The Trump administration announced today that it will take steps to repeal a federal policy that would have pushed states to abandon coal and switch to renewable energy. The move was long expected, and it’s likely to be fought in the courts by environmental groups and attorneys general from several states.
The announcement targets the Clean Power Plan (CPP), a core climate change policy passed under President Barack Obama that aimed to reduce greenhouse gas emissions from power plants. “The war on coal is over,” said Environmental Protection Agency head Scott Pruitt at an event in Kentucky. “Tomorrow in Washington, DC, I will be signing a proposed rule to roll back the Clean Power Plan. No better place to make that announcement than Hazard, Kentucky.”
President Donald Trump had signed an executive order in March directing Pruitt to repeal the CPP, which the administration sees as an overreach in presidential power that kills jobs. In reality, the CPP was Obama’s attempt at tackling climate change by ordering fossil fuel-fired power plants — which are the largest concentrated source of CO2 emissions in the US — to cut carbon pollution by about 30 percent by 2030. Reducing carbon pollution has health benefits — including fewer asthma attacks in children. The regulations would also lead to an estimated $55 billion to $93 billion per year in 2030 in climate and health benefits, Obama’s EPA said. Read More
What other foreshadowing is present in the Tg clendar? I've seen you reference it before and wonder what else could be found in it
Alright, I’m going to look through the whole calendar give me a second. By that I mean pretend to give me a second. Every panel of foreshadowing that I interpret as such in the whole calendar, I’ll place under the readmore.
Greedy Old Men Who Will Be Dead Soon Advocate Leaving Climate Pact
President Trump will make his decision on whether or not to back out of the Paris Climate Accord later today, and people on both sides of the argument are vying for the president’s ear. On one side are younger people who give actually a shit about the planet and believe in climate science, and on the other are old men in the pocket of the oil and coal industries who will be dead in 5-10 years. “Staying in the pact is anti-coal. I like coal. We used to burn it for warmth when I was a kid back in the 1890′s,” said Utah Senator Orrin Hatch. Also joining the anti-pact chorus are Trump’s chief darkness advisor Steve Bannon, EPA chief and clean coal dipshit Scott Pruitt, and Jesus’ favorite creationist Ted Cruz.
ok, so I just finished watching the ova. The story focuses on Shima doing three missions for Mephisto. In exchange Mephisto will give him a porn magazine.The first one is to help Yukio clean a place from coal tars but Shima has to take care of insects (the thing he hates the most) the second one is I think “eating Yukio’s breakfast without him noticing” ? but I’m not sure. There, we see Rin being cute and adorable. Yukio notices Shima eating his meal and how can I say it, Yukio is kind of pissed off and Shima is really scared of him. Meanwhile Rin hides behind the wall :P. The third mission is to “dress as a girl” ? something like that… but Bon, Koneko and Yukio notice him as well and they think he’s just a pervert. Then, the porn magazine Mephisto promised to Shima just magically appear but Bon tear it apart haha. Then at the end Mephisto is talking to Amaimon while playing video games. I think he’s saying that he’ll use Shima for greater purposes something like that. During the whole episode, Mephisto seems nice and all but right at the end when he talks to Amaimon, he’s just so creepy and also the fact he made the porn magazine appear at this moment in particular, its just so mean haha. He’s not the worst though, I think the scariest one was Yukio.
I’m not really good at giving summaries. I hope someone will translate it soon. I’ll try to post some screenshots later.
Tbh I think like a solid third of the US thinks the entire federal government consists either of pallid, treacherous ex-hippie liberal ivory tower scientists who spend tens of thousands of dollars a year on trips to Europe for seminars and fake climate studies designed to cripple clean coal, or overweight, entitled black women who sit at their cushy administrative jobs all day doing nothing but painting their nails, talking on their Obamaphones, and occasionally sending out some malicious paperwork to ruin a small business or two. Like, this is what people think we’re getting rid of when Trump or Ryan or Bannon or whoever propose gutting such-and-such federal agency or department. And people like the idea of that perfidious, Marxist professor and that uppity, loud black lady getting kicked out on their asses and maybe even getting thrown in prison, so they’re all for it without having the faintest clue what these important agencies actually do.
As the time grew shorter, Ian found it impossible to sleep. The need to go, to find Rachel, burned in him so that he felt hot coals in the pit of his stomach all of the time. Auntie Claire called it heartburn, and it was. She said it was from bolting his food, though, and it wasn’t that—he could barely eat.
He spent his days with his father, as much as he could. Sitting in the corner of the speak-a-word room, watching his father and his elder brother go about the business of Lallybroch, he couldn’t understand how it would be possible to stand up and walk away, to leave them behind. To leave his father forever behind.
During the days, there were things to be done, folk to be visited, to talk to, and the land to be walked over, the stark beauty of it soothing when his feelings grew too heated to bear. At night, though, the house lay quiet, the creaking silence punctuated by his father’s distant cough and his two young nephews’ heavy breathing in the room beside him. He began to feel the house itself breathe around him, drawing one ragged, heavy-chested gasp after another, and to feel the weight of it on his own chest, so he sat up in bed, gulping air only to be sure he could. And finally he would slide out of bed, steal downstairs with his boots in his hands, and let himself out of the kitchen door to walk the night under clouds or stars, the clean wind fanning the coals of his heart to open flame, until he should find his tears and peace in which to shed them.
One night he found the door unbolted already. He went out cautiously, looking round, but saw no one. Likely Young Jamie gone to the barn; one of the two cows was due to calf any day. He should go and help, maybe … but the burning under his ribs was painful, he needed to walk a bit first. Jamie would have fetched him in any case, had he thought he needed help.
He turned away from the house and its outbuildings and headed up the hill, past the sheep pen, where the sheep lay in somnolent mounds, pale under the moon, now and then emitting a soft, sudden bah! , as though startled by some sheep dream.
Such a dream took shape before him suddenly, a dark form moving against the fence, and he uttered a brief cry that made the nearer sheep start and rustle in a chorus of low-pitched bahs .
“Hush, a bhailach,” his mother said softly. “Get this lot started, and ye’ll wake the dead.”
He could make her out now, a small, slender form, with her unbound hair a soft mass against the paleness of her shift.
“Speak o’ the dead,” he said rather crossly, forcing his heart down out of his throat. “I thought ye were a ghost. What are ye doing out here, Mam?”
“Counting sheep,” she said, a thread of humor in her voice. “That’s what ye’re meant to do when ye canna sleep, aye?”
“Aye.” He came and stood beside her, leaning on the fence. “Does it work?”
They stood still for a bit, watching the sheep stir and settle. They smelled sweetly filthy, of chewed grass and sheep shit and greasy wool, and Ian found that it was oddly comforting just to be with them.
“Does it work to count them, when ye ken already how many there are?” he asked, after a short silence. His mother shook her head.
“No, I say their names over. It’s like saying the rosary, only ye dinna feel the need to be asking. It wears ye down, asking.”
Especially when ye ken the answer’s going to be no , Ian thought, and moved by sudden impulse, put his arm around her shoulders. She made a small sound of amused surprise, but then relaxed, laying her head against him. He could feel the small bones of her, light as a bird’s, and thought his heart might break.
They stood for a while that way, and then she freed herself, gently, moving away a little and turning to him.
“Aye, well. Come on, then.” Not waiting for an answer, she turned and made her way through the dark, away from the house.
There was a moon, half full, and he’d been out more than long enough for his eyes to adjust; it was simple to follow, even through the jumbled grass and stones and heather that grew on the hill behind the house.
Where was she taking him? Or rather, why? For they were heading uphill, toward the old broch—and the burying ground that lay nearby. He felt a chill round his heart—did she mean to show him the site of his father’s grave?
But she stopped abruptly and stooped, so he nearly tripped over her. Straightening up, she turned and put a pebble into his hand.
“Over here,” she said softly, and led him to a small square stone set in the earth. He thought it was Caitlin’s grave—the child who’d come before Young Jenny, the sister who’d lived but one day—but then saw that Caitlin’s stone lay a few feet away. This one was the same size and shape, but—he squatted by it, and running his fingers over the shadows of its carving, made out the name.
“Mam,” he said, and his voice sounded strange to his own ears.
“Is that right, Ian?” she said, a little anxious. “Your da said he wasna quite certain of the spelling of the Indian name. I had the stone carver put both, though. I thought that was right.”
“Both?” But his hand had already moved down and found the other name.
He swallowed hard.
“That was right,” he said very softly. His hand rested flat on the stone, cool under his palm.
She squatted down beside him, and reaching, put her own pebble on the stone. It was what you did, he thought, stunned, when you came to visit the dead. You left a pebble to say you’d been there; that you hadn’t forgotten.
His own pebble was still in his other hand; he couldn’t quite bring himself to lay it down. Tears were running down his face, and his mother’s hand was on his arm.
“It’s all right, a duine,” she said softly. “Go to your young woman. Ye’ll always be here wi’ us.”
The steam of his tears rose like the smoke of incense from his heart, and he laid the pebble gently on his daughter’s grave. Safe among his family.
It wasn’t until many days later, in the middle of the ocean, that he realized his mother had called him a man.
Things that aren’t going to save the environment:
-reusable water bottles, hybrid cars, ethanol/biodiesel fuel, commercially produced “natural”/“organic” food, and other supposedly “green” consumer products
-“population control” that targets developing nations that are barely contributing to global pollution
- pretending that “clean coal” is a thing
Things that will save the environment:
- large scale green energy projects using clean technologies such as solar, hydroelectric, wind, and nuclear power that substantially reduce the use of fossil fuels
- reduction of overall global energy usage such as long term sustainable manufacturing and agricultural practices, localised production of goods and energy that reduce the need for freight transportation
-the end of first-world consumerism and global industrial capitalism
-full communism now
Donald Trump promised he would immediately redistribute funds earmarked for UN climate change programs and channel them to domestic projects. In a speech in Gettysburg, Trump said during his first 100 days in office, he would also lift restrictions on energy production, including oil, natural gas and “clean coal,” and greenlight projects such as the Keystone XL Pipeline.
AFRICA. A country. Poor but happy. Rising. ALMOND. All eyes are almond-shaped. AMERICAN. With the prefix “all,” a blond. ARTICULATE. Say “You’re very articulate” to young blacks, and then ask where they are from. ARTISAN. A carpenter, in Brooklyn. ATHEISM. Deranged cult of violent fanatics. AUSTRALIANS. Extremely fit. Immune to pain. If you meet one, say “Foster’s.” The whole country is nothing but beaches. BLUE. The color of purity. Countless mysterious ads are devoted to pads and liners that absorb blue liquid. BRAVE. Doomed. BREAST. No joking matter. One glimpse on television sufficient to destroy a childhood. (See CHILDREN.) BUDDHISM. The way of peace. CAESAR. “Veni, vidi, vici.” Get into a conversation about the pronunciation. CARAMEL. Term used to describe black women’s skin. No other meaning known. CHILDREN. The only justification for policy. Always say “our children.” The childless have no interest in improving society. CHINESE. Wonder what they’re thinking. CHOCOLATE. Term used to describe black women’s skin. No other meaning known. CHRISTIANITY. Peace on earth. CLARIFICATION.Reversal. COAL. Clean. COFFEE. Declare that it is intolerable at Starbucks. Buy it at Starbucks. COMMUNITY. Preceded by “black.” White people, lacking community, must make do with property. CRIME. Illegal activities involving smaller amounts of money. CRISIS. Mention that it is composed of the Chinese characters for opportunity and danger. DIVERSITY. Obviously desirable, within limits. Mention your service in the Peace Corps. EGGS. Always say “You can’t make omelets without breaking eggs” whenever the subject of war comes up. EMIGRÉ. Jewish immigrant. EVOLUTION. Only a theory. FASCISM. Always preceded by “creeping.” FEMINISTS. Wonderful, in theory. FISH. A vegetable. GERMANS. When watching football, “never rule out the Germans.” HARVARD. Source of studies quoted on BBC. Never say “I went to Harvard.” Say “I schooled in the Boston area.” HAUTE COUTURE. Always declare that it is made by gay men for boyish girls. Wait hours to see fashion exhibits at the Met. HEAT. Antonym of “humidity.” HILARIOUS. Never simply say “funny.” HIP-HOP. Old-school hip-hop, i.e., whatever was popular when you were nineteen, is great. Everything since then is intolerable. HIPSTER. One who has an irrational hatred of hipsters. ILIAD. Declare a preference for the Odyssey. INDIA. Work your tolerance of or aversion to spicy food into the conversation as quickly as possible. “A land of contrasts.” INTERNET. A waste of time. Have a long online argument with anyone who disagrees. ISLAM. Religion of peace. JAPAN. Mysterious. Always “the Japanese.” Mention Murakami. JAZZ. America’s classical music. The last album was released in 1965. LITERALLY. Swear you’d rather die than use “literally” as an intensifier. MAGISTERIAL. Large book, written by a man. MEN. Always say “All the good ones are gay or taken” within earshot of the straight single ones. MIGRANT. Mexican immigrant. MOCHA. Term used to describe black women’s skin. No other meaning known. NEWSPAPERS. Bemoan their gradual disappearance. Don’t actually buy any. NIETZSCHE. Say “Nietzsche says God is dead,” but if someone says that first, say “God says Nietzsche is dead.” ODYSSEY. Declare a preference for the Iliad. PARIS. Romantic, in spite of the rude waiters and Japanese tourists. Don’t simply like it; “adore” it. POET. Always preceded by “published.” Function unknown. PRETTY. On Facebook, to indicate an unattractive woman. PROUST. No one actually reads him. One rereads him, preferably on summer vacation. PUNS. Always say “No pun intended” to draw attention to the intended pun. RACISM. Obsolete term. Meaning unknown. REGGAE. Sadly, just one album exists in the genre. RUSHDIE. Have a strong opinion on The Satanic Verses. Under no circumstances actually read The Satanic Verses. SCANDAL. If governmental, express surprise that people are surprised. If sexual, declare it a distraction, but seek out the details. SEMINAL. Be sure to use in a review of a woman’s work. Proclaim your innocence after. SMART. Any essay that confirms your prejudices. STRIKE. Always “surgical.” (See EGGS.) SUNSET. Beautiful. Like a painting. Post on Instagram and hashtag #nofilter. TELEVISION. Much improved. Better than novels. If someone says The Wire, say The Sopranos, or vice versa. TOUR DE FORCE. A film longer than two and a half hours and not in English. VALUES. “We must do whatever it takes to preserve our values.” Said as a prelude to destroying them. VIRGINITY. An obsession in Iran and in the olive oil industry. It can be lost, like a wallet. YEATS. Author of two quotations. ŽIŽEK. Observe he’s made some good points, but.
I can’t help thinking of Rumple baking for Belle……..!
HARDMAN movie star Robert Carlyle has revealed how he’s started home baking in his remote Scots home to beat stress.
Carlyle, 39, says he loves to retreat into rural life in the sleepy west coast village where he lives with his wife Anastasia.
The Glasgow-born actor, who starred as savage thug Begbie in Trainspotting and evil psycho Renard in The World Is Not Enough, added: “I clean and set our coal fires every day and I’ve also started baking.
"It’s just like chemistry - I love it. It’s like an entirely different person lives out here.” Carrot cake and bread are his specialities. Carlyle had to move to the country from Glasgow’s West End, where fans besieged his home, to escape the pressures of fame.
THE FULL MONTY star ROBERT CARLYLE likes to relax - by baking cakes in his spare time. The actor, usually known for his hard man roles in films like FACE and TRAINSPOTTING, Carlyle has revealed a softer side to his character. The 39-year-old says, “After baking my first cake, I knew how FRANKENSTEIN felt. I had made this amazing thing. It felt fantastic.” (ES/WNTRE/CPT)