Descending from Spanish royalty, Alberto Del Rio brings attitude and style to the ring. Some would call it arrogance, but once they enter a match with the man from Mexico, they realize he has the skills to back it up. This title introduces readers to Alberto Del Rio, the man of majestic mayhem!
Just about any social need is now met with an opportunity to "connect" through digital means. But this convenience is not free—it is purchased with vast amounts of personal data transferred through shadowy backchannels to corporations using it to generate profit. The Costs of Connection uncovers this process, this "data colonialism," and its designs for controlling our lives—our ways of knowing; our means of production; our political participation. Colonialism might seem like a thing of the past, but this book shows that the historic appropriation of land, bodies, and natural resources is mirrored today in this new era of pervasive datafication. Apps, platforms, and smart objects capture and translate our lives into data, and then extract information that is fed into capitalist enterprises and sold back to us. The authors argue that this development foreshadows the creation of a new social order emerging globally—and it must be challenged. Confronting the alarming degree of surveillance already tolerated, they offer a stirring call to decolonize the internet and emancipate our desire for connection.
Rack'em up with The Pool Bible and get a complete understanding of the game, including the history, legends of the game, cue choice and care, shots and angles, trick shots, and varations like eight-ball, one-pocket and blackball, includes information on other cue sports like snooker and billiards.
The Artful Dodger" surveys the vast and varied territory that Bantock's work encompasses: from his English art-school days to paperback covers, pure abstract experimentation to pop-up books, "Griffin & Sabine" to his most recent work. His own words lend a highly personal, often revealing angle to more than 350 color images.
This book fathoms the depths of Philippine cinema as the author ventures into the largely unknown terrain of the country’s history of early cinema. With meticulous scholarship and engaging insights, prize-winning filmmaker and author Nick Deocampo investigates the origin and formation of cinema as it became the Filipinos’ preeminent entertainment and cultural form.
Um verdadeiro prazer – uma história rica, engraçada e fascinante do Pink Floyd. Nick é um guia maravilhosamente sarcástico e lacônico." – Peter Gabriel A HISTÓRIA DO ÚNICO MÚSICO QUE PARTICIPOU DE TODOS OS ÁLBUNS DO PINK FLOYD. Pink Floyd é uma banda que atravessa gerações, não apenas por seus quarenta anos de existência, mas pela potência de sua mensagem. E o que o único membro que esteve em todas as formações pode nos contar sobre o que há por trás dela? Nick Mason, o baterista que integrou Pink Floyd desde o início modesto na cena underground até os mais estrondosos shows em estádios, conta com bom-humor e muita ironia o que levou a banda a se tornar o ícone que é hoje – incluindo suas memórias, mas também diversas entrevistas, uma linha do tempo meticulosa e fotos do arquivo pessoal de Mason. Perfeito para novos fãs conhecerem o lado escuro da banda e um prato cheio para fãs antigos incrementarem seu conhecimento. "Mason poderia muito bem ter trilhado uma carreira como escritor. Tem um estilo comedido e organizado que leva com objetividade e sagacidade... Ele escreve com a calma autoridade de alguém que esteve de fato presente à época... Uma das melhores histórias do panteão do rock." – David Sinclair, The Guardian
The 90-Day Companion Journal supplements the commitment for creating a healthier lifestyle. Sex, Drugs & Rock N Roll is the mantra for bringing more health and wellness to your family. The 90-Day Companion Journal is the perfect way to take it with you everyday.
IT had rained in torrents all the way down from Schenectady, so when Jack Duane glimpsed the lights of what looked to be a big house through the trees, he braked his battered, convertible sedan to a stop at the side of the road. Mud lay along the fenders and running boards; mud and water had spumed up and freckled Duane’s face and hat. He pulled off the latter—it was soggy—and slapped it on the seat beside him, leaning out and squinting through the darkness and falling water. He was on the last lap of a two weeks’ journey from San Francisco, his objective being New York City. There he hoped to wangle a job as foreign correspondent from an old crony, J. J. Molloy, now editor of the New York Globe. Adventurer, journalist, globetrotter, Duane was of the type that is always on the move. “It’s a place, anyway, Moses,” he said to the large black man beside him, his servitor and bodyguard, who had accompanied him everywhere for the past three years. “Somebody lives there; they ought to have some gas.” “Yasah,” said Moses, staring past Duane’s shoulder, “it’s a funny-looking place, suh.” Duane agreed. Considering that they were seventy miles from New York, in the foothills of the Catskills, with woods all around them and the rain pouring down, the thing they saw through the trees, some three hundred yards from the country road, was indeed peculiar. It looked more like a couple of Pullman cars coupled together and lighted, than like a farmer’s dwelling. “Fenced in, too,” said Duane, pointing to the high steel fence that bordered the road, separating them from the object of their vision. “And look there—” A fitful flash of lightning in the east, illuminating the distant treetops, showed up the towering steel and network of a high-voltage electric line’s tower. The roving journalist muttered something to express his puzzlement, and got out of the car. Moses followed him. “Well,” said Duane presently, when they had stared a moment longer, “whatever it is, I’m barging in. We’ve got to have some gas or we’ll never make New York tonight.” MOSES agreed. The two men started across the road—the big Negro hatless and wearing a slicker—the reporter in a belted trench coat, his brown felt hat pulled out of shape on his head. “It’s a big thing,” Duane said as he and Moses halted at the fence and peered through. Distantly, he could see now that the mysterious structure in the woods was at least a hundred yards long, flat-topped and black as coal except from narrow shafts of light that came from its windows. “And look at the light coming out of the roof.” That was, indeed, the most peculiar feature of this place they had discovered. From a section of the roof near the center, as though through a skylight, a great white light came out, illuminating the slanting rain and the bending trees.
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