Within the World of Cyber-Predatorism, Hulu Just Got a Brownie Point

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https://nerdexp.com/watchdogs/ HuluLast year Hulu was recognized by “taking bold steps to charge for internet content.”  I was personally bummed out a bit by this move because I monitor TV and movie content for illustrations to use in my classroom.  A lot.

Where Can I Buy Lunesta The day finally had to happen.  I wanted to teach a concept that was so richly illustrated in a recent TV clip I had seen that I decided to subscribe to Hulu and just keep track of my subscription fees.  Was it worth $96 per year to have access to most of the clips I needed to make a point? Maybe.  I was definitely going to give it a try.

https://www.thefwpc.org/counseling/ However, I didn’t need Hulu that much, and found myself only accessing its content about once every eight weeks or so.  Not enough, I decided, to warrant the continued $7.99 monthly transactions on my debit card.  So, I just signed in to cancel my subscription…and got a surprise.

get link Not only was the cancellation process quick, the “reasons why you are leaving” survey were derived from real life; not construed with corporate-speak to help them feel better about losing cash.

enter site But the real kicker?  As soon as I hit the “cancel” button, a screen popped up and let me know that a prorated amount of $6.20 would be credited to my bank account for the portion of the month I had not used.

Order Pregabalin Online What?  I’m sorry…WHAT?

click I have never experienced a prorated return on any internet-based subscription. Of Anything!

Do they have consumer behaviorists working for them?  I’m wondering because now, after seeing that nice gesture on their part, I’m re-thinking my decision.  Perhaps I could use the content a bit more.  Maybe they have content I could use instead of my standard Netflix online streaming habit.

Maybe…they just did a really smart thing.

 

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University FAQs About the World of S-E-X

Photo and project by Kate Dollarhyde

https://mydentistwebsite.com/services/ Note – the content in this post is consistent with a PG-13 rating.  Thanks.

I’ve been teaching “Human Sexuality and the Family” for four years and I still find myself surprised about what seems to surprise my students.

Thinking back to my predisposed assumptions regarding what students would, or would not, think through out loud in the classroom now seems ridiculous to me.

For some reason, I honestly believed college students were more sexually savvy than what I now know them to be.  Perhaps this was because of the overt and raucous behavior I would occasionally witness among groups hanging out together on campus, cracking jokes and making continuous, “That’s what she said” interjections.

Perhaps, my misconceptions were because of insecurities on my own part.  It could be that I was intimidated by their attempts to be intimidating…attempts to set up defenses so strongly reinforced that my own fears would keep me at bay from helping them learn what they were afraid to discover.

This group behavior I mentioned, however, tended toward simply masking the struggles and insecurities of thousands of young academics finding their way to adulthood – the majority of whom have little ease or comfort when it comes to really processing their own learning about human sexuality.

I thought it might be helpful to pass along some of the most tangential questions students tend to dwell on over and over.  Understanding what students in their early 20s think about, find curious to discover, or debate about in the classroom could be helpful for our society to continue a dialogue that students seem willing to have.  Therefore, I’ve prepared a few points drawn only from my single perspective in one classroom about who, what, and how sexuality is deconstructed and then reconstructed throughout a semester.

https://calciumhealth.com/calcium-on-nbc/ Students are highly curious about the “next life stage” and what that might mean for them and an intimate partner.

Order Zopiclone Online The idea of being in a committed relationship and what that might mean sexually is a curious thing for students.  They wonder how they will negotiate long-term birth control decisions.  They wonder what is fair and not fair about Continue reading University FAQs About the World of S-E-X

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The 2011 Imaginary Family Project – Week 48

Buy Amoxicillin Online Without Prescription #48 of 52 : GRANDMA, MOM, JOEY
The Imaginary Family Project - Week 48

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Betsy Behind the Camera

I didn’t understand why Mom wanted to stop there.  She just pulled the car over into the hard sand next to that deserted road that was taking us south from the Oregon woods of my childhood to the California desert I have spent the rest of my life in.  She didn’t trust Joey with the camera and Grandma insisted she wasn’t touching the new-fangled gadget, so it was up to me to snap the photo that Mom wanted to remember this moment by.  But what moment?  I asked myself that as she tucked the sides of her skirt down—as she always did in those days, to make herself look thinner—as she fussed at Joey fidgeting endlessly with some toy soldier or other, and as Grandma couldn’t decide where to stand, given Mom’s insistence that she drape her hand casually over Joey’s shoulder and lean into him as though this were some family portrait.  “Little man of the house,” she always called him, it having been just the four of us, three women and Joey, since Dad left when I was about Joey’s age.  He never knew Dad, didn’t remember the deep rumble of his laugh in his chest or the fresh soapy scent of him leaving for work.  That’s how he smelled the last morning I saw him—when he went off to work and never came home.  I remembered and I think Mom did but we didn’t talk about it.  We didn’t talk about much in those days, any of us.

That’s part of why I was so surprised that when I got the camera ready and snapped, Grandma asked Mom something I couldn’t hear and she turned away from the camera, her hand still carefully posed on Joey’s shoulder.  My very first time behind a camera, and this is what I got.  You’d never guess from it that just a few years later, after finishing high school, that I would be in art school, turn to photography, and get obsessed with the alien landscape of the desert that, in the moment of this image where I am standing behind the camera, I hated with everything in me.  What were we doing, picking up and moving away from everything and everyone?  How could we leave our home, Dad’s home?  I didn’t care that the photo was probably ruined; I just wanted to go, to keep going, to stop thinking.  So, I waved them back to the car, promising that the photo was great.  When we settled back in to finish the drive, Grandma seemed want to continue the conversation they had started during this photo.

“That sure is a funny tree, Judith.  I can see why you wanted a picture of it.”

“Mmhmm,” Mom assented with her dark red lips firmly closed, sunglasses sliding into place behind her ears.

No one said anything else as we drove on, and by sunset we neared signs of civilization and found our way to our new home: a bungalow in Lakewood, California, that the previous owners had painted a deep yellow.  It had functional shutters even on the upstairs dormer windows of my room, and when I wasn’t shutting out the oddly bright light in those first weeks after the move, I would sit at those windows and look down the street, picturing us as we pulled up.  Tumbling out of the car with dusty shoes, Joey nearly asleep and taking up half of the backseat.  I snapped a picture of the house then, in the golden evening light.  It would have been the next one on the film after this one.

I never saw that house photo, but this photo Mom liked, in spite of its ruined pose.  It just appeared on day about a month after the start of my freshmen year in a small frame on a shelf near the front door, next to a picture she had taken of Dad and me with an infant Joey in front of our old house and a framed wedding announcement for my parents, “Judith and Joshua,” it read in raised letters.  I didn’t know the meaning of that assembly of items, but it had always seemed purposeful, like a shrine to something I couldn’t understand.

Maybe that’s part of what drove me into the desert as my first photographic subject for my senior project a few years later, even when I no longer saw that shrine every day.  I photographed everything out there—from waving grasses to abandoned snakeskin.

It was Laurie, my roommate, who, having grown up in that dead space between the San Francisco and LA suburbs who first said it to me: “Gee, Betsy, what a great Joshua Tree!  It looks like a monster coming out of the sand.”

She was waving a sizeable color print of one of those trees—the ones I first looked at in framing this image with my mother’s old Kodak.  It was one of the few times in over a decade that I had heard my father’s name spoken aloud, and my mind went back to that gathering of objects that had never changed no matter what other redecorating happened in that house.  I thought of this photo then and still think of it now as the last one with my father in it, a kind of goodbye but also a way his place in our new home.  I don’t know if my mother thought the same thing; I never asked her, but I think she knew.

follow link About The Author:
Monica F. Jacobe holds an MFA in creative writing, with a specialization in creative nonfiction, from American University and a Ph.D. in 20th-century American literature from The Catholic University of America. Having taught creative and academic writing for nearly a decade, she currently teaches in the writing program at Princeton University. Monica has earned a number of fellowships to support her creative work, including from the Virginia Center for Creative Arts and Writers @ Work. “Pieces of Her” is drawn from a memoir manuscript that explores what it means to grow into womanhood without a female role model in twenty-first-century America. Other selections from it have appeared in Under the Sun, Del Sol Review, apt, Crosscut, The Ward Six Review, and R-KV-RY, among others. Purchase Tramadol Without A Prescription

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click here About The Imaginary Family Project:
The 2011 Imaginary Family Project is a year-long collective art endeavor coordinated by occasional amateur artist Quentin Bomgardner and co-sponsored by The Red Dirt Chronicles.  This project is based around “lost” vintage photographs, which have been acquired at flea markets, garage sales, estate sales, and eBay – heirloom collections, with no heir.  Every week a different author will “find” one photograph by creating an imagined history around one of its subjects.  At the end of the year, the collection will be compiled and presented as a group.

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On The Horizon: But It’s Free!

Before Jon Stewart or even Andy Rooney, there was humorist Will Rogers. Covering the day’s topics, Rogers made you feel like you were talking to a friend. That friendly persona along with Rogers’ wit and wisdom is captured in cowboy humorist Will Roberts’ revived segment called “Will’s Weekly Telegram”.

Focusing on current events, as well as timeless and popular topics, in a comedic style that is approachable to all ages while being straight to the point for a world filled with tweets and sound bites. Roberts’ is considered to be the Modern Day Will Rogers right down to the fact that he is currently one of the featured acts as a trick roper in one of the largest stage shows on the Las Vegas strip.

In this week’s video blog, we’d like to introduce you to our old friend, Will Roberts and why he got to thinking…why we are willing to pay for what we can get, for almost free.
Rob McClendon

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Well, For Pete’s Sake! ~ SW OK, Navajo and Navajoe

 

Well, for Pete’s sake! What are you doing here?  Let me guess, you Googled “red dirt road” hoping for a close encounter with Brooks & Dunn, but instead found yourself meandering down a narrow lane just off the information highway.  May I kindly suggest that you tune in your favorite music player to a round of Kix & Ronnie?  Crank it up and let it provide the background music for this little trip down a red dirt road in Jackson County, Oklahoma.

Southwestern Oklahoma is home to farmers and ranchers, air force pilots and army generals, city folks and country folks, the Quartz Mountains and the Wichita Mountains, lakes and rivers, and yes, four-lane divided highways and a few red dirt roads.  Nestled between the Quartz Mountains and Wichita Mountains are a lesser known range, the Navajo Mountains, located in eastern Jackson County, north of US 62 about 3 miles and east of Altus about 6 miles.

Seeking a good dose of red dirt therapy, I recently set out on a drive down the red dirt road that ends at the western base of the Navajo Mountains.  For Pete’s sake, I stopped at the Navajoe Cemetery.  My cousin Jacquie told me about the town of Navajoe, and my other cousin, Jackie, told me about the cemetery.  There is also the Navajo School, but I’ll save that for another story.  Both had mentioned the historical marker located in the cemetery that documents the town of Navajoe.  The vertical marker is made of red granite, similar to the that of the surrounding mountains.  Navajoe the town fell by the wayside years ago when the railroad went thru Headrick instead of Navajoe.  The cemetery and memories are all that remain of the town.

Before climbing out of the car that bright sunny morning, I surveyed the area surrounding the cemetery.  Continue reading Well, For Pete’s Sake! ~ SW OK, Navajo and Navajoe

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Showcasing Red Dirt culture ~ authored and managed by contributors with connections to the great state of Oklahoma.