Magic Mike Quotes

How do we keep it?” asked Princess Sophie. “How do we keep the spirit of Christmas?” “That’s the real magic,” said Lady Ariana. “If we love something so much, we have to give it away. When we do that, we get to keep it ourselves, too.

You'll feel better after a new pair of jeans and a triple fudge meltdown. And if that doesn't work, we'll watch Magic Mike." Cara laughed as tears welled in her eyes. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that.

But my absolute favorite was when you said I was the Santa Claus Magic Mike, and I could bring my presents down your chimney all year round.” I

That kiss was hotter than a housewife reading Fifty Shades of Grey at the Magic Mike premiere.

I know what it's like. I've seen it played out a zillion times. You're waiting for that magical day when someone makes the connection and recognizes who you really are. Maybe they'll first catch the sparkle in your eye. Or perhaps they'll marvel at your insights and the depth of your spirit. Someone who will help you connect the dots, believe in yourself, and make sense of it all. Someone who will understand you, approve of you, and unhesitatingly give you a leg up so that life can pluck your ready, ripened self from the branch of magnificence. Well, I'm here to tell you, your wait is over. That someone, is you.

Look, I’m not saying I look like a catfish or anything, but have you fucking seen him? He’s the kind of guy who makes Channing Fuck-My-Face Tatum dancing to Pony in Magic Mike look like an incompetent and ungraceful slouch.

The Boy looked at him for a long time before responding. “Well, as long as you’re my friend, I’ll never ignore you,” he said with conviction. “I know what it’s like to be invisible to other people.

If rules make a framework for the mind to climb about in, why should the mind not climb right out?

Never let the legend die

The secret of freedom lies in educating people, whereas the secret of tyranny is in keeping them ignorant.” – Robespierre

Mike says the studio indulges Leo bc he's a magical starboy. He thinks Melanie puts up w/it bc it's a great credit bc everything Leo touches turns to gold. Maybe one day I'll turn to gold.

Nothing Is Strange

You’re waiting for that magical day when someone makes the connection and recognizes who you really are. Maybe they’ll first catch the sparkle in your eye. Or perhaps they’ll marvel at your insights and the depth of your spirit. Someone who will help you connect the dots, believe in yourself, and make sense of it all. Someone who will understand you, approve of you, and unhesitatingly give you a leg up so that life can pluck your ready, ripened self from the branch of magnificence. Well, I’m here to tell you, your wait is over. That someone, is you.

Alec jumped to his feet and exited my apartment shouting, “At least think about it,” as he ran. “I’ve never seen him move so fast in my life.” Nico snickered. “It’s like he caught a glimpse of the Magic Mike cast and took off after them.” I burst into unexpected laughter and laughed so hard I thought a little pee came out. “I. Love. Your. Brothers.

The truth is that there are no secret sales moves. There is no magic bullet. As badly as we all want one, it does not exist.

Everything works out in the end. If it looks like things aren’t working out, it’s not the end.

I fondly recall the magical time, two minutes earlier, when hypothermia was my major concern in life. I keep pressing my hand against my thigh.

Light is supposed to be reasuring. You learn that when you're very young. It defeats the bad things creeping around in your room. Every Parent knows the magic gesture chases the monesters away.

I already checked," Rhage muttered. "They have the DVDs--they're probably watching the extended, uncut versions." "So the strippers aren't circumcised?" Lassiter put his palms up again before the growling got even worse. "Jesus, you guys are so damn touchy.

Her eyes were glued to the tv; she didn't even notice when half of the noodles she'd attempted to cram in her mouth fell into her lap. Shifting my eyes, I realized why. It wasn't a tv show she was watching-it was the movie Magic Mike. And dear God, I didn't blame her for tuning me out. How Channing Tatum landed those moves blew my freaking mind. This couldn't be something he was taught, that was for sure. No, not even close, those dance moves were something he was born knowing how to do. And Jesus he looked good doing them.

It was difficult to explain to Mike the house where she'd come from. The things her father and grandmother had believed in. Stories of stars, or slippery mermaids, and enchanted rivers. Stories about ghosts that could enter the house if they didn't lay down enough salt. Fairies living in the hills of their fancy estate in Four Rivers, disguised as insects. Magic things. Impossible things.

We should expect artists to be more sensitive and more open to abstract thoughts and ideas. If they are more open, they should be capable of tapping into the mystical static that is bouncing around the collective ether. True inspiration is a mystery, and any artist can describe how getting lost in this zone can create a sort of timeless trance where things just flow magically. An artist’s best work comes from a mindless place, unhindered by logic and intellect. This could be the concert violinist standing on stage, or the illustrator hunched over in the corner with a sketchbook. Although it almost always falls short, the Hollywood machine is continually trying to come up with the next UFO-themed product. But where do these ideas come from?

What has been Extinction Rebellion’s magic? It boils down to values, processes, role modelling, positivity and fast learning. Most importantly for me, XR has been a loud advocate of the three core values I call for in this book. In the London protests of April 2019, you could hear the tannoys reminding supporters to respect everyone: the authorities; the government; the public; each other; the oil companies; EVERYONE. In surreal scenes on Waterloo Bridge, the police were caught visibly off balance by the tide chanting: ‘To the police, we love you. We’re doing this for your children’, as the police carried people away to their vans. Of course, as XR’s name suggests, they stand overtly for the preservation of all species. And they made a very strong call for truth. At its best, XR gave us a taste of a better world. They

I decide to be proactive. “Hey, be careful with them apples,” I call out, imitating a harsh Mike voice. Mike always shows up in his ragged, half-rotten clothes and tells us how to do things, like he’s some kind of big expert. All faces turn toward me, including Dutch’s equine one. Dutch cants his head to one side to examine me with one great eye. They all get the joke and laugh. Mark tosses me an apple. It comes tumbling to me in a long golden arc like something out of mythology. The throw is so expert that I easily catch it. I take a bite, and get lost for a moment in its sweet juiciness, get lost in the whole idea of an apple tree, how it makes sweet food out of sunlight and earth. I think about how the tree spreads out above ground to catch air and light and below ground to catch water, minerals, and nourishment; about how at the end of the season it drops its leaves at its feet to reabsorb their nutrients. There is such Knowingness in this bite that I feel I have just eaten from the tree of knowledge. Stewart looks benevolently down at me from Dutch’s back. He is only twenty and has a ruddy face that glows with health and openness. He embodies the very bloom of youth. His young muscled body sits easily on the horse; his dark brown eyes are alive with merriment and friendliness. The whole scene is like a painting from another time. The Apple Pickers. I see it frozen for a moment, but then, in the silence of our greeting, a jet passes overhead, far away, in a series of deep distant rumbles that makes the canvas shimmer for a moment, reminding me that there is more to this moment than the simplicity that meets the eye.

didn’t plan this,” Jack said. “But since it’s you and me—tell me about Brie.” “Tell you what, Jack?” “When she was leaving… It looked like there was something….” “Spit it out.” “You and Brie?” “What?” Jack took a breath, not happily. “Are you with my sister?” Mike had a swallow of his whiskey. “I’m taking a day off tomorrow—taking her down the Pacific Coast Highway through Mendocino to look for whales, see the galleries, maybe have a little lunch.” “Why?” “She said she’d like to do that while she’s here.” “All right, but you know what I’m getting at—” “I think you’d better tell me, so I don’t misunderstand.” “I’d like to know what your intentions are toward my sister.” “You really think you have the right to do that? To ask that question?” Mike asked him. “Just tell me what was going on between the two of you while I was gone.” “Jack, you’d better loosen your grip a little. Brie’s a grown woman. From where I stand, we’re good friends. If you want to know how she sees it, I think she’s the one you have to ask. But I don’t recommend it—she might be offended. Despite everything, she tends to think of herself as a grown-up.” “It’s no secret to you—she’s had a real bad year.” “It’s no secret,” Mike agreed. “You’re making this really tough, man…” “No, I think you are. You spent some time with her tonight. Did it look to you like anything is wrong? Like she’s upset or anything? Because I think everything is fine and you worry too much.” “I worry, yeah. I worry that maybe she’ll look to you for some comfort. For something to help her get through. And that you’ll take advantage of that.” “And…?” Mike prompted, lifting his glass but not drinking. “And maybe work a little of your Latin magic on her and walk away.” Jack drank his whiskey. “I don’t want you to do that to her.” Mike put down his glass on the bar without emptying it. “I would never hurt Brie. And it has nothing to do with whose sister she is. Good night, Jack.

I’m at my locker; the door is jammed, and I’m trying to yank it open. I finally get the door loose and there’s Josh, standing right there. “Lara Jean…” He has this shell-shocked, confused expression on his face. “I’ve been trying to talk to you since last night. I came by, and nobody could find you…” He holds out my letter. “I don’t understand. What is this?” “I don’t know…,” I hear myself say. My voice feels far away. It’s like I’m floating above myself, watching it all unfold. “I mean, it’s from you, right?” “Oh, wow.” I take a deep breath and accept the letter. I fight the urge to tear it up. “Where did you even get this?” “It got sent to me in the mail.” Josh jams his hands into his pockets. “When did you write this?” “Like, a long time ago,” I say. I let out a fake little laugh. “I don’t even remember when. It might have been middle school.” Good job, Lara Jean. Keep it up. Slowly he says, “Right…but you mention going to the movies with Margot and Mike and Ben that time. That was a couple of years ago.” I bite my bottom lip. “Right. I mean, it was kind of a long time ago. In the grand scheme of things.” I can feel tears coming on so close that if I break concentration even for a second, if I waver, I will cry and that will make everything worse, if such a thing is possible. I must be cool and breezy and nonchalant now. Tears would ruin that. Josh is staring at me so hard I have to look away. “So then…Do you…or did you have feelings for me or…?” “I mean, yes, sure, I did have a crush on you at one point, before you and Margot ever started dating. A million years ago.” “Why didn’t you ever say anything? Because, Lara Jean…God. I don’t know.” His eyes are on me, and they’re confused, but there’s something else, too. “This is crazy. I feel kind of blindsided.” The way he’s looking at me now, I’m suddenly in a time warp back to a summer day when I was fourteen and he was fifteen, and we were walking home from somewhere. He was looking at me so intently I was sure he was going to try to kiss me. I got nervous, so I picked a fight with him and he never looked at me like that again. Until this moment. Don’t. Just please, don’t. Whatever he’s thinking, whatever he wants to say, I don’t want to hear it. I will do anything, literally anything, not to hear it. Before he can, I say, “I’m dating someone.” Josh’s jaw goes slack. “What?” What? “Yup. I’m dating someone, someone I really really like, so please don’t worry about this.” I wave the letter like it’s just paper, trash, like once upon a time I didn’t literally pour my heart onto this page. I stuff it into my bag. “I was really confused when I wrote this; I don’t even know how it got sent out. Honestly, it’s not worth talking about. So please, please don’t say anything to Margot about it.” He nods, but that’s not good enough. I need a verbal commitment. I need to hear the words come out of his mouth. So I add, “Do you swear? On your life?” If Margot was to ever find out…I would want to die. “All right, I swear. I mean, we haven’t even spoken since she left.” I let out a huge breath. “Great. Thanks.” I’m about to walk away, but then Josh stops me. “Who’s the guy?” “What guy?” “The guy you’re dating.” That’s when I see him. Peter Kavinsky, walking down the hallway. Like magic. Beautiful, dark-haired Peter. He deserves background music, he looks so good. “Peter. Kavinsky. Peter Kavinsky!

thought it was Mike who was sobbing. The poor guy! And then there was the time the magic wind switcherooed Katie into Slinky, class 4A’s pet snake. Just thinking about shedding Slinky’s skin still made her itch. Most fourth-grade girls don’t shed. The magic wind was the reason Katie didn’t make wishes anymore. She knew what kinds of weird things could happen if they came true. But she still really, really wanted a Christmas tree, even if she couldn’t wish for one. Luckily, Katie didn’t have to wish this time. Instead, Nick said, “I think we should go to a tree farm and pick one out.

había t ant a carne dorada en la pant alla que era como una escena de Magic Mike cobrando vida

The addition of action was the magical ingredient that began to set the wheel of growth in motion.

I can’t believe I’m laying on the floor contemplating throwing water on him to the soundtrack of Magic Mike.

While I chewed on my eleven brioche rolls, I saw the likes of Gen. David Petraeus, Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand, and that guy from Magic Mike, who also played a hot werewolf and was supposed to have a huge wang. It was an extremely glamorous night.

Mike had a girlfriend named Jenny. Soap liked Jenny because she teased him, but Jenny really isn’t important to this story. She wasn’t ever going to fall in love with Soap, and Soap knew it. What matters is that Jenny worked in a museum, and so Soap and Mike started going to museum events, because you got Brie on crackers and wine and martinis. Free food. All you had to do was wear a suit and listen to people talk about art and mortgages and their children. There would be a lot of older women who reminded Soap of his mother, and it was clear that Soap reminded these women of their sons. What was never clear was whether these women were flirting with him, or whether they wanted his advice about something that even they couldn’t put their finger on.

I liked Alan immediately. He was funny, smart and witty—three traits that make it easy to comically play off someone else. Playing opposite someone as gifted as Alan made it easier for me to become Mike Seaver. Alan was always extremely generous with his compliments about fellow cast members. Once in an interview he said, “Successful family shows need someone with that magic—the look that has the chance to take the country by storm. Michael J. Fox did that. Kirk seemed to have that. I thought, This is a good rocket to hitch my star to.

A few plays later, Emma ended up with the ball again. There seemed to be some kind of unspoken rule that everybody got a chance to make a play, even if they sucked. She was going to run, but then she saw Stephanie bearing down on her with that killer Kowalski spirt in her eyes and tossed the ball up in the air. Mitch—who hadn’t touched her since his first misguided tackle—snatched it out of the air and ran it back for a touchdown, much to the vocal dismay of her teammates. “You play football even worse than you drive,” Sean muttered. “Clearly, it’s my lack of—” He yanked her back against his body and wrapped his arms around her so he could whisper in her ear. “Don’t you dare say it.” She laughed and leaned back against his chest. “Don’t say what?” “If you mention the magic penis in front of these guys, I’ll never hear the end of it. Never. Hell, fifty years from now when our dicks are shriveled up and useless, they’ll still be cracking magic-penis jokes.” “What’s it worth to you?” He tightened his arms around her and nuzzled her hair. “What are you looking to get?” She turned her head so her lips were almost touching his cheek and dropped her voice down into the sexy bedroom range. “I want…to drive home.” He snorted. “Figures.” “Just imagine Mike all old and decrepit and toothless leaning on his walker cackling and shouting, ‘Hey, Sean, how’s the magic penis hanging?’” “Okay, you win. You can drive.

On the occasions fear or worry overcome you, relax! I used to panic whenever negativity coursed through my mind, thinking I was doomed because of this principle of thoughts become things, but I discovered something long ago when I thought I was being fired at PW: while there are indeed times in all our lives when we simply cannot stop our runaway trains of fear or negativity, at all times we are free and able to simultaneously start a new train running.

The Hoagie Place Unveiled: Founded in 2013 by Mike and John D'Amico, it blossoms into a cherished sandwich restaurant in Chicago and Dolton, Illinois. Savor their culinary magic from humble roots. Phone: (+1) 773-994-7714 Address: 8147 S Halsted St, Chicago, IL Website: hoagieplace.com

French author Blaise Pascal wrote in 1657, “I have made this letter longer than usual, only because I have not had the time to make it shorter.

The Mammoth Book of Muhammad Ali The Mammoth Book of Best British Crime 9 The Mammoth Book of Conspiracies The Mammoth Book of Lost Symbols The Mammoth Book of Nebula Awards SF The Mammoth Book of Body Horror The Mammoth Book of Steampunk The Mammoth Book of New CSI The Mammoth Book of Gangs The Mammoth Book of SF Wars The Mammoth Book of One-Liners The Mammoth Book of Ghost Romance The Mammoth Book of Best New SF 25 The Mammoth Book of Jokes 2 The Mammoth Book of Horror 23 The Mammoth Book of Slasher Movies The Mammoth Book of Street Art The Mammoth Book of Ghost Stories by Women The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 11 The Mammoth Book of Irish Humour The Mammoth Book of Unexplained Phenomena The Mammoth Book of Futuristic Romance The Mammoth Book of Best British Crime 10 The Mammoth Book of Combat The Mammoth Book of Quick & Dirty Erotica The Mammoth Book of Dark Magic The Mammoth Book of New Sudoku The Mammoth Book of Zombies!

Now that summer’s here, with its calm and its delightful evening breeze, I’m more convinced than ever that if I had to leave this place, I’d die. The landscape, yes – but the real magic is in the relationships. These streets are my home; with these people I can be the way I am, no need to add anything. Sometimes, like Mike, I walk barefoot – walk the earth, quite literally, feeling the earth beneath me, feeling the warmth of the sun, like a plant.

I can’t walk through my own damn house without getting a front-row seat to my own personal Magic Mike show. Yeah, there’s no dancing, but there’s plenty of flexing abs and bulging biceps. The air feels thick with their pheromones. I can barely breathe.

Does she think I’m running some kind of dating service? Instead of Magic Mike it’s Magic Lawyer—free lap dance during your first appointment.

THE PRIMARY PURPOSE OF THE PRESENTATION IS TO CREATE OPPORTUNITIES TO CLOSE. That is really the entire purpose of the presentation. There is no other. A Closer doesn’t wait for closing opportunities to magically appear—she creates them. She creates them with her presentation. A CLOSING OPPORTUNITY IS A MOMENT WHERE THE PROSPECT GIVES A SIGNAL THAT HE MIGHT HAVE ENOUGH INTEREST IN THE PRODUCT OR SERVICE TO BUY IT.

I’m Captain Florida, the state history pimp Gatherin’ more data than a DEA blimp West Palm, Tampa Bay, Miami-Dade Cruisin’ the coasts till Johnny Vegas gets laid Developer ho’s, and the politician bitches Smackin’ ’em down, while I’m takin’ lots of pictures Hurricanes, sinkholes, natural disaster ’Scuse me while I kick back, with my View-Master (S:) I’m Captain Florida, obscure facts are all legit (C:) I’m Coleman, the sidekick, with a big bong hit (S:) I’m Captain Florida, staying literate (C:) Coleman sees a book and says, “Fuck that shit” Ain’t never been caught, slippin’ nooses down the Keys Got more buoyancy than Elián González Knockin’ off the parasites, and takin’ all their moola Recruiting my apostles for the Church of Don Shula I’m an old-school gangster with a psycho ex-wife Molly Packin’ Glocks, a shotgun and my 7-Eleven coffee Trippin’ the theme parks, the malls, the time-shares Bustin’ my rhymes through all the red-tide scares (S:) I’m the surge in the storms, don’t believe the hype (C:) I’m his stoned number two, where’d I put my hash pipe? (S:) Florida, no appointments and a tank of gas (C:) Tequila, no employment and a bag of grass Think you’ve seen it all? I beg to differ Mosquitoes like bats and a peg-leg stripper The scammers, the schemers, the real estate liars Birthday-party clowns in a meth-lab fire But dig us, don’t diss us, pay a visit, don’t be late And statistics always lie, so ignore the murder rate Beaches, palm trees and golfing is our curse Our residents won’t bite, but a few will shoot first Everglades, orange groves, alligators, Buffett Scarface, Hemingway, an Andrew Jackson to suck it Solarcaine, Rogaine, eight balls of cocaine See the hall of fame for the criminally insane Artifacts, folklore, roadside attractions Crackers, Haitians, Cuban-exile factions The early-bird specials, drivin’ like molasses Condo-meeting fistfights in cataract glasses (S:) I’m the native tourist, with the rants that can’t be beat (C:) Serge, I think I put my shoes on the wrong feet (S:) A stack of old postcards in another dingy room (C:) A cold Bud forty and a magic mushroom Can’t stop, turnpike, keep ridin’ like the wind Gotta make a detour for a souvenir pin But if you like to litter, you’re just liable to get hurt Do ya like the MAC-10 under my tropical shirt? I just keep meeting jerks, I’m a human land-filler But it’s totally unfair, this term “serial killer” The police never rest, always breakin’ in my pad But sunshine is my bling, and I’m hangin’ like a chad (S:) Serge has got to roll and drop the mike on this rap . . . (C:) Coleman’s climbin’ in the tub, to take a little nap . . . (S:) . . . Disappearin’ in the swamp—and goin’ tangent, tangent, tangent . . . (C:) He’s goin’ tangent, tangent . . . (Fade-out) (S:) I’m goin’ tangent, tangent . . . (C:) Fuck goin’ platinum, he’s goin’ tangent, tangent . . . (S:) . . . Wikipedia all up and down your ass . . . (C:) Wikity-Wikity-Wikity . . .

I am the bird in flight And the sky it seeks, I am the sun at dawn Rising over the peaks. I am the voice you hear When the clouds turns gray, And the hand you hold When you’ve lost your way. And though you forget me From time to time, Even now I am with you… As you read this rhyme.

But Tom was not thinking about magic or struggle or the rest of his journey. He was enjoying the game and the bright sun, and his heart was a child's heart. But then, all grownup's hearts are children's hearts inside, if you can only find the catch that opens them.

...More to the point, do their representatives and senators in Washington deliberately prioritize the stated requirement of the Pentagon and CIA above the most basic need of their constituents? Yes, if those legislators have developed the unfortunate tendency to go into a trance every time someone utter the magic phrase "national security." In truth, it happen often enough, and many times of the course of my career I saw Congress respond to that occult incantation like iron filing drawn to a magnet. p 64

I decide to be proactive. “Hey, be careful with them apples,” I call out, imitating a harsh Mike voice. Mike always shows up in his ragged, half-rotten clothes and tells us how to do things, like he’s some kind of big expert. All faces turn toward me, including Dutch’s equine one. Dutch cants his head to one side to examine me with one great eye. They all get the joke and laugh. Mark tosses me an apple. It comes tumbling to me in a long golden arc like something out of mythology. The throw is so expert that I easily catch it. I take a bite, and get lost for a moment in its sweet juiciness, get lost in the whole idea of an apple tree, how it makes sweet food out of sunlight and earth. I think about how the tree spreads out above ground to catch air and light and below ground to catch water, minerals, and nourishment; about how at the end of the season it drops its leaves at its feet to reabsorb their nutrients. There is such Knowingness in this bite that I feel I have just eaten from the tree of knowledge. Stewart looks benevolently down at me from Dutch’s back. He is only twenty and has a ruddy face that glows with health and openness. He embodies the very bloom of youth. His young muscled body sits easily on the horse; his dark brown eyes are alive with merriment and friendliness. The whole scene is like a painting from another time. The Apple Pickers. I see it frozen for a moment, but then, in the silence of our greeting, a jet passes overhead, far away, in a series of deep distant rumbles that makes the canvas shimmer for a moment, reminding me that there is more to this moment than the simplicity that meets the eye. We stand quietly for awhile eating these first

Leadership as a Service But the best leadership—the kind that people can mention only with evident emotion and deep respect—is most often exercised by people without positional power. It happens outside the official hierarchy of delegated authority. When I’m on my home turf, I play tennis two or three times a week in groups organized by a charming fellow named Mike. Mike is our leader. It’s Mike who decides the matchups: who plays with whom and against whom. He’s the one who shuffles the players (16 of us on four courts) after each set so we all have different partners for all three sets. He invariably makes good pairings so that near the end of a half hour you can look across the courts and see four scores like 5 to 4, 6 to 6, 7 to 6, and 5 to 5. He has a great booming voice, easy to hear even when he is three courts away. He sets the meeting times, negotiates the schedules for court time, and makes sure there are subs for anyone who needs to be away. Nobody gave Mike the job of leading the group; he just stepped up and took it. His leadership is uncontested; the rest of us are just in awe of our good fortune that he leads us as he does. He gets nothing for it except our gratitude and esteem. —TDM In this example, leadership is not about extracting anything from us; it’s about service. The leadership that the Mikes of the world provide enables their endeavors to go forth. While they sometimes set explicit directions, their main role is that of a catalyst, not a director. They make it possible for the magic to happen. In order to lead without positional authority—without anyone ever appointing you leader—you have to do what Mike does: • Step up to the task. • Be evidently fit for the task. • Prepare for the task by doing the required homework ahead of time. • Maximize value to everyone. • Do it all with humor and obvious goodwill. It also helps to have charisma.

decide to be proactive. “Hey, be careful with them apples,” I call out, imitating a harsh Mike voice. Mike always shows up in his ragged, half-rotten clothes and tells us how to do things, like he’s some kind of big expert. All faces turn toward me, including Dutch’s equine one. Dutch cants his head to one side to examine me with one great eye. They all get the joke and laugh. Mark tosses me an apple. It comes tumbling to me in a long golden arc like something out of mythology. The throw is so expert that I easily catch it. I take a bite, and get lost for a moment in its sweet juiciness, get lost in the whole idea of an apple tree, how it makes sweet food out of sunlight and earth. I think about how the tree spreads out above ground to catch air and light and below ground to catch water, minerals, and nourishment; about how at the end of the season it drops its leaves at its feet to reabsorb their nutrients. There is such Knowingness in this bite that I feel I have just eaten from the tree of knowledge. Stewart looks benevolently down at me from Dutch’s back. He is only twenty and has a ruddy face that glows with health and openness. He embodies the very bloom of youth. His young muscled body sits easily on the horse; his dark brown eyes are alive with merriment and friendliness. The whole scene is like a painting from another time. The Apple Pickers. I see it frozen for a moment, but then, in the silence of our greeting, a jet passes overhead, far away, in a series of deep distant rumbles that makes the canvas shimmer for a moment, reminding me that there is more to this moment than the simplicity that meets the eye.

Who needs Channing Tatum when I’ve got my own Magic Mike?

There are some Keepers that should not be talked about. Much. It is as if, with each telling, they may lose some of the angel’s stardust from which they come. A tad of stardust given away with each telling until years later they no longer have the stardust they once had. Except to the story’s owner and friends whose hearts have enshrined it.

When I first met my long-term partner, Mike, he was suffering with an incurable disease. (No need for specifics). He was taking a concoction of pills and was facing a prospect of steroid medication and perhaps surgery to keep his condition in remission. I was somewhat surprised that on our first date, he told me, not just the full story of his own disease, but also all about his father and sister, who were both suffering with separate incurable illnesses. As I got to know Mike and his family, I was struck by how much they talked about illness. Mike gave an almost daily commentary about his various aches, pains, twinges and physical state. Where some families talk about politics or sport, or celebrities, or current affairs (it’s dogs, cats and kids in my family), Mike’s family would chat around the dinner table about conditions, consultants, tests, medical procedures, drugs and treatments. I found this quite bewildering, because these subjects rarely enter my mind. It was like being in a room full of people talking about a book you haven’t read or a film you haven’t seen. I found myself with nothing to add to this conversation, having no story about illness to tell. But here’s where it gets interesting. When I mentioned my observations to Mike, he became aware of how much he and his family spoke about illness for the first time ever. With my prompting, he began to change his story. And as he did so, not only did his aches and pains begin to disappear, but his chronic disease also started, almost miraculously, to improve. After a few months, he felt well enough to come off all his medication. At some point, he even stopped his regular visits to the doctor. There was just no point in seeing a doctor when he felt so well. Of course, we aren’t allowed to say ‘cured’ (because only doctors are allowed to claim a cure), but all these years later, his ‘incurable’ illness is not simply better, it’s gone. Now, please don’t take this as a prescription to ditch your meds and stop seeing your doctor. I’m not saying you can or should replace proper medical advice or treatment with words. This is just one anecdote about one man who chose to tell a different story. Take from it what you will.

The customer quickly turned the lock on the front door before following Mike to the workstation and watching as the butcher slid a fat smoked ham back and forth, back and forth across the razor-sharp blade of the meat-slicing machine. Mike caught each thin slice and piled it on the round, sesame-seeded bread that lay split open on the counter. He repeated the process with salami, depositing it on the ham. Next a layer of capicola, followed by pepperoni, Swiss cheese, and provolone. "Looking good," said the customer, observing from the other side of the counter. "Thanks again for this." "No problem," said Mike. "We Royal Street folks have to help each other out when we can." "How many muffs do you think you've made in your life?" asked the customer, setting a shopping bag on the floor. The sandwich maker laughed. "I couldn't even begin to tell you." He reached for the glass container of olive spread he had mixed himself. Finely chopped green olives, celery, cauliflower, and carrot seasoned with extra-virgin olive oil, all left to marinate overnight.

Through you, through you, through you...  The magic works through you. Not beside you. Not around you. Not for you. Not despite you. But through you. You have to go there. You have to choose your stage. You have to do your dance. Putting yourself in place, to any degree that you can, even if it scares you, even when it's "hard," even if it's just your big toe. Stretch yourself, scoff at the odds, get the ball rolling so that the magic can then come alive and sweep you off your feet with its infinite grace and glory. You wouldn't just carry around the seeds for the garden of your dreams in your pocket, all the while asking where your flowers were? Nope, you'd have to brave the elements, you'd have to choose the location, and then you'd have to go there. Your life is your wand.

Through you, through you, through you...the magic works through you. Not beside you. Not around you. Not for you. Not despite you. But through you. You have to go there. You have to choose your stage. You have to do your dance. Putting yourself in place, to any degree that you can, even if it scares you, even when it's "hard," even if it's just your big toe. Stretch yourself, scoff at the odds, get the ball rolling so that the magic can then come alive and sweep you off your feet with its infinite grace and glory. You wouldn't just carry around the seeds for the garden of your dreams in your pocket, all the while asking where your flowers were? Nope, you'd have to brave the elements, you'd have to choose the location, and then you'd have to go there. Your life is your wand.

It took a moment longer for them to consider that they were being chased by a man on magical ice skates, only the ice was on his feet and not the surface being skated on. "...fine. Why not." "What's happening?! We're slowing down!" "Well. It appears. We have a new tradition in Ebott's Wake. Cultists On Ice!

Did you just call me Snoopy?" I grinned, feeling lighter than I had all morning. "Nosy Parker work better for you?" "Not even a little, Magic Mike." "Mike danced. He didn't swim." The pert nose of Princess Anya lifted a touch. "He put on a certain type of show. That's the point." "A type you apparently like to watch." Her cheeks pinkened as she bristled.

Mike smiled to himself as he squinted at the yarn on his needle. “Fantasy football’s just Magic: The Gathering for wannabe jocks.

Help me convince Mike to accept magic stimulant cocktails, pills, and inhalants.

(and some of my friends) have compared him to that dark-haired guy with the beard on Magic Mike. Joe-something, or Big Dick Richie in the movie. Ew. Ew. Ew. Totally ruined him in that movie for me since he does look like my dad. Thank God, Channing was in there.

Who could think about a dead guy at a time like this? I was far more interested in figuring out why Bolan looked like a backup dancer for Magic Mike.

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glanced out the ancient window at the afternoon sunlight cascading down the broad new leaves of a chestnut tree in the garden. It shimmered with life and meaning – a vision of something forever beyond us – innocent and true, the miracle of sunlight on the green magic of leaves, in this world of mysterious beauty we do not love or understand

And what the fuck constitutes a ‘Magic Mike tribute show’ anyway? Are the entertainers doing blow onstage? That would be honest within the context of the film’s lies. Go all the way with it. I didn’t pretend to lick a girl’s butthole at a bachelorette party once. I fucking did it.

I sent my son here [Hackshack] for camp. The plan was 2 weeks here and then go to another camp. When it was time for pickup at 5 (after an 8 hour day) he refused to leave. He would beg for "another 5 minutes". We ended up extending for the whole summer and he is now begging me to sign him up for after school classes. Mike & Gina (the owners) are amazing. I don't know what magic they do, but the environment they create is warm, nurturing, and welcoming. As a bonus--he learned a ton!

There is nothing more mystical, miraculous and magical than scientific randomness, where existence jumps out of non-existence for no reason.

It’s time for the human race to escape the nihilism of scientism. It's time for meaning, purpose, life, mind and qualia to be restored to their rightful, primary, defining place. Amazingly, it’s mathematics that allows the universe to be a living organism once again rather than a dead machine.

If you can do something with your life, do it. Don’t talk about it. Why are you waiting for permission? There are far too many people who talk the talk (and believe their own Mythos), and far too few who walk the walk (and actually change the world).

Hegel was an advocate of panlogism: reason is literally everywhere. Existence is made of reason, hence existence is entirely knowable. Reality is constituted by the mind and is its construction. Given that mind can know everything it made, there is no unknowable, noumenal world. If mind creates everything, there is nothing outside mind, no noumenal objects existing independently of mind.

Science is just an enormous system of non explanation since randomness does not belong to the category of explanation. It’s a category error to believe it does. Randomness inhabits the same category as magic, miracles, mystery, faith, prayer, and the “will of God”. It has no explanatory power whatsoever and is 100% contradicted by the principle of sufficient reason.

There Is No Magic Pill For A Changed Life, But Only A Changed Thinking.

Can you keep a secret?’ ‘What?’ ‘Cross your heart and hope to die.’ ‘Go on.  What secret?’ but my sister wouldn’t part with her classified intelligence until I had performed the full rites. ‘I know where we can get something else to eat.’  Perhaps she had found a magic way way to change slices of parsnip into marzipan. ‘Where?’ I asked. ‘Cross your heart and hope to die.’ ‘Do I have to?’ I sighed, but I repeated the ritual; starvation concentrates the mind.

It doesn't do you any good to pray in question marks.

Only after your first step can you begin to take your second. Do something—do anything! One

guess all those years riding Broncs taught him how to move his body because he’s pulling out some real ‘Magic Mike’ shit with his performance. Anyone here would think he’s a professional.

Male Name-Pictures JAMES (Jim)—a Slim Jim JOHN—a toilet (my apologies to anyone named John) ROBERT (Bob)—a buoy bobbing on the water’s surface MICHAEL (Mike)—a microphone WILLIAM (Bill)—a dollar bill DAVID—a statue RICHARD—I’m sure you can think of something for this one CHARLES—a river (I’m from Boston) JOSEPH (Joe)—a cup of coffee THOMAS (Tom)—a drum CHRISTOPHER (Chris)—an “X” (like a crisscross) DANIEL (Dan)—a lion (lion’s den) PAUL—a bouncing ball MARK—a bruise (as in, “That’s gonna leave a mark!”) DONALD—a duck GEORGE—a gorge KENNETH (Ken)—a hen STEVEN (Steve)—a stove EDWARD (Ed)—a bed BRIAN—a brain RONALD (Ron)—a man running ANTHONY (Tony)—a skeleton (Bony Tony) KEVIN—the number seven JASON—a man being chased (chasin’) MATTHEW (Matt)—a welcome mat Female Name-Pictures MARY—the Virgin Mary PATRICIA (Pat)—a baseball bat LINDA—beauty crown (linda means “pretty” in Spanish) BARBARA—barbed-wire fence ELIZABETH—an ax (Lizzie Borden) JENNIFER—a heart (Jennifer Love Hewitt) MARIA—a wedding dress (as in, “I’m gonna marry ya”) SUSAN—a pair of socks (Susan sounds like “shoes and . . .”) MARGARET (Peg)—a pirate’s peg leg DOROTHY (Dot)—Dots candy LISA—the Mona Lisa NANCY—pants KAREN—a carrot BETTY—a poker chip HELEN—a demon SANDRA (Sandy)—the beach DONNA—a duck (as in, Donald) CAROL—bells (“Carol of the Bells”) RUTH—a roof SHARON—a toddler throwing a fit because she doesn’t want to share MICHELLE—a missile LAURA—an “aura” SARAH—cheerleader’s pom-poms (rah-rah!) KIMBERLY—a very burly woman named Kim DEBORAH—a bra A great way to practice this technique is to jump on Facebook and just start browsing profiles. You’ll have an endless supply of names and faces from which to try creating name-pictures and associations.

The other day in Mr. Steele’s class—” my head snapped up— “Mike made a girl cry. It was horrible.” “What did Mr. Steele do?” I asked. “Gave him detention. He is the nicest teacher.” May’s eyes drifting toward the heavens. Christian and Adam laughed. “I don’t think the girls like him because he’s nice.” “He can’t help it if he’s also hot,” May snapped.