Fixer Quotes

Where to look if you've lost your mind?

People who are hurting don't need Avoiders, Protectors, or Fixers. What we need are patient, loving witness. People to sit quietly and hold space for us. People to stand in helpful vigil to our pain.

Rien n’est plus trompeur qu’une photo : on croit fixer un moment heureux pour l’éternité alors qu’on ne crée que de la nostalgie

I have a passing fondness for explosions." That was concerning on so many levels.

Many times when we help we do not really serve. . . . Serving is also different from fixing. One of the pioneers of the Human Potential Movement, Abraham Maslow, said, "If all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.' Seeing yourself as a fixer may cause you to see brokenness everywhere, to sit in judgment of life itself. When we fix others, we may not see their hidden wholeness or trust the integrity of the life in them. Fixers trust their own expertise. When we serve, we see the unborn wholeness in others; we collaborate with it and strengthen it. Others may then be able to see their wholeness for themselves for the first time.

Rien n'est plus trompeur qu'une photo : On croit fixer un moment heureux pour l'éternité alors qu'on ne crée que de la nostalgie. On appuie sur le déclencheur, et hop, une seconde plus tard, l'instant à disparu.

I fix what's broken - except in the heart.

...because "Mommy" is forever. It's such a powerful name. Mommy means "I trust you." Mommy means "you will protect me." Mommy is for shouting when you need someone dependable and for laughing with when you are excited. Mommy is for crying on and cuddling with when you are sad, or giggling and hiding behind when you are embarrassed. Mommy is the fixer of boo-boos and the mender of broken hearts. Mommy is a comfort place - a safe place. Mommy means "you are mine and I am yours and we are family.

It's your favorite person." "No. You're not." "I won't embarrass you by proving I am.

All you have to do is take a man at face value. Don't go into it thinking you can change them. Men aren't fixer-uppers, not like a house or a car. You buy them as is.

The North American Church is at a critical juncture. The gospel of grace is being confused and compromised by silence, seduction, and outright subversion. The vitality of the faith is being jeopardized. The lying slogans of the fixers who carry religion like a sword of judgment pile up with impunity. Let ragamuffins everywhere gather as a confessing Church to cry out in protest. Revoke the licenses of religious leaders who falsify the idea of God. Sentence them to three years in solitude with the Bible as their only companion.

I’d tell you that you can’t stay mad forever,” Ivy commented, “but I’m pretty sure you’d take that as a challenge.

Mr. Collins shook his head. “Stay off the roof,” he ordered. Then he paused. “Stay off all the roofs.” The fact that he felt he had to make that clarification told me a great deal about Asher Rhodes.

I was an empty shell. Like a vacant house―condemned―for months I'd been utterly uninhabitable. Now I was a little improved. The front room was in better repair. But that was all―just the one small piece. He deserved better than that―better than a one-room, falling-down fixer-upper. No amount of investment on his part could put me back in working order.

There are no wrong books. What's wrong is the fear of them.

Some people just need to be flying tackled.

We are a nation not only of dreamers, but also of fixers. We have looked at our land and people, and said, time and time again, "This is not good enough; we can be better.

Asher smiled beatifically, as if he’d been waiting his whole life for someone to ask just that question. “How would you feel about some Mentos and Diet Coke?

There’s no life-work balance. Okay? Get it? It’s all life. You get the same twenty-four hours as the next girl. Fill yours with what you love.

I could see, already, how this was going to end. "You'll have checkmate in three moves... Luckily for me," I told him, my fingers closing around my own queen, "I'll have checkmate in two.

Walking in heels while wearing a ball gown was, as it turned out, more difficult than finagling an invitation to a state dinner.

As your perspective of the world increases not only is the pain it inflicts on you less but also its meaning. Understanding the world requires you to take a certain distance from it. Things that are too small to see with the naked eye, such as molecules and atoms, we magnify. Things that are too large, such as cloud formations, river deltas, constellations, we reduce. At length we bring it within the scope of our senses and we stabilize it with fixer. When it has been fixed we call it knowledge. Throughout our childhood and teenage years, we strive to attain the correct distance to objects and phenomena. We read, we learn, we experience, we make adjustments. Then one day we reach the point where all the necessary distances have been set, all the necessary systems have been put in place. That is when time begins to pick up speed. It no longer meets any obstacles, everything is set, time races through our lives, the days pass by in a flash and before we know that is happening we are forty, fifty, sixty... Meaning requires content, content requires time, time requires resistance. Knowledge is distance, knowledge is stasis and the enemy of meaning. My picture of my father on that evening in 1976 is, in other words, twofold: on the one hand I see him as I saw him at that time, through the eyes of an eight-year-old: unpredictable and frightening; on the other hand, I see him as a peer through whose life time is blowing and unremittingly sweeping large chunks of meaning along with it.

So what is it in a human life that creates bravery, kindness, wisdom, and resilience? What if it's pain? What if it's the struggle?... The bravest people I know are those who've walked through the fire and come out on the other side. They are those who've overcome, not those who've had nothing to overcome. .. (P)eople who are hurting don't need Avoiders, Protectors, or Fixers. What we need are patient, loving witnesses. People to sit quietly and hold space for us. People to stand in helpless vigil to our pain.

I'd tell you that was pretty much impossible," Asher replied, "but your Tess Kendrick. My spider senses tell me that impossible is kind of your thing.

We're all liars sometimes.

What are we doing?" Asher helped himself to a seat at my table. "We aren't doing anything," I told him bluntly. "My mistake. I thought we were brooding in Henry's general direction. Like so." He adopted stormy countenance, then gestured to me. "Yours is better." "Go away, Asher." "You say go away, I hear be my bosom buddy." He gave an elaborate shrug. "Seriously, though: friendship bracelets—yea or nay?

You were only there to be a healer. A fixer. To prepare them for the next love. Not yours.

When it comes to social justice, the role of the white ally is not to be a savior or a fixer. Instead, the role of the ally is to find other white people and talk to make them see that many of the benefits they’ve enjoyed in life are direct results of the fact that someone else did not have the same benefits.

Examine this statement: ‘A woman cannot be a poet.’ Dr Samuel Johnson (Englishman 1709-84 Occupation: Language Fixer and Big Mouth.) What then shall I give up? My poetry or my womanhood?

You need to live in a dome initially, but over time you could terraform Mars to look like Earth and eventually walk around outside without anything on... So it's a fixer-upper of a planet.

Henry had a rare gift for sounding reasonable no matter what he was saying.

I'm very harsh on real estate agents. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because of how the call every small house 'charming' and every run-down house a 'great fixer-upper'. Just once, I'd like them to show me a house and declare, 'This one's a piece of crap'.

I think brains might be machines that turn information into feelings and feelings back into decisions and I've discovered that my machine has been put together in a strange way and it translates life in a strange way but I have no way to fix this—I'm not a brain-machine fixer, I'm just a haver of a brain, like anyone, and none of us know how to fix ourselves, at least not entirely, not well enough

Et tu, Henry?” Asher held a hand to his chest. Henry didn’t bat an eye. He was clearly used to the dramatics.

Another [change] affects Chip and Joanna Gaines. This couple, who had reached unfathomable heights of popularity with their ‘Fixer Upper’ TV program in the 21st century, are instead homeless and living in a large cardboard box behind the Waco, Texas, bus station.” “That’s harsh,” said Eddie. “What did they do to deserve that?” “Nothing. It’s just one of those undesirable consequences that we could not avoid. It was either that or lose Australia.

Would you say you have a "philosophy" Of your own? If so what is it?' 'If I have it's all skin and bones...If I have any philosophy...it's that life could be better than it is.

You could not pity anything if you weren't a man; pity was a surprise to God. It was not his invention.

Over the next hour and a half, I came to the conclusion that Emilia Rhodes was either the devil incarnate or the second coming of Coco Chanel.

Emilia stared at me for three or four more seconds, then gave up on pumping me for information. “We should go,” she decided with the force of a monarch declaring law. “I have Latin first period. The Aeneid waits for no man.

You’re a fixer, Grant mused. You’re also a colossal pain in the ass. The thing is, it’s the pains in the ass that change the world.

Tess,” I said. For a moment, Emilia and I studied each other. She was tall, with strawberry-blond hair and eyes that walked the line between green and blue. She wore almost no makeup, except for a light gloss on her lips. “So you’re Ivy Kendrick’s sister,” she said finally. “I thought you’d be taller.” “I’ll get right to work on that.” Emilia cracked a very small smile.

Asher waved away my words, unconcerned. “If Emilia was predisposed to fratricide, I wouldn’t have made it past kindergarten,” he said. “I am, however, somewhat concerned that she might kill you.

We're persecuted in the most civilized languages.

Tell her," I said, "that I am my mother's daughter.

There are a lot of ways to castrate a bull," I said, my words deliberate and slow. "You can band the balls off, so they shrivel up and die. Or you can take a knife, and slide it just so." I demonstrated with my free hand. "I grew up on a ranch. I know a lot about castrating bulls.

[Adult children of a BPD parent] may seem old before their time or like an old soul (and probably were that way as children too.) They may easily assume the role of fixer and nurturer. They're the ones friends lean on, the ones to whom people tell their problems. Helping others gives them a sense of purpose and worth.

Charity you can give even when you haven't got.

You aren’t the enemy,” Henry said, dropping his arm to his side once more and taking a step back. “That doesn’t mean our goals are aligned.

I don’t want to be alone,” I whispered. The second those words left my mouth, Vivvie flew across the room. She hugged me like hugging was a contact sport.

Is that your professional take on the situation?” I kept my voice dry and caustic. This wasn’t worth yelling over. It wasn’t even worth a heated whisper.

No. I couldn’t do this, couldn’t go down that rabbit hole. Ivy’s going to be fine. I’ll hate her forever if something happens to her. She’s going to be fine.

Adam’s blue eyes flicked briefly over to mine as he directed me to turn onto a major street. Once he was satisfied that I could, in fact, turn without causing my car—or any car in the near vicinity—to explode, he allowed himself to actually converse. “You don’t trust people?” “Not to hit my car, or not to screw up my life?” “Either.” That seemed like more of an answer than a question, so I didn’t reply.

I lie to her. Because this world is not safe. The people who are supposed to protect us, the people we are supposed to trust -- I know that sometimes they are the ones who do the most harm.

Who invented my life?

In a sick country every step to health is an insult to those who live on its sickness.

Never agree to marry a man because he has potential. Men are not houses, they do not make good fixer-uppers.

What do you want me to do, Adam?” my sister asked finally, her voice soft enough now that I had to strain to hear. “Things were bad in Montana. I’m not sending her back, and I am not shipping her off to some boarding school. And don’t give me that look—you were the one who told me to bring her here three years ago!

Darn you and your infernal logic.” Asher ran both hands through his hair, mussing it to ridiculous heights. “Fine,” he capitulated. “But I want in. Whatever you’re planning to do about this, whatever Vivvie’s doing, I want in.

A bunch of different people appear, and they’ve got their own situations and reasons and excuses, and each one is pursuing his or her own brand of justice or happiness. As a result, nobody can do anything. Obviously. I mean, it’s basically impossible for everybody’s justice to prevail or everybody’s happiness to triumph, so chaos takes over. And then what do you think happens? Simple – a god appears in the end and starts directing traffic. “You go over there, and you come here, and you get together with her, and you just sit still for a while.” Like that. He’s kind of a fixer, and in the end everything works out perfectly. They call this ‘deus ex machina.

Tommy was . . . exciting.” It took her a moment to decide on the word. “He was motion and emotion. He never stopped moving, never stopped feeling. He was stubborn and loyal and never once thought about the consequences of anything he did.

people who are hurting don’t need Avoiders, Protectors, or Fixers. What we need are patient, loving witnesses. People to sit quietly and hold space for us. People to stand in helpless vigil to our pain.

I am somewhat of a meliorist. That is to say, I act as an optimist because I find I cannot act at all, as a pessimist. One often feels helpless in the face of the confusion of these times, such a mass of apparently uncontrollable events and experiences to live through, attempt to understand, and if at all possible, give order to; but one must not withdraw from the task if he has some small things to offer - he does so at the risk of diminishing his humanity.

Information is power. You can never know ahead of time which pieces will be worth the most.

Rien n'est plus trompeur qu'une photo. On croit fixer un moment heureux pour l' éternité alors qu'on ne crée que de la nostalgie. On appuie sur le déclencheur, et hop, une seconde plus tard, l'instant à disparu.

Oh God, Tessie... That is my daughter... And the next person who tries to get between my and my daughter is going to rue their existence on this earth... Every secret you've been keeping will find its way out. Every decision you make will be questioned. You will be audited, investigated, and transferred to the most hellish nightmare of a desk job I can find. Now, get out of my way. - Ivy

Bodie’s phone rang. Ivy. I knew it was her, the way you know the protagonist of a horror movie really shouldn’t go down into that basement. Bodie took the call, then nodded at me to go back inside.

will you please explain how you can cry for a dead dog yet belong to a society of fanatics that urges death on human beings who happen to be Jews? Explain to me the logic of it.

So sleep now, without fear for your life, and if you should ever manage to get out of prison, keep in mind that the purpose of freedom is to create it for others.

In my dreams I ate and I ate my dreams.

Ms. Kendrick, are you listening to me?” Headmaster Raleigh asked. Not in the least. “Yes, sir.” The sir seemed to appease him somewhat.

Some people do horrible things because of their beliefs, and some people choose beliefs that let them do horrible things.

Wait," I say. "Aren't soulmates supposed to be perfect? What if you find yours and shes not a virgin, not even a girl? What if he's a fixer upper? What if he has an STD?

I don’t need your permission to search your locker.” The headmaster’s tone drew my attention back in his direction. This, I inferred from the rise in volume, was supposed to be the voice of authority. If you didn’t need my permission, I thought, then why did you ask for it?

By the time I'm done," I said, "that picture will win you this election." ... There was a long moment of silence, and then Emilia tossed her ponytail over her shoulders. "There's no way you're that good." I smiled. "Try me.

I mean, technically, he wasn’t fired,” Emilia clarified. “He was reassigned. But precision of language has never been the gossip mill’s forte, and I guess anything’s a pretty big step down after the White House.

A meshummed gives up one God for another. I don't want either. We live in a world where the clock ticks fast while he's on his timeless mountain staring in space. He doesn't see us and he doesn't care. Today I want my piece of bread, not in Paradise.

You’re only looking at the obstacles. You gotta start looking at solutions.

I take it Asher called you?” “What’s your endgame here, Henry? Why are you going?

I told Vivvie what the person who’d answered had said, verbatim.

Emilia hooked her arm through mine, like we were the best of friends. “You solve problems,” she said again. “I have a problem. Ergo . . .

Now was a clusterfuck, the fuckiest clusterfuck in the history of clusterfuckery.

She had my smile, I thought, forcing myself to stare masochistically at the curve of her lips. On the heels of that crippling thought came a second one. Ivy knew Adam when she was young.

Ivy gave the woman’s hand a firm squeeze before letting it go. “What do you need?” she asked. “We’re holding up.” That, too, sounded like a rote reply, recited over and over again in hopes that it might somehow become the truth.

Girlfriend number seventeen," Asher replied. "Before Sophie and after Sarah." "You'd had seventeen girlfriends by the time you were fourteen?" I asked. "The ladies, he replied with a shrug. They love me. It's because I'm so charming." "You're balancing on one leg on the roof of a chapel. You're not charming. You're an idiot.

Where is that incredible promise I hear my colleagues chatting about in the teachers’ lounge?” Mr. Simpson asked Ryan facetiously. “You have a lot of fans at this school, Mr. Washburn. Surely they can’t all be mistaken about your intellectual capacity. Perhaps the emancipation of every enslaved human being in this country is simply not significant enough to merit a student of your remarkable caliber taking note of the date?

I was comfortable with silence, comfortable with letting questions go unanswered. Sometimes it was my best tool for making a person say more.

The two of us rode in companionable silence until the car pulled into Ivy’s drive. Bodie cut the engine, and I reached for the door handle.

I looked down at my hands, unable to meet her eyes. My wrists were still angry and red. The raw skin looked how I felt.

It occurred to me then to wonder how much Vivvie knew. Telling her—about Ivy, about Kostas, about what had happened to me—seemed insurmountable.

You owe me a favor. - Emilia

There are no wrong books. What’s wrong is the fear of them.” Shmuel

Nothing a gay man and his abiding love of Sephora can’t fix.

You have to decide how much you’re willing to sacrifice and how much effort you’re willing to put into something. And those two things usually add up to the reward you get.

Some people can't be fixed, or if they can, it's only by love so big it destroys the fixer.

How are you finding vampiredom?” “If it were a house,” I answered after some serious consideration, “I’d call it a fixer-upper.

Chocolate Cherry Fixer-Uppers

I’m not used to not being needed. I’ve always been the fixer. Who I am without that role? I don’t know.

It wasn't fair to pull her into that vortex, because I couldn't be fixed. And Roxy was a fixer. She thought she could help me, I could see it in her eyes.

The eagle has landed," Vivvie said from the other end. "The bird is in the bush." Few things in life gave Vivvie and Asher as much joy as talking in code. I didn't bother translating.

There’s something cursed, it seems to me, about a country where men have owned men as property. The stink of that corruption never escapes the soul, and it is the stink of future evil.

Asking for a friend," Asher clarified. Then he nudged his best friend. "Henry, my good man, tell Tess she's pretty as a picture when she's preparing to unleash her wrath on the delightfully unsuspecting father of one of our classmates." "Kendrick?" Henry Marquette said. "Yes?" I replied without taking my eyes away from the street. "You are utterly terrifying when you are plotting something.

Tallyho, friends of Asher!” Asher had impeccable timing. He waltzed into the room and hopped up on the computer table, his legs dangling down, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like the tension in the room wasn’t thick enough that you could have cut it with a knife. “Am I interrupting something?” he asked blithely. Just Henry telling me he thinks my sister might be working to cover up his grandfather’s murder. Henry must have read something in my expression, because a hint of remorse flashed across his features.

When the maker's (or fixer's) activity is immediately situated within a community of use, it can be enlivened by this kind of direct perception. Then the social character of his work isn't separate from its internal or "engineering" standards; the work is improved through relationships with others. It may even be the case that what those standards are, what perfection consists of, is something that comes to light only through these iterated exchanges with others who use the product, as well as other craftsmen in the same trade. Through work that had this social character, some shared conception of the good is lit up, and becomes concrete.

Patriotism—active, constructive patriotism—takes work. It takes knowledge, engagement with those who are different from you, and fairness in law and opportunity. It takes coming together for good causes. This is one of the things I cherish most about the United States: We are a nation not only of dreamers, but also of fixers. We have looked at our land and people, and said, time and time again, “This is not good enough; we can be better.

Is this the part where you suggest a highly inadvisable way of putting people in the mood to talk, in hopes that someone can shed light on who the"--Henry glanced at Vivvie--"hedgehog might be?" "It's funny," I told Henry... "but the moment you said inadvisable, I had a thought." ... "The hedgehog?" Emilia asked, wrinkling her brow.

I understand you’ve been spending some time in the company of my son.” Adam’s father had a disconcerting stare. His eyes were hazel, close in color to my own, but there was an uncanny awareness in them—like he knew what you’d had for breakfast that morning and how you would sleep that night.

Gannon came from loud, passionate Italian stock that wasn’t afraid to smash a plate to make a statement. Paige, on the other hand, systematically choked down any temper and, with frosty efficiency, made him dance like a fucking puppet.

You look like someone who's about to do something highly inadvisable. And God knows, if there's something inadvisable going on, I want in.

Since I can’t be a professional on account of lack of education I wouldn’t mind being wealthy.

They say God appeared in history and used it for his purposes, but if that was so he had no pity for men.

could practically hear Henry’s subtle, pointed smile in response to those words. “Then you don’t need to worry about me,” he said. “Do you?

Making my way out of the bedroom, I found the loft empty, a visceral reminder that it had always been my sister’s choice not to know me.

This wasn’t instinct,” the man—Adam—countered. “This was guilt, Ivy.” “I’m not debating this with you.” “Evidence would suggest you are.

Keep in mind, Yakov Shepsovitch, that if your life is without value, so is mine. If the law does not protect you, it will not, in the end, protect me. Therefore I dare not fail you, and that is what causes me anxiety—that I must not fail you.

Let’s call it a school project on the Pierce piece.” I bared my teeth in something vaguely resembling a smile. “You cited an anonymous source, saying that the decision was all but made. I’m wondering what made you think this information was legit.

Being loved and admired by a man like that—and she knew that this man, this mechanic, this fixer of machines with their broken hearts, did indeed love and admire her—was like walking in the sunshine; it gave the same feeling of warmth and pleasure to bask in the love of one who has promised it, publicly at a wedding ceremony, and who is constant in his promise that such love will be given for the rest of his days. What more could any woman ask? None of us, she thought, not one single one of us, could ask for anything more than that.

Across from me, Ivy began applying clotted cream to her scone. “What do you want, Tess?” “Not tea and crumpets,” I muttered. “That’s for damn sure.” An older lady at the table next to us shot me a dirty look. I stared down at the lace tablecloth. “I didn’t ask you what you don’t want,” Ivy informed me. “I asked what you do want. Don’t think of this as a heart-to-heart. Think of it as a negotiation. I want you to give this arrangement a chance.” Ivy’s voice never changed—not in volume, not in tone. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll see what I can do.

But the point of working hard isn’t really getting people to notice how hard you work. It’s about giving it your all and being able to walk away with no regrets. Doing a good job shouldn’t be so someone else tells you that you did good. It should be about you feeling good about your effort.

As I exited the car, I glanced over at Henry. "Should I call Asher and tell him we won't be needing that getaway distraction?" Before Henry could reply, pop music reverberated off the building. Asher jogged into the middle of a large crowd and struck a dramatic pose. "You say distraction," Henry deadpanned, "Asher hears 'flash mob'." Five seconds later, Vivvie danced wildly past and gave me a questioning look. I nodded. "The possum has fallen on the nun!" Vivvie called to Asher. Asher didn't miss a beat of choreography. He shimmied and punched a fist into the air. "Long live the possum!

Ivy met me at the bottom of the steps. Her light brown hair was loosely coiffed at the nape of her neck. She wore a formfitting blazer as comfortably as most people wore sweatshirts. Even her jeans looked expensive. If she saw through my innocent act, she didn’t call me on it. “Good,” she said. “You’re up.

It was so wrong to encourage Jacob. Pure selfishness. It didn't matter that I'd tried to make my position clear. If he felt any hope at all that this could turn into something other than friendship, then I hadn't been clear enough. How could I explain so that he would understand? I was an empty shell. Like a vacant house—condemned—for months I'd been utterly uninhabitable. Now I was a little improved. The front room was in better repair. But that was all—just the one small piece. He deserved better than that—better than a one-room, falling-down fixer-upper. No amount of investment on his part could put me back in working order.

Tears rolled down his cheeks, the sadness in his eyes shattered my heart into a million little pieces. We had both lost so much and yet found our way to one another. I could only hope that I could heal him as much as he was healing me."- Brooke

As far as I could tell, my history teacher had three passions in life: quoting Shakespeare, identifying historical inaccuracies in cable TV shows, and berating Ryan Washburn. “Eighteen sixty-three, Mr. Washburn. Is that so hard to remember? Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation in eighteen sixty-three.” Ryan was a big guy: a little on the quiet side, a little shy. I had no idea what it was about him that had convinced Mr. Simpson he needed to be taken down a notch—or seven. But more and more, this was how history class went: Simpson called on Ryan, repeatedly, until he made a mistake. And then it began.

I love you, Catalina King. I didn’t mean to, and I’m not sure how it happened. But I’d be a fool if I just let you walk away.

I won't say I told you so. But let's just take a moment of silence to think about the fact that I was right.

Princess, when I’m undressing you, you’ll know it.

noodles.

Ik kan natuurlijk wel zeggen dat je niet altijd boos op me kunt blijven, maar jou kennende zou je dat als een uitdaging zien. - Ivy

For the love of God, woman, please put on a bra,” Gannon begged. “If I know you’re braless under there all day, they’re going to have to pixelate my crotch in post-production

I stood there, staring at Ivy, a hundred thousand thoughts and memories and moments rushing through my head. And then I got on the plane. And then I shattered.

Some people weren’t worth the breath it took to shoot them down.

Some people live easily with mediocrity, with settling for something that isn’t exactly right.” She tossed a small rock hand to hand. “But you and I, we aren’t those people.

Doing a good job shouldn’t be so someone else tells you that you did good. It should be about you feeling good about your effort.

Rudy Giuliani, William Barr, Jared Kushner, and Mike Pompeo are Trump’s new wannabe fixers, sycophants willing to distort the truth and break the law in the service of the Boss.

Mijn zus woont hier,' zei ik tegen hem. 'Lichtbruin haar, ongeveer zo groot? Zit binnen te praten met de First Lady, denk ik?

If you notice yourself viewing a potential partner as a "work in progress", that's a sign to find someone else.

Frawley the fixer followed in the Shelby Super Snake that had belonged to the late Painton Spader,

The truth is, you can’t build a skyscraper-sized vision on fixer-upper faith, and you won’t experience mansion-sized miracles with porta-potty principles.

I guess I always thought,” Ivy said softly, “that if I was strong enough, if I was formidable enough, if I was successful enough—I could be enough. For you. I thought that if I became this person who could take on the world, then I could take care of you.” She shook her head—at her past self, maybe, or to snap herself out of it. “When I came to Montana that summer, Tess, I thought I was ready. I really did. I was going to give you everything. But Gramps called me out, and he was right, Tessie. I wasn’t doing it for you. You were thriving. You were happy. And I . . .” The words got caught in her throat, but she forced them out. “I was your sister. I was never going to be strong enough or successful enough. There was never going to be a right time to tell you. You were happy. And you deserved to be happy.

Find a man who buys the half-dilapidated fixer-upper and not the guy who buys the brand new model. The guy who can see potential and is willing to roll up his sleeves and get to work and make it the best it can possible be, who will love discovering all the hidden gems hidden inside, all the history, all the layers, that's the kind of man you want to settle down with; not the guy who only sees the pretty, the perfect. Because one day, that pretty and perfect will need work. And he won't want to do that. He will just move on to the newer and prettier.

They may easily assume the role of fixer and nurturer. They’re the ones friends lean on, the ones to whom people tell their problems. Helping others gives them a sense of purpose and worth.

Mrs. Fixer We call her Mrs. Fixer because she fixes Everything for everybody. If you need a ride, you call her, Or a meal, or a telephone committee. She'll find you an apartment or a part-time job, Even a date if you're in the market. And all the time she only wants someone to love her But she's afraid to ask. So she fixes everything for everybody instead And you keep calling her when you need something And forget to tell her that you love her. So she'll probably die lonely And have a big funeral And everyone will tell about The way she fixed things all the time.

One of the strangest things about these five downhill years of the Nixon presidency is that despite all the savage excesses committed by the people he chose to run the country, no real opposition or realistic alternative to Richard Nixon’s cheap and mean-hearted view of the American Dream has ever developed. It is almost as if that sour 1968 election rang down the curtain on career politicians. This is the horror of American politics today - not that Richard Nixon and his fixers have been crippled, convicted, indicted, disgraced and even jailed - but that the only available alternatives are not much better; the same dim collection of burned-out hacks who have been fouling our air with their gibberish for the last tenty years. How long, oh Lord, how long? And how much longer will we have to wait before some high-powered shark with a fistful of answers will finally bring us face-to-face with the ugly question that is already so close to the surface in this country, that sooner or later even politicians will have to cope with it? Is this democracy worth all the risks and problems that necessarily go with it? Or, would we all be happier by admitting that the whole thing was a lark from the start and now that it hasn’t worked out, to hell with it.

What happens to you, happens to me. I'm a fixer, I like to make things better, take charge and get shit done. I have never felt so helpless in my life. It killed me that I couldn't do anything to make you better

Carson didn’t believe either man was what he presented himself to be. Frawley looked like a fixer, a slick operator who had friends in all the highest places and knew how to take care of any screwup they committed.

You’re quiet.” Bodie issued that statement with no small amount of suspicion. “I’m always quiet.” As Bodie pulled the car past the gates and out onto the street, he glanced at me just long enough to smirk. “And I’m always perceptive. This quiet is a different quiet.” My mind was awash in the day’s events. Georgia’s visit. Vivvie and the article on Pierce. The two names from Henry’s list. Adam’s father being the one who had arranged the get-together in that photograph. “I’m fluent in all varieties of Kendrick silences,” Bodie declared. “And you and your sister both stare very intently at absolutely nothing when the wheels are turning in here.” He lazily reached over and tapped the side of my head. I swatted his hand away. “I have a lot to think about.

Mm…hmm. I bet he’s helping you. Right into his bed and you’d be a fool not to test him out. Shit. From what you’ve told me, any woman would love to be in that man’s bed. I bet he’s got a nice cock and is a sweet lover too

Nous restâmes quelques instants à nous fixer avec la même hargne dans le regard. La pièce semblait onduler sous le poids du combat qui s’y était déroulé. L’espace qui nous séparait paraissait tantôt se comprimer, tantôt se dilater, jusqu’à ce que, finalement, il n’y ait plus entre nous que nos deux bouches qui s’emmêlaient dans un baiser furieux. Je le détestais pour tout ce qu’il venait de me dire, et je n’en avais que plus envie de lui.

It was so much easier to knock down than build up: a city raised over millennia could be razed in a day; the life of a man ended in a second’s crack. In years to come, Edmund and his children would know the names of planes and tanks and battles and invasions and recall with facility the atrocities of the age, the names of those who committed them. But would any of them be able to name a single repairer of the breach or fixer of broken walls?

It drives me batty to hear your generation going on and on and on about balance. There’s no life-work balance. Okay? Get it? It’s all life. You get the same twenty-four hours as the next girl. Fill yours with what you love.

Being born a Jew meant being vulnerable to history, including its worst errors. Accident and history had involved Yakov Bok as he had never dreamed he could be involved. The involvement was, in a way of speaking, impersonal, but the effect, his misery and suffering, were not. The suffering was personal, painful, and possibly endless.

Put it on HGTV—I think Fixer Upper is on.” “How many times can you watch Joanna Gaines say ‘French doors here’ and ‘Put a beam on it’ before it gets old?” Before I can answer Lucas with How dare you insult Jo, my phone rings.

What are your success metrics then?" I frowned at Tola, and she shrugged. "I dunno ... being comfortable in your skin, having loads of adventures, living with purpose, being happy, having good people in your life, taking risks?

Dus mijn zus is een professionele probleemoplosser?' vroeg ik afgemeten. 'Zij lost de problemen van andere mensen op? Dat is toch geen baan?' 'Vraag en aanbod, Tess,' zei Vivvie. 'In Washington noemen we dit soort mensen fixers.

Unemployed people will use any number of excuses including discrimination for reasons such as disability, race, sexual orientation, religion, sex or age, or maybe there’s a shortage of jobs in their area. Well if that’s the case then they can travel to wherever the work is and go into digs. I work in construction management and regularly work with steel erectors from Ireland or Newcastle, electricians from Cardiff, fixers from Sheffield or Birmingham, steel fixers from Romania, carpenters from Poland, canteen girls from Romania, scaffolders from Lithuania, and concrete gangs of Indians, and they all travel wherever the work is and they all live in digs. We all do. It’s the nature of our industry.

My thoughts shift to my friends. I'd been so angry with them for grabbing my pain from me in the wake of the News. But maybe my friends were loving me the best way they knew how, just like I was trying to love Amma. We think our job as humans is to avoid pain, our job as parents is to protect our children from pain, and our job as friends is to fix each other's pain. Maybe that's why we all feel like failures so often--because we all have the wrong job description for love. What my friends didn't know about me and I didn't know about Amma is that people who are hurting don't need Avoiders, Protectors, or Fixers. What we need are patient, loving witnesses. People to sit quietly and hold space for us. People to stand in helpless vigil to our pain. There on the floor, I promise myself that I'll be that kind of mother, that kind of friend. I'll show up and stand humble in the face of a loved one's pain. I'll admit I'm as empty-handed, dumbstruck, and out of ideas as she is. I won't try to make sense of things or require more than she can offer. I won't let my discomfort with her pain keep me from witnessing it for her. I'l never try to grab or fix her pain, because I know that for as long as it takes, he pain will also be her comfort. It will be all she has left. Grief is love's souvenir. It's our proof that we once loved. Grief is the receipt we wave in the air that says to the world: Look! Love was once mine. I loved well. Here is my proof that I paid the price. So I'll just show up and sit quietly and practice not being God with her. I'm so sorry, I'll say. Thank you for trusting me enough to invite me close. I see your pain and it's real. I'm so sorry.

I took a step forward. Henry caught my elbow. "No bloodshed," he said. "No blackmail. No obstruction of justice." "You drive a hard bargain," I told him. "What are your thoughts on extortion?" Without waiting for an answer, I headed for Bancroft's car. Henry and Asher followed on my heels. "The cat is dancing in the catnip," Asher reported back to Vivvie. "Grumpy lion is grumpy." "Did you just refer to me as a grumpy lion?" Henry asked Asher. "Absolutely not," Asher promised. Then he took the phone off speaker and lowered his voice. "Suspicious lion is suspicious," he stage whispered to Vivvie.

Who are you, Yakov, Moses himself? If you don’t hear His voice so let Him hear yours. ‘When prayers go up blessings descend.’” “Scorpions descend, hail, fire, sharp rocks, excrement. For that I don’t need God’s help, the Russians are enough.

You're my kid. She repeated the words. "Mine, Tess." I told myself that she meant that I was her responsibility now. "I'm not your sister." Those words were harder to misunderstand. "I was never your sister." I don't understand. I don't want to.

Kiev, you understand, is a medieval city full of wild superstition and mysticism. It has always been the heart of Russian reaction. The Black Hundreds, may they sink into their graves, have aroused against you the most ignorant and brutal of the masses. They are deathly afraid of Jews and at the same time frighten them to death. This reveals to you something about the human condition. Rich or poor, those of our brethren who can run out of here are running. Some who can’t are already mourning.

As your perspective of the world increases not only is the pain it inflicts on you less but also its meaning. Understanding the world requires you to take a certain distance from it. Things that are too small to see with the naked eye, such as molecules and atoms, we magnify. Things that are too large, such as cloud formations, river deltas, constellations, we reduce. At length we bring it within the scope of our senses and we stabilize it with fixer. When it has been fixed we call it knowledge.

We think our job as humans is to avoid pain, our job as parents is to protect our children from pain, and our job as friends is to fix each other’s pain. Maybe that’s why we all feel like failures so often—because we all have the wrong job description for love. What my friends didn’t know about me and I didn’t know about Amma is that people who are hurting don’t need Avoiders, Protectors, or Fixers. What we need are patient, loving witnesses. People to sit quietly and hold space for us. People to stand in helpless vigil to our pain.

What my friends didn’t know about me and I didn’t know about Amma is that people who are hurting don’t need Avoiders, Protectors, or Fixers. What we need are patient, loving witnesses. People to sit quietly and hold space for us. People to stand in helpless vigil to our pain.

Or me. As Asher pulled into Ivy’s driveway, I was reminded of the fact that I wasn’t as removed from the power players in this town as I felt. There was a limo parked in the drive. Asher eyed it. “Just another afternoon at Ivy Kendrick’s house?” The car had shaded windows, with glass that I deeply suspected was bulletproof. One of Ivy’s clients, I thought. With any luck, maybe she would be busy enough that she wouldn’t have time to cross-examine me about why I’d skipped school—or where I’d spent the afternoon. I unbuckled my seat belt and opened the car door.

For those willing to keep heaving themselves toward the light, things can change. What has been lost gradually becomes less important than what is to be found. Curiosity pokes its green head up through the asphalt of grief, and fear of the unknown takes on an element of wonder as the disillusioned turn away from the God who was supposed to be in order to seek the God who is. Every letdown becomes a lesson and a lure. Did God fail to come when I called? Then perhaps God is not a minion. So who is God? Did God fail to punish my adversary? Then perhaps God is not a policeman. So who is God? Did God fail to make everything turn out all right? Then perhaps God is not a fixer. So who is God? Over and over, my disappointments draw me deeper into the mystery of God’s being and doing. Every time God declines to meet my expectations, another of my idols is exposed.

Une philosophie transformée devrait casser cette prétention, ne plus faire croire à elle-même et aux autres qu'elle dispose de l'infini. Mais au lieu de cela c'est elle qui, subtilement comprise deviendrait infinie dans la mesure où elle dédaignerait de se fixer dans un corpus de théorèmes dénombrables.

Makeshift, adj. I had always thought there were two types of people: the helpless and the fixers. Since I`d always been in the first group, calling my landlord whenever the faucet dripped, I was hoping you`d be a fixer. But once we moved it together, I realized there is a third group: the inventors. You possessed only a vague notion of hot to fix things, but that doesn`t stop you from using bubble gum as a sealant, or trying to create ouchless mousetraps out of peanut-butter crackers, a hollowed-out Dustbuster, and a picture of a scarecrow torn out of a magazine fashion spread, Things rarely get fixed the way they need to be.

This is the horror of American politics today - not that Richard Nixon and his fixers have been crippled, convicted, indicted, disgraced and even jailed - but that the only available alternatives are not much better; the same dim collection of burned-out hacks who have been fouling our air with their gibberish for the last twenty years.

L'œil de l'esprit ne peut trouver nulle part plus d'éblouissements ni plus de ténèbres que dans l'homme ; il ne peut se fixer sur aucune chose qui soit plus redoutable, plus compliquée, plus mystérieuse et plus infinie. Il y a un spectacle plus grand que la mer, c'est le ciel ; il y a un spectacle plus grand que le ciel, c'est l'intérieur de l'âme.

I haven’t done laundry in a fucking week, and these jeans are going to disintegrate at any given moment. I didn’t fill your daughter’s head with glitz and glamour, you fucking asshole. I filled it with the rewards of hard work and what being a strong, independent fucking woman means. Now get the fuck out of my way before I really tell you what I think.

In you, Paige. I’m interested in you.

You forget how to have fun, and you’re forgetting how to live.

Nee, ik heb geweigerd omdat degene die de klacht heeft ingediend, mogelijk iets in mijn kluisje heeft gelegd. - Tess

Hoffelijkheid is niet seksistisch,' zei Asher. 'Als je nu beweert dat vrouwen voorrang moeten krijgen omdát ze vrouw zijn, dan is dat weldegelijk seksistisch,' antwoordde ik.

Mijn vermogen om het bange, weerloze meisje neer te zetten was nu wel verdwenen.

Asher is de aardige helft. Hij is degene die iedereen aardig vindt. Ik ben degene die dingen voor elkaar krijgt. - Emilia

Je bent mijn kind... Van mij, Tess... Ik ben je zus niet... Nooit je zus geweest. - Ivy

In mijn ervaring,' zei Asher bedachtzaam, 'betekent "dat ga ik echt niet voor jou doen, Asher" meestal "ik wacht op een beter aanbod".

Eén gunst. Ik bepaal waar en wanneer ik die gunst wil, en er wordt niet gevraagd waarom.' Emilia lachte haar allerliefste lach... 'Deal?' Tandenknarsend schudde ik haar hand... 'Deal.

Time. For some it was a great healer, the ultimate fixer of bad break-ups, shake-ups, and heartache… For others, Time was an insidious stealer of all things they want most in life, stripping it away from them by sneakily changing the rules of obtaining it… For all the joyful wishes and hopeful desires held near and dear to our hearts, Time was the one element most likely to keep it from our reach. To me, Time was all of these, and none. Time simply is. It’s the framework in which we play out the games of our lives, but the secret is not to control it. It is not to master it. It is simply to learn to exist fully within the moment, to be aware of every facet of our being, and to wring every ounce of joy from it. Perhaps we were our own thieves, lamenting the absence of even a spare moment to enjoy life, when all it really takes is to stop the complaints, take the moment firmly in hand, and make it our own. Because the secret is that Time passes, and if you let it, it will leave you in its wake, aching with every beat of your heart and in every fiber of your being for what you have missed.

Most of us think the word racism is synonymous with prejudice. But racism is more than just discrimination based on skin color. It's also about who has institutional power. Just as racism creates disadvantages for people of color that makes success harder to achieve, it also gives advantages to white people that makes success easier to achieve. It's hard to see those advantages, much less own up to them. And that, I realized, was why I had to write this book. When it comes to social justice, the role of the white ally is not to be a savior or a fixer. Instead, the role of the ally is to find other white people and talk to make them see that many of the benefits they have enjoyed in life are direct results of the fact that someone else did not have the same benefits.

Let’s fast forward a few years. Your daughter’s out on the town having a good time, and some guy gets a little handsy with her. What should she do?” “Break his fucking nose,” Noah said immediately.

I could see the stories that stretched for years into the future, much like the ones that stretched back years into the past. More bombs, more sudden death, more adrenaline. Never had I felt as alive as in Pakistan and Afghanistan, so close to chaos, so constantly reminded of how precious, temporary, and fragile life was. I had certainly grown here. I knew how to find money in a war zone, how to flatter a warlord, how to cover a suicide bombing, how to jump-start a car using a cord and a metal ladder, how to do the Taliban shuffle between conflict zones. I knew how to be alone. I knew I did not need a man, unless that man was my fixer. But also, I knew I had turned into this almost drowning caricature of a war hack, working, swearing, and drinking my way through life and relationships.

Heroic origin stories and polemical counterstories may give us momentary emotional satisfaction by inviting us to despise cartoonish renderings of our perceived rivals and enemies. The price we all pay, though, is tunnel vision, mutual recrimination, and stalemate. For the sake not just of the science but of all the suffering people whom the science should be serving, it is time for us all to learn and to tell better, more honest stories.

Giuliani was looking to make a lot of money quickly. In 2001, he had a net worth of $1 million; five years later, he would report $17 million in income and some $50 million in assets. For Purdue, which was working hard to frame OxyContin abuse as a law enforcement problem, rather than an issue that might implicate the drug itself or the way it was marketed, the former prosecutor who had led New York City after the 9/11 attacks would make an ideal fixer.

Zodra hij me zijn kant op zag komen, excuseerde hij zich bij de groep met wie hij stond te praten en verdween hij het jongenstoilet in. Waarschijnlijk dacht hij dat hij me daarmee had afgeschud. Blijkbaar kende hij me niet heel goed.

Neoliberalism is a driving force causing the climate crisis. This is because neoliberalism is a variant of classic liberalism, and classical liberalism builds from the idea that everyone should be granted maximum freedom to pursue their self-interest within capitalist market settings. But neoliberalism also diverges substantially from classical liberalism, and therefore also from the basic premises of orthodox economics that free markets, left to their own devices, will produce outcomes that are superior to government interventions. Here is the problem with neoliberalism, when counterposed against a purely free market model celebrated by economic orthodoxy. That is, what really occurs in practice under neoliberalism is that governments allow giant corporations to freely pursue profit opportunities to the maximum extent. But then government fixers arrive on the scene to bail out the corporations whenever their profits might be threatened. This amounts to socialism for capitalists, and harsh, free market capitalism for everyone else.

Nobody else in Special Operations knows about this, and I really don’t want Skirata to know, because … fine man though he might be, he does have an issue with Kaminoans. Any man who refers to them as tatsushi and actually boasts of recipes is probably best kept out of the loop. Dismissed.” Scorch chuckled approvingly as they clunked their way down the corridor toward the mess with Maze at their heels. “You think Skirata would really eat a Kaminoan?” Fixer managed a sentence, which was good going for him. “Only if he had hot sauce.

Once a month, rain or shine, I bought a delightful meal, drank something delicious, and read my book at a restaurant in London, one hundred percent alone, whether I was seeing someone or not. It was the one time I didn't have to pretend to be anyone else, didn't have to do anything for anyone. Didn't have to go on a date with someone, fizzing with hope, only to find they were third-five and hadn't dealt with their childhood traumas, didn't know how to ask a question and listen to the answer, and still weren't wearing matching socks.

He loves to stop on the corner and watch the ceramics fixer write numbers on the insides of the shards of a broken vase, drill tiny holes, brush the edges with egg white and secure them with wire, an act that gives him hope that anything shattered might, with enough skill and patience, be repaired. He loves the workshop of his music teacher, Oktay, on a narrow street deep in a Muslim quarter, the shop like a birdcage, hung with drying lengths of cane that Oktay fashions into neys, woodwind flutes whose sound—it was Rumi who said it—is not wind but fire.

She gazed at her husband. Being loved and admired by a man like that—and she knew that this man, this mechanic, this fixer of machines with their broken hearts, did indeed love and admire her—was like walking in the sunshine; it gave the same feeling of warmth and pleasure to bask in the love of one who has promised it, publicly at a wedding ceremony, and who is constant in his promise that such love will be given for the rest of his days. What more could any woman ask? None of us, she thought, not one single one of us, could ask for anything more than that.

the point of working hard isn’t really getting people to notice how hard you work. It’s about giving it your all and being able to walk away with no regrets. Doing a good job shouldn’t be so someone else tells you that you did good. It should be about you feeling good about your effort.

A bunch of different people appear, and they’ve all got their own situations and reasons and excuses, and each one is pursuing his or her own brand of justice or happiness. As a result, nobody can do anything. Obviously. I mean, it’s basically impossible for everybody’s justice to prevail or everybody’s happiness to triumph, so chaos takes over. And then what do you think happens? Simple—a god appears in the end and starts directing traffic. ‘You go over there, and you come here, and you get together with her, and you just sit still for a while.’ Like that. He’s kind of a fixer, and in the end everything works out perfectly. They call this ‘deus ex machina.

Sadece bir saptama ya da bu sessizliğe uzun süre katlanamayacağımızın ve bu büyük sessizliğin kısa bir zaman içinde bizleri deliye çevireceğinin idrak edilmesi Uzun süren sessizlikler bizi delirtiyor İlkin sessizlik içinde deliriyor sonra çıldırıyoruz Duyuyor musun seni incitmek istemedim Insanların uzun süre sessiz kaldıklarında delirdikleri daha uzun bir süre kaldıklarında da çıldırdıkları bir gerçektir.

As your prospective of the world increases, not only is the pain it inflicts on you less but also its meaning. Understanding the world requires you to take a certain distance from it. Things that are too small to see with the naked eye, such as molecules or atoms, we magnify. Things that are too large such as cloud formations, river deltas, cloud formations, constellations, we reduce. At length we bring within the scope of our senses and we stabilize it with fixer. When it has been fixed we call it knowledge. Throughout our childhood and teenage years, we strive to attain to objects and phenomena. We read, we learn, we experience, we make adjustments. Then one day we reach the point where all necessary distances have been set, all the necessary systems have been put in place. That is when time begins to pick up speed

Jesus, Hope—are you just richer than God?” Jack asked. “I have a couple bucks and nothing to do but buy and sell things. So, I’m going to sell the church.” She sipped her drink. Puffed on her cigarette. “But, Hope—you said no one wants it,” Jack pointed out. “Well, none of those religions want it. I’m going to sell it on eBay.” It was silent for a second, then Jack, Dan and Preacher burst into laughter. “Oh, go ahead and laugh,” she said. “You’ll see. Someone’s going to want a church. That’s a good church. Little roughed up at the moment, but it can be considered a fixer-upper.” Jack leaned on the bar. “Let me guess—you have some old pictures of that church, right? When it was beautiful, right? And you’re going to float out those pictures and snag some poor rube, like you did Mel.” “Mel hasn’t complained in years,” Hope said, puffing. “Mel?

Yakov,” said Shmuel, “He invented light. He created the world. He made us both. The true miracle is belief. I believe in Him. Job said, ‘Though he slay me, yet will I trust in Him.’ He said more but that’s enough.” “To win a lousy bet with the devil he killed off all the servants and innocent children of Job. For that alone I hate him, not to mention ten thousand pogroms. Ach, why do you make me talk fairy tales? Job is an invention and so is God.

I do not have to tell you there has been a disappointing retreat of progress in recent times, whatever it is we call progress, especially disappointing because of the little we have had since the Emancipation. There’s something cursed, it seems to me, about a country where men have owned men as property. The stink of that corruption never escapes the soul, and it is the stink of future evil. Still, the original decrees have not been withdrawn and are therefore the law.

Most of us think the word racism is synonymous with the word prejudice. But racism is more than just discrimination based on skin color. It’s also about who has institutional power. Just as racism creates disadvantages for people of color that make success harder to achieve, it also gives advantages to white people that make success easier to achieve. It’s hard to see those advantages, much less own up to them. And that, I realized, was why I had to write this book. When it comes to social justice, the role of the white ally is not to be a savior or a fixer. Instead, the role of the ally is to find other white people and talk to make them see that many of the benefits they’ve enjoyed in life are direct results of the fact that someone else did not have the same benefits. I began my research by sitting down with women of color. Although I knew that peppering people of color with questions is not the best way to educate oneself, I hoped to invite these women into a process, and in return they gave me a gift: they shared their experiences of what it really feels like to be Black. I remain so grateful to

California, land of my dreams and my longing. You've seen me in New York and you know what I'm like there but in L.A., man, I tell you, I'm even more of a high-achiever - all fizz and push, a fixer, a bustler, a real new-dealer. Last December for a whole week my thirty-minute short Dean Street was being shown daily at the Pantheon of Celestial Arts. In squeaky-clean restaurants, round smoggy poolsides, in jungly jacuzzis I made my deals. Business went well and it all looked possible. It was in the pleasure area, as usual, that I found I had a problem. In L.A., you can't do anything unless you drive. Now I can't do anything unless I drink. And the drink-drive combination, it really isn't possible out there. If you so much as loosen your seatbelt or drop your ash or pick your nose, then it's an Alcatraz autopsy with the questions asked later. Any indiscipline, you feel, any variation, and there's a bullhorn, a set of scope sights, and a coptered pig drawing a bead on your rug. So what can a poor boy do? You come out of the hotel, the Vraimont. Over boiling Watts the downtown skyline carries a smear of God's green snot. You walk left, you walk right, you are a bank rat on a busy river. This restaurant serves no drink, this one serves no meat, this one serves no heterosexuals. You can get your chimp shampooed, you can get your dick tattooed, twenty-four hour, but can you get lunch? And should you see a sign on the far side of the street flashing BEEF-BOOZE-NO STRINGS, then you can forget it. The only way to get across the road is to be born there. All the ped-xing signs say DON'T WALK, all of them, all the time. That is the message, the content of Los Angeles: don't walk. Stay inside. Don't walk. Drive. Don't walk. Run! I tried the cabs. No use. The cabbies are all Saturnians who aren't even sure whether this is a right planet or a left planet. The first thing you have to do, every trip, is teach them how to drive.