По данным опроса проведенном среди работников в 2008 году, лучшим бонусом для них является место работы в 2009 году…

........ И вот на этом убивающем всё фоне - живой человек, всю жизнь подчинявшийся правилам, потому что иначе непонятно как жить, - и вдруг оказавшийся в растерянности, потому что привычный ход жизни нарушился. на этом тонком контрасте всё строится.///// полов любим фильмов подпадает под это описание
сам точн - с М Витти - т.е. даже цветов решение
, потеря равновесия твое реальн ощущение за долю секунды до падения, растянутое на время вместо тверд выскользн привычн поверхн и ее судорожн попытки ухватиться ~ хоть за что-нибудь
никогда не было так жаль / не сочувств никак Гамл как ей

относит деток и классики- на мой взгл взр дяди /тети посмеялись // из чист снобизма, для незн пушкина и пастер выбор стихов уж больно хорош///у нас половина указывала Асадова или Есенина
но мне вот тоже казалось что дом/родители не были единств источником нашего знания/отсут-я оного. т.е. улица /лагерь/всяк компании - не только гл познания в мате + заполн пробелов в секс воспитании, с какого-то возраста и до появл интернета - книги кино музыка - оттуда
а смотрю на св драгоц ///ну блинн в его возрасте уже что-то читали/ и по своему выбору/ и знали у кого какие книги м попросить а здесь - если и делятся -раньше игрушками, теперь фильм/playst
желание почитать - 3 хаха казалось бы ведь ему понаст нравится Даль читает, смеется, ловит меня чтобы прочесть особо понрав ............в пределах заранее оговор времени так надеялась что детка привыкнет самому понрав глядишь во вкус войдет

http://vad-nes.livejournal.com/392154.html#cutid1

kavajnyj Raskol'nikov

manga na P



на потом читать дальшеhttp://www.knigirossii.ru/?menu=show_book&book=1340675

http://www.vadimorlov.ru/baraholka/

Brain Damage (3)

Malfoy whispers, “I messed up.”

and whatever Malfoy expected you to do, you’re sure it wasn’t laugh, but you laugh anyway, and you keep laughing when he wipes his slimy face on his robe and flattens it with his clumsy, too-big hands. “You’re still a slug!”

Malfoy stiffens instantly, and then puts on a face that must be intended to pass for shock. “What?”

“You are!”

“Shut up, Weasley,” he hisses, and you keep laughing, because when you listen right, even his voice sounds squishy.

“I mean even being a ferret is better than a slug. I was just thinking— I mean— I just thought— it’s just— well, you were always slimy and disgusting— you and Crabbe and Goyle. Has anyone figured it out yet?”

“I’m not a slug!” he shouts, and from the look on his face, you start to think that you really are the first to notice— before his mother and before Snape who’s watched him spill and ruin potion after potion and before all the Slytherins who’ve seen the snitch slip easily away from him again and again, but you can’t make fun of that. You know what it’s like to go unnoticed— at least, you did, and it’s funny, really— you’re not quite sure what makes it so funny, but you laugh.

“You mean you used to look like—”

“I messed up,” Malfoy says, starting his favorite conversation all over again, if only so you can’t finish what you were about to say.

“You’re looking up, Weasley,” Malfoy says, and you nod without looking down because you don’t need to see his face to know it’s twisted in a scowl. “Do you want to know the truth about those stars you’re staring at as if they mean something?” he asks, voice shaking slightly, and he answers himself before you can tell him that you really don’t care and aren’t in the mood for an astronomy lesson. “They’re not there— not now. They’re just a picture of the past that we trust, like I trusted that my father would always be right and Potter trusted that you were still normal, because the signs you gave that you were fading weren’t big enough for his blind eyes to see. They die and we never even know it, because to us they just keep shining. You’re just as much of a fool as he is— as I am, and what you’re looking at . . . what you’re looking at isn’t real. We just trust that it is, and most of the time we’re wrong.”

You take off your mask and hold it at your side, worrying that it’s felt far too comfortable lately, and the night air against your face is so cold it burns. “What’s your point, Malfoy?”

“Just that you don’t trust anything anymore,” he says, folding his arms over his chest and shivering. “So I want to know why you keep looking up?” And for all his talk of death and failure, you know that Malfoy really believes in a dry, warm summer to come after the war and the winter pass, and what he fears most is that his beliefs will fail him again as they always have before, so he holds his hopes tight in his swollen, slippery hands, and he tries his best to keep the world from knowing they’re there at all so no one can laugh when they’re lost, and you think that to take them away from him now would be the worst thing you could ever do.

“It’ll be okay,” you say, and he looks at you surprised, probably because, moments ago, you were saying that you would both be killed, and you still might, but you say it again. “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.”


. “Last year,” you say, raising your voice to make sure he can hear you. “Last year— the brains— I followed you, and— and it hurt. I didn’t like it, and— and you left me. I—I tried to fight it, but— I couldn’t, and you just left me there.”

“I had to go after the Death Eaters,” Harry shouts from across the room, and his voice is shaking, and one of the small lamps crashes into the wall right beside your head followed by a much larger side table, but you duck out of the way just in time to avoid being speared by a jagged piece of wood. “They were trying attack all of us I— I had to!”

“I know!” you scream, batting the fire poker that shoots straight for your chest away with a table leg. “I know. I don’t think it was your fault— I’m not blaming you— I don’t— I wanted to make it better— I wanted you to stop it from happening. And maybe I wanted you to come after me for once.”


“You do, Ron.” A stone from the wall slides forward and knocks you in the back of the head, and a few hot coals jump at you from the fire, spreading flames across the carpet, and the couch Harry was sitting on earlier levitates above you, and you run out of its path just before it crashes to the floor. “I just want to know if you’re blaming me because you think it was my fault you were there or if you’re blaming me because I’m Harry Potter?”

“Both!” you shout, ducking a candelabra. “Neither!” as books from the floor fly towards you. “I’m not. Actually, this isn’t about you at all, I don’t think.”

“

“It doesn’t matter,” you say again, forcing a smile and coughing from the smoke in the air. “You shouldn’t care about me, not now. This way you’ll be glad when I die.”

“What?” Harry rubs his head and tries to sit just a bit straighter and gives you a hard look.


“You’re an idiot, Ron,” Harry says with what could be a chuckle or a broken sob, and he traces the flames with his fingers and laughs with tears in his eyes. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Yeah,” you say with a shrug. “Yeah, everyone seems to think so.”



“I don’t care,” he hisses, touching the flames again. “Hermione knows— or at least she’s starting to suspect— she doesn’t care either.”

“Why not?” you ask, getting to your feet with only a slight tremble. “You shouldn’t— neither of you! That’s the whole bloody point!”

“Have you gone crazy?” Harry asks, blinking up at you, and you swallow hard. “Are you insane, Ron? What on earth is wrong with you?”


You’re not sure how long you spend walking around the edges of the fighting and trying to avoid any stray spells, but the sky lightens a few shades, and Malfoy throws up a few times and starts to cast the few simple healing charms he knows at the bodies on the ground without really looking at them, and you want to tell him that it’s too late for most, but you see some bleeding wounds scab over and an arm twitch here and an eye open there, and you let yourself hope.


When you reach Harry’s side, Voldemort gives what must pass for a smile on his pale, snake-like face, and Harry tilts his head just a bit to look at you and then look down at your hand and the wand you hold out towards him. He swallows hard. “It’s— Ron, it’s pointing the wrong— OH.”

“It’s yours,” you say, pressing it into his free hand. “I mean, it’s mine— I mean, just bloody take it.” And he does, slower this time than before, and you think that if he trusts you, you might be able to let yourself trust something again and that for all his destiny and training,

Malfoy swallows hard and starts to mutter something, and Hermione slaps him hard in the face and then wipes her hand on her robe and gives him an odd look.



“Get up,” Harry says with a smile, stepping softly through the mud to get closer to you.

“Look, Harry,” you whisper, pointing to the sky. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? All the stars spinning like that, you standing right there— it’s perfect, so perfect.”

“Get up, Ron.”

“Why?” you ask, laughing. “No reason to. Everything’s perfect.”

She turns quickly and starts to run forward towards you until Malfoy grabs her by the arm to hold her back, and you think she looks upset, but you can’t tell, because they hardly look real at all, and Malfoy gives you a strange sort of wave that looks more like he’s fanning smoke away from his face, and you think his hand looks a bit less swollen than it had been, and you wave back.

. “Come on, look— the stars, Harry. You have to see them,” you say, pointing to a different one with every passing second. “It’s like you could reach out and touch each of them one by one by one.” And you keep pointing until your hand lands on Harry’s nose, and this time, he doesn’t give an annoyed snort, and this time, you don’t apologize. “Look up, Harry.” Harry grabs your arm, and he lets the tentacles thread themselves through his fingers and pull him down beside you, laughing. “Look up,” you whisper, and the world seems very far away. “Look up.” And he does, and he follows your finger with his eyes and your arm with his attached hand. “Look up.” And the sky seems both brighter and darker than it’s ever been before. “The stars,” you say, “perfect.” And Harry smiles, and you know that he can see them too.

The End

а вот еще радостн и любимого
Inexpert and Unexpected Things
And Harry laughs, in spite of himself, in spite of the war and the Horcruxes and all the things to come.


Across the room, Ginny rolls her eyes at him, which makes him feel slightly cheered.


He says, 'Malfoy's going to be staying here for a little while, Ron.'
But it is not Ron who reacts first; he is too busy recovering from the shock. Hermione is the one who, before Harry can even pull out his wand in self-defense, has both Harry and Malfoy slammed against the wall, iron bands circling their wrists, with one shouted spell. Harry feels as if he's just been hit by two Bludgers at once, and even Ron looks taken aback by Hermione's reaction.


'We'll wait at least an hour, in case it's Polyjuice Potion.' … Ron sees the expression on Harry's face and says tentatively, 'Herm, isn't an hour a – sort of a long time-'….
'Yeah, no doubt,' Ron says, fixing Harry with a look that manages to convey both his sympathy and suspicion, …………
'Some friends you have, Potter,'…Harry sighs, looking away from Malfoy. He doesn't bother struggling. He knows Hermione too well for that.


It's when she gets to the point of demanding, 'what was the first Gryffindor password in second year?' that Ron rolls his eyes. 'Come on, Hermione, I don't remember that,' he mutters. 'It's Harry, okay?


Ron is eyeing Malfoy with distaste, and he says warily, 'Harry, you aren't Dumbledore.'


For his part, Ron mutters, 'Well, don't expect me to share a room with him. Or to be nice to him….' 'Same to you, Weasley,' Malfoy says with venom, at the same time that Harry says, 'I know, Ron … I'll stay with Malfoy to keep an eye on him.'
'Fantastic,' Ron and Malfoy mutter in unison. They glare at each other.


'No, I'm not bloody afraid of you,' Ron shouts. 'Hermione, back me up here-'

Hi there, Harry,' Fred says cheerfully. 'Nothing like being accused of a stolen identity to make a chap feel welcome, eh?...........

Now, however, the nature of 12 Grimmauld Place is a bit funnier when its target is someone else.
In the first week, Malfoy runs into a suit of armor – 'I swear it moved!' he yelps, when Harry finds him trapped beneath it – has two windows slam without warning on his fingers, and gets into a wrestling match with a wardrobe that tries to shut him inside. To make matters worse, Ron amuses himself by agitating the bats until they fly at Malfoy head. Once they chase him out of the bath, clutching several towels around him and screaming. Harry and Ron laugh so hard they almost choke.

But to Harry's dismay, Malfoy decides that Harry is the most likely ally of the three of them and promptly attaches himself. He takes to following Harry around 12 Grimmauld Place, complaining from everything about rust in the water to the size of Ron's ears………….

'and Ron does not have parasites!'
'What do you call Granger, then?' sniggers Malfoy.


'I don't even hate him anymore,' Harry hisses to Ron in the kitchen that evening, as Hermione is finishing dinner, 'I just want him to shut up-'
'spit in his food,' Ron suggests brightly.
'Well, that's hygienic,' Hermione says, with a hint of disapproval, but Harry has already done it. Ron snickers.

In the next three days, Malfoy leaves spiders in Ron's bed, hexes Harry's sheets so they glue themselves together once he's between them, and talks loudly every chance he gets about the lice he's seen in Hermione's hair. 'I have not got lice,' Hermione says crossly, and channels her fury into knitting, producing four hats in one night.

It comes to a head one Sunday afternoon when Ron is standing at the kitchen counter, trying to get Malfoy to eat a Canary Cream. 'They're really delicious,' he enthuses, shoving it at Malfoy, who stares at it as if it might be poisonous.
'I wouldn't eat that,' Hermione warns as she passes through the room with a pile of books under one arm and Crookshanks under the other. 'it's from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, it'll turn you into a canary.'
'Oh, have you got a crash on me; Mudblood?' Malfoy says at once. Crookshanks hisses at him, and he narrows his eyes. 'I wouldn't touch you if you paid me, you realize.'
'She wouldn't touch you if you were the last person on Earth!' Ron retorts hotly, and before anyone can stop him, he yanks Malfoy towards him with a fistful of his shirt and tries to shove the Canary Cream into his mouth. Malfoy, teeth clamped shut, elbows Ron viciously in the ribs to get Ron's fist out of his face, but Ron's hand is still doggedly gripping Malfoy by the shirt. Malfoy howls, 'Get off me, you fucking oaf!' Ron, encouraged by this, smears the Canary Creamin Malfoy's hair..
'Pertificus totalus,' snaps Hermione, whom both of them seem to have forgot about. …. Which is how Harry finds them a second later when he wanders downstairs for a snack, then takes a step back at the look on Hermione's face.

'But I only have it in me to be nice to Malfoy or to suffer through these stupid books. I can't possibly do both. It'd kill me.'


'Hermione's making breakfast,' Harry says.
Malfoy lifts his upper lip. 'Well, I certainly don't want her filth in my breakfast-'
'Perfect,' Hermione interrupts. 'It's about time you start helping with meals. We all take turns. You can have Thursdays-'
'Hermione, no!' Ron groans, wandering into the kitchen just in time to hear her. 'he'll poison us!'
'It can't be any worse than your dinners, I'm sure,' Hermione says mildly. In his seat, Harry quickly turns his snicker into a cough as Ron sends him a glare. Once, Ron had made a meal of tea and hard boiled eggs, the only two things he was certain would turn out right. In fact, Ron made so many eggs that they were eating the remnants for three days. Even now, Hermione turns a bit green at the mention.
'Excuse me, I don't cook,' Malfoy says, as if cook is a dirty word…..'…I ought to make you cook for Dobby and iron your hands when you flummox it up! Bang your head against the wall a few dozen times, then see how good you think you are!' then, breathing hard, Hermione seems to remember her resolve to be nice to Malfoy. She says quickly,'….it's a bit like Potions, and you're – you're good at that.'
Malfoy looks taken aback.
'S.P.E.W.,' Harry shrugs by way of explanation. Ron mimes spewing vomit behind Hermione's back.

'Potter,' he says. 'Make me a sandwich.'
'Make you – no!' Harry exclaims. 'Get your own sandwich!'
'See?' Ron says, pointing at Malfoy but staring at Hermione.
'Stop pointing at me,' Malfoy whines, and stomps back out of the kitchen.


'She looked a bloody lot like Madam Pince, too, Ron adds. 'You know, shrieking about the sanctity of knowledge and depraved schoolchildren.' He does a very accurate imitation of Madam Pince swooping down on them, flailing her batty arms, and imagining Hermione doing the very same, Harry can't help but laugh.


'I'm tired,' Harry says, 'and I don't want to deal with Rufus Scrimgeour any more, and I don't want to go to Azkaban tomorrow, and I don't want to ever see your father's smug, slimy face again without being able to hex him, and I really don't want to keep seeing you every single day at breakfast, but I'm doing all of these thing, all right? I'm doing them because you are going to co-operate, and you are going to help me,and you are even going to be nice sometimes, and-'Harry scowls at Ron, who is apologetically mouthing something about Hermione,'-and, and fine, if you are, we'll throw in a cake.'
'You'll what? .. Wait, Potter, why are you going to Azkaban tomorrow?'
'To see your Father,….
Malfoy's eyes have a strange light to them….He says doggedly, 'I want to come. To Azkaban. I want to come.'


'yes, I'm sure,' Malfoy snaps. 'I read every book I could find about Azkaban last summer.'



'Potter!' Malfoy squeaks. 'What are you doing?'
'Sharing body heat,' he says, and tries not to snicker at how scandalized Malfoy sounds.
'I think it's actually called unwanted sexual attention-'
'Shut up,' Harry says tolerantly. 'Do you want to freeze to death before you see your father?'
'You mean, before you see my father,' Malfoy snipes, but after a moment, his arm creeps around Harry. Immediately, Harry thinks of what Ron would say, finding the two of them spooned together under a heap of blankets, and starts shaking with silent laughter.



Even as Harry watches, the goat tattoo lifts its head , then suddenly goes galloping around Aberforth's wrist and paws a bit with its front hoof. 'Blimey,' Harry hears Ron whisper behind him. 'I want one of these!'
'A goat?' Hermione says incredulously.
'No, a magical tattoo!


Near the food, Fleur's family has positioned a small, self-playing orchestra, complete with a cello that twirls charmingly between songs.
But in the back of the house, Harry can hear that Charlie and several of his friends are playing their own music, which promises a bit more fun…..but at that moment, Gabrielle Delacour bounds past him, shrieking, 'It's the Mermen, I love them,' and pumping her fist in the air. Somehow, in the last ten minutes, she has changed out of her bridesmaid dress and into what look like black leather pants.
'She's eleven years old!' Hermione hisses in his ear, sounding scandalized

The moment after his fingers close around the fluttering little ball, Malfoy slams into him, shouting, 'Fucking school brooms, this hasn't got any fucking brakes-' He's warm from the sun and his knees are sharp against Harry's thigh when his arms wrap around Harry for balance, and Harry laughs' in spite of himself, in spite of the war and the Horcruxes and all the things to come.
'Oh, shut up,' Malfoy snaps, hair in his face, off-balance. His arms are still around Harry. He holds on a little too long, and Harry lets him.

zabyg17.livejournal.com/61471.html

zabyg17.livejournal.com/101835.html

Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys
weatherby.livejournal.com/95332.html
ttp://weatherby.livejournal.com/95696.html

20 percent of something always are responsible for 80 percent of the results, became known as Pareto's Principle or the 80/20 Rule

a ведь меня трясло, что это может быть применимо не только к работе , (ужас-ужас друзья!) и подумать только оказалось верно, как только осталась без интернета и дали возможность сунуть нос в комп.

/ не похожи (
The Boondock Saints
**
4

Они были трусами, сказали в «Америка сегодня». Скатертью дорожка, отбросы.

Они были настоящими, написали в «Вашингтон Пост» и процитировали Торо.

Они были угрозой, заявили на «Фокс Ньюз».

Они спасли мне жизнь, сказал строитель из Пенсильвании.

Я чуть не погибла под перекрестным огнем, сказала какая-то медсестра.

Святотатцы!, выла церковь.

Необходимость, заявили усталые копы, но сделали это тихо.

Братьям МакМанусам пришло время сдохнуть,» - фыркнул Мерфи с пляжа в Канкуне и выключил радио.

5
Они побрились над разбитой раковиной, по три взмаха лезвием над каждой щекой. Влезли в грязные комбинезоны, натянули старые шапки на спутавшиеся волосы. Шаркая, спустились по лестнице вдоль нависающих стен, вышли в день, который внезапно показался темным

9
Мерфи пнул сумку, горячий от выстрелов пистолет обжег его щеку, когда он выпрямился. – «Одна граната. Мать твою, одна!»***