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A California version of the Canadian bath-and-body company Lush, Out of My Tree originated in Rolling Hills and creates its own products with a slight whiff of hippie. The single-brand store uses organic ingredients in its essential oils, fragrances, body scrubs, soaps, and cleansers.
Tract developments took the demands—monetary and mental—of building a new home off the backs of postwar couples hard at work raising businesses and families. -

After learning he had aced the school’s intelligence test, he decided to try for admission to MENSA, a membership group for people with high IQs. On the first go-around, he panicked, fearing that he wouldn’t score highly enough to be admitted.

In the summer of 2007, Timothy S. Durham decided to throw himself a party for his 45th birthday. The CEO of a leveraged buyout shop in Indianapolis, Durham claimed to have made millions. He had also developed a penchant for the young, fun, and nubile, partying in Los Angeles and Miami and on his yacht in the Caribbean.

Cynthia Abernethy wears a button pinned on either lapel to work. One reads I’m the boss, the other, No. When approached by customers seeking a deal or discount—queries she deems inane and unworthy of reply—she points an index finger to the second button and offers a smile. A woman who ventures, “I saw this bed for less on eBay—can I have a discount?” gets the button; so does a man holding out a blender, asking, “Will you sell this to me for a dollar -
Chad Bravermansat at his office desk wearing jeans, a wheat-colored jacket, and white tennis shoes with aqua soles, waiting for the arrival of a porn star named James Deen, who was late for a morning meeting. A month earlier Nightline had run a segment on Deen titled “The Porn Star Next Door,” in which the 26-year-old actor, who is said to have appeared in some 4,000 X-rated films, was described as enjoying a popularity among teenage girls that “may be deeply disturbing.

On an overcast Friday afternoon last August, a hundred or so employees of AOL's local news subsidiary, Patch, crammed into a cafeteria at the company's headquarters in Manhattan. Another several hundred connected to the room via conference call.

They were waiting to hear CEO Tim Armstrong deliver bad news.

AT $8 BILLION, SIR ALLEN STANFORD’S ALLEGED FRAUD WOULDN’T EVEN BE THE BIGGEST PONZI SCHEME UNCOVERED IN THE PAST FEW MONTHS. BUT HIS WRETCHED EXCESS AND JAW-DROPPING GUMPTION HAVE NO EQUAL.

The architect is making a mistake. Standing before a large screen in the industrial-chic conference room of his office downtown, he begins his presentation with a leisurely overview of what can be done to the property at 500 South Mateo Street, a five-sided, single-story building on a patchy block in the nearby arts district. His audience of eight seems attentive.

Say what you want about the future of work, but this much is clear: The traditional compact between employers and employees is slowly fading away, and with it, a way of thinking, a way of living, a way of relating to others and regarding oneself that generally comes with a reasonably predictable professional life.

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