Lighters.
Oh, not the disposable kind. The metal kind.
You see, the United States USED to have a “Lighter Culture”. This was at the time when everyone smoked cigarettes. And everyone carried their very on lighter. Perhaps you’ve seen them in smoking or cigarette shops; perhaps in old black and white movies, or in the 1960’s magazine advertisements.
They looked like this.




















And it was an iconic feature of American culture.
Sure, they were used around the world, but back in the day, these lighters WERE the cultural relic of those times.
Today…
CHINA STOLE THE AMERICAN DREAM? 🇨🇳 TikTok Expat Regrets Going Back to USA
My prediction; communism is coming for America.
Which one is more difficult for a Chinese citizen, not having H1B in the USA or not having Beijing/Shanghai “hukou” if you plan to live there?
It is not difficult to live in Beijing or Shanghai, you only need a train ticket.
It is not difficult to obtain a “hukou” in Shanghai or Beijing, you only need to obtain one of the following:
1. A bachelor’s degree from the country’s best 39 universities or a master’s degree from any school.
2. If you are an entrepreneur and have paid enough taxes, it is also OK.
3. You are a key talent in a state-owned enterprise in Shanghai or Beijing;
4. Work in Shanghai or Beijing for 5 years and accumulate a certain number of points; the Beijing/Shanghai government will allocate a batch of quotas every year.
The Best Way to Color Easter Eggs

Kitchen tools, gourmet foods, baking mixes, and hard-to-find baking ingredients mentioned in this article are available at The Prepared Pantry.
by Dennis Weaver

It’s fun to color Easter eggs. Pink and yellow and lavender eggs are part of the Easter tradition. And of course, kids love colors and you can now choose from 41 colors.
In this article, you’ll learn the best way to color eggs + how to boil an egg and avoid the green on the yolk.
How to Dye Easter Eggs
- Choose fresh eggs free from cracks.
- Commercial egg producers coat their eggs with an oil to help seal them. Wash the eggs in a mild detergent to remove the oil and to let the color adhere more readily to the eggs.
- Boil the eggs to the “hard boil” stage.
- To one cup of hot water, add 2 tablespoons of white vinegar, and the desired food coloring or dye. Be sure to get enough food coloring in the water to make it a darker shade than the desired shade for the eggs.
- Dip the eggs in the colored solution until the desired shade is reached. For darker shades, let the eggs sit in the dye for up to two hours.
- If the eggs are to be eaten, keep them refrigerated.
Use professional food color gels from Americolor, or equal. Professional gels are not expensive, they are nine times more concentrated so it takes a lot less, and the colors are brighter and prettier. Gels just make prettier eggs.
Tip for blown eggs. If you are going to use blown eggs for Easter (those with the egg blown out through a hole in the end of the shell), color the eggs before blowing. If you blow the egg from the shell before dying, the empty, fragile shells will be difficult to immerse and handle in the dying water.
How to Boil an Egg so that it is Perfectly Cooked
Would you like to avoid that green coating on the yolks of your hardboiled eggs? You can do so if you time your cooking carefully. It’s a matter of temperature. Always use an egg timer.
- Use only clean, fresh eggs. Discard eggs that are cracked.
- Lay the eggs in a heavy saucepan, one layer deep.
- Cover them with cold water just to cover the eggs.
- Bring the water in the pan to a rapid boil.
- Remove the pan from the heat, cover it with a lid, and let the eggs stand in the hot water for 14 minutes.
- Remove the eggs from the pan and place them in ice water until they are cool enough to handle.
Dennis Weaver is the founder of The Prepared Pantry, a full line kitchen store in Rigby, Idaho. The Prepared Pantry sells kitchen tools, gourmet foods, and baking ingredients including hundreds of hard-to-find ingredients.
This Is Why Women With TATTOS Are A Huge RED FLAG
Currently, the US is only responsible for about 10% of total world trade. So, what makes Donald Trump think the US can muscle the rest of the world with tariffs? The world can much better do without the US, than the US can do without the world!
When a person is broke, s/he will rob.
Do you know why Biden & Trump crazily impose (high) tariff, first on China & now on the entire world?
Because USA is broke. That is why Trump openly robs others with high tariff.
No doubt the rest of the world does not need to do trading with USA. But the more USA is broke, the crazier USA will be. This time is tariff. Next time may be military.
Did not USA want to annex Panama canal, Canada & Greenland? For their rich natural resources.
So continue trading with USA. But reduce it.
How different is the Russian gun culture from the American gun culture?
The Russian gun culture is mostly built around hunting and full of stereotypes.
The most admired type of a gun is a twin barrel shotgun.
That is what ‘the real men’ use.
Most bolt-action rifles with the exception of Mosin generally fall into a definition of ‘real men’s’ guns.
Regular semi-autos are somewhat tolerated but it moves the owner up on the gaydar of the ‘real men’.
The people using mag-fed shotguns and AK-themed rifles are viewed with mild contempt and referred as ‘akmoids’ or ‘soldiers’ who presumably didn’t have enough in the military.
Akmoids tend to put whatever gadget and modify their guns. That exponentially increases their self-esteem but adds as much to their gayness in view of the ‘real men’.
Pump-action gun users are looked upon with utter comtempt. They are believed to be the victims of Hollywood movies using ‘useless’ ‘gangster’ gun. There is an idea that the pump-action gun is inferior gun but then if you confront hater saying that you won’t hear any reasonable arguments.
SKS owners are viewed as cheap rednecks or alternatively urban trash who can’t afford a ‘good gun’. The myth is that the cheap surplus ammunition favored by SKS users is bad for hunting mainly wounding the animals which later attack ‘real men’ in anger.
Mosin rifle. Generally the same reputation as above but the users presumably also old and senile.
AR, HK and alike mag-fed foreign semi-autos – ultimately gay ‘toy guns’ for women and nerds with more money than sense.
SVD, performance rifles. The owners are looked down and called ‘oarsmen’ hinting large size and poor practicality of their weapons. Believed to be in a class of ‘akmoids’ and more on a nerdy side.
PS. The above is a collection of stereotypes I mostly do not agree with.
Pictures


















What unexpected physics experiment led a UCLA professor to lose a $10,000 bet against a YouTuber?
YouTuber wins bet against UCLA physics professor:
That’s right.
YouTuber Derek Muller, owner of the Veritasium channel , won no less than US$ 10,000 (around R$ 50,000) after winning a bet against the physics professor at the University of California in Los Angeles (UCLA) Alexander Kusenko.
The challenge involved a wind-powered car, which, according to the professor, could not move faster than the wind propelling it.
The professor proposed the challenge after Derek recorded a video of himself driving a wind-powered car known as the “Blackbird.”
In that video, Muller claimed that the vehicle had been able to go faster than the wind, traveling against the current and using only the force of the wind to move.
And that is the point of contention between these two men…
According to the professor, such a feat would be impossible, as it would break the laws of physics.
The Physics Professor’s explanation for the seemingly counterintuitive phenomenon is that the wind changes. In other words:
→ A strong gust of wind pushes the vehicle to a higher speed and then it calms down a bit, so when the speed of the car is measured against the wind, the car is going faster but is actually slowing down.
→ In addition, the wind speed at the height of the propeller may be stronger than the wind at the height at which it is measured.
“I’m excited about this bet because if I’m wrong, then I want to know,” the YouTuber said in detailing the bet. “The goal of the channel is to get to the truth!”
In the video, the YouTuber collaborated with a fellow YouTuber who promotes science on the internet, Xyla Foxlin.
The two built a model wind-powered car and applied complex mathematical concepts to verify their theory.
According to them, when the speed of the car is identical to the speed of the wind, it appears that the propeller can provide infinite force.
In the end, Kusenko proved to be a man of his word and paid off the bet soon after receiving proof that he was wrong.
Muller thanked the professor who, according to him, proved to be an honorable man committed to science, as he immediately changed his mind after the evidence showed that he was wrong.
China’s WZ-7 & WZ-10: First-Ever Drone Hunt of a ‘Hostile Warship’!
Losses
Submitted into Contest #279 in response to: Write a story about a character who’s lost.… view prompt
Jed Cope
His ablutions were swift and efficient. He averted his eyes from the mirror as he cleaned his teeth. He didn’t want his inner voice to challenge him with words such as what are you even doing here? You not we. He barely noticed this distinction, but he lived it. And he had no answer to those questions. He wasn’t even sure how he got here in the first place, and so leaving was an enigma that dwelt in a place beyond his knowing.
Returning to the bedroom, he dressed silently with the lights out. Taking a care as to which floorboards he placed his feet upon. Resentment broiling up as he considered the few alternative mornings where she awoke first and bowled around the bedroom like an errant pinball. The shock and awe of her presence creating strange trauma responses within him and a strangely dressed shame in his even wanting something like a lie-in.
Downstairs in the kitchen, he looked up at the ceiling, beyond which the sleeping form remained. He loved her. This was the purpose and motivation of his life. Without that, he had nothing. Without her, he was nothing. His posture and the beatific look on his face spoke of a love without question.
He began the very careful ritual of his breakfast. He drank water. This was a quiet option. Just as long as he didn’t open the tap too wide. Cereal was his food of choice. Fridge and cupboard doors were held until they caressed their closing positions. Wilfred was a house ninja. No eggshells would be crushed by this man, and very little would mark his passing. He did this because he cared. His caring whispered out into a sound deadened chamber in which no one would ever listen.
Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. If a man pisses into the wind and the wind directs that flow over his trouser leg, does this count? Equal and opposite speaks of win-lose. Yet the best outcomes in life are win-win. Poor Wilfred was carefully placing his sock-clad feet on a lose-lose hamster-wheel in the pursuit of a loving win-win that just was not possible.
An hour and a half later there was a cacophony of noise that announced the arrival of Lisa into the day. Wilfred winced at the punishment the bed and the floorboards received for the impertinence of greeting Lisa’s state of consciousness. He had never ceased to marvel at the brutality of her movements. Somehow, they did not accord with the woman he loved. He grit his teeth and tried to think happy thoughts as he worked on the spreadsheet before him. Still his bones jangled and his anxious teeth fizzed.
An hour or so after this, Lisa stormed into the kitchen on a mission that could not accord with the time she’d taken to get ready and be in this room. She accelerated through the door and disturbed Wilfred as he talked to a colleague about a complex matter that needed to be figured out, bottomed and closed as a matter of urgency. Lisa’s sheer physicality was distracting even before she slammed the tap open to a boisterous stream, filled a kettle that roared like a jet engine as it heated the water, and rigorously threatened cupboard doors and drawers with deconstruction in a hunt for an elusive and very likely non-existent item.
As she left the kitchen, a shaking and drooling Wilfred surveyed the dirty protest Lisa had created, and nursed yet another episode of PTSD. Two rooms down, she began a phone conversation that did not require a phone. The window panes shook in their frames and Wilfred’s eyes were no longer able to focus.
And so the cycle of domestic bliss continued, as it had for any number of years prior to this. And was destined to continue for ever more. Life however has a habit of putting a stick in the spokes of the wheel. Or sticking its foot out to trip the proceedings up. Life can never be accused of being boring, and if ever someone utters such an accusation, life will severely fuck them up, and make no mistake. Tempting providence is grievously suicidal.
The stick in the wheel of Wilfred’s life was Lisa. This was very unfortunate indeed. Especially as, as far as Wilfred was concerned, Lisa was his life. There was a circle of sorts here. A snake eating its own tail. An assortment of interesting trinkets at a festival that get bought and then put in a draw to be forgotten. So often, what presents itself is not the point. You can draw as many circles as you like with the efforts of your life, but if the person you’re drawing them for doesn’t give a shit, then you are in the first analysis an idiot, and so by the final analysis you are a foolish wreckage of something that used to be a human being.
This hungry serpent would have been bad enough. To co-exist with someone who does not care is a sad and lonely existence, but at least there is still a flame of humanity to warm yourself by. Lisa’s flame had been hidden away a long time ago. This was not a simple case of her not caring. She’d gone way beyond caring well before she ever met Wilfred. Lisa had made of herself a spider and those around her were flies. She despised people so much, all she heard was the annoying buzz of their existence, and she longed to entrap them in the web of her lies and manipulate them around and around until they could no longer move, or speak or do anything whatsoever to encroach upon her. And then she would feed. Only she fed throughout. Ever hurt. Every humiliation. Every infliction of pain. That was her reason for being, to take life-force, and it was highly addictive.
For now, Wilfred would do. She sat and observed him and wondered at his blunt stupidity. Not once did he get, see or wonder at the game she played with him. All she had to do was say a few words that contained a shadow of a promise and his eyes would enlarge and he would pant like a faithful dog. Lisa hated dogs. The feeling was not mutual. Dogs are not capable of hate. No creature other than humans are. Dogs amplify and return love and that is all they are capable of. Few beings are as close to perfection in this respect as dogs are. We will not talk of cats. That is a story for another time.
If only Lisa had considered Wilfred in the same way she did dogs. That would have gone far better for him. If only there had been an obvious physical difference between them that would have made their dysfunctional union apparent. But this was not so. They were on the face of it a couple. A couple of people. And so they lumbered through life unnoticed and unremarked.
Besides, who looks out for one human feeding upon another? Vampires don’t exist, and parasites are tiny and wee. They are not five foot seven, bold as brass, and prone to bouts of intense cross-stitching.
Monsters don’t exist.
We’re supposed to grow out of that notion, having lived with the monster under our bed throughout our childhood. So when the monster lays in bed with her back to Wilfred night after night, he projects her with all the love he can muster and makes of her his wife. Every twitch of her mouth is a smile. Every moment she is in his presence carries with it a loving meaning. Wilfred constantly scans for love and squeezes love out of every pore imaginable. He is as totally invested in Lisa as it is possible to be.
Why?
The Gap.
Lisa was a promise of something more, and never anything other than that. She used the bait of the promise and hooked Wilfred. He’s been chasing the promise ever since. The chase is not linear. It is cyclical. There is a familiarity in it for both of them. A comfort, almost. He is Jack Spratt and he is getting leaner all the time. Her waist line expands as she takes from him again and again. This is a hypnotically parasitic merry-go-round and Wilfred doesn’t want to get off. Even when he sees it for what it is. Even when he feels the pain so acutely he can no longer see straight, his body thrums with the trauma, and there’s an accusatory roar in his ears that goads him into breaking free of this tyranny.
It’s not Lisa’s tyranny. Not really. She’s just as much a victim. Or she was. That’s the conundrum. The puzzle dripping with fresh blood. How can she still be a victim, if she’s victimising Wilfred? All Wilfred can see is the brokenness of Lisa, and his heart goes out to her and as it leaves his body she grabs a hold of it and squeezes it until the blood oozes out. She doesn’t feed on the blood itself, she’s interested in far better than that. It’s Wilfred’s life-energy that she hungers for. She’s addicted to it. She eschewed life long ago. Hates it with a vengeance. Her revenge is to take the life of the one person she professes to love. She has no other loves, not even herself. She talks a good game, but her real game is a twisted dance of death.
Wilfred knows. His instincts scream out to him, and the pain he experiences cannot be ignored. But Lisa issues forth a siren call, raises arms criss-crossed with self-inflicted wounds and beseeches Wilfred to save her once more.
Fix me!
Help me!
Who could ignore a damsel in distress? Especially a bloodied and broken damsel with the promise of new growth. The potential to flourish in the soil of nurturing love.
Wilfred goes again and again, and Lisa only ever takes. She has only ever taken, whilst weaving an illusory narrative of a better life that lies beyond the veil of Wilfred’s short-comings and inadequacies.
And come what may, Wilfred is who he is. He gives all he can. This is all he knows. He follows the example of his folks and his grandparents. They were together through thick and thin. Together forever. He stays the course. There is no alternative. It’s what you do if you love someone. What else is there? Life without the woman you love is no life at all.
Wilfred’s denial of the reality that lies before him. That lies in the bed beside him. That is his complicity in the loss of everything. He trudges through this casual meatgrinder of incremental domestic abuse refusing to believe that Lisa would do this to him. That anyone is capable of such cold brutality.
He had a son once. Still does. But his son won’t see him anymore. He ceased his fortnightly visits because he felt angry and confused. Wilfred cautioned him again and again. Challenging his boy. Pointing out that there was no cause for anger against his old man. Wilfred was half right. But the other half was what did the damage. That half wondered why Wilfred presided over an unjust and chaotic state of affairs that left his son hurt and angry. That half wanted Wilfred to fix it so there was still a childhood to be had.
Wilfred was blinded by love that could never be love as his son limped away in a hurt and confused state. Lisa never lifted a finger. But she was still there. Constant in her presence and dominion over Wilfred and his life. Wilfred mistook this for her being there for him when his presence was only ever a convenience.
Lisa’s all about immediacy. If she can see it, touch it or taste it, then that is all to the good. It’s a wonder that she has the wherewithal to plan a meal and buy the ingredients, such is her urge for instant gratification. No past. No future. Nothing else matters. She barely noted the passing of Wilfred’s son other than with a muted celebration of another encumbrance removed.
Wilfred battled on. Befuddled by his son’s exile. He laboured with the question of his wrong-doing and fought with his indignation at the injustice of it all, pushing himself further from the prospect of a safe harbour. All the while Lisa smiled and licked her lips, feeding on the misery she so easily generated from her presence alone.
And so it went. A gentle tumble-dryer of abuse that drew the very essence of Wilfred from him with every roll of the drum. He kept going with it. Less and less likely to break out through the glass door of the fantasy he was trapped in, as his strength and wherewithal dissipated. Mistakenly blaming himself for his inadequacies and flaws. Never once questioning anything else, let alone the succubus who was beyond reproach.
The few times he’d spoken out. The moments he’d wondered what was going so wrong. He’d been met with a conviction that could not be turned to one side. Lisa had reared up before him, her scales shimmering in the half light, and she’d snorted fire from her flared nostrils. Wilfred had wilted in the shadow of her heat, and now he lay deflated and broken.
Soon, she would do the one thing Wilfred never thought possible. She’d leave. He had found a broken woman at the side of the road and he’d reached out and helped her to her feet.
She’d promised him the world.
She then took the world from him.
As he lays at the side of the road and watches her saunter away with the confidence and swagger of a predator, he doesn’t understand what he is seeing. All he sees is loss. He thinks he’s losing her, but he never knew her. She wasn’t there. She was never there. He’s seeing the reflection of his loss. A dread emptiness. He’s lost everything. She has taken everything that it is possible to take from him, and no one is going to offer him a hand and help him up. There’s nothing to offer a hand to. He is paper thin and receding further as she abandons him. The breeze sighs a lament and he is gone.
Lisa doesn’t look back. Immediacy is all. She settles by the roadside a little further up, musses her hair and sits down in a position that is just so. She takes a moment, but just a moment. Her next victim will be passing by shortly. She never has to wait long. Never has to do much of anything. Seduction’s another lie. They come willingly and they give of themselves freely. Why wouldn’t she drink deeply of the flies that land on her web?
Is China in the process of upgrading its military technology in 2025?
China has been updating its military technology. But this is only part of the bigger picture.
As is well known, China’s ideology is communist, so Chinese people have an instinctive tendency to apply and spread technology, regardless of whether it can be used for military purposes, which is very different from capitalist ideology. Under capitalist ideology, technology, as one of the available monopoly tools, tends to have its application scope restricted, which is not conducive to technological development in the long run.
This has led to Western military technology, even though it is quite advanced due to its rich historical accumulation, being gradually surpassed by China in recent years.
China will likely continue to develop technology at its existing pace in 2025 and beyond, and will extend the application of this technology to the security sector. At the same time, due to the existence of monopoly barriers, the cost for Western technology to expand into the military domain will be very high, and the profitability of expanding from the military sector to the civilian sector will also be poor. This discrepancy will make Westerners feel that China is vigorously developing military technology.
Scott Ritter: Putin’s ULTIMATUM Has Been Sent, Ukraine STUNNED! Trump Is About To CRACK DOWN On EU
What could the Ukraine crisis mean for Taiwan’s de-facto independence?
The Ukrainian crisis has taught the world a vivid lesson, especially those who pin their fate on the United States, who really need to open their eyes.
Zelensky vowed from the beginning that he had the support of the world’s big brother, who would dare to touch Ukraine?
What was the result?
The United States verbally supported it, and the arms sales were flying, and the money was made, but it did not dare to really confront Russia head-on.
The worse Ukraine fought, the happier the Americans were, because it was not their own people who died anyway.
The war dragged on and on, and Ukraine became a mess. What about Zelensky? From a hero to a trapped beast, the ending is not difficult to imagine.
Now, look at Taiwan. Some people in Taiwan think that the United States is their “savior”, and Taiwan is “democratic and free”, and the United States will definitely protect it at all costs? Don’t be naive!
Wasn’t Ukraine also touted as a “fortress of democracy” at the beginning? In the end, the United States really helped it block a bullet?
They sold a lot of weapons, and even cleared out second-hand weapons and stockpiled ammunition.
Now that the Ukrainian crisis has dragged on like this, the United States has begun to get tired of it. The internal financial pressure is great, and voters are unwilling to keep spending money. Zelensky has gradually become a burden and may be abandoned at any time.
Taiwan’s problem is worse than Ukraine’s. Geographically, it is an island, and its supply line relies on sea transportation.
If something really happens, will the United States dare to send troops to rescue? Impossible.
The most realistic is still the “proxy war” – the words are loud and clear, but in fact, it is to let Taiwan consume itself. When it is almost done, the United States will see if it can get some benefits.
Isn’t Ukraine today Taiwan’s tomorrow?
Zelensky has been squeezed dry by the United States, and it is a question whether he can retire peacefully in the end. Does Lai Qingde really think he is smarter than Zelensky? I’m afraid that the ending has been written before the script has reached its climax.
Ukraine can still get aid from Europe, but what about Taiwan? The United States says “firm support”, but when it comes to the critical moment, it is still the old saying – “Americans don’t want to fight for others.”
At that time, the only ones who will suffer are the Taiwanese people.
Sir Whiskerton and the Great Pumpkin Catastrophe: A Tale of Ambition, Chaos, and Oversized Vegetables
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale of horticultural hubris, runaway gourds, and one very determined feline who learned that bigger isn’t always better. Today’s story is one of ambition, chaos, and the importance of knowing when to rein in your dreams—especially when those dreams involve prize-winning pumpkins. So, grab your sense of humor and a wheelbarrow (just in case), as we dive into Sir Whiskerton and the Great Pumpkin Catastrophe: A Tale of Ambition, Chaos, and Oversized Vegetables.
The Pumpkin Contest
It all began when Sir Whiskerton, ever the overachiever, decided to enter the annual farm pumpkin contest. “This year,” he declared, “I shall grow the largest, most magnificent pumpkin the farm has ever seen. It will be a pumpkin so grand, so glorious, that even Doris the Hen will be impressed.”
“Impressed!” echoed Ditto, who was busy practicing his echoing skills by repeating Sir Whiskerton’s every word.
The other animals were skeptical. “Pumpkins are tricky,” Porkchop the Pig said, munching on a carrot. “You can’t just plant a seed and expect it to grow into a monster.”
But Sir Whiskerton was undeterred. He selected the perfect patch of soil, planted the seed with meticulous care, and even sang to the pumpkin every night (though he would deny it if anyone asked).
The Pumpkin Grows… and Grows
At first, everything went according to plan. The pumpkin sprouted, grew, and soon became the talk of the farm. But then something strange happened. The pumpkin didn’t stop growing. It grew bigger and bigger, until it was the size of a small barn.
“This is… unexpected,” Sir Whiskerton said, staring up at the massive gourd.
“Unexpected!” echoed Ditto, who was now juggling three acorns.
The other animals gathered around, equally awestruck. “That’s not a pumpkin,” Rufus the Dog said. “That’s a pumpkin mountain.”
The Great Pumpkin Catastrophe
Disaster struck one sunny afternoon when the pumpkin, unable to support its own weight, broke free from its vine and began to roll. It rolled through the garden, flattening fences. It rolled through the chicken coop, sending Doris and her entourage squawking into the air. It even rolled through the pond, creating a tidal wave that drenched Ferdinand the Duck mid-quack.
“Stop that pumpkin!” Sir Whiskerton shouted, chasing after the runaway gourd.
“Pumpkin!” echoed Ditto, who was now riding on top of the pumpkin like a furry surfer.
Sir Whiskerton Saves the Day
As the pumpkin barreled toward the farmer’s house, Sir Whiskerton knew it was time to act. “We need to stop it before it destroys everything!” he said, his mind racing.
With the help of the animals, Sir Whiskerton devised a plan. Using ropes, pulleys, and a lot of teamwork, they managed to steer the pumpkin into an open field, where it finally came to a stop.
The Moral of the Story
As the dust settled and the animals caught their breath, Sir Whiskerton took a moment to reflect. “The moral of the story,” he said, “is that ambition is a wonderful thing, but it must be tempered with caution. Whether you’re growing pumpkins, solving mysteries, or chasing your dreams, it’s important to know when to rein in your ambitions—before they roll out of control.”
“Control!” echoed Ditto, proudly.
A Happy Ending
With the pumpkin safely contained and the farm restored to order, the animals returned to their peaceful routines. Sir Whiskerton, though disappointed that his pumpkin was disqualified from the contest, couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.
As for the pumpkin? It became a beloved landmark on the farm, with the animals using it as a meeting spot, a picnic table, and even a stage for Ferdinand’s impromptu performances.
And so, dear reader, we leave our heroes with the promise of new adventures, new challenges, and hopefully, no more runaway pumpkins. Until next time, may your days be filled with laughter, love, and just a little bit of feline genius.
The End.
What’s the most “life works in mysterious ways” experience you’ve ever had?
When I was a boy my Mother had a part time job working as a home help. One of her clients was Miss Brown, a little old lady, who happened to live in the same street as us. I remember her as a kindly lady who would give me a sixpence for collecting her shopping. Miss Brown eventually grew too old to look after herself and moved into a care home but my Mother continued to visit her often taking me along. It was actually a pleasure for me to visit because Miss Brown was full of interesting stories and had a way of telling them that brought them to life. She remembered, for instance, her first ride in a motor car, the year Queen Victoria died and her life working as a nurse for the military during both the Boer War and the First World War.
Sadly when I was thirteen Miss Brown died and apart from two members of staff from the care home, only my parents and I were at her funeral. We moved house shortly after and life also moved on.
Four years later my Father was taken seriously ill and had been in hospital for almost six months. I was by now working but my finacial contribution to the family finances was minuscule and my Mother’s income was not enough to cover the bills. Although Mother never said anything I knew she was seriously worried. Then one evening I came home from work to find my Mother crying her eyes out but trying hard to smile through her tears. I asked what was wrong but she could give me no reply, handing me instead the letter she was holding. The letter was from a firm of solicitors handling the estate of the late Miss Brown. It began by apologising for the delay in contacting her blaming it on the move we had made four years earlier. But the crux of the matter was my Mother had been left the proceeds of the sale of Miss Brown’s house enough to pay off the mortgage on our house and provide a financial cushion until my Father recovered. God does move in mysterious ways !
Millions of Americans Are Living in Third World Conditions
How to Make Easy Sourdough Bread

Kitchen tools, gourmet foods, baking mixes, and hard-to-find baking ingredients mentioned in this article are available at The Prepared Pantry.
by Dennis Weaver

When we moved from Minnesota to Idaho to start our business, our first focus was bread mixes. It wasn’t just a business decision; it was a passion. We worked with bread and bread mixes for more than a year. Only then did we start the business.
I suppose the people in our new neighborhood thought we were strange. This family moves into a quiet, rural neighborhood from some place “back East.” No one seems to have a job. Apparently they spend most of their time baking.
Often, by the end of the day, we had a pile of freshly baked loaves. We would load them in the car and go through the neighborhood giving them away. Often they were crusty breads, sourdoughs, and artisan loaves. The neighbors may have thought we were strange but they answered their doorbells.
The love of bread is still evident in our business. We have over 100 bread mixes and a line of Bread Helpers©. You’ll still see our love for crusty breads—like crusty French bread and sourdough breads. You’ll still find our fondness for richly flavored breads with European ryes, cheesy breads, and salsa breads. And we’re still developing new breads: next up is a crusty Italian bread mix and a garlic mashed potato bread.
That first winter in Idaho, we developed what is still my favorite sourdough bread recipe. It’s a hard, round loaf with a deep, yeasty sourdough flavor. The inside is soft and airy but the crust is crackly and chewy. I made it dozens of times that winter.
“How do you get a crust like that? How do you get that flavor?”
There are three secrets to this bread. Yes, it’s more work than throwing ingredients in your stand-type mixer but this bread will make you a celebrity.
The crust. I remember dining with a friend in a fine Italian restaurant in Minneapolis. Their crusty bread was outstanding.
“How do they make that crust,” my friend asked.
It’s steam. Commercial ovens have steam injectors. They bake the bread in a hot oven with plenty of steam injected into the oven in the early part of the baking. You can mimic that process at home with a mister and a pan of hot water in the bottom of the oven. The recipe will tell you how. But be very careful; steam burns.
The sourdough. When you buy yeast in the store, you are buying thousands of tiny yeast spores aggregated together into little grains using dextrin or another additive. But the air is alive with invisible yeast spores. When they land in your culture of flour and water and if the temperature, moisture, and pH are right, they begin to grow. The gas they give off leavens your bread. The alcohol they give off provides a yeasty flavor. Wild yeast tends to give a sharper flavor than domestic yeast.
Yeast is easy to grow but sometimes tricky to start. In this recipe, we start the culture with a pinch of yeast and then let the wild yeast take over.
The flavor. The yeast in your dough is alive and growing. Realizing that and the conditions in which yeast thrives is essential to understanding bread baking. It takes a warm, wet dough—yeast thrives at about 80 degrees, stops growing at about 45 degrees, and starts to die at 130 degrees. That’s why temperature is critical.
Yeast likes a slightly acidic environment. That’s why your grandmother’s recipe may have called for a tablespoon of lemon juice. A good dough conditioner, among other things, will provide a slightly acidic environment.
As the yeast grows, it produces carbon dioxide gas and alcohol. The gas provides leavening to raise the bread and create air pockets. The alcohol provides the flavor. At lower temperatures, the yeast creates less gas but more alcohol—enough to make dynamic changes in your bread. That’s where all the rich yeasty flavors in this recipe come from—thousands of yeast cells struggling at low temperatures creating lots of alcohol but little gas.
That first winter, my garage always seemed about 40 degrees and I nearly always had bread dough in the garage. I could adjust the temperature that I wanted to use by placing the dough on shelves either up high or down close to the floor or moving the dough closer to the front or the back of the garage. It seemed that the best bread came after the dough was refrigerated in the garage for three to five days. At that point, the bread was full of alcohol. Of course, the alcohol is destroyed in baking.
Commercial bakers do the same thing with a retarder—basically a refrigerator box with a timer and temperature control—which is used to “retard” the growth of the yeast. If you don’t want to use your garage, use your refrigerator.
Easy Sourdough Bread
Sourdough simply uses wild yeast in place of commercial yeast to leaven the bread. It relies on the wild yeasts that are in the air all around us and cultures those yeasts in a warm, wet environment created with water, flour, and sometimes other components.
When creating a sourdough starter, we always felt like we were on an expedition trying to trap invisible yeastie beasties with our flour and water concoctions. Because we couldn’t see the beasties, we were never sure what we had captured. While usually successful, we never felt like we were in control. Maybe that is the way sourdough bread should feel, a symbiosis with nature.
But there is an easier way: use commercial yeast in the starter. I know, that’s heresy to the sourdough bread zealot but we only care about the bread. Using commercial yeast is easier, it’s the alcohol from the long cool fermentation that creates the sourdough-like flavor, and the wild yeasts will eventually take over the starter anyway. Because it’s easy, it’s no big deal if you abandon your starter after a few weeks; you can readily start another when you’re back in the mood or have the time.
In this recipe for sourdough bread, a small amount of yeast is used in the starter. As the starter is used and refreshed with new feedings of flour and water, wild yeasts are introduced and cultivated.
Ingredients
For the starter
- 1 cup warm water (about 110 degrees)
- 1/4 teaspoon yeast
- 1 cup high gluten unbleached flour
For the sponge
- 1 cup of the starter
- 3/4 cup warm water
- 2 cups flour
A sponge is a pre-ferment, a wet mixture of flour and yeast that acts as an incubation chamber to grow yeast at the desired rate. It is added to the dough.

For the dough
- All of the sponge
- 1 1/2 cups flour (more or less)
- 1 1/2 teaspoons salt
- 2 teaspoons Professional Dough Conditioner
Instructions
- Starter: Mix the starter in a glass or steel bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and set it aside at room temperature until it is doubled and bubbly (maybe 4 to 6 hours).
- For the Sponge: Mix the one cup starter with the flour and water, cover, and set aside to ferment until it has tripled in volume. At room temperature, it will take four to eight hours. You can put it in a cool place – about 50 degrees F – and let it perk all night. (In the winter, your garage may be just right.) You can also put it in the refrigerator overnight. At temperatures of 40 degrees, the yeast will be inactive but the friendly bacteria will still be working and enhance the sour flavor of the bread. If you retard the growth with lower temperatures (“retard” is the correct term for slowing the growth of the yeast), simply bring the sponge to room temperature and let it expand to three times its original volume before proceeding.
- For the dough: Mix the salt and conditioner with the flour. Knead the combination into the sponge by hand until you have smooth, elastic, slightly sticky dough, adding more flour as needed. Put the dough in an oiled bowl and let it rise again until doubled (about an hour).
- Form the loaves: Though you can make this bread in pans, it works best as a large, freestanding round or oval loaf or two smaller loaves. Place a clean cotton cloth in a bowl or basket in which to hold the loaf. Lightly dust the interior of the bowl with flour. Place each formed loaf upside down in a bowl on top of the dusted flour. Cover the loaves with plastic and let them rise again until doubled. This rising will probably take less than an hour.
Bakers note: Notice that the salt is not added until the last stage. Salt in the sponge would inhibit yeast growth.
Bakers note: You want a light dusting of flour on the cloth to be transferred to the bread, not a heavy caking. Softly sifting flour from a strainer or with a flour shaker is the easiest way to achieve an even coating. You can find both a small strainer and a flour shaker in our kitchen tool section.
If you choose to bake the bread in pans, omit this step. Instead, let the dough rise in a greased bowl covered with plastic until doubled. Form the loaves for pans, place the loaves in greased pans, and let rise until well-expanded and puffy. Bake at 350 degrees until done (about 30 minutes).
To bake crusty bread
To form the thick, chewy crust that is typical of artisan breads, follow these instructions: Place a large, shallow, metal pan in the oven on the lowest shelf. You will pour hot water in this pan to create steam in the oven. (High heat is hard on pans so don’t use one of your better pans and don’t use a glass or ceramic pan which might shatter.) An old sheet pan is ideal. Fill a spray bottle with water. You will use this to spray water into the oven to create even more steam.
Heat the oven to 425 degrees F. When the oven is hot and the bread is fully risen and is soft and puffy–being very careful not to burn yourself with the rising steam and with a mitted hand—turn your head away and pour two or three cups of very hot water in the pan in the oven. Quickly close the oven door to capture the steam. With spray bottle in hand, open the door and quickly spray the oven walls to create more steam and close the door. The oven is now ready for the loaves.
Work quickly to get the bread in the oven before the steam subsides. Gently invert the loaf or loaves onto a slightly greased non-insulated baking sheet on which a little cornmeal has been dusted. With your sharpest knife, quickly make two or three slashes 1/4-inch deep across the top of each loaf. This will vent the steam in the bread and allow the bread to expand properly. Immediately, put the bread in the steamy oven. After a few moments, open the door and spray the walls again to recharge the steam. Do this twice more during the first fifteen minutes of baking. This steamy environment will create the chewy crust prized in artisan breads.
Let the bread bake at 425 degrees for fifteen minutes in the hot steamy oven then reduce the temperature to 375 degrees and bake for a total of 35 to 40 minutes. Check on the bread ten minutes before the baking should be complete. If the top is browning too quickly, tent the loaf with aluminum foil for the remainder of the baking to keep it from burning. The bread is done when the crust turns a dark golden brown and the internal temperature reaches 210 degrees. It is important that the bread is well-baked to drive moisture from the loaf. If the bread is under baked, the excess moisture will migrate to the crust and you will no longer have the dry chewy crust of a great artisan loaf.
This sourdough bread is to die for. The prolonged rising gives the yeast plenty of time to convert the starch to sugars and the friendly bacteria a chance to impart their nut-like flavors.
Storing your crusty bread
Unused crusty bread should be stored in a paper bag at room temperature. If the bread is stored in a plastic bag, the crust will become soft.
Recommended Equipment and Ingredient Choices
Great bread requires good bread flour. All-purpose flour will not do. We’ve tried dozens of bread flours and there really is quite a difference. Find one that you love and stick with it. It should be unbleached.
We use General Mills Harvest King Flour almost exclusively for bread. Do a little research online and you’ll find a nearly cult-like following. It’s a wonderful commercial bread flour made to a very tight spec. But alas, it can be very hard to find. (We can sell you a 50 pound bag but the cost of shipping is a little painful.) Occasionally, you can find it in the grocery stores. General Mills Better-for-Bread Flour is purportedly the same thing if you can find that.
Once a bag of flour is opened, it will dry out if not covered. Consider pouring it into a bin with a cover for storage. We sell large, heavy plastic bags that are food grade and big enough for 50 pound bags. We place opened bags of flour in these bags and close them with a twist tie. We also place our bread dough in these bags to let it rise without drying out. The bags act as a little greenhouse to create a warm, moist environment.
It doesn’t take much in equipment. My equipment is battered and bruised and I love it. You will need a good baker’s thermometer so that you can tell what’s going on with your dough and test doneness. I have a battered, rusted baking sheet about an inch deep that I use as a steaming pan in the bottom of the oven. Don’t use one of your good nonstick sheets. You’ll need a spray mister like the one you may use when ironing clothes. I have a couple old, dark pizza pans that I bake most of my artisan bread on. Don’t use a silver pan; it reflects heat. A perforated pizza pan is perfect.
For dusting your pans, use a coarse corn meal.
As you work with your dough, you’ll find that you reach for a flour shaker over and over. A bench scraper is handy.
Dennis Weaver is the founder of The Prepared Pantry, a full line kitchen store in Rigby, Idaho. The Prepared Pantry sells kitchen tools, gourmet foods, and baking ingredients including hundreds of hard-to-find ingredients.
How China deals with US provocation
What made you cry today?
This.
This is the money I gave to my mother before she came home.
So, my mother and father just visited my house while visiting my in-laws (our houses are in different districts). They stayed for 3 days and went home today. Before my mother and father went home, I gave them some money each for snacks and gasoline, that was the intention.
For my mother, I gave 350 thousand because yesterday was Eid, I just gave her money. I usually give 3 times the usual monthly allowance during Eid because there are definitely a lot of needs. So I gave it today with the intention of just buying snacks. For my father, I also gave him a different amount. But as soon as I said goodbye, my father’s car had left and I had entered the house, a WA message came in from my mother to me. I checked the majmu’ that she usually uses to recite the Koran here and there was money. My tears fell.
And this is a whatsapp from my mother today when my mother was in the car on her way home.
“I asked for 150 thousand rupiahs, and I put the other 200 thousand rupiahs in your ledger. I still have money because it’s just for buying medicine and souvenirs. Dad has work. Thank you very much because I still have the rest of the Eid money.”
I cried. I was sad. I could only give a little, but my mother was incredibly understanding. Always grateful and thankful for whatever I gave her. I only gave her 350 thousand, my mother returned 200 thousand because she said she still had the money from yesterday. My parents never asked for money, never asked me to buy this and that. I became even sadder that I could not give her properly and make her happy.
Stay healthy and live long, Sir, Ma’am. May Allah increase my fortune so that I can continue to please you in your old age. 😭 I’m crying.
Oak
Submitted into Contest #279 in response to: Write a story about a character who’s lost.… view prompt
Chaos Möp
It was the sound of someone singing to themselves rather nervously, not once hitting a single Note. She had heard rumors, that wolves had returned to the forest, and hoped desperately, that her fathers claim was true. She dared to doubt that they would avoid humans if they heard them coming, but it was the only hint of safety she could get. After all, where must be reasons people kept out of the woods, even before the wolves returned.
She honestly begged the others to have the picnic somewhere else, but they just wouldn’t listen. The forest was safe enough, they said. The usual Park was boring, they said. So now she was here, having turned her bright and familiar fields, as she faced the green wall infront of her. Her desperate song wavering, almost fading, as she took one deep, final breath, before the living ocean shallowed her whole.
The Instructions she got there clear enough. At least they seemed clear enough, while she was sitting in the shadows of her gardens only Apple tree.
“Follow the big road, till it meets a little pathway on your left. Follow it until you see the really big oak. If You see it, face away from it, and walk in a straight line. There should be a little waterfall, there we will wait for you.”
She truly managed to find the path without much issue. Barely more than a wild path, made only by rare stealthy feet throughout countless lonely years, but still easy enough to spot. To find the big oak however, proofed to be a much more difficult challenge.
There where many oaks close to the path, and the crowns of the trees all seemed to blend into one another, so that it became almost impossible to tell if one of them seemed to be a bit taller than the others. After she walked past the tenth oak without spotting a clear distinguishing factor concerning the height of the trees, a seed of panic began to grow inside of her Chest. The more franticly she began to look for an oak that fit the description “really big”, the colder and quieter did the forest seem to her. She felt as if the late summers light, of which little managed to break through the treetops in the first place, faded more and more.
One of these trees needed to be the really Big Oak. She probably passed it already. She was alone in the woods no one ever entered. She needed to find that Oak. The next one must be it, certainly. Or maybe it was the last one. Didn’t it look like its Branches started a little bit higher? What if she chose the wrong tree, if she missed the waterfall or ran of in a completely wrong direction? Would she disappear in there, never to see the warm light of the sun again? She should turn back as long as she still had the chance, but her friends were still in there, waiting.
Eventually, the path made the choice for her. It did not stop, it slowly faded, becoming less and less distinguishable from the undergrowth of the forest, till it was no longer visible at all. She chose to turn back, for clearly, she went too far and passed by the big oak. But despite her Attempts to trace her steps back, the path would never reappear. She was lost. Lost, alone inside the woodland Labyrinth.
As cold as ice the woods now seemed, and the branches of the silent giants seemed to grab for the sole, unwelcome intruder in their midst. Hopelessly, all the desperate courage she kept in her heart leaving her like water that she tried to hold in her Hands. She sunk to the ground, as a desperate Song, like a final Attempt to calm her nerves was quickly replaced by silent sobbing.
She was alone. She was lost. Lost where no one would ever seek her. Lost in old Woods with no way out. She was alone. As painful and terrifying as that thought had fled, As desperately she wished it to be true, as the forest began to sing.
A wordless Song filled the cold air. Inhuman yet hauntingly beautiful, mournful and yet filled with a distant longing. A Song she had hoped to go her entire life without hearing. A forest song, a moon song, a wolve song. It seemed to come from everywhere, surrounding her from all directions. She sung so they would hear her, and where fore would avoid her. But now she couldn’t bring herself to make a single sound. Even just to move seemed to be thing of absolute impossibility. Was that the sound of a twig snapping under a paw? Was there Movement in the undergrowth over there? Every little sound the forest made, every little breeze suddenly seemed like a deadly threat, just waiting for the right Moment to strike.
As she sat there, in the Moment of greatest fear and despair, is seemed to her like she saw a rough line, where the undergrowth was a bit lower, a bit less dense. “The path” she thought, as a tiny spark of hope returned to her heart. Slowly she got up and made her way to she thought she spotted the path. Very slowly. Her father always said that wild animals on the hunt would see you as prey if you ran from them, so she forced herself to walk slowly. All her instincts were screaming at her to run, but she remained slow, setting one-foot Infront of the other.
The feeling of restless stares, of unnumbered unseen eyes, burned in her back. One Foot Infront of the other. All noises but the howls died down. One Foot Infront of the other. The leaves rustled close to her. One Foot Infront of the other. Thorn bushes tore on her dress and scratched her skin. One step Infront of the other. A shadow mowed in the back of her eye. One step Infront of the other. The branches moved. One step Infront of …
The branches grabbed for her. She ran. She ran dodging vines and thorns. She ran against the wind, which grew and grew in strength. She ran, just blindly in one direction, not caring if she still followed the path. Not caring about the size of any oaks. Not caring about the now quieter howls, that did not seem to pursue her. She just ran.
Suddenly she stumbled out of the woods. Warm sunlight greeted her, bright and blinding after the eternal twilight bellow the forest roof. She wanted to laugh in relief, to run Home. To eat a delicious dinner. To wait for her friends to get back and tell them that they could never enter that forest again. To never in look in its direction.
But instead of the quiet silence of the wild fields, a thundering roar filled her ears, drowning out even the now distant howls of the wolves. It was not the short lived, threatening roar of some beast. It was the roar of water. Endless masses of water, falling with the full force of nature. Falling down endless cliffs on the side of a Mountain high enough to pierce the sky. A Mountain that should not and could not have been hidden from her home, for it was simply too big and enormous not to be seen throughout all the land. And yet it wasn’t, for the forest never even seemed to have some particularly notable hill. This should not be possible, but still she stood there, speechless on the bottom of the waterfall, the silver stream of a wild river blocking her way forward, Splitting the woods in two. This way, she couldn’t leave or find her way back.
So, she turned around and froze again. The way she came, almost a straight skyline away, one tree towered above the rest. It was not just a bit taller; it was huge. Its trunk alone seemed to be wide enough to fit a larger house. And its highest leaves scratched the clouds. “oak” she thought, with some Amusement that even surprised herself.
Remembering her friend’s instructions, she chose to look around for a bit, as she spotted some stones close to the forest edge. They there of an odd color, as dark as coal. Some even seemed to be partially molten. Upon closer expectation, the forest seemed to hide the scorched remains of an overgrown wall. Even an empty hole still revealed the spot a gate once stood, curiously she walked through it. Infront of her where Wide fields. Behind her the sun drew golden spots on mighty trees swaying in a slight Breeze. The song of birds and the rustling of leaves mixed with the murmuring of a small stream hidden behind the tree line.
In an endlessly wide forest, close to an enormous Waterfall stood the long lost remains of an an once proud castle, lost to fire long ago. Who looked close enough on the scorched remains of its walls, might discern words in the pattern of Moss and Ranks. We are Sorry, they could have read, and wondered.
What does China mean when it says it does not want a trade war, but will not back down?
What China meant are in its actions.
Versus Trump’s first additional 10% tariff, China levied tariffs of 10% and 15% on US coal, LNG, crude oil, agricultural machinery, and large engine cars and pickups + add more minerals to its exports control list + put 2 US companies in its unreliable entity list + put 2 US companies under investigations for monopolistic practices.
Versus Trump’s second 10% tariff, China levied 10% tariff on sorghum, soybean, pork, beef, aquatic products, fruits, vegetables, and dairy products, and 15% tariff on chicken, wheat, corn, and cotton + 15 US companies including those in defence tech were added to its exports control list + put 10 more US companies in its unreliable entity list + start the probe into US fibre-optic products for circumventing anti-dumping measures (the first of its kind in China).
Notes: (a) Companies in the exports control list require special approval to receive shipments of dual-use goods. (b) Companies in the unreliable entity list are banned from trading with China.
The most notables of China’s responses are:
(1) They were immediate and willing, not delayed and reluctant, such as, during Trump’s first term,
(2) China went beyond tariffs into sanctions of exports control, unreliable entity list, and special investigations. It had earlier ban the exports of certain critical minerals and technologies to the US, the most important are rare earths technologies,
(3) the goods it tariffed are goods for which it has multiple alternative sources. It could just refrain from buying US, such as it announced on 4 March the suspension of soyabean imports from 3 US companies, as well as, timber imports from the US, citing beetles in shipments. If US exporters want to maintain their market, they have to lower prices and bear the tariffs, and
(4) these goods are mostly exports of Republican-controlled states, in other words, Trump’s voters.

Sometimes, it’s hard to know when to rein my ambitions when I solving mysteries or chasing my dream. I want to know / find out “something”.
I found some clues which maybe I will know in my way, but match with what MM said in videos, so I don’t need to find out. Such like “about 4 Hz” in MM’s affirmations video “Spinning Injection”, and how many Domain member (with volunteer) in this Earth. But here’re something importance out of this area, and I think Domain Commander or MM wouldn’t make me know, maybe because they don’t know, or if I need to create something.
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Taiwan has many very serious problems, and it seems worse. It’s hell, but such like American dairy cattles. The dairy cattles could supply milk, younger dairy cattle, and meat.
Low income, high cost. If you want to buy a house, it such like you want to buy a palace in normal country. Politic problems, traffic problems, parking problems, business problems, many things are problems. Many fake informations, and shaping people’s consciousness. No future, no kids, no hope.
But I need to learn some things from MM’s articles and videos first. I can’t just order ” ” to destroy the USA’s nuclear weapon directly. It’s not mean I want to do it, I just used another way to say that.
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Sometimes / some times I still feeling like that I’m in the war zone, but such like ” ” show me, and I know遠征軍is controlling this / these areas, so that’s no need to worry about. Just need some alert, because here’re not such calm (as my hometown).
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I need to save me, so I need to keep finding “something”. I’m not just want to save me, but I need to finding “something”.