May the odds be ever in your favor. This two-disc combo pack includes The Hunger Games on DVD and UltraViolet Digital Copy.” . . . More at the Amazon Page
Find Star Trek (Single-Disc Edition) at Amazon.com Movies & TV, home of thousands of titles on DVD and Blu-ray.” . . . More at the Amazon Page
Find Atlas Shrugged II: The Strike at Amazon.com Movies & TV, home of thousands of titles on DVD and Blu-ray.” . . . More at the Amazon Page
Iron Man 2 (Single-Disc Edition): Robert Downey Jr., Don Cheadle, Scarlett Johansson, Mickey Rourke, Samuel L. Jackson, Gwyneth Paltrow, Sam Rockwell: Movies & TV” . . . More at the Amazon Page
The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (Two-Disc Widescreen Theatrical Edition): Elijah Wood, Ian McKellen, Liv Tyler, Viggo Mortensen, Sean Astin, Cate Blanchett, John Rhys-Davies, Bernard Hill, Billy Boyd, Dominic Monaghan, Orlando Bloom, Hugo Weaving, Miranda Otto, David Wenham, Karl Urban, John Noble, Ian Holm, Sean Bean, Andy Serkis, Peter Jackson: Movies & TV” . . . More at the Amazon Page
Cloud Atlas: Tom Hanks, Halle Berry, Jim Broadbent, Hugo Weaving, Jim Sturgess, Doona Bae, Ben Whishaw, James D'arcy, Xun Zhou, Keith David, David Gyasi, Susan Sarandon, Hugh Grant, Lana Wachowski, Tom Tykwer, Andy Wachowski, Grant Hill, Stefan Arndt, Philip Lee, Uwe Schott: Movies & TV” . . . More at the Amazon Page
Find G.I. Joe: Retaliation at Amazon.com Movies & TV, home of thousands of titles on DVD and Blu-ray.” . . . More at the Amazon Page
Enjoy the unforgettable performance by Robert Downey Jr. in Iron Man, the 2008 action-adventure blockbuster, now available on DVD and Blu-ray.” . . . More at the Amazon Page
Firefly: The Complete Series: Nathan Fillion, Gina Torres, Alan Tudyk, Morena Baccarin, Adam Baldwin, Jewel Staite, Sean Maher, Summer Glau, Ron Glass, Joss Whedon, Tim Minear, Vern Gillum: Movies & TV” . . . More at the Amazon Page
Some people are basically just dicks! Take Abercrombie and Fitch CEO Mike Jeffries for instance. This collossal ass clown only wants his clothing worn by the “cool kids” and basically has a stated policy of “No Fat Chicks.” He hates “fat chicks” so much that he refuses to sell women’s xl sized clothing.
Someone asked Mike Jeffries, CEO of Abercrombie and Fitch, why his stores don’t sell plus-sizes for women when it does for men. His answer, in brief, was that fat chicks aren’t cool enough.
In an interview with Business Insider, Lewis suggested Jeffries “doesn’t want his core customers to see people who aren’t as hot as them wearing his clothing. People who wear his clothing should feel like they’re one of the ‘cool kids.’” The chain, which has more than 300 outlets in the US, sells men’s clothes in XL and XXL sizes, but these are designed solely to fit the muscle bulk of strapping sportsmen, says Lewis. “Abercrombie is only interested in people with washboard stomachs who look like they’re about to jump on a surfboard.”.
In response to Abercrombie & Fitch CEO Mike Jeffries not wanting “not so cool” kids or women who wear size large to wear his company’s clothes, Greg Karber has come up with a funny and creative way to readjust the Abercrombie & Fitch brand.
He’s giving their clothes to the homeless.
After scouring his local thrift shop’s “douchebag section,” Karber heads to LA’s Skid Row to dole out the clothes among the homeless population. Watch the stunt and find out how you can be involved in one man’s troll-job on a company with some pretty unflattering business practices in the video above.
Join the #FitchTheHomeless Brand Readjustment! Why should exclusionary designers market only to cool & popular kids, refusing to market to “not so cool kids?”
Donate your AF clothes to the homeless. Make AF the World’s Number One Brand of Homeless Apparel.
#FitchTheHomeless exclusionary homeless donate “brand readjustment” narcissistic abercrombie CEO t-shirt
There are these two young fish swimming along, and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says, “Morning, boys, how’s the water?” And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes, “What the hell is water?”
If at this moment, you’re worried that I plan to present myself here as the wise old fish explaining what water is to you younger fish, please don’t be. I am not the wise old fish. The immediate point of the fish story is that the most obvious, ubiquitous, important realities are often the ones that are the hardest to see and talk about. Stated as an English sentence, of course, this is just a banal platitude — but the fact is that, in the day-to-day trenches of adult existence, banal platitudes can have life-or-death importance. That may sound like hyperbole, or abstract nonsense.
A huge percentage of the stuff that I tend to be automatically certain of is, it turns out, totally wrong and deluded. Here’s one example of the utter wrongness of something I tend to be automatically sure of: Everything in my own immediate experience supports my deep belief that I am the absolute center of the universe, the realest, most vivid and important person in existence. We rarely talk about this sort of natural, basic self-centeredness, because it’s so socially repulsive, but it’s pretty much the same for all of us, deep down. It is our default-setting, hard-wired into our boards at birth. Think about it: There is no experience you’ve had that you were not at the absolute center of. The world as you experience it is right there in front of you, or behind you, to the left or right of you, on your TV, or your monitor, or whatever. Other people’s thoughts and feelings have to be communicated to you somehow, but your own are so immediate, urgent, real — you get the idea. But please don’t worry that I’m getting ready to preach to you about compassion or other-directedness or the so-called “virtues.” This is not a matter of virtue — it’s a matter of my choosing to do the work of somehow altering or getting free of my natural, hard-wired default-setting, which is to be deeply and literally self-centered, and to see and interpret everything through this lens of self.
People who can adjust their natural default-setting this way are often described as being “well adjusted,” which I suggest to you is not an accidental term.
Given the triumphal academic setting here, an obvious question is how much of this work of adjusting our default-setting involves actual knowledge or intellect. This question gets tricky. Probably the most dangerous thing about college education, at least in my own case, is that it enables my tendency to over-intellectualize stuff, to get lost in abstract arguments inside my head instead of simply paying attention to what’s going on right in front of me. Paying attention to what’s going on inside me. As I’m sure you guys know by now, it is extremely difficult to stay alert and attentive instead of getting hypnotized by the constant monologue inside your own head. Twenty years after my own graduation, I have come gradually to understand that the liberal-arts cliché about “teaching you how to think” is actually shorthand for a much deeper, more serious idea: “Learning how to think” really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience. Because if you cannot exercise this kind of choice in adult life, you will be totally hosed. Think of the old cliché about “the mind being an excellent servant but a terrible master.” This, like many clichés, so lame and unexciting on the surface, actually expresses a great and terrible truth. It is not the least bit coincidental that adults who commit suicide with firearms almost always shoot themselves in the head. And the truth is that most of these suicides are actually dead long before they pull the trigger. And I submit that this is what the real, no-bull- value of your liberal-arts education is supposed to be about: How to keep from going through your comfortable, prosperous, respectable adult life dead, unconscious, a slave to your head and to your natural default-setting of being uniquely, completely, imperially alone, day in and day out.
That may sound like hyperbole, or abstract nonsense. So let’s get concrete. The plain fact is that you graduating seniors do not yet have any clue what “day in, day out” really means. There happen to be whole large parts of adult American life that nobody talks about in commencement speeches. One such part involves boredom, routine, and petty frustration. The parents and older folks here will know all too well what I’m talking about.
By way of example, let’s say it’s an average day, and you get up in the morning, go to your challenging job, and you work hard for nine or ten hours, and at the end of the day you’re tired, and you’re stressed out, and all you want is to go home and have a good supper and maybe unwind for a couple of hours and then hit the rack early because you have to get up the next day and do it all again. But then you remember there’s no food at home — you haven’t had time to shop this week, because of your challenging job — and so now after work you have to get in your car and drive to the supermarket. It’s the end of the workday, and the traffic’s very bad, so getting to the store takes way longer than it should, and when you finally get there the supermarket is very crowded, because of course it’s the time of day when all the other people with jobs also try to squeeze in some grocery shopping, and the store’s hideously, fluorescently lit, and infused with soul-killing Muzak or corporate pop, and it’s pretty much the last place you want to be, but you can’t just get in and quickly out: You have to wander all over the huge, overlit store’s crowded aisles to find the stuff you want, and you have to maneuver your junky cart through all these other tired, hurried people with carts, and of course there are also the glacially slow old people and the spacey people and the ADHD kids who all block the aisle and you have to grit your teeth and try to be polite as you ask them to let you by, and eventually, finally, you get all your supper supplies, except now it turns out there aren’t enough checkout lanes open even though it’s the end-of-the-day-rush, so the checkout line is incredibly long, which is stupid and infuriating, but you can’t take your fury out on the frantic lady working the register.
Anyway, you finally get to the checkout line’s front, and pay for your food, and wait to get your check or card authenticated by a machine, and then get told to “Have a nice day” in a voice that is the absolute voice of death, and then you have to take your creepy flimsy plastic bags of groceries in your cart through the crowded, bumpy, littery parking lot, and try to load the bags in your car in such a way that everything doesn’t fall out of the bags and roll around in the trunk on the way home, and then you have to drive all the way home through slow, heavy, SUV-intensive rush-hour traffic, etcetera, etcetera.
The point is that petty, frustrating crap like this is exactly where the work of choosing comes in. Because the traffic jams and crowded aisles and long checkout lines give me time to think, and if I don’t make a conscious decision about how to think and what to pay attention to, I’m going to be pissed and miserable every time I have to food-shop, because my natural default-setting is the certainty that situations like this are really all about me, about my hungriness and my fatigue and my desire to just get home, and it’s going to seem, for all the world, like everybody else is just in my way, and who are all these people in my way? And look at how repulsive most of them are and how stupid and cow-like and dead-eyed and nonhuman they seem here in the checkout line, or at how annoying and rude it is that people are talking loudly on cell phones in the middle of the line, and look at how deeply unfair this is: I’ve worked really hard all day and I’m starved and tired and I can’t even get home to eat and unwind because of all these stupid g-d- people.
Or, of course, if I’m in a more socially conscious form of my default-setting, I can spend time in the end-of-the-day traffic jam being angry and disgusted at all the huge, stupid, lane-blocking SUV’s and Hummers and V-12 pickup trucks burning their wasteful, selfish, forty-gallon tanks of gas, and I can dwell on the fact that the patriotic or religious bumper stickers always seem to be on the biggest, most disgustingly selfish vehicles driven by the ugliest, most inconsiderate and aggressive drivers, who are usually talking on cell phones as they cut people off in order to get just twenty stupid feet ahead in a traffic jam, and I can think about how our children’s children will despise us for wasting all the future’s fuel and probably screwing up the climate, and how spoiled and stupid and disgusting we all are, and how it all just sucks, and so on and so forth…
Look, if I choose to think this way, fine, lots of us do — except that thinking this way tends to be so easy and automatic it doesn’t have to be a choice. Thinking this way is my natural default-setting. It’s the automatic, unconscious way that I experience the boring, frustrating, crowded parts of adult life when I’m operating on the automatic, unconscious belief that I am the center of the world and that my immediate needs and feelings are what should determine the world’s priorities. The thing is that there are obviously different ways to think about these kinds of situations. In this traffic, all these vehicles stuck and idling in my way: It’s not impossible that some of these people in SUV’s have been in horrible auto accidents in the past and now find driving so traumatic that their therapist has all but ordered them to get a huge, heavy SUV so they can feel safe enough to drive; or that the Hummer that just cut me off is maybe being driven by a father whose little child is hurt or sick in the seat next to him, and he’s trying to rush to the hospital, and he’s in a way bigger, more legitimate hurry than I am — it is actually I who am in his way. Or I can choose to force myself to consider the likelihood that everyone else in the supermarket’s checkout line is just as bored and frustrated as I am, and that some of these people probably have much harder, more tedious or painful lives than I do, overall.
Again, please don’t think that I’m giving you moral advice, or that I’m saying you’re “supposed to” think this way, or that anyone expects you to just automatically do it, because it’s hard, it takes will and mental effort, and if you’re like me, some days you won’t be able to do it, or you just flat-out won’t want to. But most days, if you’re aware enough to give yourself a choice, you can choose to look differently at this fat, dead-eyed, over-made-lady who just screamed at her little child in the checkout line — maybe she’s not usually like this; maybe she’s been up three straight nights holding the hand of her husband who’s dying of bone cancer, or maybe this very lady is the low-wage clerk at the Motor Vehicles Dept. who just yesterday helped your spouse resolve a nightmarish red-tape problem through some small act of bureaucratic kindness. Of course, none of this is likely, but it’s also not impossible — it just depends on what you want to consider. If you’re automatically sure that you know what reality is and who and what is really important — if you want to operate on your default-setting — then you, like me, will not consider possibilities that aren’t pointless and annoying. But if you’ve really learned how to think, how to pay attention, then you will know you have other options. It will actually be within your power to experience a crowded, loud, slow, consumer-hell-type situation as not only meaningful but sacred, on fire with the same force that lit the stars — compassion, love, the sub-surface unity of all things. Not that that mystical stuff’s necessarily true: The only thing that’s capital-T True is that you get to decide how you’re going to try to see it. You get to consciously decide what has meaning and what doesn’t. You get to decide what to worship…
Because here’s something else that’s true. In the day-to-day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And an outstanding reason for choosing some sort of God or spiritual-type thing to worship — be it J.C. or Allah, be it Yahweh or the Wiccan mother-goddess or the Four Noble Truths or some infrangible set of ethical principles — is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive. If you worship money and things — if they are where you tap real meaning in life — then you will never have enough. Never feel you have enough. It’s the truth. Worship your own body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly, and when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally plant you. On one level, we all know this stuff already — it’s been codified as myths, proverbs, clichés, bromides, epigrams, parables: the skeleton of every great story. The trick is keeping the truth up-front in daily consciousness. Worship power — you will feel weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to keep the fear at bay. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart — you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. And so on.
Look, the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they’re evil or sinful; it is that they are unconscious. They are default-settings. They’re the kind of worship you just gradually slip into, day after day, getting more and more selective about what you see and how you measure value without ever being fully aware that that’s what you’re doing. And the world will not discourage you from operating on your default-settings, because the world of men and money and power hums along quite nicely on the fuel of fear and contempt and frustration and craving and the worship of self. Our own present culture has harnessed these forces in ways that have yielded extraordinary wealth and comfort and personal freedom. The freedom to be lords of our own tiny skull-sized kingdoms, alone at the center of all creation. This kind of freedom has much to recommend it. But of course there are all different kinds of freedom, and the kind that is most precious you will not hear much talked about in the great outside world of winning and achieving and displaying. The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and effort, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty little unsexy ways, every day. That is real freedom. The alternative is unconsciousness, the default-setting, the “rat race” — the constant gnawing sense of having had and lost some infinite thing.
I know that this stuff probably doesn’t sound fun and breezy or grandly inspirational. What it is, so far as I can see, is the truth with a whole lot of rhetorical bullshit pared away. Obviously, you can think of it whatever you wish. But please don’t dismiss it as some finger-wagging Dr. Laura sermon. None of this is about morality, or religion, or dogma, or big fancy questions of life after death. The capital-T Truth is about life before death. It is about making it to 30, or maybe 50, without wanting to shoot yourself in the head. It is about simple awareness — awareness of what is so real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all around us, that we have to keep reminding ourselves, over and over: “This is water, this is water.”
It is unimaginably hard to do this, to stay conscious and alive, day in and day out.
Adapted from a commencement speech given by David Foster Wallace to the 2005 graduating class at Kenyon College. Mr. Wallace, 46, died last Friday, after apparently committing suicide.
Allosaurus /ËŒÃ¦lÉµËˆsÉ”rÉ™s/ is a genus of large theropod dinosaur that lived 155 to 150 million years ago during the late Jurassic period (Kimmeridgian to early Tithonian1). The name Allosaurus means “different lizard”. It is derived from the Greek á¼„Î»Î»Î¿Ï‚/allos (“different, other”) and ÏƒÎ±á¿¦ÏÎ¿Ï‚/sauros (“lizard”). The first remains that can definitely be ascribed to this genus were described in 1877 by paleontologist Othniel Charles Marsh. As one of the first well-known theropod dinosaurs, it has long attracted attention outside of paleontological circles. Indeed, it has been a top feature in several films and documentaries about prehistoric life.
Allosaurus was a large bipedal predator. Its skull was large and equipped with dozens of large, sharp teeth. It averaged 8.5 m (28 ft) in length, though fragmentary remains suggest it could have reached over 12 m (39 ft). Relative to the large and powerful hindlimbs, its three-fingered forelimbs were small, and the body was balanced by a long, heavy tail. It is classified as an allosaurid, a type of carnosaurian theropod dinosaur. The genus has a complicated taxonomy, and includes an uncertain number of valid species, the best known of which is A. fragilis. The bulk of Allosaurus remains have come from North America’s Morrison Formation, with material also known from Portugal and possibly Tanzania. It was known for over half of the 20th century as Antrodemus, but study of the copious remains from the Cleveland-Lloyd Dinosaur Quarry brought the name Allosaurus back to prominence, and established it as one of the best-known dinosaurs.
Born in Clarksville, Texas in 1924, Police Officer J.D. Tippit was a devoted family man, a husband, and a father of three. At the age of twenty, as World War II battled on, Tippit enlisted in the army and earned a Bronze Star for combat duty. Upon his honorable discharge, he returned home and married his high school sweetheart, Marie Gasway. The veteran and his bride had three children: Allan, Brenda, and Curtis.
After working at farming and other jobs, J.D. Tippit moved his family to Dallas and joined the police force. In one memorable incident in 1956, he and his partner encountered a crazed man at a downtown club. When the visibly drunk patron drew a semi-automatic pistol, they were forced to shoot the man to protect innocent bystanders. Officer Tippit received a Certificate of Merit Award for outstanding judgment and quick thinking.
J.D. Tippit didn’t shirk his responsibilities as a provider, either. By 1963, in addition to working full-time on the police force, he was moonlighting as a bouncer at Austin’s Barbecue on weekends. He also provided security services at the Stevens Theater on Sunday afternoons.
Historical Thriller Saving Jackie K blends fact and fiction to chronicle the tragic assassination of President John F. Kennedy. But the novel also examines the story of another innocent man who was shot to death in Dallas on November 22, 1963.
When JFK was shot, all the downtown patrol squads were ordered to report to the Texas School Book Depository at Elm and Houston. The dispatcher then instructed Tippit—in the residential area—to cover central Oak Cliff and remain at large for any emergencies.
At approximately 1:15 pm, as Officer Tippit cruised down Tenth Street just past Patton Avenue, he spied a man who resembled the suspect in the president’s assassination. The description: a white male, weighing 165 pounds, five-foot-ten, in his early thirties; had been broadcast to all on-duty officers. J.D. stopped the car and had a short conversation through the passenger window. Officer Tippit exited the squad car and headed toward the front of the vehicle. According to several eyewitnesses, Lee Harvey Oswald shot him four times at point blank range, killing the thirty-nine-year-old dedicated law enforcement professional.
The sudden and heinous violence left a widowed wife and fatherless children to grieve as they tried to imagine life without their devoted J.D.—husband, father, and hero.
Enter Saving Jackie K, an upside-down world where Soviet henchmen botched their mission to eliminate John F. Kennedy fifty years ago, slaying his wife Jackie instead. The unthinkable crime incites Americans and triggers an unending war with Russia . . .
In 1963, Mrs. Ruth Paine was living in Irving, Texas in a tiny white ranch house dwarfed by a sprawling live oak tree on the front lawn. The mini-kitchen inside contained not only a stove and refrigerator, but also a washing machine and ironing board. Separated from her husband, the Quaker woman lived with her two toddlers, Lynn and Christopher.
Through a desire to improve East-West relations in the world community, Mrs. Paine studied the Russian language for several years, and participated in a Soviet pen-pal program sponsored by the Quakers. Because of her interest in speaking Russian, Mrs. Paine was invited to a party in February of 1963, where she met Lee Harvey Oswald and his wife, Marina. Oswald had learned the foreign language on his own, and married Marina, a Russian girl, during the time when he defected to the USSR.
New Conspiracy novel Saving Jackie K includes information about real-life suspects and witnesses. But what about people who were involved on the sidelines?
Mrs. Paine and Marina, another young mother, became fast friends. When it became clear that Marina needed a place to stay, Mrs. Paine invited her and her two infant children to live in the Paine home, despite the cramped quarters in the two-bedroom house. Although Marina barely spoke English, Mrs. Paine favored the arrangement as way to practice her Russian skills. Meanwhile, Lee Oswald rented an elfin room in Dallas under an assumed name—Mr. O.H. Lee—a fact he kept hidden from his wife.
On the Sunday before the presidential assassination, Mrs. Paine dialed Oswald’s rooming house at 1026 North Beckley Avenue, at the request of Marina. “Is Lee Oswald there?” A man answered the phone and reported that there was no such person living there. The next day, Oswald called his wife, furious that she might have revealed his true identity. He didn’t want his landlady to know his real name because she might read in the newspapers that he had lived in the Soviet Union and had been questioned by the FBI.
On the night before the assassination, Mrs. Paine spent time sitting in her garage, painting alphabet blocks for her children. She was unaware that Lee Harvey Oswald’s bolt-action Mannlicher-Carcano rifle lay rolled up in a blanket on the floor.
On November 22, when Mrs. Paine learned that the president had been shot, she lit several candles. Marina asked her if it was a way of praying. Mrs. Paine said it was, in her own way.
In an interview after the assassination, Mrs. Paine described Lee Harvey Oswald: “I thought of him as a dissenter, a pamphlet passer, a person not contented with society as it was nor with himself . . . He certainly had very little training, so that he was not able to get jobs that interested him . . . He was not a particularly capable person.”
Enter Saving Jackie K, an upside-down world where Soviet henchmen botched their mission to eliminate John F. Kennedy fifty years ago, slaying his wife Jackie instead. The unthinkable crime incites Americans and triggers an unending war with Russia . . .