stand up to the man

Alright friends I need some serious help, several nights in a row right before I get into bed I have seen this man standing out my window staring up at me. When I go downstairs to get a closer look, he vanishes. Over the past few nights he has gotten closer and closer to the house each time and I don’t feel safe. If anyone knows who this could be please contact me, in the meantime I am going down to the police station to see if they can do anything about it. I am frightened and in danger, please pray for me.

Untranslatable German Words
  • Engelsgeduld: (lit.: angel's patience) great amount of patience
  • Feierabend: (lit.: party-evening) the rest of the day that remains after work
  • Fernweh: the desire/longing to travel to faraway places/ foreign countries
  • Fingerspitzengefühl: (lit.: fingertips-feeling) good skill in handling things/ sensitivity and empathy
  • Fremdschämen: (lit.: foreign shame) shame that arises from the compassion with someone who made a fool of himself
  • Geborgenheit: more than safety, protection and invulnerability, it symbolises peace, warmth and calm you feel especially when you're with the people you're close to (e.g. family, friends)
  • Gemütlichkeit: feeling of comfort
  • Habseligkeiten: valuable and personally important possessions
  • Innerer Schweinehund: (lit.: inner pig-dog = weaker self) the part of a person that they have to overcome to be productive
  • Kitsch: objects with superficial beauty that are actually useless but are appreciated nonetheless
  • Konfliktfähigkeit: (lit.: conflict ability/skill) ability to deal with conflict / ability to constructively solve interpersonal conflicts
  • Kummerspeck: (lit.: grief/sorrow bacon (fat)) gained weight from emotional overeating (especially after a breakup)
  • Lebenslüge: (lit.: life's lie) a lie that you tell yourself to make life more bearable
  • Mitdenken: (lit.: with-thinking) ability to think for yourself and do more than what you were demanded to do / trying to find a conceptional solution to a problem together with other people
  • Sehnsucht: intense inner longing for somebody, something or a place
  • Schnapsidee: (lit.: schnapps idea) a ridiculous and crazy plan/idea you have while you are drunk
  • Sprachgefühl: (lit.: language feeling) feeling/sense of language, instinctive feel for a certain language / intuitive feeling of what is linguistically appropriate
  • Stehaufmännchen: (lit.: little stand up man) someone who doesn't give up and begins anew
  • Torschlusspanik: (lit.: gate-closing-panic) the fear of missing something important / not being able to do some things (because you're too old)
  • Verschlimmbessern: (lit.: verschlimmern=exasperate, verbessern=improve) improve something for the worse / make something worse but with having had the intention of improving it
  • Vorführeffekt: (lit.: demo effect) the effect that something you're actually able to do doesn't work when you want to demonstrate it to other people
  • Waldeinsamkeit: (lit.: forest loneliness/solitude) the seclusion/solitude of the forest
  • Warmduscher: (lit.: warm showerer/ somebody who showers with warm water) a wimp / a person that doesn't like to leave their comfort zone
  • Weltschmerz: (lit.: world pain (world weariness)) gratuitous melancholia / kind of feeling experienced by someone who believes that physical reality can never satisfy the demands of the mind / the feeling of anxiety caused by the ills of the world
  • Zeitgeist: (lit.: time-spirit, spirit of the time ) the dominant set of ideals and beliefs that motivate the actions of the members of a society in a particular period in time
washingtonpost.com
Opinion | What happened when an Orthodox Jewish congregation went to a gay bar to mourn Orlando
The Orlando attack fell during Shavuot, a joyous Jewish holiday.

When our synagogue heard about the horrific tragedy that took place at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, it was at the same time that we were celebrating our festival of Shavuot, which celebrates God’s giving of the Torah.

As Orthodox Jews, we don’t travel or use the Internet on the Sabbath or on holidays, such as Shavuot. But on Sunday night, as we heard the news, I announced from the pulpit that as soon as the holiday ended at 9:17 p.m. Monday, we would travel from our synagogue in Northwest Washington to a gay bar as an act of solidarity.

We just wanted to share the message that we were all in tremendous pain and that our lives were not going on as normal. Even though the holiday is a joyous occasion, I felt tears in my eyes as I recited our sacred prayers.

I had not been to a bar in more than 20 years. And I had never been to a gay bar. Someone in the congregation told me about a bar called the Fireplace, so I announced that as our destination. Afterward, I found out it was predominantly frequented by gay African Americans.

Approximately a dozen of us, wearing our kippot, or yarmulkes, went down as soon as the holiday ended. Some of the members of our group are gay, but most are not. We did not know what to expect. As we gathered outside, we saw one large, drunk man talking loudly and wildly. I wondered whether we were in the right place. Then my mother, who was with me, went up to a man who was standing on the side of the building. She told him why we were there. He broke down in tears and told us his cousin was killed at Pulse. He embraced us and invited us into the Fireplace.

We didn’t know what to expect, but it turned out that we had so much in common. We met everyone in the bar. One of the patrons told me that his stepchildren were actually bar-mitzvahed in our congregation. Another one asked for my card so that his church could come and visit. The bartender shut off all of the music in the room, and the crowd became silent as we offered words of prayer and healing. My co-clergy Maharat Ruth Friedman shared a blessing related to the holiday of Shavuot, and she lit memorial candles on the bar ledge. Then everyone in the bar put their hands around each other’s shoulders, and we sang soulful tunes. After that, one of our congregants bought a round of beer for the whole bar.

Everyone in the bar embraced each other. It was powerful and moving and real and raw.

After that we moved to the outdoor makeshift memorial service at Dupont Circle. There, too, we did not know what to expect. But as we gathered around the circle, people kept coming up to us and embracing us. One man we met there told us that his daughter sometimes prays with us. Others were visiting from Los Angeles but joined in full voice, clearly knowing the Hebrew words to the song we were singing.

As we were singing, I looked over at some gay members of our congregation and saw tears flowing down their faces. I felt the reality that we are living in a time of enormous pain. But I also felt that the night was a tremendous learning experience for me. I learned that when a rabbi and members of an Orthodox synagogue walk into a gay African American bar, it is not the opening line of a joke but an opportunity to connect; it is an opportunity to break down barriers and come together as one; it is an opportunity to learn that if we are going to survive, we all need each other.

I don’t think this article got very much traction last year, but I wanted to share it again.

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I don’t care what anyone says I will protect this man with my LIFE

i just don’t understand what we did to deserve such a pure show like b99. like jake peralta could have been a huge douche except he’s just an immature doofus except for when it matters, where he’s a feminist who is standing up for justice. we get multiple complex latinas. we get a black gay man who does not fulfill some cheap stereotype. we get another black man who is not afraid to express his emotions. we get man who embodies “femininity” and has no shame about it whatsoever. thank you b99. i don’t know what we did but i am so grateful.

you want to paint the underside of your coffin with glow in the dark stars so you’ve got something to look at. when you were in mass last sunday god spoke to you directly and asked you to please stop it. you’ve been trying to stop it.

she’s wearing a red dress that hugs her waist so tight that you picture your hands searching for your sanity somewhere in the folds of that body. between thighs like that. is this objectifying her? you worry to yourself, smashing lipstick on.

your head already hurts, and there’s a girl who is puking in the corner. you ask her if she needs anything, and she tells you she likes your dress, and you say thank you do you need water, and she says, it’s okay i’m going to die here, and you say, okay let me bring you water. so you bring her water, even though the other girls look nasty at you when you cut the line. it’s not for me, you try to explain, weakly, over bass that is breaking your eardrums. nobody likes a hero. the girl is surprised you’re back. she spits up daintily, almost neatly, and drinks the water in a single chug. she tells you to go back to partying, so you do, because she tells you to.

where the hell is your friend. it’s not like she promised she’d stay next to you but here you are and here she isn’t, which is either rude for both of you or just the average way of things.

nervous hands bring you back to the bar where at least you can linger and pout and think about god, and his hands, and the sun coming up tomorrow on the bones of your body. where if you keep your eyes down and don’t look up you won’t remember that all places of worship are churches and here you are, nursing a vodka tonic you finished five minutes ago, praying about hell while women cagedance not more than six yards from where you sit.

a man in a suit - an honest-to-god suit - comes up to you. the cloth is powder blue. he asks if you want a drink. you don’t. you say yes because your mother taught you not to turn down free things. he orders you something you don’t like and you lean across the bar and tell the bartender nicely that unless he wants you to die you will be drinking a shot of fireball and nothing else, thank you. the bartender says, i don’t want you to die.

you don’t say, okay, but, what if someone would finally let me die. that’s dark. that’s something you stow for your friend who has a good enough sense of humor.

you smile at the man, take the shot, wave at him, ask him to come dance, melt away into the crowd with that ability you learned somewhere in high school. now you’re alone again and can’t go back to the bar because the man will be looking. you remember you’ve got a phone finally.

you ask your friend where she is. she doesn’t reply coherently, but you like the addition of the cat emoji.

some terrible part of you slips into your skin now, the ache of wanting out. so you go out.

and there’s the girl in the red dress.   

you feel yourself choke like a car engine and it’s gosh dang embarrassing.

she’s laughing, blowing smoke up at the building. a man is standing next to her, but she makes eye contact with you. you ask her if she’s willing to bum you one. you’ve never smoked in your life and you’re terrified of them like guns. she nods and slips you a clover. you don’t let your hands shake in the glow of the lighter, only after, only when she smiles at you and asks you how you’re doing.

how am i doing? i’m very lonely and i think god abandoned me and it feels like a train wreck inside me. i feel myself reversing. my headlights are going out. tomorrow already hurts.

instead you shrug and say something inconsequential. you say, that’s a nice dress. even manage to keep how hard your heart is pounding out of it.

isn’t it? asks the man. you now remember he’s here. you have the urge to smoke suddenly. inhale deeply.

sorry to bother you, you say, just got too loud in there.

she nods, looking at you, mouth in a pretty smile. not bothering, she says, it’s okay. want to go back in with me?

her outstretched hand is soft and cold. you drop the clover. once inside she shouts over the music to you about how men are creeps. her lip touches your ear while she speaks. her hand doesn’t leave yours. she pulls you to the dance floor. your heart feels like a carousel.

she dances. your throat is dry. she takes your other hand and makes you dance with her, a silly little twisting thing. your palms are sweaty and she is laughing. she leans in to speak with you, pressing up against your body. there is lightning shooting out over your skin. she smells like roses. her hair seems soft.

she’s whispering something and for a second, the sound of corroding stops in your brain. like the train finally derailed and now it’s dead and can leave you out of it. like stuff gets quiet even though you’re drunk in public on a friday night.

so this is worship, then, you think.

you say, sorry, and she says ? for what? and you can’t speak.

when she turns around, you leave.

Client: Thanks! The footage of the conference looks great.

Me: Thanks.  I’ll get this uploaded to our site today.

Client: There’s just one thing.  At about 20 minutes in, a man stands up in front of the camera and then leaves the session.  Can you do something about that?

Me: (sarcastically) Would you like me to ask them to sit down?

Client:  That’d be great.  Then you can upload that version to the site.

  • [at the council of Elrond]
  • Legolas: But Frodo, beating Sauron... it can't be done. You're asking us to die.
  • Frodo: Yeah, I guess I am.
  • [pause]
  • Aragorn: [stands up] Frodo, I have lived most of my life surrounded by my enemies. I will be grateful to die among my friends.
  • Gimli: [stands up] You're an honorable man, Frodo. I will fight beside you.
  • Boromir: Aww, what the hell, I don't got that long a lifespan anyway...
  • [stands up]
  • Boromir: Well, now I'm standing. Happy? We're all standing now. Bunch of jackasses, standing in a circle.
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└ Aiba Masaki-kun~~~ WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON NATIONAL TV?? 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂 

Cr: Music Station Ultra FES 2017 18.09.2017 嵐 SP メドレー

russel hobbs is a sweet and passionate black man who stands up for what he believes in. he’s mentally ill, he’s fat, he’s an activist and he’s been through some hard shit in his life. he’s still strong and he still manages to be a loving friend and devoted band mate, he’s honestly my favourite member of the band because of how amazingly wonderful he is, he leaves me in awe. russel does NOT deserve to be forgotten, in fact, he’s the one we all should be talking about, he’s so gifted and talented and honestly???? a treasure

The Group Project

(Jimin is jealous when his best friend and roommate, Taehyung, has a date with the girl Jimin has a crush on.)

Warning: 8000 words and 75% of this is pure smut. MMF sex.  Dirty talking.  Disrespectful name calling.   The usual.


“Fuck you, Kim Taehyung! FUCK! YOU!”  Jimin was livid.  “I’ve never said a single thing to you about all the shit I have to put up with as your roommate!  All the times I’ve had to crash at a friend’s place because you brought some girl back to our dorm room for the night!  I can’t remember the last time I spent a whole week able to sleep in my own bed because of you!  And all those times I woke up to find some chick I don’t know in your bed?  Like you couldn’t just go somewhere else to fuck them? Did you really have to screw them in our room while I was asleep?”  Taehyung opened his mouth to answer, but Jimin cut him off.  “And I wasn’t even asleep for all of them!  What was that one girls name? The one with the short hair? Jungin? Jungah?  Just because you took her into our bathroom to have her suck your dick doesn’t mean I didn’t hear EVERY FUCKING THING that happened in there!  You are so fucking vile!  The things you said to that girl… the sound of her choking on your dick while you called her a slut?  What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Some girls like that shit,” Taehyung replied calmly.  “She definitely liked it, that’s for sure.”

Jimin rolled his eyes dismissively.  “The point is that I’ve never said anything to you about how you’ve stuck your dick in half the women on campus.  Despite the fact that you are always inconveniencing me in order to get your rocks off, I’ve kept my mouth shut.  It’s your life and it’s not really any of my business.  But this is TOO FUCKING MUCH!  I thought we were friends?  I never thought you would totally screw me over like this!”

“We are friends!  I didn’t do this to screw you over.” Taehyung and Jimin had been randomly assigned to be roommates in their small single room dorm room their freshman year and immediately became the best of friends.  Taehyung was on a scholarship that paid for his student housing on campus and Jimin couldn’t imagine living with anyone other than Taehyung, so despite the cramped quarters and the arguments frequently caused by the lack of privacy, they continued living together in the dormitory.

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