Sentences with phrase «same kind of fish»

The bird had nabbed the same kind of fish we were after: an Atlantic molly (Poecilia mexicana), a member of a family of fishes called poeciliids, whose females give birth to live young and whose males have flashy colors that make them popular among aquarists around the world.

Not exact matches

We never got tired of preparing or eating basically the same meal day after day as a way to sample as many kinds of fish as possible.

Korean food markets in the Dallas area carry many of the same products, although you might be surprised at the number, type, and variety available: cans of sweetened red beans, big bags of frozen dumplings, whole heads of pickled garlic, jars of bright red hot - pepper paste, packages of dried zucchini, giant fresh Korean pears the size of large grapefruits, fresh soy and mung bean sprouts, salted fish, several kinds of rice (from white to beige to black), and more types of packaged dried noodles than you probably ever knew existed.

Many of you may have already felt the same way, but betting on the defensive player of the year award before the season begins is kind of a fish bet.

There is no doubt that Bale needs to get the hell out of Real if he ever wants to be the kind of player he once was... this isn't to suggest that he his skills have diminished, he simply isn't the fiery, determined and aggressive player that struck fear in the hearts of his opponents... the small fish in a big pond just doesn't fit his profile... I can't even remember the last player I've seen who has become so invisible on the big stage (maybe Pogba last year)... maybe it's a case of culture shock or maybe he wasn't able to handle the notoriety that invariably came with his big money signing, but regardless of how it happened this guy is a shadow of his former self... although I doubt he would ever come to a team in such disarray, he could quite easily fill the shoes of Sanchez, who ironically was in a similar predicament in Barcelona, as Bale would return to his favoured left side and would be given the same freedoms that have allowed Sanchez to flourish... ultimately I think the cache of wearing a Real jersey and competing for the top trophies would be too difficult to give up for a wannabe club run by suits who care little about those kinds of accolades

A Twinkie will have almost zero nutritional value, while a chicken breast with broccoli and some fish oil will be packed with protein, essential fatty acids, and all kinds of vitamins and minerals — even though they will have roughly the same calorie content.

I have been using 4Health white fish and potato as I have a 5 month old pit that has had sensitive stomach issues since we have had her and this food was our life saver her stools became firm her coat is so soft we were happy until yesterday my husband went and bought a new bag and this morning I went to feed her and I thought he had picked up the wrong kind I even checked the bag to make sure but it was the same so I thought maybe they had changed the shape it used to be like almost squarish and bigger this looked like little balls not even quarter of the size I didn't think much of it and fed her tonight she had an accident in the house which she hasn't done that in weeks and I noticed it was very runny and it looked dark grey in color and trust me I know my dogs poop!

All of this takes place within a small, confined area that boasts the same impressive technical levels of detail that the main game boasts, too, but that is an otherwise unmemorable location for the most part, although the giant metal shark and brief wander through isles of metal fish are kind of neat.

Another is a cheaply done «match 3 of a kind» fishing game where you have to match 3 of the same species of fish.

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,