View allAll Photos Tagged nonexistent
We stopped in a resort town on a lake for a refreshment break and washrooms. Public washrooms were nonexistent on this trip which was a surprise. We had to go into coffee shops and bakeries to use theirs. It was considered bad form to use their facilities without buying their products. It was a somewhat fattening experience. Luckily we were cycling every day to work some of it off. This was an ice cream stop. Another little detail; it was common for the men's urinal to be in the entryway to the men's and women's stalls. It was a bit of an adjustment to answer "nature's call" while women were walking past behind me.
-is my obsession lately.
I am weighing the options of going to college for photography.... or teaching (grade school teaching specifically).
i'm in a complete predicament.
i worry that my talent for photography is nonexistent and my passion for it will not last me through the years. This comes from uncertainty.
On the other hand, i absolutely love photography. it just comes so naturally to me, its something i rarely have to think about, and i believe that attending a quality school can enhance my talent and possibly open new doors and abilities and maybe even my creativity.
what do i do?!
also, i am looking for groups to join here on Flickr. any suggestions? :)
Madanpura is distinguished at a distance only by its tall 5 story buildings. These buildings are as all buildings in Banaras, made of brick. Densely constructed, hardly 5 feet separate each of these towers. The thin alleys which weave through Madanpura are like the dark forest floors of tropical rain forests, hardly any light pierces through the thick canopy of brick and concrete above. The smells of tea brewing and chicken roasting compete with those of the cow excrement and human waste which line the gutters. General stores line the more frequented passageways and cobweb powerlines entangle just above the covered heads of residents. The terraces are a world apart. From on top of one of Manadpura’s chimney-like buildings one can see nearly all of Banaras. The rooftops are full of children and adolescents flying kites, silk-dyers drying their day’s work, and residents simply taking a break from the hustle below. The rooftops are vermillion and saffron, the brilliant blue and gold of sarees baking in the sun. Re-bar pokes out of concrete foundation and staircases continue unfinished to nonexistent floors. As the family grows, so too will these buildings. The outline of a mosque is seen in the background, and another 20 or so exist unobserved below. My second informant Nassir--a weaver who operates a small saree factory--points to a building with a child on top and tells me that it is his. He tells me that he lives there with his family and the families of his four brothers, almost 50 people all in total. Then he points to the house adjacent; “this is the house my nephew will marry into”. Then the house next to that, “and this is where my cousin lives”. This continues until Nassir has mapped out nearly every building in our view, all containing relatives and relatives of relatives.
024
Fortune Global Forum 2018
October 16th, 2018
Toronto, Canada
3:30 PM
THE NEW GLOBAL CONSUMER: DOING BUSINESS IN A DIGITAL ECONOMY
The digital economy is no longer part of the economy. It is the economy. How can traditional brick-and-mortar firms reinvent themselves, their supply chains, and their marketplaces to avoid the fate of brands once thought of as everlasting but which are now nonexistent? And how are new platforms – from e-commerce to shared services – rewriting the rules of the game? A conversation on how businesses can manage expectations for digitally empowered customers, and how technology is being used to enhance the customer experience.
Alain Bejjani, Chief Executive Officer, Majid al Futtaim
Andrea Stairs, General Manager, Canada and Latin America, eBay
Ning Tang, Founder and CEO, CreditEase
Moderator: Phil Wahba, Senior Writer, Fortune
Photograph by Stuart Isett/Fortune
A Photo A Day For A Year
Day 05
I'm not exactly happy with this photo, but it's the best I could do on a night when inspiration was just nonexistent for me. This was a thirty second exposure in the large cornfield that is my back yard. Normally, I'd have stayed out longer to achieve a better shot, but to be honest, I'm just drained and it was so ridiculously cold outside.
A Butcher Shop
A shop in the small village of Kaş (on the southwestern Mediterranean coast) cutting meat to make kabobs. I had a very funny and great time with these guys trying to explain in my nonexistent Turkish that I wanted two kilos of lamb for that evenings dinner. When they heard the word "kebab" they smiled immediately and went about cutting it into small pieces and wrapped it all up. I bought some fantastic spice rub down the street and we all had a great time that evening eating grilled kebabs over an open fire right on the shore of the sea.
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Barn is located in Mendon Ponds Park, at the intersection of Clover St and Pond Rd, Mendon, NY. Monroe County Sheriff Mounted Division was started in 1938.
Mendon Ponds Park is owned and very poorly maintained by the County of Monroe, NY.
Unfortunately, this extraordinary property is rapidly deteriorating due to an egregious lack of care. Trails are not cleared of debris... signs are useless. Park maintenance is essentially nonexistent. They do have a marketing department. Seriously, the taxpayers are paying the salaries of a county parks marketing department.
Email Mendon Ponds Park complaints to: countyexecutive@monroecounty.gov
I like those moments when everything becomes nonexistent that you mentally bring yourself to an internal state of mind. Turns on and off whenever reality is nothing more than a daily routine or just an absolute lie.
See Cupcakes Take the Cake for more cupcake photos, news, and information.
More later because the Chelsea wifi is horrible to nonexistent so I
have no clue if these are sending. The Oreo crumb was far and away the
best.
Walker Evans. Bud Fields and His Family. (Image). _Photographs for the Farm Security Administration_. Hale County, Alabama: Da Capo Press, Summer 1936, 327.
This is a picture of a family of subsistence farmers during 1936 of the Great Depression. Subsistence farming differs from farming greatly ,for its main purpose is self- sufficiency rather than farming for a profit. It is a method of farming where whole families only plant enough food to feed the themselves. Some Crops are sold for profit, but not enough money is rendered to live off of the money made. The idea of participating in the marketplace is nonexistent.
Families of substance farming usually live in a self-made house which is typically very, very small. These houses contain holes in the walls,covered in dirt, and are not well made. As well as food, the family also produces for themselves clothes, house furnishing, and farming implements. Virtually everything they need. These families live very poor and in terms of a social class, they are on the level of poverty.
For families that live this way life is extremely difficult. It is a constant struggle to produce enough food to feed a family. Also, subsistence farmers have no education. So for these families, it is an unbroken cycle of poverty. With no education and practically no other skills besides farming, these people can do nothing else but continue on in poverty. This was common place during the Great Depression. Most lower-class families didn’t have many options when it came to surviving and had to do what they could. Especially when no jobs could be found.
This picture hold a special place for me, for my grandfather and his family were subsistence farmers. They grew up in a tiny shack covered in dirt in Mississippi. My grandmother told me the first time she saw the house she was in shock. For my family the cycle of poverty was broken through education; however, sadly, this option was not available for people of the 1930s. Families had to make due with what they could, even if that ment poverity.
Sources:
Ford, Lacey K. “Self-Sufficiency, Cotton, and Economic Development: The Task of Economic History”. Vol. 45, No. 2,. June 1985. (JSTOR). Accessed 25 July 2007.
Musson, A.E. “The Journal of Economic History”. June 1959. Vol. 19, No. 2 pp. 199-228 (JSTOR), Accessed 25 July 2007.
Waters, Tony._ The Persistence of Subsistence Agriculture: life beneath the level of the marketplace._ Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. 2007
Fore more information visit:
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Subsistence_agriculture
I miss driving in the rain! It's raining in California at last! The 1st potent storm of the season finally gives the state a good soaking, including SoCal where rain was virtually nonexistent so far this season... Right after I was done with work, I went straight to observe the rainy weather. Due to all this rain, localized flooding was possible in flood-prone areas. Surely, we are having a weather pattern that was completely opposite of last month's epic dryness. Is it now safe to say that California's rainy season is finally here?
(Video footage taken from around San Jose, CA on Monday evening, January 8, 2018)
Weather update/forecast:
A powerful storm had battered California with heavy rain, mountain snow & gusty winds. A connection of subtropical moisture was present and had helped aid in bringing heavy rain to parts of the state. Heavy rain fell around NorCal Monday and into early Tuesday morning with approximately 3.50 inches of rain around San Francisco & Sacramento. While rainfall was forecast to be more sporadic over NorCal for the duration of the storm, heavy rain was more intense in Central/SoCal into Tuesday night. T-storms with small hail & lightning weren't out of the question as the low pressure system itself drifted inland with the added atmospheric instability. Gusty winds have continued to kick up along the coast and over the mountains as the storm drifted inland. Sporadic power outages were possible... This widespread rainfall had put a dent in the state's precipitation deficits, as well as put an end to the wildfire season at last. Looking ahead, more rain was on the horizon. Is the state's rainy season finally starting to kick in despite a slow start? Fingers crossed...
Sorrrrrry I've been nonexistent for the past forever! It was spring break and I haven't really had any inspiration! I went to Portland for five days, and lemme tell ya! Rain sucks! I thought I'd like to live in Portland but after five days, I was missing Bend like no other!! :)
But I gotta give Portland one thing: Its Gorgeous! The buildings, the oldness! Gahhh I got some good shots and I can't wait to upload them!
On another note, I got this senior necklace!! It's super cute and I will love it foreva! Hope you like it as much as I do :)
As Allied forces closed in on Japan in 1945, the Japanese found themselves in increasingly desperate straits; the kamikaze was the most visible sign of this desperation. With the American landings on Okinawa, the Imperial Japanese Army realized that the Home Islands were next. Along with the Imperial Japanese Navy, they intended to unleash a horde of kamikaze attacks that would so unnerve the Americans that some sort of ceasefire or negotiated settlement would result. Part of this plan included the Nakajima Ki-115 Tsurugi (Sabre).
By 1945, Japan was nearly out of experienced pilots, and were increasingly forced to use nearly untrained men--mostly college-age students--who were long on patriotic fervor but short on skill. The Japanese were also running out of aircraft, many of which had already been expended in kamikaze attacks in the Philippines and Okinawa. The Ki-115 was designed solely for the kamikaze mission. It was designed to be built quickly and with what little materials the Japanese had left: mostly wood and steel. The landing gear was there only for taxiing and takeoff; it would be jettisoned after leaving the ground, as there was to be no return trip. A universal engine mount was incorporated into the design so that the Tsurugi could use whatever engines were still available--American B-29 bombing raids had devastated the Japanese aviation industry by this time. No defensive armament was included: the Tsurugi was intended solely to be flown into an enemy target, and the only weapon was to be a heavy bomb carried beneath the aircraft.
The first prototype Ki-115 flew in March 1945, and Japanese test pilots were not pleased with it: even as an aircraft purposely built to be suicidal, it was poor stuff. Visibility from the cockpit was nearly nonexistent, especially over the long nose. Taking off was problematic, and in the hands of anything besides one of the few experienced pilots the Japanese had left, the Tsurugi would be more likely to kill its pilot long before the pilot had a chance to kill themselves. The service understood that most of the projected 8000 Ki-115s would never reach their targets, but even if only ten percent made it, it would cause horrific damage to an American landing force.
Production began on the Ki-115 with the promise that upgraded versions with better handling would be produced, but the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki ended the war before any Tsurugis were used in combat. About 105 were built, and all fell into the hands of the Americans after Japan's surrender. Nearly all were scrapped, as there was no interest in an aircraft intended for suicide, and only two (or possibly one) are known to survive.
Assuming that there is only one Ki-115 left, this is it. It was found by American forces at the Nakajima factory at Iwate and shipped back to the United States, but never flown, and was placed in storage at the Smithsonian's Silver Hill storage facility for eventual display in the National Air and Space Museum. The NASM decided that it was unlikely that the aircraft would ever be restored or that the Smithsonian would ever have room for it to be displayed, so it was loaned to the Pima Air and Space Museum in 2012.
Because of the Tsurugi's wood and light steel construction, Pima decided not to attempt to restore it, for fear that it would simply fall apart; it is displayed in unrestored form. Faint hints of IJAAF markings can still be seen, besides the hinomaru national insignia: the yellow wing leading edges were a hallmark of IJAAF aircraft. At some point during its journey from Japan to the US, the engine mount was damaged; as a result, the engine is not actually attached to the aircraft.
A docent I talked to after taking this picture claimed that this is the same Ki-115 that was displayed as a gate guard in front of Yokota Air Base, Japan during the 1950s. This is unlikely, as Pima's own guidebook mentions that this is the Ki-115 owned by the Smithsonian, which was brought back at the end of the war. The fate of the Yokota Ki-115 is unknown, but it is thought to be owned by a Japanese museum. Given that I thought that no Ki-115s survived to present, seeing any of them was a huge surprise.
I've been working on this off and on for the last couple years and decided it was about time I finish it. What really drove me to finish it was that G-System Qubeley I did while back.
It came with a LED to light up the (nonexistent on the kit) eyes and I decided that it didn't look right and the LED didn't really fit in the Qubeley's head. But a quick test fit and some surgery inside the Gogg's head and tah-dah! Perfect! So I started finishing this build that had been an off and on thing (I was showing the Gogg's hands to a friend at my 36th birthday party- I'm 38 as I'm writing this. lol).
Paint is a bunch of custom-mixed Gunze stuff (I think they released a dedicated Gogg set, but I missed it). Weathering is oils and powders. And decals are by the always wonderful Samuel. Base groundwork is made with Sculptamold. The Gogg is HEAVY so I wanted to show the wet ground bulging around it as it sinks down after coming ashore (it's an amphibious MS).
While the other shots are better lit, they don't represent how the Gogg's mono eye looks under normal lighting. As a result, the mono eye doesn't appear as large and fuzzy as it does in the anime and games. So here are shots that show the Gogg in normal lighting with the mono eye looking big and menacing-- as it should be.
They Live, We Sleep
Artist Statement
“We are living in an artificially induced state of consciousness that resembles sleep. The poor and the underclass are growing. Racial justice and human rights are nonexistent.
They influence our decisions without us knowing it. They numb our senses without us feeling it. They control our lives without us realizing it.
They have created a repressive society and we are their unwitting accomplices ...their intention to rule rests with the annihilation of consciousness.
We have been lulled into a trance.
They have made us indifferent, to ourselves, to others; we are focused only on our own gain. They are safe as long as they are not discovered ...that is their primary method of survival.
Keep us asleep, keep us selfish, keep us sedated...they are dismantling the sleeping middle class.
More and more people are becoming poor. We are their cattle. We are being bred for slavery.”
– They Live
This photographic body of work is inspired by John Carpenter’s 1988 film, “They Live.” The movie was also credited by Shepard Fairey “as a major source of inspiration for his own subversive brand of street art.” They Live was the basis for his use of the word ‘OBEY’ that became his main campaign and a popular clothing brand consequently.
The protagonist of the movie, an unemployed drifter named "Nada," accidentally comes across a box of sunglasses. After putting a pair on, he realizes that they are quite special. He sees the world in black and white and discovers that it's not what it seems. The series of images I have created are like those unique sunglasses that Nada stumbled upon, aim to show the world to the viewer for what it truly is. I hope they will help people to take into consideration what they sacrifice by blindly following self-serving governments and corporations’ agendas.
Through this photographic project my intent is to encourage people to be more aware of the habitual ways of living that we have been thoughtlessly following for most of human history. It seems as though the human race would have learned by now to not put their trust in the hands of the misguiding ruling class. Unfortunately most of the humanity is still in the state of mindless consumerism and simply does not realize that their decisions, their entire lives are being manipulated.
Unlike most of Trippy's meretricious* tales, for which evidence is at best tenuous and more often nonexistent, rare production stills recently discovered in the archives of late fantasy film historian Forrest J. (Forry) Ackerman appear to substantiate Trippy's claim to have worked with director Fritz Lang on Lang's epic silent era production of Die Nibelungen.
Mishel provides historical context on wages in the U.S.
Since the 1970s, the typical U.S. worker has experienced either a minimal or nonexistent increase in wages. What can and should be done to promote the economic growth that will lead to higher earnings for more American workers? How do we ensure that these gains are broadly shared, resulting in robust wage growth for as many workers as possible?
On September 26, The Hamilton Project at Brookings hosted a forum on wage growth in The United States. The forum began with introductory remarks by former U.S. Treasury Secretary Robert E. Rubin, and a fireside chat with Jason Furman, professor of practice, Harvard Kennedy School, and Lawrence Mishel, president, Economic Policy Institute. The fireside chat was moderated by Catherine Rampell, opinion writer, The Washington Post. A panel discussion will follow the fireside chat, featuring panelists including: Jared Bernstein, senior fellow, Center on Budget and Policy Priorities; Robert Greenstein, founder and president, Center on Budget and Policy Priorities; and Heidi Shierholz; senior economist and director of policy, Economic Policy Institute; the panel was moderated by Jay Shambaugh, director, The Hamilton Project.
In conjunction with this event, The Hamilton Project released a new framing paper exploring wage trends and the economic forces that underlie them.
Photo credit: Ralph Alswang
They Live, We Sleep
Artist Statement
“We are living in an artificially induced state of consciousness that resembles sleep. The poor and the underclass are growing. Racial justice and human rights are nonexistent.
They influence our decisions without us knowing it. They numb our senses without us feeling it. They control our lives without us realizing it.
They have created a repressive society and we are their unwitting accomplices ...their intention to rule rests with the annihilation of consciousness.
We have been lulled into a trance.
They have made us indifferent, to ourselves, to others; we are focused only on our own gain. They are safe as long as they are not discovered ...that is their primary method of survival.
Keep us asleep, keep us selfish, keep us sedated...they are dismantling the sleeping middle class.
More and more people are becoming poor. We are their cattle. We are being bred for slavery.”
– They Live
This photographic body of work is inspired by John Carpenter’s 1988 film, “They Live.” The movie was also credited by Shepard Fairey “as a major source of inspiration for his own subversive brand of street art.” They Live was the basis for his use of the word ‘OBEY’ that became his main campaign and a popular clothing brand consequently.
The protagonist of the movie, an unemployed drifter named "Nada," accidentally comes across a box of sunglasses. After putting a pair on, he realizes that they are quite special. He sees the world in black and white and discovers that it's not what it seems. The series of images I have created are like those unique sunglasses that Nada stumbled upon, aim to show the world to the viewer for what it truly is. I hope they will help people to take into consideration what they sacrifice by blindly following self-serving governments and corporations’ agendas.
Through this photographic project my intent is to encourage people to be more aware of the habitual ways of living that we have been thoughtlessly following for most of human history. It seems as though the human race would have learned by now to not put their trust in the hands of the misguiding ruling class. Unfortunately most of the humanity is still in the state of mindless consumerism and simply does not realize that their decisions, their entire lives are being manipulated.
024
Fortune Global Forum 2018
October 16th, 2018
Toronto, Canada
3:30 PM
THE NEW GLOBAL CONSUMER: DOING BUSINESS IN A DIGITAL ECONOMY
The digital economy is no longer part of the economy. It is the economy. How can traditional brick-and-mortar firms reinvent themselves, their supply chains, and their marketplaces to avoid the fate of brands once thought of as everlasting but which are now nonexistent? And how are new platforms – from e-commerce to shared services – rewriting the rules of the game? A conversation on how businesses can manage expectations for digitally empowered customers, and how technology is being used to enhance the customer experience.
Alain Bejjani, Chief Executive Officer, Majid al Futtaim
Andrea Stairs, General Manager, Canada and Latin America, eBay
Ning Tang, Founder and CEO, CreditEase
Moderator: Phil Wahba, Senior Writer, Fortune
Photograph by Stuart Isett/Fortune
This ship is my favorite out of my physical collection. Its just the rights size for play while still having enough detail for display and has an interior. Said interior is based of the cross section book for the force awakens. There is a single bed and nothing else. I wish that the bed could be moved over though, as it is taking up quite a bit a space.
Problems:
the rear door is invisible
the rear wings are not all the way at the end of the ship
there are no front wings
the cockpit is nonexistent
Designed inspired by Track #9 from Florence + the Machine’s album “Lungs.”
This piece took me the longest to design of the whole series. The song is extremely dramatic, and one idea was to do a piece where the stars and moon were nonexistent, maybe question marks where they should be, but that seemed hard to pull off in a five inch diameter design.
In the end this equation/math design seemed to both highlight and make light of the drama of the lyrics. ‘cosmic love’ done in metallic floss.
Lyrics:
The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart
This piece is from a series of fourteen hand embroidered pieces designed and stitched by Mark Bieraugel based on the album “Lungs” by Florence + the Machine.
Bernstein responds to other panelists.
Since the 1970s, the typical U.S. worker has experienced either a minimal or nonexistent increase in wages. What can and should be done to promote the economic growth that will lead to higher earnings for more American workers? How do we ensure that these gains are broadly shared, resulting in robust wage growth for as many workers as possible?
On September 26, The Hamilton Project at Brookings hosted a forum on wage growth in The United States. The forum began with introductory remarks by former U.S. Treasury Secretary Robert E. Rubin, and a fireside chat with Jason Furman, professor of practice, Harvard Kennedy School, and Lawrence Mishel, president, Economic Policy Institute. The fireside chat was moderated by Catherine Rampell, opinion writer, The Washington Post. A panel discussion will follow the fireside chat, featuring panelists including: Jared Bernstein, senior fellow, Center on Budget and Policy Priorities; Robert Greenstein, founder and president, Center on Budget and Policy Priorities; and Heidi Shierholz; senior economist and director of policy, Economic Policy Institute; the panel was moderated by Jay Shambaugh, director, The Hamilton Project.
In conjunction with this event, The Hamilton Project released a new framing paper exploring wage trends and the economic forces that underlie them.
Photo credit: Ralph Alswang
After a three-hour delay, an unceremonious diversion-and-dumping by Delta in the Salt Lake City airport (not on the original flightplan) for a lovely night of "sleeping" on the floor next to roving carpet shampooers and floor buffers. Bastards. They told us hotel rooms were scarce-to-nonexistent due to conventions (a total lie, as it turns out, according to those who decided to find rooms), then gave us $7 breakfast vouchers good in an airport where only one Starbucks with a glacially unmotivated employee was open before the 6 am departure (not that anyone from Delta directed us to it, in a different concourse). By the time other passengers found it, at 5:00-ish, there was a line about 20 people long, and Barista Idon'givafuck was pouring about one drink every 4 minutes.
Then, to top it off, they forgot to call a flight crew (the gate agent admitted this) until 4:30 am, even though they knew when we took off from Atlanta (nine hours earlier) (3 hours late, after sitting on the runway for 90 min) that they were going to divert to Salt Lake and strand us there. The Jackson Hole airport was doing nighttime runway resurfacing. Probably so Air Force Two (seen on the tarmac) could land without spilling Machiavelli Cheney's cocktail.
So the 6 am departure turned into a 7:30 am departure. Then, when we finally landed in Jackson (almost 12 hours late), the bags took half an hour to even hit the carousel, even though the plane was parked 150 feet away, with stairs leading to the tarmac. God only knows what they were doing... Jackson has three gates and one carousel, with no other incoming flights at the time.
Needless to say, we were less than amused.
The Salt Lake City carpet shampooers were nice enough to ride within 2 feet of the blanket-covered bodies strewn across the concourse. No shit. 24" away from people's heads.
Oh, and shall I mention the jet-engine-like blowers erected all over the concourse to dry out the shampooed carpet?
Grrr.
Photographs by Paul Russell
Learn more about Steve's work: visitsteve.com/
ABOUT THE PROJECT
(from the SPACES catalog)
Starting a conversation about Capitalism is like walking up to a stranger and asking, “Can I talk to you about Jesus?”
The word “capitalism” is a red flag. And for good reason—pretty soon either some dude is talking your ear off about “The System” or aggressively confronting you about taxes. Ugh.
At the same time, capitalism is discussed every day using euphemisms like “jobs,” “job creation,” “the business climate,” and discussing whatever “crisis” is deemed relevant; a housing crisis, financial crisis, social security crisis, tax crisis, or fill- in-the blank crisis. But the whole is rarely a topic of frank discussion—much less alternatives or meaningful reform.
As a culture, we need the vision and boldness it takes to discuss the problem itself. The idea that “there is no alternative” to the way our world works takes away our ability to dream. As citizens we need the courage to begin these discussions on order to move on to new and better visions for the future.
But what to do? Start a conversation about capitalism and friends edge away slowly, and strangers even faster.
This is what art is for. This is what art does well. It creates a space where new ideas and perspectives can be explored. A space unlike any other.
Throughout my artistic career I’ve challenged myself to take on difficult subject matter in ways that are engaging and fun. I’ve found humor and popular culture can open doors to difficult but worthwhile subjects and enable us to envision and move toward new, utopian futures.
The sign starts here in Cleveland and will tour the US leading up to and beyond the 2012 presidential election. People who vote will be given the opportunity to have their portrait taken and give a short statement about why they voted the way they did. There will be a book, website, and videos that document people’s interactions and thoughts.
I’m excited that this piece takes on what for most Americans is a taboo, or even nonexistent subject: whether global, hegemonic capitalism actually works for most people. But whew, talking about that is boring! And telling people what to think is worse! This sign gets passers by to participate in deceptively simple vote (True/ False) which only pretends to offer resolution. Every aspect of the interaction draws them in to more complex questions and conversations, leading to new thoughts and ideas about a better world!
For 50 years it has been unacceptable, politically, in the United States to ask what is basically a straightforward question. We have a particular economic system, it’s called capitalism. We have every right as a society to ask of that system, is it working? Is it working for us? Do the benefits and the costs balance themselves out in a way that says, do we want to keep this system? Or that says, we want to change this system? Or that says, we ought to look at an alternative system. We’ve been afraid to ask that question. We’ve been afraid to have public debates—that’s the legacy of the cold war. We can’t afford anymore to not do that. We have to raise the question.
afro-dominicano: Why are conservatives afraid of Neil deGrasse Tyson? I really liked some of the points made in this article save for the Bill Maher’s comment, didn’t really need it. But the general point made about a scientifically literate public bringing a political fallout was spot on. Astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson has been the recipient of a seemingly bizarre political backlash — after the conservative magazine National Review penned a takedown cover story on the “Cosmos” host last week depicting him as a smug, intellectual bully. The story struck many as odd given Tyson’s gentle, geeky presentation style. Comedian Bill Maher had Tyson on his HBO show over the weekend, trying to make sense of the backlash. “You’re a scientist, and a black one, who’s smarter than [conservatives] are,” Maher quipped. The line got laughs, but it’s worth remembering that Tyson served the George W. Bush administration as a member of the Commission on Moon, Mars and Beyond in 2004. Conservatives have no problem harnessing Tyson’s intellect. No, the danger Tyson brings to the political structure, as he gains an increasingly large foothold in the popular culture, is the threat of an informed populace. “When you’re scientifically literate, the world looks different to you,” Tyson wrote in 2011. “It’s a particular way of questioning what you see and hear. When empowered by this state of mind, objective realities matter. These are the truths of the world that exist outside of whatever your belief system tells you.” That may not sound radical, but the promise of a large, nerdy, young voting block that subscribes to Tyson’s sentiment is a threat to the political status quo — certainly Republicans, but Democrats as well. Imagine if millions of young Tyson fans stopped searching for facts to confirm their personal biases, or ceased prioritizing using their education to leverage personal wealth, and instead sought the most sound solutions to identifiable problems for the betterment of the species. If the rising generation of young voters actually starts demanding rational, evidence-guided leadership, few in our current crop of elected officials would survive the political fallout. Consider this: In 1995, the Congressional Office of Technology Assessment — a nonpartisan panel of scientists and researchers assembled to offer objective technical guidance to Congress on scientifically complex issues — was stripped of all funding, effectively shutting it down. (Officially, it still exists on paper.) It has remained unfunded ever since. (Thanks, Newt Gingrich.) An attempt in May to provide a paltry $2.5 million to the office was stymied by House Republicans. In a world where advanced technology has infiltrated nearly every corner of our lives — raising a litany of technical, ethical and legal challenges — our government is willfully scientifically illiterate. The reason this status quo has been allowed to persist is that the general population isn’t much better. Conservatives continue to fight any attempts to combat climate change, while many liberals are refusing to vaccinate their children over fears of a nonexistent link to autism. It wouldn’t be hard to predict a liberal backlash against Tyson, similar to the one we’re seeing from conservatives, if he were to speak more prominently about his endorsement of genetically modified foods — one of the more scientifically unfounded banner arguments of the left. Tyson is a threat to this cone of ignorance and self-interest. He’s a champion of knowledge and the human potential. He brings the fundamental belief that our species is destined for something greater than the interminable squabble between self-interested individuals and rival nations and dwindling resources — that our collective efforts can be applied to the pursuit of knowledge, ultimately paving the way for our exploration of the galaxy. That’s a vision people can get behind. It’s also one that could potentially upend everything we know. Math and Science Week!
Unlike most of Trippy's meretricious* tales, for which evidence is at best tenuous and more often nonexistent, rare production stills recently discovered in the archives of late fantasy film historian Forrest J. (Forry) Ackerman appear to substantiate Trippy's claim to have worked with director Fritz Lang on Lang's epic silent era production of Die Nibelungen.
Day 235, The 365 Toy Project.
10 May 2009.
The 150 canals of Venice are its streets - roads for land passenger vehicles are nonexistent. Everyone must travel by foot or boat, tourists and locals alike.
Olympic and Wilton, southwestern edges of Koreatown.
While most people expect Buddhist monasteries to be a common sight in Koreatown, in reality they are rare, and ones with traditional architecture like this are nonexistent save for this one. Korean immigrants are more or less required to convert to Christianity, the religion of the white masters, upon arrival in America; in fact, social networking and other community bonding are impossible for Korean-Americans outside a church setting. I am actually surprised that Buddhism actually manages to exist among Korean-Americans.
The shopping mall to the left is filled with several Korean businesses, and feels similar to a neighborhood office building in a residential area of a South Korean city.
Winter (so far) has been weird. The cold and snow has been mostly nonexistent, and a week-long inversion has built in with little hope of it clearing out. On a foggy morning I visited the local reservoir with the vague hope of finding something to photograph.
Willard Bay is a fresh-water reservoir on the northern end of the Great Salt Lake.
my passports are fatter than most (like me, i guess). they both had pages added to them twice.
and yes, that one is green. i had a green passport. it's ben franklin commemorative. he came up with the idea of a passort, you know. tho' i once stood on the border of turkey and greece and a turkish border guard said, "green passport, very bad, very bad" and made a cutting motion across his throat. however, i never found out why it was bad, since that was the extent of his english and my turkish was nonexistent. but i'm still here to tell about it, so i guess it wasn't that bad.
Shierholz discusses possible solutions for wage stagnation.
Since the 1970s, the typical U.S. worker has experienced either a minimal or nonexistent increase in wages. What can and should be done to promote the economic growth that will lead to higher earnings for more American workers? How do we ensure that these gains are broadly shared, resulting in robust wage growth for as many workers as possible?
On September 26, The Hamilton Project at Brookings hosted a forum on wage growth in The United States. The forum began with introductory remarks by former U.S. Treasury Secretary Robert E. Rubin, and a fireside chat with Jason Furman, professor of practice, Harvard Kennedy School, and Lawrence Mishel, president, Economic Policy Institute. The fireside chat was moderated by Catherine Rampell, opinion writer, The Washington Post. A panel discussion will follow the fireside chat, featuring panelists including: Jared Bernstein, senior fellow, Center on Budget and Policy Priorities; Robert Greenstein, founder and president, Center on Budget and Policy Priorities; and Heidi Shierholz; senior economist and director of policy, Economic Policy Institute; the panel was moderated by Jay Shambaugh, director, The Hamilton Project.
In conjunction with this event, The Hamilton Project released a new framing paper exploring wage trends and the economic forces that underlie them.
Photo credit: Ralph Alswang
Tuincentrum Leurs
Air plants, or Tillandsia, are a fascinating genus of evergreen, perennial flowering plants belonging to the bromeliad family, which also includes the pineapple 🍍. They are native to diverse environments across the Americas, ranging from tropical rainforests and mountain ranges to deserts. Unlike most plants, air plants are epiphytes (or lithophytes), meaning they don't require soil to grow. Instead, they use their short, wiry roots solely to anchor themselves to other plants, rocks, or other surfaces. This unique adaptation allows them to survive and thrive in places where soil is scarce or nonexistent.
The defining feature of air plants is their remarkable ability to absorb water and nutrients directly from the atmosphere. Their leaves are covered in specialized, microscopic scales called trichomes, which look like fuzzy hairs and give many species a silvery or grayish appearance. These trichomes are highly efficient at trapping moisture from rainfall, fog, or even high humidity in the air. This characteristic is why air plants must have excellent air circulation; after watering, they must dry out quickly to prevent rot. Furthermore, air plants have an efficient form of photosynthesis called CAM photosynthesis, which allows them to close their stomata during the day to conserve water and open them at night to "breathe" in carbon dioxide.
Caring for air plants is relatively simple, as they are very low-maintenance. The key requirements are bright, indirect sunlight, good air circulation, and consistent moisture. Watering is typically done by soaking the plant in a bowl of water for 20-40 minutes once a week or by thoroughly misting them a few times a week, depending on the environment. Air plants are also popular for their decorative versatility. Because they don't need soil, they can be displayed in creative ways, such as in glass terrariums, on seashells, or mounted on driftwood. Air plants generally bloom only once in their lifetime, producing a colorful, often vibrant flower stalk before they begin to produce new "pups" or offsets, which can be separated to grow into new plants.
This town was in right in the middle of the mountains, and while you cannot tell from the photo, it was pouring when we got there. We were hoping for a restaurant, but it was closed or nonexistent. With all the rain in the area over the last several weeks, some hillsides had given way entirely. Our ride to San Martino in Freddana on SP1 to the base of the climb was covered in mud from what looked to be a pretty catastrophic landslide.
Believe it or not, this photo was taken with the same camera used for the photo below. I cropped it to square because the vignetting was so large. I was rather baffled at this result, although I suppose it makes sense with the ultra-wide angle -- yet this one is more squashed than the other.
On the left is me being ghostlyly obese, and Scott on the right attempting to be nonexistent, just because he can sit more still than I can. Exposure was something between three and five minutes, on Ilford multigrade photo paper.
And credit for the title goes to Scott.
I don’t normally do patches, emblems, decals, etc., but this one was so cool & unique…and affordable, that I just had to get it. And it’s big,~7.5”! I assume once worn on the back of an employee’s work coveralls. I’m tempted to gently wash it, but don’t dare.
Not surprisingly, anything pertaining to it, like origins, history, or specifics regarding “Apollo Spaceborne Products” is pretty much nonexistent. Even information about Autonetics and its contributions to the Apollo Program are quite vague & generic. So, my date range is a total SWAG.
What little there is follows:
“Autonetics was a division of North American Aviation that designed and built guidance and navigation systems for the Apollo program, including the Apollo spacecraft. As a leader in precision electronics and instruments like gyroscopes, Autonetics' expertise was crucial for reliably guiding spacecraft on their complex lunar missions.”
Above per Google’s AI generated “Autonetics” query.
Additionally, from Boeing’s Autonetics Memorial “brochure/flyer”:
“…innovations provided the systems that the Apollo astronauts used to determine the exact position of the lunar module during rendezvous and docking.”
And:
“Autonetics also contributed to space exploration, including rendezvous and docking systems for Apollo…”
At/From:
bos.ocgov.com/legacy3/newsletters/pdf/Honoring_the_Legacy...
Credit: don’t really know who/what to cite
Additionally:
www.collectspace.com/ubb/Forum38/HTML/001197.html
Credit: collectSPACE website
And…the specific Autonetics contribution to Apollo referenced by Scott Schneeweis in the above citation:
www.spaceaholic.com/index.php/Detail/Object/Show/object_i...
Credit: Scott Schneeweis/Spaceaholic website
If the amount of effort that went into taking a photograph correlated directly with the quality of the image captured, then I have no doubt that you would be looking at a masterpiece! My brother and I slogged our way up Caisteal Abhail from North Glen Sannox via a route that I'm sure will never be taken by anyone again. After a short time of looking for the (nonexistent) path, we opted to take a more direct route and headed straight for the summit up some extremely steep terrain. Needless to say I was exhausted by the time we reached the top but the magnificent views were well worth the hard work.
Taken using a Canon 5D Mk II and EF 24-105 f4 L IS USM in conjunction with a Heliopan circular polariser and Lee ND grads.
the drive home past the dry lake
see it with a boat on it..
See a reference here..
science.anu.edu.au/whats-on/research-stories/lessons-lake
But in the late 60s the family fun was disrupted as the water level began to drop dangerously low.
“We kept waterskiing right up until the fence lines started to show,” says Pillans. “I remember quite clearly a boat hitting a big rock one day and it just sank as I watched. That was the end of it.”
The boats have never returned and, apart from a half-hearted fill in the late 80s, the water component of Lake George has been largely nonexistent ever since.
Cronan Ranch Trails Park:
www.coloma.com/recreation/riverside-parks/cronan-ranch-tr...
It's December and the American River water level should be way above these rocks. We haven't had a significant rainfall since last spring and the snow level in the higher elevations of the California Sierra Nevada Mountains is practically nonexistent. It's beginning to look like it could very well be a disastrous summer for us here. The wildfires have already started in southern California. Pray for us folks, PLEASE…we need rain, NOW!!!
All images are the property of ARDATH'S ARTISTIC ENTERPRISES© and ARDATH WINTEROWD PHOTOGRAPHS©
Using these images without permission is in violation of international copyright laws (633/41 DPR19/78-Disg 154/97-L.248/2000)
All of my photographs are Copyrighted and All Rights Reserved. They may not be used or reproduced publicly or privately in any way without my written permission.
This picture makes me happy because It is perfect in its own way. I was walking back from practice and for just a moment all of my stress was nonexistent. It made me realize how lucky I am to go to such a great school and that God has blessed me with so much. #walshtheology
It's getting to be that time of year again when I think of going turkey hunting with old George.
George was my grandparent's neighbor in Pittsfield, Illinois. He drove a Cavalier Wagon that he believed could not get stuck, and depending on the time of year it would be filled with hunting and fishing odds and ends. I most vividly remember it in late spring, containing several 2x4's of varying lengths tethered together by twine and camouflage burlap, piles of odd sized hunting clothes, and a turkey decoy named Henrietta. I would wake up very early, so that the topic of the day and reason for any misfortune would not be that I slept in and made us late. Sitting on the tailgate of Pop's pickup and looking out the garage door window I'd wait for the old maroon wagon to rumble up the driveway from next door. As the garage door went up and let the cold air in the shivers would wash over me as I carried my stuff to the wagon and found a place for it in the back seat.
The passenger door would swing open before I was given the chance to open it, and the smell of George's cigars would wash over me. I've never been fond of cigar or cigarette smoke, but I never felt reason to complain about the little cigars George lit early in the morning and chewed on until the sun went down. I never, ever saw him light one. I can see the package sitting there in the cubby hole in the dash with no more that two of the little cigars in it, half obscured by an ancient can of bug spray. Finding a place for my feet was always a bit of a challenge because there were always shell boxes and papers on the floor boards. He'd always say "Bill up? Making a pot of coffee?" I'd show him the mountain dew can that was a fixture on my person and he'd grumble about it. "Want one of these?" he'd ask as he motioned to the little brown nub that had already created a brown ring on the corner of his mouth. Many times I had considered it, but always turned him down.
Conversation for drive out to the timber almost always consisted of a combination of information gathered from the landowners and people living nearby, as well as his recollections from hunting wherever we were headed in previous years. I never got a word in. Each new piece of information that was divulged was accompanied by a sharp tap from the back of his hand to the very same spot on my upper arm, which on long rides would begin to ache. He'd always ask about the young ladies. Even though I couldn't usually see his face in the dark I knew he was giving me the eyebrows as he nudged me with his elbow and inquisitive "Eh? Eh?" Every time we went hunting it was to a different spot usually quite a ways outside of Pittsfield, and even though the heater was always blasting I'd shiver. Sometimes the moon was still up and it would illuminate the roadsides. The cornfields and stock lots gave way to hilly tall grass pasturelands and deep hollows as we grew nearer to the destination. George always had his speculations about the day based on what the weather man said and what he'd heard about at coffee the week before, and they'd pour from him as the sun drew nearer to the horizon.
The road always ended in the grey light just before the sun began to color the sky. George would put out his cigar and pop it back in his mouth. He'd fling the door open, wrestle to get to his feet, slam the car door so hard I wondered if it would ever open again, and then cut loose with an often surprising imitation of a barred owl that always ended with a big hacking cough. Whether it caused a turkey to shock gobble or not, and it often did, there would be a motion and he would rasp "Over there!" He'd call me to the back of the wagon and begin hastily loading our gear into my outstretched arms. While I struggled to contain and carry everything George would get a head start and continue his long gargling "Whoo-ah's" as he went. It didn't matter where the toms called back from, he'd always already have a good spot picked out.
On one particular morning we'd set up our little blind in the lowest corner of a newly planted bean field. Though he remembered the location and previous hunts well, George could never remember which trees were the best to lean on. We would set the blind up in the dark at least once before thinking better of our situation and moving it. As the sun came up and lit the the thin clouds I could finally see Old Zebrun. Not having the mindset of young hunters like myself, George never even considered matching his camouflage to the season or situation. He wore the large blotchy patterns from before hunting was big business. Guys my age call those patterns "Old Skool" and wear them for fun and to pay homage to our hunting forefathers. From any number of his pockets would come calls to be arranged around us so that they were easily found by feeling when taking our eyes off the bird wasn't an option. He had box calls, and friction calls, locators, you name it. Most he'd saved from hunting buddies, and most made an awful thin sound since they were usually handled incorrectly or had been wet. One thing about George's turkey hunting collection amazed and baffled me more than anything else. Henrietta. She was an old, and I mean right after they were carved out of wood old, hen decoy with real skin and feathers stretched over it. I have no doubt that the entire thing was older than I was. Truth be told it looked like hell, but I doubt an amorous tom thought twice about the possibilities. She always seemed to do her job except for when I was around. Stage fright, I suppose. Across his knees lay an old single shot twenty gauge. He liked it because it was light and he knew just how to hold the bead in every situation. There hadn't been a great deal of activity on this morning, and it was soggy and cold. Behind us in the timber two small creeks came together and created a good sized pool at the base of an oak tree before meandering off to parts unknown as one. From my very low vantage point I'd always try to get a lay of the land without moving two quickly or sticking my head up. This usually got me pretty familiar with anything closer than twenty feet that wasn't in the field ahead of us. There George would sit next to me seemingly watching an invisible gobbler and clucking every now and then on one of his calls, his glassy eyes peering through his face net. Laying there on the ground as the sun came up, burning off the haze and warming the air, I was helpless to fend off sleep's embrace.
After nodding off and on for most of the morning, at half after nine I heard the distinct wing beats and a cluck behind us as a bird hopped across the nearest creek. I gathered that it was a hen making her way out to the field, and as long as we kept quiet she'd keep Henrietta company and help our situation. George had not heard her, which was perfectly understandable because he was into his eighties. Fifteen or twenty minutes later he batted me hard with the back of his arm and growled loudly and quickly "Jeez Ch... T'ere's a hen o'er here! T'ree o clock!" He didn't hear her leave, either. We spent the next hour waiting for her to come out into the field with the tom that George was certain was courting her. I sat there knowing better, but didn't want to tell him as he did his very best to coax the nonexistent tom out to the field edge. At about eleven George told me to take my gun and sneak around behind him. Anyone who's been in the turkey woods knows that there is no sneaking after the sun comes up, and I'm sure he knew that. He just wanted me to jump something. After Elmer Fudding my way through the timber for half an hour I reported back. George told me to go ahead and walk around a bit. "Take your time, I'll get all this gathered up and meet you back at the car." He did this no matter where we hunted. It was usually my favorite part because it gave me a chance to look for antlers and mushrooms on unfamiliar ground. Once back to the car we'd sit and chat about anything I'd found or seen while he finished his cold coffee and I opened the soda I hadn't quite gotten to on the ride out. At this point there was only one thing on his mind: a ham and cheese from Hardee's. He always accented both syllables, like if you were saying RD's. I went with George many times, but it just never seemed to come together. I didn't mind a bit. All he wanted was for me to get my gobbler.
The last time I spoke to George I was home from for a visit from living in Alabama. He was seeing double. A growth far up in his nasal cavity was putting pressure on both his eyes, and he would be having it out soon. George told me many times, sometimes it seemed like every third sentence, that at his age there was no sense in slowing down. The day he stopped "going" would be the day that he kicked his bucket. He proved his belief and resolve to uphold it when he broke his foot squirrel hunting and never thought twice about having it casted. He just kept on going. As I've been told, and this information made it to me through the intricate system of small town conversation, George's surgery went off pretty much without incident. The doctor asked him to take it easy for a few weeks, but George said no. The doctor asked for a week. George said no. Seeing that he obviously wasn't going to come out ahead in the argument, the doctor pleaded for just a few days. George obliged, and spent the day after his surgery taking it easy. Taking it easy didn't sit well with him. The next morning he was up early and off to Coffee at Hardee's. He hopped in his wagon and off he went. He walked in, greeted the crowd, ordered his cup, and as he walked back to sit and gossip with all those in attendance he had a stroke. When he came to in the hospital the next day, or maybe the day after that, he was thoroughly aggravated. Having lost his power of speech and most of the use of one side it was clear to him that "going" was no longer an option. He made his wishes clear by withdrawing the IV's and tubes without proper medical assistance more than once.
I think back to that last conversation. Before I opened the glass door to Pop's garage I could see him musing to Pop while twiddling his thumbs and inspecting the state of his finger nails.There he sat in the chair nearest the east door in the afternoon light with one leg propped up on the other and a ring around the cigar nub hanging from the corner of his mouth. On his feet were grey shoes with two velcro straps, and sticking up from those below his short pant legs were what could only be mismatched socks. He wore a splotchy olive drab t-shirt with a few holes near the tail from carrying a leaky battery to his john boat some years past. He'd lift up a worn out Pheasants Forever hat he'd gotten free at a banquet to scratch the permanently tanned bald head he kept underneath it. As I opened the door he greeted me with a big smile, asked me how living down south was, and if I caught any good fish or seen any pretty girls on the beach. He updated me on all the goings on since I'd left early in January, commented about shifts in the weather at length, and proclaimed that he was happy because it was finally going to stay warm. When he wasn't telling a story or talking about his pals at the DNR office or about his cat Zoey, he was ribbing Pop about not going fishing with him enough. Pop would just sit and chuckle and shake his head as he fiddled with bits of a small engine he was fixing for poke money. After BS'ing for awhile I hesitantly asked George how he was doing, having heard of his predicament before my arrival from my grandparents. He said he was seeing doubles. "Two of everything past three feet out" he stated matter-of-factly. I asked doubtfully how his turkey season went. He told me who he'd hunted with and how the weather had been. He told about where they'd hunted and about the things they'd seen and heard, knowing fully well that he was skirting the answer I was really after. With a bright twinkle in his eye and a grin he finally said he'd helped a few guys get their bird, and filled both of his tags doing it. Incredulously, I asked how? His grin grew into as big a smile as I'd ever seen on his face, the little nub nearly loosing it's footing on his lip. He laughed loudly and said "Dammit, I shot t' one on the right!"
So there he sat, so pleased with himself and my reaction in the fleeting warmth of a late May afternoon. And there old George Zebrun will sit until I no longer have the luxury of memory, teasing Pop and smiling with that little cigar nub and tobacco ring in the corner of his mouth.
It’s moments like these where the best photographs are born. Not just in the snow, forest or mighty deserts, but in anything unexpected. I think it changes who we are. It slaps us in-the face with a new perspective, a new mountain to climb atop, and it forces us to see a familiar world in a new, or nonexistent, light. I remember being unable to smell the chill, and a still almost uncomfortable quiet.