When Dave was being admonished by Gru, Steve punches him in his arm. As Gru was set to reveal his plan, Dave fires a rocket launcher which hits some minions leading to a fountain of minions. You’ll get the Monitor Weekly magazine, the Monitor Daily email, and unlimited access to cute minion has one eye with combed hair. If you’re looking for bran muffin journalism, you can subscribe to the Monitor for $15. We’re about kicking down the door of thought everywhere and saying, “You are bigger and more capable than you realize. We have a mission beyond circulation, we want to bridge divides. We’re known as being fair even as the world becomes as polarized as at any time since the newspaper’s founding in 1908. We’re run by a church, but we’re not only for church members and we’re not about converting people. The Monitor is a peculiar little publication that’s hard for the world to figure out. And I’m going to argue that we change lives precisely because we force open that too-small box that most human beings think they live in. We’re the bran muffin of journalism.īut you know what? We change lives. We’re seen as being global, fair, insightful, and perhaps a bit too earnest. If you were to come up with a punchline to a joke about the Monitor, that would probably be it. Sometimes, we call things ‘boring’ simply because they lie outside the box we are currently in.” My work in Kenya, for example, was heavily influenced by a Christian Science Monitor article I had forced myself to read 10 years earlier. “Many things that end up” being meaningful, writes social scientist Joseph Grenny, “have come from conference workshops, articles, or online videos that began as a chore and ended with an insight. In a world where we continue to prioritize mental health and finding balance, sometimes refuge is as simple as flipping a switch.Ībout a year ago, I happened upon this statement about the Monitor in the Harvard Business Review – under the charming heading of “do things that don’t interest you”: It binds us together in a way that transcends the nature of entertainment.As I enter my 40s, I enjoy toeing the line between big kid and being responsible for two kids. A nerd’s nirvana, for sure, but also the type of good-natured fun that constitutes Nintendo’s reputation.The more I think about it, the hero’s name is perfect for the effect of nostalgia on people. The gameplay is vast, with Link exploring lands that take hundreds of hours to fully comb through and explore. Folks dressed for the occasion or reminisced about the past, or both.The Legend of Zelda, which premiered in 1986, is the story of Zelda, the princess of Hyrule, and her companion, Link, who helps her overcome the schemes of the evil Ganon. The shared anticipation of the game’s release linked us together. Blockbuster, of course, is a thing of the past, but the childlike desires of kids at heart remain.As people filled up the store last Thursday night, I was reminded of a simpler time.It was refreshing to be a part of a community, if only for a few hours. I was close to my son’s age when I begged my parents to rent video games every weekend. I celebrated the occasion at my local GameStop, which allowed enthusiasts to win prizes, pick up the game, and quite frankly, be kids again.I often chuckle when people suggest that a Blockbuster card is a form of ID for millennials. What I found was sweet nostalgia.The Legend of Zelda enjoyed its first release in six years: Tears of the Kingdom. Then, I picked up a sword in search of adventure. Last Thursday, a few hours before midnight, I left my house in a folktale-like fashion.As moonlight draped the bedroom, I tucked my oldest boy into the covers.
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