Pumping Iron Best Quotes

Postfeminism, as a term, suggests that women have made plenty of progress because of feminism, but that feminism is now irrelevant and even undesirable because it supposedly made millions of women unhappy, unfeminine, childless, hairy, lonely, bitter and prompted them to fill their closets with combat boots and really bad India print skirts. Supposedly women have gotten all they could out of feminism, are now "equal," and so can, by choice, embrace things we used to see as sexist, like a TV show in which some self-satisfied lunk samples the wares of twenty-five women before rejecting twenty-four and keeping the one he likes best, or like the notion that mothers should have primary responsibility for raising the kids. Postfeminism means that you can now work outside the home even in jobs previously restricted to men, go to graduate school, pump iron, and pump your own gas, as long as you remain fashion conscious, slim, nurturing, deferential to men, and become a doting, selfless mother.

These samurai swords were made from a special type of steel called tamahagane, which translates as “jewel steel,” made from the volcanic black sand of the Pacific (this consists mostly of an iron ore called magnetite, the original material for the needle of compasses). This steel is made in a huge clay vessel four feet tall, four feet wide, and twelve feet long called a tatara. The vessel is “fired”—hardened from molded clay into a ceramic—by lighting a fire inside it. Once fired, it is packed meticulously with layers of black sand and black charcoal, which are consumed in the ceramic furnace. The process takes about a week and requires constant attention from a team of four or five people, who make sure that the temperature of the fire is kept high enough by pumping air into the tatara using a manual bellows. At the end the tatara is broken open and the tamahagane steel is dug out of the ash and remnants of sand and charcoal. These lumps of discolored steel are very unprepossessing, but they have a whole range of carbon content, some of it very low and some of it high. The samurai innovation was to be able to distinguish high-carbon steel, which is hard but brittle, from low-carbon steel, which is tough but relatively soft. They did this purely by how it looked, how it felt in their hands, and how it sounded when struck. By separating the different types of steel, they could make sure that the low-carbon steel was used to make the center of the sword. This gave the sword an enormous toughness, almost a chewiness, meaning that the blades were unlikely to snap in combat. On the edge of the blades they welded the high-carbon steel, which was brittle but extremely hard and could therefore be made very sharp. By using the sharp high-carbon steel as a wrapper on top of the tough low-carbon steel they achieved what many thought impossible: a sword that could survive impact with other swords and armor while remaining sharp enough to slice a man’s head off. The best of both worlds.

Even so, Watt was nothing if not fair-minded. He may have resented the time Murdock spent inventing rather than on the company’s real business, which was installing, and collecting royalties based on the continued performance of, the Watt engines.* He was, however, just as often delighted by the inventions he made on behalf of Boulton & Watt, including a compressed air pump and a cement that would bond two pieces of iron, calling Murdock “the most active man and best engine erector I ever saw.”41 His value was never, however, to be higher than when Watt enlisted his talents on what came to be known as the sun-and-planet gear.

She reported that another hawk message had come in. Azania gave a very un-princess-like caper and a fist pump. “The reign of King Tyloric has ended!” YEEEERRRSSSS!! he thundered. Three windows up in the castle’s turrets shattered at the reverberation. Glass tinkled down. “Dragon, any chance we could think before we bellow?” Gnarr-t a chance. “I understand perfectly. Anyways, it is the best news since Ignis and Taramis decided to smile upon Solixambria.” He displayed at least fifty fangs in a grin so huge, the stretch caused his jaw joint to pop loudly. “Who’s the replacement, may I ask?” “Lord Harikic, who happens to be married to Queen Shariza’s younger sister, Immiriza.” “What is it with Humans and rhyming names?” “What is it with Dragons and silly Clan names, like Crusher, Grinder or Obliterator?” “That’s what they do.” “So practical,” she teased, inflicting a hug upon him. “Is it bad of me to feel vindicated? Before you ask, this man is a very different prospect. He –” “Knows what a bathtub is?” Consumed by a fit of helpless giggles, she gasped, “Dragon, I love you!” “Oh dear. Does Azerim know he’s lost your affections?” “Not like that, you ridiculous reptile.” Placing his right fist over his heart, he moaned in a high-pitched, knightly voice, “Oh, say it not, Azania, my verimost muse, for I have loved thee most fulsomely since the very first day I clapped paw upon thy peerless person! Woe, thou breakest at least one of mine five hearts. How shall this scorned creature ever become whole again?” This was too much for the Princess. She guffawed so hard that tears sprang into her eyes. She folded up in his paw, apparently unable to stand. He eyed the girl wriggling in his paw in a perfectly undignified state of hysterics. Ah, so this would be ‘rolling with laughter’ in Human parlance. The problem was that it was catching. What was it about yawns and laughter that was more infectious than the worst disease imaginable? Very soon, his roars of mirth shook the castle. Another two windows gave up the unequal battle and dropped their leaded glass into the courtyard with a loud crash. Inzashu, the Prince and at least twenty servants rushed out to see what the commotion was all about. “Celebrating Tyloric’s downfall,” Azania managed to explain between hiccoughs. Thundersong said, “This would be the same Tyloric who clapped Princess Azania in irons in his dungeon for a month, hoping she’d break and agree to marry Prince Floric.” “Floric the Flatulent? Gods, no!” several servants blurted out. One man ducked aside and deposited his breakfast in a nearby flowerbed. “Sorry …” “I understand perfectly,” Azania said.