Tanning Tuesday Quotes

He tells my parents how I took every class he taught. He tells them, “You have a special boy here.” Embarrassed, I look at my feet. Before we leave, I hand my professor a present, a tan briefcase with his initials on the front. I bought this the day before at a shopping mall. I didn’t want to forget him. Maybe I didn’t want him to forget me. “Mitch, you are one of the good ones,” he says, admiring the briefcase. Then he hugs me. I feel his thin arms around my back. I am taller than he is, and when he holds me, I feel awkward, older, as if I were the parent and he were the child. He asks if I will stay in touch, and without hesitation I say, “Of course.” When he steps back, I see that he is crying.

WASHINGTON -Stop sunbathing and using indoor tanning beds, the acting U.S. surgeon general warned in a report released Tuesday that cites an alarming 200 percent jump in deadly melanoma cases since 1973. The report blames a generation of sun worshipping for the $8 billion spent to treat all forms of skin cancer each year.

The nurse -- square-jawed and deeply tanned but with warm brown eyes -- advised Susan to leave her purse with her friend, and in that moment of turning back to hand over the strap of her bag, Annie saw that Susan was trembling, trembling slightly, almost imperceptibly, but also thoroughly, from her fingertips to her shoulders to the smooth flesh of her pretty face, lips, scalp, even the ends of her pale hair. In that moment she saw, too, how Susan had fixed her eyes -- brown not hazel -- on some distant point, some point out of the room, out of this particular ten thirty on a Tuesday morning in late August, out of this strange office building in Manhattan, and onto a place after which this would be done, gotten through, gotten over. Annie took her friend's bag but did not aim, again, to smile at her or to offer any encouragement. Later, wading through the war stuff, she wondered if what Susan had shown her in that moment -- trembling, looking ahead -- could be called courage. And wondered why it was assumed that courage was always put to some noble end.

she was going straight into Hollywood Station. 9 Ballard kept all her work suits in her locker at the station and dressed for her shifts after arriving each night. She had four different suits that followed the same cut and style but differed in color and pattern. She dry-cleaned them two at a time so that she always had a suit and a backup available. After arriving nearly eight hours early for her shift, Ballard changed into the gray suit that was her favorite. She accompanied it with a white blouse. She kept four white blouses and one navy in her locker as well. It was Friday and that meant Ballard was scheduled to work solo. She and Jenkins had to cover seven shifts a week, so Ballard took Tuesday to Saturday and Jenkins covered Sunday to Thursday, giving them three overlap days. When they took vacation time, their slots usually went unfilled. If a detective in the division was needed during the early-morning hours, then someone had to be called in from home. Working solo suited Ballard because she didn’t have to run decisions by her partner. On this day, if he had known what Ballard’s plan was, Jenkins would have put the kibosh on it. But because it was Friday, they would not be working together again until the following Tuesday, and she was clear to make her own moves. After suiting up, Ballard checked herself in the mirror over the locker room sinks. She combed her sun-streaked hair with her fingers. That was all she usually had to do. Constant immersion in salt water and exposure to the sun over years had left her with broken, flyaway hair that she kept no longer than chin length out of necessity. It went well with her tan and gave off a slightly butch look that reduced advances from other officers. Olivas had been an exception. Ballard squeezed some Visine drops into her eyes, which were red from the salt water. After that she was good to go. She went into the break room to brew a double-shot espresso on the Keurig. She would be operating now and through the night on less than three hours of sleep. She needed to start stacking caffeine. She kept her eye on the wall clock because she wanted to time her arrival in the detective bureau at shortly before four p.m., when she knew the lead detective in the CAPs unit would also be watching the clock, getting ready to split for the weekend. She had at least fifteen minutes to kill, so she went upstairs to the offices of the buy-bust team next to the vice unit. Major Narcotics was located downtown but each division operated

Rosimaya I You stone my Saturdays, You waste my Wednesdays And tear up my Tuesdays Into two: You snare my Sundays, You squeeze my Saturdays, And toss my Tuesdays Onto thorns II You feign You feign you Feign you forget my face In even The pious Presence Of God our God The Father Almighty The maker Of heaven and earth. Including all− Even you and me, Who today Both hold on to worlds As different As the land from the Sea. Why can’t you tell Me You no more love Me? Or why not tell Me You can love me no More? III You scorn my Sundays You freeze my Fridays. And sink my Saturdays In a swamp: You wet my Wednesdays You soil my Saturdays And milk my Mondays Of their mirth. IV You feign you feign you Feign I did not tell you The time and Place we were to meet; But I know I know I did tell you You did Repeat it yourself My witnesses Are your innocent Ears, not your Faithful tongue and eyes Who’d also Refuse to remember: Why can’t you tell Me You never had loved Me? Or why not tell Me You just will not love Me? V You slash my Saturdays You teased my Tuesdays. And snob my Sundays In the sun; You mock my Mondays You wreck my Wednesdays And smother my Sundays In the smoke. VI You feign You feign you Feign you do so love me But the truth Is now like the rain; He who sees not, Feels it on his skin. And with A deep paralysing pain, Erodes away The still wet-walls of Our strong castles Built in my dreams. The terrible truth Is now like the sun – Where it is Not seen, it is felt; Skin of your words Show a tell-tale tan, Scales blinding My eyes start to melt. VII You foul My Fridays You starve My Saturdays And mess up My Mondays In the mud; You shun My Saturdays You maim My Mondays And heap heavy sorrow Onto my soul.