing, be the last person to break eye-contact. 9. For men: Don’t strut like a bantam rooster. But to look like a leader, swing your arms more significantly when you walk. When you are seated, put one arm up on the back of a chair. Occasionally lean back with your arms up and your hands behind your head. 10. For women: To seem self-assured, square your body towards the person you’re talking to and stand a tad closer. Naturally, give a big smile but let it come ever so slightly so it looks sincere, not nervous.

I would get home from school at 1:45 and crash hard on the couch, waking up only to watch my beloved General Hospital or do homework or sluggishly walk to softball practice. I was always tired. I am always tired. I now read articles about how great sleep is and how important it is and I cry because I want it so bad and I am so mad at how great everyone else seems to be at it. I got some relief from my sleep problem once I started working at SNL (this sounds crazy, I realize that). It was truly a vampire life and one that suited my internal clock. At the time I did not have children, so I was able to stay up very late and sleep very late. I remember ten A.M. feeling incredibly early and three A.M. being my usual bedtime. This was my life for seven years.

Last, and perhaps most importantly, Bold is a playbook. Our deepest hope is that it inspires you to get off the couch and change the world. Said differently, because of the amazing opportunities created by exponentially growing communications technology, many of today’s best and brightest have been lured in by an app-tilted playing field, which has both entrepreneurs and venture capitalists believing that three years to profitability and exit should be the norm. Of course, if your true passion is building apps, then build away. But let’s be clear: when Steve Jobs said that the goal of every entrepreneur should be to “put a dent in the universe”—he wasn’t talking about inventing the next Angry Birds. This book is for those who want to make the Giant Dent. It’s about the fact that, because of exponential empowerment, anyone can make that Giant Dent. Seriously, what are you waiting for?

can right here,” Marge replied and looked inside. “The thing is empty.” Celeste smiled at the sight of Marge finally trapping a paper between her oversized colorful mitts. “Thank you, Suzy Homemaker. All you need is an apron.” While we hurried to search the room, the doorbell rang. Drat. The three of us froze. We had every right to be here and I was getting tired of explaining that to Alex. I was hoping we’d be gone before he showed up at the door. We headed to the landing to see Deborah peeking out the window. She nodded when she saw us. “Yes, I’m afraid it’s him,” she whispered. I knew what was coming next: a mournful look from Alex, along with a little speech about interference with an important police investigation. Could we get in trouble? What were exactly the rules when we were working in a private home and hired by the homeowner? I’d promised him I’d be careful. But surely we had every right to be here, working for our client. The gig was up in any case. Alex had surely seen Marge’s car out front. “Let’s hurry to the couch,” I said, keeping my voice very low. “Then he might think that we’re only here to talk and to consult with Deborah.” “Quick, let’s go,” Celeste said. “Deborah, could you hold off for just a second before you let him in?” Deborah scowled. “I don’t really want to let him in at all. He’s a looker, but obnoxious. You take your time. He can cool his heels and wait.” Celeste wasn’t taking any chances. “Go!” she said, touching me on the back since I was closest to the stairs. Things moved quickly from that point. As I tended to do at the most important times, I tripped and fell flat on my face. Thankfully, my glasses stayed on. I’d nearly made it safely down the stairs when my foot got caught on the carpet. Marge and Celeste were right behind me, almost flying in their haste. We ended up in one big pile in front of a frowning Deborah. “And you’re sure that you’re detectives?” she asked doubtfully. “The real official thing,” Marge squeaked, rubbing her shoulder with the bright orange oven mitt. We limped to the couch as Deborah headed to the door. I heard a familiar voice as she let him in, and we arranged ourselves oh so casually on the couch, as if we’d been there all along. Alex wasn’t pleased at all. He and Deborah were both scowling as they walked into the room. And for all the unpleasantness, we hadn’t found a thing. Operation Search the Office Before Alex had not been a success. Chapter Seven Despite the pain in my left knee (and the tight quarters on the loveseat), I tried to look the part of an innocent working woman who’d come to talk – and only talk – to a client in distress. “What are you three up to?” Alex gave us a

But, actually, the idea of a personal god or spirit who peevishly withholds food, or maliciously hurls lightning, gets a boost from the evolved human brain. People reared in modern scientific societies may consider it only natural to ponder some feature of the world—the weather, say—and try to come up with a mechanistic explanation couched in the abstract language of natural law. But evolutionary psychology suggests that a much more natural way to explain anything is to attribute it to a humanlike agent. This is the way we’re “designed” by natural selection to explain things. Our brain’s capacity to think about causality—to ask why something happened and come up with theories that help us predict what will happen in the future—evolved in a specific context: other brains. When our distant ancestors first asked “Why,” they weren’t asking about the behavior of water or weather or illness; they were asking about the behavior of their peers. That’s a somewhat speculative (and, yes, hard-to-test!) claim. We have no way of observing our prehuman ancestors one or two or three million years ago, when the capacity to think explicitly about causality was evolving by natural selection. But there are ways to shed light on the process. For starters, we can observe our nearest nonhuman relatives, chimpanzees. We didn’t evolve from chimps, but chimps and humans do share a common ancestor in the not-too-distant past (4 to 7 million years ago). And chimps are probably a lot more like that common ancestor than humans are. Chimps aren’t examples of our ancestors circa 5 million BCE but they’re close enough to be illuminating. As the primatologist Frans de Waal has shown, chimpanzee society shows some clear parallels with human society. One of them is in the title of his book Chimpanzee Politics. Groups of chimps form coalitions—alliances—and the most powerful alliance gets preferred access to resources (notably a resource that in Darwinian terms is important: sex partners). Natural selection has equipped chimps with emotional and cognitive tools for playing this political game. One such tool is anticipation of a given chimp’s future behavior based on past behavior. De Waal writes of a reigning alpha male, Yeroen, who faced growing hostility from a former ally named Luit: “He already sensed that Luit’s attitude was changing and he knew that his position was threatened.” 8 One could argue about whether Yeroen was actually pondering the situation in as clear and conscious a way as de Waal suggests. But even if chimps aren’t quite up to explicit inference, they do seem close. If you imagine their politics getting more complex (more like, say, human politics), and them getting smarter (more like humans), you’re imagining an organism evolving toward conscious thought about causality. And the causal agents about which these organisms will think are other such organisms, because the arena of causality is the social arena. In this realm, when a bad thing happens (like a challenge for Yeroen’s alpha spot) or a good thing happens (like an ally coming to Yeroen’s aid), it is another organism that is making the bad or good thing happen.

Guys, I’ve always wondered. You know how men get random stiffies, random boners?” I asked. “You mean a jiffy stiffy?” Oliver said. “Yeah.” I nodded. The booth we found ourselves in was at the back corner of the bar. I sat on the back couch with Damon next to me, while Oliver sat in front of us. With our beers in hand, we were discussing important topics. “What about it?” Damon pressed. “Do girls get drippy kitty?” I asked.

The fifth edition simplifies and rationalizes D&D in key ways. Breaking down a door is a great example: When Angela wanted to throw her weight around, Willi asked for her strength score—and figured it was high enough to get the job done. “The idea is if you are not rushed, and there’s really no danger, we simply look at it and say anyone with a strength of fifteen or above can open it,” Willi said. “If you are being chased by a horde of goblins and it’s important to get in the door in a rush, then I might make you roll. But generally, it’s the DM’s prerogative.” Compare that to the 3.5 edition rules, which are rather more complicated. First, the player may attempt to smash the door open with a Strength check. They roll a d20 and add their strength bonus. Then the DM checks a table5 that lists different kinds of doors (simple wooden, good wooden, strong wooden, stone, iron, wooden portcullis, iron portcullis) and determines the door’s breaking point. If the player scored higher than that number, they’re through. If not, they’ve got a long way to go. Next, the DM figures out the door’s armor class (10, plus a modifier based on its size, and minus 2 because it’s an inanimate object). Then the player has to fight the door like it’s an opposing monster. They attack, and if the attack roll is higher than the door’s AC, they do damage—but not before the DM goes back to his tables and figures out the door’s hardness. Hardness reduces damage, so if you hit for 9 points of damage against a stone door with a hardness of 8, you really only do 1 point of damage . . . and at that rate, you’ll have to hit the door another sixty times before you eventually smash the thing to pieces. Or, more likely, you toss the stupid rule book under the couch and go play video games instead.

Willoughby: My Darling Anne, There's a longer letter in the dresser drawer I've been writing for the last week or so, that one covers us, and my memories of us, and how much I've always loved you. This one just covers tonight, and more importantly, today. Tonight I have gone out to the horses to end it. I cannot say sorry for the act itself, although I know for a short time you will be angry at me, or even hate me for it. Please don't. This is not a case of, I came in this world alone and I'm goin' out of it alone, or anything dumb like that. I did not come in this world alone, my mom was there. And I am not goin' out of it alone, 'cause you were there, drunk on the couch, making Oscar Wilde cock jokes. No, this is a case, in some senses, of bravery. Not the bravery of facing a bullet down. The next few months of pain would be far harder than that small flash. No, it's the bravery of weighing up the next few months of still being with you, still waking up with you, of playing with the kids... Against the next few months of seeing in your eyes how much my pain is killing you. How my weakened body, as it ebbs away, and you tend to it, are your final and lasting memories of me. I won't have that. Your final memories of me will be us at the riverside, and that dumb fishing game, which I think they cheated at. And me inside of you, and you on top of me... And barely a fleeting thought, of the darkness yet to come. That was the best Anne. A whooole day of not thinking about it. Dwell on this day baby, 'cause it was the best day of my life. Kiss the girls for me, and know that I've always loved you... And maybe I'll see ya again if there's another place, and if there ain't... Well, it's been heaven knowing you. Your Boy, Bill

As an introvert, going home and sitting on my couch often appeals to me more than going to a breakfast, or a meetup, or a day-long conference. Like I felt that day at the first hackathon, sometimes I really don't want to show up. One of the most important deals I made with myself was to make networking micro-commitments. These are the three small commitments that I make with myself before an event, and you need to make these commitments, too: 1. I will show up. 2. I will meet three people, and then I can high tail it out of there. 3. I will show up one more time. I've honored these micro-commitments consistently.

Scorpio Horoscope 2015 In A Nutshell In 2015, most of the planets seem to be taking your side. Looks like you are on a safer side. Hence, 2015 will be quite amazing for you. As per the astrology 2015, only the position of Saturn might bring some adventure, rest everything looks brilliant. After all, couch is not the only wonder in the world, a joy ride is also important at times. Horoscopes 2015 foretell that harmony will prevail in family. 2015 is quite positive for love matters. Quite ecstatic, isn't it? However, there might be some disturbances in married life due to the placement of Saturn in first house. Sometimes it is good to crave for love for a little while. Additionally, this may also give you some health related problems. Don't worry, nothing major is seen. As per 2015 predictions, time is also beneficial for work. So workaholics, looks like a good time for you. 2015 horoscopes also foretell that financial situation will get better. Start listing down all the things you need to shop. On the other hand, students will get positive results after hard work. As per 2015 horoscopes, students of business studies will cherish the second half of the year the most. Remedy: Provide your service to monkeys, and avoid the consumption of non vegetarian food as well as alcohol.

Fallout avoid a DUI Lawyer The brutal truth is that this effect swallowing and is surprisingly stiff back. Problems and opportunities caused by drunk drivers are frightening. There is a reasonable demand and good heavy penalties only in the hope of avoiding a criminal. The reality is, sad to say, people that many of us are caught up in their original crimes and facing a big change in everyday life and dangerous consequences. Across the country, low crime rate and reduce contains a number from the understanding of the consequences of the ever more stringent. Privileges rear suspension imprisonment, fines, ignition programs and more are binding on all the possibilities and potential impact. Ideal to this procedure, which is full of dangers and pitfalls, in the sense of finding a positive DUI lawyers to get form? Unfortunately, it may be impossible, and many so-called authorities, the practical experience of the senses, a goat for certain customers. An important aspect is the number of measurements to choose high quality coming DUI lawyers. Breakfast is my way to someone who has experience to fulfill. This means that someone who had the food study drunken 50 penalties. He wanted to try, if someone who works mainly candidates with DUI Lawyers. This special mention of the many methods that come from expected with this film with less destructive. On your own, because you to maintain a professional DUI law towards pace, the situation in other readouts. It seems contradictory, but even if someone switches deftly defended many conditions, but also a person who to stay away from the demonstration says. The demo is the last thing should be, especially if they are responsible for themselves. As an alternative to the other, determine the direction of an attorney who is familiar with the specifics of the work and to help to suspend the license and, hopefully, to inform the prosecution of more than a very low price or misplaced. Sometimes the profits to avoid the interest rate and the term of the hard disk, especially for lawyer’s first area infringer years drunk help of the beautiful region. Other cases are in different directions, which can be implemented, which may contribute to an excellent result. The only way to get the opportunity of a personal imaginary profession rather than receiving. Inevitably, any DUI lawyer to explain myself properly to you from serious sanctions targeting drunken price almost never consumed and protect commitment. Can these days of increased restrictions reduce patrols and even a person consumes also be a number. Whatever complaints taxis, sleeping on the couch or taking a walk on the estate has raised overnight in prisons and the ability to deal with this part of the transaction. Even at a time when the only work in the easiest possible development is still very worrying turning point in history and let yourself.

Sit Quietly This is the most important Zen practice.   It is the classroom for living a wise and kind life.   Sit anywhere and be quiet: on a couch, a bed, a bench, inside, outside, leaning against a tree, by a lake, at the ocean, in a garden, on an airplane, in your office chair, on the floor, in your car. Meditation cushions are okay too.   Sit at any time: morning, night, one minute, three years.   Wear what you've got on. Loosen your waist so that your belly can move with your breath.   Sit as relaxed as possible. Relax your muscles when starting and during sitting.   Sit with your back straight but not stiff. Keep your head upright with your ears level.   Respect all medical conditions. Only take a posture you can. All postures are okay.   Do what you can do.   Keep your eyes slightly opened and out of focus. Closing them will make you sleepy and sometimes busy. Opening them wide will keep you busy.   Breathe naturally through your nose. Enjoy breathing. Feel your breath. Watch your breath. Become your breath.   Be like a cat purring. Follow your breath like ocean waves coming in and out.   When you get distracted, come back to the simplest and most basic experience of being alive, your breathing.   That's it. No belief. No program. No dogma.   You do not have to be Buddhist. You can be of any faith, religion, race, nationality, gender, relationship status, or capacity.   Just sit quietly, connect with your breath, and pay attention to what happens. You will learn things.   Do it when you want. You decide how much is enough for you. If you do it daily, it will get into your bones.   Please enjoy sitting quietly!   The only way to learn sitting quietly is to do it.

Let me stay over,” he said. “No. I have things to get ready for tomorrow. I teach a couple of classes on Monday and Thursday mornings and keep office hours for students in the afternoons. Then I work my twenty-four-hour shifts in Redding on Tuesday and Friday mornings. Tomorrow starts a real busy week and I—” “Okay,” he said. “I’ll watch TV while you get your stuff together.” “No. You’ll seduce me and I have a child in the house.” “Gee, how do you suppose all the families with more than one child managed to do that?” “Those first children were used to their mothers and fathers sleeping in the same bed, but Rosie’s not. Sometimes she crawls in with me in the night.” “I have sweatpants in my duffel. I’ll sleep in those,” he tried. “No.” “Can I have the couch?” “No. Because I know you and you’ll seduce me. I think the only thing more important to you than sex is air. Now be on your good behavior. She isn’t even asleep yet.” “We

The contemporary sluggard won’t go to places he should go (such as church), saying, “It’s too dangerous out there on the highways!” Or he might say, “If I discipline my time for the purpose of godliness, I might miss important things on TV or the Internet, or become so busy I won’t get enough rest!” And he plops down on the couch or rolls back over in bed.

TRUST AND PERFORMANCE ARE THE MOST IMPORTANT ATTRIBUTES

Under ordinary circumstances, these practical experiences with invisible tigers, fought on home territory under the dining table, in the clothes closet, behind the couch, have a very good effect upon the mental health of children. Laughing Tiger was a very important factor in the eventual dissolution of Jan’s animal fears. When he first made his appearance there was a noticeable improvement in this area. When he finally disappeared (and he was not replaced by any other animal), the fear of animals had largely subsided and it was evident that Jan no longer needed him. If we watch closely, we will see how the imaginary companions and enemies fade away at about the same time that the fear dissolves, which means that the child who has overcome his

But what is this? This is not very far removed from the fantasy of our nursery tiger hunter who sees ferocious beasts in the clothes closet and under the couch and who must attack with his trusty tommy gun before the beast attacks him. But there is this important difference. Our nursery hunter keeps his tigers in their place. They don’t roam the streets and imperil good citizens. They aren’t real. Almost any two and a half year old will admit, if pressed, that there isn’t really a tiger under the couch. And he very sensibly deals with his imaginary tigers by means of the imagination. It’s a pretend fight with a pretend tiger. But our older child who attacks other children because of his fantasied fear of attack, has let his tigers get out of the parlor, so to speak. They have invaded his real world. They will cause much trouble there and they can’t be brought under control as nicely as the parlor tigers can. When these “tough guys,” the aggressive and belligerent youngsters, reveal themselves in clinical treatment we find the most fantastic fears as the motive force behind their behavior. When our therapy relieves them of these fears, the aggressive behavior subsides. In

Astor had dropped her complaints into a kind of background rumble as I carried Lily Anne away to the changing table. I was pleased that I had discovered what important tasks awaited me: “old clothes” for Cody and “paint it” to Astor. With my legendary powers of deduction it was the work of a mere moment to conclude that we were going to be working on the new house, most likely with rollers and brushes and buckets of pastel paint. It wasn’t the idle day of couch-warming I’d had in mind, but there are far worse fates than spending a day painting your very own new house.

YOUR BODY, GOD’S TEMPLE Don’t you know that you are God’s sanctuary and that the Spirit of God lives in you? 1 Corinthians 3:16 HCSB Are you shaping up or spreading out? Do you eat sensibly and exercise regularly, or do you spend most of your time on the couch with a Twinkie in one hand and a clicker in the other? Are you choosing to treat your body like a temple or a trash heap? How you answer these questions will help determine how long you live and how well you live. Physical fitness is a choice, a choice that requires discipline—it’s as simple as that. So, do yourself this favor: treat your body like a one-of-a-kind gift from God . . . because that’s precisely what your body is. It is important to set goals because if you do not have a plan, a goal, a direction, a purpose, and a focus, you are not going to accomplish anything for the glory of God. Bill Bright You were created to add to life on earth, not just take from it. Rick Warren A TIMELY TIP Fitness 101: Simply put, it’s up to you to assume the ultimate responsibility for your health. So if you’re fighting the battle of the bulge (the bulging waistline, that is), don’t waste your time blaming the fast-food industry— or anybody else, for that matter. It’s your body, and it’s your responsibility to take care of it.

Some days it’s perfectly fine to eat a second breakfast, curl up on the couch, and enjoy a TV show. But that can’t be our whole life. At times we need to step out of our comfort zones and show concern for the world beyond our living room. No one person can solve all the planet’s problems, of course—but an important first step is to be aware of those distant (and not-so-distant) places full of dark things like famines and wars and poverty. Many people desperately need a helping hand.

Steph, I’m really not in the mood this morning for your attitude,” I growled.   “Too bad,” she shot at me. “Your girlfriend spent the night on my couch.”   “What?” My reaction got a snide little smirk out of her. I pushed my annoyance to side and questioned her about Bella.   “She’s fine. So far. Stubborn girl that one.” She pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head, pushing her chestnut curls out of the way of her eyes. “She told me about her kid.” Her voice dropped and she walked around her Camaro until she was standing in front of me. With the sun just starting to rise, her face looked soft. Like it used to before so much hatred and pain settled in her expression.   “Why is she by you? Why isn’t she here?” I sunk my hands into my front pockets, trying to keep my voice civil. Getting all hard on Steph would only send her packing back up into her car and heading out without giving me any information. And if Bella was hiding out there, Steph would make the fucking place a fortress to keep me out.   “She doesn’t want to see you, or want your help.” She leaned against her car. “Apparently, her friends are involved on the wrong side of this shit storm, and she doesn’t have anyone else.”   We never talked about family. She knew about my brother, but she didn’t talk about her family. Did she even have anyone other than that fucking ex of hers? “Did she finally get a hold of Ashley?”   “Yeah, well, sort of. Not that it was any help. The important call she got was from Shadow.”   “Shadow called her?” My hands came out of my pockets, balled into fists, and I took a step toward her. Stella weathered more than one shit storm, as she liked to call them, while married to Jaxson, she kept her ground, not even flinching.   “Yeah. He’s got the little girl. The fucking prick.” Her eyes widened and her mouth went taught. Jaxson never could get her to quit cursing like a biker, but I think it was one of the things he found so damn irresistible about her. She didn’t take shit from anyone, but she could sure as hell dish it out when she needed to.   “What did he want?”   “He wants to meet her. Said he’d give her back the kid if she meets him this morning at eleven.”   The little hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Bella wasn’t as seasoned as Stella.

Have you had any recollections from your past? Anything at all?” “No,” he muttered. “Nothing.” “Nothing?” Jared’s head snapped up. “Nothing.” he bit out. He took a deep breath, flashed his psychiatrist an apologetic grimace before continuing, “I mean, sometimes I might get a feeling, I would be in the middle of doing something and a random thought or feeling might jump into my head. But it’s gone before I can even begin to decipher it.” “These random thoughts,” Dr Kathleen asked. “Can you tell me what they are?” She gently pressed, “If you can remember that is. You’ve not mentioned this in any of our previous sessions.” Jared shrugged and slumped back against the couch. “I don’t know. It’s only been a recent...development. Unimportant things. Silly things. Erm. Last week, Simone and I were visiting my parents, and we went out for a meal at this new Japanese restaurant close to where they live.” He rubbed his hands together and began to tap his right foot over the carpeted floor. “I don’t like sushi, I’ll eat it if I have to but I’m not a fan. We were all there and they had their meals, I had mine,” Jared scowled at Dr Kathleen. “And for the life of me I kept thinking…feeling there was something important about it, about sushi.” He stopped rubbing his hands over each other to clasp his knees. “Sushi meant something – something important and I don’t know why.” A low, mocking laugh came from the bottom of his throat. “Or my brain could just be fucking with me.

A future where disability justice won looks like queer, trans, Black, Indigenous, folks of colour, and women, girls, and nonbinary humans are living in a world where disability is the norm, and where access is no longer a question but a fait accompli. Gone are the days where our disabled bodies and minds are compared to the able-bodied and able-minded. We’ve flipped the script. We still like our non-queer, non–people of colour, non-disabled friends and we’ll have them at our fully accessible dance parties (which include comfy chairs and couches for our aches and pains, subwoofers that make you feel the vibrations, active listeners, and personal support workers, so we can fully enjoy our time out, and plenty of room as well as fully accessible bathrooms for wheelchair-users to dance, dance, and dance as well as pee with ease, and no stairs in sight and clear paths to sway or rest as we please). Because, please, did you really think this could go on, this able-bodied and -minded domination? It’s not that we’ve flipped the script to exert power and replicate oppressions on our able-bodied and able-minded friends, they just over time learned to not take up so much space and not be offended or feel left out if we don’t organize with them in mind. Actually, in our accessible/disabled future, binaries are broken. We fully live on and in the spectrum of possibilities of non-stigmatized minds and bodies. In this spectrum, we are fully connected to one another, which means that decolonization has happened and is still happening and that patriarchy has been toppled and much more. This interconnectedness that we now live daily means that sometimes our able-bodied and able-minded friends are learning every day, including from their mistakes, and are understanding in how many ways our differences and disabilities manifest. This also means that we have collectively built this future and thus have learned and understood differences and disabilities, and all of us are still doing that important work even when it is hard because this future world is ours! -KARINE MYRGIANIE JEAN-FRANÇOIS AND NELLY BASSILY, DAWN (DISABLED WOMEN’S NETWORK) CANADA

In real life, people want to earn their wages, to feel good about themselves, to be able to say they did a good job, to contribute in their own way.” To get there, Bouchard says, each individual has to find the zone in which they can make decisions, room to manoeuvre that fits their abilities and gives them a chance to show what they can do. “That’s a basic need for all humans. We all want that: to reach the level of importance corresponding to our potential.

Since they’re in dog country, both the Redds and the Bleus have dogs. But they do own different types. The fixed family chose their dog based on its size and its capacity to be trained. Big dogs with a loud bark are well suited to scare off would-be thieves. Even though Brentwood has a vanishingly low crime rate, people who see the world as a dangerous place can’t be too careful. (Those differences in wariness help explain, incidentally, why the Redds keep a gun in a lockbox, while the Bleus find the idea of a gun in the home to be anathema.) For owners with a fixed worldview, large and untrained is a bad combination, however, so obedience is an important characteristic in dogs. When they are out for a walk, the Redds’ dog, Rex, follows close at James’s heels. When he’s inside, Rex knows where he doesn’t belong, namely on the furniture. Man’s best friend gets a smack on the nose when he tries to get up on the couch. The notion of him sleeping in the same bed as James and Mary is a nonstarter.

THE SEVEN STEPS OF SELF-TRANSFORMATION Illumination is the act of shining the light of consciousness on the egoic forces that obstruct our minds, things such as defense mechanisms, illusions, and other intellectual structures that obscure our capacity to see ourselves and all around us as Sacred. We can think of this as removing lampshades that cover up our inner One Mind's Light. Submersion brings us into deeper self-awareness by wading into the waters of our unconscious, our inner One Thing, thus opening the door to a productive dialog between the conscious and the unconscious selves, which can be considered respectively as our inner One Mind and One Thing. Remember, it is the interaction between these two that gives power to all creation, so it is important to get these forces into a productive dialog within us if we want our soul to create life. Polarization is a process through which we increase our awareness of inner duality— our One Mind and One Thing — and explore the paradox of their underlying unity and separation ability. Just as we saw in the story of creation, these two internal forces can use their separation to create a polarity, such as charging a battery, and this battery enhances our creativity. Merging is the actual fusion of these opposing powers that can also be known as our active and reactive inner natures, the conscious and the unconscious, the mind, and the soul. Here we start to blend the best of both, giving birth to what Egyptian alchemists call the Intelligence of the Heart, thus overloading our internal battery and our creative abilities. Inspiration takes Merging's creative potential and animates it with the Divine breath of life, introducing new dimensions beyond our ability to plan or monitor. The element of surprise threatens the illusion of the ego-self that it is in control, so a part of Inspiration causes the self-deception to die and fall away so that we can be reborn into the Light of Truth. In other terms, our True Self can be remembered. Refining takes from the previous step the divinely inspired solution and further purifies it, removing any last traces of the ego that would otherwise cloud our ability to see our True Self. We lift our human consciousness to the highest possible level to reconnect with the One Self, and Reiki is a wonderful tool to do so as you will know in the near future. Integration completes the process by uniting our One Mind, and One Thing's distilled essence, allowing us to experience their inherent Oneness at a deep level. This can also be considered as the union of spirit, soul, and body with matter. Saying it pragmatically, we take this state of awakened awareness and incorporate it into the very structure of our daily lives; it's not something we feel only when we're on a couch of contemplation or in a class of yoga. And then we return to the beginning, like the ouroboros, the snake eating its own tail, but this time bearing to bear our newly created insight. These are the seven stages of self-transformation, in a nutshell, and now is the time to weave Reiki into the picture.

Action isn’t just the effect of motivation; it’s also the cause of it. Most of us commit to action only if we feel a certain level of motivation. And we feel motivation only when we feel enough emotional inspiration. We assume that these steps occur in a sort of chain reaction, like this: Emotional inspiration → Motivation → Desirable action If you want to accomplish something but don’t feel motivated or inspired, then you assume you’re just screwed. There’s nothing you can do about it. It’s not until a major emotional life event occurs that you can generate enough motivation to actually get off the couch and do something. The thing about motivation is that it’s not only a three-part chain, but an endless loop: Inspiration → Motivation → Action → Inspiration → Motivation → Action → Etc. Your actions create further emotional reactions and inspirations and move on to motivate your future actions. Taking advantage of this knowledge, we can actually reorient our mindset in the following way: Action → Inspiration → Motivation If you lack the motivation to make an important change in your life, do something—anything, really—and then harness the reaction to that action as a way to begin motivating yourself. I call this the “do something” principle.

A Tidy and Organized Home… Makes you feel calm. You can relax and unwind in a tidy home. There is space to do things, and you know where everything is. When you walk into a hotel room, you immediately feel a sense of peace because the environment is tidy and organized. Makes you feel healthy. Dust and mold accumulate in messes. Are you always coughing and sneezing? Do you suffer from allergies? It’s probably because you are breathing in all the dirt in your home. Give your home a spring clean and your health issues will improve. Makes you feel in control. How does it feel when you know where everything is? Clutter prevents positive energy from flowing through your home. Remember, energy attaches itself to objects, and negative energy is attracted to mess, which creates exhaustion, stagnation, and exasperation. What does it feel like when negative energy is stuck in your body? You want to lie in bed and shut the world away because everything becomes more difficult and you can’t explain why. Here is how decluttering your house will unlock blocked streams of positive energy: You will become more vibrant. Once you create harmony and order in your home, you will feel more radiant and present. Like acupuncture, which removes imbalances and blockages from the body to create more wellness and dynamism, clearing clutter removes imbalances and blockages from your personal space. When you venture through spaces that have been set ablaze with fresh energy, you are captured by inspiration, and the most attractive parts of your personality come to life. You will get rid of bad habits and introduce good ones. All bad habits have triggers. Do you lie on your bed to watch TV instead of sitting on the couch because you can’t be bothered to fold the laundry that has piled up over the past six months? Or because the bed represents sleep, and when you come home from work and get into bed, you are going to fall asleep instead of doing those important tasks on your to-do list. Once you tidy the couch, coming home from work will allow you to sit on it to watch your favorite TV program but get up once it’s finished and do what you need to do. You will improve your problem-solving skills. When your home has been opened up with a clear space, it’s easier to focus, which provides you with a fresh perspective on your problems. You will sleep better. Are you always tired no matter how much sleep you get? That’s because negative energy is stuck under your bed amongst all that junk you’ve stuffed under there. Once you tidy up your bedroom, you will find that positive energy can flow freely around your room making it easier for you to have a deep and restful sleep. You will have more time. Mess delays you. An untidy house means you are always losing things. You can’t find a shoe, a sock, or your keys, so you waste time searching for them, which makes you late for work or social gatherings. When you declutter your home, you could save about an hour a day because you will no longer need to dig through a stack of items to find things. Your intuition will be stronger. A clear space creates a sense of certainty and clarity. You know where everything is, so you have peace of mind. When you have peace of mind, you can focus on being in the present moment. When you need to make important decisions, you will find it easier to do so. It might take some time to give your home a deep clean, but you won’t be sorry for it once it’s done. Chapter 5: How To Become an Assertive Empath The word assertive means “having or showing a confident and forceful personality.

grassroots politics—the world of meetings, rallies, protests, and get-out-the-vote operations—are among the most important coordinated activities that a desynchronized population finds it difficult to get around to doing. The result is a vacuum of collective action, which gets filled by autocratic leaders, who thrive on the mass support of people who are otherwise disconnected—alienated from one another, stuck at home on the couch, a captive audience for televised propaganda.

follow. In the course of applying Mr. Packwood’s advice, I learned a powerful lesson about motivation. It took about eight years for this lesson to sink in, but what I discovered, over those long, grueling months of bombed product launches, laughable advice columns, uncomfortable nights on friends’ couches, overdrawn bank accounts, and hundreds of thousands of words written (most of them unread), was perhaps the most important thing I’ve ever learned in my life: Action

To see you in love is far more powerful than any other lesson. A picture is worth a thousand words. It’s important that your sons see your physical affection, to see you kiss, cuddle on the couch, hold hands in public. Oh, sure—they’ll say they’re “grossed out,” tell you to “get a room.” But they are watching and learning.

It wouldn’t be fair to say that my father had pushed me to become a doctor because he didn’t—at least not overtly. I had wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps from the very beginning. But ever since I was a child, he had very carefully nudged me in the specific direction of heart surgery by basically discounting every other profession in the world. He would say, “Son, what’s more important than keeping people’s hearts beating?” I thought I was so clever that once I had said, “What good is a beating heart without a functioning brain?” He had, of course, very quickly replied, “It’s as good as any beating heart. The important thing to note is that you can keep even a nonfunctioning brain alive as long as you have a beating heart. Doesn’t work the other way around, does it?” There had been about five minutes in my junior year of undergrad, when I had come home after reading about the use of power tools in orthopedic surgery, during which I had said to my father, “I think orthopedics is going to be my thing, Dad.” The next day he had brought home a trunk full of items from Home Depot and one extra-large cow femur bone. He then ran the cow bone over with his car in the driveway until it splintered, cracked, and broke in several places, and then he gave me a bag of tiny screws and bolts and a cordless drill. “Have at it, kid.” I had spent sixteen hours straight in the garage without so much as a drink of water. By the time I had finished, I was exhausted and thoroughly spent but proud of the fully assembled cow bone, which I paraded through the house. My mother was mortified and told my father he had created a monster. He just laughed from the couch, hollering back to me, “Looks pretty, but will it support sixteen hundred pounds?

Attend to the Mission Statement One of the most important dimensions of this anthropological work is researching the culturally approved language of the institution. A junior member of an organization who wishes to persuade those in power of the merits of a new and potentially threatening initiative would be well advised to couch his or her proposal in the language that is spoken and approved by those in power.

But whether or not you accept the premise that the average media consumer experiences more serendipitous discoveries thanks to the Web, there can be little doubt that the Web is an unrivaled medium for serendipity if you are actively seeking it out. If you want to build a daily reading list of eclectic and diverse perspectives, you can stitch one together in your RSS reader or your bookmarks bar in a matter of minutes, for no cost, while sitting on your couch. Just as important, you can use the Web to fill out the context when you do stumble across some interesting new topic.

They had become experts in their unique choreography: Jacques D’Amours handled leases and distribution, Richard Fortin examined the financial records and debts, Réal Plourde analyzed human resources and the operational structure, and Alain Bouchard looked at real estate and the global business plan. Each team member was important, each had his own strengths. It was a given that no decision of that scale could be taken unless they all agreed.

you; the most important thing is to be disciplined in completing each cycle. ▪ Start your work session with a ritual you enjoy and end it with a reward. ▪ Train your mind to return to the present when you find yourself getting distracted. Practice mindfulness or another form of meditation, go for a walk or a swim—whatever will help you get centered again. ▪ Work in a space where you will not be distracted. If you can’t do this at home, go to a library, a café, or, if your task involves playing the saxophone, a music studio. If you find that your surroundings continue to distract you, keep looking until you find the right place. ▪ Divide each activity into groups of related tasks, and assign each group its own place and time. For example, if you’re writing a magazine article, you could do research and take notes at home in the morning, write in the library in the afternoon, and edit on the couch at night. ▪ Bundle routine tasks—such as sending out invoices, making phone calls, and so on—and do them all at once.

Vous voyez, déjà à l'époque, je savais. Il n'y avait pas de truc. Ce n'était pas un tour. Parfois le jour et la nuit s'inversent. Parfois ce qui doit se lever se couche et vice versa. L'amour se transforme en haine, les choses sur lesquelles vous vous appuyez se dérobent sous vos pieds et vous vous retrouvez à pédaler dans le vide. Parfois, les gens cessent de vous aimer. Ce genre de nuit-là ne disparaît pas, peu importe le nombre de lunes qui se lèvent à nouveau et emplissent le ciel d'un vague ersatz de lumière.

Previously, leaving the couch and walking up to the television to change the channel might cost more effort than merely enduring the awful advertisement and associated anxiety. But with a remote in hand, the viewer can click a button and move away effortlessly. Add cable television and the ability to change channels without returning the set (not to mention hundreds of channels to watch instead of just three), and the audience's orientation to the program has utterly changed. The child armed with the remote control is no longer watching a television program, but watching television—moving away from anxiety states and into more pleasurable ones. Take note of yourself as you operate a remote control. You don't click the channel button because you are bored, but because you are mad: Someone you don't trust is attempting to make you anxious. You understand that it is an advertiser trying to make you feel bad about your hair (or lack of it), your relationship, or your current SSRI medication, and you click away in anger. Or you simply refuse to be dragged still further into a comedy or drama when the protagonist makes just too many poor decisions. Your tolerance for his complications goes down as your ability to escape becomes increasingly easy. And so today's television viewer moves from show to show, capturing important moments on the fly. Surf away from the science fiction show's long commercial break to catch the end of a basketball game's second quarter, make it over to the first important murder on the cop show, and then back to the science fiction show before the aliens show up.

I grabbed Sylvie’s hand and raced downstairs, passing Tom on the couch. His blank eyes were bathed in the soft glow of his smartphone. He quickly knotted his forehead in a feigned look of earnest importance, as if he was attending to some pressing work matter. But I knew exactly what he was doing. He was playing SocialChess with some guy in the Philippines. I was just playing for a minute, he tells me later. During our fight.

Coincidentally, the psychoanalyst had explained to me through metaphor that to have anxiety is like having a snake somewhere in the room, but you don't know where that snake is. Is it under the couch? In the cupboard? hiding in a hole in the wall? Coiled up in your boot? If you knew, you could do something productive about it, like walk away, kill it, or befriend it and call it Barry - if you're into that kind of thing. But because you don't know where it is, or even if it's there at the release that follows after you've fought or fled. That nervous energy gets trapped in the body as unresolved tension. Anxiety. And so, to find the snake in the room is better than not, because then you run, kill it, or befriend it and call it Barry. That's why it's so important to face fears: to exorcize anxiety.