Stolen from Metafilter. I don’t have a MeFi account, so I can’t even favorite things over there, much less comment. So I figured I’d re-pose the question here.
The MeFi thread is great, but bring tissues. I loved this one most:
My uncle, Albert Crary, was an extraordinary man. Not only was he an explorer and scientist of both poles (The Crary Mountains in Antarctica were named by him and the A.P. Crary Science and Engineering Center at McMurdo Station was named fo him) but he gathered stories like no one I’ve ever met. At his public memorial in Washington DC at, I believe, the Cosmos Club, speaker after speaker got up and told about his staunchness, his incredible endurance, but most importantly, they all told a funny story about him: The time he fell off the ice shelf and what he said to the preacher after his rescue when the preacher came looking for a good sermon. The time he went shopping for supplies in South America when they were running a geophysical line across a South American swamp. The time my father put my brother up to calling him and acting like a dumb reporter asking the stupidest questions imaginable about the ice island T3.
Months later, we had a private memorial in his hometown of Canton, New York. One-by-one his nieces, nephews, in-laws and friends got up and told more stories. To all of us he’d been the source of fun, support and laughter when we were growing up – he never let any of us take ourselves too seriously, but he was always there when anyone needed help. When my turn came, I got up, told my story and then said this:
Everyone deserves an Uncle Albert, we were just fortunate enough to have had one.
posted by BillW at 5:23 PM on March 30
(Via the wonderful Ed Yong.)
The good soldier of cinema. I kept calling him that and he kept calling me that. He saw in me a good soldier in cinema. I said you are even more. He was a wounded soldier. He was ill and struggled and was still plowing on relentlessly. And that was completely and utterly admirable and I love him for that.
This is the story of a snake, a bear, and a little girl. Three great friends living together on the forested slopes beneath a mountain. There is a glade within the forest. Evergreens surround the meadow-grass, fireweed, and bee balm. The mountain’s snowcap is visible on clear days. Warmed by the sun, the three friends lay in a lazy pile near a broad, flat boulder. The bear licks the bottoms of the girl’s bare feet. The coiled snake dozes on the boulder. Summer is over but the days remain pleasant.
Well-dressed filmmakers and genii Wes Anderson and Roman Coppola have got their brains together and come up with an idea for a short film for Prada entitled Candy in celebration of the brand’s new perfume.
(via It’s Nice That)
Once you’ve got your list of limiting beliefs, take a long, hard look at them. Is there anything that stands out as impossible to overcome? Probably not, unless one of them is “I don’t have a dick so I can’t have sex with girls.”
(via Return of Kings)
Brodie began to photograph his travels in 2004 when he acquired an old Polaroid camera. “A friend gave me a Polaroid camera I found on the back seat of her car. I took a photo of the handlebars of my BMX bike and it looked incredible, so I kept taking pictures, it was that simple.” From 2004-2006, Brodie shot exclusively on Polaroid film, earning him the moniker the Polaroid Kidd; a name he would tag on box cars and walls. From 2006 – 2009, Brodie switched to 35mm film. During this five-year span, Brodie rode over 50,000 miles through 46 states documenting the people and places he encountered along the way.
“We noticed that working around the clock on weekdays and hanging out with friends on weekends is how most of today’s youth in China live their lives, with more and more adopting a ‘homebody’ lifestyle. Our new series will serve as the voice of today’s 20- to 30-year-old set in China, and examine this emerging trend.”
(via The Hollywood Reporter)
Bain News Service, publisher. Mrs. Herschel Parker. From the Bain Collection, Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division.
Mr. Parker (Herschel Clifford Parker) was a Columbia physics professor and a founding member of the Explorers Club. In the spring of 1911 he married Evelyn Naegele. They honeymooned in Alaska.
Mrs. Herschel Parker last saw Professor Parker in 1919. In 1925 she petitioned a Brooklyn court to grant a divorce, citing abandonment and failure to support.
According to Mrs. Herschel Parker, the professor had said, “I am tired of looking after a wife and family. A man with my genius owes himself to mankind in general and cannot be tied down by family routine.”
“Compared to normal stamps, the ‘Gangnam Style’ stamp has PSY’s unique flavour stamped all over it.”
“I love the way it makes me feel,” said Trina. “It gives me a sense of euphoria.”
The couple admits they perform their caffeinated enema at least four times a day. Once, Trina said she did “nine or 10″ in a 24-hour period.
(via ABC News)
Everyone needs a manifesto.
In a perfect world, cheese would have a mild laxative effect.
I became tired of losing the TV remote. It’s now up my butt. Watch me change channels.
“I offer such a service only because I’m bored and know fewer female friends at work,” said Ding Hui, 27, a salesman in the plastic industry in Shanghai, with a monthly salary of more than 10,000 yuan ($1,600).
Ding said trust building is very important, and the job is all about acting, which proved to be tough for him.
“I was exhausted as I had to flatter others for seven days and had to think before I spoke. I don’t want to do it anymore,” he said.
(via China Daily)
“Fix me something to eat.”
“What do you want?” Read more
It’s not brand new, but if you read it you will love this excellent piece written by ‘flocker Sarah Pavis:
Your hair is as healthy and shiny as any I’ve ever seen, although it’s true that scruffy, dull locks suit many people, too, and total baldness implies toughness or sophistication.
It’s time to revisit The Mighty Boosh once again. NSFW unless you work someplace way cooler than most of us do.
I wish I could say it was a Merry Christmas. I wish I could tell you everything worked out all right. Okay, I’ll go ahead and play it like this: yes, in the end, everyone was fine and nobody got what they didn’t deserve.
For years, I’d been listening to that dog across the street. Most of the homes around here are spread out; there’s plenty of wide open space and not a lot of trees, owing mostly to the fact this is all “improved” former pastureland. Everywhere except on the side of the road opposite my own driveway.
I don’t hang out with those folks—not that I’m all that social with anyone around here. I smile and wave at the majority of my neighbors but also wonder if they’re going to line me up with a scoped rifle someday soon. Anyway, about the family across the street, we didn’t even make a bad attempt at being friendly. I can’t recall a single specific incident that could have caused a rift, but it just seemed as if our wiring was out of phase or something.
I’m still thankful for all you guys.
You are caramel and hot wax. I am a new wool sweater with a bull’s eye on its back. The ladder in the yard climbs high into the air and I go up, up, up. I’m afraid to look down. The ladder stands unsupported as if it’s a flagpole. I remove bandages until the fabric coils like snakes, but nothing within is wrapped except old air. A woman in line at the deli complains: “My feet are killing me and I can’t stand for very long because it hurts my back.” I suggest she should wait instead for service at the shoe store. Strangers don’t appreciate it when you’re trying to be helpful.
I’ll leave you to complete the story.
All of us wishing y’all many more years of love and happiness.