When I attended university it was a new experience for me. I moved from a small town, rural environment outside of Pittsburgh (coal mining country, next to the smoky steel mills of Pittsburgh) to the educational enclave of the ultra wealthy. I had all kinds of experiences…
…and due to my age and lack of experience in all these matters, lost out on many fun and exciting experiences as well. Shit! I could have really gotten a hundred girlfriends if my head was pointed in that direction.
It was a different time, and my “head space” was somewhere else.
Ah, but I digress.
Today, I want to talk about something that I have never mentioned to anyone before.
There were a lot of very, very, VERY wealthy kids that attended college with me.
Oh, sure there were the rich kids from the East Coast.Preppies, and the sons and daughters of the Jewish elite. The Jewish girls… well, we referred to them as JAPS. (Jewish American Princesses).
They were something else.
And the guys, the Preppies; those elitists… I had never encountered such folk before. But their snotty noses were so high in the air that it nauseated me.
But I am not talking about the preppy kids. No. I am talking about the “foreign students” from Africa, and the Middle East.
They all came from not only wealthy families, but presidential families. their parents ruled those African nations.
Heirs to Kingdoms, to presidential palaces; and wads and wads of cash.
Their parents insisted that they get STEM degrees. And so they attended school with me and many were in my classes.
Oh, often they would ask me to go out with them. And I did go sometimes. We had a blast at the disco, and the bars. They were all a rowdy group. There were different groups of friends. And I liked them all, but the only guy that I really spent a lot of time with was Samir from Syria.
He was a quiet fellow and we would study together at night when I wasn’t with Pete and Jay my regular “crew”. The rest were just twilight friends. Meaning Not yet good friends, but more than just an acquaintance.
It was years ago.
My one friend, we worked together on a science project to boil away water out of maple syrup though pressure instead of heat, actually became the ruler of (his African nation) for a spell. (I won’t list the name for his privacy.)
I was pleasantly surprised. I mean…WOW!
Another, a guy that we used to go to discos with, was one of the many “princes” of Saudi Arabia. Yet another was quite the “playboy” in Libya. Being so connected.
There was a cluster of perhaps six that were rotating in and out of my classes, with another four, perhaps that orbiting.
I wonder what my life would have evolved into if I focused on maintaining friends with these folk back in the 1980’s and how my life trajectory would change… who knows..?
… I do muse about that from time to time.
Don’t you know.
Today…
What is the biggest culture shock you have ever faced?
The biggest culture shock I ever lived was in Texas. I was arrested, Starsky-and-Hutch style, and jailed, basically for excessive speed.
I was on a visit at Texas A&M University at College Station, when friends from Dallas (ca. 180 miles = 300 km north) invited me for the Easter weekend. On the I-45 motorway, I drove at 80-90 mph, so as to alleviate the boredom from the long and monotonous route. I was aware of the speed limit at 75 mph, but I felt safe as most drivers did the same, and some drove even faster.
As I was getting close to Dallas, I noticed a police car behind me, with its red lights on. Based on the way the police behave in most countries, I took this for a request to make way. So I pulled over to the right lane and slowed down a little; and I didn’t bother more about it. Then, I noticed the police were still there, but I didn’t understand what was going on. I guessed they were after somebody, but did not figure out it was me: on the one hand, I wasn’t driving faster than most people around; on the other hand, I never thought they would quietly stay behind me if they wanted me to stop — my generation wasn’t addicted to U.S. series. Our home-grown cops order drivers to stop, not by staying behind them, but by moving to their left and signalling with the right arm. I was beginning to find the situation weird, when another police car came to my left, and a policeman signalled me to stop. I immediately did.
Then the big show began. The policemen yelled at me to get out of the car and put my hands on it. One was pointing a gun at me. I complied; they frisked and handcuffed me. They asked me why I hadn’t stopped at once; I answered that I had not understood. At first they obviously didn’t believe me, but I explained that the practice is different in my country. They insisted that I had no valid driver’s licence, as I didn’t possess a Texan one. However, I showed them both my French licence and an International Driving Permit, which is recognised in Texas. I had purposely fetched it at my prefecture before leaving France.
I felt eerie, as though I had gone out of my body, and watched myself caught in a cheesy crime TV series. Without subtitles: my command of spoken English is sufficient for daily communication but, well, not perfect. Broad Texan shouted at machine-gun speed, with a twang as thick as guacamole, is a bit of a challenge for me.
Progressively, I figured out the situation. Those who had chased me first were from Ellis County, and the one who had signalled me to stop was from Dallas County. I had crossed a county line, so the Ellis policemen had to request the help of the Dallas police. I had made them look like fools before their colleagues, so they were quite upset. But my crossing the county line also qualified as “evading arrest”, and evading arrest in a motor vehicle is a felony in Texas law. The Ellis County policemen called their superiors; after a one-hour wait in their car, still handcuffed, I learned that I was going to be taken to jail. The cheesy HBO nightmare was going on.
So I was introduced to the Ellis County jail in Waxahachie, Texas. The inner child thought: “What a name! Sounds like the chant of the Indian warrior, after he has captured the white guy who ventured too far, and tied him to the torture post”. My adult self added: “They have killed and removed the Indians, but they have kept the tortures”.
The prison personnel seemed surprised to see someone jailed for an offence he did not knowingly commit. They even said the charges should be dropped, as I did not know the custom and had never been arrested before. But, anyway, the sheriff had ordered to jail me, so they had to accommodate me. The check-in formalities are surprising. For instance the disinfection shower: you undress, a guy comes with a big sprayer like those used in vineyards, and sprays the cold stinking disinfectant on you, first front, then rear. You put on a heavy brownish overall. If you ask for reading material, they give you a Bible, a special edition with a foreword saying that God forgives even the worst offenders. Why not? This was Good Friday, after all. I read all of St Matthew and half of St John during my stay.
It was time to proceed to the detention room. I was quite anxious, expecting to spend the night in a cell with a few hardened felons, and wondering how they would deal with me. Fortunately, petty offenders are kept in large dormitories of 40-odd beds, with a TV set, tables… and a jailer staying in all the time. No way to pick on anybody when 40 witnesses and an armed guard are present.
I won’t say it was a pleasant time, but it was interesting. There was the local drug pusher, locked up without bail until his judgment: he was accused of “destroying evidence”, because he was cleaning his weed pipe when he was arrested. There was the blockhead who had tried to steal the sheriff’s own bathtub. Everybody was baffled by my story; Hispanic people were surprised to see a blue-eyed and fair-haired guy so ignorant of Anglo-Saxon habits and culture.
People had a deck of cards, they asked if I would play with them. I tried to teach them belote; obviously it was too tricky… I was asked many interesting questions: Do you have McDonald’s in France? Do you have Twinkies? This one puzzled me: I didn’t know the stuff. They offered me one! Let me thank them: the “official” meal that came on the morning was the most disgusting of my whole life. As they had taken all my money from me, I only had the normal prison grub, while the inmates could buy crisps, sweets and cakes. The drug pusher — a smart guy, actually — explained to me that the whole prison system was geared toward extracting as much money as possible from the inmates. A shocking revelation.
There came the curfew; I had to find a bed. To my surprise, I realised that the dorm was neatly divided: the whites on the left, the blacks on the right. And the only place left was in the black section. Just below me was, say, the kingpin. During hours and hours, he kept talking to his visibly sycophantic neighbours, yelling “wawawawaw Nig**r… wawawawaw Bro”. I just could catch those two words. Once he turned to me and, switching to more standard English, ironically commented “This is a f**king professor at A&M…” before returning to his mumbo-jumbo. Was the irony directed at me, or at the system that had put me there? I didn’t get it. Frankly, I would rather have slept, but I found it ill-advised to complain about the loud neighbourhood.
The next morning, I was called to arraignment. Of course, I didn’t know the word; I drew a smile from the jailer by ingenuously asking: “who is Raymond?” A judge first lectured me in legal gobbledegook, I panicked as I just could catch one word now and then. He explained to me again in plain English: the case was not dropped, but I could be released if I paid a sum of money. The jailer who had accompanied me expressed again his surprise that the charges had not been dropped. I could call my friends from Dallas, they undertook the formalities for my release. Together we discovered the fantastic world of bail bond agencies, roamed the county to find the pound where my car had been taken (no one had told me about its whereabouts)… One of their neighbours gave me the business card of a lawyer.
I flew back to France as soon as I could, shivering with the fear that one could detain me. The judicial process ran its course. The grand jury did not dismiss the case, but finally my lawyer negotiated the re-qualification. The “evading arrest” charge was dropped. I was fined twice, once for excessive speed, once for “failure to give right of way”. The total cost of this fine little joke (bail deposit + car pound + lawyer fees + fines) was almost $10,000.
I never came back to the US. In the form that must be filled to obtain the “visa waiver” (actually, almost as complicated as the visa was), there is one question: “Have you ever been arrested or detained in the U.S.?” I can’t even think of that.
Edit:
- More than 1,400 upvotes in 24 hours! Many thanks. I hadn’t expected this would be my most successful answer so far.
- I’ll disable the comment function for some time, as answering all your kind support messages, witty comments and useful advice has become a bit time-consuming.
- Double-thanks to the many Texans, and Americans, who have expressed their kind sympathy, and said they were sorry. Don’t worry: I have met lots of nice Americans and Texans, and I don’t have a bad memory of you as a people. This is a typical power-abuse story, within a police and justice and correctional system which have turned to soulless and heartless cash machines. Most often at the expense of people who can’t afford it, unlike me.
Fry Bread
This bread is used as the basis for Navajo Tacos and can also be folded over a stuffing and eaten as a sandwich. At special events through the Southwest they are cooked in large round pots over open mesquite fires by Native Americans.
Ingredients
- 3 cups unbleached flour
- 2 teaspoons baking powder
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 1 1/2 cups warm water or milk
- 1 tablespoon vegetable oil or shortening
- Oil or shortening, for deep frying
Instructions
- Measure dry ingredients into a deep mixing bowl.
- Add shortening and knead with hands until dough is in small pea-size pieces.
- Add warm, not hot, water and knead with hands until dough is smooth and leaves sides of bowl. Knead for at least 5 minutes.
- Cover with a clean dish towel, and place in a warm place to rise for 30 minutes.
- This is the secret for tender fry bread – kneading and resting.
- Divide dough into portions about golf-ball size and pat, slap, or roll out as round as possible, 1/4 inch thick.
- Fry in hot shortening or oil about 1 inch in depth. Fry both sides until light golden, not dark brown.
- Top with refried beans, confectioners’ sugar or honey.
Notes
Fry Bread is often served sprinkled with confectioners’ sugar or drizzled with honey. Sometimes chopped onions and chiles are mixed into the dough. The Ute tribe forms the tortillas in the same way as fry bread, but they cook them over a charcoal grill outdoors or over an open fire. This method also makes delicious Fry Bread.
Fry Bread is served on the plaza at San Xavier Mission Del Bac (White Dove of the Desert) in Tucson, pow wows, rodeos, etc.
Attribution
From the kitchen of Linda Ann Jolly, Arizona.
Paris is a Decaying & Horrifying City
Why do so many foreign people like going to China?
Ironically for disaster tourism.
They’re told China is a hellhole where everybody gets a bowl of rice every month.
Everybody has a gun to their head.
So? They think they can go there and lorde it over local people.
Anybody old will remember the first MIB film. The woman there says she’ll go to Cambodia and pay $1 for a lobster dinner.
They think that China is the poorest country in the world that they can spend $1 a month and live like gods.
Reality disappoints them, while China is cheaper than their home countries due to actually not allowing bankers to control the economy and rampant inflation. The living standard is pretty good.
It’s funny because many who think that way return and claim POTEMKIN VILLAGE!
The high speed railway is fake!
Everyone they met was a paid actor with families held hostage.
You’d be surprised just how many people I met like that on my travels in and out of Hong Kong over the past 20 years…
On the other hand, you get normal curious people who want to see what the world is like elsewhere.
Geopolitical and economic turmoil w/ Martin Armstrong
Inspirations for my art
Have you ever been so traumatized by a teacher that you wanted to confront them as an adult?
I have related this story before, but I hate, loathe and detest that “teacher” with every fibre in my body, despite what he did to me happening 69 years ago.
He was a tall thin man with a cadaverous (“looking like a dead body”) face. Imagine a class of 36 eleven year old boys, half of them boarders (living at the school), half of them dayboys (local, living at home).
First day at school, for half of us the first time we had been away from our parents. We had had a cryptic warning from a senior boy that there was trouble ahead. He just said “good luck, you’re going to need it”.
We sit in the classroom in total silence waiting for him. He bursts into the room wearing a black academic gown that billowed behind him, carrying a cane in his right hand and he shouts loudly “STAND UP WHEN I COME IN THE ROOM”.
We all stand up and he slaps the cane against his thigh like a N*zi officer. He sits down and says “SIT DOWN”. By this time most of the boys were so shocked they were crying. He did a lot of administrative tasks and most of the questions boys asked him were met with sneering sarcasm.
I had a major problem with my bladder for which I had been in hospital. The school knew about it, so this teacher must have been informed, but he refused to allow me to go to the toilet when I needed to.
I had to stand in front of the class and wet myself while he stood there and grinned from ear to ear. At first the the other boys giggled, but they soon saw the nastiness of what he was doing and sat in silence.
I solved the problem of having to wet myself by drinking no liquid whatsoever until after his lesson.
The worst situation was if it was a hot summer day and his lesson was the last one of the day. I was told by a doctor years later that I could have caused myself permanent kidney damage by doing that.
I am left handed and he constantly ridiculed me for that, making me write the alphabet again and again across two large chalkboards. At first the other boys giggled but they realised how nasty it was and sat in silence.
Eventually as my terror turned into anger when he did something to me I just looked at him and did what he said looking at him. As an adult I am confident in saying he was a psychopathic sadist.
You may well ask why didn’t I tell my parents. There were no ‘phones available to us in those days and all of our letters home were read before posting.
When I left school I kept thinking about going back and telling him what I thought of him, but I knew my hatred was so deep that I would almost certainly lose my self control and give him one hell of a beating.
In fact he died quite young which is some comfort, I only hope his death was slow and painful.
Andrei Martyanov on What Has Happened to Scott Ritter – How NATO and the West Completely FAILED
What is some surprisingly good advice you’ve received from a convict?
Originally Answered: What is some surprisingly good advice you've recieved from a convict?
I met this guy in prison that had been locked up for over 10-years. He was a hard core gang member.
The first time that I saw him, I didn’t like him. Actually, I know this is wrong, but I sort of hated him. The guy intimidated me just by being there. He was one of those guys that you look at and wonder how many people he has killed.
Anyway,he turned out to be a decent man. This individual shook my hand one day, and asked me if I was in a gang. Inside I’m wondering whether or not I should seek help. That’s how scary this guy looked.
We talked for a while and the conversation was nothing like I expected. This man told me that he was doing a 25-year sentence because he killed his cousin after coming home to find him in bed with his spouse. It was considered a crime of passion. He said that he regretted doing this because it haunts him every single day.
He took a class in prison so that he wouldn’t be on the system as a verified gang member.
I started opening up to my new friend, he laced me up about who I should stay away from, and he said “you’re going to be tested over and over again. You should learn how to discipline yourself by walking away from confrontations. It will be hard at first,and you will feel a little angry, but proving yourself in this place is going to be nothing but a freak show for most of these guys. You’re going to satisfy their cravings for violence but in the end you will lose whether you win the fight or not. Think of every single one of these guys as if they were your brothers.”
I didn’t really agree with this guy but later on, whenever I started feeling anger towards certain individuals, I thought of them as my brother, Mark. I saw some kind of characteristic of my brother in some of these guys. This made me realize what this man was talking about. There were times that I felt like pummeling some of these inmates, but I just imagined the same thing happening to my baby brother, and this totally made me forget my anger.
I stayed case free for the whole three years that I was in prison. It was not easy, but that advice that I received is mostly what saved me from either hurting someone, or getting hurt myself.
Scott Ritter : “They are marking me for death , and that’s something you don’t come back from”
He is correct.
Sadly.
Free speech means nothing.
Sorry, Scott.
MM has made a breakthrough in art style
Here’s some of my works from today.
Some have some very strong imperfections, but the style and the composition is much more to my liking. In fact, I believe that I made a “breakthrough” in how I approach the AI generation scheme. It’s really on another level.
I am kind of proud of my efforts.
No.
I take that back.
Of course there are a lot of nudes, as this is a classical style. If you faint when you go into museums and history class, then skip this part. Nudes are a serious part of the classical art scene. As “real” art transcends social limitations.
Otherwise enjoy.
I think that I am finally making some progress on facial expressions and composition. There’s a minimum of skin exposure, and the atmosphere is seductive; meaning that the mind searches for meaning.
And this first picture illustrates that …
This next one.
A little bit better dressed, but I am not a fan of the blue and red dress combinations with gold. I would prefer whites or off-whites. Maybe a nice white blouse on a off-yellow top, with a embroidered lace camisole.
But still, this picture has a something…
A “something”.
I don’t know what. I cannot quantify it.
This is better. Maybe the best. Really. I love so much about this picture. The way the rain glistens on the chest. The expressions on the face. The dramatic movement. The carefully placed clothing. The BEST.
It is a winner.
Now, here’s another “contender”.
I really love the expressions.
Same, but more subtle.
Better clothed, I think.
Too relaxed. Not so dynamic.
A true party.
Four female Goddesses of the wine.
I kind of like this.
All clothed. Has some elements that I really like.
This is racy, but really nice.
More lustful. I enjoy this one. Really lustful and sensuous. It appeals to me, but it’s not something that would be found over a fireplace in a living room.
Same but a modified style.
Now, this is something.
Along the same lines.
This is pretty good, but not yet on the right scale…
Ah. He had a bit too much to drink.
Ah, but he’s up now.
Ready for more.
They implore him… more, more… more.
Nice color mix.
Oh come on. We want you to play with us…
With wine, nothing else matters.
Let me be. It’s all wonderful.
The woman (you know who) is experiencing “rapture”. The others sense it and go along “for the ride”.
A true classic. And I KNOW that I am on the right track.
Do you want some?
I really like this one. It’s passed the appreciation threshold.
Ready for the night.
And all in the nude.
Now some of my “rejects”
Not the pictures that I want…
It’s the three armed girl that is disturbing. But otherwise fine.
This is Going to Hurt | Everything You Know is False | Dr. Lotte’s Near-death Experience
What happens if you make a mistake at Goldman Sachs? What happens if you accidentally make a wrong trade/call and lose the company some money? Would you get fired and suffer some penalty?
Originally Answered: What happens if you make a mistake at Goldman Sachs?
This is actually a perfect question for me to answer. Not only did I make a mistake during my first 6 months, but my roommate (also a GS analyst at the time) also made a mistake. He got fired; I worked there for 3 more years. Why?
When I realized I messed up, I immediately brought it to my manager’s attention. I provided all of the details, and helped where I could in cleaning it up. After the dust has settled, I came up with a number of proposals to prevent similar mistakes in the future, pointing out weaknesses and gaps in the oversight process we used.
My roommate, by all accounts, made a mistake of a similar magnitude. He was a quiet guy, and generally liked to keep to himself. Because of this, he tried to fix his mistake on his own, and not tell anyone. When the mistake was inevitably discovered, he was fired.
Goldman Sachs is a people firm. They do not expect, nor desire, automatons for employees. Given that, mistakes will happen. What matters most is how you handle the mistake.
What is it like to spend time in a prison in an underdeveloped country?
Originally Answered: What is it like to spend time in a third world prison?
In 2007, I was thrown in prison while filming a documentary in Zimbabwe. At that time I was profiling Betty Makoni and her work to help girls who had been raped and abused, by men who were counseled that if they raped a virgin they would cure their AIDS. My assistant at that time, Lauren Carara and I were in Zim to shed light on the issue that “Traditional Healers” were counseling men with to do this. The idea was that the blood of a virgin would wash away the disease. Crazy, right? You would be amazed at how many countries still teach this.
About 1/2 way through our two weeks there, we were arrested by 15 Central Intelligence Officers (CIO) brandishing Ak47’s and other guns. We ended up being taken to a police station and than taken to their prison. The prison turned out to be one of the worst torture centers in all of Zimbabwe. A decrepit 4 story building with gaping holes in the ceilings and floors-complete with torture rooms and a pool of sulfuric acid where Mugabe’s thugs could toss you in without a trace. Not even a bone.
I saw a man in a forced sexual situation, a man tortured, I was urinated on, stepped in feces and was told by the U.S. Embassy to get out by the weekend or Lauren and I would be raped or killed.
The prison was a co-ed and overcrowded. There was no food or water. Disease was everywhere. My husband hired human rights lawyers, the U.S. Embassy tried to help. We actually got out of prison with the help of a guy I met on Facebook who turned out to be a reporter in Greece who had a relationship with the CIA. He called his contact who called Zimbabwe on another phone. 10 minutes later the agent comes back and says, “She’s coming out AND she will have her film. ” When we got deported, I clutched that film to my side and flew home. This story is documented in “Tapestries of Hope” a documentary that originally aired on SHOWTIME. Currently you can also see the movie on NETFLIX and Amazon. Everyday I am grateful for still being alive.
this is BEYOND your wildest imagination
Why are Western countries so hostile and restrictive towards China and Russia? I need a reasonable and fair answer?
For russia, it’s simple. Right next door and too damn big to fix.
In other words, a clear and present threat that will not go away.
Chechnya, Georgia and crimea were all attempts at fracturing the Russian state. The enlargement of Nato, pushing all the way into Ukraine was to force Russia into a cul de sac, so that the economic and military might of the collective west can be brought to bear, through fair means or foul.
Russia was never going to be part of “Europe”, despite having the largest piece of Europe.
Yes, there is a long history behind the state of affairs, but my shifu was prescient.
“Europe” isn’t Europe, and naked prejudice is why a major war will likely break out.
As for China, too many industrious people making things the west want, leading to a balance of payment problem.
This was exactly what led to the opium wars, because the brits and later the Americans, hit on the brilliant idea to substitute opium for silver to pay for sought after porcelain (China), tea and silk.
Now we are seeing a repeat with the economic suppression and demonization within a larger, developing trade war.
It boils down to the maintenance of primacy and hegemony.
People are Maxed Out ….. Inflation Nation 2
What should you do when someone has taken your assigned seat and refuses to move on an airplane?
A few years ago, I was flying alone in first class with American Airlines. I purchased the ticket months in advance and, like always if possible, had selected an aisle seat in the back row. I printed out my boarding pass when I checked in 24 hours before the flight and confirmed my seat’s location at the back of the First Class compartment.
Flight day. They called us up to board. I was one of the last in the first class passengers line. When I held my boarding pass up to the scanner, it made a “bonk” noise. The gate attendant asked to see my boarding pass. I showed it to him, and he said something like, “Oh yes. Just one moment,” and printed out a new one, keeping the old one. I used the new one and went right through. I didn’t bother to look at it as I already knew my seat number and location.
When I boarded the plane, there was a woman in my seat. I said something like, “Excuse me, I think this is my seat.” She said “No, it’s mine” or something like that. She was seated next to a man who appeared to be her husband or boyfriend, who also joined in that this was her seat. The Flight Attendant came over, looked at my boarding pass and said, “No, your seat’s right there,” pointing at the first row, The woman in my seat and her dude nodded with grins on their faces like, “Told you, stupid.” I didn’t say anything. I just took the seat.
So somehow my seat was given away without my permission to this lady so she and her man could sit together, and I had been switched to the bulkhead seat without anyone bothering to tell me. I always avoid the bulkhead seats because you have to put all of your bags overhead as there is no seat in front of you to stow your bag under. I thought it was kind a a shitty thing to do and to not even mention it to me. Obviously, the Gate Attendant knew because he switched out the boarding pass. Frankly, if they had just explained the situation to me ahead of time, I would have agreed to switch seats even though I don’t like the bulkhead. But instead, the airline let me embarrass myself and snarky Suzy and her dude got to feel like they had put one over on me. Thanks, AA.
Ex Military Man Dies; Shown The Afterlife And Told Why We Come Here (NDE)
Amazing Cowboy, Indian and Trapper Art
A collection of some amazing art here.
Chilighetti
Quick, easy and delicious! Chilighetti is a great way to feed a hungry family.
Yield: 8 servings
Ingredients
- 1 1/2 pounds ground beef
- 1 large onion, chopped
- 1 (46 ounce) can tomato juice
- 1 cup water
- 2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
- 4 level teaspoons chili powder
- 1/2 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
- 1/2 teaspoon pepper
- 1 (16 ounce) package spaghetti, broken into 2 inch pieces*
- 2 (16 ounce) can kidney or pinto beans, rinsed and drained
- Sour cream (optional)
- Shredded Cheddar cheese (optional)
Instructions
- In a Dutch oven, cook beef and onion over medium-high heat for 8 to 10 minutes or until beef is no longer pink and onion is tender, crumbling the beef; drain.
- Stir in tomato juice, water, Worcestershire sauce and seasonings; bring to a boil. Add spaghetti. Reduce heat; simmer, covered, for 10 to 13 minutes or until pasta is tender.
- Stir in beans; heat through.
- Top servings with sour cream and Cheddar cheese, if desired.
Notes
* Spaghetti may be left unbroken if desired.
LEON THE PROFESSIONAL Movie Reaction! | First Time Watch
When Leon acts like a father… the girls say “I love this sooooo much.”
How did the Vikings have the fitness to fight when they drank and ate a lot of meat?
Well, to start with, they only drank mead and ale, and maybe wine if they went far enough south to get any. They didn’t have distillation. Also, drinking brewed drinks was much safer than drinking water, because they had been heated. Bad drinking water was the scourge of the medieval period; even kings died of dysentery.
As for the meat—the modern nutritionists and vegetarians have managed to convince us that meat is somehow bad for us. It’s not. The Arctic peoples eat almost nothing but meat, or did until the 20th century. People who work hard need protein to build muscle. They need calories, and fat is a good place to get them. The Vikings rowed their boats far up rivers and across oceans when the wind would not serve. Protein and fat were exactly what they needed.
Also, don’t get the idea that they were chowing down on big steaks every night. They had cattle, but they needed them mostly for milk, which they could make into cheese that could keep through the winter. Their other source of red meat was reindeer, but reindeer aren’t like beef cattle; they don’t have a ton of meat on them. The Vikings relied heavily on smoked and dried reindeer meat, smoked and dried fish, cheese, and rye crispbread. (Being dry, it doesn’t mold.)
A modern nutritionist would freak out if you adopted a Viking diet, but it makes sense if you also adopt a Viking way of life: hard physical labor every day, women as well as men.
WAR OF THE WORLDS (2005) MOVIE REACTION – THIS WAS INTENSE! – FIRST TIME WATCHING – REVIEW
A Tale of Opposites
Submitted into Contest #24 in response to: Write a story set in the dark recesses of space where the two main characters are often at odds with each other in humorous and comedic ways.… view prompt
Cassidy Caldwell
“Might you talk to him for me? I would tell you what to say, but I cannot find the words,” Weesnorp pleaded. “The creature cannot see you – it would be as though I am talking through you. My lips can match your speech!”
Parvus was pleased at this request. He often found himself to take pride in his own matchmaking abilities. “Very well, my good friend. I will do all that I can. You there!” He raised his voice a bit to get the attention of Amasius.
He was successful. “Yes?” Amasius answered, his voice deep and soothing.
“Are you from these regions?”
“Alas, no.” A hint of sorrow grew behind the dazzling eyes of Amasius. “I am from the far regions of the mountains. A large storm blew across my home, and I am here to find the necessary supplies rebuild it.”
At the sound of this, Parvus had an idea. “Might I help you with this endeavor, friend? I am quite tall. You can hand me the supplies, and I can use my height to reach your homeland on the mountaintops.”
Amasius cheered at this. “You are kind, sir! My name is Amasius. What might I call you?”
“Weesnorp,” Parvus answered.
“How wonderful. Thank you so kindly so your help. The supplies should be this way…”
The two followed Amasius to a forest where they could collect wood to build his home. Parvus spoke on behalf of Weesnorp, telling great tales of his friend’s many talents and marvelous abilities. Amasius was very impressed, and began to grow more and more fond of him as they walked. When they arrived, Weesnorp used his great strength to pluck the large trees from the ground, carrying a dozen in his arms all at once to bring to the mountains. They made their way to the spot Amasius wished, and Weesnorp set to constructing the home above the clouds, where he could see. Amasius spoke to him as he built:
“Weesnorp, would you care for some ungula to eat as you work? I have just caught some, and would gladly prepare it for you. It is a small gift of thanks.”
Weesnorp tensed. He could not eat ungula. It caused him great pain. To his disbelief, though, Parvus responded by saying he would gladly eat it.
He spoke to Parvus in his most powerful voice: “Parvus, I cannot eat that. It makes me sick!”
Without knowing that Weesnorp was speaking, Amasius tried speaking to him, asking, “Would you like a large portion of it? I have plenty, but I know ungula has quite the ability to cause illness. I do not wish you any harm!”
Parvus responded to Weesnorp: “It does not make you sick! You are a liar!”
Amasius was taken aback. The voice of Parvus was so loud that he believed Weesnorp was speaking to him. He could not hear the real voice of Weesnorp. “I am terribly sorry to insult you, friend, but I am well practiced in the ways of preparing ungula. My people have eaten it for centuries. I do not think I am mistaken.”
The two could not hear the cries of Amasius, as Weesnorp was so entangled in his own anger. Weesnorp retorted at Parvus: “I am no such thing! I am an honest creature, and I say that my abilities are greatly hindered when I eat ungula! You must believe me!”
Parvus had completely forgotten about Amasius, and turned his attention completely to Weesnorp. “I do not believe a word you say!” he challenged. “Your abilities do not serve much good, with or without ungula!” His voice was rising in volume as he argued further.
At this, Amasius was wholeheartedly offended. “How dare you insult my wisdom! I am a prudentia, a species of great power and knowledge! My people have studied ungula for centuries, and I am mightier than you could ever imagine!”
His cries were no use. He could not break the argument between Weesnorp and Parvus, and the two continued to bicker. “My abilities lack? No, Parvus. It is you who do not serve much good! You could not walk two steps without being crushed by a creature of larger stature! You are nothing without me.”
This was all Parvus needed. His tiny body swelled with anger, filling his lungs with as much breath as he could hold. He yelled with all his strength:
“NO! YOU ARE NOTHING WITHOUT ME!”
As he did this, he sent out a large gust of wind across all of Lenunculus. Entire seas became instant tsunamis. Mountains were torn from the land and thrown into the air. Worst of all, Amasius was lifted from the ground and hurled into the farthest reaches of Lenunculus – farther than any creature had ever dared to travel. The planet was turned upside down in a more disastrous manner than it had ever before seen.
To this day, Weesnorp and Parvus continue their mighty battle, ignoring any creature that tries to interrupt them. Winds blow throughout Lenunculus every now and then when Parvus becomes incredibly angry, but none will ever match the magnitude of that fateful day.
What’s your most embarrassing peeing in public experience moments?
This is the incident I regret my whole life .
So a few years back , about 25 girls and 8–9 boys from our village (16-22) years in age have gone to attend our friends wedding jagran to our nearby village . We left in evening in about 5 30 and reached there about 1 hour later . The jagran program was to last till morning 6 30 a.m . It started at around 7 30 pm and all of us were chanting bhajans , dancing , enjoying . But the horrible part comes after 10 30 pm in night after we had our dinner . All of us had some urge to use the bathroom but one girl was in super urge . She asked the someone where was the bathroom but there was no such bathroom as the event was organized in an open land in a village . Hearing this many boys walked a bit and started to urinate on trees , in open without hesitation. By now we girls also have to pee. We saw many other girls there who were in need to use the washroom. At around 11 pm it was uncontrolled as it was November month and in winters you pee more often .
We girls also decided to relieve ourselves in open , we walked a bit trying to search for a scheduled spot and we saw a place with standing water in some vast expense , many girls agreed to urinate in the water as they assumed it to be a water body . We were about 30 – 35 females in urge to pee . One by one we started to pee and others ensuring that no one sees . The sound of urine falling into water was very clear . After we all had done we left that place .
But when in the morning some local villagers went there to get some water for bathing or other household chores they saw that the water had turned yellow . Soon there was a Chios in the village . After the event some girls also went there and realized that it was the pond of village from where villagers used to take water . It was now contaminated , yellow and smelling really bad as it had about 30L of yellow pee floating into it .
I was very embarrassed by my act . I was concerned about the villagers that now they won’t have clean water for at least that day
Dozens of Corpses of The POLISH and FRENCH Commandos Were Taken To SUMY In Just One NIGHT
Have you ever been a victim of gaslighting? What happened?
Gaslighting into insanity
This is a horrible story. You have been warned.
It did not happen to me, but to an acquaintance.
Back in my teens, I used to hang out around a group of older kids. The kind parents and public service announcements label as “the wrong crowd”. I was not part of it per se, but close enough to have the inside scoop.
One of the guys, let’s call him George, was getting a bit too popular and cocky for the taste of his peers. They didn’t like that, so they decided to put him in his place by playing a “prank”.
They thought it would be hilarious to act weirded out at anything George would say, to make him feel odd and abnormal. The idea was to break his self confidence and make him doubt every single thought in his head. It looked a little like this:
George: “This is a cool song”
Peer #1: “Wtf are you talking about George, this is trash”
Peer #2: “Yeah George, you used to have good taste, did you hit your head or something?”
Group: *mocking laughter
or
George: “Can you pass me a cigarette?”
Peer #1: “George, you just had one, why do you want two in a row?”
George: “No I didn’t”
Peer #2: “Yes you did, are you losing your mind?”
Group: “yeah dude, you must be losing it…stop smoking weed”
or simply
George: *exists
Peer #1: “How are you dressing like that George, what the f*ck are you thinking?”
Peer #2: “Yeah dude, did you look in the mirror before leaving the house?”
Everything George said or did, his peer group would react with this:
On and on it went. A big part of his social interactions, purposely designed to chip away at his self image, little by little, until he started to doubt the validity of his every thought. Add regular drugs, alcohol and plenty of domestic problems, and it’s no wonder what happened next.
George went mad. Literally. He was checked in a mental institute after having a meltdown.
An unfortunate teenager, broken by a dark and twisted “prank” that worked all too well, orchestrated by people who were supposed to be his friends.
I don’t know what happened to him after that. I do know he was never the same. A mind shattered to pieces can’t fully be put back together. Last time I saw him, many years ago, he was not able to string a full sentence together. It’s hard to imagine him living a functional life.
Our need for social acceptance is deeply rooted into our being. Attacking that need by means of collective gaslighting is one of the most sickening, evil things I have ever encountered. I shudder thinking this whole thing came from the minds of teenagers.
The way people treat us is an extension of ourselves. Be careful who you surround yourself with, and be kind to those around you.
HEAVY BLUES • 45 Minutes of Hard Blues Rock Music
Not for everyone, but I know that at least one person will enjoy this.
Well done with your A.I. image generation breakthrough!
They definitely have “something” – some sense of an emotional moment happening. That doesn’t describe it well, sorry.