Hermes's eyes twinkled. "Martha, may I have the first package, please?" Martha opened her mouth... and kept opening it until it was as wide as my arm. She belched out a stainless steel canister-an old-fashioned lunch box thermos with a black plastic top. The sides of the thermos were enameled with red and yellow Ancient Greek scenes-a hero killing a lion; a hero lifting up Cerberus, the three-headed dog. "That's Hercules, " I said. "But how-" "Never question a gift, " Hermes chided. "This is a collector's item from Hercules Busts Heads. The first season." "Hercules Busts Heads?" "Great show." Hermes sighed. "Back before Hephaestus-TV was all reality programming. Of course, the thermos would be worth much more if I had the whole lunch box-
Practice being kind to yourself in small, concrete ways. Look at your refrigerator. Are you feeding yourself nicely? Do you have socdks? An extra set of sheets? What about a new house plant? A thermos for the long drive to work? Allow yourself to pitch out some of your ragged clothes. You don't have to keep everything.
All [Sadie's] previous attempts [of making a shabti (an Egyptian avatar of one's self)] had exploded or gone haywire, terrorizing Khufu and the initiates. Last week she'd created a magical Thermos with googly eyes that levitated around the room, yelling, "Exterminate! Exterminate!" until it smacked me in the head.
American coffee can be a pale solution served at a temperature of 100 degrees centigrade in plastic thermos cups, usually obligatory in railroad stations for purposes of genocide, whereas coffee made with an American percolator, such as you find in private houses or in humble luncheonettes, served with eggs and bacon, is delicious, fragrant, goes down like pure spring water, and afterwards causes severe palpitations, because one cup contains more caffeine than four espressos.
There's forty-two thousand jobs, near ten thousand of 'em got by people like us. Everyone's gotta eat. Industry feeds 'em. They figure Little Bear here's gonna clean it up." He squeezed his baby, a dimpled plump girl with tufts of jet-black hair. "Paa paa ba baaa!" she said. It was time for a nap. Lou sipped from his thermos, and Little Bear's eyes drooped, and Missy remembered the voice of Rasmus Krook. 'The people will pay with their whole being: physically, mentally, ideologically, spiritually, with their land, their soul. And not just country people. Not just native people. Poison will flow through villages, towns, and cities and not stop. We must rise up. We must disrupt the system. Capitalism is a deception.' "You can help pirates, " she said, because that's the only answer she knew. Lou lifted his coffee in salute, and Missy stood up to jump.
What, you didn't pack your lunch?' Ty asked sarcastically as he shifted around in the seat and wedged himself against the door. He kicked a foot up and propped it on the console between the two front seats. 'Sure, in my SpongeBob SquarePants lunch box. I have the thermos, too, ' Morrison shot right back. Zane kept his mouth shut, eyes moving between the two men, and occasionally back to the driver, who was casually paying attention. Ty stared at the kid and narrowed his eyes further. 'Spongewhat?' he asked flatly. Zane didn't even try to hold back the chuckle when Morrison looked at Ty like he'd lost his mind. 'Spongewha ... you're yanking my chain, aren't you?' Morrison said. 'Henny, he's yanking my chain.' 'Yeah, well, that's what you getting for waving it in his face, ' the driver answered reasonably. 'What the hell is a SpongeBob?' Ty asked Zane quietly in the backseat.
Picnic, Lightning It is possible to be struck by a meteor or a single-engine plane while reading in a chair at home. Safes drop from rooftops and flatten the odd pedestrian mostly within the panels of the comics, but still, we know it is possible, as well as the flash of summer lightning, the thermos toppling over, spilling out on the grass. And we know the message can be delivered from within. The heart, no valentine, decides to quit after lunch, the power shut off like a switch, or a tiny dark ship is unmoored into the flow of the body's rivers, the brain a monastery, defenseless on the shore. This is what I think about when I shovel compost into a wheelbarrow, and when I fill the long flower boxes, then press into rows the limp roots of red impatiens- the instant hand of Death always ready to burst forth from the sleeve of his voluminous cloak. Then the soil is full of marvels, bits of leaf like flakes off a fresco, red-brown pine needles, a beetle quick to burrow back under the loam. Then the wheelbarrow is a wilder blue, the clouds a brighter white, and all I hear is the rasp of the steel edge against a round stone, the small plants singing with lifted faces, and the click of the sundial as one hour sweeps into the next.
Il regarde les gens autour de lui, ecoute leurs conversations, suppute, pour chacun, ses chances d'echapper e sa condition presente. Les clochards, les vrais, c'est re¢pe. Les employes, les secretaires, qui viennent e l'heure du dejeuner manger un sandwich sur un banc, ils auront de l'avancement mais n'iront pas bien loin, d'ailleurs ils n'imaginent meªme pas d'aller bien loin. Les deux jeunes types e teªtes d'intellectuels qui discutent et couvrent d'annotations, avec l'air de se prendre tre¨s au serieux, les feuillets dactylographies de ce qui doit eªtre un scenario : ils doivent y croire, e leurs dialogues e la con, e leurs personnages e la con, et peut-eªtre qu'ils ont raison d'y croire, peut-eªtre qu'ils y arriveront, peut-eªtre qu'ils connae®tront Hollywood, les piscines, les starlettes, et la ceremonie des Oscars. La tribu de Portoricains, en revanche, qui deploie sur la pelouse tout un campement de couvertures, de transistors, de bebes, de thermos... : ceux-le , on peut eªtre se»r qu'ils resteront oe¹ ils sont. Encore que... qui sait? Peut-eªtre que leur bebe braillard, e la couche pleine de merde, fera gre¢ce e leurs sacrifices de formidables etudes et deviendra prix Nobel de medecine ou secretaire general de l'ONU. Et lui, e‰douard, avec son jean blanc et ses idees noires, que va-t-il devenir?
New Rule: You don't have to teach both sides of a debate if one side is a load of crap. President Bush recently suggested that public schools should teach "intelligent design" alongside the theory of evolution, because after all, evolution is "just a theory." Then the president renewed his vow to "drive the terrorists straight over the edge of the earth." Here's what I don't get: President Bush is a brilliant scientist. He's the man who proved you could mix two parts booze with one part cocaine and still fly a jet fighter. And yet he just can't seem to accept that we descended from apes. It seems pathetic to be so insecure about your biological superiority to a group of feces-flinging, rouge-buttocked monkeys that you have to make up fairy tales like "We came from Adam and Eve, " and then cover stories for Adam and Eve, like intelligent design! Yeah, leaving the earth in the hands of two naked teenagers, that's a real intelligent design. I'm sorry, folks, but it may very well be that life is just a series of random events, and that there is no master plan-but enough about Iraq. There aren't necessarily two sides to every issue. If there were, the Republicans would have an opposition party. And an opposition party would point out that even though there's a debate in schools and government about this, there is no debate among scientists. Evolution is supported by the entire scientific community. Intelligent design is supported by the guys on line to see The Dukes of Hazzard. And the reason there is no real debate is that intelligent design isn't real science. It's the equivalent of saying that the Thermos keeps hot things hot and cold things cold because it's a god. It's so willfully ignorant you might as well worship the U.S. mail. "It came again! Praise Jesus!" Stupidity isn't a form of knowing things. Thunder is high-pressure air meeting low-pressure air-it's not God bowling. "Babies come from storks" is not a competing school of throught in medical school. We shouldn't teach both. The media shouldn't equate both. If Thomas Jefferson knew we were blurring the line this much between Church and State, he would turn over in his slave. As for me, I believe in evolution and intelligent design. I think God designed us in his image, but I also think God is a monkey.