July 8 was the sixth annual SCUD Day. SCUD is S avor the C omic, U nplug the D rama; July 8 is a day to remind people of the many benefits of living in the Comic Zone and the perils of living in the Drama Zone. Today I have posted in honor of the Comic Zone. Please throw drama out the window, throw caution to the wind, and participate nicholas cage movies in at least one of the "unusual" activities recommended below. Let me know how the tango goes. (And pass this post along to grumpy lawyers; it will be very good for their health.) POWERFUL MEDICINE: TANGO WITH YOUR TOAST Power in the Comic Zone The Comic Zone contains much laughter. People in the Comic Zone are infused with the spirit of laughter, they have an aura of smiles. They have high self-mirth. And that is good for those inhabiting the Comic Zone because laughter has power. Great power. Sacred power. Astounding power. We should honor laughter and what it does for us. Laughter torpedoes stress levels, accelerates learning, catapults creativity, forges strong teams, and strengthens our health. It gives us many gifts. It is a magic potion, elixir of life and fountain of youth all rolled up into one hearty hee-haw. Lots of laughs a day keep the doctor away A study out of University of Maryland indicates that laughter reduces the risk of coronary heart disease. A press release about the study from the University said: “People with heart disease were less likely to recognize humor or use it to get out of uncomfortable situations.

The Voice Come close to someone and they may speak to you in the voice in which they speak to themselves. That voice, never heard out loud, by which they goad and orient themselves - allowing them to press forward or sink back, to strive for something or to give up. Come close to another, and you'll hear it, that secret voice in which they speak to themselves. This is the way to learn what another is like. Live close to them, live alongside edit pdf files them, and even if you dislike them, that voice will let speak the integrity of their lives, the way it binds itself together. But also that which that life seeks to bind itself against - you'll learn what threatens them, and how they have made their way through the world. Perhaps this is why Kafka and his father were set against one another: the father let the son hear the voice which allowed him to lift himself from peasantry. And what a voice! So savage and so raw! Kafka's voice was different; perhaps you could say it had been claimed, that it was literature's - only it was Kafka who claimed himself for literature. It was he who set aside, with a determination that was the echo of his father's, a few hours each night, to write. Each night, every night, he would experience the claim of what claimed him, reaffirming it in turn. He heard a voice, but it was one which said nothing. A voice as privation, to which he joined his own voice that we hear sometimes in his letters.

Really? Was our low last night 69 degrees? Honestly ? How do they do this in the Midwest...Arizona...Palm Desert...Iraq...you are all my heroes. I can't make myself water my tomatoes and people exercise, live, run errands (or fight wars!) in this. UG. That's all I've got. UG. We slept with the shop portable a/c in our room last night, so at least I got a leg up ...some rest! I am seriously dreading the shop today. The streets were DEAD yesterday. I'll have the a/c...but the people are all in hiding! And I have dinner group skateboarding for dummies tonight....OUTSIDE. We are all going to melt and die. I mean ...it will be so much fun. I am dessert (easy!), the theme is "picnic" (YEAH!) but I don't have the dessert made. Or...the ingredients purchased. Or..the time to do either part. Shop OR chop. So...I am going to beg my husband to make a stop here and pray that my dinner group cronies don't throw chicken legs, corn or blueberry wine coolers at me. I mean...how can you be nasty (in this heat...did I mention it was hot?) when someone brings you coconut pound cake and banana pudding? No...I didn't think so.

July 8 was the sixth annual SCUD Day. SCUD is S avor the C omic, U nplug the D rama; July 8 is a day to remind people of the many benefits of living in the Comic Zone and the perils of living in the Drama Zone. Today I have posted in honor of the Comic Zone. Please throw drama out the window, throw caution to the wind, and participate in at least one of the "unusual" activities recommended below. Let me know how the tango goes. (And pass this post along to grumpy lawyers; it will be very good for their health.) POWERFUL MEDICINE: TANGO WITH YOUR TOAST Power in the Comic Zone The Comic Zone contains much laughter. People in the Comic Zone are infused with the spirit of laughter, they have an aura of smiles. They have high self-mirth. And that is good for those inhabiting the Comic Zone because laughter has power. Great power. Sacred power. Astounding power. We should honor laughter and hobby electronic what it does for us. Laughter torpedoes stress levels, accelerates learning, catapults creativity, forges strong teams, and strengthens our health. It gives us many gifts. It is a magic potion, elixir of life and fountain of youth all rolled up into one hearty hee-haw. Lots of laughs a day keep the doctor away A study out of University of Maryland indicates that laughter reduces the risk of coronary heart disease. A press release about the study from the University said: “People with heart disease were less likely to recognize humor or use it to get out of uncomfortable situations.

The Voice Come close to someone and they may speak to you in the voice in which they speak to themselves. That voice, never heard out loud, by which they goad and orient themselves - allowing them to press forward or sink back, to strive for something or to give up. Come close to another, and you'll hear it, that secret voice in which they sales lead lists speak to themselves. This is the way to learn what another is like. Live close to them, live alongside them, and even if you dislike them, that voice will let speak the integrity of their lives, the way it binds itself together. But also that which that life seeks to bind itself against - you'll learn what threatens them, and how they have made their way through the world. Perhaps this is why Kafka and his father were set against one another: the father let the son hear the voice which allowed him to lift himself from peasantry. And what a voice! So savage and so raw! Kafka's voice was different; perhaps you could say it had been claimed, that it was literature's - only it was Kafka who claimed himself for literature. It was he who set aside, with a determination that was the echo of his father's, a few hours each night, to write. Each night, every night, he would experience the claim of what claimed him, reaffirming it in turn. He heard a voice, but it was one which said nothing. A voice as privation, to which he joined his own voice that we hear sometimes in his letters.

The Voice Come close to someone and they may speak to you in the voice in which they speak to themselves. That voice, never heard out loud, by which they goad and orient themselves - allowing them to press forward or sink back, to strive for something or to give up. Come close to another, and you'll hear it, that secret voice in which they speak to themselves. mlm lead list This is the way to learn what another is like. Live close to them, live alongside them, and even if you dislike them, that voice will let speak the integrity of their lives, the way it binds itself together. But also that which that life seeks to bind itself against - you'll learn what threatens them, and how they have made their way through the world. Perhaps this is why Kafka and his father were set against one another: the father let the son hear the voice which allowed him to lift himself from peasantry. And what a voice! So savage and so raw! Kafka's voice was different; perhaps you could say it had been claimed, that it was literature's - only it was Kafka who claimed himself for literature. It was he who set aside, with a determination that was the echo of his father's, a few hours each night, to write. Each night, every night, he would experience the claim of what claimed him, reaffirming it in turn. He heard a voice, but it was one which said nothing. A voice as privation, to which he joined his own voice that we hear sometimes in his letters.

Really? Was our low last night 69 degrees? Honestly ? How do they do this in the Midwest...Arizona...Palm Desert...Iraq...you are all my heroes. I can't make myself water my tomatoes and people exercise, live, run errands (or fight wars!) in this. UG. That's all I've got. UG. We slept with the shop portable a/c in our room last night, so at least I got a leg up ...some rest! I am seriously dreading the shop today. The streets were DEAD yesterday. I'll have the a/c...but the people are all in hiding! And I have dinner group tonight....OUTSIDE. We are all going to melt and die. I mean ...it will be so much fun. I am dessert (easy!), the theme is "picnic" (YEAH!) but I don't have the dessert made. Or...the ingredients purchased. Or..the time to do either part. Shop OR chop. So...I am going to beg my husband to make a stop here and pray that my dinner group cronies don't throw chicken legs, corn or blueberry wine coolers at me. I mean...how can you be nasty (in this heat...did I mention purchase mailing list it was hot?) when someone brings you coconut pound cake and banana pudding? No...I didn't think so.

The Voice Come close to someone and they may speak to you in the voice in which they speak to themselves. That voice, never heard out loud, by which they goad and orient themselves - allowing them to press forward or sink back, to strive for something or to give up. Come close to another, and you'll hear it, that secret voice in which they speak to themselves. This is the way to learn what another is like. Live close to them, live alongside them, and even if you dislike online shopping mall list them, that voice will let speak the integrity of their lives, the way it binds itself together. But also that which that life seeks to bind itself against - you'll learn what threatens them, and how they have made their way through the world. Perhaps this is why Kafka and his father were set against one another: the father let the son hear the voice which allowed him to lift himself from peasantry. And what a voice! So savage and so raw! Kafka's voice was different; perhaps you could say it had been claimed, that it was literature's - only it was Kafka who claimed himself for literature. It was he who set aside, with a determination that was the echo of his father's, a few hours each night, to write. Each night, every night, he would experience the claim of what claimed him, reaffirming it in turn. He heard a voice, but it was one which said nothing. A voice as privation, to which he joined his own voice that we hear sometimes in his letters.

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July 8 was the sixth annual SCUD Day. SCUD is S avor the C omic, U nplug the D rama; July 8 is a day to remind people of the many benefits of living in the Comic Zone and the perils of living in the Drama Zone. Today I have posted in honor of the Comic Zone. Please throw drama out the window, throw caution to the wind, and participate in at least one of the "unusual" activities recommended below. Let me know how the tango goes. (And pass this post along to grumpy lawyers; it will be very good for their health.) POWERFUL MEDICINE: TANGO WITH YOUR TOAST Power in the Comic Zone The Comic Zone contains much laughter. People in the Comic Zone are infused with the spirit of laughter, they have an aura of smiles. They have high self-mirth. And that is good for those inhabiting the Comic Zone because laughter has power. Great power. Sacred power. Astounding power. We should honor laughter and what it does for us. Laughter torpedoes stress levels, accelerates learning, catapults creativity, forges strong teams, and strengthens our health. It gives us many gifts. It is a magic potion, elixir of life and fountain of youth all rolled up into one hearty hee-haw. Lots of laughs a day keep the doctor away A study out of University of Maryland indicates that laughter reduces the risk of coronary heart disease. A press release about the study from the University said: “People with heart disease were wooden wheelchair ramp less likely to recognize humor or use it to get out of uncomfortable situations.

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Really? Was our low last night 69 degrees? Honestly ? How do they do this in the Midwest...Arizona...Palm Desert...Iraq...you are all my heroes. I can't make myself water my tomatoes and people exercise, live, run errands (or fight wars!) in this. UG. That's all I've got. UG. We slept with the shop portable a/c in our room last night, so at least I got a leg up ...some rest! I am seriously dreading the shop today. The streets were DEAD yesterday. I'll have the a/c...but the people are all in hiding! And I have dinner group tonight....OUTSIDE. We are all going to melt and die. I mean ...it will be so much fun. I am dessert (easy!), the theme is "picnic" (YEAH!) but I don't spyware software have the dessert made. Or...the ingredients purchased. Or..the time to do either part. Shop OR chop. So...I am going to beg my husband to make a stop here and pray that my dinner group cronies don't throw chicken legs, corn or blueberry wine coolers at me. I mean...how can you be nasty (in this heat...did I mention it was hot?) when someone brings you coconut pound cake and banana pudding? No...I didn't think so.

The Voice Come close to someone and they may speak to you in the voice in which they speak to themselves. That voice, never heard out loud, by which they goad and orient themselves - allowing them to press forward or sink back, to strive for something or to give up. Come close to another, and you'll hear it, that secret voice in which they speak to themselves. This is the way to learn what another is like. Live close to them, live alongside them, and even if you dislike them, that voice will let speak the integrity of their lives, the way it binds itself together. But also that which that life seeks to bind itself against - you'll learn what threatens them, and how they have made their way through the world. Perhaps this is why Kafka and his father were set against one another: the father let the son hear the voice which allowed him to lift himself from peasantry. And what a voice! So savage and so raw! Kafka's partition magic warez voice was different; perhaps you could say it had been claimed, that it was literature's - only it was Kafka who claimed himself for literature. It was he who set aside, with a determination that was the echo of his father's, a few hours each night, to write. Each night, every night, he would experience the claim of what claimed him, reaffirming it in turn. He heard a voice, but it was one which said nothing. A voice as privation, to which he joined his own voice that we hear sometimes in his letters.

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The Voice Come close to someone and they may speak to you in the voice in which they speak to themselves. That voice, never heard out loud, by which they goad and orient themselves - allowing them to press forward or sink back, to strive for something or to give up. Come close to another, and you'll hear it, that secret voice in which they speak to themselves. This is the way to learn what another is like. Live close to them, live alongside them, and even if you dislike them, that voice will let speak the integrity of their lives, the way it binds itself together. But also that which that life seeks to bind itself against - you'll learn opt in mailing what threatens them, and how they have made their way through the world. Perhaps this is why Kafka and his father were set against one another: the father let the son hear the voice which allowed him to lift himself from peasantry. And what a voice! So savage and so raw! Kafka's voice was different; perhaps you could say it had been claimed, that it was literature's - only it was Kafka who claimed himself for literature. It was he who set aside, with a determination that was the echo of his father's, a few hours each night, to write. Each night, every night, he would experience the claim of what claimed him, reaffirming it in turn. He heard a voice, but it was one which said nothing. A voice as privation, to which he joined his own voice that we hear sometimes in his letters.

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July 8 was the sixth annual SCUD Day. SCUD is S avor the C omic, U nplug the D rama; July 8 is a day to remind people of the many benefits of living in the Comic Zone and the perils of living in the Drama Zone. Today I have posted in honor of the Comic Zone. Please throw drama out the window, throw caution to the wind, and participate in at least one of the "unusual" activities recommended below. Let me know how the tango goes. (And pass this post along to grumpy lawyers; it will be very good for their health.) POWERFUL MEDICINE: TANGO WITH YOUR TOAST Power in the Comic Zone The Comic Zone contains much laughter. People in the Comic Zone are infused with the spirit of laughter, they have an aura of smiles. They have high self-mirth. And that is good for those inhabiting the Comic Zone because laughter has power. Great power. Sacred power. Astounding power. We should honor laughter and what it does for us. Laughter torpedoes stress levels, accelerates learning, catapults creativity, forges strong teams, and strengthens our health. It gives us many gifts. It is a magic potion, elixir of life and fountain of youth all rolled up into one hearty hee-haw. Lots of laughs a day keep the doctor away A study out of University of Maryland indicates that laughter reduces the risk of coronary heart disease. member database A press release about the study from the University said: “People with heart disease were less likely to recognize humor or use it to get out of uncomfortable situations.

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July 8 was the sixth annual SCUD Day. SCUD is S avor the C omic, U nplug the D rama; July 8 is a day to remind people of the many benefits of living in the Comic Zone and the perils of living in the Drama Zone. Today Eminem the real slim shady I have posted in honor of the Comic Zone. Please throw drama out the window, throw caution to the wind, and participate in at least one of the "unusual" activities recommended below. Let me know how the tango goes. (And pass this post along to grumpy lawyers; it will be very good for their health.) POWERFUL MEDICINE: TANGO WITH YOUR TOAST Power in the Comic Zone The Comic Zone contains much laughter. People in the Comic Zone are infused with the spirit of laughter, they have an aura of smiles. They have high self-mirth. And that is good for those inhabiting the Comic Zone because laughter has power. Great power. Sacred power. Astounding power. We should honor laughter and what it does for us. Laughter torpedoes stress levels, accelerates learning, catapults creativity, forges strong teams, and strengthens our health. It gives us many gifts. It is a magic potion, elixir of life and fountain of youth all rolled up into one hearty hee-haw. Lots of laughs a day keep the doctor away A study out of University of Maryland indicates that laughter reduces the risk of coronary heart disease. A press release about the study from the University said: “People with heart disease were less likely to recognize humor or use it to get out of uncomfortable situations.

Here are some photos I took along the way I was making the spyware software toy My toy and its mini-me Inside of the toy The electronic parts (motor + recording module)

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Really? student loan services Was our low last night 69 degrees? Honestly ? How do they do this in the Midwest...Arizona...Palm Desert...Iraq...you are all my heroes. I can't make myself water my tomatoes and people exercise, live, run errands (or fight wars!) in this. UG. That's all I've got. UG. We slept with the shop portable a/c in our room last night, so at least I got a leg up ...some rest! I am seriously dreading the shop today. The streets were DEAD yesterday. I'll have the a/c...but the people are all in hiding! And I have dinner group tonight....OUTSIDE. We are all going to melt and die. I mean ...it will be so much fun. I am dessert (easy!), the theme is "picnic" (YEAH!) but I don't have the dessert made. Or...the ingredients purchased. Or..the time to do either part. Shop OR chop. So...I am going to beg my husband to make a stop here and pray that my dinner group cronies don't throw chicken legs, corn or blueberry wine coolers at me. I mean...how can you be nasty (in this heat...did I mention it was hot?) when someone brings you coconut pound cake and banana pudding? No...I didn't think so.

Here are some photos I took along the way I was making the toy My toy and its mini-me Inside of the toy corporate case study The electronic parts (motor + recording module)

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The Voice Come close to someone and they may speak to you in the voice in which they speak to themselves. That voice, never heard out loud, by which they goad and orient themselves - allowing them to press forward or sink back, to strive for something or to give up. Come close to another, and you'll hear it, that secret voice in which they speak to themselves. This is the way to learn what another is like. Live close to them, live alongside them, and even if you dislike them, that voice will let speak the integrity of their lives, the way it binds itself together. But also that which that life seeks to bind itself against - you'll learn what threatens them, and how they have made their way through the world. Perhaps this is why Kafka and his father were set against one another: the father let the son hear the voice which allowed him to lift himself from peasantry. And what free edit pdf files a voice! So savage and so raw! Kafka's voice was different; perhaps you could say it had been claimed, that it was literature's - only it was Kafka who claimed himself for literature. It was he who set aside, with a determination that was the echo of his father's, a few hours each night, to write. Each night, every night, he would experience the claim of what claimed him, reaffirming it in turn. He heard a voice, but it was one which said nothing. A voice as privation, to which he joined his own voice that we hear sometimes in his letters.

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Here are some photos I took along the way I was making the toy My toy and its mini-me Inside of the hobby electronic toy The electronic parts (motor + recording module)

It occurred to me to ask myself, just after mile two when my right calf seized up like it had been hooked to a car battery and the pain shot through my leg and I slowed to a hobble muttering godfuckingdammitgodfuckingdammitgodfucking dammit - I asked myself why, why again was I doing this? A few days prior, the long slow commute home, and Nirvana's cover of "Lake of Fire" hums through the speakers. I've little love for Nirvana; I was there when it all went down, and having loved all of the bands that they "borrowed" from, I believe that Cobain had the crown of genius placed on his head a wee bit prematurely. But Unplugged I like; a glimpse into what might have been, had Kurt not opted to check out. Not for the first time it hit me, listening to him wail through that song - the performance itself is a suicide note. You hear it in the lyrics, and you saw it in his eyes. He'd made the decision at that point; the rest was just timing. The other night at the bookstore, and I'm walking through the stacks. I've already decided on a title (screwed up the courage to read McCarthy's The Road ; infinitely glad I did, for it's perhaps the saddest, grimmest book I've read, and the finest, most beautiful rendition of what it means to love your child that I've come across), but was thinking about what to read next. sales lead Hemingway came to mind. If I had a "favorite" author, it might be him.

Here are some photos I took along the way I was making the toy My toy and mlm lead list its mini-me Inside of the toy The electronic parts (motor + recording module)

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Really? Was our low last night 69 degrees? Honestly ? How do they do this in the Midwest...Arizona...Palm Desert...Iraq...you are all my heroes. I can't make myself water my tomatoes and people exercise, live, run errands (or fight wars!) in this. UG. That's all I've got. UG. We slept with the shop portable a/c in our room last night, so at least I got a leg up ...some rest! I am seriously dreading the shop today. The streets were DEAD yesterday. I'll have the a/c...but the people are all in hiding! And I have dinner group tonight....OUTSIDE. We are all going to melt and die. I mean ...it will be so much fun. I am dessert (easy!), the theme is "picnic" (YEAH!) but I don't have the dessert made. Or...the ingredients purchased. Or..the time to do either part. Shop OR chop. So...I am going to beg my husband to make a stop here and pray that my dinner group cronies don't throw chicken legs, corn or blueberry wine coolers at me. I mean...how can you be nasty (in this member database heat...did I mention it was hot?) when someone brings you coconut pound cake and banana pudding? No...I didn't think so.

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Really? Was our low last night 69 degrees? Honestly ? How do they do this in the Midwest...Arizona...Palm Desert...Iraq...you are all my heroes. I can't make myself water my tomatoes and people exercise, live, run errands (or fight wars!) in this. UG. That's all I've got. UG. We slept with the shop portable a/c in our room spyware software last night, so at least I got a leg up ...some rest! I am seriously dreading the shop today. The streets were DEAD yesterday. I'll have the a/c...but the people are all in hiding! And I have dinner group tonight....OUTSIDE. We are all going to melt and die. I mean ...it will be so much fun. I am dessert (easy!), the theme is "picnic" (YEAH!) but I don't have the dessert made. Or...the ingredients purchased. Or..the time to do either part. Shop OR chop. So...I am going to beg my husband to make a stop here and pray that my dinner group cronies don't throw chicken legs, corn or blueberry wine coolers at me. I mean...how can you be nasty (in this heat...did I mention it was hot?) when someone brings you coconut pound cake and banana pudding? No...I didn't think so.

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July 8 was the sixth annual SCUD Day. SCUD is S avor the C omic, U nplug the D rama; July 8 is a day to remind people of the many benefits of living in the Comic Zone and the perils of living in the Drama Zone. Today I have posted in honor of the Comic Zone. Please throw drama out the window, throw caution to the wind, and participate in at least one of the "unusual" activities recommended below. Let me know how the tango goes. (And pass this post along to grumpy lawyers; it will be very good for their health.) POWERFUL MEDICINE: TANGO WITH YOUR TOAST Power in the Comic Zone The Comic Zone contains much laughter. People in the Comic Zone are infused with the spirit of laughter, they have an aura of smiles. They have high self-mirth. And that corporate identity management is good for those inhabiting the Comic Zone because laughter has power. Great power. Sacred power. Astounding power. We should honor laughter and what it does for us. Laughter torpedoes stress levels, accelerates learning, catapults creativity, forges strong teams, and strengthens our health. It gives us many gifts. It is a magic potion, elixir of life and fountain of youth all rolled up into one hearty hee-haw. Lots of laughs a day keep the doctor away A study out of University of Maryland indicates that laughter reduces the risk of coronary heart disease. A press release about the study from the University said: “People with heart disease were less likely to recognize humor or use it to get out of uncomfortable situations.

It occurred to me to ask myself, just after mile two when my right calf seized up like it had been hooked to a car battery and the pain shot through my leg and I slowed to a hobble muttering godfuckingdammitgodfuckingdammitgodfucking dammit - I asked myself why, why again was I doing this? A few days prior, the long slow commute home, and Nirvana's cover of "Lake of Fire" hums through the speakers. I've little nicholas cage movies love for Nirvana; I was there when it all went down, and having loved all of the bands that they "borrowed" from, I believe that Cobain had the crown of genius placed on his head a wee bit prematurely. But Unplugged I like; a glimpse into what might have been, had Kurt not opted to check out. Not for the first time it hit me, listening to him wail through that song - the performance itself is a suicide note. You hear it in the lyrics, and you saw it in his eyes. He'd made the decision at that point; the rest was just timing. The other night at the bookstore, and I'm walking through the stacks. I've already decided on a title (screwed up the courage to read McCarthy's The Road ; infinitely glad I did, for it's perhaps the saddest, grimmest book I've read, and the finest, most beautiful rendition of what it means to love your child that I've come across), but was thinking about what to read next. Hemingway came to mind. If I had a "favorite" author, it might be him.

Here are some photos I took along the way I was making the toy My toy and its mini-me Inside of the toy The electronic parts (motor + recording edit pdf files freeware module)

Really? Was our low last night 69 degrees? Honestly ? How do they do this in the Midwest...Arizona...Palm Desert...Iraq...you are all my heroes. I can't make myself water my tomatoes and people exercise, live, run errands (or fight wars!) in this. UG. That's all I've got. UG. We slept with the shop portable a/c in our room last night, so at least I got a leg up ...some rest! I am seriously dreading the shop today. The streets were DEAD yesterday. I'll have the a/c...but the people skateboarding for dummies are all in hiding! And I have dinner group tonight....OUTSIDE. We are all going to melt and die. I mean ...it will be so much fun. I am dessert (easy!), the theme is "picnic" (YEAH!) but I don't have the dessert made. Or...the ingredients purchased. Or..the time to do either part. Shop OR chop. So...I am going to beg my husband to make a stop here and pray that my dinner group cronies don't throw chicken legs, corn or blueberry wine coolers at me. I mean...how can you be nasty (in this heat...did I mention it was hot?) when someone brings you coconut pound cake and banana pudding? No...I didn't think so.

It occurred to me to ask myself, just after mile two when my right calf seized up like it had been hooked to a car battery and the pain shot through my leg and I slowed to a hobble muttering godfuckingdammitgodfuckingdammitgodfucking dammit - I asked myself why, why again was I doing this? A few days prior, the long slow commute home, and Nirvana's cover of "Lake of Fire" hums through the speakers. I've little love for Nirvana; I was there when it all went down, and having loved all of the bands that they "borrowed" from, I believe that Cobain had the crown of genius placed on his head a wee bit prematurely. But Unplugged I like; a glimpse into what might have been, had Kurt not opted to check out. Not for the first time it hit me, listening to him wail through that song - the performance itself is a suicide note. You hear it in the lyrics, and you saw it in his eyes. He'd made the decision at that point; the rest was just timing. The other night at the bookstore, and I'm walking through the stacks. I've already decided on a title (screwed up the courage to read McCarthy's The Road ; infinitely glad I did, for it's perhaps the saddest, grimmest book I've read, and the finest, most beautiful hobby electronic rendition of what it means to love your child that I've come across), but was thinking about what to read next. Hemingway came to mind. If I had a "favorite" author, it might be him.

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It occurred to me to ask myself, just after mile two when my right calf seized up like it had been hooked to a car battery and the pain shot through my leg and I slowed to a hobble muttering godfuckingdammitgodfuckingdammitgodfucking dammit - I asked myself why, why again was I doing this? A few days prior, the long slow commute home, and Nirvana's cover of "Lake of Fire" hums through purchase mailing list the speakers. I've little love for Nirvana; I was there when it all went down, and having loved all of the bands that they "borrowed" from, I believe that Cobain had the crown of genius placed on his head a wee bit prematurely. But Unplugged I like; a glimpse into what might have been, had Kurt not opted to check out. Not for the first time it hit me, listening to him wail through that song - the performance itself is a suicide note. You hear it in the lyrics, and you saw it in his eyes. He'd made the decision at that point; the rest was just timing. The other night at the bookstore, and I'm walking through the stacks. I've already decided on a title (screwed up the courage to read McCarthy's The Road ; infinitely glad I did, for it's perhaps the saddest, grimmest book I've read, and the finest, most beautiful rendition of what it means to love your child that I've come across), but was thinking about what to read next. Hemingway came to mind. If I had a "favorite" author, it might be him.

The Voice Come close to someone and they may speak to you in the voice in which they speak to themselves. That voice, never heard out loud, by which they goad and orient mall department stores themselves - allowing them to press forward or sink back, to strive for something or to give up. Come close to another, and you'll hear it, that secret voice in which they speak to themselves. This is the way to learn what another is like. Live close to them, live alongside them, and even if you dislike them, that voice will let speak the integrity of their lives, the way it binds itself together. But also that which that life seeks to bind itself against - you'll learn what threatens them, and how they have made their way through the world. Perhaps this is why Kafka and his father were set against one another: the father let the son hear the voice which allowed him to lift himself from peasantry. And what a voice! So savage and so raw! Kafka's voice was different; perhaps you could say it had been claimed, that it was literature's - only it was Kafka who claimed himself for literature. It was he who set aside, with a determination that was the echo of his father's, a few hours each night, to write. Each night, every night, he would experience the claim of what claimed him, reaffirming it in turn. He heard a voice, but it was one which said nothing. A voice as privation, to which he joined his own voice that we hear sometimes in his letters.

It occurred to me to ask myself, just after mile two when my right calf seized up like it had been hooked to a car battery and the pain shot through my leg and I slowed to a hobble muttering godfuckingdammitgodfuckingdammitgodfucking dammit - I asked myself why, why again was I doing this? A few days prior, the long slow commute home, and Nirvana's cover of "Lake of member database Fire" hums through the speakers. I've little love for Nirvana; I was there when it all went down, and having loved all of the bands that they "borrowed" from, I believe that Cobain had the crown of genius placed on his head a wee bit prematurely. But Unplugged I like; a glimpse into what might have been, had Kurt not opted to check out. Not for the first time it hit me, listening to him wail through that song - the performance itself is a suicide note. You hear it in the lyrics, and you saw it in his eyes. He'd made the decision at that point; the rest was just timing. The other night at the bookstore, and I'm walking through the stacks. I've already decided on a title (screwed up the courage to read McCarthy's The Road ; infinitely glad I did, for it's perhaps the saddest, grimmest book I've read, and the finest, most beautiful rendition of what it means to love your child that I've come across), but was thinking about what to read next. Hemingway came to mind. If I had a "favorite" author, it might be him.

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Here are some photos I took along the way I was making the wooden wheelchair ramp toy My toy and its mini-me Inside of the toy The electronic parts (motor + recording module)

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Here are some photos I took along the way I was making the toy My toy and its mini-me Inside of edit pdf files the toy The electronic parts (motor + recording module)

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July 8 was the sixth annual SCUD Day. SCUD is S avor the C omic, U nplug the D rama; July 8 is a day to remind people of the many benefits of living in the Comic Zone and the perils of living in the Drama Zone. Today I have posted in honor of the Comic Zone. Please throw drama out the window, throw caution to the wind, and participate in at least one of the "unusual" activities recommended below. Let me know how the tango goes. (And pass this post along to grumpy lawyers; it will be very good for their health.) POWERFUL MEDICINE: TANGO WITH YOUR TOAST Power in the Comic Zone The Comic Zone contains much laughter. People in the Comic Zone are infused with the spirit of laughter, they have an aura of smiles. They have high self-mirth. And that is good for those inhabiting the Comic Zone because laughter has power. Great power. Sacred power. Astounding power. We should honor laughter and what it does for us. Laughter torpedoes stress levels, accelerates learning, catapults creativity, forges strong teams, and strengthens our health. It gives us many gifts. It is a magic potion, elixir of life and fountain of youth all rolled up into one hearty hee-haw. Lots of laughs a day keep the doctor away mlm lead list A study out of University of Maryland indicates that laughter reduces the risk of coronary heart disease. A press release about the study from the University said: “People with heart disease were less likely to recognize humor or use it to get out of uncomfortable situations.

Here are some photos I took along the way I was making the toy My toy and its mini-me Inside of the toy The electronic purchase mailing lists parts (motor + recording module)

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Really? Was our low last night 69 degrees? Honestly ? How do they do this in the Midwest...Arizona...Palm Desert...Iraq...you are all my heroes. I can't make myself water my tomatoes and people exercise, live, run errands (or fight wars!) in this. UG. That's all I've got. UG. We slept with the shop portable a/c in our room last night, so at least I got a leg up ...some rest! I am seriously dreading the shop today. The streets were DEAD yesterday. I'll have the a/c...but the people are all in hiding! And I have dinner group tonight....OUTSIDE. We are all going to melt and die. I mean ...it will be so much fun. I am dessert (easy!), the theme is "picnic" (YEAH!) but I don't have the dessert made. Or...the ingredients purchased. Or..the time to do either part. Shop OR chop. So...I am going to beg my husband to make a stop here and pray member database that my dinner group cronies don't throw chicken legs, corn or blueberry wine coolers at me. I mean...how can you be nasty (in this heat...did I mention it was hot?) when someone brings you coconut pound cake and banana pudding? No...I didn't think so.

The Voice Come close to someone and they may speak to you in the voice in which they speak to themselves. That voice, never heard out loud, by which they goad and orient themselves - allowing them to press forward or sink back, to strive for something or to give up. Come close to another, and you'll hear it, that secret voice in which they speak to themselves. This is the way to learn what another is like. Live close to them, live alongside them, and even if you dislike them, that voice will let speak the integrity of their lives, the way it binds itself together. merchant payment processing But also that which that life seeks to bind itself against - you'll learn what threatens them, and how they have made their way through the world. Perhaps this is why Kafka and his father were set against one another: the father let the son hear the voice which allowed him to lift himself from peasantry. And what a voice! So savage and so raw! Kafka's voice was different; perhaps you could say it had been claimed, that it was literature's - only it was Kafka who claimed himself for literature. It was he who set aside, with a determination that was the echo of his father's, a few hours each night, to write. Each night, every night, he would experience the claim of what claimed him, reaffirming it in turn. He heard a voice, but it was one which said nothing. A voice as privation, to which he joined his own voice that we hear sometimes in his letters.

The Voice Come close to someone and they may speak to you in the voice in which they speak to themselves. That voice, never heard out loud, by which they goad and orient themselves - allowing them to press forward or sink back, to strive for something or to give up. Come close to another, and you'll hear it, that secret voice in which they speak to themselves. This is the way to learn what another is like. Live close to them, live alongside them, and even if you dislike them, that voice will let speak the integrity of their lives, the way it binds itself together. But also that which that life seeks to bind itself against - you'll learn what threatens them, wooden wheelchair ramp and how they have made their way through the world. Perhaps this is why Kafka and his father were set against one another: the father let the son hear the voice which allowed him to lift himself from peasantry. And what a voice! So savage and so raw! Kafka's voice was different; perhaps you could say it had been claimed, that it was literature's - only it was Kafka who claimed himself for literature. It was he who set aside, with a determination that was the echo of his father's, a few hours each night, to write. Each night, every night, he would experience the claim of what claimed him, reaffirming it in turn. He heard a voice, but it was one which said nothing. A voice as privation, to which he joined his own voice that we hear sometimes in his letters.

Really? Was our low last night 69 degrees? Honestly ? How do they do this in the Midwest...Arizona...Palm Desert...Iraq...you are all my heroes. I can't make myself water my tomatoes and people exercise, live, run errands (or fight wars!) in this. UG. That's all I've got. UG. We slept with the shop portable a/c in our room last night, so at least I got a leg up ...some rest! I am seriously dreading the shop today. The streets were DEAD yesterday. I'll have the a/c...but the people are all in hiding! And I have dinner group tonight....OUTSIDE. We are all going to melt and die. I mean ...it will be so much fun. I am dessert (easy!), the theme is "picnic" (YEAH!) but I don't have the dessert made. Or...the ingredients purchased. Or..the time to do either part. Shop OR chop. So...I am going to beg my husband to make a stop here and pray that my dinner group cronies don't throw chicken legs, corn or blueberry wine coolers at me. I mean...how can you be nasty (in this heat...did I mention it was hot?) when someone brings Eminem the real slim shady you coconut pound cake and banana pudding? No...I didn't think so.

The Voice Come close to someone and they may speak to you in the voice in which they speak to themselves. That voice, never heard out loud, by which they goad and orient themselves - allowing them to press forward or sink back, to strive for something or to give up. Come close to another, and you'll hear it, that secret best spyware software voice in which they speak to themselves. This is the way to learn what another is like. Live close to them, live alongside them, and even if you dislike them, that voice will let speak the integrity of their lives, the way it binds itself together. But also that which that life seeks to bind itself against - you'll learn what threatens them, and how they have made their way through the world. Perhaps this is why Kafka and his father were set against one another: the father let the son hear the voice which allowed him to lift himself from peasantry. And what a voice! So savage and so raw! Kafka's voice was different; perhaps you could say it had been claimed, that it was literature's - only it was Kafka who claimed himself for literature. It was he who set aside, with a determination that was the echo of his father's, a few hours each night, to write. Each night, every night, he would experience the claim of what claimed him, reaffirming it in turn. He heard a voice, but it was one which said nothing. A voice as privation, to which he joined his own voice that we hear sometimes in his letters.

It occurred to me to ask myself, just after mile two when my right calf seized up like it had been hooked to a car battery and the pain shot through my download movies warez leg and I slowed to a hobble muttering godfuckingdammitgodfuckingdammitgodfucking dammit - I asked myself why, why again was I doing this? A few days prior, the long slow commute home, and Nirvana's cover of "Lake of Fire" hums through the speakers. I've little love for Nirvana; I was there when it all went down, and having loved all of the bands that they "borrowed" from, I believe that Cobain had the crown of genius placed on his head a wee bit prematurely. But Unplugged I like; a glimpse into what might have been, had Kurt not opted to check out. Not for the first time it hit me, listening to him wail through that song - the performance itself is a suicide note. You hear it in the lyrics, and you saw it in his eyes. He'd made the decision at that point; the rest was just timing. The other night at the bookstore, and I'm walking through the stacks. I've already decided on a title (screwed up the courage to read McCarthy's The Road ; infinitely glad I did, for it's perhaps the saddest, grimmest book I've read, and the finest, most beautiful rendition of what it means to love your child that I've come across), but was thinking about what to read next. Hemingway came to mind. If I had a "favorite" author, it might be him.

It occurred to me to ask myself, just after mile two when my right calf seized up like it had been hooked to a car battery and the pain shot through my leg and I slowed to a hobble muttering godfuckingdammitgodfuckingdammitgodfucking dammit - I asked myself why, why again was I doing this? A few days prior, the long slow commute home, and Nirvana's cover of "Lake of Fire" hums through the speakers. I've little love for Nirvana; I was there when it all went down, and having loved all of the bands that they "borrowed" from, I believe that Cobain had the crown of genius placed on his head a wee bit prematurely. But Unplugged I like; a glimpse into what might have been, had Kurt not opted to check out. Not for the first time it hit me, listening to him wail through that song - the performance itself is a suicide note. You hear it in the lyrics, and you saw it in his eyes. He'd made the decision at that point; the rest was just timing. The other night at the bookstore, and I'm walking through the stacks. I've already decided on a title (screwed up the courage to read McCarthy's The Road ; infinitely glad I did, for it's perhaps the saddest, grimmest book student loan services I've read, and the finest, most beautiful rendition of what it means to love your child that I've come across), but was thinking about what to read next. Hemingway came to mind. If I had a "favorite" author, it might be him.

It occurred to me to ask myself, just after mile two when my right calf seized up like it had been hooked to a car battery and the pain shot through my leg and I slowed to a hobble muttering godfuckingdammitgodfuckingdammitgodfucking dammit - I asked myself why, why again was I doing this? A few days prior, the long slow commute home, and Nirvana's cover of "Lake of Fire" hums through the speakers. I've little love for Nirvana; I was there when it all went down, and having loved all of the bands that they "borrowed" from, I believe that Cobain had the crown of genius placed on corporate identity management his head a wee bit prematurely. But Unplugged I like; a glimpse into what might have been, had Kurt not opted to check out. Not for the first time it hit me, listening to him wail through that song - the performance itself is a suicide note. You hear it in the lyrics, and you saw it in his eyes. He'd made the decision at that point; the rest was just timing. The other night at the bookstore, and I'm walking through the stacks. I've already decided on a title (screwed up the courage to read McCarthy's The Road ; infinitely glad I did, for it's perhaps the saddest, grimmest book I've read, and the finest, most beautiful rendition of what it means to love your child that I've come across), but was thinking about what to read next. Hemingway came to mind. If I had a "favorite" author, it might be him.

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Here's the quick take on what it took to get in to see Cheney and his National coffee blog Energy Policy Task Force: Here's the slightly longer take, from Eric Alterman and Mark Green's The Book on Bush : The Bush energy plan was developed in closed-door sessions by Vice President Cheney and his National Energy Policy Task Force [...]. During that process, scientists and environmentalists were kept on the sidelines while energy companies threw a nonstop party. Of the 400 organizations that sought meetings with the vice president or the task force in that period, 194 were granted access--158 energy companies, 22 labor unions, 13 environmental groups, and a lone consumer organization. Energy Secretary Spencer Abraham, one of the key officials responsible for drafting the final document, turned down a request for a meeting with environmental groups in February 2001, citing his "busy schedule". In a sense that statement was true: during that period, documents released later under judicial order show, he met with 109 industry representatives. [...] From the email trail, it isn't hard to discern the identity of the "industry representatives" who had access to Secretary Abraham and Vice President Cheney during the formation of the Energy Plan. Indeed, their calendars during the spring of 2001 read like a list of the largest contributors to the Republican Party. [...

Here's the quick take on what it took to get in to see Cheney and his National Energy Policy Task Force: Here's the slightly longer take, from Eric Alterman and Mark Green's The Book on Bush : The Bush energy plan was developed in closed-door sessions by Vice President Cheney and his National Energy Policy Task Force [...]. During that process, scientists and environmentalists were kept on the sidelines while energy companies threw a nonstop party. Of the 400 organizations that sought meetings with the vice president or the task force in that period, 194 credit card consolidation services were granted access--158 energy companies, 22 labor unions, 13 environmental groups, and a lone consumer organization. Energy Secretary Spencer Abraham, one of the key officials responsible for drafting the final document, turned down a request for a meeting with environmental groups in February 2001, citing his "busy schedule". In a sense that statement was true: during that period, documents released later under judicial order show, he met with 109 industry representatives. [...] From the email trail, it isn't hard to discern the identity of the "industry representatives" who had access to Secretary Abraham and Vice President Cheney during the formation of the Energy Plan. Indeed, their calendars during the spring of 2001 read like a list of the largest contributors to the Republican Party. [...

Here's the quick take on what it took to get in to see Cheney and his National Energy Policy Task Force: Here's the slightly longer take, from Eric Alterman and Mark Green's The Book on Bush : The Bush energy plan was developed in closed-door sessions by Vice President Cheney and his National Energy Policy Task Force [...]. During that process, scientists and environmentalists were kept on the sidelines while energy companies threw a nonstop party. Of the 400 organizations that sought meetings with the vice president or the task force in that period, 194 were granted access--158 energy hobby stores companies, 22 labor unions, 13 environmental groups, and a lone consumer organization. Energy Secretary Spencer Abraham, one of the key officials responsible for drafting the final document, turned down a request for a meeting with environmental groups in February 2001, citing his "busy schedule". In a sense that statement was true: during that period, documents released later under judicial order show, he met with 109 industry representatives. [...] From the email trail, it isn't hard to discern the identity of the "industry representatives" who had access to Secretary Abraham and Vice President Cheney during the formation of the Energy Plan. Indeed, their calendars during the spring of 2001 read like a list of the largest contributors to the Republican Party. [...

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grinner :: July 13, 2007 Originally uploaded by happykatie . With the arrival of my birthday Helio Ocean last week (thanks babies!), I now have access to a camera phone with a fast Internet connection. Yay! This means more action-packed photos of the Bunn in her new Ella Dailies album. A little blurry and completely unedited - they are just little peeks into the short one's daily life. Lots of these photos will be set to Family and Friends privacy levels, but chances are that if you read this Blog regularly you fall into that category. Please do email me if you do not have access - I can help you learn about the magic that is Flickr quickly and easily. dlp tv review