83 Slices
Medium 9781574411836

Mission to Mexico

Robert Flynn University of North Texas Press PDF

Mission to Mexico j


In Chillicothe, the Baptist Church was pastored by old men on their way to the cemetery or young men on their way to the seminary. Bruce McCoy was on his way from Jerry Falwell’s

Liberty College to Southwestern Baptist Seminary with a layover as pastor of Chillicothe.

McCoy was so young he could make it through an entire

Baptist service, including an invitation to join the church accompanied by every stanza of “Just As I Am” repeated twice, without going to the bathroom. He was so new to the ministry he hadn’t learned to hate the sinner and envy the sin. He was so innocent he thought oral sex was a greater sin than corrupting the Supreme Court, even if the sex partner were as eager to be corrupted as the Supreme Court.

When he was eight-years-old, Bruce McCoy was mightily moved by the story of Nathan the prophet branding King

David, “Thou art the man!” From that moment, “the real McCoy” as he liked to be called, fantasized about condemning his parents, teachers, and the principal. Later it became sales clerks, fast-food employers, and those who worked in college admissions offices. By the time he got to Liberty College, Bruce

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Medium 9781741795240

The Snows of Carrara

Simon Winchester Lonely Planet ePub

Paris-based David Downie writes for leading publications worldwide, from the Australian Financial Review to the San Francisco Sunday Chronicle, Gourmet, Bon Appétit and the London Sunday Times. His latest travel-cookbook is Cooking the Roman Way: Authentic Recipes from the Home Cooks and Trattorias of Rome (www.cookingtheromanway.com). David is currently working on Paris, Paris, a collection of travel essays.

‘The snows of Carrara never melt’, said my wife, Alison, as she read aloud from the guidebook we’d bought a week earlier in the Cinque Terre. She paused to regard me with a gimlet eye. ‘If it snows, how am I supposed to take photos to go with your article?’

‘Snow?’ I repeated, chuckling. ‘No, dear, that’s not snow. It’s marble dust. All the books say so. Besides, it doesn’t snow on the Italian Riviera in May.’

The idea of snow seemed completely out of place in this Mediterranean paradise, where Tuscany meets Liguria. The rocky beaches were already colonised by large pale bodies and just yesterday we’d been hiking and building up a sweat in the spring sunshine.

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Coming to America

Simon Winchester Lonely Planet ePub

Amanda Jones is a travel writer and photographer who lives in northern California. Her work has appeared in Travel & Leisure, Town & Country Travel, the Los Angeles Times, the London Sunday Times, Vogue and Condé Nast Traveller, among other publications. Thanks to a predilection for wandering, she has an embarrassing number of on-the-road tales of woe and misadventure. Amanda was born and raised in Auckland, New Zealand.

In 1982, at the age of twenty, I was still living at home with my parents in Auckland, New Zealand. The product of a spectacularly sheltered and conventional existence, I had graduated from university and had no plans for the future. One day, my father summoned me into his den, accused me of being ‘rudderless’, and presented me with a truly horrible suggestion. He was president of Auckland’s Rotary Club at the time, and he clearly felt the position entitled him to practise the worst kind of nepotism. ‘Rotary’, he announced, ‘is offering a scholarship for an MBA programme in America. I’ve entered your name. I feel quite sure you’ll get it. I think you can rely on the fact that you’ll be off to graduate school in a matter of months.’

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Simon Winchester Lonely Planet ePub

During five years based in London, Brooke Neill moved in and out of Europe, Africa, Asia and the Middle East, loving every second of it. She has recently completed a degree in sociology and journalism in Tasmania and is now busily planning her next trip.

We were pulling ourselves up a small hill in Selcuk, Turkey, in sweaty forty-degree August heat, when my travelling companions Rachel and Anna and I stopped to catch our breath. After spending most of our nights drinking raki with other backpackers staying at our hostel and being woken up by a huge loudspeaker perched directly outside our bedroom window at every prayer call, we were seriously lacking the athletic ability to climb a small hill. But we had inadvertently chosen the worst possible place to catch our breath – directly outside a carpet shop.

Anyone who has travelled in Turkey knows that the carpet salesmen are very persuasive. Even if you merely glance at the exterior of a carpet shop, you’re likely to receive an invitation to a carpet performance. It begins with the carpet-seller saying, ‘Lovely jubbly, you from England?’ or ‘G’day, mate, are you from Australia?’ As soon as you reveal where you’re from, the carpet-seller marvels that he has a cousin, uncle or random long-lost relative who lives there.

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Medium 9780615928272

Hired Help

Dani Burlison Petals & Bones Press PDF


have very lazy landlords. Porno mags left on the back of the toilet usually mean it’s a good time to bust out the disposable toilet seat covers tucked in your purse.

The only thing that reveals more about a person than simply dropping by their apartment for a quick martini after a Thursday night Zumba class, is working for them. As a housekeeper.

Housekeepers have up-close-and-personal access to people and their varied and bizarre habits. We catch glimpses of– and sometimes become frighteningly aware of–very intimate details about people. Many are often oblivious of this despite the fact that we are often washing their 8-gazillion count Egyptian cotton sheets and disposing of all of the interesting things they toss into the trash and recycling bins.

We mop up their messes. We make their kids’ beds and organize their bookshelves.

I say “we” even though it is embarrassing to admit–I am one woman in the vast and growing population of housekeepers. I have, and sometimes still do, clean other people’s homes for extra cash.

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