➊ The Crimes In Ernest Hemingways The Killers

View my complete profile. And a graphic they adapted from the CDC. Plus, Gladimir Putin has said his intelligence told Bush there were weapons of mass destruction. His work is studied religiously in high school and college; if you've taken an Should Cigarettes Be Illegal Essay class in America, you've read Hemingway. Along the same lines The Crimes In Ernest Hemingways The Killers City Neighbours for Northwest London. Guess he's kinda like Elvis. The media that I think is dying. When his best friend Teddy dies of an overdose on the last day My Passion For Musical TheatreJude Keffy-Horn finds his relationship with drugs and his parents devolving into the extreme when he gets caught up in an underground Wendelin Van Draanans Flipped culture known as straight edge. In English I'm more The Crimes In Ernest Hemingways The Killers, although I might come off as relatively rude due to Norwegian bad habits.

The Killers (Los Forajidos) 1946.

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The Letters of Ernest Hemingway: Volume 1, To Have and Have Not. Men Without Women. Ernest Hemingway: The Collected Stories. Islands in the Stream. Robert Henry added Green Hills of Africa. Dateline: Toronto. MorganAcuff added The Torrents of Spring. The Killers. The Garden of Eden. True at First Light. Winner Take Nothing. Across the River and into the Trees. Search for an item here and add it to the list! If you haven't read a book, don't downvote it. Had Boris left me after two years or even ten, the damage would have been considerably less.

Thirty years is a long time, and a marriage acquires an ingrown, almost incestuous quality, with complex rhythms of feeling, dialogue and associations. We had come to the point where listening to a story or anecdote at a dinner party would simultaniously prompt the same thought in our two heads, and it was simply a matter of which one of us would articulate it first. Our memories had also begun to mingle. Boris would swear up and down that he was the one who came upon the great blue heron standing on the doorstep of the house we rented in Maine, and I am just as certain that I saw the enormous bird alone and told him about it. There is no answer to the riddle, no documentation - just the flimsy, shifting tissue of remembering and imagining.

One of us had listened to the other tell the story, had seen in his or her mind the encounter with the bird, and had created a memory from the mental images that accompanied the heard narrative. Inside and outside are easily confused. You and I. Boris and Mia. It's about mothers and daughters, old friends, new friends, and the cruelty of teenage girls. And it's about what happens when your Most Important Person over the last thirty years just leaves. I haven't known anyone for thirty years, for obvious reasons. But as always, Hustvedt's characters seem so real that I find myself relating to them anyway.

I told my mom - who's known my dad since they were seventeen - the story of the heron, and she could relate. And I can certainly understand the feeling of losing part of yourself when you lose an Important Person. Or rather, feeling like you can't let that person go, because even if you never see them again, your personalities are so entwined that they will always be with you - in your memories, your associations, your tastes, in the way your mind works. In another book I recently read, love was defined like this: "Love means not leaving. Image: icanread. I never trust anyone who's more excited about success than about doing the thing they want to be successful at. I'm working on a blog post that has veered into "Can I really publish this or is it too personal?

And don't worry about me. I feel like this guy. Original image links here and here. I thought this was a sweet PostSecret. But realistically, the person receiving these coffee messages is either being completely oblivious or just politely ignoring them. My back-up hard drive stopped working today. It won't turn on, and I don't know yet if the data on it was lost. Naturally, it's a back-up hard drive, so anything important on it is also somewhere else.

But that's not the point. This was supposed to be the little box where my photos from Paris and my journal entries from the university years are safe, even if ok, probably when my beloved laptop gives up on me. And then the back-up died first. That which was supposed to keep me safe, turned out to be weak. When I was a little girl, my dad showed me a picture book about what happened to people who didn't back up their files. They were eaten by monsters. This was probably not a children's story, but a brochure designed to sell back-up software. I still grew up to be something of a digital hoarder. I once saved a text message for three years, transferring it from phone to phone. My digital music collection is obsessively organized, even though I usually just use Spotify.

When a friend dropped his laptop on the floor, I asked him: "You had back-up right? Now this loss, mere months after losing my RSS archive Bloglines, has made me paranoid. Are our files never safe? Between the cloud, where I am at the mercy of companies located on the other side of the world, and local storage, where technology just randomly dies, should I just learn to live archiveless? It's not like I want a physical archive. All the decent Paris photos are on Facebook. My best writing is published or e-mailed to someone. Most of my music is available either on Spotify or on some torrent site. I would mourn some of my favorite photographs and a few specific journal entries and writing experiments. And when the sheer inconvenience and missed deadlines blew over, I would be fine.

When I looked through the journal entries just two days ago, I found old documents that I have deleted from their original place on my laptop. Forgotten details of events that made such an impact on me that I wrote short story-ish accounts of them. Texts I liked enough to cut and paste from other blogs. Collages of party photos. Digital memories. I don't need them, but I'm glad I looked through them.

And just like I want to be able to read my journals from grade school those notebooks are in a cardboard box in my parents' attic , I want to be able to read today's unbloggable personal writing ten years from now. Call me a hoarder, but at least I mainly hoard words. So developers who want to make something upscale and sophisticated: Don't make me an app. I want the digital file version of those super secret bank vaults where they store treasure in the movies. I want to be able to tell someone: guard these files for generations; my great-great-grandchildren should be able to look at these photos and read these words. Images: 1 and 2. Last night, I posted a list of words missing from the English language , and one of them was "forelsket". I woke up this morning to a list of mentions on Twitter about the difference between the English "in love" and the Norwegian "forelsket".

In my head, "forelsket" is how you feel between just having a crush on someone and actually realizing you are in love with them. I guess if I were to use both my languages to describe how love evolves, it would be something like this: I like someone in general conveniently, same word in both languages , I have a crush which at least one friend of mine has directly translated into English as "ha et knus" , I feel "forelsket", I fall in love. This doesn't necessarily happen in that order, but on a scale of not-serious to very-serious, that's how it works. Is forelsket the same as infatuated? Not really. Infatuated implies silliness, irrationality and superficiality.

If I ever describe myself as infatuated, it's because I know I'm completely stupid and out-of-character, and that this insane crush will blow over any minute. On the other hand, I can be forelsket for a frightening amount of time. When I listen to friends who only speak English or watch movies in English, and someone says "I think I'm in love", I think: "No dear, you're forelsket. You just don't have that word in your vocabulary, poor thing. Forelskelse is when you have a theory that you might be able to fall in love with someone, but you just don't know them well enough to tell yet.

Sometimes I can use all my words, sometimes only a few, depending on who I'm talking to. I also appreciate the British verb "fancy" and the American "hooking up" I interpret it as an intentionally ambivalent way of saying "Something physical happened, but I'm not going to give you any details. Saying "I love you" in English is nowhere near as big a deal as saying it in Norwegian. Even when no one else agrees with my definitions or even understands me at all , speaking two languages fluently gives me twice as many ways to think about everything. There are some feelings I can only express in English and some I can only express in Norwegian, but in my own thoughts, I can sort out my emotions using my whole vocabulary. Related posts: Love in any language and I want to live in English.

And the list looked cool. Image: Premshree Pillai, Creative Commons. The Fur trilogy starts here My opinions on fur, from fashion to ethics to business. Love in any language Why Norwegian is sometimes better than English. I want to live in English Why English is usually better than Norwegian. The law of cat proximity works with any furry animal. South Africa through taxi windows "If we want to get to a time when black and white doesn't matter, we need a hell of a lot of taxis. Verdien av Precious Se denne filmen! Jeg vil ta master i verdensvitenskap! Tverrfaglighet FTW. Generasjon Facebook — endelig en bok om meg! I like to think I'm like everyone else, but I guess that makes me unique.

Hva skjedde med de norske bloggerne? Hvordan klikkhoreri fungerer Hvorfor vi nettjournalister horer ut nyhetene, skrevet for argument. Intelligente nyheter i illusjonenes tid Bak kulissene i Dagsrevyen, med Christian Borch, for argument. Kritikk av gode hensikter Bistandskritikk for argument. Sommer i E24 — media, mat og mac Sommervikariatet i E24 oppsummert med 3 m-er. Photo credit: ashlee. In Why foie gras is not unethical , food site Serious Eats investigates the conditions at American foie gras farms. According to their research, ducks are fine with being force-fed so their livers grow to ten percent of their total body weight there's a video of the process, called gavage, in the article.

The life of a foie gras duck is - apparently - more comfortable than the life of an average chicken. There are only three foie farms in the country, and none of them have the money or government clout to defend themselves the way that the chicken or beef industry does. It's a food product that is marketed directly at the affluent, and the rich are always an easy target. As an occasional delicacy, it's also a food that's relatively easy for most people to give up.

Personally, I find this kind of protesting abhorrent. If you are going to protest anything, it should be the industrial production of eggs, where chickens are routinely kept in cages so small that they can't even turn around for an entire year. The problem, of course, is that you tell people to stop eating cheap eggs, and nobody will listen. It's the same point I tried to make about fur last year: The debate is confusing , boycotting something you would never buy anyway is useless , and assuming you're ok with animals being killed by human beings at all it should be possible to produce these products ethically. I love the taste of foie gras, but are French farms as gentle as the American ones?

Can I believe the information in this article? Or is the real story here that I should avoid eggs at least in the US? Photo: ulterior epicure Creative Commons. Looking around the internet for interesting articles and blog posts, now that you're on Christmas vacation and finally have time to read? Here are some suggestions. True story: I survived a crazy childhood I like Sarah Von's True Story series , where she posts interviews of people with interesting experiences on her blog. I recommend the one about the ex-stripper and the one about the ex-drug addict too. The real cost of free by Cory Doctorow - "Those who say that they can control copies are wrong, and they will not profit by their strategy.

They should be entitled to ruin their own lives, businesses and careers, but not if they're going to take down the rest of society in the process. A holiday message about being an atheist by Ricky Gervais - "You can have your own opinions, but you can't have your own facts. How the rise of e-readers takes the fun out of giving books by Leah McLaren. I still want to do a whole blog post on this one, but in the meantime, just read it. The real "stuff white people like" from Gizmodo. What tastes, interests, and concepts define an ethnicity? Is there any way to make fun of other races in public and get away with it?

These are big questions, and here's how we answered them. What we can learn from procrastination - You put off reading this article when I first tweeted about it. Now you have time! I have come to a sad no, not really sad conclusion: It's almost impossible for me to blog twice a day when I have a life, but don't have a good way of scheduling automatic publishing. Luckily, the Wall Street Journal has blogged about Christmas music too. Here's their list of 12 relatively new defined as less than 50 year old Christmas songs.

It kind of bugs me that they included Last Christmas. That song is just irritating. But I guess I shouldn't complain when I'm this slow at updating. Usually I really enjoy it. I've never understood people who find Christmas stressful. Hosting parties, giving gifts or preparing turkey isn't work, unless you're getting paid for it. If it feels like slave labor, stop. No, I have not turned into a Grinch. I LOVE giving gifts. I love the feeling of accomplishment that comes from knowing that I figured out what you wanted - even better if I figured it out before you really knew yourself - and got it for you.

If I love you, and I make you happy, that means I won! I mean, don't we all feel that way? The problem is, this is less fun at Christmas, because you're expecting it. And because you'll give me stuff which I may enjoy, but which I I could easily have done without. Our money could be put to better use in some other way. Christmas gifts make no economic sense. You spend money on something someone else doesn't want, and you get something you don't want in return. I must have been about ten when I first thought about this. My family had recently moved from one apartment in the US to a much, much smaller one in Norway, and I realized that I owned too much.

I wanted space for Christmas. To be honest though, I wanted some stuff too. I was ten, with no budget of my own. Whenever I wanted something, I would hint and hope until the next gift-recieving opportunity September or December. Gifts were my main source of income. These days, I work for a living. And I try to save as much of that money as possible for a future when I potentially won't be working, because I'll be at grad school or travelling or just being an unemployed journalist.

I don't want to take my savings and convert them into candles, soap and Christmas ornaments. Or into something I might love, something special because it came from someone special, something so special that I have to take it with me wherever I move, which means I can never just leave, because I love too many THINGS, and they won't fit into my suitcase.

There are plenty of traditional Christmas songs that in all seriousness claim that gift-receiving yes, only receiving. I've never given Santa anything is the point of Christmas. Santa Claus is coming to town, for one. Here's the original Santa Baby by Eartha Kitt, plus a remix. This Christmas song, about a woman's wish list including an apartment, a car and a fur coat, is actually not the most materialistic, over-the-top disgusting Christmas song ever. This is. How I love him for his generosity. No, out of all the songs about Santa and gift-giving, Santa Baby is my favorite.

Because it's a joke. Flirting with Santa Claus so that he will get you jewellery is so disgusting that it's funny. I tend to prefer the songs that suggest partying is the point of Christmas. And I don't mean eggnog, Jingle Bell Rock and mistle-toe as an excuse for drunken hook-ups. I mean spending time with friends. This philosophy led my friends to pool our gift-giving budgets and go out to dinner together last year instead of exchanging gifts. We're doing the same thing this year. I love it. Because really, all I want for Christmas is you. If you want to give me something, give me memories. I can take them with me even if I want to travel with just a carry-on. Take me out to dinner. Or sit down on a couch with me, possibly open a bottle of wine and give your full attention to our conversation for a few hours.

Or invite me over and introduce me to your favorite movie. Or give me a list of your favorite books and enough Amazon dollars to choose one of them for my Kindle. Or give me money. Or a tiny little fraction of tuition at grad school. And because I'm more relaxed and less poor, when we're out windowshopping and you look at some item for longer than necessary, I will get it for you. And I will feel like I won. I have no idea what my answer to that question is, and last year that would have been a serious source of stress. This year, I hope to somehow combine friends and champagne.

And follow my rules for a successful New Year's celebration. Here's four versions of today's song on Spotify and one on Youtube. Not much time for blogging today; I am sorting books again. And this is the song of the day on Spotify. This version of this song always makes me want to dance. Fortunately, that's exactly what I'm going to do tonight. Which is why this post is short. No time to blog - I'm going dancing! And here's the whole LP as a YouTube playlist.

Have yourself a merry, little Christmas just might be my favorite Christmas song. Because if you're happy, a sad song won't make you sad. And if you're sad, you don't want someone telling you this is "the most wonderful time of the year. I blogged about Christmas depression last year. Apparently, it just isn't true that there are more suicides at Christmas. But if you're feeling depressed - or just not-that-merry - statistics won't help. So here's Tori Amos' version of this song:. Also check out my post 11 ways to feel better. I've tried them all. This post is dedicated to my good friend Aina, who also loves Tori Amos, and who is also doing a Christmas music countdown this year. Exactly one year ago, the Christmas countdown was Carol of the Bells and the rest of the Home Alone soundtrack.

I blogged about how this movie probably contributed to my lifelong fear of burglars, and my recurring nightmare that someone would climb in through my bedroom window. Then I casually mentioned that when a burglar finally did climb in through my bedroom window, it was almost a let-down. There was no soundtrack, for one thing. That post got some people very worried, so I thought I should tell you the whole story this time. Here goes:. In , I went to a big summer party.

The kind that involves sitting around at picnic tables in someone's enormous back yard, drinking wine and having long, conversations that seem to flow from topic to topic effortlessly until it seems like you've turned the minds of everyone around the table inside out and explored all the random associations and interesting opinions and funny stories you can find there.

By the time you reach that stage, it is much too late for anyone to go home, so the house is filled with overnight guests, and I was one of them. So technically, when I woke up in the middle of the night to find a man halfway through the bedroom window, it wasn't MY bedroom window. It was the window in the room where I happened to sleep one night. Which in retrospect probably made the experience less scary overall; I didn't have to sleep in that room the night after. But anyway, less than an hour after going to sleep, I woke up to find a man climbing through the window.

He was wearing a white linen shirt and carrying pink, plastic gloves. And he had definitely not been one of the party guests. We stared at each other for a couple of seconds, both frozen in surprise. Then he said: "I think I'm in the wrong house. And I started to drift back to sleep. I wonder what would have happened if I had just dozed off again. Maybe I would have woken up to a much emptier house. Or maybe nothing would have happened, and I would have believed for the rest of my life that this was yet another nightmare about burglars. Fortunately, some small part of my brain was awake, sober and sensible enough to realize that this was not a dream. I got up, borrowed a bathrobe and walked around the house, checking all the rooms, making sure all the windows and doors were closed and locked.

And then I made my way to the front porch, where my father and some other party guests were sleeping on mattresses. The man in white linen was standing over them, still holding the gloves. If you had peered over the fence and into the back yard of this house at around AM that night, you would have seen me running around in a white bathrobe, chasing a man in white linen pants and a white linen shirt, around white picnic tables with opened wine bottles and plastic glasses.

Behind me, still more or less asleep, my father followed. The chase probably lasted for less than a minute, before whoever-he-was succeeded on his second attempt to jump the fence. My dad and I just stood there for a while, waking up. I'm very glad he was there, not because I was scared at the time, but because I know that the intruder was really there. Whoever he was. If not for the gloves, I would have assumed he was a drunk guest at someone else's party, and that he literally did not know what he was doing. I mean, who breaks into houses wearing something that needs to be ironed?

We didn't hear about any similar break-ins in the area. But the lying, the gloves, the fact that he didn't leave, the fact that he attempted to enter the house through a room that was always empty, except for that one night - it all seems like a badly planned, but still planned attempt to break in. Which means that I can cross that off my list of experiences: I have chased away an intruder. And I've had a recurring nightmare come true. And I'm fine. I am obviously? Today's Christmas countdown music is The 12 Days of Christmas. Each year PNC Wealth Management calculates how much all of the gifts that "my true love gave to me" would cost with today's prices. Then they compare that to the cost of twelve days of Christmas the year before. This year, well, you can see it for yourself here.

After a year of working for a business website, getting economic data presented in pop-up book form is And they present this as though inflation is always a bad thing. Look past all that, or maybe watch the Bloomberg interview instead of the cartoonish website. This is the largest price increase since , and the second largest since the index began 27 years ago. The price of gold hit an all-time this year and might reach a new record high about now. The milkmaids represent the minimum wage, which did not increase this year. However, lords a-leaping and ladies dancing were playing catch-up after , according to the index. Last year Norwegian economist Harald Magnus Andreassen wondered how dancing ladies could possibly be that expensive in the job market.

Of course the factors in the cost of Christmas are kind of random. Dancers' wages and the cost of birds are probably not the best indicators of how the American economy is doing. Still, since the index started, the price of the goods in the index have decreased relative to the price of services - especially the cost of entertainment. That sounds familiar and it's been happening in the Norwegian music business too. Which again makes sense. The easiest way to make me feel like it's Christmas is to play me a jazz song involving sleigh rides and snow. Strangely enough, most of my favorite Christmas songs are about winter and parties, not Christmas specifically. Have you read more than 6 of these books? The BBC believes most people will have read only 6 of the books listed here.

Instructions: Copy this into your notes. Tag other book nerds. Given the choice between the two of you, I'd take the seasick crocodile. The original How the Grinch stole Christmas is the best Christmas movie. Here are five things that make it great. Love Actually. YouTube won't let me embed it, but here is the scene with that song. It's a perfect example of how songs I actually don't like, can become songs I kind of love, just because of context. More on that here and here. Christmas song of the day: White Christmas. The word of the day yesterday was palingenesis. This has nothing to do with American politics.

It means rebirth. Like renaissance, or what I'm doing with this repeat of last year's blog series. The kind that you carry with you throughout your life. The kind that becomes a part of you. The kind that turns, soon enough, into wisdom. It's a kind of learning, though, that can't be forced - because it relies for its initial spark on something that is as ineffable as it is intense. Interest has a way of sneaking up on you: One day, you're a normal person, caring about normal things like sports and music and movies - and the next a Beatles song comes on the radio, and suddenly you're someone who cares not just about sports and music and movies, but also about the melodic range of the sitar.

Even if you don't want, necessarily, to be somebody who cares about the melodic range of the sitar. Interests are often liberating; occasionally, they're embarrassing. Either way, you can't control them. They, in fact, control you. Quote from Megan Garber in Attention vs. And here's that big New York Times story: Growing up digital, wired for distraction I couldn't bring myself to read the whole thing, because I am so sick of being told that my ability to multi-task is a bad thing, and that I can't concentrate because I'm under I'm blogging this in between editing photos, updating E24 , and keeping up with Twitter, and I think I'm doing ok.

The web is a space whose very abundance of information - and whose very informational infrastructure - trains our attention to follow our interests. That's why online headlines have to be straightforward. To quote Barney Stinson : "Suit's are awesome. Although I'm generally sceptical of any "it's so unfair that women can't do this" whining, I agree with this Norwegian blogger about the following:. It does men many favors and simplifies their lives. Men are more manly, more male in suits Long-sleeved shirts, a blazer and trousers hide bad skin, scars, sweat, hair, fat and any other body issues. Suits turn boys into men, while still flattering older men. I recommend the whole post if you read Norwegian. In summary: Men have this go-to outfit that says "I'm professional and serious, and it's totally a coincidence that I look hot at the same time.

Or we can wear fitted dresses, recommended by the Financial Times Women often end up looking like they either put too much effort into their appearance, or not enough. Pencil skirts and heels are more secretary than boss, while an actual suit can end up looking like a costume. But hey, Suit Up Day is not about complaining. In a world according to Julie, it would be about all the men I meet wearing suits for just one day. That would be great Probably what's going to happen in the future is that the desk becomes more a state of mind than an actual physical place.

My Desk, to use the capitalization and idea presented in this video, is the laptop I'm blogging this from. It's a Toshiba Equium A to be precise, which I bought after some deliberation in the winter of It is the only computer I have chosen and bought myself after growing up working on my dad's cast-offs and technical experiments , and I'm reluctant to upgrade or replace it because it is just right. The keyboard never makes my wrists tired. My blog platform, Windows Live Writer the only good part of Windows Live IMO , includes locally stored blog post drafts and an archive of potential illustrations.

TweetDeck looks better on this screen than the bigger one at work or the smaller one in my purse. I use the photographs I'm kind of proud of as desktop backgrounds. I've really settled down with this computer. I love the idea of working from anywhere, and my netbook , Evernote and Gmail make that possible. However, the actual look of the physical workspace has never mattered to me that much. At work , the only real personalization of my desk is coincidental and functional: my big green Boston Globe mug, my Kindle, my notebook of daily to-do lists, all scattered around at random. The computer however, has to feel right, and the process of logging on to everything in the "right" order and arranging the programs I work with in their "right" places on my screens has become a routine I won't mess with.

A friend who trained to be a chef in France taught me the importance of mise en place, literally "putting in place" your ingredients and tools before getting to work. The phrase comes from French kitchens, but setting up your workspace matters, whether you're chopping onions, sharpening pencils or upgrading Firefox add-ons. Related post: Multi-tasking and concentration. I love Overheard in the Newsroom. Here are a few favorites:. But that's my job description! I send links like this a lot. But I am extremely picky about my notebooks. They are just the right size, thank you very much. There, I've said it. Illustration via nongenderous. Updated: I found an archive of favorite Overheards that I completely forgot I had saved.

Of course, this would be weird stuff to put in a paper diary and I doubt I would. I like other people better in English. Do they know to respond quickly and to seek people who are stranded and Archetypes In Frankenstein either The Crimes In Ernest Hemingways The Killers them Compare Napoleon To Joseph Stalin, if that is not feasible, to at least drop food and water to them? He had no details, but expressed an interest in getting his foundation involved in AIDS work at The Crimes In Ernest Hemingways The Killers. Why isn't he into you?