Losing weight is as difficult mentally, as it’s demanding physically. To make shedding pounds easier, 32-year-old Chinese photographer Jesse has decided to take up the task together with his family. They supported each other during the 6-month transformation so well, the before-and-after photos look unbelievable.
Everything started when Jesse’s mom made up her mind to temporarily move in with her son and his pregnant wife to help her during the first stages of motherhood. Using this as an opportunity, Jesse invited his father who at the time ran a small bamboo factory to strengthen the bond between the four of them.
When the soon-to-be grandpa brought his alcoholism and beer belly with him, Jesse thought a weight loss program could help him regain his passion for life. At first, they started fast-walking which gradually became jogging. Adding more and more exercise, they began going to the gym. In addition, they tracked the results by measuring their changing bodies every 10 days.
What initially was planned to last from the 10th of March to the 30th of September became their way of life, and the family claims they will be sticking to their fitness regime. Jesse says, however, that most of all, the most rewarding result was to see his father become a confident man.
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from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/chinese-family-spends-6-months-working-out-and-here-are-their-before-and-after-pics/
Deadpool is kind of like Ryan Reynolds baby, so it’s hardly a surprise that he does everything he can to fight the film’s corner.
Not only did he stick to the movie’s ten-year-development (that’s three years longer than the whole of secondary school + A Levels), he also spent most of 2015 doing some pretty epic promotion for it. And, if you’ve seen the movie, you’ll agree that it paid off.
So it also makes sense that he’d get behind a crowdfunding project to pay the legal fees for a cinema being fined for serving beer at a screening off the movie. Over in Utah, they’re still stuck in around 1920 and although alcohol isn’t prohibited it’s strictly regulated by local government. Although cinemas are allowed to serve beers, they can only do so if there isn’t full nudity or sexual acts, which obviously Deadpool has a whole bunch of.
As a result, the cinema – called Brewvies (I mean, it’s kind of in the name) – is facing a court order over a “grave violation” by Utah’s Department of Alcoholic Beverage Control. Deadpool would not stand for this sh*t, and neither does Ryan Reynolds, as it appears the film star has made a $5,000 donation to their GoFundMe page.
Now, Ryan hasn’t confirmed this… but who else has $5,000 lying around to donate to a cinema? He also tweeted this a few days ago:
The cinema have faced legal trouble before, reportedly being fined $1,627 for showing Hangover II… not sure if that one was quite worth it.
One things for sure, I won’t be moving to Utah in a hurry…
Remember when Deadpool interviewed Hugh Jackman?
from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/ryan-reynolds-gives-generous-donation-to-cinema-in-trouble-for-showing-deadpool/
In 1969, an unlikely friendship formed between a US soldier fighting in the Vietnam War and an 11-year-old boy in Slough, through a love of football club Queens Park Rangers (QPR).
Nils Guy was 22 and had been in the US for less than a year when he was called up for military service with orders overseas in Vietnam.
When on active duty, he wrote a letter which was published in the QPR matchday programme, asking if anyone would be interested in sending him clippings on how his club was doing.
John Wild, aged 11, responded to the request and started to send Nils match programmes and other Rs’ memorabilia.
Nils had emigrated to the US from Surrey, and was called up for military service in Vietnam within a year.
He told Adrian Chiles on BBC Radio 5 Live that he didn’t mind being called up so quickly, but the reality of war was still a shock.
“It hit home straight away,” he said.
“It’s a horrendous feeling going into somewhere that’s being bombed, and hearing gunfire and bullets going past all the time.
“I wasn’t getting much mail from my parents and it took a long time to get there.
“I asked anybody to send me some memorabilia, just to keep me sane.”
Nils said receiving the QPR programme while on the battlefield was an amazing feeling and brought him back to reality.
“I think I was in the middle of a firefight when we got mail and I opened it up and it was like an out-of-mind experience.
“Bullets raining around my head, and here I am reading a programme from QPR – it was fantastic.”
Now in his 60s, John recalled seeing the advert as a child and said he thought it would be a nice thing to do.
“At the time I’d just moved house – I’d moved out of Shepherd’s Bush, believe it or not – and I didn’t really have too many friends at the time.
“And I was still going to QPR with my dad and with friends that still lived in London.
“I read Nils’s letter and I just thought I’ll pop this guy some programmes and some clippings. I think I sent a couple of badges and some stuff like that.
“I was always seeing things about Vietnam on the TV, so this was just something that interested me.”
The pair lost contact after the war, but John was determined to be reunited with his fellow QPR supporter.
After decades of wondering what happened to his pen pal, with the advent of the internet, he finally tracked down Nils.
“I started to look up lists of veterans who had served and I still couldn’t find him, but his name was so easy to remember.
“I just stuck it into Facebook one night and there he was. My wife asked what was wrong with me because I got quite tearful.
“I just said ‘I’ve been looking for this guy forever’.”
John tentatively asked Nils if he was the same guy who sent a letter to QPR in 1969, and explained he was the 11-year-old who wrote to him.
“He came back and said yes, it’s the same guy. It really was a great moment to know that he’d survived.”
The pair occasionally talk online, but have never met in person. They spoke together for the first time on 5 Live’s Chiles on Friday.
Nils hasn’t been back to watch his beloved QPR since moving to the US – he’s now based in California.
If they ever get the chance to meet in person, John – who now lives in Bracknell – has made a promise to Nils: “I’ve got to buy you a beer one day.”
from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/qpr-kept-me-sane-says-vietnam-veteran/
So youre doing the beer pong thing, picking up the ball over and over as it rolls on the nasty floor, dunking it in the dirty cup and drinking the by now dirt-filled beer. Anything wrong with this picture? Everyone seems to accept this nasty beer pong scenario but its past due that this game needs to clean up its act!
So wouldnt you know, some beer pong enthusiasts have figured out the ultimate solution to those dirty ass balls. Its the “Slip Cup and they are essentially protective cups that will cover up your beer so that dirty ball never touches the cheap liquids. But the integrity of the game remains. And with the Slip Cup you can still pour beer in your cup per usual, but wont have the ball continually bouncing in and out.
They had a goal of raising 70 grand on Kickstarter and they actually surpassed it with over 76k raised!
Check out how the Slip Cup works in the video:
from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/these-guys-just-fixed-the-absolute-biggest-problem-in-beer-pong/
It’s officially September, y’all!! Blacking out on a Wednesday will now be looked down upon even if it’s with spiked cider, so plan your weekly drinking habits wisely. There’s shitty weather in New York already and it’s too freezing for shorts by 6pm, which means we’re back to wearing big-ass shirts that we hope pass as dresses and wearing the same pair of leggings at least twice a week because we “forgot” to do laundry. In other words, it’s pumpkin season. Who the fuck waits until September 22nd anyway? A real betch knows fall begins when the PSL is officially added to the Starbucks menu, which looks like it happened this weekend because Starbucks
Walking into work after Labor Day Weekend like:
The obsession with pumpkin isn’t for nothing, because the key to having glowing youthful skin lies within this fruit. Wait, can we just take a sec to acknowledge pumpkin is a motherfucking fruit? Guys, my life is a lie. This is why I have trust issues. Excuse me while I attempt to accept this. Okay. I’ve accepted it. Moving on…This exfoliating mask is infused with pumpkin enzymes that brighten and soothe uneven complexions. It eliminates signs that we’re getting old af (bless) and it’s a deep cleanser for clogged pores, giving you hydrated, non-oily, glowing skin. How ‘bout that, pumpkin spice haters?
Lush sucks because they don’t have their Halloween shit out yet (I know, how dare they not be a month ahead of the times), but never fear because where there’s
Do you really prep for fall if you don’t buy one of everything from Bath & Body Works’ iconic fall collection? Didn’t think so. Treat yo’self with a basic bitch blend of pumpkin, cider, and cinnamon goodness to moisturize and cleanse with autumn’s most sacred elements. This gel also features pure honey, shea butter, and aloe so you don’t shrivel up and dry out like a dead leaf come October.
And then after you lather yourself with pumpkin spice and everything nice, next comes a must-have pumpkin spice lotion. It hydrates the driest of skin types with a shit ton of nourishing vitamins. Plus, this has a non-greasy formula so you def won’t feel like you’re rubbing oil all over yourself.
I won’t really condone spritzing pumpkin seeds in your face because that’s just borderline psycho and we’re not that crazy, right?*Cue nervous laughter* For an elegant perfume that won’t make everyone choke on their own breath, you want a v simple scent that turns heads and makes everyone wonder WTF you’re wearing, but in a good way. Bring in the upcoming season with an autumn blend of subtle pumpkin, notes of spices sitting in your kitchen, and flirty floral fragrances. Tip: Since some of you def need a daily reminder, spray on your wrists, bottom of your throat, and ends of your hair. Any more than that and you’re sending someone to the hospital with an asthma attack.
Kylie Cosmetics’ pumpkin lip kit is already sold out, so that’s when you know basic bitches around the fucking world are ready to jump into their Uggs. A burnt orange lip is honestly perf for fall since it’s a subtle color that you’re not risking looking ghostly or emo with. SMASHBOX obvs never disappoints so you can expect this 8-hour liquid matte to be nothing less. It’s super lightweight, smudge-proof, and keeps your lips looking full AF so you don’t have to apply lipstick like this (Seriously, stop):
Real pumpkins have a fuck ton of orange pigments because it’s fucking orange, like duh, and honestly, if you eat enough of it, you eventually will radiate an orange-y glow. Don’t depend on them for a tanning alternative, though—keep that account open at your local salon. Speed up the process by wearing a long-lasting dark orange blush. It’s easy to apply and easily blends with your bronzer. It leaves a shimmer finish so honestly, you could probs do without the highlighter, too.
from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/7-pumpkin-spice-beauty-products-every-basic-btch-needs/
My partner is detached, angry and frigid, says a miserable husband. Mariella Frostrup wonders whether the feminist dragon he paints is real
The dilemma My partner is an educated professional woman and quite successful. She clings to the rock of feminism as a justification of having to be in her terms a strong woman in todays world. The reality is that she is emotionally detached, always angry, frigid, mostly frustrated and often dysfunctional. What pleasures her most is flirting with younger men, leering perversely over images of men in the media, and finding in every conversation an angle to deride or belittle men in general. Ironically I put it to you that I am a man trapped in a marriage with a female chauvinist pig making my life miserable day by day. How do I escape?
Mariella replies Is that you Jason? This could be my husbands belated idea of an April Fools joke. If not, this creature is surely the fearful modern mans worst nightmare. She certainly doesnt represent a positive outcome to the drawn-out struggle for equality we remain engaged in. Rather your partner sounds like a throwback to the 1970s and those bra-burning feminists bent on proving they could beat men at their own game.
Can women simply evolve into male stereotypes? The reverse is what men seem to be intent on if the huge increase in sales of mens grooming products is anything to go by. Id really hoped that having both sexes involved in advancing our world would create better balance and evolutionary potential for us all. Instead, if your letter is evidence of whats happening with women, were all in big trouble.
Your dilemma would have seemed less credible had I not just read a horror story disguised as an article about young female bankers in ES magazine. Entirely committed to the pursuit of cash, designer-clad, waking at 5am to do power workouts before a blowdry and a board meeting, these Barbie bankers seemed high on testosterone and low on mitigating human virtues. Most chilling was their definition of a perfect date: a Tinder rendezvous at least seven stops from Liverpool Street (in order to avoid colleagues).
Well thats the feminist initiative gone badly wrong if such disciples of bodily perfection, total control and the zipless fuck expand beyond a self-obsessed minority. As with these misguided girls and their soul-destroying aping of redundant male stereotypes, the description you paint of your wife is so at odds with the majority of women I encounter that it leaves me with an uneasy sense of incredulity. Its certainly a first to have a letter bemoaning a female partner for flirting with younger guys and drooling over men in magazines. Being loud and proud about possessing a libido is one thing turning into the female embodiment of Benny Hill is quite another. If she really is this ranting, raving, cold-hearted fury, why are you still there?
The advice Id offer you is no different to that Id give to any woman in a relationship where their partner humiliates them, leers over their gender while belittling them and fails to live up to any reasonable behavioural expectations. I appreciate your pain, but if you despise your partner to the extent you appear to, then escape is the inevitable choice. So could there be another agenda for caricaturing your wife so effectively? Either she is a walking, talking clich embodying every quality wed hoped to smooth away from the male of the species, or youre having a laugh!
There are contradictions in your letter, including your description of this sexually predatory female whos also frigid. Is it you she isnt interested in sex with, or all of mankind? Certainly if I felt as you do about the person I was sharing my life with, Id hope to have the courage to step away from that relationship without qualms. You should probably be Googling alternative accommodation instead of penning letters to me.
If, on the other hand, you want me to condemn your wife for your fantastically constructed clich of a feminist dragon, then Im afraid you should have added some nuance to your character assassination. You may well be living with the worst kind of woman a man can imagine, or you may have blown life into her with a plethora of hot air. You say ironically I put it to you which does raise the spectre of the whole of your letter being an attempt to raise the dormant crazy bitch in me to do battle on behalf of the sisterhood. You seem to have wound up with the feminine equivalent of a Costa Brava beer lout, all unreformed emotions and sexist bluster. The bottom line is she sounds horrendous, like Glenn Closes bunny boiler in Fatal Attraction and every other female ogre dreamt up by men; I cant help wondering if shes equally fictional.
from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/my-wife-is-a-female-chauvinist-pig-mariella-frostrup/
Eric Spitznagels account of a chase for old albums ends up as a tale of a midlife crisis, albeit one which sadly neglects to notice that women, too, love vinyl
I am writing this review at my teenage record store in Boise, Idaho. According to Google Maps I am approximately 5,147 miles away from my current home in Berlin, Germany, and 2,468 miles away from Brooklyn, New York, where, for seven years, I ran a twice-monthly vinyl club. It involved hauling two turntables and a mixer to our local bar in a granny cart so that I and several dozen friends and total strangers could play the same records we played in our teenage bedrooms, but with the beer we could now drink and the professional sound system we never had.
This is the same store where, during my unfortunate hair metal phase, I bought Bon Jovi and Cinderella. Its also where, three years ago, I rifled through the rare 45s box and came back with the first Green River single for our annual Grunge New Years Eve party. Its where I scored my first Dead Kennedys records (carefully hiding the parental advisory stickers) and my first Bauhaus T-shirt (later gifted by my little brother to his girlfriend, sadly). And its where, two nights ago, I had beer with my high school friend right before she snuck off to see a Peter Murphy acoustic set that ended with her giving him a surprise greeting in his tour bus.
Walking into his childhood record store after 20 years, Eric Spitznagel, journalist and author of the memoir Old Records Never Die, sees the usual posters arranged in seemingly haphazard order Tupac, Tom Waits, Dylan, the Ramones and writes: These were posters you might see in any record store in any city in the world and the placement felt comforting and familiar, like the stained glass windows at the church you went to growing up. Youd seen the same colors and designs a thousand times before, but somehow the windows in your church seemed unique and inimitable. So true, my friend, I think, swiping my debit card to pay for a T-shirt with the logo for my own imitable church of vinyl.
Picture Rob Gordon, the record-obsessed protagonist of Nick Hornbys High Fidelity, then add 10 years: At 45, Spitznagel has both a wife (Kelly, whom he met when both worked at Chicagos Second City) and the kid (a charming three-year-old named Charlie).
But while Robs records (temporarily) cost him his girl, our friend Eric has the family but misses his discs: sold throughout the 90s when selling records was a victimless crime, for beer money, tacos and Trader Joes wine (all six Clash albums including the Hitsville 7-inch! paid for a a week of groceries at the liquor store down the block). In his day job as an entertainment reporter he interviews Questlove, who tells Spitznagel he still has every record he ever owned, all 70,000 of them. Spitznagel, inspired, finds his mid-life mission (or crisis): never mind the mistress and the sports car, hes going to get his records back. And not just copies of the same records. No, this guy is out to get the exact same records he sold more than a decade before, which will lead him back to his childhood home, his college radio station, muddy crawl spaces, and the musty basement of some dude who, a few decades before, once owned his now-defunct hometown record store.
Vinyl is making a comeback, even among kids who never grew up with records (many of whom showed up at my vinyl nights). But for those of us of certain age born in the 70s, the generation who lost our collections to exes, moms basement clearing and iTunes the idea that one would know an album is ones own original copy is less lunatic than it first may seem. Records, writes Spitznagel, are are bulky, inconvenient, easily damaged objects. Vinyl is like skin that changes, in good and bad ways, over a lifetime. Skin gets damaged, intentionally or by accident maybe it gets burned, or tattooed or scarred but it always retains some of its original character. Its the same skin its just weathered some life.
Spitznagel has a few clues to go on: his copy of Elton Johns Greatest Hits smells like cherries from the Lions Club garage sale, held in 1977 in a former cherry processing plant. Billy Joels The Stranger smells like Calvin Kleins Obsession. The Replacements Let It Be smells like weed. Bon Jovis Livin on a Prayer will have a girls phone number from a 708 area code. Around this time, an overarching theme begins to emerge: the records he most wants involve hot girls from his past he either had sex with, or wanted to have sex with. Maybe were not so far from the mistress and the sports car after all.
Records, like comics, have long been considered a dude-centric pastime, and Spitznagel, whose previous six books include Planet Baywatch, Fast Forward (Confessions of a Porn Screenwriter), and Ron Jeremy: The Hardest (Working) Man in Show Business, isnt breaking any molds here. He compares selling his record collection to the guy who gets kissed by a hot girl and decides to get rid of his porn collection immediately because I wont be needing this anymore. At the Pixies reunion show, he sees a sea of fortysomething dudes with Black Francis man-nipples, (were there no Kim Deal fans in the audience?); at the Replacements reunion show, he mourns his uncool dad status. One is tempted to remind him that Westerberg, now 56, is also a dad, and that chicks, too I am one own Let it Be, on TwinTone.
When he goes to a record swap, I laughed at the line when he realizes that harrowing moment when you realize the only thing separating you and a civil war re-enactor is better underwear but wondered if he may have passed, say, the divorced fortysomething mother who used to DJ with me twice a month and whose teenage kids now buy her records for every holiday and birthday. And when he blows the daycare money buying records in Nashville prompting a VHS cassette of Cocksucker Blues to be hurled at the wall by his exasperated wife I thought of the hundreds of hours I have spent crate-diving and DJing next to my own boyfriend, and say, my married friends Jake and Lisa who host their own DJ show together. Arent there any records Kelly might like? If they cant get a babysitter to make date night to the reunion shows, couldnt he at least make the woman a mixtape?
But around this time, Spitznagel seems to be thinking along the same lines. When he finally scores a copy of Van Morrisons Dweller on the Threshold, the song that was playing when he lost his virginity no wait, when he first realized sex could be fun he admits he finds it totally unsettling to see his three-year-old son do a silly interpretive dance to a song whose only other association from me were three months in the early 90s when I was having regular wild-monkey sex with a sexy blonde on a busted-ass futon. And around this time Kelly, too, begins to ask some questions.
Around then, like Hornbys Rob Gordon, Spitznagel gets the message: its time to play grownup. He finally looks for a way to use his records to connect himself to his past: childhood friends, his family home, and the actual family he has now. There are field trips to his old college radio station (where he and a friend hang at their old fraternity house and depress the hell out of its current inhabitants by informing them that Nobody tells you that the girl you titty-fucked in the bar restroom when you were 20 is going to get breast cancer in 20 years and you will go to her funeral with very complicated emotions.) There is a hilarious incident involving a dessicated box of 1978 Boo Berry crunch, and a woman or two from the past show up to provide non-marriage-ruining plotlines of their own.
Oh, and yeah, he scores a few records along the way. Were they the droids he was looking for? Well, lets just say he finds a few whose scars may well have been inflicted by his younger self, bangs up a few more in the process, and he and his family and friends make up the rest. But as any crate digger knows, its all about the hunt. Meanwhile, back here at my old record store, some dude blasts past blaring and singing and fist-pumping along to Toto. Hurry boy, its waiting there for you!
from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/old-records-never-die-by-eric-spitznagel-the-real-high-fidelity/
Ive never been an America, fuck yeah type of person, but if theres an unhealthy amount of Bud Light, fireworks, and drunken swimming involved, fuck yeah, you can count me in. Even if it means pretending I know how old America is (itll be 241 years old, btw, not 2,017
Looking at you, Lady Gaga and Beyonc…
Yeah uh…that’s def not what Betsy Ross had in mind when she designed the American flag. You want to trashed, not trash. This means do not wear your sorority/fave fraternity’s stars and stripes letters, a denim skirt that might show your vag, or a muscle tank that screams white trash. You dont want a passive-aggressive Facebook status written about you, do you? And if youre thinking of wearing an American flag bikini, youre dead to me. Since its basically only a week away and we need to keep online shipping in mind, heres what you should wear for Americas birthday bash if you don’t want the Founding Fathers to regret starting America in the first place.
You dont want to get a really dressy shirt for outdoorsy shit, i.e. day drinking and barbecuing, but you dont want anything too casual either. This white top is perfect for tucking into your favorite high waisted denim shorts and since its not plastered with America, you can wear it multiple times a year. Its classy with a hint of slutty since its form-fitting and slightly revealing. Youll probs be drinking from day to night so the long sleeves will keep you warm if it gets chilly.
Flag themed shorts are cute (I guess) since they show how much you love America, but they can also be worn to other events like all those cheesy country festivals. The length of these shorts in particular is pretty ideal because they dont show your ass cheeks (no one wants to see them anyway, honestly). But I cant say you wont be lectured by your grandparents because like, how dare you wear the flag on your butt. Let me live.
Sport a versatile one piece swimsuit if swimming, or pretending to, is on the agenda for festivities. Wear a solid color without looking over-the-top and desperate like Taylor Swift. Pair with your fave high rise denim shorts to easily take your look to and from the water.
If youre beaching it in the Hamptons or somewhere equally classy AF, wear this trendy day dress with nude wedges or low heel sandalsno stilettos or 6 inch pumps because youre not trying to stumble around all night. It comes in black and white stripes, but who the hell can tell the difference? Just tell everyone its navy blue and call it a day.
Whether youre strolling in and out of bars or embarrassing yourself at a family gathering on the Fourth, youll want shoes that look like you put in some sort of effort, but that won’t make you uncomfortable and have you make a fool out of yourself (although youll probably do that already). Use this block heel for your pop of white with any outfit you decide on. Plus, youll be gaining another pair of cute shoes that you can wear out again.
Accessorize with these fun, simple chokers you can wear all together or mix and match. Wearing shit on your head makes you look like a try-hard and/or unnecessarily extra. Pair with a red lip and youre set to get star, spangled, hammered in style.
Lastly, to guarantee those triple likes on Insta, make sure to do a sexual pose with a (v extra) waving American flag pool float, but without going full Ariel Winter. Cheers to living in a free country thats obsessed with quality fast food and shit. May your hand always be holding a beer because like, Merica.
from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/7-fourth-of-july-pieces-that-every-other-basic-btch-wont-already-be-wearing/
By Mitch Phillips
MARSEILLE, France (Reuters) – Violent clashes between fans spread to a second French city on Saturday, tainting the opening days of the Euro 2016 soccer tournament and raising questions among supporters over policing tactics.
Several hundred English and Russian fans squared off in Marseille, hurling beer bottles and chairs and drawing volleys of tear gas from riot police who struggled to contain the skirmishes in the narrow streets of the Vieux Port (Old Port).
Later, in scenes that could draw sanctions from European soccer’s governing body, UEFA, Russian supporters charged their English counterparts inside Marseille’s Stade Velodrome moments after the final whistle of their teams’ 1-1 draw.
England fans were forced to scale fences to escape the charge, while shocking pictures of a father trying to protect his young son while masked Russian fans were kicking and punching retreating fans around him went viral and left fans fuming at the authorities’ failure to intervene.
The Russian team could now face an anxious wait after the crowd trouble. Four years ago Russia was sanctioned and handed a suspended six-point deduction following crowd trouble in Poland atEuro 2012.
Meanwhile, along the Mediterranean coast, Northern Irish fans were involved in a ugly exchanges with locals in the city of Nice that left seven people hurt.
European soccer’s governing body, UEFA, condemned the day’s events. “People engaging in such violent acts have no place in football,” it said in a statement.
Marseille’s emergency services said 31 people were injured in Saturday’s disorder, including one middle-aged man who was knocked unconscious, and one England supporter who suffered a heart attack.
Broken glass and debris littered some roads and alleys near the waterfront, the focal point of clashes between English, Russian and French fans.
The clouds of tear gas produced images of unrest all too similar, though on a much smaller scale, to those in the city 18 years ago when violence flared for two days and nights around England’s World Cup game against Tunisia.
While the tournament is being played under a state of emergency after militant Islamists attacked Paris in November, French police will be under pressure to snuff out the fan violence.
France has deployed more than 90,000 police, soldiers and private security agents across the country to ensure safety for the tournament in the face of intelligence agency warnings of potential attacks on stadiums, fan zones or other soft targets.
(Additional reporting by Antonio Denti and Jean-Francois Rosnoblet in Marseille and Richard Lough, Dominique Vidalon and Chine Labbe in Paris; writing by Richard Lough; editing by Janet Lawrence and Dominic Evans)
from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/clashes-in-marseille-amid-england-russia-soccer-match/
1. I thought he was just this sad guy who hung around the bar sometimes and never really spoke and should wash his hair more often. I liked his hat. I liked that he made murder jokes with me and I appreciated the fact that we have the same taste in beer and in denim jackets. We’re friends, I think. When do you actually know that you’ve gone from someone it’s not weird to say hi to on the street to actual friends? I would assume it’s when you start asking for advice and confiding, so if that’s the case we’re friends. But I just want him to be happy. And I think someday he will be.
2. I remember in 7th grade we got into a fight and she said to me, “You know what you did.” I actually didn’t and to this day, don’t. But I also know we got over it and she’s one of those people I can sit in silence with on my laptop and it’s not weird. We have philosophical conversations about the Kardashians and the same taste in wine. She’s smarter than me. She’s smarter than everyone. I feel like she’s one of those people who isn’t just a friend anymore, she’s my family.
3. I don’t know if things will ever be normal or okay again between us. And frankly, I don’t think I even really know what that means. Does anyone know how to go from being something to just being what you were before? Is that even possible? I don’t really like being around him now because I’ve become insanely comfortable in routine and in not feeling like my stomach is going to drop at any second. But I would be lying if I tried to feign that wasn’t a clear indication that somewhere, as much as I’ve tried my absolute best to deny it, he doesn’t matter.
4. Do you ever meet someone and just know at your core that they’re just… than you? That’s him. I frequently hear/say, “Wow, he’s the most put together person I know,” and it’s honestly true. I kind of owe him for putting me back together during a year when I wasn’t sure that was possible. It’s not quite as dramatic as “I wouldn’t be alive if not for him” but I certainly wouldn’t be where I am now. Or happy. Or comfortable. Or functioning. And that’s kind of the same when you think about it.
5. I feel very protective of her. And it’s weird because, we aren’t anywhere near each other anymore or even actively involved in each other’s lives but like, I still feel like she should be asking my opinion about things. But obviously when you’re adults that’s not really how life works. That would be really bizarre if you think about it. A mid-twenty-something asking a late-twenty-something, “Should I date this person?” I realized the other day I don’t really know that much about her life anymore and it’s not exactly a sad feeling, it’s just sort of strange to go from seeing each other literally every day to only figuring out what her significant other’s name is because of Twitter.
6. A lot of the time I think they’re wrong and I really want to lay down the law. I want to list every reason they’re incorrect, powerpoint presentation exactly each misstep and mistake, really nail in exactly where and why and how and every possible reason why they are unequivocally wrong. But then I remember what it’s like to try and carve out a place for yourself. To really try and make something yours and build something for yourself. So as annoying as it is and as “OMG ARE YOU SERIOUS” as it can make me, it’s somehow endearing.
7. She’s likely (meaning: absolutely) one of the most perplexing people I’ve ever met, and even knowing something like, what kind of wine she prefers feels like being let in on a secret. But I really respect her opinions and she’s one of the few people I find completely original in a sea of everybody who just wears the same Madewell sweaters and all want to talk about Taylor Swift. I think she’s better than most of us. I don’t think she gives herself enough credit.
8. For most of my life I’ve had trouble making new friends. I’m difficult to get along with. I’m incredibly blunt. I don’t get my feelings hurt very often or easily so I have to remind myself that not everyone is made out of stone like me. But from the fist time I met her, when we jumped into an Uber to go back to my place after I picked her up from SeaTac, she’s made me feel like she gets me. I’ve never felt like I have to write out a giant explanation of “This Is Why I Am Like This I’m So Sorry” in order to feel understood. She just understands me. And that’s something I never expected to find on Twitter.
9. Most of my role models have always been people I didn’t actually know. Celebrities, politicians, women I saw in interviews but never actually met. Writers I put on a pedestal of “I’ll never be as good as them.” And for a long time, she was one of those writers. Hell, she still is. Whenever she writes something I’m literally taken aback at the way she puts stories together, the way she finds the perfect words to explain herself. It’s remarkable. But I can now say that one of the people I most look up to in the world is also one of my closest friends. Maybe that’s normal for some people, but it feels really special to me.
10. I don’t think he really wants anything to do with me anymore. At some point in our lives he went one way, and I detoured along another. But even though that might be the case and even though somehow our paths crossed again after literal years, I hope he knows he mattered. I hope he doesn’t think I just forgot about him. Because I would never want him to feel that. Forgotten.
11. 7 years ago I was in a relationship that was disappearing before my very eyes and I could just feel everything melting in a way that at 20 I didn’t really have the words to express. I was scared, I was lonely even though there was someone sleeping beside me almost every night. I didn’t know what to do with myself. And then this amazing, lovable, high strung, hurricane of a thing entered my life and I’ve never been the same. She’s quite literally the reason I get up every morning and the only thing in this world I think I really love unconditionally. And maybe that’s laughable or dumb but she made my world make sense when I wasn’t sure that was possible. And even if you find it kind of stupid, you have to admit it’s special.
from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/a-short-list-of-people-who-actually-matter/