First snowfall. (Well, not here, but in Scotland.)
16 People On Things They Couldn't Believe About America Until They Moved Here -
Not surprising, perhaps, but wonderful and thought-provoking anyhow.
A lot of people around the world have ideas of what America is like, possibly thanks to Hollywood, or their local news channels, and maybe from what they’ve heard from families and friends. But then, they came here, to the grand old United States and their minds exploded. Taken from Quora.
— via Michael Koh
Over the last couple years, an increasingly popular trend online has been to create and share colorized photos from history. Artists such as Jordan Lloyd, Dana Keller and Sanna Dullaway take intriguing old black-and-white photos and bring them to life with color as if they’d been taken only yesterday.
via 22 Words
Why do poor people make stupid, illogical decisions to buy status symbols? For the same reason all but only the most wealthy buy status symbols, I suppose. We want to belong. And, not just for the psychic rewards, but belonging to one group at the right time can mean the difference between unemployment and employment, a good job as opposed to a bad job, housing or a shelter, and so on. Someone mentioned on twitter that poor people can be presentable with affordable options from Kmart. But the issue is not about being presentable. Presentable is the bare minimum of social civility. It means being clean, not smelling, wearing shirts and shoes for service and the like. Presentable as a sufficient condition for gainful, dignified work or successful social interactions is a privilege. It’s the aging white hippie who can cut the ponytail of his youthful rebellion and walk into senior management while aging black panthers can never completely outrun the effects of stigmatization against which they were courting a revolution. Presentable is relative and, like life, it ain’t fair… Gatekeeping is a complex job of managing boundaries that do not just define others but that also define ourselves. Status symbols — silk shells, designer shoes, luxury handbags — become keys to unlock these gates. — Tressie McMillan Cottom, via TPM
US primary care is facing a drastic provider shortage. Changing "Scope of practice" laws can help. -
"Most of the information I need to diagnose and manage patients comes from talking to them, what doctors call the “history of present illness.” (The rest comes from the physical exam and other tests.) But it takes time to glean these details from a patient and figure out what might be wrong. If I could focus on that part of my work, it would be a much better use of my time—and that of my patients. Instead, I spend most of my time with patients on basic tasks, like checking their blood pressure, and am left with only a couple of minutes—if that—on the more complicated work."
I believe with all my heart, that if you treat the little things like they are the big things, the mundane like they are the miraculous, the tiny details like they are the big picture, your life will be infinitely better. Start slow and try it. Notice more. See more. Appreciate all. You will find out.
Though I am slightly bothered by the under-representation of brown eyes in this series, the golden eyebrow thing is gorgeously compelling.
Gilded makeup at Christian Dior Spring/Summer 2014
This website is brilliant. (Perhaps not quite as smart as that special person who dreams sandcastles into existence, but definitely way smarter than the person who dreams “while a sleep”…)
The Beer Can House - Houston, TX
Native Houstonian John Milkovisch started the project in 1968. Following Mr. Milkovisch’s death in 1988, and the death of his wife Mary, the Orange Show Center for Visionary Art, a Houston-based non-profit arts organization, purchased the house and later restored it.
(Photo by Molly Block, via BoingBoing)
Busting the bubble of happily ever after. Love this “Fallen Disney Princess" series by photographer Dina Goldstein. Smart girly stuff.
Heck yes, Fiddleoak.
The Brave can be found at all corners of the earth. The Free are the lucky few in between who also have money and power on their side.
After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.
Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?
The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.
She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,
Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.
She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.
Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.
Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.
She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.
To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.
And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.
And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,
With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.
And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.
Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.
They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.
Not everything is lost. — Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” (awelltraveledwoman, via kthread)
(Source: oliviacirce, via kthread)