Lore Improta does 1º pregnant rehearsal in Viradouro and reveals that pregnancy was planned for Carnival: 'It was an old dream'

Marie Claire

Lore Improta faz 1º ensaio grávida na Viradouro e revela que gestação foi planejada para o Carnaval:

Representando a Viradouro no Carnaval de 2026, a dançarina bateu um papo exclusivo com a Marie Claire

Sabrina Sato and Dua Lipa samba together at Vila Isabel's rehearsal; video The duo met from the samba school rehearsal, and the singer danced with the Queen of Drums

Marie Claire

Sabrina Sato e Dua Lipa sambam juntas no ensaio da Vila Isabel; vídeo

A dupla se reuniu do ensaio da escola de samba, e a cantora dançou com a Rainha de Bateria

...Coffee ☕️ and off you go, discovering the wonders of a new day! 🥰🔆

...A little relaxation🛁🧼🫧

5 Christmas tree trends to bet on decoration in 2025

CLAUDIA

5 tendências de árvore de Natal para apostar na decoração em 2025

Minimalismo chic: entenda o novo jeito de decorar a casa para o Natal deste ano!

The art of being human fades in the obsession with the artificial: let us regenerate ties to earth and sky before AI turns mystery into code.

5 Looks To Rock In The Turn

ELLE Brasil

5 LOOKS PARA ARRASAR NA VIRADA - ELLE Brasil

Os looks de ano novo ganham força com propostas brancas que traduzem as tendências do verão 2026.

The Digital Body That Broke Its Own Heart, between one breath and the next, when the vastest organism ever conceived by man holds its breath. It is not a hiccup, not a passing spasm. It is a cardiac arrest. Last Tuesday, as we walked distracted through our hyper-connected existences, the global nervous system stopped transmitting impulses. Not from a virus, not from an attack. From an excess of zeal. From a memory that, trying to remember too much, forgot itself. Cloudflare, the architect of that digital unconscious which filters, decides, separates the human from the automaton, gave birth to its own failure. A minimal change, a comma shifted in the dialogue between the ClickHouse database and the engine that generates the map to recognize bots. A change of permissions. Little more than a whisper. And from there, the deluge: duplicate rows, a river of cloned data that overflowed the banks, invaded the memory, until it shut down the central proxy. The guard poisoned itself. The paradox is of a cruel beauty: the tool created to identify and repel the non-human began to mistake humanity for an imitation. False positives. You, I, our legitimate requests, our digital loves, our transactions, our grief shared on a platform—all blocked. Branded as artifice. Only those who did not trust the system's judgment—only the dissenters of the score—remained standing, islands of light in an ocean of darkness. They, Cloudflare, spoke of more granular kill switches, of strengthening files, of preventing core dumps from saturating resources. A language of technocrats, a ritual of atonement through the checklist. But the truth that slithers, mute and immense, is another: we have built a cathedral that is too central, where a single stumbling cleric can extinguish the sun for a fifth of the world. This is not an accident. It is a negative theophany. It is the revelation of our fragility. And so, while we read Matthew Prince's aseptic statement, a deeper question was brushing the nape of our necks, like a breath of cold wind in a room we thought was sealed. It happened to them, yesterday. To whom will it happen tomorrow? In what other system, apparently decentralized, apparently free, could a change of permissions, a duplicated line of code, an excess of zeal decide that your voice is noise? That your presence is an error? You feel it, you live it almost daily, you tell me, within the realm of Nostr. That impression that intensifies. That sensation of an invisible filter activating, not for a global blackout, but for a silent, unconfessable inconvenience. Did they mistake you for a bot? Or perhaps, for that system, being inconvenient is the new operational definition of a bot? The machine must no longer just recognize the human from the non-human; it must now discern the acceptable human from the undesirable human. The answer, whatever it is, is irrelevant. You already know who to thank. It is the same entity to which, unknowingly, we have delegated the heartbeat of the world. And when an artificial heart goes mad, the only sound that remains is not silence. It is the echo of our own dependence.

5 pants from the 2000s that come back with everything for the summer Get inspired by the Y2K style for a stylish and modern production, from low waist to capri pants.

Vogue

5 calças dos anos 2000 que voltam com tudo para o verão

Inspire-se no estilo Y2K para uma produção estilosa e moderna, da cintura baixa à calça capri.

There is a strange stillness in this fall. It is not the silence of surrender, but the one that precedes a change of state, like water that, before freezing, ceases to ripple. The markets are trembling, and the tremor is not just in the numbers—Bitcoin touches $89,420, American tech stocks retreat, miners collapse like rotten trees —but in the collective soul that has stopped believing in its own narrative. The euphoria has dissolved, leaving room for a melancholic clarity. And in this clarity, perhaps, a gift is hidden. Today's crisis has two faces, two mirrors reflecting the same unease: on one side, the fear of a tech bubble; on the other, the global liquidity squeeze. They are two symptoms of a single ailment—excess. Excess of leverage, excess of expectation, excess of faith in a frictionless future. And when liquidity recedes, like the tide abandoning the shore, the riskiest assets—cryptocurrencies, tech stocks—are left naked, exposed, like shells on a rock . Bitcoin, which had once touched dreamlike peaks—$126,250—crashed nearly 30% in a few weeks . And with it, Ether, Solana, the entire digital ecosystem. But it is not just a matter of prices. It is a crisis of meaning. For months, perhaps years, we believed that technology and decentralization could emancipate us from the cyclical nature of history. Instead, the past returns, with its fierce irony. The dynamics that shook tulips in the 17th century or dot-coms at the dawn of the millennium repeat, almost identical . Irrational euphoria, the buying frenzy, the self-fulfilling prophecy—until something breaks. A shift, an unforeseen event: the Fed's statements on rates, geopolitical tensions, the forced selling of leveraged positions . And then the bubble bursts. The collapse is not just technical; it is psychological. The Crypto Fear & Greed Index hits 11, levels of "extreme fear" not seen since 2022 . And in this panic, a simple but profound truth emerges: the market is not a machine, it is a forest. And in the forest, those who know how to wait survive. The short-term holders—the short-sighted speculators—are on their knees. They are suffering losses never seen before, even greater than those during the FTX crash . They sell at a loss, chase the panic, fuel the spiral. The long-term holders, however, those who have held Bitcoin for at least 155 days, remain steadfast. Their average cost basis is around $66,000; even today, they are in profit . It is not a question of luck, but of time. Of patience. Of a vision that transcends the noise. As an observer writes: "LTHs are living through it all in a relatively tranquil manner, while STHs are the ones actually making the most noise" . It is the same lesson from behavioral economics: those who invest with long horizons do not suffer the fluctuations, they pass through them. But there is more. This crisis is not just a price adjustment; it is a test for the entire financial architecture. Spot ETFs, which had absorbed billions of dollars, are recording record outflows—$2.9 billion in redemptions in November alone . The "whales"—the large holders—are selling and realizing profits at the highest rate since 2021 . And the mining companies, caught between energy costs and falling revenues, are crumbling like sandcastles . It is a domino effect, triggered by evaporating liquidity. And yet, even in this, there is a form of purification. Michael Saylor, the Bitcoin guru, buys another 8,178 BTC during the crash, at an average price of $102,171 . For him, volatility is a gift: "It drives away the tourist, it drives away the lazy" . Almost a natural selection of spirits. And so, perhaps, the crisis is not the end of something, but the beginning. The beginning of maturity. Bitcoin and tech are not dying; they are seeking a new equilibrium. Institutional adoption, although slowed, has not halted . And the liquidity squeeze, however painful, might force the system to purge the excesses. To return to the essential. In the end, what matters is not the price of Bitcoin, but the meaning we assign to it. If it is a short-term bet, then this crisis is a condemnation. If it is a long-term vision—a wager on decentralization, on resilience, on an idea of freedom—then it is merely a passage. Like a river that, after a flood, returns to its bed. Cleaner, deeper. Truer.

That laundry scent, a heavenly breath of sun and wind, is the domestic poetry the soul recognizes as home. 🌞🍃✨

Digital assaults on family stability: - Apps promoting parent-child secrets - Platforms replacing household dialogue - Content discrediting family authority Rebuild communication before digital becomes a wall.

Good morning 🔆 ...whit a coffee! 😋☕️

“Where Love reigns, There is no need for laws. “ (Plato)

Fisher understood the debt-deflation trap, but never imagined a store of value immune to interest rate manipulation. Bitcoin is the anchor in the monetary storm: a fixed point in a world of floating debt, where time preference realigns with the cosmic clock of mathematical scarcity. #Bitcoin #DebtDeflation #TimePreference #MonetaryAnchor #nostr