Showdown Quotes

Born of Black and White, Eaten with worms, I'm a Saint, a Sinner, a Siren of the Word, The Circle knows me, the rest just wanna trip on Grace Juice, Baby Showdown at midnight

Life is a conjurer’s trick that may become a playground for multifarious side-splitting acts; sometimes a showdown for a series of torturous, off the wall questions or often a terrain for tragic miscalculations. ("Wheeling and dealing." )

The four rules of writing... 1. Write to discover. 2. There is no greater discovery than love. 3. All love comes from the Creator. 4. Write what you will.

After facing the relentless pandemic showdowns, many long for the glow of a new dawn and crave bright life stories with liberating slapsticks to shatter silenced desolation and pent-up rage, restoring self-value and broken identity.

Common sense is our seventh sense that is guiding our personality. It embraces all other secured senses growing in the shadow of humbleness without being dissipated by disputes, showdowns, or down-right self-righteousness. ("Wit of the staircase")

When we start raising different inconsistent truths, life may tip into bewilderment and the brain may go haywire. The confrontation between what is, not is, and maybe is, might embed an enduring showdown, harboring an intense apprehension, and bring us sometimes unwittingly to our knees ("The hidden sides of his character" )

Humans are suspicious and jealous creatures. When they see something perfect, they want to find a flaw.

Live to discover, as long as discovery leads to a love that comes from the Creator... writing was the mirror to life.

I BELIEVE!!!!!!!" - Johnny

If you force me to pick one color, it'd be Black... It covers up the things inside of me that I don't want to be known. Well, for the same reason, black is the color I hate, too...

i mean talk about decadence," he declared, "how decadent can a society get? Look at it this way. This country's probably the psychiatric, psychoanalytical capital of the world. Old Freud himself could never've dreamed up a more devoted bunch of disciples than the population of the United States - isn't that right? Our whole damn culture is geared to it; it's the new religion; it's everybody's intellectual and spiritual sugar-tit. And for all that, look what happens when a man really does blow his top. Call the Troopers, get him out of sight quick, hustle him off and lock him up before he wakes the neighbors. Christ's sake, when it comes to any kind of showdown we're still in the Middle Ages. It's as if everybody'd made this tacit agreement to live in a state of total self-deception. The hell with reality! Let's have a whole bunch of cute little winding roads and cute little houses painted white and pink and baby blue; let's all be good consumers and have a lot of Togetherness and bring our children up in a bath of sentimentality -- and if old reality ever does pop out and say Boo we'll all get busy and pretend it never happened.

You act like they're especially unholy or something.Are you trying to tell me that in the final showdown between evil and good, the weapons of choice will be guns and..cats?

I catch fire and find the reserves of courage and assertiveness to speak up. When that happens I get quite carried away. My blood gets hot my brow wet I become unbearably and unconscionably sarcastic and bellicose I am girded for a total showdown.

I shall never be a dangerous woman; I can make men love, but I cannot make them suffer. It would be much better the other way about. I have seen women able to make men suffer who could not make them love. The more they suffered the more they hung around for a showdown. In the end they did better than I, for it is strange what people will do to be able to suffer and say to themselves, in the night, “I have suffered, I have lived indeed.

Tarver,” she whispers, her eyes on my face. “There’ll be cameras all the time. More questions. Everyone will want to hear your story. Your life will be different, no matter how far from Corinth we go.” A flashlight flickers through the trees, broken and jagged as it shines past the trunks. The light glances off her face, illuminating her eyes for a brief, brilliant moment. I step closer. “I don’t care.” “My father will try to—” She swallows, then lifts her chin, mouth firming to a straight, determined line. “No. I’ll figure out a way to handle him.” I can’t help but grin down at her, this steely assurance, my Lilac through and through. “I’d pay to see that showdown.

Love can only be found in freedom of choice. And for choice to exist, there must be an alternative to choose. Something as compelling as love.

Successful control means achieving a balance and avoiding a showdown where all-out force would be necessary.

When it comes to a showdown between the shepherd and the wolf, the shepherd will always prevail. The wolf's speed, brute strength and cunning may give him a brief advantage, but in the end, the shepherd's genius and organisation will triumph every time. Be therefore wary off the Shepard, more than of the wolf.

Love can only be found in freedom of choice.

The United States is baiting China and Russia, and the final nail in the coffin will be Iran, which is, of course, the main target of Israel. We have allowed China to increase their military strength and Russia to recover from Sovietization, to give them a false sense of bravado, this will create an all together faster demise for them. We’re like the sharp shooter daring the noob to pick up the gun, and when they try, it’s bang bang. The coming war will be so severe that only one superpower can win, and that’s us folks. This is why the EU is in such a hurry to form a complete superstate because they know what is coming, and to survive, Europe will have to be one whole cohesive state. Their urgency tells me that they know full well that the big showdown is upon us. O how I have dreamed of this delightful moment.

Death stalked toward us on padded feet.        And it was not alone.

While the morality of slavery alone might have eventually led to a showdown, it was America’s sprawling growth that made the issue explosive.

Armageddon (the final battle between good and evil; the word is taken from a plain near the Israeli city of Megiddo where the showdown is supposed to take place).

anyone who has crammed for a school exam knows how easy it is to misquote in a showdown.

Some phrases just have a nice ring to them, y'know? Like, "The water sprite goes flowing down the river." Or, "Ahh, spring." "It's totally autumn." "Drop dead." "Stiff roundhouse kick." Or, "Thick soy broth." See?

It's time to grow uo. You might want some showdown like in the storybooks, but this is not a storybook. This is war. And I can tell you, as someone who watched our families blown out an air lock with my own eyes, war doesn't have a happy ending. Not for anyone.

We could list each other's atrocities all day and not produce any change of mind, because this was never really about the morality of who deserves to live or die. This is a showdown between two classes of people with opposing interests. Whoever wins gets to tell the story.

We’ve had the works. Indy’s kidnappings and murder. Jet’s kidnappings and rape attempt. Roxie’s kidnapping and stalking. Car bombs. Grenades. Knife fights. Female wrestling at Chinese restaurants. Mayhem at a haunted house. Gunshots at a strip club. Showdowns at society parties. Now we got a vigilante on our hands.

Everything was really a story, penned or thought or acted out at some time by someone.

Death was here. The showdown wouldn't occur with the darkness of Halloween. It had come at dawn, and it bathed them in blood.

In that autumn of 1957, eight months before the real horrors began and twenty-eight years before the final showdown, Stuttering Bill was ten years old.

Chapter 10: Showdown

She used to write all the time,' Elizabeth explained, 'before she lost all that weight. Remember? When she was the butt of everyone’s jokes instead of the girl all the boys want to date?

the climax of their journey is a showdown with IT, the cold and calculating disembodied intelligence that has cast a black shadow over the universe in its quest to make everyone behave and believe the same.

Unlike an antibody, a gunslinging sheriff itching for a showdown with a gang of molecular criminals in the center of town, a T cell is the gumshoe detective going door to door to look for perpetrators hiding inside.

The Great Magician is very clear when he says there will always be trouble in the world. As for any human today, in my book, that is a call to action. That’s a call to our own inner hero. That hero is inside all of us whether we be fat, skinny, tall, short, black, white, olive, or yellow. We all have the capacity to be heroes in this life.

America isn't breaking apart at the seams. The American dream isn't dying. Our new racial and ethnic complexion hasn't triggered massive outbreaks of intolerance. Our generations aren't at each other's throats. They're living more interdependently than at any time in recent memory, because that turns out to be a good coping strategy in hard times. Our nation faces huge challenges, no doubt. So do the rest of the world's aging economic powers. If you had to pick a nation with the right stuff to ride out the coming demographic storm, you'd be crazy not to choose America, warts and all.

I felt like the sheriff in an old Western, gearing up for a showdown at high noon, only to find out the black-hat outlaw accidentally fell off his horse and died from a concussion on his way to the gunfight. No satisfaction, no closure.

As I look through my box of photos, my eyes well up with tears as I hold in front of me, the one of my brother Spence when he was five years old. He looks so cute in his cowboy outfit, drawing his toy pistols as if he were having a showdown with nasty outlaws.

If the plot is a machine that allows you to get from set piece to set piece, and the set pieces are things without which the reader or the viewer would feel cheated, then, whatever it is, it’s genre. If the plot exists to get you from the lone cowboy riding into town to the first gunfight to the cattle rustling to the showdown, then it’s a Western. If those are simply things that happen on the way, and the plot encompasses them, can do without them, doesn’t actually care if they are in there or not, then it’s a novel set in the old West.

And for all that, look what happens when a man really does blow his top. Call the Troopers, get him out of sight quick, hustle him off and lock him up before he wakes the neighbors. Christ's sake, when it comes to any kind of a showdown we're still in the Middle Ages. It's as if everybody'd made this tacit agreement to live in a state of total self-deception. The hell with reality! Let's have a whole bunch of cute little winding roads and cute little houses painted white and pink and baby blue; let's all be good consumers and have a lot of Togetherness and bring our children up in a bath of sentimentality—Daddy's a great man because he makes a living, Mummy's a great woman because she's stuck by Daddy all these years—and if old reality ever does pop out and say Boo we'll all get busy and pretend it never happened.

He was talking about physically restoring the Islamic caliphate in a way that nobody else did,” the U.S. official said. “He would establish an extremist vision of Islam and cleanse the land of apostates. And that would pave the way for a final showdown between Muslims and nonbelievers.

A showdown meant war. The whole Positive Control system really depended on equipment that could never really be tested until the time came for its first use, and because of this nobody could ever really know in advance whether or not it would work right. The Fail-Safe machines could be truly tested only once: the single time they were used.

We all know what we have to do what the inkling provokes us. We have to do the right thing. We have to make that extra push out of bed, or off the sofa. We must just do it.

Complacency leads to loss. Modesty brings profit.

You mean the one battling the kid ninja with his own kid ninja?” She asked.

Min set her tray down on the table next to me. "Do you want to talk about it?" She asked.

Min stood and picked up her lunch tray. "Maybe I should go.

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Chores," she said. "The important thing is that we're here now. Have you seen anything suspicious?

Yeah, I've seen you with Snoopy, you know,” Min said, a hint of annoyance in her voice. "You two seem to be spending a lot of time together.

How was she going to respond? She leaned over, and kissed me on my left cheek.

Don’t do this,” I said. “Please don’t do this, Min.

Would you want to be an evil ninja or a good ninja?

They couldn’t be any different from each other. One is an evil megalomaniac, and the other is the nicest and sweetest girl on the whole planet.

Whenever that happened, Joey clung to Troy's hand, willing him to know that Riker meant nothing. Well, maybe not nothing. He'd given Joey a valuable gift; he'd taught him what love wasn't. During their showdown in the men's room, it had dawned on Joey what love was. Love took long walks, spent time together talking about nothing. It gave smiles, and hugs, and trips to the beach when it really didn't want to go, because it wanted to share a special place with someone else. Love gave away possessions it valued, knowing the receiver valued them more. Love admitted being wrong, said it was sorry, and did whatever it took to make things right. It called in favors and put a town on the map to make life better for one person who lived there. Love was Troy.

So once the zookeeper realized it was the monkeys who stole the bananas, he knew there was only one way he'd be able to get them back." "How?" I whispered. My throat was so sore. "Don't talk. He had to beat them in shuffleboard, of course." "What?" "I said don't talk. Monkeys love shuffleboard." He used a page from a homework assignment he'd failed and a stack of quarters to make a shuffleboard court. I watched the monkeys and the zookeepers have their showdown while I sipped the last of my applejuice. "Need more?" Graham asked me without looking up, when my straw skidded against the dry bottom of the box. "Uh uh." "You're supposed to drink juice." "I just drank some." "More, though." I shook my head. "Drink more juice or the monkeys are going to kill you. The only thing they love more than shuffleboard is beating up dehydrated sick boys.

Ohio was an apt forum for this showdown. By 2016, 2.3 million people in the state—approximately 20 percent of the total population—received a prescription for opioids. Half of the children who were in foster care across the state had opioid-addicted parents. People were dying from overdoses at such a rate that local coroners had run out of room in which to store all the bodies and were forced to seek makeshift alternatives.

Tigers, indeed all animals, do not favour violence as a means of settling scores. When animals fight, it is with the intent to kill and with the understanding that they may be killed. A clash is costly. And so animals have a full system of cautionary signals designed to avoid a showdown, and they are quick to back down when they feel they can. Rarely will a tiger attack a fellow predator without warning .... It will appraise the situation. If it decides there is no threat, it will turn away....

He was not up to the lecture he’d get from Ben, and he couldn’t call Ben without telling him he was headed to a midnight showdown with Anderson Layne. Not that Kitty wouldn’t lecture him, but the lecture would somehow be easier to take from her. Because you don’t have a lifetime of history with Kitty. When Kitty says you’re being reckless, you tell yourself she doesn’t know what she’s talking about and that she’s just being shrill. When Ben says you’re being reckless, you can’t ignore him because he knows you very, very well. And he’s usually right.

None of the men I had in mind were Nazis. None resembled the men who’d marched through Charlottesville with tiki torches shouting, “You will not replace us!” But there was another spin on the game, and this was the one that worried me: Who in a showdown would accept the subjugation of women as a necessary political concession? Who would make peace with patriarchy if it meant a nominal win, or defend the accused for the sake of stability? The answer was more men than I’d been prepared to believe. I’d have to work harder not to alienate them, if only to make it harder for them to sell me out.

There's no evidence from decades of Pew Research surveys that public opinion, in the aggregate, is more extreme now than in the past. But what has changed -- and pretty dramatically -- is the growing tendency of people to sort themselves into political parties based on their ideological differences.

It wasn’t until Clay felt the sand under his talons and heard the roaring of the dragons in the stands that he realized he hadn’t quite thought this plan through. He had no idea what his fighting skills would be like against an unknown dragon. His mind went blank as the SkyWing guards dropped a hissing IceWing onto the ground opposite him. Did he know anything about IceWings? The sun was high in the sky, and it was much warmer in the arena than up on their prison spires. Clay could see beads of silvery liquid dripping through the IceWing’s glacier-blue scales. Above them, Queen Scarlet smirked from her balcony, with Glory sleeping serenely beside her. The same SkyWing announcer from the day before strutted to the center of the arena and bellowed at the crowd. “After last month’s battle with Blaze’s army, our queen’s dungeons were stuffed with IceWing prisoners of war. Only nine have survived. After two wins, I give you — Fjord of the IceWings!” Fjord lashed his tail and snarled at Clay. “And in this corner, an unusual case — a MudWing, but not one of our allies. No, this dragonet was found hiding under our mountains, protected by the Talons of Peace. Is he one of the dragonets of destiny? Not if he loses this battle!” A murmur of laughter rippled around the seats, but in the closest faces Clay could see expressions of uneasiness and, he thought, concern. He spotted a large MudWing in one of the balconies, frowning down at him. Try to stop this, Clay thought at him, praying hard. Do something! I’m one of you! But the MudWing shifted his gaze away, as if he didn’t want to watch but couldn’t afford to leave. The SkyWing announcer went on. “If these prophesied dragonets are as wonderful and legendary as they’re supposed to be, this should be a showdown to remember. I hope you’re prepared to impress us, dragon of the mud. I present to you … Clay of the MudWings! Claws up, teeth ready! Fight!” Clay

While the above term may seem too gimmicky for a subheading in an official file, it’s truly the best word to describe the strange relationship dynamic between Tam and Keefe Sencen. The two boys are decidedly not friends—in fact, reports suggest they disliked each other almost immediately (and the nicknames they use for each other range from the clever and witty to downright mean-spirited). Some suspect it’s because Tam violated Keefe’s privacy and read Keefe’s shadowvapor without his permission when they first met, while others would argue it’s because Keefe refused to have his shadowvapor read as though he had something to hide. Others still might suggest it’s actually because the two have quite a bit in common—but prefer to think of themselves as uniquely alone in their challenges and principles. Whatever the cause, it’s doubtful that Tam and Keefe will ever truly be friends. But it’s important to note that they have never appeared to truly be enemies, either—a fact that became increasingly vital when Tam was taken by the Neverseen and Keefe’s mom (Lady Gisela) forced him to use his ability on her son. Had there been true ill will between the boys, Tam wouldn’t have attempted to warn Keefe about what his mom was planning—and Keefe would’ve tried to harm Tam in their final showdown.

Since the dawn of time, nearly every man (and I'd wager to guess most women) has, at his most visceral level, secretly desired for one thing - to be standing triumphantly atop a heaping pile of his slain enemies, holding a gigantic axe aloft while some unbelievably attractive member of whatever gender he's attracted to desperately clutches his leg like it's the last life raft on the HMS Titanic.

In recent years a smaller share of young adults has been employed than at any time since the Bureau of Labor Statistics started tracking such trends in 1948. So it's not surprising that this generation of youthful protesters has a different focus for their grievances: the economy, stupid. But notice the targets they've chosen to demonize. It's all about class, not age. It's 1% versus 99%, not young versus old. Occupy Wall Street, not Occupy Leisure World.

Whatever happened between you and Keefe yesterday—and I know something happened, so there’s no point trying to deny it—are you going to talk to him about it? And I mean really talk to him and tell him how you feel?” Sophie twisted free. “I don’t—” “Yes, you do,” Edaline insisted. “You don’t even know what I was going to say!” Edaline smiled. “Pretty sure I can guess. And I understand the instinct to hide these kinds of feelings—sometimes even from ourselves. But… I know they’re there. And not just for you.” She pointed to Sophie’s new stuffed elf as evidence—and Sophie could’ve sworn its little smile turned a bit smug. “I’m definitely not trying to tell you what to do or who to choose or put any pressure on you in any way,” Edaline assured her. “I also know that what I’m asking you to do isn’t easy. Having an open conversation about feelings with someone can be really scary. Especially when they’re also your friend. It’s natural to be afraid of getting hurt—or of ruining all the good things you already have. And I can’t guarantee that won’t happen. But”—she reached for Sophie’s arms again—“it’s still super important to have that conversation. Because it’s way too easy to jump to the wrong conclusion. So just… talk to him, okay? I’m not saying right this moment. But don’t let it go too long, either. And I know you’re going to tell me you have all these huge things going on and you need to focus on them, but… this is important. I can tell Keefe is important to you. So just… do what you always do when you’re getting ready to face some epic showdown with the Neverseen.” “You’re comparing this to a battle?” Sophie had to ask. “Why not? Sometimes relationships feel like that. So put your shields up if you need to. But don’t let that stop you from charging headfirst into the unknown. Be bold. Be brave. Be honest. And be you. You’re Sophie Foster. I know you can do this!

We live in the society of the capitalist spectacle, mate, the more spectacular the better. Build it and they will come, as that old baseball movie says. We worship the event, the occasion, the unmissable show. We want Super Sunday, the Thriller in Manila, the showdown of the century…the things that bring the highest profits for the capitalist organisers. If you’re not at the event, you’re nobody. Life has passed you by. That’s the tyranny of the spectacle. Yet, if you think about it, the spectacle is the biggest joke of all – because all the people at the event are desperate not to be losers. Who wants to be in a collection of people fleeing from fear of failure? Losers and the spectacle go together, the winners performing and the losers watching. The spectacle is how losers numb the pain, how they crave to be part of something, on the winning side for once. The LLN have decided to harness the society of the spectacle too, but not the capitalist version where small groups perform to large groups and get paid a fortune. Instead, the LLN offer the spectacle of life. And Revolution is the greatest spectacle of all.

Leonardo da Vinci, was brought to the Vatican in 1513 by the new pope, Leo X, and given a list of commissions to create for the greater glory of the pope and his family. After three years of living in the papal palace and exploring Rome, the great Leonardo had produced almost nothing. The furious Pope Leo decided to have a surprise showdown with the capricious artist and intimidate him into completing some of his commissions. In the middle of the night, surrounded by several imposing Swiss Guardsmen, the pope burst through the door to Leonardo’s private palace chambers, thinking to shake him out of a sound sleep. Instead, he was horrified to find Leonardo wide awake, with a pair of grave robbers, in the midst of dissecting a freshly stolen corpse—right under the pope’s own roof. Pope Leo let out a nonregal scream and had the Swiss soldiers immediately pack up Leonardo’s belongings and throw them and the divine Leonardo himself outside the fortress wall of the Vatican, never to return again. Shortly afterward, Leonardo decided it was probably healthier to get out of Italy and move to France, where he spent the rest of his days. This, by the way, is why the great Italian genius’s most famous oil paintings, including the Mona Lisa, are all in Paris, in the Louvre museum.

In a 1997 showdown billed as the final battle for supremacy between natural and artificial intelligence, IBM supercomputer Deep Blue defeated Garry Kasparov. Deep Blue evaluated two hundred million positions per second. That is a tiny fraction of possible chess positions—the number of possible game sequences is more than atoms in the observable universe—but plenty enough to beat the best human. According to Kasparov, “Today the free chess app on your mobile phone is stronger than me.” He is not being rhetorical. “Anything we can do, and we know how to do it, machines will do it better,” he said at a recent lecture. “If we can codify it, and pass it to computers, they will do it better.” Still, losing to Deep Blue gave him an idea. In playing computers, he recognized what artificial intelligence scholars call Moravec’s paradox: machines and humans frequently have opposite strengths and weaknesses. There is a saying that “chess is 99 percent tactics.” Tactics are short combinations of moves that players use to get an immediate advantage on the board. When players study all those patterns, they are mastering tactics. Bigger-picture planning in chess—how to manage the little battles to win the war—is called strategy. As Susan Polgar has written, “you can get a lot further by being very good in tactics”—that is, knowing a lot of patterns—“and have only a basic understanding of strategy.

The tactical situation seems simple enough. Thanks to Marx’s prophecy, the Communists knew for certain that misery must soon increase. They also knew that the party could not win the confidence of the workers without fighting for them, and with them, for an improvement of their lot. These two fundamental assumptions clearly determined the principles of their general tactics. Make the workers demand their share, back them up in every particular episode in their unceasing fight for bread and shelter. Fight with them tenaciously for the fulfilment of their practical demands, whether economic or political. Thus you will win their confidence. At the same time, the workers will learn that it is impossible for them to better their lot by these petty fights, and that nothing short of a wholesale revolution can bring about an improvement. For all these petty fights are bound to be unsuccessful; we know from Marx that the capitalists simply cannot continue to compromise and that, ultimately, misery must increase. Accordingly, the only result—but a valuable one—of the workers’ daily fight against their oppressors is an increase in their class consciousness; it is that feeling of unity which can be won only in battle, together with a desperate knowledge that only revolution can help them in their misery. When this stage is reached, then the hour has struck for the final show-down. This is the theory and the Communists acted accordingly. At first they support the workers in their fight to improve their lot. But, contrary to all expectations and prophecies, the fight is successful. The demands are granted. Obviously, the reason is that they had been too modest. Therefore one must demand more. But the demands are granted again44. And as misery decreases, the workers become less embittered, more ready to bargain for wages than to plot for revolution. Now the Communists find that their policy must be reversed. Something must be done to bring the law of increasing misery into operation. For instance, colonial unrest must be stirred up (even where there is no chance of a successful revolution), and with the general purpose of counteracting the bourgeoisification of the workers, a policy fomenting catastrophes of all sorts must be adopted. But this new policy destroys the confidence of the workers. The Communists lose their members, with the exception of those who are inexperienced in real political fights. They lose exactly those whom they describe as the ‘vanguard of the working class’; their tacitly implied principle: ‘The worse things are, the better they are, since misery must precipitate revolution’, makes the workers suspicious—the better the application of this principle, the worse are the suspicions entertained by the workers. For they are realists; to obtain their confidence, one must work to improve their lot. Thus the policy must be reversed again: one is forced to fight for the immediate betterment of the workers’ lot and to hope at the same time for the opposite. With this, the ‘inner contradictions’ of the theory produce the last stage of confusion. It is the stage when it is hard to know who is the traitor, since treachery may be faithfulness and faithfulness treachery. It is the stage when those who followed the party not simply because it appeared to them (rightly, I am afraid) as the only vigorous movement with humanitarian ends, but especially because it was a movement based on a scientific theory, must either leave it, or sacrifice their intellectual integrity; for they must now learn to believe blindly in some authority. Ultimately, they must become mystics—hostile to reasonable argument. It seems that it is not only capitalism which is labouring under inner contradictions that threaten to bring about its downfall …

Once again, the FBI director took the floor. It was almost certain, said he, that there would be a showdown on the Dakota ranch. He described the so-called cowgirls as fanatical subversives violently opposed to the American way of life. These women wanted bloodshed, he said. They had mocked a court order, had refused to negotiate, and were at that very moment pointing firearms, possibly of Communist origin, at government agents.

London, Mick would have a final showdown with Chrissie Shrimpton and effectively tell her he felt ‘very bored’ and didn’t want to see her again. When she took a nearly fatal overdose of sleeping pills and sent Mick the hospital bill, he refused to pay it. Lin Eastman became Linda McCartney.5

today’s teens and young will be nimble, quick-acting multitaskers who treat the Internet as their external brain and who approach problems in a different way from their elders.

More than two-thirds of American adults and more than 80% of Millennials create content through social networking sites, other social media, and their various rankings, ratings, commenting, and remixing applications

be telling a story and they’re nodding along with one-word semi-responses but I know that half of my story has been lost because their attention is mostly focused on whatever they’re texting about or reading on

Yes, there are still “explosionists” concerned that an overpopulated planet will deplete the earth’s resources, but they now share the stage with “implosionists” troubled by a world of too few young supporting too many old.

The America of the early twenty-first century is undergoing two dramatic demographic overhauls at the same time. Our population is en route to becoming majority nonwhite at the same time a record share is turning gray.

The factory of the future will have just two workers,” goes the gallows humor in manufacturing towns. “A man and a dog. The man is there to feed the dog. The dog is there to make sure the man keeps his hands off the equipment.

If you had to pick a nation with the right stuff to ride out the coming demographic storm, you’d be crazy not to choose America, warts and all.

Thirty percent of all men ages 18 to 34 (and 22% of all young women that age) were living in their parents’ homes in 2012, the highest share in modern history.

nearly a third (31%) of non-retired adults think they will end up getting no money from Social Security in their retirement.

Millennials have starkly different expectations. More than 7 in 10 (72%) Millennials do not expect Social Security to be their main source of retirement income. In fact, 42% of Millennials think they will get no retirement income from Social Security at all, as do 35% of Generation Xers. While around 1 in 5 Baby Boomers (22%) say they are already retired, most are not, and their expectations about Social Security are mixed.

Millennials have known a mix of good and bad fortune. By lottery of birth timing, they’re the world’s first generation of digital natives. Adapting to new technology is hardwired into their generational DNA

some of the study’s inputs and weighting variables, but the story it tells is consistent with what policy analysts of all ideological stripes in the US have been saying for decades: we’re robbing the future to pay for the present.

but

Absent changes to current law, more than half of the federal budget will go to Social Security, Medicare, and the nonchild portion of Medicaid by 2022,

Asian Americans are the highest-income, best-educated, and fastest-growing racial group in the US. They are more satisfied than the general public with their lives, finances, and the direction of the country, and they place more value than other Americans do on marriage, parenthood, hard work, and career success.

The chain of events that began with the intense rivalry between the Roman Empire and Persia had extraordinary consequences. As the two great powers of late antiquity flexed their muscles and prepared for a final showdown, few could have predicted that it would be a faction from the far reaches of the Arabian peninsula that would rise up to supplant both. Those who had been inspired by Mu  ammad truly inherited the earth, establishing perhaps the greatest empire that the world has seen, one that would introduce irrigation techniques and new crops from the Tigris and Euphrates to the Iberian peninsula, and spark nothing less than an agrarian revolution spanning thousands of miles. 98 The Islamic conquests created a new world order, an economic giant, bolstered by self-confidence, broad-mindedness and a passionate zeal for progress. Immensely wealthy and with few natural political or even religious rivals, it was a place where order prevailed, where merchants could become rich, where intellectuals were respected and where disparate views could be discussed and debated. An unpromising start in a cave near Mecca had given birth to a cosmopolitan utopia of sorts.

Basing a [retirement] system on people’s voluntarily saving for 40 years and evaluating the relevant information for sound investment choices is like asking the family pet to dance on two legs,” writes Teresa Ghilarducci, an economics professor and retirement policy expert at the New School for Social Research. “First, figure out when you or your spouse will be laid off or be too sick to work. Second, figure out when you will die. Third, understand you need to save 7 percent of every dollar you earn. Fourth, earn at least 3 percent above inflation on your investments. Fifth, do not withdraw any funds when you lose your job, have a health problem, get divorced, buy a house or send a kid to college. Sixth, time your retirement account withdrawals so the last cent is spent on the day you die.”2 Most

As radioman Rudolf-Günter Wagner broadcast the news to the crowds of newly liberated Berliners, his words were drowned out by joyous whoops and shrieks. “Hurrah!” they shouted. “Wir leben Noch!” (We’re still alive!). Berliner Manfred Knopf had lived through four years of uncertainty. Now he felt a sense of victory. “We belonged to the Western world!

Prior to the arrival of both the president and prime minister, listening devices and directional microphones had been concealed in the principal rooms of both the Villa Vorontsov and the Livadia Palace. Members of the British Military Mission in Moscow—all too familiar with eavesdropping—recommended discussing sensitive issues in the bathrooms, with the taps gushing water to drown out their conversations.

But he’d resisted them, and the more he did, the harsher their attacks became. During the worst of it, he’d begged for death. Death is too small a price for your sins, they’d whispered. They wanted him alive for the final showdown. For the day Haven Valley was destroyed from within. Jamie didn’t understand what it meant, but their haunting words filled him with a deeper fear than he’d ever known.

Ohio was an apt forum for this showdown. By 2016, 2.3 million people in the state—approximately 20 percent of the total population—received a prescription for opioids. Half of the children who were in foster care across the state had opioid-addicted parents.

The Trump-Cuomo showdown would display the true extent of the media’s perfidy… When Trump recommended a course of action, the media would frame it as disastrously misinformed; when Cuomo recommended the same course of action, sometimes just hours later, they would praise his resolute decision-making. The hypocrisy reached unprecedented levels.

This was a showdown between things that had the shape of men, but weren’t men.

We really believed in our hearts that this was the dawn of the new day we had all been praying for and talking about for so many years. We were absolutely certain that we had won the first great victory of the peace—and, by ‘we,’ I mean all of us, the whole civilized human race.

Your worthless brother’s making out with his new girlfriend. Or getting ready for his big showdown at the nunnery tomorrow.

...at Warner Brothers, the casting debate for the bad guy’s off-sider continued unabated. Jon Peters suggested Gary Busey. Now Gary was the villain’s off-sider in Under Siege, and was killed at the end of that movie when he was hit by a 16-inch shell from the USS Missouri while in a submarine. The scene seemed to leave little chance that he could have survived. Jon was undeterred by this and suggested we give him a scar. He then went ahead and unilaterally made Gary an offer. It turned out that Seagal had a clause in his contract that gave him right of approval over decisions concerning the key cast members, and he regarded this as such a decision. He was enraged: his contract had been violated by Jon’s unilateral action. He had been fighting with Jon over a number of issues for some time and had had enough — it was time for a showdown.

718 A vivid memory of mine is a 1979 viewing of a late night rerun of the ABC TV movie Hot Rod (a.k.a. Rebel of the Road). It’s the story of an outcast rodder, his struggles with a corrupt small-town police force, and an eventual drag strip showdown with an Olds 4-4-2 sponsored by the Munn’s Root Beer company. At the beginning of the flick, the hero drives a 1965 Coronet sedan, presumably an A990. After the cops force him off the road, totaling the Dodge, he swaps the Hemi into a 1941 Willys. You probably remember the movie now. But has anyone noticed that he steals a replacement Hemi out of an AMC Matador cop car? I sure did! It stands as yet another tribute to the mythical legacy of Hemi-powered cop cars on TV and in the movies.

don't want money that comes from depriving others of their homes. They all have a right to live, a chance." "Of course!" Gunter was impatient. "We've gone over all this before! But I tell you most of these people are trash, and no matter about that, they all will be put off that land, anyway. The government is going to buyout whoever has control. That will mean us, and that means we'll get a nice, juicy profit." "From the government? Your own government, Uncle?" Connie studied him coolly. "I fail to understand the sort of man who will attempt to defraud his own government. There are people like that, I suppose, but somehow I never thought I'd find one in my own family." "Don't be silly, child. You know nothing of business ... you aren't practical." "I suppose not. Only I seem to remember that a lot of worthwhile things don't seem practical at the moment. No, I believe I'll withdraw my investment in this deal and buy a small ranch somewhere nearby. I will have no part in it.