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Natividad MacPherson
Dołączył: 12 Paź 2020 Posty: 3
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Wysłany: Pon Paź 12, 2020 07:06 Temat postu: hard hat |
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I don't think hard hat the current by-laws are legitimate. They were changed& yes& but not by going through the proper process. Therefore, HBC may be operating on by-laws favorable to JM but those are not the proper by-laws that have member voting and elder oversight. I attended that church during that period of time of by-law changes I do not recall any membership voting. I am no lawyer here, but changing the by-laws of a non-profit to benefit an individual(s) seems to be illegal, fraudulent and just plain unbiblical. In my humble opinion this is where the investigation should lead and probably by a DA office before the statutes of limitations expires. There clearly is a pattern of JM just making changes (HBF) without anyone knowing. Maybe a class action is warranted so I can get some of my tithes back. I didn't sacrificially give to a fraudulent so JM can vacation all summer, take family on extravulant vacations, live in a big house and sneak off to Vegas for weekend gambling trips.
But here's the thing, and I don't think that anyone has touched on this yet& many think MacDonald was The Consigliere during the peak of its syndicate years, he was not. He can barely string a sentence together without the help of a Moody intern or two ghost-writing his schtick. He's always been the fool in the barely-tied bathrobe and slippers sputtering incoherencies and chomping on his cigar while waddling down to get his newspaper down at the curb every day. He was the tool. The fool. The clown that people pay weekly top hat to see dribble on himself and berate some poor schmuck who happened to cross his path that week. Play the charlatan and fool at the same time. Not easy, but let's be honest, he nails it. Crushes it. Yet, who knew it would payso insanely well for so many years?! Go figure. Why import and sell smack or crack when you have a tool that can print it faster than you can say "You are loved."
For the reception he changes into a suit, she panama hat into a red Ba narasi gown with spaghetti straps, something she'd designed herself and had made by a seamstress friend. She wears the gown in spite of her mother's protests what was wrong with a salwar kameeze, she'd wanted to know and when Moushumi happens to forget her shawl on a chair and bares her slim, bronze shoulders, which quietly sparkle from a special powder she's applied to them, her mother manages, in the midst of that great crowd, to shoot her reproachful glances, which Moushumi ignores. Countless people come to congratulate Gogol, saying they had seen him when he was so little, asking him to pose for photographs, to wrap his arms around families and smile. He is numbly drunk through it all, thanks to the open bar her parents have sprung for. Moushumi is horrified, in the banquet room, to see the tables wreathed with tulle, the ivy and baby's breath twisted around the columns. They bump into each other on her way out of the ladies' room and exchange a quick kiss, the legionnaires hat smoke on her breath faintly masked by the mint she is chewing. He imagines her smoking in the stall, the lid of the toilet seat down. They've barely said a word to each other all evening; throughout the ceremony she'd
This time all her parents have had to do is bring down the boxes from a closet shelf, retrieve the jewels from the safety deposit box, find the itemized list for the caterer. The new invitation, designed by Ashima, the English translation lettered by Gogol, is the only thing that isn't a leftover. Since Moushumi has to teach a class three days after the wedding, they have to postpone the honeymoon. The closest they come is a night alone in the DoubleTree, which they are both dying to leave. But their parents have gone to great trouble and expense to book the newlywed suite. "I have got to take a shower," she says as soon as they are finally alone, and disappears into the bathroom. He knows she is exhausted, as he is the night had ended with a long session of dancing to Abba songs. He examines the room, opening drawers and pulling out the stationery, opening the minibar, reading the contents of the room service menu, though he is not at all hungry.
There is no calculator, and so they add up the figures on numerous sheets of the hotel stationery. Most of the checks have been written out to Mr. and Mrs. Nikhil and Moushumi Ganguli. Several are written to Gogol and Moushumi Ganguli. The amounts are for one hundred and one dollars, two hundred and one dollars, occasionally three hundred and one dollars, as Bengalis consider it inauspicious to give round figures. Gogol adds up the subtotals on each page. "Seven thousand thirty-five," he announces. "Not bad, Mr. Ganguli." "I'd say we've made a killing, Mrs. Ganguli." Only she is not Mrs. Ganguli. Moushumi has kept her last name. She doesn't adopt Ganguli, not even with a hyphen. Her own last name, Mazoomdar, is already a mouthful. With a hyphenated surname, she would no longer fit into the window of a business envelope.
looks outside. As she sits down at her desk, her eye travels upward; the window in the office reaches the top of the wall, so that the rooftop of the building across the street stretches across the bottom edge of the sill. The view induces the opposite of vertigo, a lurching feeling inspired not by gravity's pull to earth, but by the infinite reaches of heaven. At home that night, after dinner, Moushumi hunts christmas hat among the shelves in the living room she and Nikhil share. Their books have merged since they've gotten married, Nikhil had unpacked them all, and nothing is where she expects it to be. Her eyes pass over stacks of Nikhil's design magazines, thick books on Gropius and Le Corbusier. Nikhil, bent over a blueprint at the dining table, asks what she's looking for. "Stendhal," she tells him. It's not a lie. An old Modern Library edition of The Red and the Black in English, inscribed to Mouse. Love Dimitri, he'd [img]https://www.urban-practice.com/images/a/christmas hat-777zwt.jpg[/img] written. It was the one book he'd inscribed to her. |
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Wysłany: Pon Paź 12, 2020 07:06 Temat postu: |
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