Jawbreaker

The Book the CIA Doesn’t Want You to Read Gary Berntsen, the CIA’s key commander coordinating the fight against the Taliban forces around Kabul, comes out from under cover for the first time to describe his no-holds-barred pursuit—and cornering—of Osama bin Laden, and the reason the terrorist leader escaped American retribution. As disturbingly eye-opening as it is adrenaline-charged, Jawbreaker races from CIA war rooms to diplomatic offices to mountaintop redoubts to paint a vivid portrait of a new kind of warfare, showing what can and should be done to deal a death blow to freedom’s enemies.

Two and a half decades on, Jawbreaker's 24 Hour Revenge Therapy (1993-94) is the rare album to have lost none of its original loyalty, affection, and reverence. If anything, today, the cult of Jawbreaker-in their own words, "the little band that could but would probably rather not"-is now many times greater than it was when they broke up in 1996. Like the best work of Fugazi, The Clash, and Operation Ivy, the album is now is a rite of passage and a beloved classic among partisans of intelligent, committed, literary punk music and poetry. Why, when a thousand other artists came and went in that confounding decade of the 90s, did Jawbreaker somehow come to seem like more than just another band? Why do they persist, today, in meaning so much to so many people? And how did it happen that, two years after releasing their masterpiece, the band that was somehow more than just a band to its fans-closer to equipment for living-was no longer? Ronen Givony's 24 Hour Revenge Therapy is an extended tribute in the spirit of Nicholson Baker's U & I: a passionate, highly personal, and occasionally obsessive study of one of the great confessional rock albums of the 90s. At the same time, it offers a quizzical look back to the toxic authenticity battles of the decade, ponders what happened to the question of "selling out," and asks whether we today are enriched or impoverished by that debate becoming obsolete.

Seven-year-old Stink Moody discovers that he can get free samples by writing letters to candy companies and plans a surprise for his best friend's birthday.

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The case is reopened... "I can't believe this shit is happening again. Four Point's dead and yet, everyone I care about is unsafe. Again. Brody's gone, Maggie's hurt, and now Ben and I have to fix everything ourselves. This time, I'll be the one watching..."

"From celebrated music writer Dan Ozzi comes a comprehensive chronicle of the punk music scene's evolution from the early nineties to the mid-aughts, following eleven bands as they dissolved, "sold out," and rose to surprise stardom. From its inception, punk music has been identified by two factors: its proximity to "authenticity," and its reliance on an antiestablishment ethos. Yet, in the mid- to late '90s, major record labels sought to capitalize on punk's rebellious undertones, leading to a schism in the scene: to accept the cash flow of the majors, or stick to indie cred?Sellout chronicles the evolution of the punk scene during this era, focusing on prominent bands as they experienced the last "gold rush" of the music industry. Within it, music writer Dan Ozzi follows the rise of successful bands like Green Day and Jimmy Eat World, as well as the implosion of groups like Jawbreaker and At the Drive-In, who buckled under the pressure of their striving labels. Featuring original interviews and personal stories from members of eleven of modern punk's most (in)famous bands, Sellout is the history of the evolution of the music industry, and a punk rock lover's guide to the chaotic darlings of the post-grunge era. "--

The bold, bright colors of India leap off the page in this picture book retelling of how Ganesha helped write the epic Hindu poem, the Mahabharata. Ganesha is just like any other kid, except that he has the head of an elephant and rides around on a magical mouse. And he loves sweets, but when Ganesha insists on biting into a super jumbo jawbreaker laddoo, his tusk breaks off! With the help of the wise poet Vyasa, and his friend Mr. Mouse, Ganesha learns that what seems broken can be quite useful after all. With vibrant, graphic illustrations, expressive characters, and offbeat humor, this is a wonderfully inventive rendition of a classic tale. Praise for Ganesha’s Sweet Tooth “Pink elephants haven’t looked this good since Dumbo.” —The New York Times “Beautifully presented. . . . So sweet we almost want to pop it in our mouths.” —Entertainment Weekly “Stylish. . . . A fresh and comedic introduction to a Hindu legend, with a winning combination of both eye candy and actual candy.” —Publishers Weekly “Bright, elaborately detailed illustrations. . . . Grade-schoolers. . . . will enjoy the story’s turnarounds and focus on luscious sweets, and many will be ready for the classic Hindu myth.” —Booklist

Two and a half decades on, Jawbreaker's 24 Hour Revenge Therapy (1993-94) is the rare album to have lost none of its original loyalty, affection, and reverence. If anything, today, the cult of Jawbreaker-in their own words, "the little band that could but would probably rather not"-is now many times greater than it was when they broke up in 1996. Like the best work of Fugazi, The Clash, and Operation Ivy, the album is now is a rite of passage and a beloved classic among partisans of intelligent, committed, literary punk music and poetry. Why, when a thousand other artists came and went in that confounding decade of the 90s, did Jawbreaker somehow come to seem like more than just another band? Why do they persist, today, in meaning so much to so many people? And how did it happen that, two years after releasing their masterpiece, the band that was somehow more than just a band to its fans-closer to equipment for living-was no longer? Ronen Givony's 24 Hour Revenge Therapy is an extended tribute in the spirit of Nicholson Baker's U & I: a passionate, highly personal, and occasionally obsessive study of one of the great confessional rock albums of the 90s. At the same time, it offers a quizzical look back to the toxic authenticity battles of the decade, ponders what happened to the question of "selling out," and asks whether we today are enriched or impoverished by that debate becoming obsolete.