Togo Quotes

Like a snake sheds its skin, we are capable of getting rid of assembled habits, creating space to call matters into question. Instead of the Shakespearian " To be or not to be " we could favor " to become or not to become". By "becoming", we challenge the range of possibilities in our life and go beyond the merely "being". We can retreat, then, from the imprisonment of a deadly routine, acquire an identity and develop our personality. ( "Man without Qualities" )

Aren’t you going to say it too?” “Nyet.” The reply was so cold, its ice burned the backs of my eyes, sending a single tear down my cheek. It wasn’t until he watched it fall that I noticed the tightness in his shoulders; the turmoil he hid so well behind Giovanni. A rough thumb wiped the tear away. “Ya ne govoryu togo, chego ne imeyu v vidu.

People kept coming up to her all day, saying, “Is it true what Nina says—you come from a broken home?” “Broken right in half,” Polly replied to each one. “There’s a hole in the middle where the garden is. You get rained on trying togo upstairs.” (p. 154)

He made a good salary but he did not flaunt it. He’d been raised in Chicago proper by a Lithuanian Jewish mother who had grown up in poverty, telling stories, often, of extending a chicken to its fullest capacity, so as soon as a restaurant served his dish, he would promptly cut it in half and ask for a to-go container. Portions are too big anyway, he’d grumble, patting his waistline. He’d only give away his food if the corners were cleanly cut, as he believed a homeless person would just feel worse eating food with ragged bitemarks at the edges – as if, he said, they are dogs, or bacteria. Dignity, he said, lifting his half-lasagna into its box, is no detail.

I want good people to come here from all over the world, but I want them to do so legally. We can expedite the process, we can reward achievement and excellemce, but we have to respect the legal process. And those people who take advantage of the system and come here illegally should never enjoy the benefits of being a resident--or citizen--of this nation. So I am against any path to citizenship for undocumented workers or anyone else who is in this country illegaly. They should--and need to--go home and get in line.

this wasn’t how the masquerade was supposed to go.’ Rosamund shortened Scout’s reins and scowled down at her. ‘What, was I supposed to be stupider?’ ‘Frankly, yes.’ ‘I’m not sorry.

Do you want me to… go?” “No,” he says. “I want you to stay.

Doctors love unsolicited stool samples. Next time, shit in a to-go box and leave it in your favorite medical professional’s fridge. Or just order some duck poop and have it delivered.

I would like an extra tight vagina, in a to-go box please. Can I get it with extra gravy on top?

After taking a step outside, I looked around the busy street and sighed. Everyone was rushing to be somewhere as I stood alone with my to-go box.

Write where you want to go.

I like to get to-go boxes at restaurants where not only did I not eat in, but apparently their patrons didn’t either, judging by how much food they left on their plates.

When it comes to Schopenhauer, I think I need a To-Go box.

I am the go-to guy for to-go boxes.

Chinese restaurants seem to be able to stuff a square meter of noodles into a tiny to-go box. If you had that same packing power, what would you cram into your pockets, and why would it be 33 ducks?

A guy I grew up with recently died. I attended his funeral, but only because I thought there’d be free food afterwards. I brought to-go boxes with me. You know, to remember him for as long as I could.

There is sometimes a tendency, at least among the trans men I have known, to treat testosterone therapy at the outset as if one were the first to order french fries at the table: tentative, looking to others for guidance and support, a half-frantic desire not to be the only one. If I have some, will you have some? I know you'll have some—is it possible to get a half order? This is for the table, not just for me. What's the smallest actual amount of testosterone that you can medically offer me? I'll take that, but can you put half of it in a to-go box before you bring it out? I'm sharing with friends.

I want good people to come here from all over the world, but I want them to do so legally. We can expedite the process, we can reward achievement and excellence, but we have to respect the legal process. And those people who take advantage of the system and come here illegally should never enjoy the benefits of being a resident--or citizen--of this nation. So I am against any path to citizenship for undocumented workers or anyone else who is in this country illegaly. They should--and need to--go home and get in line.

Cap’n is the cuddliest cat this side of the rabbit hole. He’s like a furry lump of clay, because no matter what position you put him in, he’ll stay there and purr and then fall asleep. I could fold him up and stuff him in a Chinese to-go box, and he’d not even meow once in protest. This works great, because instead of snuggling with leftover chicken lo mein, I now fall asleep with Cap’n curled up next to me.

I can’t give this letter a storybook ending in the world’s eyes. Today finds Bob back to his regular schedule and the boys spending extra time talking with me flopped across the foot of my bed, which seems to be my permanent residence for now. My head symptoms have not changed. The medication has not settled well, and so the struggle continues. Whether I am in the valley or soaring above the mountain tops, God is there with me. I thank God that I am able to be His child. Now that’s a true storybook ending!

Thegirls also ordered catalogues for items they could never buy, and theLisbons' mailbox filled up once again: furniture catalogues fromScottshruptine, high-end clothing, exotic vacations. Unable to goanywhere, the girls traveled in their imaginations to goldtipped Siamesetemples, or past an old man with bucket and leaf broom tidying amoss-carpeted speck of Japan. As soon as we learned the names of thesebrochures we sent for them ourselves to see where the girls wanted togo. Far East Adventures. Footloose Tours. Tunnel to China Tours. OrientExpress. We got them all. And, flipping pages, hiked through dustypasses with the girls, stopping every now and then to help them take offtheir backpacks, placing our hands on their warm, moist shoulders andgazing off at papaya sunsets. We drank tea with them in a waterpavilion, above blazing goldfish. We did whatever we wanted to, andCecilia hadn't killed herself: she was a bride in Calcutta, with a redveil and the soles of her feet dyed with henna. The only way we couldfeel close to the girls was through these impossible excursions, whichhave scarred us forever, making us happier with dreams than wives.

These things may sound trivial, but they are signs of adjustment in our human aspect of life. We are just your average family. I’m happy to report we’re all saved by grace and living in His power. Because of the unique culture we live in, we face different struggles in this earthly journey. It is always fun to sit back and marvel at how God will work out each of the situations that distract us from fellowship with Him. These distractions can strengthen us in our walk if we allow God to take hold. Or, they can keep us away from our source of life and strength: God, our maker.

I...I haven’t done a lot of this.” His cheeks flushed pink and my eyes widened. “I mean, I’ve done some stuff, but not a lot. I haven’t...had sex.” For the longest moment I couldn’t respond. All I could do was stare at him. “You’re a virgin?” One side of his lips kicked up. “Yeah. You sound surprised.” “I am. I thought... I don’t know. You were with...Paige. I just assumed you had sex before.” “That would be a negative,” he replied, picking up my hand. “You’re looking at me like you don’t understand how it’s possible.” He could really read minds. “It’s gotten close, but I just never— I haven’t wanted to go that far.” He shrugged a bare shoulder. “I haven’t done it, either,” I blurted out. “I mean, that’s super obvious since...you’re the first boy I’ve kissed, but yeah, I don’t even know...what I’m saying and I’m just going to shut up.” Rider chuckled. “Don’t. I love it when you ramble.” “Only you would enjoy that.” I curled my fingers through his. “Do you want to...go that far with me?” His lashes swept up and his eyes, with their greenish flecks, met mine. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. Someday.” Warmth swept across my cheeks as I whispered, “I...I want that, too. Someday.” The dimple in his right cheek appeared. “Then we’re on the same page.

You have got to be—” Her sentence is cut short when the elevator makes an abrupt stop, jostling both of us into the walls of the small carrier. “Huh, would you look at that?” I glance around the small room, wondering what’s wrong. “No, no, no,” Dottie says over and over again, as she rushes to the panel and presses the emergency button. When nothing happens, she presses all the other buttons. “That’s intelligent,” I say, arms crossed and observing her from behind. “Confuse the damn thing so it has no idea what to do.” She doesn’t answer, but instead pulls her phone out from her purse and starts holding it up in the air, searching for a signal. “It’s cute that you think raising the phone higher will grant you service. We’re in a metal box surrounded by concrete, sweetheart. I never get reception in here.” “Damn it,” she mutters, stuffing her phone back in her purse. “Looks like you’re stuck here with me until someone figures out the elevator broke, so it’s best you get comfortable.” I sit on the floor and then pat my lap. “You can sit right here.” “I’d rather lick the elevator floor.” “There’s a disgusting visual. Suit yourself.” I get comfortable and start rifling through my bag of food. Thank God I grabbed dinner before this, because I’m starving, and if I was stuck in this elevator with no food, I’d be a raging bastard, bashing his head against the metal door from pure hunger. Low blood sugar does crazy things to me. I bring the term hangry to a new level. There’s only— “Why are you smiling like that?” I look up at her. “Smiling like what? I’m just being normal.” “No, you’re smiling like you’re having a conversation inside your head and you think you’re funny.” How would she know that? “Well, I am funny.” I pop open my to-go box filled to the brim with a Philly cheesesteak sandwich and tons of fries. Staring at it, I say, “Oh yes, come to papa.

For a moment, the fog remained unmoved. It sat around, swirling in place, very clearly listening but showing no sign of offering answers. Then, just as Nausicaä began to contemplate conjuring a few more fireballs, the fog began to thin. Little by little it drained from the air until, finally, all that was left was a vaguely damp, translucent haze. She could only stare at what was revealed. “Huh,” she breathed when speech at last overcame her surprise. “This is…new.” It wasn’t just the changelings that had gathered. They were present, of course—one mere step away. Nausicaä briefly took in the unmistakable pale green tint of his fawn-brown skin and the snaking twists of ivy that grew from the sharp flares of his little shoulders. But there were others. There were so many others. In all of Nausicaä’s very long life, she had never encountered so many of magic’s children in one place. The crowd of them stretched far in almost every direction, faces of all shapes and sizes peeking out of the foliage and trees. There were centaurs, goblins, brownies, imps and sprites. There were redcaps, with their crimson-stained hats and vicious scythes, which glinted in the moonlight. There were kelpies dripping sodden weeds, lilies strangled in their manes. Littered throughout the branches above were crows that weren’t really crows at all, but sluagh—wandering souls of the violent dead who preyed on those soon to die. There were larger things too. Unnameable things. Things that had undoubtedly been calling this forest their home long before Nausicaä had ever been born. She narrowed her eyes at the distance—something massive as a mobile hill stood still as silence too far away for mortal eyes to see. Their form was not unlike an overlarge, poisonous tree frog, all vibrant blues and yellows and greens, a crown of velvet antlers on their head and hundreds of glittering black eyes on their face. A freaking Forest Guardian, she would hazard a guess, not that she’d ever seen one to say for sure. “Uh…okay, well, weird time to have a company meeting, but you do you, I guess. I’m going to…go. Gar, maybe it’s best you stick with these guys until I square things up with my Reaper. Thanks for lifting the fog, forest brats! Good luck with…whatever this is. May the force be with you.” She turned back around. There weren’t any faeries in front of her, either—just trees and misty gloom and a darkness unnatural even for this time of night. And, of course, the glass-chime tinkling of magic, which now sounded to her a bit distressed.

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Everywhere I went, it was Balto this and Balto that. Truth to tell, I knew Balto well enough. He was in my kennel. He was owned, bred, raised, and trained by Sepp, same as I was. Sepp called Balto nothing but a scrub freight dog. Don't get me wrong, he was a nice-enough fellow. But he was no racer. And he didn't have a whole lot going on upstairs. What he had was luck. It was luck, pure and simple, that he happened to be leading the team that made the last leg of the Serum Run.

I put my nose down and sniffed the ice thoughtfully. Sepp knew I had good ice sense. Having ice sense meant I could smell the water beneath the ice. If the smell was too strong, I knew that the ice was thin and probably not strong enough to hold us. Quite ice was solid and steady. but if it groaned or hissed, that meant it was breaking apart and dangerous. It was talking to me. It was saying, Watch out, little dog! Stay away! I could also feel the ice beneath my paw pads. I knew that if it was damp, it was probably not frozen through.

Hebrews 11:8, NASB, says, “By faith Abraham, when he was called, obeyed by going out to a place which he was to receive for an inheritance; and he went out, not knowing where he was going.” I sure do not know what I’m going to do here this semester or in Togo, but I do know that God knows what He is doing—so my attitude must be to trust God entirely. I’m glad He doesn’t let us know what He has planned next; He just continues to reveal who He is. Some days I feel alone here, but being alone with God isn’t bad either. My solitude with Him has been special. --Shirley Cropsey, January 13, 1982

I gave haircuts this morning. The boys think I should do them just like the short-term beautician who was here. Their regular cut with her was a shave up the side coming to a v in the back. Right. Well, I did my best. Josh thinks he may need to wear a hat all weekend. The All West African baseball tournament is in Lomé, and he doesn’t have two days to wait until a bad haircut turns into a good one. Grandpa always said, ‘The only difference between a good haircut and a bad haircut is two days.

I want good people to come here from all over the world, but I want them to do so legally. We can expedite the process, we can reward achievement and excellemce, but we have to respect the legal process. And those people who take advantage of the system and come here illegally should never enjoy the benefits of being a resident--or citizen--of this nation. So I am against any path to citizenship for undocumented workers or anyone else who is in this country illegaly. They should--and need to--go home and get in line.

Staffing an effective church is different than staffing the typical church of the past. It used to be most churches staffed primarily for the care and feeding of their members, and if any time was left over staff could attempt to reach out to the community. But even then church leaders looked for effective and innovative ways to proclaim, “Here we are; y’all come.” Not so today. Today the primary focus of an effective staff is the mobilization and empowerment of the entire congregation for the purpose of transforming the surrounding community and the world, which does result in the growth of the church as a by-product. This is a more “we have to go to them and meet them on their own terms” attitude. We have to listen to their story before we can tell them our story on the way to the story. Living on a mission field requires four huge shifts in how staff functions: The shift from professional paid staff who direct volunteers in carrying out programs to paid servants who equip and coach unpaid servants to carry out most of the pastoral responsibilities. When this shift happens a church learns it can accomplish its goals with fewer paid staff. The shift from using all paid staff to a combination of paid and unpaid servants to fill a role, or the use of unpaid servants as a replacement for paid staff. When this shift occurs staff management becomes a key role for some key staff person. The shift from seeing the needs of the congregation as the focus to seeing the penetration of the surrounding community as the focus. When this shift takes place the measurement of success changes. The shift from a clear division between clergy and laity to more of an “it doesn’t matter if you’re ordained or not” attitude. When this shift takes place it frees up the church to develop the priesthood of believers.

He paid the check and I objected. Alex was a waiter and, for better or worse, I was pretty sure I made quite a lot more than he did. But I didn’t press the issue because my objection was met with an insulted glare and stony silence. Usually I don’t dispute or offer to go halfsies. Maybe I’m old-fashioned, maybe it’s because my father brainwashed me, or maybe I’m a free-loading cow who is a blight on feminist principles, but I typically staunchly believe the man should pay for dinner, especially if it’s early in the relationship.

When trying to overcome temptations, successful people think “I don’t” instead of “I can’t” Successful people don’t think about what they don’t want. Instead, they think about what they do want. Instead of suppressing negative habits, successful people focus on replacing them. Instead of vaguely thinking about what they would like to achieve, successful people write and shareSMART goals Successful people use “if-then” thinking to achieve their goals. Using “if-then” planning triples their chances of achieving success. Successful people commit themselves fully to their goal and take daily action to achieve it Successful people use the five-minute technique to overcome procrastination. “To-go” thinking keeps successful people motivated so that they can achieve their goals Unsuccessful people think that achieving their goals will be easy. Successful people are confident in achieving their goals but realize that the process of doing so will be difficult. If you want increase your chances of achieving your goals, be a realistic optimist. Successful people don’t just visualize success. They also think about and prepare themselves for the difficulties they will encounter. They visualize themselves persisting even when things get rough. Successful people think of failures as part of the process of achieving success. Instead of shying away from failure, they give themselves permission to fail. Doing so allows them to still stay motivated even when they do fail. Unsuccessful people think that their abilities and intelligence levels are fixed. Successful people think that they can improve themselves through hard work. Unsuccessful people look at criticism and failure as a negative judgement of their abilities. Successful people, on the other hand, view criticism and failure as opportunities for improvement. Successful people are successful because they make a conscious choice to adopt the above habits, attitudes and thinking processes. Success is not an accident - it is a choice.

Zach and Derek hugged both of us, but Brandon just stood there never saying a word. He wasn’t coming across as rude, all you had to do was take one look at his face and you understood why he wasn’t adding to the conversation. His hazel eyes were full of so much pain and longing, I couldn’t stop looking at them. It was like a train wreck you didn’t want to see, but couldn’t take your eyes off of. He opened his mouth, but quickly shut it and walked over to the to-go counter to grab the food and leave. Derek gave me a sad smile and kissed the top of my head before towing Zach outside. “You still love him.” Bree stated when they were gone. I looked at her, afraid she was going to get mad at me, but she reached across the small table and grabbed my hand. “It’s okay Harper, no one expected you to fall out of love with him. It’s a difficult situation.” “I

the girls showed up with some to-go brunch, orange juice and a bottle of champagne. “It’s a celebration, bitches!” Mia exclaimed

For Bill and Judy, obedience to the Great Commission means outreach to international students: providing hospitality to them and looking for ways to serve. For Sarah, it means joining forces with the "Not for Sale" movement to help liberate people from human trafficking so that they might experience God's love. For Trevor, it means using his science skills to work for the eradication of malaria in Togo, West Africa. For some Filipina maids, it means following Jesus into Saudi Arabia as domestic servants so that they can share God's love with Saudi families. For Jeff and Judy, it means using computer skills and literacy training to touch the people and the nation of Chad. For Uchenna and Dolapo, it means joining a Nigerian mission agency that enabled them to move to North Africa as community developers. The common thread is this: God's people, relying on God's power and presence, go out and look for opportunities to share and demonstrate the love of Jesus to all peoples everywhere.

God didn’t give Moses ten fortune cookies in a to-go box. God didn’t lead the Israelites through the wilderness with a neon all-you-can-eat sign. And God doesn’t speak to people in bathrooms, public or otherwise.

I’m going to get a snack to-go. I haven’t eaten in two hours.” Where did she fit all this food?

I’m stuffed full.” She groans and pushes her to-go container away from her. I’d like to stuff you full with something else, I think.

Reacher was heading for the coffee shop. Rutherford was leaving it. Reacher didn’t pay him much attention at first. He was just a guy, small and unremarkable, holding his to-go cup, going about his business. Whatever that may be. But a moment later Reacher’s interest ratcheted all the way up. He felt a chill at the base of his neck. A signal from some ancient warning system hardwired into the back of his brain. An instinctive recognition. Pattern and movement. Predators circling. Moving in on their prey. Two men and a woman. Spread out. Carefully positioned. Coordinated. Ready to spring their trap.

Arrivé à l'âge de la retraite, Jean Albert Durail a décidé de prendre du recul et de voir du pays, bien loin des rails tout tracés de cette société rongée par le pouvoir et l'argent. C'est en se rendant au mariage de sa petite fille, qui se déroulait au Togo, sur les hauteurs de Kpalimé, que son futur petit gendre (Moussa), l'a emmené à la frontière du Ghana où se trouve un curieux panneau indiquant « République Indépendante et Autonome de Montaubout». Monsieur Durail étant resté littéralement bouche bée devant ce bout de tôle, son futur petit gendre en a profité pour partir faire une course en lui promettant de lui envoyer un taxi. (pp. 64-65)

Empadões sit behind the glass, the round, perfectly golden brown pot pies loaded with shredded chicken and green olives. People usually know what they want when they walk into our bakery. Five loaves of bread. Shrimp empadinhas. Maybe some lunch quentinhas, the warm to-go box filled with couscous and carne de sol.

Just another month?” Agnes asked as she handed the coffees across the bar in to-go cups. Her nail polish was bright pink, matching

How I wish I could fold inward and shut down and shake off predators with one touch. What a skill, what a thrill that could be. Touch me now on the dance floor, don't you see my wedding ring? Touch me not in the subway; touch me not on the train, one the plane, in a cab or a limo. Touch me not in a funicular going up the side of a mountain, touch me not on the deck of a cruise ship, touch me not in the green room right before I go onstage, touch me not at the bar while I wait for my to-go order, touch me not at a faculty party, touch me not if you are a visiting writer, touch me not at the post office while I'm waiting to send a letter to my grandmother, let me and my children and everyone's children decide who touches them and who touches them not, touch them not, touch them now.

National traits” might be great for movies, they might help a lot with war, but they are Platonic notions that carry no empirical validity—yet, for example, both the English and the non-English erroneously believe in an English “national temperament.”) Empirically, sex, social class, and profession seem to be better predictors of someone’s behavior than nationality (a male from Sweden resembles a male from Togo more than a female from Sweden; a philosopher from Peru resembles a philosopher from Scotland more than a janitor from Peru; and so on).

A-and do you want to…go see that movie together?” “…Okay.” By now, she’d hidden her whole face behind the book, but even the backs of her hands were completely red.

It was the development of the sugar plantation colonies of the Caribbean beginning in the early seventeenth century that led to a dramatic escalation of the international slave trade and to an unprecedented increase in the importance of slavery within Africa itself. In the sixteenth century, probably about 300,000 slaves were traded in the Atlantic. They came mostly from Central Africa, with heavy involvement of Kongo and the Portuguese based farther south in Luanda, now the capital of Angola. During this time, the trans-Saharan slave trade was still larger, with probably about 550,000 Africans moving north as slaves. In the seventeenth century, the situation reversed. About 1,350,000 Africans were sold as slaves in the Atlantic trade, the majority now being shipped to the Americas. The numbers involved in the Saharan trade were relatively unchanged. The eighteenth century saw another dramatic increase, with about 6,000,000 slaves being shipped across the Atlantic and maybe 700,000 across the Sahara. Adding the figures up over periods and parts of Africa, well over 10,000,000 Africans were shipped out of the continent as slaves. Map 15 (this page) gives some sense of the scale of the slave trade. Using modern country boundaries, it depicts estimates of the cumulative extent of slavery between 1400 and 1900 as a percent of population in 1400. Darker colors show more intense slavery. For example, in Angola, Benin, Ghana, and Togo, total cumulative slave exports amounted to more than the entire population of the country in 1400. The sudden appearance of Europeans all around the coast of Western and Central Africa eager to buy slaves could not but have a transformative impact on African societies. Most slaves who were shipped to the Americas were war captives subsequently transported to the coast. The increase in warfare was fueled by huge imports of guns and ammunition, which the Europeans exchanged for slaves. By 1730 about 180,000 guns were being imported every year just along the West African coast, and between 1750 and the early nineteenth century, the British alone sold between 283,000 and 394,000 guns

There’s the famous Legoland, known for its plastics, and during the holidays, we Roncallis build our own version, Tupperware Land. After the table is cleared, the dishes are done, the silver is carefully placed into its chamois sleeves, and the piles of shells from the nuts are swept off the tablecloth, we disburse the leftovers in various plastic containers, which are handed out as guests, three to five pounds heavier than when they arrived, depart. Our family never leaves a dinner party without providing a full takeout meal to reheat and serve the following day. For the ride home, you can count on our additional to-go snacks: a napkin shaped like a cone and filled with cookies, or a slab of cake in a sheet of tinfoil, or a paper sack filled with dinner rolls, just a little something to tide us over until the next food tsunami. I went home with a tray of manicotti to freeze and a bag of biscotti for breakfast. Aunt Feen asked for cannoli, so she got a container of shells dipped in chocolate and nuts, with another snap lid bowl with the extra filling.

I don’t know how you drink your coffee, so I brought two packs of sugar and two creamers, and a stirrer,” she said, extending the to-go cup to him. Startled, he automatically took it. The sugar, creamer, and stirrer were in a plastic sandwich bag, along with a neatly folded paper napkin. “I’m really rushed, I need to jump in the shower,” she continued. “Could you make sure the door locks behind you as you leave? Thanks, you’re a sweetheart. Call me in a week or so.” She bent down, brushed a quick kiss across his forehead, then disappeared into the bathroom. He heard the snick of the lock as she turned it, and a moment later came the sound of running water. Huh.

Marx and Engels, in their giddy enthusiasm for the industrial revolutions of their day, [...] were wrong to predict that market competition would compel factory owners to-go on with mechanization anyway. If it didn't happen, it can only be because market competition is not, in fact, as essential to the nature of capitalism as they had assumed. If nothing else, the current form of capitalism, where much of the competition seems to take the form of internal marketing within the bureaucratic structures of large semi-monopolistic enterprises, would presumably have come as a complete surprise to them.

I want you to know that I see your face when someone parks over the line in a crowded parking lot and inadvertently wastes a whole second spot, and I know your scowl isn’t really about the parking space. When you stop to pick up trash on a sidewalk or put the to-go menus back in their rack at the sandwich shop, you wish you didn’t have to. You’d rather everyone else pull their weight, but if they won’t, you will. You like having work to do, but it’s hard for you to work alongside people who cut corners and blow off responsibilities. It feels like they’re doing these things to spite you, like they slack off because they know you’ll catch whatever balls they drop. You can’t fathom how they can feel okay letting so many things remain half done. This leaves you in a constant state of simmering, low-grade resentment, and you feel guilty about occasionally having the urge to throw your laptop at someone’s face. You wish these things didn’t get to you. You want to live and let live.

The Fights 1962: US vs Russia in General / China vs Formosa over possession / India vs China over border territory / India vs Pakistan over possession Kashmir – Religious / India vs Portugal over possession Goa / India vs Nagas over Independence / Egypt vs Israel over possession of territory and Religion / E. Germany vs W. Germany sovereignty / Cuba vs USA – Ideas / N. Korea vs So. Korea – Sovereignty / Indonesia vs Holland – Territory / France vs Algeria – Territory / Negroes vs whites – US / Katanga vs Leopoldville / Russian Stalinists vs Russian Kruschevists / Peru APRA vs Peru Military / Argentine Military versus Argentine Bourgeois / Navajo Peyotists vs Navajo Tribal Council – Tribal / W. Irian? / Kurds vs Iraq / Negro vs Whites – So. Africa – Race / US Senegal vs Red Mali – Territory / Ghana vs Togo – Territory / Ruanda Watusi vs Ruanda Bahutu – Tribe power / Kenya Kadu vs Kenya Kana – Tribe power / Somali vs Aethopia, Kenya, French Somali / Tibet Lamas vs Chinese Tibetan secularists / India vs E. Pak – Assam Bengal over Border & Tripura / Algeria vs Morocco over Sahara.

diphtheria.

The mainstays of diet after the first year of war were cornbread and meat, and of these the Rebs became exceedingly tired. “If the war closes and I get to come home I never intend to chew any more cornbread,” wrote a Mississippian in 1863; and about the same time a comrade scribbled poetically in his diary: Oh what a wonder day is this When our rations a little more than meal do consist; I’d give a great deal for some turkey or Beef To comfort our stomachs and give them relief. Just prior to Lee’s surrender a Louisianian said “If any person offers me cornbread after this war comes to a close I shall probably tell him to—go to hell.

It would be logical for any group whose only sense of identity is the negative one of wickedness and oppression to dilute its wickedness by mixing with more virtuous groups. This is, upon reflection, exactly what celebrating diversity implies. James Carignan, a city councilor in Lewiston, Maine, encouraged the city to welcome refugees from the West African country of Togo, writing, “We are too homogeneous at present. We desperately need diversity.” He said the Togolese—of whom it was not known whether they were literate, spoke English, or were employable—“will bring us the diversity that is essential to our quest for excellence.” Likewise in Maine, long-serving state’s attorney James Tierney wrote of racial diversity in the state: “This is not a burden. This is essential.” An overly white population is a handicap. Gwynne Dyer, a London-based Canadian journalist, also believes whites must be leavened with non-whites in a process he calls “ethnic diversification.” He noted, however, that when Canada and Australia opened their borders to non-white immigration, they had to “do good by stealth” and not explain openly that the process would reduce whites to a minority: “Let the magic do its work, but don’t talk about it in front of the children. They’ll just get cross and spoil it all.” Mr. Dyer looked forward to the day when politicians could be more open about their intentions of thinning out whites. President Bill Clinton was open about it. In his 2000 State of the Union speech, he welcomed predictions that whites would become a minority by mid-century, saying, “this diversity can be our greatest strength.” In 2009, before a gathering of the American-Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee, he again brought up forecasts that whites will become a minority, adding that “this is a very positive thing.” [...] Harvard University professor Robert Putnam says immigrants should not assimilate. “What we shouldn’t do is to say that they should be more like us,” he says. “We should construct a new us.” When Marty Markowitz became the new Brooklyn borough president in 2002, he took down the portrait of George Washington that had hung in the president’s office for many years. He said he would hang a picture of a black or a woman because Washington was an “old white man.” [...] In 2000, John Sharp, a former Texas comptroller and senator told the state Democratic Hispanic Caucus that whites must step aside and let Hispanics govern, “and if that means that some of us gringos are going to have to give up some life-long dreams, then we’ve got to do that.” When Robert Dornan of California was still in Congress, he welcomed the changing demographics of his Orange County district. “I want to see America stay a nation of immigrants,” he said. “And if we lose our Northern European stock—your coloring and mine, blue eyes and fair hair—tough!” Frank Rich, columnist for the New York Times, appears happy to become a minority. He wrote this about Sonya Sotomayor’s Senate confirmation hearings: “[T]his particular wise Latina, with the richness of her experiences, would far more often than not reach a better [judicial] conclusion than the individual white males she faced in that Senate hearing room. Even those viewers who watched the Sotomayor show for only a few minutes could see that her America is our future and theirs is the rapidly receding past.” It is impossible to imagine people of any other race speaking of themselves this way.

That’s the criticism: people turn to the occult because they either (a) don’t want to deal with the real horrors of the world and have the privilege of turning away from it, unlike the oppressed who have no choice but to face reality, or (b) are losers who can’t hack it in industrialized civilization and so choose to play Dungeons & Dragons instead. Western post-Enlightenment civilization defines itself as being rationalist and therefore against magic, but all cultures have magical practices, including our own. Christianity is full of magical practices, and the language of economics is permeated by spirits and invisible hands. Magic is everywhere; it’s just that the central power figures of a culture get to determine whose magic is considered “real” and whose is just considered embarrassing. Further, magic is not just a practice of the privileged; otherwise only the privileged would practice it, and that just isn’t the case, as you can see by visiting the fetish markets of Togo, the witch markets of Brazil, or any botanica in Los Angeles.

If you hadn’t been there, I’m not entirely sure I would’ve been able to stop myself from hurting the guy worse. That’s why I need to get to the lake house and be alone.” She sniffed. There was so much in that one little derisive sound that he had to look her way. “What?” Her expression went deadpan. “You realize that is a completely ridiculous plan, right?” He frowned. “Come on, Finn.” She pursed those red-glossed lips like she could barely tolerate his foolishness. “That is such a man plan.” “A man plan.” “Yes. You don’t know how to be among the living anymore so you’re going to…go live alone in a cave. Right. Good thinking. That will pop your how-to-be-human skills right back into place.” He made a frustrated sound and pulled into the lot of the hotel to park so he could face her, make her understand. “You saw what happened today. I’m not fit to be around other people right now. I beat a guy down for taking a picture. And I was…aggressive with you last night.” “Aggressive?” Her mouth flattened, and she put a finger to her chest. “I kissed you. I was the aggressor. You were just…complicit in the aggressiveness. And you’re lucky I haven’t gone two years’ celibate, because had I been in your shoes, I would’ve convinced you to go up to my room and used you eight ways to Sunday and back again by now. You’d be limping.” His libido gave a hard kick and knocked the logical thoughts out of his head for a moment. “I—” “You need to be around people.” That snapped his attention back to where it needed to be—mostly. “No.” “You promised your boss you’d be around friends. You made me promise your boss that I’d make sure you did that. You made me lie to the FBI. That’s got to be a federal offense or something.” “Made is a strong word.” “Finn.” He groaned. “What would you have me do? You want to babysit me, Livvy? Come stay at my lake house and make sure I don’t turn into a deviant?” She stared at him, her gaze way too sharp, and then tipped her chin up in challenge. “Is that an invitation? Because you know you shouldn’t test me. I could babysit the hell out of you, Finn Dorsey. I know who you used to be. You don’t get to become a bad guy. I will make you do slumber-party things like play charades or watch crappy nineties movies or incessant reruns of Friends. You won’t be able to fight your old goofy side. It will emerge like a freaking butterfly and smother scary Finn.” He blinked and stared, and then he couldn’t help it—he laughed. “A freaking butterfly?” She smiled triumphantly. “A goofy freaking butterfly.” He let out a long breath, some of the tension from the morning draining out of him. “You’re weird.” “So are you.

Every December, my dear friend Myra throws an all-girls cookie swap (with strict instructions to leave the kids and husbands at home!), and we all gather at her house for an afternoon of great company, glasses of bubbly and, of course, way too many sweets! It’s a holiday tradition that all her guests have come to look forward to each holiday season, and this year, I decided to host my own sugar-fueled version. Here’s the way my cookie swap works: each guest brings a big batch of their favorite homemade holiday cookies with recipe cards to pass around, and at the party, are given a “to-go” box in which they collect a sampling of everyone else’s signature treats. After a couple hours of mixing and mingling, the ladies leave with a box of two dozen or so different kinds of cookies to sample, and (if they’re feeling generous) share with family and friends! It’s a delicious, and slightly dangerous, way to kick off the holidays, and guests are guaranteed to discover a few new recipes that are destined to become family traditions.

Ya ne govoryu togo, chego ne imeyu v vidu.

After his commitments—a ho-hum German program with a pinch of Ligeti—he tried talking a bartender into a to-go bottle of Riesling. Victoria appeared at his side in a navy knee-length dress and asked for another seltzer with lemon. She turned to him and complimented his “performance.” Then she said he slouched during the Bach, and, when it became clear to Guy he was being flirted with—which Victoria later told him anyone else would have gathered immediately—she held a hand to her mouth, mock-conspiratorial, and said her paperwork with the Universal Life Church had been lost in the mail. The marriage she had officiated wasn’t officially valid. An exchange of secrets is the quickest method of seduction; Guy swooned. It wasn’t until years later when he shared the story with Wright that he learned Pennsylvania didn’t require an ordained minister. The Quakers had ensured witnesses sufficed.