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"

Everest has attracted wealthy amateur climbers for many years; the kind who would not make it up or down without bottled oxygen, expensive steroids, pre-laid ropes and ladders and, of course, the Sherpas native to Nepal. They lay the ropes and ladders; they carry the supplies (and sometimes beleaguered tourists) in the manner of two-legged pack animals, all the better to facilitate the disgusting Freudian apogee of these expensive holidays, which is now expressed in a word fit only for the illiterate – “summiting”.

As conditions are made safe for these blithe cretins they become more dangerous for Sherpas, whose job is to loiter in the dangerous parts of the mountain and secure them for ever greater numbers of incompetents to hurry through, en route to their photographs on the top of the world. You could call the Everest selfie the ultimate selfie: the true selfie.

"

http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/apr/23/climbing-everest-peak-hubris-sherpas-tragedy

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ilovecharts:

A quick look at British and American spelling

Learning American English is like learning a foreign language.

ilovecharts:

A quick look at British and American spelling

Learning American English is like learning a foreign language.

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  by sbblore on Flickr.Tulips in my mom’s garden

by sbblore on Flickr.

Tulips in my mom’s garden

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erikkwakkel:

erikkwakkel:

Medieval egg book
As graffiti artists show every day, you can write on almost anything. In medieval times, however, most writing was done on stones, parchment (animal skin) or paper. The object in this image is special because it breaks with that rule (no pun intended): it shows Arabic funeral poetry written on an ostrich egg in the 15th century. It was found in a muslim graveyard in the Red Sea port of Quseir, Egypt. The text describes the journey from death to life and was written down to commemorate a young man that had died. Ostrich eggs were believed to give power to the dead and bring them back to life, which is why this book was ‘buried’ in the grave. What a great and unusual artifact of medieval written culture! It’s in pieces, but the shells survived in spite of being buried in the ground for over 500 years.
Pic: Dionisius Agius/University of Leeds. Read more about this remarkable object here and here. See this Tumblr post for a 15th-century globe made from an ostrich egg.

I don’t usually reblog my own posts, but this older one is just too appropriate for today: Happy Easter to all!

erikkwakkel:

erikkwakkel:

Medieval egg book

As graffiti artists show every day, you can write on almost anything. In medieval times, however, most writing was done on stones, parchment (animal skin) or paper. The object in this image is special because it breaks with that rule (no pun intended): it shows Arabic funeral poetry written on an ostrich egg in the 15th century. It was found in a muslim graveyard in the Red Sea port of Quseir, Egypt. The text describes the journey from death to life and was written down to commemorate a young man that had died. Ostrich eggs were believed to give power to the dead and bring them back to life, which is why this book was ‘buried’ in the grave. What a great and unusual artifact of medieval written culture! It’s in pieces, but the shells survived in spite of being buried in the ground for over 500 years.

Pic: Dionisius Agius/University of Leeds. Read more about this remarkable object here and here. See this Tumblr post for a 15th-century globe made from an ostrich egg.

I don’t usually reblog my own posts, but this older one is just too appropriate for today: Happy Easter to all!

Quote
"What always struck me the most is that people loved him not with the screaming adoration lavished on celebrities, but with the intimate affection reserved for family members. The people of Latin America — myself included — felt he understood us like a grandfather. We read about the Buendía house and saw our grandmother’s house. We read about Florentino Ariza’s pursuit of Fermina Daza and saw our own desperate love affairs. We read about the general in his labyrinth and saw our own broken democracies"

http://www.buzzfeed.com/nicolasmedinamora/the-death-of-the-patriarch-remembering-gabriel-garcia-marque

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"… And that wherever they might be they always remember that the past was a lie, that memory has no return, that every spring gone by could never be recovered, and that the wildest and most tenacious love was an ephemeral truth in the end."

— One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez (via fuckyeahexistentialism)

(Source: themoonisgreen, via fuckyeahexistentialism)

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kateoplis:

Remember well. 
Adieu, you magical creature. 

RIP Gabo :(

kateoplis:

Remember well

Adieu, you magical creature

RIP Gabo :(

(Source: flavorpill)

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The Lonliness of the Half Marathon Runner

I don’t have a running buddy and I’m not part of a running group so I do all my practice runs and races solo. I don’t listen to music when I run, partly for safety and partly because I want to listen out for uneven breathing and joint cracking. I also like to let my mind go places till the entire experience becomes meditative. Today’s race was anything but meditative and I’m, in equal parts, concerned and amused by the thoughts I had.

Pre race : Wow there are so many ladies (it was a ladies only race) who run! Everyone’s got such pretty leggings. Why are women so chatty though?

During the national anthem : ‘Star Spangled Banner’ makes me so emotional, but why do these singers start at the the most shrill note? Too much vibrato in that voice. Maybe she’s nervous.

Mile 1:Let’s pound some asphalt! So many supportive guys around. Let me see if I can find some eye candy.

Mile 2:Damn Cat Hill. One day I’m gonna take a pic of myself flicking off that cat statue.

Mile 3:Ok  where’s the Gatorade? Those porta potties stink. Another hill? To run up the hill and save dignity or to speed walk a part of it and save my knees? Fuck knees! Fuck hills! The downhill will fix it.

Mile 4: I love the camaraderie among these ladies. Just a bunch of strangers running together. Wow it’s that lady’s 60th birthday, let’s go over and say ‘happy birthday’.

Mile 5: Cute guy alert! He’s got a sign that says ‘free kisses’. Nah I’ll pass, I’m in it for the running. Wait, did the winner just start her second loop? Such form!

Mile 6: Oh yeah new personal record!

Mile 7: Another loop, brace yourselves girls!

Mile 8: I can just drop out of the race and go home. Home is like right there. Hell no! I didn’t pay 80 bucks so I could go home(I did it for the tech shirt and the medal. Mostly the medal).

Mile 9 : This hill is so stupid. I can’t see the pacer anywhere, I guess she outran everyone.

Mile 10: My feet are getting blisters, I can feel them. I want my mommie. Another hill? Really Central Park! That old lady who was cheering at mile 5 is still there. She’s got some energy!

Mile 11: No free kisses, no free hugs :( My abs are starting to hurt. I need to do more yoga.

Mile 12: Can we be done already? If another person says ‘almost there, you got this’ I will either slap them or show them my fear inducing resting bitch face.

Mile 13: I think I’m gonna cry. I can’t run .1 miles. It’s pointless to smile for the camera, I think they got a shot of me grimacing at my boobs. Why do women have boobs? Why can’t boobs be detachable? No wonder guys run faster. Well at least sports bras save women from bleeding nipples (google ‘marathon bleeding nipples’ to see what I mean).

The final .1 mile: The announcer didn’t butcher my name. Yay medals, blankets and bagels. I think I’ll take a nap on the grass.

I apologize if some of this is TMI.

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humansofnewyork:

His owner told me that according to a Native American myth, dogs with different colored eyes can see both heaven and earth.

humansofnewyork:

His owner told me that according to a Native American myth, dogs with different colored eyes can see both heaven and earth.

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juliaheffernan:

Fox Mulder and Scully as kiddos

I think I’m gonna adopt Julia. I hope her mom doesn’t mind.

juliaheffernan:

Fox Mulder and Scully as kiddos

I think I’m gonna adopt Julia. I hope her mom doesn’t mind.