Would you like all of your Facebook friends to sift through your trash? A group of designers from Britain and Germany think that you might. Meet BinCam: a 'smart' trash bin that aims to revolutionize the recycling process.
I've never believed that pop music is escapist trash. There's always a darkness in it, even amidst great pop music.
Hillary Clinton trashes the banks every time she opens her mouth, and yet she made $21 million in two years making speeches to those very banks that she trashes every day.
When I was a little kid and I heard a song I liked on TV, I would jump up and run to the piano to try and figure it out by ear. When I was 10 or 11, I built myself a drum kit in the garage made out of empty laundry detergent buckets, old lawn chairs, paint cans, and old trash cans. And around that time, my parents got me my first guitar. A baby acoustic. I jumped between all of these instruments constantly to satisfy the ideas I heard in my head. At this young age, I realized that music would play a huge part in my life.
For the rest of your life you must check the box on employment applications asking the dreaded question: "Have you ever been convicted of a felony?" And once you check that box, the odds are sky high that your application is going straight to the trash. Hundreds of professional licenses are off-limits to people convicted of felonies.
At any Trump rally, you could identify the malcontents and the bad actors. They were the leftists, trying to make themselves look like Trump supporters. But the real Trump supporter is somebody who is peaceful, who wants the country to get better, who wants things fixed. They're not lawbreakers. They operate within the bounds of law and order. They respect other people. They don't make a mess. They don't leave a bunch of trash and garbage around like leftist protesters do virtually everywhere they go.
Ever since roughly 1890, when snot poets first decided that rhyme was confining and unnecessary, every idiot with a pen fancied hisself a poet. The mere act of rhyming was suddenly regarded as a quaint, mannered, and uncool atavism, consigning doggerelists like me to the trash bin of literary history.
YouTube is full of pieces of trash. If you want to look on YouTube and find something that insults you, you can probably find it.
I don't think Michael Bloomberg would say that his greatest skill is delivering the speech. He would say he's more of a nuts-and-bolts mayor-picking up the trash, dealing with the school system.
I think that not criticizing my successor is a statement unto itself, in terms of trying to create an environment where people are able to have a meaningful discussion or debate without trash talk.
From powerful causes spring the empiric's gains, Man's love of life, his weakness, and his pains; These first induce him the vile trash to try, Then lend his name, that other men may buy.
One of my books is a hallucinogen, an aphrodisiac, a mood elevator, an intellectual garage door opener, and a metaphysical trash compactor. They'll do everything except rotate your tires.
Avoid head trash. Don't be a garbage can for anything that does not feed your intellect, stimulate your imagination, or make you a more compassionate peaceful person. Refuse to open your mind to other people's trash. Tune out anything that promotes conflict or controversy. This can infect you with a mind virus of cynicism or defeat, and you won't even know it!
George W. Bush did not go on television to trash [Donald] Trump.
I love golf. But do you know how I got good at golf? Because of Charles Barkley. I was playing with Charles, Michael Jordan and Roy Green, and Charles was talking so much trash. On every shot, he was talking trash. So I left the tournament, and I went and practiced for a year and half.
And I used to say, 'I'm black, too.' In other words, I - my whole life I've been called a half-breed, a convict, king of the trailer trash, this and that. I take that and stand.
The problem is this: in order to make money- lots of money- we don't need flawless literary masterpieces. What we need is mediocre rubbish, trash suitable for mass consumption. More and more, bigger and bigger blockbusters of less and less significance. What counts is the paper we sell, not the words that are printed on it.
They stood there for a while, not saying anything. Then Eli said: 'Do you want to come in?' Oskar didn't reply. Eli pulled on her T-shirt, lifted her hands, let them fall. 'I'm never going to hurt you.' 'I know that.' 'What are you thinking about?' 'That T-shirt. Is it from the trash room?' '...yes.' 'Have you washed it?' Eli didn't answer. 'You're a little gross, you know that?' 'I can change, if you like.' 'Good. Do that.
If you know anything about me, I've never been a trash-talker. That's not even part of my DNA.
You don't want to trash what you've done; that's your history.
And as paralyzing and upsetting as all the never agains were, the final leaving felt perfect. Pure. The most distilled possible form of liberation. Everything that mattered except one lousy picture was in the trash, but it felt so great. I started jogging, wanting to put even more distance between myself and school. It is so hard to leave—until you leave. And then it is the easiest goddamned thing in the world.
Now the baby's in the trash heap balling.
Writer's block — so what? Write something bad. Just throw it in the trash can when you're done, you're always improving. That kind of writing is like doing a bunch of push-ups. Every individual push-up is not the important thing. On Tuesday you're going to think, "Is it really important that I do it today?" No, but the collective impact is. If you write every day, you will improve.
Our eyes met across the crowded room, like in the movies, except we didn't share a knowing smile and race into each other's arms. Instead I fell into the trash can.
But for now, the future, like the past, means nothing. For now, there is only a homestead built of trash and scraps, at the edge of a broken city, just beyond a towering city dump; and our arrival-hungry, and half-frozen, to a place of food and water and walls that keep out the brutal winds. This, for us, is heaven.
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