Did she mention me?

That very tune reminded me of my adolescence.

But you made a gesture that reminded me of something.

Of course all this business reminded me of many other similar situations.

Which reminds me, I should go upstairs now.

And it reminded me that to keep in the present, to look out for these kinds of things.

His name was Raja, and he had kind, twinkly hazel eyes and warm expressive hands that reminded me of my father.

But it also reminded me of the power of pattern and repetition to make an effect in our mind.

My alma mater, MlT, and I had this moment a kind of M. Night Shayamalan moment where I thought, Whoa!

She reminded me that I was now the same age she had been when we boarded the boat.

It reminded me of the so called strategic or collective villages that I have seen in northern Iraq.

And then there was the language, the rhythmic cadence of it, reminding me of evenings spent listening to Bedouin elders recite hours long narrative poems entirely from memory.

You're not allowed anymore to ask for that kind of help, really reminded me of the people in their cars yelling, Get a job.

The image reminded me of a cave painting, and echoed how primitive we still are in so many ways.

But remember me when it will be well with you, and please show kindness to me, and make mention of me to Pharaoh, and bring me out of this house.

But think on me when it shall be well with thee, and shew kindness, I pray thee, unto me, and make mention of me unto Pharaoh, and bring me out of this house

It reminded me a lot of the talk we heard this morning, about this operating room machinery that was designed specifically for Africa.

Now I clicked on this on purpose, but if I'd somehow gotten here by mistake, it does remind me, for the band, see The Beatles, for the car see Volkswagon Beetle, but I am here for beetle beetles.

My alma mater, MIT, and I had this moment a kind of M. Night Shayamalan moment where I thought, Whoa! I have to do this.

I was reminded of that recently, by a woman who walked past the table I was sitting at, just staring at me as she walked past.

And then there was the language, the rhythmic cadence of it, reminding me of evenings spent listening to Bedouin elders recite hours long narrative poems entirely from memory.

They're malleable.

Oh, it's the princess!

It's a really great tension between the personalities and you really buy into it.

It's my life, it's mine!

It is Mother. She is desperate.

It's the upset. It's the suddenness.

It's good. It's good. It's good.

Why, she recognizes you. She's up. She's down.

It's her. Yes, it's the princess.

It, it, it was jealousy.

It isn't the heat, it's the humidity...

The same. That's the one, huh? It's funny.

Look, it's on fire! It burns.

It's a story. A story I'm making up.

She's packing. She's going to walk out on me.

They're collaborative, they're branded, they're multinational, and they're highly disciplined.

It's got germ.

Aye, she thinks she would.

Rosie Venger, an amazing woman.

It's a scraper bike it's called from Oakland.

It's all about sensuality. It's all about touch.

And when it happens, it's bad, it's nasty.

It really is Microsoft's Office. It's Adobe's Photoshop.

It's distributed, it's collaborative.