Hangouts Quotes

Nick was dressed in jeans, a dark green sweater, and bomber jacket–the perfect image of a rich college student. Talon looked like a biker who had just left Sanctuary, New Orleans’s premier biker bar. Acheron looked like a refugee from the Dungeon–the local underground goth hangout. Valerius was the professional contingent, and Zarek…Zarek just looked like he was ready to kill something.’ (Talon)

I’m sorry I ever asked you guys to be friends. You don’t have to be friends. You don’t even have to like each other. Forget I said anything.” Warner drops his crossed arms. Kenji raises his eyebrows. “I promise,” I say. “No more forced hangout sessions. No more spending time alone without me. Okay?” “You swear?” Kenji says. “I swear.” “Thank God,” Warner says. “Same, bro. Same.” And I roll my eyes, irritated. This is the first thing they’ve managed to agree on in over a week: their mutual hatred of my hopes for their friendship.

When did my house turn into a hangout for every grossly overpaid, terminally pampered professional football player in northern Illinois?" "We like it here," Jason said. "It reminds us of home." "Plus, no women around." Leandro Collins, the Bears' first-string tight end emerged from the office munching on a bag of chips. "There's times when you need a rest from the ladies." Annabelle shot out her arm and smacked him in the side of the head. "Don't forget who you're talking to." Leandro had a short fuse, and he'd been known to take out a ref here and there when he didn't like a call, but the tight end merely rubbed the side of his head and grimaced. "Just like my mama." "Mine, too," Tremaine said with happy nod. Annabelle spun on Heath. "Their mother! I'm thirty-one years old, and I remind them of their mothers." "You act like my mother," Sean pointed out, unwisely as it transpired, because he got a swat in the head next.

...she's leaving now. ... Janis attacks the back door of the school gym and finds herself in a heavy cloud of smoke. She realizes she's found the Goths' hangout. Who knew? "Oof," someone says. She keeps walking, muttering, "sorry" to whomever it was she hit with the flying door. *** Cabel: ... That was the Goth stage where I decided I'd never get the girl of my dreams because of my scars. Not to mention the hairstyle. (pause) But then she slammed a door handle into my gut. And, when a girl does that to a boy, it means she likes him.

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade and hangout with someone whose life gave them vodka.

Noel shook his head. "You think better of this scene than I do, Ruby. Don't you see how fake those girls are? Let it go. Have a laugh about it when you're older. Forget that junk." I wanted to believe him, to skip off to some punk-rock hangout and develop ironic distance and start over in a universe where it didn't matter what any of these people thought about me. But I couldn't. I just loved them.

I needed Collin and our hangout at Pelham Park today.

Be mindful of your social environment. By nature, the group you hang-out with will develop a common behavior and mindset. This behavior usually gravitates towards the lowest common denominator. Choose your group wisely.

The course of urban development in America is pushing the individual toward that line seperating proud independence from pitiable isolation.

Sure. Focused. Let's totally ignore any possible other avenues and just tunnel-vision our way along. Maybe we'll get lucky and blunder into a Lamaru hangout, right?

Communication without a specific focus is just noise. It achieves little beyond taking time and energy.

The development of an informal public life depends people finding and enjoying one another outside the cash nexus.

citizen participation in planning and well understands that that can happen only at the neighborhood level.

Kelsey finished his sandwich and wiped his mouth with a black napkin. Who used black napkins? “A hangout?

We were experimenting with noncapitalist hangouts, where instead of going somewhere to buy something, I helped them hang a shelf and they cut my hair.

I can’t get it out of my head that Theo called it a Skype hangout and not a Skype date. Or that I was just his “friend” and nothing more.

Diane stood near Jackie. She had first gone to the accident site, but there wasn't much to see. Just some skid barks and an elaborate piece of 3-D chalk art. Then she had a cab take her by a few of Josh's favorite hangouts (the video store, the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, the sand wastes outside of town), but he hadn't been at any of them. He was probably (if he was not injured as well, but she couldn't bear to even think of that) at one of his father's several jobs, doing exactly what Diane didn't want him to do. There would be consequences when Josh came home tonight. There would be a reckoning.

In the end it is the quick-thinking kids who put an end to the warty horror, and then go off to the local hangout to suck up chocolate malteds and jitterbug to some forgettable tune as the end credits run. That's

It might be in a saloon with jingled townsmen, or with a genial railroad man well lighted up and armed with pocket flasks, or with a bunch of alki stiffs in a hang-out. Yes; and it might be in a prohibition state...

Kiera reached into the paper bag and held out one of Vik's cupcakes. Even in the dim and musty hangout, it practically glowed with beauty, and the roses smelled intoxicating. Roses, for love of all types, and longing.

no birthday, concert, hangout session, or party can be enjoyed without taking the time to distance yourself from what you are doing” to make sure that those in your digital world know instantly how much fun you are having.

Lana left, and a guy named Norm came in to replace her. He spent the next three hours talking about a hangout he had with Lana that may or may not have been a date, not that he was worried about it, but what did I think and had Lana mentioned him? I gave him non-committal answers until I finally cracked. " Jesus Christ, Norm. This is the 'move on with your life' dance." I did a dance like I was imitating a train. "There, did that work? Lana's literally never said your name in my presence." The injured look on his face gave me a flush of dark satisfaction. "Damn, Alice, that's cold." He took off his hat, folded the brim to make it more pretentious, and re-perched it on his head.

Social media makes it easier to drum up business out of sight. There is no need for prostitutes to hang out on street corners anymore.

We are hard-wired to engage with those we trust, and this hard-wiring has led to a constant push for greater interaction and connection on the Web.

When you're looking for a hunter," she said, slipping out of her coat, "you go to places where they tend to congregate. Unfortunately, the Trap Door is just that sort of dive. The big surprise here is you. Back in aurora springs you didn't spend a lot of time in the usual hunter hangouts. You're not wearing your seal ring, either. What's up? are you here incognito or something?

Orange Nya Nya Style.... Orange Nya Nya Style.... I am an orange, people think that I'm annoying Say what you want 'cuz I'm certainly not boring I hang out in the stables with a bunch of unicorns and i ride them into outspace - honking unihorns! I hangout with pear In the kitchen every we really like it here We do? We're having fun times even squash is here ..... Marshmallow is really happy with his teddy bear - his evil teddy bear

I absolutely did consider Ben a friend, and still do. But beyond that I’m not particularly close—I’m close to my family, in general, and I have friends, and I’m close to them, but probably not in the traditional way that people assume friendships are like. I’m not a big hangout guy. When I say we’re friends, we’re friends, but it’s not like we summer together, or we went out to dinner every week. I don’t really do that with anybody. STEPHEN

Are you kidding me?” Della asked. “What?” She’d envisioned several different types of meeting places with the Vampire Council, but never a family diner that was mostly a hangout of the over-sixty crowd. “Benny’s? I’m meeting the Vampire Council at a family diner where you can get eggs and raisin toast for a buck ninety-nine?” “I personally like their pancakes,” Chase said. She continued to stare. “Really?” “They’re good pancakes.” Hunter, C. C. (2014-10-28). Eternal: Shadow Falls: After Dark (p. 316). St. Martin's Press. Kindle Edition.

Upset over having deceived her sister, her failure as a prostitute, and the tension in waiting for Berkman to make his move, Goldman walked aimless about New York in the July heat and whiled away her evenings at Zum Groben Michel. The bar, a few blocks from her room, had become the hangout of one of the sects of anarchists. Its odd name was the result of a window sign painter’s mistake. Instead of garden, a word used by many German beer halls, the painter wrote groben, meaning coarse, rough, or tough — which suited the owner, who was known as Tough Mike. All Goldman could do now was wait.

We decided to attend to our community instead of asking our community to attend the church.” His staff started showing up at local community events such as sports contests and town hall meetings. They entered a float in the local Christmas parade. They rented a football field and inaugurated a Free Movie Night on summer Fridays, complete with popcorn machines and a giant screen. They opened a burger joint, which soon became a hangout for local youth; it gives free meals to those who can’t afford to pay. When they found out how difficult it was for immigrants to get a driver’s license, they formed a drivers school and set their fees at half the going rate. My own church in Colorado started a ministry called Hands of the Carpenter, recruiting volunteers to do painting, carpentry, and house repairs for widows and single mothers. Soon they learned of another need and opened Hands Automotive to offer free oil changes, inspections, and car washes to the same constituency. They fund the work by charging normal rates to those who can afford it. I heard from a church in Minneapolis that monitors parking meters. Volunteers patrol the streets, add money to the meters with expired time, and put cards on the windshields that read, “Your meter looked hungry so we fed it. If we can help you in any other way, please give us a call.” In Cincinnati, college students sign up every Christmas to wrap presents at a local mall — ​no charge. “People just could not understand why I would want to wrap their presents,” one wrote me. “I tell them, ‘We just want to show God’s love in a practical way.’ ” In one of the boldest ventures in creative grace, a pastor started a community called Miracle Village in which half the residents are registered sex offenders. Florida’s state laws require sex offenders to live more than a thousand feet from a school, day care center, park, or playground, and some municipalities have lengthened the distance to half a mile and added swimming pools, bus stops, and libraries to the list. As a result, sex offenders, one of the most despised categories of criminals, are pushed out of cities and have few places to live. A pastor named Dick Witherow opened Miracle Village as part of his Matthew 25 Ministries. Staff members closely supervise the residents, many of them on parole, and conduct services in the church at the heart of Miracle Village. The ministry also provides anger-management and Bible study classes.

The first time I understood the story of the Nativity, I was in a Palestinian village called Yanoun, in the northern West Bank. We got a tour from two shepherds, both young guys who joked and laughed with each other as they shared their day with us. They showed us where they kept their sheep. It was a low, dark cave, noisy and crowded with animals, and smelling like...well...sheep shit. The mangers were a tad rusty, with sheep pushing at each other to find space to eat. It was a good hangout for sheep, but not really the sort of place where you'd want to have a kid. I remember thinking: "Oh. If God can be born here, I guess God can be born anywhere.

I wanted him to meet Ainsley. She was super important to me. I made my decision. “I...I would like that.” Rider’s reaction was immediate. He smiled and the dimple appeared. My breath caught. I’d actually invited Rider along to meet Ainsley. I wanted that. Really wanted that, but I had no idea what to do with that. Regardless, excitement hummed through me. Hanging out with Rider and Ainsley was normal. Something a million people probably did every day, because they were actually living life, but it was a first for me—a huge first. It was my best friend and it was the guy...the guy who’d been my best friend and who now, despite everything, felt like something deeper, richer and more intricate, hanging out together. It felt important.

I would dance all day in my basement listening to Off the Wall. You young people really don’t understand how magical Michael Jackson was. No one thought he was strange. No one was laughing. We were all sitting in front of our TVs watching the “Thriller” video every hour on the hour. We were all staring, openmouthed, as he moonwalked for the first time on the Motown twenty-fifth anniversary show. When he floated backward like a funky astronaut, I screamed out loud. There was no rewinding or rewatching. No next-day memes or trends on Twitter or Facebook posts. We would call each other on our dial phones and stretch the cord down the hall, lying on our stomachs and discussing Michael Jackson’s moves, George Michael’s facial hair, and that scene in Purple Rain when Prince fingers Apollonia from behind. Moments came and went, and if you missed them, you were shit out of luck. That’s why my parents went to a M*A*S*H party and watched the last episode in real time. There was no next-day M*A*S*H cast Google hangout. That’s why my family all squeezed onto one couch and watched the USA hockey team win the gold against evil Russia! We all wept as my mother pointed out every team member from Boston. (Everyone from Boston likes to point out everyone from Boston. Same with Canadians.) We all chanted “USA!” and screamed “YES!” when Al Michaels asked us if we believed in miracles. Things happened in real time and you watched them together. There was no rewind. HBO arrived in our house that same year. We had

1) Remain silent you share of the time (more rather than less). 2) Be attentive while others are talking. 3) Say what you think but be careful not to hurt others' feelings. 4) Avoid topics not of general interest. 5) Say little or nothing about yourself personally, but talk about others there assembled. 6) Avoid trying to instruct. 7) Speak in as low a voice as will allow others to hear.

We pushed the bike down past the various college hangouts and cafeterias and looked into Robbie's to see if we knew anybody. Alvah was in there, working his part-time job as busboy. Japhy and I were kind of outlandish-looking on the campus in our old clothes in fact Japhy was considered an eccentric around the campus, which is the usual thing for campuses and college people to think whenever a real man appears on the scene-colleges being nothing but grooming schools for the middleclass nonidentity which usually finds its perfect expression on the outskirts of the campus in rows of well-to-do houses with lawns and television sets in each living room with everybody looking at the same thing and thinking the same thing at the same time while the Japhies of the world go prowling in the wilderness to hear the voice crying in the wilderness, to find the ecstasy of the stars, to find the dark mysterious secret of the origin of faceless wonderless crapulous civilization.

Berkman and Goldman had met three years earlier, in the dim, smoke-filled dining room of Sachs’ Café on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. Sachs’ was the regular hangout of Yiddish-speaking radicals, poets, and free spirits. Goldman had found her way there after escaping a loveless marriage and oppressive relatives. She had felt that no one in her family understood her, and she couldn’t fathom why they weren’t as angry as she was about the injustices of American society. She seethed with anger over the highly publicized hanging of four anarchists. They had been wrongly convicted of conspiracy following the detonation of a bomb thrown by an unseen assailant at an 1886 labor rally for the eight-hour day on Chicago’s Haymarket Square. The executed men had been made into scapegoats. They were rounded up because of their views and given a sham trial to placate a disquieted public agitated by a yellow press who saw bearded, fiery-eyed foreign revolutionaries behind every strike and workers rally. The Goldmans had fled oppression in their native Russia only to find that capitalists were no better than czars.

Then a thought hit me like a ton of slag. Arlene wouldn’t bother taking time in this hellhole to scribble her mark unless she had a damned good reason. Not just to point out the sphere—if she knew it was there, she’d have used it herself like a good soldier. The only logical conclusion was that the arrow pointed the way out of the nuclear plant—the way Arlene Sanders had already gone. Like Arne Saknussen, she marked her own trail for all who followed. So why hadn’t I found it? Same way Arlene missed the patio door: there had to be another hidden door nearby that I had missed. Third time’s the charm. The damned door couldn’t have been more than five feet from the one I had found. One good push and it was open, leading to a beautiful piece of straight, well-lit corridor that reached its end with a clean, massive metal door that had printed on it the welcome letters EXIT—obviously a holdover from the plant’s mundane days as a hangout for humans. Feeling bold and unstoppable, I walked right up to that door and discovered that it required a computer key card before it would bless the lonely traveler with an open sesame. Great. Now I could be miserable again.

How Google Works (Schmidt, Eric) - Your Highlight on Location 3124-3150 | Added on Sunday, April 5, 2015 10:35:40 AM In late 1999, John Doerr gave a presentation at Google that changed the company, because it created a simple tool that let the founders institutionalize their “think big” ethos. John sat on our board, and his firm, Kleiner Perkins, had recently invested in the company. The topic was a form of management by objectives called OKRs (to which we referred in the previous chapter), which John had learned from former Intel CEO Andy Grove.173 There are several characteristics that set OKRs apart from their typical underpromise-and-overdeliver corporate-objective brethren. First, a good OKR marries the big-picture objective with a highly measurable key result. It’s easy to set some amorphous strategic goal (make usability better … improve team morale … get in better shape) as an objective and then, at quarter end, declare victory. But when the strategic goal is measured against a concrete goal (increase usage of features by X percent … raise employee satisfaction scores by Y percent … run a half marathon in under two hours), then things get interesting. For example, one of our platform team’s recent OKRs was to have “new WW systems serving significant traffic for XX large services with latency < YY microseconds @ ZZ% on Jupiter.”174 (Jupiter is a code name, not the location of Google’s newest data center.) There is no ambiguity with this OKR; it is very easy to measure whether or not it is accomplished. Other OKRs will call for rolling out a product across a specific number of countries, or set objectives for usage (e.g., one of the Google+ team’s recent OKRs was about the daily number of messages users would post in hangouts) or performance (e.g., median watch latency on YouTube videos). Second—and here is where thinking big comes in—a good OKR should be a stretch to achieve, and hitting 100 percent on all OKRs should be practically unattainable. If your OKRs are all green, you aren’t setting them high enough. The best OKRs are aggressive, but realistic. Under this strange arithmetic, a score of 70 percent on a well-constructed OKR is often better than 100 percent on a lesser one. Third, most everyone does them. Remember, you need everyone thinking in your venture, regardless of their position. Fourth, they are scored, but this scoring isn’t used for anything and isn’t even tracked. This lets people judge their performance honestly. Fifth, OKRs are not comprehensive; they are reserved for areas that need special focus and objectives that won’t be reached without some extra oomph. Business-as-usual stuff doesn’t need OKRs. As your venture grows, the most important OKRs shift from individuals to teams. In a small company, an individual can achieve incredible things on her own, but as the company grows it becomes harder to accomplish stretch goals without teammates. This doesn’t mean that individuals should stop doing OKRs, but rather that team OKRs become the more important means to maintain focus on the big tasks. And there’s one final benefit of an OKR-driven culture: It helps keep people from chasing competitors. Competitors are everywhere in the Internet Century, and chasing them (as we noted earlier) is the fastest path to mediocrity. If employees are focused on a well-conceived set of OKRs, then this isn’t a problem. They know where they need to go and don’t have time to worry about the competition. ==========

Millions of us daily take advantage of [Skype], delighted to carry the severed heads of family members under our arms as we move from the deck to the cool of inside, or steering them around our new homes, bobbing them like babies on a seasickening tour. Skype can be a wonderful consolation prize in the ongoing tournament of globalization, though typically the first place it transforms us is to ourselves. How often are the initial seconds of a video's call takeoff occupied by two wary, diagonal glances, with a quick muss or flick of the hair, or a more generous tilt of the screen in respect to the chin? Please attend to your own mask first. Yet, despite the obvious cheer of seeing a faraway face, lonesomeness surely persists in the impossibility of eye contact. You can offer up your eyes to the other person, but your own view will be of the webcam's unwarm aperture. ... The problem lies in the fact that we can't bring our silence with us through walls. In phone conversations, while silence can be both awkward and intimate, there is no doubt that each of you inhabits the same darkness, breathing the same dead air. Perversely, a phone silence is a thick rope tying two speakers together in the private void of their suspended conversation. This binding may be unpleasant and to be avoided, but it isn't as estranging as its visual counterpart. When talk runs to ground on Skype, and if the purpose of the call is to chat, I can quickly sense that my silence isn't their silence. For some reason silence can't cross the membrane of the computer screen as it can uncoil down phone lines. While we may be lulled into thinking that a Skype call, being visual, is more akin to a hang-out than a phone conversation, it is in many ways more demanding than its aural predecessor. Not until Skype has it become clear how much companionable quiet has depended on co-inhabiting an atmosphere, with a simple act of sharing the particulars of a place -- the objects in the room, the light through the window -- offering a lovely alternative to talk.

As you get past the first few weeks of your travel experience however, you’ll discover that partying on the road is different from partying at home. At home, partying is a way of celebrating the weekend or taking a pause from the workaday world. On the road, every moment is a weekend, every day a break from the workaday world. Thus, falling into a nightly ritual of partying - as can easily happen in traveler hangouts anywhere on the planet - is a sure way to overlook the subtlety of places, stunt your creativity, and trap yourself in the patterns of home. Granted, you can have plenty of fun in the process; but if you travel the world merely to indulge in the same kinds of diversions you enjoy at home, you’ll end up selling your experience short.

It is estimated that American industry loses from $50 billion to $75 billion annually due to absenteeism, company-paid medical expenses, and lost productivity.17 Stress in the lives of the workers is a major cause of these industrial losses.

Conciencia cuerpo-mente. Amy Colvin, una de nuestras masajistas, da una clase de treinta minutos que consiste en una docena de movimientos de qigong (práctica china relacionada con el taichi) seguidos de meditación en posición sentada. El curso se imparte en dieciséis ciudades del mundo, a menudo por el departamento Hangout. «Ser consciente de lo que necesita mi cuerpo físico mientras mi cerebro está ocupado codificando me ha ayudado a reducir en gran medida el estrés, a no agotarme y a disfrutar de mi trabajo.»

Serving in the best country in the world demands becoming the best in what you do. To become the best, learn from & hangout with the best...

The house is about as tidy as most people's attics, which makes it a particularly hospitable hangout for sloppy teenagers.

Our hangout sessions went on for a few months until we finally just evaporated into a puff of sexless smoke in her living room, like the dry ice at a Bauhaus concert. No, that’s too sexy. Like the dry ice at a Peter Cetera concert.

As we cannot hangout with a machine and tell what exactly to do, we just hang a few things out of context and say, "doing this would still do"!

Third places remain upbeat because of the limited way in which the participants are related. Most of the regulars in a third place have a unique and special status with regard to one another. It is special in that such people have neither the blandness of strangers nor that other kind of blandness, which takes zest out of relationships between even the most favorably matched people when too much time is spent together, when too much is known, too many problems are shared, and too much is taken for granted. Many among the regulars of a third place are like Emerson's "commended stranger" who represents humanity anew, who offers a new mirror in which to view ourselves, and who thus breathes life into our conversation. In the presence of the commended stranger, wrote Emerson, "We talk better than we are wont. We have the nimblest fancy, a richer memory, our dumb devil has taken leave for a time. For long hours, we can continue a series of sincere, graceful, rich communications, drawn from the oldest, secretest experience, so that those who sit by, of our kinsfolk, and acquaintance, shall feel a lively surprise at our unusual power.: The magic of commended strangers fades as one comes to know them better. They are fallible. They have problems and weaknesses like everyone else and, as their luster fades, so does their ability to inspire our wit, memory, and imagination. The third place, however, retards that fading process, and it does so by keeping the lives of most of its regulars disentangled. One individual may enjoy the company of others at a mutual haunt for years without ever having seen their spouses; never having visited their homes or the places where they work; never having seen them against the duller backdrop of their existence on the "outside." Many a third place regular represents conversationally and socially what the mistress represents sexually. Much of the lure and continuing allure of the mistress rests in the fact that only pleasure is involved. There is no rising from bed to face the myriad problems that husband and wife must share and that contaminates their lives and their regard for one another. Third places surely contain many of these "mistresses of conversation," people who meet one another only to share good times and scintillating activities and with whom good times and scintillation thus come to be associated. Out of tacit agreement not to share too much, the excitement attaching the commended stranger is preserved among third place regulars. What, after all, are such incidentals as home and family and job when the nature of life itself, the course of the world in modern times, or the booted ball that cost a victory in last night's game are on the agenda?

The dictum that “online you are the content you create and the content you share” takes on new shape and form and obviously power when it comes to Hangouts on Air

The empty block at the end of my street is probably the best hang-out spot of the lot. While these places aren’t that exciting, they’re all we’ve got, and we make the most of them. It only takes a little imagination to navigate Merri like it’s our own secret world and only we have the keys. The empty block isn’t just a dusty patch of land; it’s a meeting place, a safe haven to share secrets among the tall grass, a blank canvas for whatever projects Claire forces us into next.

Google belnummer in Heeft u een technisch probleem met uw Google-account? wij bieden google bellen nederland heeft ook een goede reputatie in de markt. we hebben enkele van de meest voorkomende accountgerelateerde fouten opgelost die zijn opgelost door onze Google-klantenondersteuningsteams, zoals: Kan niet in- of uitloggen op het account, Google-apps worden niet verwijderd, Chrome kan niet worden ingesteld als standaardbrowser, Tweestapsverificatie werkt nu in Gmail Alle e-mailberichten worden verplaatst naar de map Spam Kan geen nieuwe e-mails maken of ontvangen Problemen met video en audio in Hangouts en Meet Kan cache en cookies niet wissen Kan geen nieuw Google-account maken Foto's niet t uploaden in Drive, Kan geen nieuwe mappen maken in Google Foto's, Google Zoeken crasht continu etc.

I open up my arms and we come together. If I'm being honest, the group hug feels a little forced. But maybe that's not a bad thing. We're fighting to be close again, and that's beautiful. Maybe one day it'll feel easy again. We can start slow by following each other on Instagram again and keeping the group chat thread alive. We can plan hangouts instead of the good old days where we would just show up at each other's apartments. We can fall back in place, or somewhere close enough to where we were before. This summer with more do-overs than I can count gives me hope that the four of us will figure it out.

Currently and for some time now, the course of urban growth and development in the United States has been hostile to an informal public life;

We have become a suburban nation—the only one in the world.

zoning ordinances were copied and enforced all over the land, prohibiting the stuff of community from intrusion into residential areas.

America’s professional and managerial elites have little interest in the broad middle class of our society and have weak ties to nation and place.

our postwar residential areas are extremely hostile to strangers, outsiders, and new residents of the area.

Philip Langdon’s A Better Place to Live is a painstaking examination of how to “retrofit” American suburbs and when we come to the necessary matter of re-writing the building and zoning codes, this book should be one of the primers.

Suburban zoning has replaced “public characters” with the retailers and their employees in the malls and out on the strips.

calling a subdivision a “community,” for that is precisely what it is not.

urban planning which meets the needs of children and the elderly will be nice for everybody, but truer words are rarely written

How many Americans having “surfed” all the channels and, bored by it all, wouldn’t like to slip on a jacket and walk down to the corner and have a cold one with the neighbors? Ah, but we’ve made sure there’s nothing on the corner but another private residence . . . indeed, nothing at all within easy walking distance.

If you hang out with corrupt utility companies, you must expect to get caught up in their illegal activities!

But Joelle doesn't do "nice". Nice is too passive for what she is, which is a genuinely sweet and kind and thoughtful person---one of the best I know. I've watched her for over a year and a half pouring her heart and soul into her bakery, treating her customers like members of her own family. She remembers their names, the names of their kids and pets, birthdays, first days of school and work, graduations and weddings. I've seen her give out pastries and drinks to people on the street near our building. I've seen her offer up her bakery as a hangout for local high school students who want a place to play cards and dominoes. I've seen her give cash out of her pocket to a kid in need. All because she cares. She doesn't do a single thing that isn't rooted in sincerity. That's why what she said to me yesterday meant so much. Because despite the stress of our current work setup and how it's caused countless fights between us, she still cares about me. And that means everything---more than she'll ever know.

The closest I’ve come to sparks flying at my writing hangout was when an elderly man’s portable oxygen tubes fell off his face while he was reaching for a piece of pie. I bent over to pick them up for him, and when I attempted to hand them over, our fingers brushed, and I felt a gust of air blow right between my legs. The moment was ruined when I looked down to see that I had yanked the tubes out of the tank, and it was blowing fresh O2 right in my special place.

Do you consider yourself a chill person? How important is it to you to be seen as “chill”? Do you prefer to always have a plan? And do you like to be the person who makes said plan, or would you rather someone else do it? What kinds of rules do you care about or respect the most? What kinds of rules do you shamelessly flout? How do you respond to other people’s expectations? What are three things that really stress you out? How do you respond to stress in general? What are your preferred methods of communication? (Note: This can be different depending on who you’re talking to, but try to figure out your ideal.) What does your ideal friend hangout look like? What does your ideal average evening with a romantic partner look like?

To love nature is to hang out where the birds hang out.

We've shifted away from just being a church and teen hangout, to becoming more purposeful in discipleship. Our goal is multiplication through person l relationships within the church. Everyone who accepts Christ is matched with an older believer and led through 1 John, 1 & 2 Peter, then James.

If mutual decimation of the McLaughlins and the McLeans marked the end of Charlestown’s “gangster era,” a host of gangs endured in the Town. These were less criminal bands than expressions of territorial allegiance. Every street and alley, every park and pier had its own ragged troop which hung on the corner, played football, baseball, and street hockey, and defended its turf against all comers. The Wildcats hung at the corner of Frothingham and Lincoln streets, the Bearcats at Walker and Russell streets, the Falcons outside the Edwards School, the Cobras on Elm Street, the Jokers in Hayes Square, the Highlanders on High Street, the Crusaders at the Training Field. Each had its distinctive football jersey (on which members wore their street addresses), its own legends and traditions. The Highlanders, for example, took their identity from the Bunker Hill Monument, which towered over their hangout at the top of Monument Avenue. On weekends and summer afternoons, they gathered there to wait for out-of-town tourists visiting the revolutionary battleground. When one approached, an eager boy would step forward and launch his spiel, learned by rote from other Highlanders: “The Monument is 221 feet high, has 294 winding stairs and no elevators. They say the quickest way up is to walk, the quickest way down is to fall. The Monument is fifteen feet square. Its cornerstone was laid in 1825 by Daniel Webster. The statue you see in the foreground is that of Colonel William Prescott standing in the same position as when he gave that brave and famous command, ‘Don’t fire till you see the whites of their eyes.’ The British made three attempts to gain the hill …” And so forth. An engaging raconteur could parlay this patter into a fifty-cent tip.

More than Words If you’ve ever worked in a startup office, you’ll be familiar with a particular kind of quiet—one punctuated only by tap-tapping from keyboards and the occasional sneeze or chair scrape. Everyone sits with earbuds in, listening to music or podcasts or sometimes nothing at all. Most conversations happen via chat programs like Google Hangouts, Skype for Business, and Slack. Even in more traditional offices, it’s become

You need more security than Fish. Plus, I know you. You’re a homebody. You’re gonna want your place to be the hang-out.” “He’s right about that,” Keane says. “You don’t get FOMO, brah. You get JOMO.

I’m heading to Earth for a meeting at the Hangout,” I say. “Uh-huh,” Grace says, not even turning around. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back,” I say. “Uh-huh,” she says again. “There’s a giant squid on your head,” I say. “Uh-huh,” she repeats.

With Chelsea’s off-limits, Bird found plenty of alternative watering holes. Celtics players taped a cornball commercial with the Scotch & Sirloin restaurant near the Garden and cut a deal with the owner to make the place a personal hangout for team members and families. Bird got his older brother Michael a job at Dockside, a Faneuil Hall Marketplace bar owned by the owners of Chelsea’s. Dockside had a downstairs bar that was closed weeknights—unless Larry Bird needed a place to hang out. Bird occasionally visited his brother, hiding out in the downstairs bar, where he could watch sports, smoke cigarettes, drink Bud Lights, and not be bothered.

Our mission is super simple: to make the raddest, baddest online hangout for 90s toy lovers. Whether you’re a collector, a casual fan, or just someone who gets a kick out of nostalgia, we got your back! At My90sToys, you’ll find the most epic assortment of articles from the 90s, from action figures to video games and everything in between. We’re also all about building a fun-loving community where everyone can share their favorite toy stories, trivia, and even some cool throwback photos.

Sure, it hadn’t been a very romantic first date…hangout? Hookup? Marco had no idea what to call it. And the sex certainly hadn’t been very romantic. But God, he could call himself perfectly okay with all of that.

looked more like one of those co-working hangouts that urban hipsters liked than an actual police station. It had annoyed the boys and girls in blue who had taken pride in their moldy, crumbling bunker with its flickering fluorescent lights and carpet stained from decades of criminals. Their annoyance at the bright paint and slick new office furniture was the only thing I didn’t hate about it. The Knockemout PD did their best to rediscover their roots, piling precious towers of case folders on top of adjustable-height bamboo desks and brewing too cheap, too strong coffee 24/7. There was a box of stale donuts open on the counter and powdered sugar fingerprints everywhere. But so far nothing had taken the shine off the newness of the fucking Knox Morgan Building. Sergeant Grave Hopper was behind his desk stirring half a pound of sugar into his coffee. A reformed motorcycle club member, he now spent his weeknights coaching his daughter’s softball team and his weekends mowing lawns. His and his mother-in-law’s. But once a year, he’d pack up his wife on the back of his bike, and off they’d go to relive their glory days on the open road. He spotted me and my guest and nearly upended the entire mug all over himself. “What’s goin’ on, Knox?” Grave asked, now

The low-paid writers wanted the Guild to be a real bread-and-butter union, and the congenial five-hundred-dollar-a-week guys thought what writers needed most was a communal hangout like the old Writers’ Club where they could sit around and get to know each other. The twenty-five-hundred-dollar-a-week writers with famous names seemed to be most interested in increasing their influence in picture productions and spoke fine, brave abstract words about the scope of the medium and dignifying the position of the screen writer.

I just don't want you to be alone in a potentially dangerous situation. If Adeena and Elena were with you, I wouldn't mind, but..." "But what?" "I don't know... I just thought it'd be cute. Like we're on a mission together or something." He blushed and swept his hair back with one hand so he didn't have to look at me. "We don't spend enough time together, so I thought this would be the perfect opportunity for late-night hangouts." Oh. My. Gulay. Why was my boyfriend the absolute cutest?

Ingredients: First, add unresolved tension with one Jack Campbell, who is either out sick or out participating in the Senior Skip Day shenanigans taking place during the school day. Mix in nearly twenty-four hours without contact from Wolf, two seconds after essentially baring my soul to him by showing him the thing I am most proud of in this world. Add what is proving to be the most awkward hangout with Landon and a large group of incredibly drunk teenagers on the face of the earth. Add chocolate chips, butter, flour, salt, cocoa powder, eggs, and more embarrassment than the body of a teenage girl can possibly contain, set the oven to a bajillion degrees, and set the whole damn thing on fire.

Well, with Reece’s wife and each of Ben’s three former brides. “Too early for a margarita?” Ben joked. “Never too early for a margarita. Just don’t take me to Rick’s. Don’t think I could show my face in there right now,” said Reece, referring to a hole-in-the-wall SEAL hangout bar in downtown Coronado. Operators would return from deployments and toast their fallen comrades in blackout sessions that often turned ugly. Rick’s was a safe haven where they could blow off some steam without ending their careers, and there was always a steady supply of willing women looking to be a SEAL wife for the night. “Ah yes, Rick’s Palm Bar and Grill, home of the world-famous ‘Slamburger.’ I think I met wife number two in there?” “Ha! I think you did,” Reece said, remembering happier times.

Ahhh, my winter cozy woosah place to re-craft brain-cell recharge, and recreate; for the author & reader community...that place is a bookstore, and its cafe becomes a welcoming hangout, almost any day.

So how did you think about him?” Rachel asks. Hallelujah shrugs. “We were friends. Good friends. He knew—knows—a lot about me. I guess I know a lot about him. Stuff he likes and doesn’t like.” Rachel looks skeptical. “And yet you never knew he liked you.” “No! I mean—when Jonah and I were friends, I liked Luke. So maybe I missed some signs.” “So you just . . . hung out? Platonically?” “Yeah. I guess.” Hallelujah thinks about how to explain it. How to distill a friendship down to its most basic components. “We had choir together last year. We talked. For kind of the first time, even though we’d been in church and school together since fourth grade.” “And, what, you found out you had so much in common?” “Actually, no. But we started comparing music we liked, and a month into ninth grade, Jonah made me this mix of songs. Based on what we’d talked about. So then I made him a mix. And it grew from there. We’d go to each other’s houses, watch movies, listen to music, that kind of thing. Hanging out.” “So tell me about Jonah. Something only you know.” “Um. He’d probably deny it, but he got really into the Harry Potter books. Like, really into them. I loaned him my box set last spring. He got so mad at me for not warning him how Book Six ends.” Rachel laughs. “He didn’t see the movies?” “No. But I told him we couldn’t watch them until he’d finished the books.

Love gives us happiness, peace then it gives us a lot of pain and you also have to sacrifice your happiness, then you began to hate that person, so fall for friendships. Respect each other’s space and styles, then hangout and enjoy

Mass culture or the New culture is Fake culture. It is devoid of meaning. It provides one with an illusory sense of liberty, making us believe that one is throwing off old shackles but it is in no way liberation. Mass culture tells people to just give up, go along, smile and 'be happy'. Perhaps on some level for some, this can be happiness, for those who do not have an inclination to strive for something more. But there are many people whose hearts cannot be bought by cheap thrills, or religion, or New Age, the crypto-media, mass education, the Left-Right paradigm, or limited hangout conspiracy theories. This is a corrupt system of lies which is oiled by the blood, sweat, and tears of their deceived and their deceased. The system is a web, and as time moves on, it becomes perfected, until it eventually becomes a net that catches us within its grasp so that we won't get out. One must have a strong inner fire, a strong inner space, not a weak inner space, to save yourself. Play the long game. Do the right thing. True success is survival. Culture is steel. It explores the greater depths of the Mystery, in the Universe, and in the Soul – Matter and Spirit. It is a shared inner space of a Folk creating the outer world through its radiance. A strong inner space that brings value and perspective. It is opposed to the weak inner space of today which is of trivia and degeneracy. We must be in a state of resurgence to find our real culture. We must find it in the universe and in ourselves.

Some nights once we finished performing at Teatro Pereyra in Ibiza we would head to Itaka, a small music hangout, avoiding the crazy clubbing crowds, where we'd play our own compositions & chill. Find a safe after party.

your cat to explore. It should be convenient for you to access, too, and away from lots of traffic so the cat has a private place to retreat. Leave the top portion of the carrier open or take it off completely, and let him sniff it inside and out. Consider some “second story” locations, so that your kitten has the added allure of an elevated lookout. Take a cue from your cat’s current favorite hangouts, and offer a location he already loves. Many cats love warm sunny spots, so a window view could be a great location. Don’t make a big deal of it. Make It A Happy Place. Place a snuggly kitty blanket inside, or even a fuzzy shirt that YOU have worn. That associates the carrier with your familiar and trusted scent. Adding a spritz of a feline facial pheromone product like Feliway also may help. Add A Toy or Game. Toss a toy inside to create positive experiences with the crate. Ping Pong balls are great fun inside the hard crates. Offer a catnip toy to make points with reluctant cats. Lure your kitten inside with a chase-the-red-dot laser game, or flick a feather toy in and out and let him catch it, once he’s inside. Reserve his favorite toy to use only near or inside

You can never expect to live a positive life if you continue to hangout with negative people. The way you think...you will live!

would ignore all the late-night calls or texts and decline all last-minute “hangouts” or “dates.

We're about to hit that age when we'll be too exhausted to maintain friendships, and the days of hanging out will be long behind us.

To succeed in the digital realm, technology has to provide a strong disruptive element right from the start. If things cannot be done differently , a transition to digital is not going to be compelling enough for a wide enough adoption to create sustainability.

Real-time marketing is not for everyone. To take advantage of it, you need to have a clear idea of what it is you want to achieve through it.

The greatest challenge on the Web in the twenty-first century is to connect with your target audience in a way that enriches both them and you.

sides yellowed by too many unfiltered Camels. The whole place had the feel of a neighborhood hangout for people too stupid to realize they were drinking away an enormous percentage of their

When we first went to Provence, I assumed I would be observing a different culture. With attachment in mind, it became obvious to me that it is much more than a different culture — I was witnessing a culture at work and a culture that worked. Children greeted adults and adults greeted children. Socializing involved whole families, not adults with adults and children with children. There was only one village activity at a time, so families were not pulled in several directions. Sunday afternoon was for family walks in the countryside. Even at the village fountain, the local hangout, teens mixed with seniors. Festivals and celebrations, of which there were many, were all family affairs. The music and dancing brought the generations together instead of separating them. Culture took precedence over materialism. One could not even buy a baguette without first engaging in the appropriate greeting rituals. Village stores were closed for three hours at midday while schools emptied and families reconvened. Lunch was eaten in a congenial manner as multigenerational groupings sat around tables, sharing conversation and a meal. The attachment customs around the village primary school were equally impressive. Children were personally escorted to school and picked up by their parents or grandparents. The school was gated and the grounds could be entered only by a single entrance. At the gate were the teachers, waiting for their students to be handed over to them. Again, culture dictated that connection be established with appropriate greetings between the adult escorts and the teachers as well as the teachers and the students. Sometimes when the class had been collected but the school bell had not yet rung, the teacher would lead the class through the playground, like a mother goose followed by her goslings. While to North American eyes this may appear to be a preschool ritual, even absurd, in Provence it was selfevidently part of the natural order of things. When children were released from school, it was always one class at a time, the teacher in the lead. The teacher would wait with the students at the gate until all had been collected by their adult escort. Their teachers were their teachers whether on the grounds or in the village market or at the village festival. There weren't many cracks to fall through. Provençal culture was keeping attachment voids to a minimum.

The apartments had probably been built back in the 70’s when the country was going through some ugly social times. Maybe the country was going through its adolescent phase and breaking out with a bad case of social acne. Cheesy professors were running around the country proclaiming “turn on, tune in, drop out.” A mean-spirited drunk from LA was cranking out poems about the low-life and reaching for another beer out of the refrigerator on stage as part of his performance. The porn industry was in its golden era. People proclaiming their individuality and uniqueness were all dressed the same. Mothers thought they were educating their kids by letting them watch Sesame Street, but they were just turning their kids into TV junkies and a future generation of pudding heads with blank faces ready to believe anything on the lamestream media. The Vietnam War eventually came to an end after Laos was clustered bombed, which had nothing to do with ending the war. Dominoes didn’t fall. A new war memorial went out for bid. Some crazy scientist found a way to make clothes out of chemicals - polyester. Dwarfs found their favorite hangout - the disco. The whole country seemed to be dancing to the disco beat, hypnotized by the flashing strobe lights off the big, shiny ball.

As we cannot hangout with a machine and tell what exactly to do, we just hang a few things out of context and say, doing this would still do!

I even enjoyed the happy little group that used to come by the president's house each Saturday evening after a student hangout down the street had closed at midnight, shouting, "Hi, George! How're ya doin', ol' boy, ol' boy?

I just prayed that Tynesha kept that shit professional though. Red Lobster was one of my lil hangout spots, so that’s how we met. We had been fuckin’ for about three months or so, nothing serious. “I’m

As I passed Mrs. Morris, I motioned that I was going out to use the washroom. I’m sure she knew better, but she just smiled and waved me on. We aren’t a school with a truancy problem. Let’s be honest: Where would you go if you skipped class? No mall. No coffee shop. No hangout where the person running the place hasn’t known you from childhood…and knows you should be in class.

what were you hoping to find?" he snapped "A little tree house with a sign reading serial killers hangout, please come in?.

Google Hangouts,