Tag That Person Quotes

Maybe happiness didn't have to be about the big, sweeping circumstances, about having everything in your life in place. Maybe it was about stringing together a bunch of small pleasures. Wearing slippers and watching the Miss Universe contest. Eating a brownie with vanilla ice cream. Getting to level seven in Dragon Master and knowing there were twenty more levels to go. Maybe happiness was just a matter of the little upticks- the traffic signal that said "Walk" the second you go there- and downticks- the itch tag at the back of your collar- that happened to every person in the course of the day. Maybe everybody had the same allotted measure of happiness within each day. maybe it didn't matter if you were a world-famous heartthrob or a painful geek. Maybe it didn't matter if your friend was possibly dying. Maybe you just got through it. Maybe that was all you could ask for.

Ever since it became theoretically evident that our precious personal identities were just brand-tags for trading crumbs of labour-power on the libidino-economic junk circuit, the vestiges of authorial theatricality have been wearing thinner.

Prayer is an insurance policy that you can never lapse on.

They all call me "Excuse me," even though my nametag clearly says "Jordan." It's like people don't actually exist while they're working. Workers are just tools who aren't supposed to have feelings or personalities. You don't become human until your shift is over. Until then, we're all just zombies. We're dead to the world: infected people who need to be avoided, unless, of course, someone needs to know where the paintbrushes are located.

Cyber bullying occurs online daily. Most don't consider their actions or words to be bullying. Here's a few clues that you're a cyber bully. (1) You post information about someone in order to ruin their character. (2) You post threats to someone. (3) You tag someone in vulgar degrading posts. (4) You post any information intended to harm or shame another individual seeking to gain attention. Then, you are a cyber bully and need to get some help.

The wrong man is not always wrong because of his wrong actions, often he is wrong because of no actions.

Sacrifice of the self is sheer stupidity if sacrifice is not for the self.

There has been no single influence which has done more to prevent man from finding God and rebuilding his character, has done more to lower the moral tone of society than the denial of personal guilt. This repudiation of man’s personal responsibility for his action is falsely justified in two ways: by assuming that man is only an animal and by giving a sense of guilt the tag “morbid.

I Don't Write Because God Gives Me A Fresh Word Everyday, I write Because of The Words He Has Already Spoken Yesterday That Changed Today.

Nancy began again, and she knew she was going to off-load to Infante the anger she had caught from the kid. Life was just a long game of emotional tag, one bad mood passing from person to person.

I had always been an atheist until I met Lenny. He was too wonderously complex and good for there to be no benevolent and intelligent force behind our marvelous cosmos. Lenny gave me the actual proof my fiercely skeptical mind had always demanded. Not some logical, 37-step proof of God's existence. It was a personal proof. And it was irrefutable.

Maybe happiness didn’t have to be about the big, sweeping circumstances, about having everything in your life in place. Maybe it was about stringing together a bunch of small pleasures… Maybe happiness was just a matter of the little upticks—the traffic signal that said “Walk” the second you got there—and downticks—the itchy tag at the back of your collar—that happened to every person in the course of a day. Maybe everybody had the same allotted measure of happiness within each day.

The cognitive difference between believing that a proposition is true (which requires no work beyond understanding it) and believing that it is false (which requires adding and remembering a mental tag) has enormous implications for a writer. The most obvious is that a negative statement such as The king is not dead is harder on the reader than an affirmative one like The king is alive.20 Every negation requires mental homework, and when a sentence contains many of them the reader can be overwhelmed. Even worse, a sentence can have more negations than you think it does.

sex has a price tag. What price will you write on the tag? Is it something cheap, that can be given away with no commitment and short-term fulfilment. Or is it a precious, intimate gift, to be shared with one person under the covenant of marriage?

The Stasi had used radiation to mark people and objects it wanted to track. It developed a range of radioactive tags including irradiated pins it could surreptitiously insert into a person’s clothing, radioactive magnets to place on cars, and radioactive pellets to shoot into tyres.

We invariably have an internalised personal code of honour, an inner voice that embodies us with a sincere, strong sense of decency that surpasses Rag, Tag & Bobtail’s acquiescence to law and ethics. Think Captain Jack Sparrow from Pirates of the Caribbean, Terry McCann from Minder or the heroic English folklore outlaw, Robin Hood.

What I have to face is that 'Barb,' the name on my ID tag, is not exactly the same person as Barbara. 'Barb' is what I was called as a child, and still am by my siblings, and I sense that at some level I'm regressing. Take away the career and the higher education, and maybe what you're left with is this original Barb, the one who might have ended up working at Wal-Mart for real if her father hadn't managed to climb out of the mines. So it's interesting, and more than a little disturbing, to see how Barb turned out — that she's meaner and slyer than I am, more cherishing of grudges, and not quite as smart as I'd hoped.

The price tag of social change has come in the form of stress and stress-related physical disorders, such as heart attacks, strokes, and hypertension. We must now confront the possibility that mental illness has become part of the psychological price.

Advising the average person to not concern herself with calories but instead to pay attention to hunger triggers and eating foods rick in nutrients--well, it's a wonderful concept. I also love the thought of unicorns jumping over cotton candy rainbows. I'm even considering taking up basketball to see if it makes me taller. Come on already! Suggesting that someone who struggles with his weight does not need to think about calories is as risky as suggesting you not look at price tags the next time you're in the market for a car.

It is often said of the gold rush that the people who got rich were the shovel dealers who profited from the greed of the forty-niners. With Beanie Babies, most of the lasting personal fortunes came from selling books and tag protectors, not from speculating in plush.

I can’t help but think, does money determine if I am good enough? If I was in your shoes, would life pity me or accept me because of what I have? Why can’t people look at others for who they are instead of putting a price tag on a person because of the type of car they drive or the kind of house they live in? I guess that’s life.

In India we're fighting to retain a wilderness that we have. Whereas in the west, it's gone. Every person that's walking down the street is a walking bar code. You can tell where their clothes are from, how much they cost, which designer made which shoe, which shop you bought each item from. Everything is civilized and tagged and valued and numbered and put in it's place. Whereas in India, the wilderness still exists-the unindoctrinated wilderness of the mind, full of untold secrets and wild imaginings.

Besides, my confidence that every person can be cured of his or her false beliefs through evidence has meanwhile significantly diminished. Oh, Mr. Brecht, I often think, people can really see an apple fall to the ground an simultaneously believe it when someone claims: It isn't falling. And there it is still the matter of more obvious natural laws!

Wrong Planet people will always be hated by certain Rag Tags who love to try and expose what is wrong with you because they simply can’t stand what is right with you. In addition, that jealousy eats up their beauty. That’s why they look the way they do. Rag Tags need to have more faith in themselves. Blowing out someone else’s candle will never make theirs shine any brighter. That’s why people dislike Fergie, because she’s a true Wrong Planet person. She’s fun and a bit too wild for the Royal Family, and she has a wicked side.

The purpose of a profession is to fulfil the personal wishes of a prospect.

Everyone trades in lives. Soldiers are just more obvious about it. Wages trade money for a part of a person’s lifetime. The price tag is just a measure of the portion.

Sie warten also, wenn auch unbewusst, auf den Augenblick, in dem Sie erkennen, dass Sie tatsächlich anders sind; dass dort draußen Menschen sind wie Madame, die ihnen weder Übles wollen noch Hass gegen Sie empfinden, und doch schon beim Gedanken an Ihre Existenz, an die Art und Weise, wie Sie zur Welt kamen, erschaudern und sich vor der Vorstellung fürchten, sie könnten von Ihnen berührt werden. Wenn Sie sich das erste Mal mit den Augen einer solchen Person sehen, wird Ihnen kalt ums Herz. Es ist, als sähen Sie einen Spiegel, an dem Sie jeden Tag Ihres Lebens vorbeigegangen sind, und auf einmal zeigt er Ihnen etwas anderes, etwas Fremdes, Verstörendes.

I’m not sure how the ponies happened, though I have an inkling: “Can I get you anything?” I’ll say, getting up from a dinner table, “Coffee, tea, a pony?” People rarely laugh at this, especially if they’ve heard it before. “This party’s ‘sposed to be fun,” a friend will say. “Really? Will there be pony rides?” It’s a nervous tic and a cheap joke, cheapened further by the frequency with which I use it. For that same reason, it’s hard to weed it out of my speech – most of the time I don’t even realize I’m saying it. There are little elements in a person’s life, minor fibers that become unintentionally tangled with your personality. Sometimes it’s a patent phrase, sometimes it’s a perfume, sometimes it’s a wristwatch. For me, it is the constant referencing of ponies. I don’t even like ponies. If I made one of my throwaway equine requests and someone produced an actual pony, Juan-Valdez-style, I would run very fast in the other direction. During a few summers at camp, I rode a chronically dehydrated pony named Brandy who would jolt down without notice to lick the grass outside the corral and I would careen forward, my helmet tipping to cover my eyes. I do, however, like ponies on the abstract. Who doesn’t? It’s like those movies with the animated insects. Sure, the baby cockroach seems cute with CGI eyelashes, but how would you feel about fifty of her real-life counterparts living in your oven? And that’s precisely the manner in which the ponies clomped their way into my regular speech: abstractly. “I have something for you,” a guy will say on our first date. “Is it a pony?” No. It’s usually a movie ticket or his cell phone number. But on our second date, if I ask again, I’m pretty sure I’m getting a pony. And thus the Pony drawer came to be. It’s uncomfortable to admit, but almost every guy I have ever dated has unwittingly made a contribution to the stable. The retro pony from the ‘50s was from the most thoughtful guy I have ever known. The one with the glitter horseshoes was from a boy who would later turn out to be straight somehow, not gay. The one with the rainbow haunches was from a librarian, whom I broke up with because I felt the chemistry just wasn’t right, and the one with the price tag stuck on the back was given to me by a narcissist who was so impressed with his gift he forgot to remover the sticker. Each one of them marks the beginning of a new relationship. I don’t mean to hint. It’s not a hint, actually, it’s a flat out demand: I. Want. A. Pony. I think what happens is that young relationships are eager to build up a romantic repertoire of private jokes, especially in the city where there’s not always a great “how we met” story behind every great love affair. People meet at bars, through mutual friends, on dating sites, or because they work in the same industry. Just once a coworker of mine, asked me out between two stops on the N train. We were holding the same pole and he said, “I know this sounds completely insane, bean sprout, but would you like to go to a very public place with me and have a drink or something...?” I looked into his seemingly non-psycho-killing, rent-paying, Sunday Times-subscribing eyes and said, “Sure, why the hell not?” He never bought me a pony. But he didn’t have to, if you know what I mean.

It's not like you ate Filipino food all the time. You loved Emperor's Way takeout, and the friendly Chinese girl there who you were too shy to ask but whose name tag said to call her Ming always gave you extra sauce for your orange chicken. The sweet potato pie from Butter was absolutely to die for, and it made you feel soft and warm the same way Lola's leche flan did. The youngest Manzano once handed you a delicious pastry without prompting or demanding payment before drifting away, seemingly lost in a world of her own. If this was a marketing strategy for their pastelería, it worked. But you could tell that there were differences in the way they cooked and baked, that they took old and treasured recipes and put in their own unique, modern spin to them. Why couldn't you do the same?

Politics is the science of domination, and persons in the process of enlargement and illumination are notoriously difficult to control. Therefore, to protect its vested interests, politics usurped religion a very long time ago. Kings bought off priests with land and adornments. Together, they drained the shady ponds and replaced them with fish tanks. The walls of the tanks were constructed of ignorance and superstition, held together with fear. They called the tanks “synagogues” or “churches” or “mosques.” After the tanks were in place, nobody talked much about soul anymore. Instead, they talked about spirit. Soul is hot and heavy. Spirit is cool, abstract, detached. Soul is connected to the earth and its waters. Spirit is connected to the sky and its gases. Out of the gases springs fire. Firepower. It has been observed that the logical extension of all politics is war. Once religion became political, the exercise of it, too, could be said to lead sooner or later to war. “War is hell.” Thus, religious belief propels us straight to hell. History unwaveringly supports this view. (Each modern religion has boasted that it and it alone is on speaking terms with the Deity, and its adherents have been quite willing to die—or kill—to support its presumptuous claims.) Not every silty bayou could be drained, of course. The soulfish that bubbled and snapped in the few remaining ponds were tagged “mystics.” They were regarded as mavericks, exotic and inferior. If they splashed too high, they were thought to be threatening and in need of extermination. The fearful flounders in the tanks, now psychologically dependent upon addictive spirit flakes, had forgotten that once upon a time they, too, had been mystical. Religion is nothing but institutionalized mysticism. The catch is, mysticism does not lend itself to institutionalization. The moment we attempt to organize mysticism, we destroy its essence. Religion, then, is mysticism in which the mystical has been killed. Or, at least diminished. Those who witness the dropping of the fourth veil might see clearly what Spike Cohen and Roland Abu Hadee dimly suspected: that not only is religion divisive and oppressive, it is also a denial of all that is divine in people; it is a suffocation of the soul.

He followed me into my fucking bathroom.” Kai turned to his brother. “I’m sorry. You’re going to have to find a new best friend.” Big Tag had a private bathroom. He took that shit seriously. “Do you understand what it means to be the only man in the fucking house? My kids don’t care about privacy. My wife thinks intimacy means I shouldn’t be able to spend an hour alone in the bathroom. I like my personal time, motherfucker. The only time I get it is here. Have you ever had to take a piss with not one but two babies in your arms?

In ancient Iran, for example, every single person or object in the mundane world (getik) was held to have its counterpart in the archetypal world of sacred reality (menok). This is a perspective that is difficult for us to appreciate in the modern world, since we see autonomy and independence as supreme human values. Yet the famous tag post coitum omne animal tristis est still expresses a common experience: after an intense and eagerly anticipated moment, we often feel that we have missed something greater that remains just beyond our grasp.

The promise of the future is not free. There is a price to be paid for any future reward. The price the future exacts from us involves discipline, labor, consistency and a burning desire to make the future better than either the past or the present. Those are the price tags of progress, but the price gets easy when the promise becomes clear. When the end becomes attractive, we become keenly interested in the means. We must see and want the promise with an insatiable desire, or the price it requires will overcome our wishes, and we will fall back to where we once were.

Who knows what advantages you might find in a smaller home, even beyond what you were initially hoping for, after you move in? Maybe you'll be inspired to become a more creative person when you take up residence in a quaint older neighborhood and get out of that suburban tract where you can have a house of any color as long as it's beige. Maybe by putting your preadolescent kids in a bedroom together, they'll socialize better and develop closer bonds. Maybe you and your spouse will rediscover each other when you're actually spending time together instead of tag-teaming on chores.

I knocked softly and then opened the door. Abby was leaning against the desk across the room with one leg propped up on a chair, barefoot. She was wearing a charcoal T-shirt, sky-blue jeans, and a necklace that looked like dog tags. My first thought: There she is. That’s my person. She’d later tell me that her first thought had been: There she is. That’s my wife. She smiled. It was not a casual smile. It was a smile that said: There you are and here we are, finally. She stood up and walked toward me. I let the door shut behind me, my bags still out in the hallway. She wrapped her arms around me. We melted, my head into her chest, her heart beating through her T-shirt onto my skin. She was shaking and I was shaking, and we both, for a long while, stood there and breathed each other in and held each other and shook together. Then she pulled away and looked into my eyes. That was the moment we locked. Then The kiss. The wall. The bed. White dress on the floor. Naked, unafraid. The original plan. On Earth as it is in heaven. I never looked away from her. Not once. The longer we’ve been together, the more naked and unafraid I’ve become. I don’t act anymore. I just want.

Many of the silliest ambiguities in the Internet memes come from newspaper headlines and magazine tag lines precisely because they have been stripped of all punctuation. Two of my favorites are MAN EATING PIRANHA MISTAKENLY SOLD AS PET FISH and RACHAEL RAY FINDS INSPIRATION IN COOKING HER FAMILY AND HER DOG. The first is missing the hyphen that bolts together the pieces of the compound word that was supposed to remind readers of the problem with piranhas, man-eating. The second is missing the commas that delimit the phrases making up the list of inspirations: cooking, her family, and her dog.

But the truth about quarantines was that you could never catch everyone in your net, not even if you tagged and tracked every person who’d come in contact with the Typhoid Mary. And in this case, there didn’t seem to be a Typhoid Mary. Instead, pockets of sickness had just bloomed up like hideous flowers in several places at once, and then spread so fast that tracing the vectors was something like impossible. And “the government”—well, Red had zero confidence that the government would be able to do anything. Not because it was full of bad people or there was a giant conspiracy or anything like that.

Bipasha: I thought you were a soldier, not a businessman. Lag: I’m in business to resolve disputes, and there are no good military options without profits. The non-military options without profits are even worse. No profits mean few good options for anyone. Harbin: As I’ve tried to tell you many times, we fight when it’s the low-cost solution for us, and we make others not fight by making it their high-cost solution. Bipasha: That’s a weird way of looking at it. Helton: Everyone trades in lives. Soldiers are just more obvious about it. Wages trade money for a part of a person’s lifetime. The price tag is just a measure of the portion.

I remember the time I went to my first rare-book fair and saw how the first editions of Thoreau and Whitman and Crane had been carefully packaged in heat-shrunk plastic with the price tags on the inside. Somehow the simple addition of air-tight plastic bags had transformed the books from vehicles of liveliness into commodities, like bread made with chemicals to keep it from perishing. In commodity exchange it’s as if the buyer and the seller where both in plastic bags; there’s none of the contact of a gift exchange. There is neither motion nor emotion because the whole point is to keep the balance, to make sure the exchange itself doesn’t consume anything or involve one person with another. Consumer goods are consumed by their owners, not by their exchange. The desire to consume is a kind of lust. We long to have the world flow through us like air or food. We are thirsty and hungry for something that can only be carried inside bodies. But consumer goods merely bait this lust, they do not satisfy it. The consumer of commodities is invited to a meal without passion, a consumption that leads to neither satiation nor fire. He is a stranger seduced into feeding on the drippings of someone else’s capital without benefit of its inner nourishment, and he is hungry at the end of the meal, depressed and weary as we all feel when lust has dragged us from the house and led us to nothing.

I was raised on the struggle of elders - iron collars, severed feet, the rifle of dirty Harriet, and down through the years, the Muslims and regal Malcolm. But mostly what I saw around me was rank dishonor: cable and Atari plugged into every room, juvenile parenting, niggers sporting kicks with price tags that looked like mortgage bills. The Conscious among us knew the whole race was going down, that we'd freed ourselves from slavery and Jim Crow but not the great shackling of minds. The hoppers had no picture of the larger world. We thought all our battles were homegrown and personal, but, like an evil breeze at our back, we felt invisible hands at work, like someone else was still tugging at levers and pulling strings.

But the ability to hold the means of exchange (in defiance of Say’s law) also awakens a passion, a “lust for gold.” “The hoarding drive,” he says, “is boundless in its nature.” Witness Christopher Columbus: “Gold is a wonderful thing! Its owner is master of all he desires. Gold can even enable souls to enter Paradise” (229–30). Here Marx, quoting Columbus, returns to the idea that once you can hang a price tag on something, you can hang it on anything—even a person’s soul, as his allusion to the Catholic Church’s infamous medieval practice of selling indulgences (i.e., papal pardons that promised entry into heaven) suggests: Circulation becomes the great social retort into which everything is thrown, to come out again as the money crystal. Nothing is immune from this alchemy, the bones of the saints cannot withstand it. (229)

free.” On the edge of town, Fitzgerald saw a sight “that has never left my memory. It was a picture story of the death of one 82nd Airborne trooper. He had occupied a German foxhole and made it his personal Alamo. In a half circle around the hole lay the bodies of nine German soldiers. The body closest to the hole was only three feet away, a potato masher [grenade] in its fist.II The other distorted forms lay where they had fallen, testimony to the ferocity of the fight. His ammunition bandoliers were still on his shoulders, empty of M-1 clips. Cartridge cases littered the ground. His rifle stock was broken in two. He had fought alone and, like many others that night, he had died alone. “I looked at his dog tags. The name read Martin V. Hersh. I wrote the name down in a small prayer book I carried, hoping someday I would meet someone who knew him. I never did.”34

A recent study commissioned by Google’s nemesis – Facebook – has indicated that already today the Facebook algorithm is a better judge of human personalities and dispositions than even people’s friends, parents and spouses. The study was conducted on 86,220 volunteers who have a Facebook account and who completed a hundred-item personality questionnaire. The Facebook algorithm predicted the volunteers’ answers based on monitoring their Facebook Likes – which webpages, images and clips they tagged with the Like button. The more Likes, the more accurate the predictions. The algorithm’s predictions were compared with those of work colleagues, friends, family members and spouses. Amazingly, the algorithm needed a set of only ten Likes in order to outperform the predictions of work colleagues. It needed seventy Likes to outperform friends, 150 Likes to outperform family members and 300 Likes to outperform spouses. In other words, if you happen to have clicked 300 Likes on your Facebook account, the Facebook algorithm can predict your opinions and desires better than your husband or wife!

We copy editors sometimes get a reputation for wanting to redirect the flow, change the course of the missile, have our way with a piece of prose. The image of the copy editor is of someone who favors a rigid consistency, a mean person who enjoys pointing out other people's errors, a lowly person who is just starting out on her career in publishing and is eager to make an impression, or, at worst, a bitter, thwarted person who wanted to be a writer and instead got stuck dotting the i's and crossing the t's and otherwise advancing the careers of other writers. I suppose I have been all of these. But good writers have a reason for doing things the way they do them, and if you tinker with their work ,taking it upon yourself to neutralize a slightly eccentric usage or zap a comma or sharpen the emphasis of something that the writer was deliberately keeping obscure, you are not helping. In my experience, the really great writers enjoy the editorial process. They weigh queries, and they accept or reject the for good reasons. They are not defensive. The whole point of having things read before publication is to test their effect on a general reader. You want to make sure when you go out there that the tag on the back of your collar isn't poking up—unless, of course, you are deliberately wearing your clothes inside out.

Muriah approached him with a new pair of khakis and a couple of T-shirts. “I guessed at the size so you might want to go try these on first.” He took the clothes and slid his arm around her waist, maneuvering her toward the fitting room. “Hey, I didn’t sign on to be your dresser.” She grumbled, but didn’t struggle. He pulled the door closed and turned to meet her eyes. “It’s light in here and full of people. Apep will not be able to surprise us, and his serpents cannot spy. We need to talk.” *** He stripped off the wet shirt, exposing his chiseled torso. She did her best not to choke on her tongue. His tanned skin and taut muscles tempted her, luring her to touch him. Turning around to give him privacy seemed like the right thing to do, but there wasn’t a hint of modesty in this Mayan god, and if he could handle getting this personal, then she could, too. When he unzipped the wet pants, she held her breath. Would an ancient guy wear underwear? She was about to find out. He bent over to lower the wet slacks. When he straightened up, she realized he’d been talking, but she didn’t have a clue what he had said. Instead, all her attention was focused on a fine trail of dark hair leading from just below his navel and disappearing under the low-slung elastic band of his boxer briefs. “Muriah?” Her gaze snapped up to meet his. Thank the universe he couldn’t read her thoughts. “Yeah?” “Did you hear my question?” He stood two feet from her in only his underwear, and he thought she was listening? He was either completely unaware of his sex appeal, or he was way too accustomed to being obeyed. Probably both. She cleared her throat. “I must’ve missed it.” A spark lit his eyes that told her he might have more than a clue to his sex appeal. He picked up the T-shirt and pulled it on. “I asked if you knew of another hotel closer to the airport so we can get out of New York as soon as the sun sets tomorrow.” “I’m sure I can find one.” She pulled out her phone, grateful to have something to pretend to focus on besides him tucking his package into the new khakis she pulled off the rack for him. “I probably should’ve grabbed some dry underwear, too.” “They are nearly dry now. I will be fine.” He popped the tags off, and she glanced up from her hotel search. “They’re not going to like you taking the tags off before you pay.” The corner of his mouth curved up. “They will be honored to take my money.” She groaned and rolled her eyes. “Do you ever not get your way?” He stepped closer to her, his chest an inch from hers until her back pressed against the modular wall of the fitting room. “Rarely.” His dark gaze held hers, and the deep rumble of his voice sent heat through her body. “But some things are worth the extra effort.

For me, the biggest conflict with the surgery date was that it fell on the same day as Cole’s junior/senior formal at school. The formal had been a big night for Reed two years earlier, with the highlight being a special ring ceremony. Juniors receive their senior rings and ask two special people in their lives to turn the ring on their finger. Reed has asked me to be one of those two people for him, which was a special honor for me. If Cole wants me there, I will reschedule Mia’s surgery. “Cole, who are you planning on having turn your ring?” I asked. “I didn’t get a ring, Mom. I really don’t want one,” Cole replied. Seriously? I thought. Boy, are you your father’s son or what? “All I really care about is getting some really good pictures.” I knew Cole was telling me the truth. He is not about fanfare or rituals. But he did want to remember the night. “Absolutely! I’ll make sure we have plenty of pictures of you,” I exclaimed. As it turned out, I think he was the most photographed student that night. Since I could not be there in person, people texted, e-mailed, and tagged me on Facebook with pictures of him. Again, my friends and Cole’s friends’ parents did what they could to help us through this difficult time. Something as simple as taking pictures was priceless to me. Yes, Cole was completely fine with my not being at the formal, but he was also sad that he could not be at the hospital for Mia. I assured him that there’s never a good time for surgery, and he shouldn’t feel guilty about attending his event--all of us wanted him to go and have a great time.

Do you know what I remember?” I ask suddenly. “What?” “The time Trevor’s shorts split open when you guys were playing basketball. And everybody was laughing so hard that Trevor started getting mad. But not you. You got on your bike and you rode all the way home and brought Trevor a pair of shorts. I was really impressed by that.” He has a faint half smile on his face. “Thanks.” Then we’re both quiet and still dancing. He’s an easy person to be quiet with. “John?” “Hmm?” I look up at him. “I have to tell you something.” “What?” “I’ve got you. I mean, I have your name. In the game.” “Seriously?” John looks genuinely disappointed, which makes me feel guilty. “Seriously. Sorry.” I press my hands against his shoulders. “Tag.” “Well, now you have Kavinsky. I was really looking forward to taking him out, too. I had a whole plan and everything.” All eagerness I ask, “What was your plan?” “Why should I tell the girl who just tagged me out?” he challenges, but it’s a weak challenge, just for show, and we both know he’s going to tell me. I play along. “Come on, Johnny, I’m not just the girl who tagged you out. I’m your pen pal.” John laughs a little. “All right, all right. I’ll help you.” The song ends and we step apart. “Thanks for the dance,” I say. After all this time, I finally know what it’s like to dance with John Ambrose McClaren. “So what would you have asked for if you won?” He doesn’t hesitate even one beat. “Your peanut butter chocolate cake with my name written in Reese’s Pieces.” I stare at him in surprise. That’s what he would have wished for? He could have anything and he wants my cake? I give him a curtsy. “I’m so honored.” “Well, it was a really good cake,” he says.

Starting a little over a decade ago, Target began building a vast data warehouse that assigned every shopper an identification code—known internally as the “Guest ID number”—that kept tabs on how each person shopped. When a customer used a Target-issued credit card, handed over a frequent-buyer tag at the register, redeemed a coupon that was mailed to their house, filled out a survey, mailed in a refund, phoned the customer help line, opened an email from Target, visited Target.com, or purchased anything online, the company’s computers took note. A record of each purchase was linked to that shopper’s Guest ID number along with information on everything else they’d ever bought. Also linked to that Guest ID number was demographic information that Target collected or purchased from other firms, including the shopper’s age, whether they were married and had kids, which part of town they lived in, how long it took them to drive to the store, an estimate of how much money they earned, if they’d moved recently, which websites they visited, the credit cards they carried in their wallet, and their home and mobile phone numbers. Target can purchase data that indicates a shopper’s ethnicity, their job history, what magazines they read, if they have ever declared bankruptcy, the year they bought (or lost) their house, where they went to college or graduate school, and whether they prefer certain brands of coffee, toilet paper, cereal, or applesauce. There are data peddlers such as InfiniGraph that “listen” to shoppers’ online conversations on message boards and Internet forums, and track which products people mention favorably. A firm named Rapleaf sells information on shoppers’ political leanings, reading habits, charitable giving, the number of cars they own, and whether they prefer religious news or deals on cigarettes. Other companies analyze photos that consumers post online, cataloging if they are obese or skinny, short or tall, hairy or bald, and what kinds of products they might want to buy as a result.

Editing is the most obvious way of manipulating vision. And yet, the camera sometimes sees what you don’t - a person in the background, for example, or an object moving in the wind. I like these accidents. My first full-length film, Esperanza, was about a woman I befriended on the Lower East Side when I was a film student at NYU. Esperanza had hoarded nearly all the portable objects she had touched every day for thirty years: the Chock Full O’Nuts paper coffee cups, copies of the Daily News, magazines, gum wrappers, price tags, receipts, rubber bands, plastic bags from the 99-cent store where she did most of her shopping, piles of clothes, torn towels, and bric-a-brac she had found in the street. Esperanza’s apartment consisted of floor-to-ceiling stacks of stuff. At first sight, the crowded apartment appeared to be pure chaos, but Esperanza explained to me that her piles were not random. Her paper cups had their own corner. These crenellated towers of yellowing, disintegrating waxed cardboard stood next to piles of newspapers … One evening, however, while I was watching the footage from a day’s filming, I found myself scrutinizing a pile of rags beside Esperanza’s mattress. I noticed that there were objects carefully tucked in among the fraying bits of coloured cloth: rows of pencils, stones, matchbooks, business cards. It was this sighting that led to the “explanation.” She was keenly aware that the world at large disapproved of her “lifestyle,” and that there was little room left for her in the apartment, but when I asked her about the objects among the rags, she said that she wanted to “keep them safe and sound.” The rags were beds for the things. “Both the beds and the ones that lay down on them,” she told me, “are nice and comfy.” It turned out that Esperanza felt for each and every thing she saved, as if the tags and town sweaters and dishes and postcards and newspapers and toys and rags were imbued with thoughts and feelings. After she saw the film, my mother said that Esperanza appeared to believe in a form of “panpsychism.” Mother said that this meant that mind is a fundamental feature of the universe and exists in everything, from stones to people. She said Spinoza subscribed to this view, and “it was a perfectly legitimate philosophical position.” Esperanza didn’t know anything about Spinoza … My mother believed and I believe in really looking hard at things because, after a while, what you see isn’t at all what you thought you were seeing just a short time before. looking at any person or object carefully means that it will become increasingly strange, and you will see more and more. I wanted my film about this lonely woman to break down visual and cultural cliches, to be an intimate portrait, not a piece of leering voyeurism about woman’s horrible accumulations.

When you have an honest heart, you do not get engaged nor get involved with any smear campaigns nor black propaganda! When you have an honest heart, you do not malign nor take advantage of generous people who helped and trusted you! When you have an honest heart, you do not shit on people whom you used and abused for three years! Do not fall into a political naïvety and become a victim or a doormat nor have your generosity and honest heart be used and abused by unscrupulous political movers, abusive, aggressive political harridans who scam gullible generous hearts by asking donations, funds, services, foods, urgent favours, and after using you and abusing your generosity, trust, and kindness; whereby these unscrupulous and deceptive political movers, abusive, aggressive political harridans intentionally and maliciously create forged screenshots of evidence convincing their audience or political groups that you are a mentally ill person, a brain-damaged person as they even brand you as "Sisang Baliw," or crazy Sisa, a threat, a risk, a danger, they maliciously and destructively red-tag your friends as communists, and they resort to calumny, libel and slander against you, to shame you, defame you, discredit you, blame you, hurt you, make you suffer for having known the truth of their deceptive global Operandi, and for something you didn’t do through their mob lynching, calumny, polemics mongering, forgery, and cyberbullying efforts. Their character assassination through libel and slander aims to ruin your integrity, persona, trustworthiness, and credibility with their destructive fabricated calumny, lies, identity theft, forged screenshots of polemics mongering, and framing up. Amidst all their forgery, fraud, libel and slander they committed: you have a right to defy and stop their habitual abuse without breaking the law and fight for your rights against any forms of aggression, public lynching, bullies, threats, blackmail, and their repetitive maltreatment or abuse, identity theft, forgery, deceptions fraud, scams, cyber libel, libel, and slander. When you defend human rights, you fight against corruption and injustice, help end impunity: be sure that you are not part of any misinformation, disinformation, smear campaigns and black propaganda. Do not serve, finance, or cater directly or indirectly for those dirty politicians. Those who are engaged in abusively dishonest ways do not serve to justify their end. Deceiving and scamming other people shall always be your lifetime self-inflicted karmic loss. Be a law-abiding citizen. Be respectful. Be honest. Be factual. Be truthful. You can be an effective human rights defender when you have clean and pure intentions, lawful and morally upright, and have an honest heart." ~ Angelica Hopes, an excerpt from Calunniatopia Book 1, Stronzata Trilogy Genre: inspirational, political, literary novel © 2021 Ana Angelica Abaya van Doorn

When we are sold perfume, we are accustomed to also being sold the idea of a life we will never have. Coty's Chypre enabled Guerlain to create Mitsouko; Coty's Emeraude of 1921 was the bedrock on which Shalimar was built and Coty's L'Origan become the godmother of L'heure bleue, also by Guerlain. Some people dedicate themselves to making life beautiful. With instinctual good taste, magpie tendencies and a flair for color, they weave painfully exquisite tableaux, defining the look of an era. Paul Poiret was one such person. After his success, he went bust in 1929 and had to sell his leftover clothing stock as rags. Swept out of the picture by a new generation of designers, his style too ornate and Aladdinesque, Poiret ended his days as a street painter and died in poverty. It was Poiret who saw that symbolic nomenclature could turn us into frenzied followers, transforming our desire to own a perfume into desperation. The beauty industry has always been brilliant at turning insecurities into commercial opportunities. Readers could buy the cologne to relax during times of anxiety or revive themselves from strain. Particularly in the 1930s, releases came thick and fast, intended to give the impression of bounty, the provision of beauty to all women in the nation. Giving perfumes as a gift even came under the Soviet definition of kulturnost or "cultured behavior", including to aunts and teachers on International Women's Day. Mitsouko is a heartening scent to war when alone or rather, when not wanting to feel lonely. Using fragrance as part of a considered daily ritual, the territorial marking of our possessions and because it offers us a retrospective sense of naughtiness. You can never tell who is going to be a Nr. 5 wearer. No. 5 has the precision of well-cut clothes and that special appeal which comes from a clean, bare room free of the knick-knacks that would otherwise give away its age. Its versatility may well be connected to its abstraction. Gardenia perfumes are not usually the more esoteric or intellectual on the shelves but exist for those times when we demand simply to smell gorgeous. You can depend on the perfume industry to make light of the world's woes. No matter how bad things get, few obstacles can block the shimmer and glitz of a new fragrance. Perfume became so fashionable as a means of reinvention and recovery that the neurology department at Columbia University experimented with the administration of jasmine and tuberose perfumes, in conjunction with symphony music, to treat anxiety, hysteria and nightmares. Scent enthusiasts cared less for the nuances of a composition and more for the impact a scent would have in society. In Ancient Rome, the Stoics were concerned about the use of fragrance by women as a mask for seducing men or as a vehicle of deception. The Roman satirist Juvenal talked of women buying scent with adultery in mind and such fears were still around in the 1940s and they are here with us today. Similarly, in crime fiction, fragrance is often the thing that gives the perpetrator away. Specifically in film noir, scent gets associated with misdemeanors. With Opium, the drugs tag was simply the bait. What YSL was really marketing, with some genius, was perfume as me time: a daily opportunity to get languid and to care sod-all about anything or anyone else.

the U.S. is on the precipice of a permanent shift that threatens to transform the country from a thriving, diverse community of religious believers who share a marketplace and a public square into a collection of separate mini-theocracies, where we are more concerned about the religion of the person sitting next to us than the fact that he or she is a fellow American, where an employee needs to know the religion of a Fortune 500 company's owners to know what the health coverage will be, and where goods are tagged with religious identity.

I told them my new entity would make a series of apps—I had learned the language well enough to counterfeit a convincing plan—constructed around the GPS location software now built into most every device. Users would tag their experience in the street, in bars and clubs, on different modes of public transport. “So, like Foursquare,” my interviewer said, with the doubt of a young person looking at an old man in front of a computer. “Exactly like that,” I said, “except that our users will record incidences of hate. We’ll be working initially to produce a live map—like a traffic congestion map—of more and less racist areas, safe routes home, institutionally racist police forces and local authorities, local populations. We’ll have a star rating system and so on. Eventually I want to roll out iterations for anyone who is not part of the obvious privileged class—for women, for trans people, for people of colour, for the blind and the deaf and so on so that we can map prejudice and racism intersectionally—but one must start somewhere, so I’m calling version one Walking Whilst Black. I have some concerns about the name because I don’t wish to rule out those who are in wheelchairs or mobility carts, but the phrase is there in the language and I feel it is well understood.

Across the country, poor and working-class people are targeted by new tools of digital poverty management and face life-threatening consequences as a result. Automated eligibility systems discourage them from claiming public resources that they need to survive and thrive. Complex integrated databases collect their most personal information, with few safeguards for privacy or data security, while offering almost nothing in return. Predictive models and algorithms tag them as risky investments and problematic parents. Vast complexes of social service, law enforcement, and neighborhood surveillance make their every move visible and offer up their behavior for government, commercial, and public scrutiny

Thaddeus noticed the archangels had their own personal rooms with name tags showing which office belongs to whom. Gabriel. Michael. Charles. Lucifer. “Lucifer?” Thaddeus stopped. “Yea. It’s empty. Been empty for years.” “Why didn’t doesn’t God use it for something else?” Thaddeus had to know. “I don’t know. Maybe He wanted to keep it as a reminder or something. Maybe He’s hoping His old friend will come back home. I’m not sure,” Jesus answered with a sad look on His face.

Wenn eine fremde Person bereits nach zwei Minuten von ihrer Vorliebe für Brettspiele erzählt, stehen die Chancen gut, dass sie fürchterlich anstrengend ist. Außer, diese Person bin ich: Dann hatte ich wahrscheinlich nur einen schlechten Tag und bin in Wahrheit absolut fantastisch! Merk dir das, lieber Leser.

The real game, as I soon discover, is donburi. Donburi, often shortened to don, means "bowl," and the name encapsulates a vast array of rice bowls topped with delicious stuff: oyakodon (chicken and egg), unadon (grilled eel), tendon (tempura). As nice as meat and tempura and eel can be, the donburi of yours and mine and every sensible person's dreams is topped with a rainbow bounty of raw fish. Warm rice, cool fish, a dab of wasabi, a splash of soy- sushi, without the pageantry and without the price tag. At Kikuyo Shokudo Honten you will find more than three dozen varieties of seafood dons, including a kaleidoscopic combination of uni, salmon, ikura (salmon roe), quail eggs, and avocado. I opt for what I've come to call the Hokkaido Superhero's Special: scallops, salmon roe, hairy crab, and uni. It's ridiculous hyperbole to call a simple plate of food life changing, but as the tiny briny eggs pop and the sweet scallops dissolve and the uni melts like ocean Velveeta, I feel some tectonic shift taking place just below my surface.

It's like one blind person asking another blind person for directions. The first will speak softly,shout, try to entice, try to devalue not knowing the other can't see as well.The second will be amused and understanding their mutual handicap-enables the first.Either having a slightly better or worse sense of direction- wanting to go East takes them west.The first then takes over leading them north instead of south. The result is a monotonous cycle of miscommunication and speculation.An endless simulation of the game - tag you're it.Each leading each other astray till their need for sight and direction is met. The second tired and wanting to be a better person tells the first of their shared handicap.The direction thereafter becomes quite simple they can either get lost together each for their own reasons - till they find their way or they can split and go their own way to the people who will help them see where they're going.

A person whom works exclusively for money places a price tag on his or her soul. A person whom labors to attain fame seeks a false form of adulation. The writer ignores the lure of a glamorous life by seeking to penetrate the darkness of their own being and meditate the larger issues that frame existence. A seeker knowingly follows a path that is barren, bleak, desolate, and unproductive in terms of attaining recognition and exulted social and financial status.

Now, there is a great deal of difference between a person who requires assistance or looks to be served, and one who is needy. The average person meets his or her fellow on more or less equal ground; needy individuals imagine their demands to be broadcast from a position of height, when in fact anyone coming to their aid usually views them as lacking in either intelligence or ambition—possibly both. The needy person, becoming a needy customer, is often the first to be waited upon and probably the first to be despised. Grace habitually emanated such weary neediness; she would ask the price of an object without first scrutinizing the tag hanging from it. “I

Men may tag you names and titles, some may fit others may not, but never accept anyone's definition of who you are and should be; you decide!

I personally think this was his play all along and we could have avoided this entirely if Ian had simply let the man in a training class.” “You know how I feel about douchebag names.” Big Tag shook his head. A groan came from Chef’s mouth. “He has a list.” “Arlo, Milo, Kylo,” Big Tag began. “Basically all the o’s. Except dildo. If someone is named Dildo, I’ll totally let them in. Ephram, Jeremiah. Basically anyone who sounds like they do civil war reenactments on weekends. Then you’ve got the moneybags. Chet, Thad, Brock. Oh, and anyone named Chazz. If you sound like you belong on a reality dating show, you’re out.” “Because Seth doesn’t rank on any of those lists,” Chef shot back. Big Tag shrugged. “Not my call. Charlie shot down John Wayne Taggart. Apparently when you shove a ten-pound baby out your hoo haw, you get naming rights.

aishu quote testing in personal email

Food License Consultant A food license consultant is one type of bridge that can help you to issue your food license. There are many companies available that can help you to grow your business. They can guide your whole process and explain the fee structure and government fee and some legal documents. If you are looking for the best food license consultants in your city then you can visit our website. Here you can get many verified professionals. Here are some details about the food license which are listed below. What is Food License? What is Food License Registration? What are the types of FSSAI Licenses? What are the documents needed for Food License Registration? What is a food License (FSSAI License)? FSSAI stands for Food Safety Standards Authority of India, which is a statutory body established under the Ministry of Health & Family Welfare, Government of India. It has been established under the Food Safety and Standards Act, 2006, which is related to food safety and regulation in India. A food license is responsible for protecting and promoting public health through regulation and supervision of food safety. Food License Registration A food license is required for every person who wants to start a food business, who can involve in any kind of business like manufacturing, processing, distribution, or sale of food products, etc. A food license consists of 14 digit license number, which can print on all the food packages item. It gives all information regarding the assembling and owner’s permit. The motive of registration is to make the food business operators more responsible that can maintain the quality of food products. Types Of FSSAI License There are different types of food licenses that can depend on the scale of business, and on the turnover provided by the business owner. The government issue different type of license based on the food business operator activity. The types if food licenses are as below: 1) FSSAI Basic Registration: The FSSAI basic license registration for those who have a small-scale business. If their turnover is less than 12 lakh then apply for basic registration. 2) FSSAI State License: The FSSAI State License registration for those who have medium-scale businesses. If their turnover is more than 12 Lakh or up to 20 crores. 3) FSSAI Central License: The FSSAI Central License registration for those who have large-scale businesses. If their turnover is more than 20 crores then it can apply for Central License. Document required for Food License Registration The food license registration document required for the proprietorship Concern or a single person 1) Rental Agreement 2) Pan Card 3) Two Photos 4) ID Proof The food license registration document required for the Partnership Firm 1) Pan Card of Partnership Firm 2) All partner’s Id and Address Proof 3) Two Photos of Each Partner 4) Rental Agreement The food license registration document required for Private Limited Company 1) Pan Card of Private Limited Company. 2) Incorporation Certificate of Private Limited Company. 3) All Director’s Id and Address Proof 4) Two Photos of Each Director. 5) Rental Agreement. Best FSSAI License Consultant in India We are a team of FSSAI Registration centers, helping business owners in the registration, and certification procedures all over India. If you have further queries or doubts, then please visit our website. Tags food license online, food license, fssai license, fssai license registration, fssai license registration online, fssai registration, fssai license fee, fssai license documents, food licensing, fssai renewal, fssai apply online, fssai online, fssai registration form, fssai license registration consultant, fssai license consultant, fssai consultant, food license consultant in Ahmedabad, Food license consultant in Delhi, Food license consultant in Mumbai, Food license consultant in Kolkata

Quando mi sento sopraffatta e non riesco a concentrarmi su una cosa sola, quando i miei pensieri orribili mi travolgono tutti insieme, è come se fossi uno di quei tornado giganteschi dei cartoni animati, quegli ammassi grigi e spessi che travolgono tutto al loro passaggio: l'ignaro postino, una mucca, un cane, un idrante. Quando divento un tornado tiro su tutte le cose brutte che ho fatto in vita mia, tutte le persone che ho imbrogliato e fregato alla grande, tutti i tagli che mi sono fatta, tutto, tutto. Quando divento un tornado vortico e vortico, diventando sempre più grande e affollato.

Neurodivergent Checklist Time Blindness: Many neurodivergent people have trouble properly perceiving time as it passes. It either goes by too quickly or slowly. The perception of time depends on the level of stimulation the neurodivergent person is dealing with. It also can vary depending on what you’re focused on. If you’ve ever found yourself unable to account for time, you may be neurodivergent. Executive Dysfunction: This is what you experience when you want to accomplish a task, but despite how hard you try, you cannot see it through. Executive dysfunction happens for various reasons, depending on the type of neurodivergence in question. Still, the point is that this is a common occurrence in neurodivergent people. Task Multiplication: What is task multiplication? It happens when you set off to accomplish one thing but have to do a million other things, even though that wasn’t your original plan. For instance, you may want to sit down to finish some writing, only to notice water on the floor. You get up to grab a mop, and on the way, you notice the laundry you were supposed to drop off at the dry cleaners. Stooping to pick up the bag, you find yourself at eye level with your journal and remember you were supposed to make an entry the previous day, so you’re going to do that now. On and on it goes. Inconsistent Sleep Habits: This depends on what sort of neurodivergence you’re dealing with and if you’ve got comorbid disorders. Most importantly, neurodivergent people sleep more or less than “regular” people. You may also notice that your sleep habits fluctuate a lot. Sometimes you may sleep for eight hours at a stretch for a week, only to suddenly start running on just three hours of sleep. Emotional Dysregulation: With many neurodivergent people, it’s hard to keep emotions in check. Emotional dysregulation occurs in extreme emotions, sudden mood swings, or inappropriate emotional reactions (either not responding to the degree they should or overreacting). Hyperfixation: This also plays out differently depending on the brand of neurodivergence in question. Often, neurodivergent people get very involved in topics or hobbies to the point of what others may think of as obsession. Picking Up on Subtleties but Missing the Obvious: Neurodivergent people may struggle with picking up on things neurotypical people can see easily. At the same time, they are incredibly adept at noticing the subtle things everyone else misses. Sensory Sensitivities: If you’re neurodivergent, you may be unable to ignore your clothes tag scratching your back, have trouble hearing certain sounds, and can’t quite deal with certain textures of clothing, food, and so on. Rejection Sensitivity: Neurodivergent people are often more sensitive to rejection than others due to neurological differences and life experiences. For instance, children with ADHD get much more negative feedback than their peers without ADHD. Neurodivergent people are often rejected to the point where they notice rejection even when it’s not there.

So... you and I are friends now?” she asked with a playful grin. “Well, no. I didn’t mean it like that. Like, I’m not gonna ask to tag along with you and your girls to go get your nails done. Not that I’m opposed,” he said, holding up his hands to reveal jet-black painted fingernails. “I just meant that you’re a person that I don’t necessarily hate interacting with. You know, from time to time.

There is a misconception that those with ADHD lack the ability to pay attention or stay focused. The reality is that ADHD causes us to pay too much attention to everything most of the time—especially when it comes from our environment. We may become easily distracted by irrelevant information that our five senses are detecting: people whispering, crooked artwork on the wall, perfume that is too strong, the itchy tag of our T-shirt, lights that are too bright. Because we don’t have the filters to sift out unnecessary information, these distractions, which are nearly invisible to the neurotypical person, compete for our attention. Because of our brains that go ping! our attention is often inefficiently redirected.

When she was six months old, Mädchen was hit by a car and killed. Her food was still in the bowl when our father brought home an identical German shepherd, which the same Cindy thoughtfully christened Mädchen II. This tag-team progression was disconcerting, especially to the new dog, which was expected to possess both the knowledge and the personality of her predecessor. “Mädchen One would never have wet the floor like that,” my father would scold, and the dog would sigh, knowing she was the canine equivalent of a rebound.

Eddie Murphy: Raw (1987) was released in theaters — unheard of for a standup concert film — and grossed over $50M. Behind the scenes there was some grumbling over Keenen’s credits as both a writer and producer. Murphy's then-manager, Richie Tienken, insists Keenen’s work on Raw was negligible. “Eddie was working on his routine and was having a problem with a line,” says Tienken. “He talked to Keenen about it and Keenen basically said, ‘Well, why don’t you say it this way?’ And it worked. I said to Eddie, ‘That was really nice of Keenen to help you with that.’ And he said, ‘Yeah, he asked me for a co-writing credit.’ I was like, ‘What? It was one fucking line. This guy’s your friend.’ ” Tienken points out that comedians are always helping each other out with bits. He’s worked with comics such as Jerry Seinfeld, Paul Reiser, and Ray Romano. “They all helped each other. They didn’t ask for anything. I think I even went to Keenen and said, ‘You’ve got some pair of fucking balls asking him for that.’ ” Chris Rock, who was just getting to know Eddie and Keenen around this time, recalled watching Eddie prepare for the shows on his Raw tour, batting around material with friends. Occasionally, Rock and others might help “tag” a joke. “I might have got a line in,” Rock told Marc Maron during a 2011 interview, referring to Raw. “That’s what friends are for, for tags. It’s only when they’re not your friends when they go, ‘I should get a writing credit for that tag.’ ” Eddie and Keenen had a falling-out over all this, and one person close to the situation at the time says Arsenio Hall called Keenen afterward and said something to the effect of “You’re out and I’m in.” For his part, though, Eddie never publicly complained about Keenen’s contributions — or lack thereof — to Raw.

Fabric: The fabric needs to be heavier like a good wrap at 5-8 oz per square yard. It can be a single layer if the bottom weight is heavy enough. Some have a lining and some are even slightly padded. The padding and lining is a matter of personal preference and not necessary to make a good baby carrier. Some have beautiful designs, others are more plain. You will be able to find something you like in all the different brands available. Bar tags, a sewn cross (X-box) or double stitching is needed for the top and bottom shoulder straps at each point they are sewn into the body or waist belt. Pockets on the body fabric are optional

Mr. Nak taught me a trick. He told me to think of fear as a person who’s going to be around whether he’s invited or not. He said, “Think of him like a big ol’ bully pain-in-the-butt cousin you cain’t get rid of, an’ the only way to get your binniss done is to allow him to tag along, because he’s goin’ to anyway. Then don’t take your eye off him a minute, so he don’t get the chance to make you look like a horse’s patoot.

My father came first," says a Missouri painter who consistently faces a work slump whenever she commits herself to submitting paintings for a show. "My mother was defined by him. If she behaved well he would love her, buy her presents, and take care of her - she was a queen. He did take care of her. She behaved, she ran the house. He bought her presents all the time." "Was she smart?" I asked. "I don't know," the woman replied. "I think she may have been, once. She stopped thinking." One reason Mother remains shadowy is that she was intimidated by the forceful, vivid personality of her husband. The peacemaker, a kind of half-person who chooses to tag along safely behind her husband, Mother is protected from the more abrasive aspects of life in the world. Huge fights, open power struggles - these were not characteristic of the girl's relationship with her elusive mother. (...) Mother was there (...). But she was also not there. (...) Father is active; Mother is passive. Father is able to rely on himself; Mother is helpless and dependent.

Fast forward to today. Americans still have very few options when it comes to trying the lesser-known varieties of charcutería available to the Spanish people. Hope exists, however, that this may be soon rectified, as evidenced by the sweeping acquittal of many Italian cured-meat imports in April 2013.20 For now, anyway, we can travel to Spain and consume to our heart’s content. We can buy what precious little is available in our country. We can make it ourselves. Or we can make a futile attempt at stuffing contraband pork into our suitcases and pray, with the wide-eyed, guilt-laden face of a Colombian drug mule, not to get busted by the Department of Homeland Security. Just know that on this point, dear reader, I can offer a bit of personal advice: Getting caught is an epic fail of disastrous proportions, even if it’s not your fault. Case in point: After a trip to Madrid and the surrounding countryside, my Spanish “family” thought that they’d surprise me with a little package of morcilla secreted away in my suitcase. It was a gesture borne of more heart than brains, as ultimately it truly was a great surprise—especially when I found myself tagged for an agricultural check at a particularly thorough US Customs checkpoint. I simply didn’t understand. I’d filled out my Customs card and done everything right. Yet there I was, unloading my dirty unmentionables on a counter for God, curious passersby, and the TSA to look over and admire. And that’s when I caught a waft of

It seems to make little sense how a person's self-worth or self-confidence should be wrapped up in how much their jacket is worth or what shoe they are wearing. Does a person's round or pointy-tip shoe really say anything of value about who a person is? It seems that true luxury lies in a freedom from needing that red-bottom shoe, that handbag with all the tiny initials and big price tag, or the latest trend to know that a person truly matters. True luxury seems to lie in the separation of confidence and materialism. Authentic luxury flourishes from the untying of self-worth from popular opinion.

Wall Street and corporate American know there is no deal considered beneath the Clintons. If they will, as reported, wheel and deal off the human tragedy of the Haitian disaster, then they will indeed do anything. If they are willing to defame and destroy women abused by Bill Clinton, they will not only do that, but proclaim themselves feminists. They have created a huge shakedown conglomerate in the Clinton Foundation in Machiavellian fashion: the philanthropy brilliantly masks the cynical tapping of such funds for personal aggrandizement. Quid pro quos go through the foundation to “help” the helpless while providing the family the moral veneer to moonlight and rake in huge fees from foundation donors, who do not give such largess for nothing. Hitting up corporate finaglers for $70 million in tag-along private jet travel would be burdensome; but creating a tax-free “philanthropy” to provide such corporate one-percent travel for the three Clintons (whether to lecture on global warming or the unfair tax policies of the one-percent) is brilliant in the Medieval sense.

But it isn’t the fun of DIY invention, urban exploration, physical danger, and civil disorder that the Z-Boys enjoyed in 1976. It is fun within serious limits, and for all of its thrills it is (by contrast) scripted. And rather obedient. The fact that there are public skateparks and high-performance skateboards signals progress: America has embraced this sport, as it did bicycles in the nineteenth century. Towns want to make skating safe and acceptable. The economy has more opportunity to grow. America is better off for all of this. Yet such government and commercial intervention in a sport that was born of radical liberty means that the fun itself has changed; it has become mediated. For the skaters who take pride in their flashy store-bought equipment have already missed the Z-Boys’ joke: Skating is a guerrilla activity. It’s the fun of beating, not supporting, the system. P. T. Barnum said it himself: all of business is humbug. How else could business turn a profit, if it didn’t trick you with advertising? If it didn’t hook you with its product? This particular brand of humbug was perfected in the late 1960s, when merchandise was developed and marketed and sold to make Americans feel like rebels. Now, as then, customers always pay for this privilege, and purveyors keep it safe (and generally clean) to curb their liability. They can’t afford customers taking real risks. Plus it’s bad for business to encourage real rebellion. And yet, marketers know Americans love fun—they have known this for centuries. And they know that Americans, especially kids, crave autonomy and participation, so they simulate the DIY experience at franchises like the Build-A-Bear “workshops,” where kids construct teddy bears from limited options, or “DIY” restaurants, where customers pay to grill their own steaks, fry their own pancakes, make their own Bloody Marys. These pay-to-play stores and restaurants are, in a sense, more active, more “fun,” than their traditional competition: that’s their big selling point. But in both cases (as Barnum knew) the joke is still on you: the personalized bear is a standardized mishmash, the personalized food is often inedible. As Las Vegas knows, the house always wins. In the history of radical American fun, pleasure comes from resistance, risk, and participation—the same virtues celebrated in the “Port Huron Statement” and the Digger Papers, in the flapper’s slang and the Pinkster Ode. In the history of commercial amusement, most pleasures for sale are by necessity passive. They curtail creativity and they limit participation (as they do, say, in a laser-tag arena) to a narrow range of calculated surprises, often amplified by dazzling technology. To this extent, TV and computer screens, from the tiny to the colossal, have become the scourge of American fun. The ubiquity of TV screens in public spaces (even in taxicabs and elevators) shows that such viewing isn’t amusement at all but rather an aggressive, ubiquitous distraction. Although a punky insurgency of heedless satire has stung the airwaves in recent decades—from equal-opportunity offenders like The Simpsons and South Park to Comedy Central’s rabble-rousing pundits, Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert—the prevailing “fun” of commercial amusement puts minimal demands on citizens, besides their time and money. TV’s inherent ease seems to be its appeal, but it also sends a sobering, Jumbotron-sized message about the health of the public sphere.

Bad credit surgery loans are loan service that is basically meant to assist those borrowers who wish to go for a surgical procedure but they are not having ample amount of funds for financing their surgery. With the assistance of this loan service such borrowers can easily access the desired amount of funds along with the tag of their poor credit. The fund avail from this loan will also assist them to mend their awful credit status.

Und dann die Negative. Wie er die Negative vermisste. Sie waren die tatsächlichen Lichtstrahlen, die eine Landschaft, einen Gegenstand, eine Person reflektierten und die sich in den Film einbrannten. Fotonegative waren die wahrhaftigsten Zeugnisse, die man von seinen Erinnerungen bekommen konnte. Sie waren die Asche, die das Feuer hinterließ, der Bluterguss, der auf der Haut zurückblieb. Dasselbe Licht, das einem an dem Tag, als das Foto entstand, das Bild der Mutter, des Vaters oder des besten Freundes auf die Netzhaut projezierte, blieb für immer auf dem Film gespeichert. Und jetzt, als er auf das Foto von Idas durchsichtigen Zehen auf dem Bettlaken starrte, erkannte er, wie sehr ihre Füße Negativen glichen: Beide gehörten jener Halb-Welt zwischen Erinnerung und Gegenwart an. Das waren keine echten, beweglichen Zehen, mit denen man laufen konnte, sondern ein Spiel des Lichts, das andeutete, wo einst Zehen gewesen waren.

One danger zone is dialogue ... At the moment of ultimate showing, we writers get nervous. ... We allow characters to tell us about the story, to soliloquize, to have insights into their lives that no real person could manage. We also work very hard to control the part of dialogue that is not in the character's voice - the tags. We have the characters chortle and wheeze and whisper and whine; we use adverbs to remind the reader and reassure ourselves how things are being said. A nice contrast to this tendency is the following conversation, form Ernest Hemingway's story 'The Sea Change': 'No thanks,' he said. 'It doesn't do any good to say I'm sorry.' 'No.' 'Nor to tell you how it is?' 'I'd rather not hear.' 'I love you very much.' 'Yes, this proves it.' 'I'm sorry,' she said, 'if you don't understand.' 'I understand. That's the trouble. I understand.' How different our experience would be if the storytelling were more anxious: 'No thanks,' he said bitterly, the words sharp in his mouth. 'It doesn't do any good to say I'm sorry?' she poignantly wondered. 'No.' Phil touched her hand with his, then drew it away. He ground his teeth. 'Nor to tell you how it is?' she Sapphically queried. 'I'd rather not hear,' he groused. 'I love you very much,' she said, perhaps ingenuously. (Peter Rock)

Money Is an Energy" Everybody is already someone else An existential tag line Money is current I would like to not live paycheck to paycheck You could make a pun on currency but not quite Money is an energy nonetheless Dark space Dark water A long silent drive Dark matter(s) Driving is my personality The methods of one wor(l)d revealing the hidden harmonies of another Prayer card Lotto ticket You occupy my pocket My payment has not arrived

Let us assume a wealthy person who wants to apply for Rs 50 lakhs worth of shares. He is not eligible to apply with retail investor’s tag and would come under non institutional investor category. Quota for this category is mere 15 percent translating to Rs150 crores worth of shares. Rest would go to foreign institutional investors, mutual funds and qualified institutional investors.

Kai’s lips ticked up. “I don’t think you’ll convince Tag of anything. This is one man who could use some time on my couch. I dream about it at night, you know. Ian Taggart is one large mass of previously undiagnosed personality disorders. He’s a walking, talking Nobel Prize. Well, if they gave them out to psychologists.

I used to think that love was something a person fell into? Not anymore. It's an occurrence. A stupendous, spectacular incident. Something we never even realize how much we need until it's there.

You know I used to think that love was something a person fell into? Not anymore. It's an occurrence. A stupendous, spectacular incident. Something we never even realize how much we need until it's there.

I got these for you." Andy makes himself tag on those last two words so Nick will know this wasn't an errand; it's a gesture. It's someone bringing flowers to the person he loves. Simple as that.

Note: I am sure that now they will approach Medium to stop me from writing. Let’s see what happens. “A genuine person or celebrity doesn’t need a certificate or blue tick. Such ways are blackmailing your passion, emotion, or willingness. Criminals and money-mongers misuse and try to earn in an ugly and easy way. This trend also discriminates against others who cannot afford such an awkward notion.” Istay determined every day. I cannot tolerate liars and those who misuse their authority and attempt to victimize the righteous for their will and purpose in an illegitimate way to please their godfathers of the mafia and international criminal intelligence agencies. I am pretty sure, after reviewing again the replies from the Twitter team that mirror and endorse the Twitter team, that someone works for intelligence agencies or criminal and mafia groups. Since the beginning months of this year, I have been continuously victimized without specifying why I was posting the wrong things. I am going to publish a few emails that will exhibit the picture of how I was being victimized, harassed, and even threatened about things that I was neither aware of nor that the team explained. I was already under the attacks of criminals and even the gang of filthy-minded gays who were suffering from mental issues and sexual frustration; knowing it, I am not gay. In the Twitter team, the presence of such ones is not excluded since I felt a similar style of victimization. How do they dare to adopt such mean tactics to gain their will and desire? This reply email shows that a screenshot article has been displayed since 2020. After four years, it became an issue for someone in the Twitter team who continued to lock my account and tag the restriction flag. Text of my emails; “I am still uncertain about what to post and what not to post. You didn’t specify why my account was locked, whether it was because of the content I removed or something else. Is it permissible for me to share media and social media links in which my quotes are mentioned? My writings do not contain any personal attacks; nonetheless, thank you.” “You locked my Twitter, @EhsanSehgal, again; you know why you are doing it. Now, I can say only goodbye to my locked account and enjoy your terror. It is not a protection of my account; it is victimization. No more requests to unlock my account. Someone of angelic character will do it without my request. Shame on you all, involved ones.” Team replied; Hello, “We had a look at your account, and it appears that everything is now resolved! If that’s not the case, please reply to this message, and we’ll continue to help. Thanks,” X Support This was a screenshot article from Wikipedia about me on my profile that was illegitimately removed by such people as the Twitter team forced me to remove. Despite that, they continued locking my account to identify and provide an ID or passport. I did that twice and identified several times, but the team seemed not satisfied since their goal was something else; they would not approach nor be able to do it. To stop such criminal torture, I deactivated my account and decided never to come back there again.

Was she wearing a tracking tag?” “She tends to get blackout drunk. At least with a tracking tag, if she can’t figure out where she is in the morning or loses her phone, I can find her.” I gawked at her. “Seriously? Even here?” She shrugged. “Levi’s not exactly the most responsible person. If she wanders off, I’m sure he just grabs the closest girl to warm his bed.

Library day was the worst day for a blind person who loved to read. I couldn't ever browse bookshelves, take volumes down and flip through the pages. On Library Day, when other kids walked down the aisles in groups, chattering about books in buzzing whispers, I wandered away to the unpopulated corners or tagged far enough behind a couple kids so they wouldn't notice me.

Our mind is the most active part of the body, even when we are resting. It has an opinion about everything we see, listen to, touch, or feel. It tags and compares everything with its notions, which we built over the years. While meditating, we need to observe and analyze this over-reactive mind from a third-person perspective. That is real awareness.

I realize I live in a city with a Jewish population of less than two percent, but the assumption that everyone celebrates Christmas has never not rubbed at me like the softest sweater’s sharp-edged tag. This time of year, it’s nearly constant. I’ve been the only person ever not wearing a Santa hat during a broadcast, and our social media blew up with accusations that I hated America.

When it comes to our personal knowledge, there is no such assigned spot. We are organizing for actionability, and “what’s actionable” is always changing. Sometimes we can receive one text message or email and the entire landscape of our day changes. Because our priorities can change at a moment’s notice, we have to minimize the time we spend filing, labeling, tagging, and maintaining our digital notes. We can’t run the risk of all that effort going to waste.

Don’t over-share. We don’t need to see or hear it all, just the highlights.    The selfie is to be avoided. I know it may seem like a good idea and that everyone else is doing it, but stay strong. Something about it reeks of desperation. The likes will not set you free.    Keep the bragging to a minimum. Sharing your latest work or even the well-intended subtle flex is okay. Outright boasting will leave your audience wanting less.    Hashtags are a no-no. Hashtags serve a purpose for brands, but they should be left off any posts from your personal accounts. They look amateurish.    Avoid clogging the feed. Got a lot of exciting content? Stay measured and time-release it. Posting five images in a row will annoy even your biggest fans.    Tag someone only when it’s flattering. If you are posting a photo from your trip to Lisbon, make sure all parties look good in the chosen image. If someone has clearly overindulged, think twice before sharing. You would want the same courtesy.    Never under any circumstance should you confront someone about unfollowing you. That sort of behavior will make you the talk of the group chat, and not in a good way.    No spoilers. Your uncle in Los Angeles works in the industry and sent you a screener of the latest Oscar-worthy film. Watch it and enjoy it. Do not share any information about said film on social media. Your followers will be mad and so will your uncle.    Be yourself. With so many available platforms to share on, you might slip into a caricature of yourself. Make sure you always keep it real. Don’t be someone you aren’t—even if you are rewarded with likes and comments. Because self-awareness reigns supreme, online and off.    Never take it too seriously. Although social media has become ubiquitous in our modern era, it’s still not exactly real life. Hell, maybe put the phone down and take a stroll.

Studies show that belief in self-reliance is very closely linked with a low degree of comfort with intimacy and closeness. Although avoidant individuals were found to have a great deal of confidence about not needing anyone else, their belief came with a price tag: They scored lowest on every measure of closeness in personal relationships.

It’s no wonder we are anxious and feel boundaries are only acceptable and legitimate if the other person agrees with and respects them. In other words, instead of stating our boundaries and ending the sentence with a period, we tag on a question. “You good with that?” “Okay?” “Does that work?” “This is understandable, right?” “You see where I’m coming from, yes?” Posing a boundary as a question opens us up to be questioned, debated, and disrespected. If a boundary is presented with doubt, it won’t be effectively carried out. Now, add on top of that the weird notion that if we are Christians, then we are absolutely obligated to sacrifice what’s best for us in the name of laying down our lives for others. (See here for some specific scriptures that have been wrongly used to make people feel guilty about their boundaries.) Where did we get the idea that we aren’t allowed to say no, have limitations, or be unwilling to tolerate other people’s bad behavior? If we are filtering our thoughts of boundaries through wrong perceptions, it’s no wonder many of us find boundaries not just challenging but pretty close to impossible. Here’s why: We aren’t sure who we really are. We aren’t sure what we really need. We aren’t sure that if others walked away from us, we’d be okay. We’ll get to what we need in the next chapter, but for now let’s take an honest look at an important question. Who are you?

I wrote an article two days ago trying to explain insanity in simple language, in fact, that was indeed the title: Insanity Explained In Simple Language. I received a letter yesterday asking me for more information on the subject. I do so enjoy interacting with the general public, especially ones who ask complicated questions. This person a lady, whose name shall remain anonymous, asked– “If sanity is the simple state of mind one feels whilst one’s life is suspended in an insane space as you purport, how can one tell if the space one finds oneself in is insane or not? Yours faithfully, One, In Disguise. I wrote this as my explanation——- The only way to tell if the space you’re in is insane or not is to test your own sanity. It is my belief you will need four things to test for any debilitating state of affairs in your surroundings. Firstly, you will need; you. Next, someone who is definitely insane. Of course, then comes someone who is sane, and finally, a pencil and paper. That’s five things I know but who’s splitting hairs over a pencil and paper? Not me. I haven’t enough paper to split. I will stop digressing. I suggest I am the one you invite to fill the third category, the being sane one, but only if you’re testing for sanity on a day with the letter N in it. If the day of your choice has not the letter ’N,’ then I cannot help but feel sorry for you. However, in that case my intuitive nature compels me to propose I fill the second category for your cause, leaving you to find someone who is sane. Good luck with that last one and God Save The King. That’s if he has any time left on the throne. DK. © 2022, Daniel Kemp. All rights reserved.

Reveal your own personal skills without doing anything to become famous

In actuality, many are—but on a personal level only. There is, in general, a double-mindedness about the free market among woke leaders. On the one hand, it is seen as wicked and inherently corrupt. On the other hand, woke scholars and activists do well by it—in some cases, obscenely well. Robin DiAngelo charges fifteen thousand dollars per speaking event and has earned over two million dollars from her book White Fragility, even while castigating capitalism as a racist economic system.64 Ibram Kendi and Ta-Nehisi Coates have even higher price tags: Kendi’s speaking fee is twenty-five thousand dollars, while Coates’s fee is between thirty thousand and forty thousand dollars per event.65 Even as these leaders decry “capitalism,” they make more in a day than many Americans make in a year.

A common pitfall I see is multiple cofounders trying to tag-team fundraising. This is nonoptimal. As with any business objective: one person needs to be ultimately responsible. With fundraising, one cofounder should take a leading role. The other cofounder should focus on keeping the business running and should be leveraged in a supporting role to: ● Attend a 2nd/3rd meeting with the investor (increases buy-in and adds another touchpoint) ● Amplify the shared network and investor introductions ● Help check references ● Take the blame for being a hard negotiator :-) As I hope I’ve illustrated, fundraising isn’t an afterthought — it requires this kind of discipline, follow-through, and planning to get right. Make that one person’s whole job, not two people’s shared job.

I added the police report number, the morgue number, and the Laboratoire de Médecine Légale, or LML, number and experienced my usual wave of anger at the arrogant indifference of the system. Violent death allows no privacy. It plunders one’s dignity as surely as it has taken one’s life. The body is handled, scrutinized, and photographed, with a new series of digits allocated at each step. The victim becomes part of the evidence, an exhibit, on display for police, pathologists, forensic specialists, lawyers, and, eventually, jurors. Number it. Photograph it. Take samples. Tag the toe. While I am an active participant, I can never accept the impersonality of the system. It is like looting on the most personal level.