“If I offended anybody, I am not sorry and I do not apologize.”—James Carville, regarding his recent quip: “If Hillary gave up one of her balls and gave it to Obama, he’d have two,” tweeted by the Tribune’s Mike Memoli.
Pale blue morning light threatened them; the room seemed even colder to her than it had been during the deep hours of the night, that dark expanse that begins when bars close and parties stop, during which one is either asleep or intoxicated, seeking sex or having it, or more probably approximating it in some ghastly, ineffectual way. The endlessness of non-coital congress, which left her restless enough that only profound exhaustion could extinguish her resurgent urges, made her —a virginal adolescent in her first year of college— a somnabusexual, a half-dreaming, half-groping, strangely aimless liminalist.
Next to her —trying to act as though their nearness was incidental— he was close to shivering, but was aware that whatever was perpetuating their interaction was too fragile to endanger by seeking a jacket or blanket, or even admitting to being cold, thereby giving them an excuse to finally go to their rooms and sleep. He assumed that it was a lapse in her self-awareness that propelled their increasingly nonsensical conversation along: she had forgotten her beauty, or rather the station her beauty conferred, or had perhaps mistaken him for someone else —an easy thing to do given how radically he misrepresented himself in a desperate effort to be what she wanted. This aberration, this unnatural connection between someone elect and someone repellant, could not be jeopardized by any interruption.
So it was that in addition to being cold, he badly had to urinate, and also to fart, but couldn’t bring himself to stand from the laminate-wood and airplane-seat-upholstery sofa now illuminated by dawn’s awful light. The bathroom was too near, he anxiously calculated; he had little hope of peeing without farting, and no hope of farting without being heard, and therefore no hope of relieving the embarrassing pangs of pain which, once every few minutes, gave a sudden urgency to his wandering words.
hey there. i'm new to php and was just wondering if you could tell me how you did to parse the images on your tumblr backup tool thing. sorry to bother but I'm really interested in doing this stuff. not looking for a tutorial or anything, just somewhere and I'll really appreciate it.
I parsed a file_get_contents(api/read URL) return value directly, using domxml_open_mem(). The script walks the many-to-one photo-url children of each photo post. Each photo-url contains the URL for a copy of the original image sized up to, but not larger than, the attributed max-width. For high-resolution images, each URL will be distinct. For small original images, you will see the URL to its largest size repeated, for example:
Knowing an element for each of the standard max-widths will be present even for smaller images allows you to simplify by checking directly for a given max-width. You can also iterate through doing a getimagesize() on each to find actual dimensions.
The US Border Patrol's 100 Mile Discretionary Zone
Earlier, squashed linked a story about the Border Patrol’s “jurisdiction to enforce immigration laws within 100 miles of the border […including] inland transit hubs.” The ACLU had taken this up several years back with publication of a “Constitution-Free Zone" map showing the approximate area covered, for your reference:
If somebody in uniform wakes you up on the train, shines a light in your eyes, and demands to see your immigration papers… And you may well be in the backwards and repressive state of … New York.
Yes, New York. (Or maybe Ohio, where the same things happen.) The Border Patrol opened a small station to inspect a ferry from Toronto. The ferry closed. Rather than closing, the station ballooned to ten times its previous size. And, since there isn’t a border-crossing to monitor, it simply profiles and arrests people on wholly domestic transportation.
In case you had any doubts, the agents aren’t waking up and interrogating everybody. They just do it to the people who don’t look white enough.
It’s worth noting I’ve been given the perfunctory “are you a citizen?” business by a Border Patrol agent in this zone while traveling domestically; anecdotal evidence it isn’t just non-whites being picked on. However, I didn’t realize - and wasn’t informed - answering was voluntary. I wonder if there will be a Miranda for so-called “consensual and nonintrusive conversation.”
“Two blocks may seem like nothing to a non-New Yorker. But anyone who lives or works in Manhattan knows that this distance can be significant. Two blocks is equivalent to several miles in other cities or in the suburbs. Your dry cleaner moves two blocks, and it’s so long, pal. He’ll never see you again. He might as well have relocated to Yonkers.”—Clyde Haberman, Ground Zero: Its Boundaries Are Elastic.
The first time I noticed walking past the Park51 location, “two city blocks and a dogleg from ground zero” I thought “it’s all the way up here? BFD.”