Oil For Treadmill

Oil for treadmill : Best compact exercise equipment : Starting salary for personal trainer.

Oil For Treadmill

oil for treadmill

    treadmill

  • An exercise machine, typically with a continuous belt, that allows one to walk or run in place
  • a mill that is powered by men or animals walking on a circular belt or climbing steps
  • a job involving drudgery and confinement
  • A job or situation that is tiring, boring, or unpleasant and from which it is hard to escape
  • an exercise device consisting of an endless belt on which a person can walk or jog without changing place
  • A device formerly used for driving machinery, consisting of a large wheel with steps fitted into its inner surface. It was turned by the weight of people or animals treading the steps

    oil

  • A viscous liquid derived from petroleum, esp. for use as a fuel or lubricant
  • cover with oil, as if by rubbing; “oil the wooden surface”
  • Any of various thick, viscous, typically flammable liquids that are insoluble in water but soluble in organic solvents and are obtained from animals or plants
  • a slippery or viscous liquid or liquefiable substance not miscible with water
  • Petroleum
  • anoint: administer an oil or ointment to ; often in a religious ceremony of blessing

oil for treadmill – Oil: Money,

Oil: Money, Politics, and Power in the 21st Century
Oil: Money, Politics, and Power in the 21st Century
With unparalleled insight into BP and its safety record leading up to the disaster in the Gulf of Mexico, Tom Bower gives us a groundbreaking, in-depth, and authoritative twenty-year history of the hunt and speculation for our most vital natural resource.

OIL

Money, Politics, and Power in the 21st Century

Twenty years ago oil cost about $7 a barrel. In 2008 the price soared to $148 and then fell to below $40. In the midst of this extraordinary volatility, the major oil conglomerates still spent over a trillion dollars in an increasingly frantic search for more.

The story of oil is a story of high stakes and extreme risk. It is the story of the crushing rivalries between men and women exploring for oil five miles beneath the sea, battling for control of the world’s biggest corporations, and gambling billions of dollars twenty-four hours every day on oil’s prices. It is the story of corporate chieftains in Dallas and London, traders in New York, oil-oligarchs in Moscow, and globe-trotting politicians-all maneuvering for power.

With the world as his canvas, acclaimed investigative reporter Tom Bower gathers unprecedented firsthand information from hundreds of sources to give readers the definitive, untold modern history of oil . . . the ultimate story of arrogance, intrigue, and greed.

Belle Starr (A Tale Of The Thirteenth Floor)

Belle Starr (A Tale Of The Thirteenth Floor)
The hands of the clock were reaching high
In an old midtown hotel;
I name no name, but its sordid fame
Is table talk in hell.
I name no name, but hell’s own flame
Illumes the lobby garish,
A gilded snare just off Times Square
For the maidens of the parish.

The revolving door swept the grimy floor
Like a crinoline grotesque,
And a lowly bum from an ancient slum
Crept furtively past the desk.
His footsteps sift into the lift
As a knife in the sheath is slipped,
Stealthy and swift into the lift
As a vampire into a crypt.

Old Maxie, the elevator boy,
Was reading an ode by Shelley,
But he dropped the ode as it were a toad
When the gun jammed into his belly.
There came a whisper as soft as mud
In the bed of an old canal:
"Take me up to the suite of Pinball Pete,
The rat who betrayed my gal."

The lift doth rise with groans and sighs
Like a duchess for the waltz,
Then in middle shaft, like a duchess daft,
It changes its mind and halts.
The bum bites lip as the landlocked ship
Doth neither fall nor rise,
But Maxie the elevator boy
Regards him with burning eyes.
"First, to explore the thirteenth floor,"
Says Maxie, "would be wise."

Quoth the bum, "There is moss on your double cross,
I have been this way before,
I have cased the joint at every point,
And there is no thirteenth floor.
The architect he skipped direct
From twelve unto fourteen,
There is twelve below and fourteen above,
And nothing in between,
For the vermin who dwell in this hotel
Could never abide thirteen."

Said Max, "Thirteen, that floor obscene,
Is hidden from human sight;
But once a year it doth appear,
On this Walpurgis Night.
Ere you peril your soul in murderer’s role,
Heed those who sinned of yore;
The path they trod led away from God,
And onto the thirteenth floor,
Where those they slew, a grisly crew,
Reproach them forevermore.

"We are higher than twelve and below fourteen,"
Said Maxie to the bum,
"And the sickening draft that taints the shaft
Is a whiff of kingdom come.
The sickening draft that taints the shaft
Blows through the devil’s door!"
And he squashed the latch like a fungus patch,
And revealed the thirteenth floor.

It was cheap cigars like lurid scars
That glowed in the rancid gloom,
The murk was a-boil with fusel oil
And the reek of stale perfume.
And round and round there dragged and wound
A loathsome conga chain,
The square and the hep in slow lock step,
The slayer and the slain.
(For the souls of the victims ascend on high,
But their bodies below remain.)

The clean souls fly to their home in the sky,
But their bodies remain below
To pursue the Cain who each has slain
And harry him to and fro.
When life is extinct each corpse is linked
To its gibbering murderer,
As a chicken is bound with wire around
The neck of a killer cur.

Handcuffed to Hate come Doctor Waite
(He tastes the poison now),
And Ruth and Judd and a head of blood
With horns upon its brow.
Up sashays Nan with her feathery fan
From Floradora bright;
She never hung for Caesar Young
But she’s dancing with him tonight.

Here’s the bulging hip and the foam-flecked lip
Of the mad dog, Vincent Coll,
And over there that ill-met pair,
Becker and Rosenthal,
Here’s Legs and Dutch and a dozen such
Of braggart bullies and brutes,
And each one bends ‘neath the weight of friends
Who are wearing concrete suits.

Now the damned make way for the double-damned
Who emerge with shuffling pace
From the nightmare zone of persons unknown,
With neither name nor face.
And poor Dot King to one doth cling,
Joined in a ghastly jig,
While Elwell doth jape at a goblin shape
And tickle it with his wig.

See Rothstein pass like breath on a glass,
The original Black Sox kid;
He riffles the pack, riding piggyback
On the killer whose name he hid.
And smeared like brine on a slavering swine,
Starr Faithful, once so fair,
Drawn from the sea to her debauchee,
With the salt sand in her hair.

And still they come, and from the bum
The icy sweat doth spray;
His white lips scream as in a dream,
"For God’s sake, let’s away!
If ever I meet with Pinball Pete
I will not seek his gore,
Lest a treadmill grim I must trudge with him
On the hideous thirteenth floor."

"For you I rejoice," said Maxie’s voice,
"And I bid you go in peace,
But I am late for a dancing date
That nevermore will cease.
So remember, friend, as your way you wend,
That it would have happened to you,
But I turned the heat on Pinball Pete;
You see – I had a daughter, too!"

The bum reached out and he tried to shout,
But the door in his face was slammed,
And silent as stone he rode down alone
From the floor of the double-damned.

Ogden Nash

A Better Steak – Florence, Italy

A Better Steak - Florence, Italy
When I returned to Kristin, she was dressed and ready to go. Where you ask? The Duomo? A Basilica of some kind? Maybe the Boboli gardens that the Medici built? Nope. She demanded we find the local gym. We had our concierge arrange a free week pass to a gym. We walked about 15 minutes and finally found this very swank and crowded gym. The equipment was all brand new, and some of the machines, like the treadmill were even designed by Pininfarina, which was totally awesome looking compared to the garbage aesthete that I am accustomed to at LA fitness. The gym was full of Italians obviously, but we were taken aback by the complete lack of meatheads. Not a single one. No balding monsters grunting and groaning like Mordor Orcs. It was a very pleasant workout except for a very odd interruption. I was using an inclined bench and a young Italian man intervened to give me a stern talking to in Italian. At first, I had no idea what I had done, but then I slowly started to piece together his message. He was criticizing my poor weight lifting form, something about my back not being straight enough. Kristin’s gym experience was very enjoyable, though she said the women’s locker rooms was among the nuder that she had ever experienced.

So we worked out where the locals work out, and then we decided to eat where the locals eat. On our way back from the gym, we noticed a very crowded restaurant with huge slabs of meat hanging from the ceiling. Kristin suggested that we eat there, since it looked very busy and was probably therefore good. We returned to our hotel, changed, and set back for this very special restaurant, Perseus. I had died and gone to bread heaven. Loafs, slices, circular pieces, unbelievably fresh olive oil, and balsamic. You have probably never heard of legendary Bistecca. I am about to hammer this name into your brains. It is a type of steak, made from a very special breed of cow. It is a very Florentine food, and is essentially a T-bone steak, about 3 or 4 inches thick, bloody rare, and crusty on the outside with seasonings and olive oil. Kristin and I split one of these, all three lbs of it. It was by far, like really really far, the best steak of my life. And while I am at it, I also consumed the best salad of my life at this meal. It was so fresh, that it was as if the damn thing had grown directly out of my plate. The tomatoes were so fresh and delicious, Kristin was eating whole tomatoes, and she hates tomatoes. This was the best meal of my life, and Kristin felt the same way. I am prone to exaggeration, and I have no shortage of "bests" for no shortage of categories, but this one is for real. The service was also ridiculously perfect, and they even slipped us all sorts of free stuff. I felt perfectly at home, and we were likely the only native English speakers in the building.

goboogo.com

oil for treadmill

oil for treadmill

Mobil 1 96989 Synthetic 0W-40 Motor Oil - 1 Quart, Pack of 6
Mobil 1 0W-40 exceeding industry standards and the major leading builder requirements is the cornerstone of the performance reserve that lets Mobil 1 0W-40 keep performing well after conventional oils cannot. Mobil 1 0W-40 provides the widest range of protection — providing the extreme cold start protection of an 0W grade and the high temperature protection of an SAE 40 grade. Mobil 1 0W-40 meets key industry and car builder specifications for: Mercedes MB 229.5, BMW Longlife 01, Porsche Approval List 2002, VW 502.00/505.00/503.01, GM-LL-A-025 (gasoline), GM-LL-B-025 (diesel), ACEA A3, B3/B4 and API SM/CF. Mobil 1′s viscosity is recommended by many European car builders, its wide range providing unsurpassed levels of protection and an overall smooth driving experience. Mobil 1 0W-40 keeps engines starting in Arctic-extreme cold, and it cleans deposits, sludge and varnish often formed in high temperature operating conditions. If you want total engine protection, excellent fuel economy and a product recommended for applications under warranty, you want Mobil 1. The world’s leading synthetic motor oil, it features a proprietary SuperSyn anti-wear technology that provides performance beyond conventional motor oils. Technology that allows Mobil 1 to exceed the toughest standards of Japanese, European and U.S. car builders — and to provide exceptional protection against engine wear, under normal or even the most extreme conditions.


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