2010 Florida Governor Race Election Results a " Rick Scott Wins | The News of Today

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Posted by Jason Moore on Nov 3rd, 2010 and filed under Featured News . You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 . You can leave a response or trackback to this entry Florida Governor The 2010 Florida Governor Race has been a close one ever since the primaries ended.

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Kate Carraway

New York, NY

#3430 May 3, 2014
COZY

This month sometime Hello Giggles boss @sofifii tweeted,“I think a 2014 trend is going be grown women sleeping with teddy bears and childhood blankets.” This is also my prediction for 2014. I recently discovered that I have a blankie that I not only sleep with but also bring with me to my desk in the morning to make my 5 AM wake-up feel a lot better. I’m pretty sure that a renewed (or new, I guess, either way) sense of self-care and self-reliance—which includes a commitment to basic tactile comfort in order to generate the mind and body energies required of a 2014-style, self-sufficient, independent, cool-customer “Grown Woman”(callback!)—will be important. I mean maybe not with actual teddy bears, but let’s take an opportunity to be alone with ourselves and our soft things once in a while (I recommend Friday nights), so next year’s girl in review will be about how we all did amazing stuff at work, were kind to each other, had fun, and went to bed all exhausted but done.
Panamaed

United States

#3431 May 3, 2014
I have a series of New York IP Addresses and links to Boeing and a very strange foreign Vacuum Industry player.
Seems Boeing, L3 Communications, Lockheed Martin and Deloitte are trying to overthrow U.S.
Panamaed

United States

#3432 May 3, 2014
The FISA COURT has notice....no more plausible deniability
Panamaed

United States

#3433 May 3, 2014
I will post all the details tomorrow....MAY THE 4TH BE WITH YOU!
Panamaed

United States

#3434 May 3, 2014
I'm not talking Hoover either, Judge.
Suck Gestion

Lake Butler, FL

#3435 May 3, 2014
Hey Kate Carraway..........

You are so full of chet your eyes are brown..........

The real Kate Carriway knows how to spell her name!!!
Kate Carraway

New York, NY

#3436 May 3, 2014
Twitter, generally and probably temporarily, is uncomfortably easy. Like Sunday afternoons, like an unencumbered ego, anything at all can surge forward to fill the empty space, and everything will. On this particular platform there are fewer rules and better access and bigger fonts, and there is super obvious, super excellent usability and an ever-widening acceptance of Twitter—by adults, I mean, because kiddos prefer Instagram and Snapchat—that make for a looseness, a malleability, a tremulous potential that is realized by a cross section of people matched only by, I don’t know, iTunes?

Twitter, as a platform and product and social network, doesn’t deserve what it usually gets, critically and collective-culturally speaking, which is either the Franzen-panic of people who don’t understand it, and don’t seem to want to understand it (but why? It’s so fun!), or the defensive, sometimes smug-ish ownership of Twitter (this also happens across the internet at large) and its socially mediated meritocracy by people who do.

The most emphatic positions in favor of Twitter, and all that looseness, malleability, and potential, are so singular and insistent; it sometimes feels to me like online self-righteous FOMO-horror, like an inverse of the social-internet suspicious, a self-serving and anxious decision that Twitter is not an but the alternative to a scarily splintering and reforming cultural economy. It also acts as some kind of necessarily profound sociocultural endgame and, at the same time, a venue where existing, maybe-exiting systems of value and rank are disappearing into smoke, where previous ways of having and sharing ideas are second to the specially Twitter-styled. This kind of defense always feels to me, to use an annoying objective-correlative, like a Britney Spears video, one (there are several) that takes place in some apocalyptic bathhouse environment—all dark but shiny, just deeply, teenage-ly satisfied in its big-talk retreat from the established cultural standards.

This kind of stuff, the paradigmatic oppositions, online and print, old and new, whatever, persist even though they are thoroughly ahistorical and don’t really make any kind of sense. They also don’t address the truly important questions and arguments about what different media and cultural spaces offer, and to whom. Like, as a for-instance: regardless of everything it might give or take from writing and thinking and the physical and intellectual space to do it, Twitter is still very much about certain, if implied, hegemonies. That anxious, FOMO-y need to affirm Twitter as our thing leaves out how much of the Twitter experience, in particular when it comes to self-representation, is dictated by our little circles of whoever we do Twitter with, in the same way it always has been.
Kate Carraway

New York, NY

#3437 May 3, 2014
Take Twitter bios. The Verifieds are more sincere and sanded down in what they say about who they are, yeah, but the preferred mood of the ruling class—whoever gets play, exposure, and rewards on Twitter where they might not in a previous version of collective culture—is to offer little or no information, no location, nothing that reveals the inherent embarrassment of participating or trying or taking it seriously. The second most preferred is to have a lot to say but to do so flatly, arithmetically rather than exponentially, probably because even being on Twitter is initiatory, an insistence of the self, rather than reactionary, which is historically cooler. What is read as “self-promotion” on Twitter is so revealing of the ways in which Twitter behavior is invisibly managed, despite being ostensibly free and open and weird. The attempts made to negotiate the self and the expression of the self within non-normie Twitter circles are cutely tentative, so obviously and Franzen-ishly aware of what it means to include this platform in a cultural identity.“Weird Twitter” and “Black Twitter” are similar, bad attempts to diagram the experience, or to surge forward and fill up what is, and is still supposed to be, a wide-open space. What Twitter can be is still so present—like, the @Horse_ebooks phenomenon of “art” or “bot” got emotions up!—but it’s mostly anxiety, felt and managed collectively. Which, in itself, is kind of sweet: on or off Twitter, what it means, and what it means for who we are, is a pursuit undertaken together.
Kate Carraway

New York, NY

#3438 May 3, 2014
Not to be so high drama about it, but my life changed in July of 2011. That was when the Wugazi album, a then-clever mashup (that word is like being visited by waves and waves of the coldest fremdschämen!) of Fugazi and Wu-Tang called 13 Chambers (get it?) came out. I definitely cared about the album, and about Doomtree, the collective that put it together; in the abstract and in the particular this is exactly the kind of dense and sweet internet-treat thing that I want and want to talk about. Also, this was like six months after the Swedish band jj’s Kills mixtape was released, and it felt like there was real flow—like psychology researcher Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s “flow” of a perfect cohesion of ideas and labor, not like rap flow—to be found in mashups (AAAAAHH!) sometimes. So.

So whatever. I’m at an office, not mine, talking to my friend Chris about Wugazi. I stop midsentence, my uneven smile-dimples collapsing. The moment was so whole and complete that I might as well have been framed there in the room by two vectors of fading green-orange sunlight, that day’s and my dumb youth’s martini shot, as I saw the conversation we were about to have like a long, familiar tunnel, and I turned around and walked away, done with riffing forever.

Riffing is something like mutual masturbation (coincidentally, saying “riffing is like mutual masturbation” could make a cool riff). It is essentially the small talk of anyone who, at some point in their adolescence, learned how to throw dice about their thing, whatever that may be, music or movies or whatever, instead of having regular conversations. Social, jokey, and jockey, peer-on-peer riffing is the casual and ongoing assertion of opinion, specifically for some specific think-scene, which might be between two people, or a silky thread of smooth talk between a zillion strangers on the internet, endlessly one-upping. Its first and most important requirement is that there only be a finite number of people who are invested in getting it and who can relentlessly evolve a given riff-thing.

Riffing has a real purpose. Yes, it’s fun to have the best joke; it’s fun to be joke-bested, unless your ego is disgusting; it’s fun to exchange these kinds of intellectual Eskimo kisses with my friend Chris. But, most often, the purpose of riffing—spinning these one-offs, one-liners, one-notes—is the assertion itself, rather than any insight behind what is being riffed on. Riffs are about what is suggested, rather than what is said. Riffs never really achieve the dynamic of true criticism or conversation, and instead move ever inward, toward this low, gaping interest in both giving a little self-aggrandizing, but maybe entertaining, demonstration (about what you know, what you read, what you saw, who you are) and getting noticed for it. Riffing is, by necessity, about distance and being at least one step removed: familiarity without challenge.
Kate Carraway

New York, NY

#3439 May 3, 2014
nd, not to be so high drama about it, riffing is more of a boyish thing to do: the currency of a certain stripe of guy is always going to be shared, external, measurable interests, and being better at them. Completist and competitive, riffing is the language of so many friendships, obviously girls included, especially girls-among-guys, or girls immersed in the kind of culture that is only a half-generation removed from a social order of dominating maleness, even if it no longer feels that way all the time. Choosing not to participate, because you already know what you think and don’t care what your Chris proxies have to say (mean/fair) or participating with the fulsomeness of someone who cares so, so much, feels like a revolutionary choice within the world’s respective shit-talking communities.

It was soon after I walked away—so fucking rude!—from my friend that I realized it was because I didn’t want to spend any more time as the kind of person whose social value has to do with ephemera, with sanctioned humor, as processed and refined as white sugar, and knowing about something because it is new. I also noticed, then, how rarely people say in those same peer-spheres something like “I’m wrong.” Not “I was wrong,” an a posteriori apology, but “I’m wrong,” or “I don’t know,” or “I’m not interested,” instead of laying down some trope about a band. Apart from that last thing, which can serve as a jocular power move on the riffing circuit, it is this refusal of vulnerability that makes riffing such a sinister friend-force; crafting all those looping nuggets, ready to be tossed out and traded, monotonous and tidy, relieves us of the pain and responsibility of the complexity of modern life, even in these casual, quick moments, and of thinking harder (and weirder, and slower) and then subjecting our friends to our bigger, wronger, and ultimately—I promise, I hope—better ideas. This is all so far removed from the internet’s influence, exemplified by the fact that people were riffing the same way when DOS was still a going concern (riffed!). But maybe it gets worse, with a riffer’s and the internet’s age and ensuing confidence. Last year, the writer Emily Gould tweeted,“For a long time as a younger person I mistook conversations for pop quizzes about my knowledge of various topics. Sorry about this everyone.” Girl, don’t be. Everybody does it.
Kate Carraway

New York, NY

#3440 May 3, 2014
“Cable television is a disease. I have it now, and that means I also have the TV listings in my bookmarks and that’s a problem. TV is for the one-hour toast-inhaling impasse you have in between working and going out, or hangovers/the flu. That’s IT! TV is so good now but it’s never stopped being the fucking worst.” I wrote that for VICE a year ago and, yeah, I was wrong. Maybe “mostly” wrong: TV created a renaissance for itself, in content and delivery—let’s call it post-TV—but watching shows on trad-TV or not, if watched passively or by rote, is still the fucking worst. So I was like half wrong?

Television has gone from 99 percent daggy to the medium that feels most expansive and inclusive (I’d make a lemonade-bet that there is more diversity of people and genres across a cache of your fave shows than your iTunes library or w/e), and the medium that collective-cultural life, one zillion smug tweets, and a TV-recap-industrial-complex all orbit around, while the novel moves further out into darkness (remember,“For every reader who dies today, a viewer is born,” wrote Papa Franzen, forever ago; remember, The Flamethrowers got less attention than Badger’s Star Trek scene in Breaking Bad).

We’re in the weird sort-of midst of the “fall season,” where previews and reviews and finales and premieres are happening all at once, which seems to be a just-fine whistle stop on the milk run toward whole seasons of TV being available all at once, Netflix-style. So, here, some select-selections from the lineup of brand new shows where the rubric for inclusion is about as sophisticated as “what I feel like” and, you know, what might turn out to be good. TV party tonight! TV party tonight! TV party tonight!
Kate Carraway

New York, NY

#3441 May 3, 2014
Betrayal

This will air after the bandage-dress murder-mystery Revenge on Sunday nights, making for a soapy-intrigue rock-block, its stories told in smooth foreheads and low voices. But whereRevenge is about high stakes in the Hamptons, Betrayal seems to be about lower stakes in… where, Chicago maybe? Or is everything “Chicago” to me because I love The League so much?

The good-bad factor of these drama-camp shows seems determined by their self-awareness: take 90210, original edish, which did it just right. However, the pilot-watching experience of Betrayal was a little bit like, say, trying to pay attention to your friend, who you love, when they call you too late for advice because they’re going through some twitchy pseudo-crisis, the details and import of which you can’t really grasp, and then they talk about their job for two hours and then are obviously just bored and mousing around on their laptop, and when they finally say “Anyway, what do you think?” you just have no idea.

Two crucial, potential problems with this show: Every guy on Betrayal is identical in his handsome brown-haired man-ness, and, if Betrayal is intended to get on Revenge’s level they’re going to need a fun-proxy for Nolan, who is what Prince would be like if he could write code and was more into cravats. I believe in Betrayal but it’s also, like, give me something to hold on to.

Masters of Sex

Will Lizzy Caplan finally get a long-term thing to be cool in? Will a show about the science of sex be great or embarrassing? Is the title a joke or for serious?

The Blacklist

James Spader stars in this TV show about a guy with a black hat. The hat is magic! When you put it on, you make meth almost perfectly. JK. James Spader already occupies three or four distinct roles in the culture: the forever-avatar of darksided 1980s prep (please refer to Pretty in Pink and Less Than Zero and the way he wears a loose, linen jacket; please also note that James Spader’s middle name is allegedly “Todd”); a persistent sexual obsession to the kind of girl for whom Secretary and maybe even White Palace is canon; and as the rare man whose natural, regular aging and every-guy-pattern hair loss was taken as an affront to his audience who I guess spend a lot of time wondering why he isn’t hot anymore (c’mon, though—he totally is).

The Blacklistis supposed to be the best new danger-drama, but the pilot suggests that the show might be great with the big cinematic stuff and the high-precision-bad-guys and not much in the way of attendant levels of detail and characterization. In a post-TV (post-Breaking-Bad-TV?) viewing era, even a casual audience chewing almonds in front of iTunes wants completion and consistency, to feel led. Like, how about a one-liner to square the adoption sub-plot, or a meta-textual acknowledgment of how doyviously the good-and-evil, pretty-lithe-FBI-agent-with-gr eat-shimmery-gloss-and-James-S pader dynamic is being set up? I’ll go with any guns-and-‘splosions scenario that I’m told is believable, because I don’t know if it is or isn’t, but I do know what people would and wouldn’t say and do to each other under quotidian circumstances, and I care. Is this why girls like Law and Order so much?
Kate Carraway

New York, NY

#3442 May 3, 2014
Super Fun Night

This is the Rebel Wilson comedy that is about three supposed girl-losers who spend every Friday night in their apartment with their “indoor faces”(which is a really ace update to “radio face,” thanks for that, TV). However, this posse includes a lesbionic tennis instructor who wears five-years-ago American Apparel and no makeup and her gym bag to the club, which makes me think that she has some new, needed perspective, apart from what the rest of us in our careful, muted separates understand to be real and true, and there is a nervous office almost-alpha who will be pitched against the Rebel-hero until they come to some always-temporary non-resolution. It is pretty broad and wacky and props-based, unfortunately, and also unfortunately the only new comedy that is specifically about young women, even though Girls and The Mindy Project and New Girl would seem encouraging of more like it. Unless those are points against, like,“We got ‘girls’ covered” or something? Yurgh.

What is usually missing from The Girl Experience in every medium is the singular, feelings-y soft stuff. New Girl does this in a good way, like, when Zooey D is in an emotional valley where only jammies and Taylor Swift can offer comfort and wholeness. This “soft stuff” is both the center of, and a meditation on, an aspect of the female point-of-view that is more than any other kept out of popular culture, I think both by women who know it to be threateningly vulnerable and undermining and too complex to do properly or without overwhelming criticism, and by men, who see it as one-dimensionally vulnerable and undermining and not that complex at all. Like, New Girl basically had to devote an episode to how Jess wearing polka-dots wasn’t making an anti-feminist statement. Of course nobody wants to get into the real-realness of how dark and subjugating and powerless life can feel unless it’s done within the acceptable and existing strictures.(P.S.: New Girl is actually Girls, and Girls is basically Louie.) Also, shows about women’s lives almost never include stuff about money, even though financial anxiety is the most common, inclusive scenario possible to get comedy from. Sooooo to circle waaaaaay back to where I started: maybe Super Fun Night, since its premise is about three chicks who have basically abandoned traditional and contemporary modes of femininity in order to hang out together and be anxious and lovelorn, could get into some of the ideas that other shows about women kind of leave out. If you want, I mean, w/e.
Kate Carraway

New York, NY

#3443 May 3, 2014
I pushed him into a snow bank on the way home from the bar. He was drunk and had to pee and went down, soft like a wool mitten, and then got up, and then I pushed him down again. I hadn’t—this should be “haven’t”—seen this dude in, like, three years, but that—the “pfooo” of a grown-up man falling slow and landing facedown in the fresh snow, the 2 AM winter-empty side-street echo of us scream-laughing, hard—repeats, for me, as something like an advertisement, not for friendship exactly, but more specifically for the corny, syrupy-sweet juvenilia that is what I liked so much about how and who we were when we were together.

Friendship is a constantly self-renewing frontier of human relationships, a Wild West of emotional and temporal adventure times. Without the common and commonly necessary strictures that the lamer side of biology and collective culture and whoever else is set up to dictate sexual, romantic relationships, and without the near-eternal nature of literal families, friendship is expansive and truly wild. It’s the only type of relationship that can run steadily for months or years or ever-afters, without sliding down an emotional valley or being punctured by another person’s need or someone else’s betrayal. Of all the ways for two people to be together, and be in some kind of love, it’s the way that is most defined by genuine, wanted, cohesive closeness—the kind that can only be created by making a choice that isn’t required by law or money or blood or boners, and least of all by obligation. The stuff of great friendships applies to shy kindergarteners sharing a snack as much as it does to Carl Reiner and Mel Brooks watching movies together after dinner.

In most other, more organized types of relationships, the bond is expected to be somewhat static, and the assumed parameters and consistency of character are as determining as the relationship itself. Being without heavy mutual obligations and contingencies—being one of many, not being the only one—affords more opportunity to be an inconsistent, fluctuating, positive presence, and as such, an enormous, creative, productive promise. Each friendship, in an ideal form—and similarly ideal groups of friends who take on the togetherness qualities of a pack of wolves—can be without those certain rule-things that both complete and complicate everything else.

It’s weird that we look to love love and sex stuff for completion. Companionship, yes, but “completion” in the sense of being seen and being known is usually rushing in from the direction of someone who doesn’t need you to be anything in particular. In that way, friendship is more revealing of our truest natures because it’s not about the “best self” that a boyfriend or girlfriend or husband or wife is supposed to invoke; it’s about the best, worst, weirdest, least guarded, careless, and most released. Inside of the culture of a particular friendship, the usually demarcated roles and restrictions, and who we are within those roles, can be spun into whatever we’re not getting anywhere else. Like, when else can a dude be his most feral or most aggressive? Or cry? Where else can a girl—with another cool girl, a guy, anyone who gets it—turn away from the various bright, blinding gazes focused on her the rest of the time? A good, working friendship should slice open whatever air pockets of tension and desire that can’t, in any other pairing, get sliced.
Kate Carraway

New York, NY

#3444 May 3, 2014
It also happens that the friendship requirements and necessities of any given person—who is “allowed” to be their friend—tend to be obscured to the same degree that family and boyfriend (or whatever your deal is) stuff is always very apparent. And, because I have a lot more friends serving different functions than I have anyone else, that fundamental thing of who your friends actually are, who it is that you can get loose and come undone with, can be complicated and troubling. Friendship is as much a chemical reaction as any sexual thing, but asking someone if they want to hang out, without wanting to put your tongue on them, is beautiful, inelegant, and embarrassing all at once. It’s so naked, more so than sex, to ask someone who owes you nothing, who can become nothing more,“Will you be one of mine? Can I be one of yours?” over and over again. For all of that, any definitive, destructive shape-shift of a friendship can be even more devastating than another kind of end because there is no socially sanctioned space for that loss. Until then, it’s just the two of you falling into new snow, screaming.
Panamaed

United States

#3446 May 3, 2014
VINDICATION....IN 2008. I busted Congressman Boyd for trying to give surplus US Government Property to TYNDALL DEVELOPMENT PARTNERS, LLC, HUNT, ELP. MANAGING PARTNER.

The Panama City News Herald was in on the scam and you can't find the story or my comments.

Now they are balking...

Did not want to disclose who all the Mob Partners were.....
once from that city

Spring Hill, FL

#3447 May 3, 2014
sadness set in as I tried to comprehend the endless drudgery of the persons playing at authorship on the last multiple posings......yes long and hard work just to play at wonnabe.

so give it up you dumb fluks

annd once I wrote in your big city
necessary

Spring Hill, FL

#3448 May 3, 2014
cut the tripe
Kate Carraway

New York, NY

#3449 May 3, 2014
VINDICATION....IN 2008. I busted Congressman Boyd for trying to give surplus US Government Property to TYNDALL DEVELOPMENT PARTNERS, LLC, HUNT, ELP. MANAGING PARTNER.

The Panama City News Herald was in on the scam and you can't find the story or my comments.

Now they are balking...

Did not want to disclose who all the Mob Partners were.....
Panamaed

United States

#3450 May 9, 2014
FREE WYLLIE!!!

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