Hello everyone!
My dream has come true. My boss has tasked me with deciding the official emergency hurricane headlamp supply. I'm the supervisor for a Safety & Security team at a resort in Orlando.
From my experience with having cool flashlights and showing them off to my security officers, I have learned that they honestly don't care about "cool" features, and definitely dont carebto learn something like Anduril. I also only have a budget of $20-$25 MAX. Here's what I'll need:
Right angle headlamp/180⁰ tilt under $25 (I cannot budge here).
SIMPLE UI! High-Med-Low-Off is perfect. Nothing more complicated. Mode memory optional.
Water resistant enough for torrential rain and wind.
Not horrible CRI (80+ CRI/Neutral white is more than enough, could budge outside these parameters if I have to)
No harsh blue tint. What comes out of a Stylus Pro is fine.
No hat clip lights.
No cheap plastic "walmart" headlamps.
AA batteries, as we have a nearly unlimited supply. AAA could work if necessary.
Reliable.
Mix of flood and throw. Can lean more flood than throw if I have to.
Will need enough lumens to light up a pitch dark room and enough ground to walk around in severe weather conditions.
Amazon avaliblity strongly recommend, not a deal breaker.
I realize I've narrowed it down to a point that may not exist at my budget. Please tell me if I get to be the flashlight hero I've always wanted to be.
Thanks in advance.

Was on my way to work about 4:00am this morning and the on-ramp was closed. Can’t find any info on how long it will be down.

[Flying Sparks

Pre Order Now](https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon)
Chapter 2 “Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!” The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert. “And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales. “Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots. “Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.” “What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?” Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type. “Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.” “I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown. “Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!” The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders. “So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots. “Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone. “One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked. “Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare. “So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked. “As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied. “And?” The biologist groaned and rubbed her face. “As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.” “Frass?” “Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table. “Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?” “Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate. “Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!” “It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness. “It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly. “Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back. “Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.” The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body. “Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.” “Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake. “Not me, him,” Ama said. “Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said. Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer. “Emerald,” Ama said. “Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded. Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince. “Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone. “I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch. Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time. Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again. “I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered. “I could do it,” Drake offered. “You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.” Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder. “Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.” “Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.” “Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up. “Same as usual,” Ama confirmed. Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes. “I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room. The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden. “And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them. Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat. “Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?” Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well. “From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence. She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her. “Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-” The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment. “I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.” Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?” Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change. “Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.” Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure. “Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.” He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest. Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet. Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around. Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life. There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies. Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it. “Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?” Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question. Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules. The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers. However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow. He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock. He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday. The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it. The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root. “Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.” It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here. He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable.

[“Flying Sparks”

Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home.](https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon)[https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming\_soon](https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon) #FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding

I just uploaded a new video about:
Why is Duck Meat Red & can be Medium Rare but Chicken can't?
Here are the links to ...
YouTube: https://youtu.be/5QhWtg6kU4o
Wordpress: http://santaexplains.com/2023/06/01/why-is-duck-meat-red-can-be-medium-rare-but-chicken-cant/

Hey all, 39m Hamilton here, looking for new friends, maybe more. I’m 5’8, blonde/blue, and I have a beard. Alternative-looking, metal dude.
Interests:
music (mostly metal, but try and find something I’m not at least a little knowledgeable about)
video games (roguelites like Binding of Isaac, reluctantly League of Legends, but I like a little of everything, was playing Valorant and Overwatch recently)
film (mostly horror, top 3 of all time for me are The Shining, The Exorcist, and Hereditary)
Things I’m passionate about:
I’m finishing my Library Technician Diploma, so community outreach mixed with access to information for everyone.
I also write, mostly horror but I’m all over the place and always like feedback on my work.
Actually being empathetic, not just telling people you are (I’m aware of the irony of putting this here)
Metaphysics and the occult (specifically the psychological aspects behind these things, dw I’m not looking for rabbits or hats)
Women I’m interested in:
-Gamers! (if you wanna play League or Valorant, the next few requirements don’t apply, I’m always looking for new gamer friends)
-Childless and not looking to change that
-Within Ontario, ideally in Hamilton
-Openminded and not preachy (this applies to religion, lifestyle choices, politics, etc)
Bonus points if you have a cute doggo or kitty! If I seem like your type, inbox me a number of pics of your pets between 1 and several thousand. Or just say hi, you do you.

Someone please deny me of my delusions. I know people toss that word around too often but l'm seriously struggling and just done.
Me [F17], has had a crush on a guy my age for quite a while now. I confessed to him years back and it never really went anywhere since I basically blocked him for a brief moment after getting rejected sorta? (He said he liked me and the next day he said he used to.)
He followed me again our sophomore year out of the blue a few months after I unblocked him and apologized for disappearing after confessing my freshmen year during quarantine, he was matching pfps with another girl at the time. So, I knew he probably followed me out of some sort of truce.
That was until his pfp changed months down the line and he began liking my story. It was mutual at first just liking each others story but I stopped posting and stopped viewing his story because I knew I basically was creating a false interpersonal relationship with him online. And getting my hopes up.
We go to the same school and everything so I thought it was weird to keep doing it.
Then Instagram came out with the notes feature, and he basically began talking to me with very brief and meaningless conversations that are stupid looking back but we're fun and interesting. But he was showing interest in me and I didn't know whether to take it a token of friendship or romantic interest so I again backed away.
The last time we talked was when I wished him a happy birthday three-four months ago. But rarely now he'll sometimes make notes that correlate with mines, never messaging me though like before. And that's basically where we are now. Now this is where the delusions come in.
He's currently matching pfps with a brand new girl.
And lately he's been only posting notes close in time whenever I do, about her. Because I don't post as often on Instagram anymore I just found it weird how every time I do make a note, he also somehow posts one within a close time period in hopes of me he seeing it??? Since I try to avoid his stories now.
The other day, I make my bio a song title to a song I listen to often and I check his page one day to see a part of the lyric of the song in his bio. And I'm like woah crazy coincidence.
I could make a list of crazy synchronizations but I think you guys get the point. He does something that makes me question if it’s direct towards me because of how weirdly similar it is.
I'm not sure if I’m just a silly infatuated teen creating an imaginary scenario to feel good about myself or this guy is seriously trying to provoke something out of me because of my silence.
I honestly wouldn't be surprised since he jokes about being a joe Goldberg…..
I honestly need to work on my avoidant issues I know, but I want to see others people perspective on this and maybe get some advice.

So, I've held this in for a while and I understand that some will disagree with me on this, but I do not ever want to see Palpatine in any post OT material ever again. I do not care about them making the ST make sense. I truly hate that they brought him back and I feel it ruins Vader's sacrifice. In my opinion the only way to have him in any post OT material would be in stories where he's shown to be a shadow of his former self.
However, I know a few would be upset about even that. I'm of the personal opinion the only way to properly depict him now would be not as a master mind but an old man desperately clinging to what he once was. I also would not mind him being shown to be suffering from some level of mental deterioration given that for him to announce himself was the height of stupidity.
I mean I could not even finish ROS but everything he does in that is so stupid that the only explanation I can think of is that he was getting senile or something like that. I would not be surprised if he had an apprentice who straight up abandoned him after realizing how far gone, he was that would actually be a good story though Palpatine being so far gone that his own apprentice doesn't even see him being worth killing.
However, I just do not care for Palpatine anymore I'd be open to a prequel about him so long as he doesn't get made sympathetic. I'd rather watch a series about him being a total evil bastard. Where he commits one stomach turning crime after the next like some SVU level stuff and for his only comeuppance to be his master sending bounty hunters on him for risking exposure by using the force to escape justice.
However, at this point there is nothing good that can come from seeing Palps in anything post OT.

In the original world I’ve expanded all the torch things and several in Weyworld, but I’m still having blue patches where I can’t sculpt or build, do they just stay like this forever?

I recently purchased a Blue Yeti microphone to do voice shadowing with (basically, speaking along to a recording of someone else as vocal practice). Unfortunately, the open back pair of headphones I have does not work for this, as I need something that will block out the sound of my own voice, so that I can only hear the audio from my computer and the input from my microphone.
My only requirements are that the headphones/earphones are completely noise blocking, and connect via a 3.5mm jack.
I have no budget in mind, however, I will continue to use my open back headphones for everything but this, so I am looking for the cheapest thing that can accomplish what I need.
Thanks!

So I am still learning this champ and I just wanted to know, if I get really good with this champ and end up falling behind still, how difficult would it be to get back into the game? Assuming that I know the basics and overall how to play the champ, because sometimes it just feels impossible to play the game from behind, especially when the 2/0/4 blue kayn kills me in under a second at 15 mins, but I am like 90% sure that that is due to my lack of experience and skill.

Little blues further advancement and how character describe her implies her ability to scrub everything clean. Very similar to our would famous janitor. What if oz’s original janitor role comes down from the fact he advanced as a perfectly balanced Sylvan riverseed that manifested a body and continued to advance all before he originally ascended. It would have parallels to Emeriss Silent Born and her tragic but interesting advancement timeline. Let me know your thoughts

LPI (LP Information)' newest research report, the “Weightlifting Gloves Industry Forecast” looks at past sales and reviews total world Weightlifting Gloves sales in 2022, providing a comprehensive analysis by region and market sector of projected Weightlifting Gloves sales for 2023 through 2029. With Weightlifting Gloves sales broken down by region, market sector and sub-sector, this report provides a detailed analysis in US$ millions of the world Weightlifting Gloves industry.
This Insight Report provides a comprehensive analysis of the global Weightlifting Gloves landscape and highlights key trends related to product segmentation, company formation, revenue, and market share, latest development, and M&A activity. This report also analyzes the strategies of leading global companies with a focus on Weightlifting Gloves portfolios and capabilities, market entry strategies, market positions, and geographic footprints, to better understand these firms' unique position in an accelerating global Weightlifting Gloves market.
This Insight Report evaluates the key market trends, drivers, and affecting factors shaping the global outlook for SWeightlifting Gloves and breaks down the forecast by type, by application, geography, and market size to highlight emerging pockets of opportunity. With a transparent methodology based on hundreds of bottom-up qualitative and quantitative market inputs, this study forecast offers a highly nuanced view of the current state and future trajectory in the global SWeightlifting Gloves .
This report presents a comprehensive overview, market shares, and growth opportunities of SWeightlifting Gloves market by product type, application, key manufacturers and key regions and countries.
https://www.lpinformationdata.com/reports/729758/weightlifting-gloves-2029
The main participants
Decathlon
Bionic
RDX
Trideer
Adidas
Nike
Harbinger Fitness
Under Armour
Contraband
Simari
Segmentation by type
Without Wrist Straps
With Wrist Straps
Segmentation by application
Online Sales
Offline Sales
Key Questions Addressed in this Report
What is the 10-year outlook for the global SWeightlifting Gloves market?
What factors are driving SWeightlifting Gloves market growth, globally and by region?
Which technologies are poised for the fastest growth by market and region?
How do SWeightlifting Gloves market opportunities vary by end market size?
How does SWeightlifting Gloves break out type, application?
What are the influences of COVID-19 and Russia-Ukraine war?
LP INFORMATION (LPI) is a professional market report publisher based in America, providing high quality market research reports with competitive prices to help decision makers make informed decisions and take strategic actions to achieve excellent outcomes.We have an extensive library of reports on hundreds of technologies.Search for a specific term, or click on an industry to browse our reports by subject. Narrow down your results using our filters or sort by what’s important to you, such as publication date, price, or name.
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Hello, brand new player to Diablo and super hyped for the release. Going with a necro based off the very scientific reason that it looks badass.
i am coming from WoW, where one thing i loved is finding content creators and youtubers that one-tricked a spec and really did deep dives into that class, that allowed me to up my own gameplay. Wondering if there are any content creators that are focusing on necro and known to be reslly solid st the game. Just looking to learn as much as possible!
Thanks!