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cimoreneYou can help in the effort to feed cats this Christmas. For every view (up to 500,000 views), Friskies will donate one can of wet food to shelter rescue organizations across the country.
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hily and I wrote ten years ago.Submitted by: Unknown
For the last 10 years I have been living in such a neutral world. My color palette went from beige to grey however, lately I find myself so attracted to color. Color combinations, color palettes, color patterns. Recently when I was in Modernlink, nothing stood out the way this chair did. The shock of color only served to enhance the design details. It’s one of the only pieced I have ever considered buying not for function.
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As if the president's selfies weren't enough, it became very apparent to those in the international sign language community that this interpreter here was basically just making things up on the fly and foregoing that whole "interpreting" (or "making sense") thing entirely.
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A question from Roy Peter Clark:
Last week I taught a class for a group of middle school young men and their mentors. Almost everyone in the room was African-American. The content of the class was the history of the n-word and its current contexts and uses. It was one of the most lively hours I have ever spent in the classroom, mostly because of the candor and fervor of the participants.
What emerged was a clear generational difference. Each of the mentors — professional men in their 30s, 40s, and 50s — testified that they found the word "nigger" or "nigga," insulting, degrading, and demeaning, no matter who was the speaker.
The students — average age about 13 — had a more nuanced view, more inclined to take into account speaker, audience, purpose, and culture. One young man said that he understood why some people would find the word insulting, but that "words change," and that he could use it with friends as a term of identification, solidarity, and affection. He also understood that forms of oppression could be appropriated by the oppressed and liberated to some degree from their original meanings.
I'm still processing this and trying to understand it from a linguistic or semantic perspective. It appears to me that in my lifetime the word "nigger" has shifted in two opposite directions. It is more pejorative than ever, evidenced by how often it is spelled only with its first letter: the n-word. But there is obviously some amelioration going on in some communities, where it can be spoken in a way that inspires a manly hug and not a fist to the face.
Does these sound right to you? And can anyone think of other words that have changed semantically in opposite directions at the same time? Thanks, wordinistas.
When the snow flies, it's easy for us to be concerned about our furry companions keeping safe and warm in the frigid weather. Here are 10 reasons that prove your pet can survive and thrive in a Winter wonderland.
Submitted by: Kyler_Cheez
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post_max_sizesudo service apache2 restart
Robert Macfarlane wandered all across the British Isles before writing such fine books as Holloway, The Old Ways, and The Wild Places; and in this passage from the latter, he pays tribute to a kindred spirit, the Scottish writer Stephen Graham:
"Graham, who died in 1975 at the age of ninety, was one of the most famous walkers of his age. He walked across America once, Russia twice and Britain several times, and his 1923 book, The Gentle Art of Tramping, was a hymn to the wilderness of the British Isles. 'One is inclined,' wrote Graham, 'to think of England as a network of motor roads interspersed with public-houses, placarded by petrol advertisements, and broken by smoky industrial towns.' What he tried to prove with The Gentle Art, however, was that wildness was still ubiquitous.
"Graham devoted his life to escaping what he called 'the curbed ways and the tarred roads,' and he did so by walking, exploring, swimming, climbing, sleeping out, trespassing, and 'vagabonding' -- his verb -- round the world. He came at landscape diagonally, always trying to find new ways to move through them.
" 'Tramping is straying from the obvious,' he wrote, 'even the crookedest road is sometimes too straight.' In Britain and Ireland, 'straying from the obvious' brought him into contact with landscapes that were, as he put it, 'unnamed -- wild, woody, marshy.' In The Gentle Art, he described how he drew up a 'fairy-tale' map of the glades, fields and forests he reached: its networld of little-known wild places.
'There was an Edwardian innocence about Graham -- an innocence, not a blitheness -- which appealed deeply to me. Anyone who could sincerely observe that 'There are thrills unspeakable in Rutland, more perhaps than on the road to Khiva' was, in my opinion, to be cherished.
"Graham was also one one among a line of pedestrians who saw that wandering and wondering have long gone together; that their kinship as activities extended beyond their half-rhyme. And his book was a hymn to the subversive power of pedestrianism: its ability to make a stale world seem fresh, surprising and wondrous again, to discover astonishment on the terrain of the familiar."
''The adventure," Graham insisted, "is the not getting there, it is the on-the-way. It is not the expected; it is the surprise; not the fulfillment of prophecy but the providence of something better than prophesied. You are not choosing what you shall see in the world, but are giving the world an even chance to see you."
In her beautiful book Wanderlust, the American essayist Rebecca Solnit looks at the history of walking through the lens of philosophy, sociology, environmental science, politics, literature and other arts. "Many people nowadays live in a series of interiors," she observes, "disconnected from each other. On foot everything stays connected, for while walking one occupies the spaces between those interiors in the same way one occupies those interiors. One lives in the whole world rather than in interiors built up against it."
When I look at the way that Tilly takes in the world, "inside" and "outside" are alike to her, with only the annoyance of human doors between them. Nattadon Hill is home to Tilly . . . and I mean all of the hill, from top to bottom: its Commons, its woods, its tumbling streams, the brown bracken slopes, the green farmers' fields, and our warm little house on the woodland's edge. It's all home to her, both the land that is "ours" and the larger landscape that is not.
And perhaps I'm not so different from Tilly. The whole hill has become my home ground too. The concept of "home" is complex for me (being the woman that I am, with the history that I have), but the wind and rain and snow of the hill is paring that concept down to essentials:
Home is a house that I share with my loved ones. It's a landscape walked with a good black dog. It's a hill that knows my particular footsteps, and a wood where the trees all know my name. It's as simple and as solid as the earth below...but also fragile, ephemeral, therefore all the more precious. Like life itself.
My apologies for the late post. It's been that kind of day....
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