Aebmiller

Cayce Zavaglia creates her portraits in a novel variation on the time honored traditions of tapestry, using crewel embroidery wool in a method in which the direction of the threads are not blended into a uniform pattern, but given direction within the creation of the form — like brushstrokes, producing a much more “painterly” (“threaderly”?) surface.

Zavaglia was trained as a painter and in her statement indicates that she still thinks of herself as a painter, simply working with a different medium.

The images on her site, once you click through to the individual works, are supplemented with close up crops in which you can better see the directional and dimensional qualities of the threadwork.

In addition, some of the works are displayed as they look from the reverse of the surface, with a feeling of abstracted underlying form and a decidedly different direction and texture to the threads.

[Via High-Fructose by way of Dan van Bentheuysen: @vanbenth]

www.caycezavaglia.com

[ By WebUrbanist in Design & Guerilla Ads & Marketing. ]

Children already at risk may also risk further abuse if they are seen to be seeking help, hence this twist on lenticular printing – a message that reads one way to tall adults, and another to small minors.

The ANAR Foundation needed a way for potential victims to read their communication secretly (including the unspoken visual content – bruises on the portrait), without alerting those accompanying them on the street.

Shifting from one perspective to the other slowly reveals an increasingly different image as well as additional text, including the helpline phone number.

Lenticular images are often used to create dynamic billboards that shift as people walk or drive by, but this variant flips the typical format on its side and gives it a higher purpose than mere marketing.

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[ By WebUrbanist in Design & Guerilla Ads & Marketing. ]

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[ By Steph in Abandoned Places & Architecture. ]

It’s not just the morbid and macabre horror movie ambiance of abandoned psychiatric facilities that makes them so haunting and fascinating; it’s the shadows of the people who often lived their entire lives there. Toothbrushes hanging on hooks, bedding still wadded on cots, wheelchairs and patient records are stark reminders of the humanity that once existed between these walls. Photographer Jeremy Harris has documented many of the structures still standing in a series called ‘Abandoned American Asylums: The Moral Architecture of the Nineteenth Century.’

Harris has been sneaking into abandoned asylums since 2005 to take his photos. The series includes just about everything you’d expect: peeling paint, foreboding hallways and a whole lot of rusting metal. But there are also faded murals, grand theaters and bowling alleys.

In the 19th century, a large number of people – whether seriously mentally ill or not – were institutionalized against their will, often left in hospitals their entire lives without visits from family. At the time, mental illness was often thought of as a moral or spiritual failing. Circumstances improved by the 20th century, in most facilities.

Mother Jones produced a video about the photo project. You can also read more about early psychiatric hospitals and asylums at the U.S. National Library of Medicine, and see the rest of the photos at Jeremy Harris’ website.

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[ By Steph in Abandoned Places & Architecture. ]

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The Gates of Hell was an ambitious and astonishing work by the French sculptor Auguste Rodin that was never realized in his lifetime.

The sculpture exists in two versions, one of which was cast in bronze posthumously from reconstructed plaster casts. The work stands almost 30 feet (6m) high and 12 feet (4m) wide, with over 180 figures representing themes from Dante Alighieri’s Devine Comedy.

The sculpture contains many figures and sets of figures that were eventually developed into independent works by Rodin, including his famous The Thinker. Rodin worked on the doors off and on for 37 years, never actually finishing the work.

There is a video here that discusses the the work and the two different versions created by Rodin.

There are three original bronze casts, at the Musée Rodin in Paris, the Rodin Museum here in Philadelphia and the National Museum of Western Art in Tokyo.

Three more were subsequently cast by the Musée Rodin, and are in Zurich, Seoul, Korea and Stanford University in California.

Microbiologist and photographer J.W. Kern has taken a rather remarkable high-resolution (112 megapixel) photograph of the Stanford casting and made it available on Flickr (click on “Original” for the high-res version, which is 18mb). Here is Kern’s article about the sculpture and the photo.

[Via MetaFilter]

I don't have antlers on my wall. I love owls and sparrows, but don't own any bird decor. But foxes? Well, they might be my wildlife trend weakness, especially when they're on dishes as nice as these. 

• Foxes at the Table
  Apartment Therapy

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While the Mauritshuis, The Royal Picture Gallery in The Hague, Netherlands, is undergoing renovations, some 35 wonderful examples of their extraordinary collection of paintings are touring the US.

The group includes Vermeer’s Girl With a Pearl Earring, as well as treasures by Rembrandt, Frans Hals, Carel Fabritius, Rachel Ruysch, Jan Steen, Jacob von Ryisdael and others.

The show is currently at the de Young Museum in San Francisco, where it will be on display until June 2, 2013.

It then moves to the High Museum of Art in Atlanta, where it will be on display from June 23 to September 29, 2013.

A smaller subset of 15 works, titled Vermeer, Rembrandt, and Hals: Masterpieces of Dutch Painting from the Mauritshuis, including Girl with a Pearl Earring as well as works by Rembrandt, Hals, van Ruisdael, Steen and Fabritius, will be on display at the Frick Collection in New York from October 22, 2013 to January 19, 2014, which is when I hope to see them.

(Images above: Johnannes Vermeer, Carel Fabritius, Abraham van Beyeren, Jacob van Ruisdael, Reambrandt van Rijn)

[Addendum: Reader Ælle points to an interesting interview with Mauritshuis Director Emilie Gordenker on ArtsATL]

I realize expecting shame or embarrassment from most drug warriors is a bit too much, but would the possibility that cannabis actually fights HIV at least put an end to a lot of stupid arguing?

A study reported in The Journal of Leukocyte Biology suggests this may be the case, as noted by Wired:

THC, or tetrahydrocannabinol, is the main psychoactive ingredient in cannabis — it's the chemical that gets the user stoned. Synthetic versions of it have been developed for research purposes, and it's this that was used to attack the HIV-1 virus, which represents the vast majority (more than 90 percent) of all HIV types.

The way it works is by interaction with the cannabinoid type-2 (CB2) receptor in white blood cells, specifically the macrophages. Macrophages are one of many types of white blood cell in humans. While the main cells, the lymphocytes, do the bulk of the work in fighting infection by tracking down and destroying germs with antibodies, macrophages form a kind of backup part of the immune system -- attracted to damaged cells, they surround and engulf them while also alerting lymphocytes of new dangers.

Macrophages have an unpleasant weakness, though, in that they are one of the first types of cells to be infected by HIV when it enters the body. The virus can live inside macrophages for days, weeks or months, travelling around the body, infecting other cells and acting as an extremely effective pollinator of HIV.

Stopping the HIV virus from infecting macrophages is one method researchers are investigating, as it would dramatically curtail the speed at which the infection progresses and would give time for other antiretrovirals to help keep it at bay, or even remove it.

The CB2 receptor in macrophages is stimulated normally when THC enters the bloodstream, so nothing unusual there. However, it appears that macrophages that have their CB2 receptor stimulated are stronger when it comes to fighting and weakening the HIV-1 virus.

Medical marijuana is already typically sought out by many HIV patients to ease some of the side effects of drug treatments. That marijuana may actually be helping weaken the virus as well would be a great discovery, if true. The federal government’s position (affirmed by both Democratic and Republican leadership) that marijuana has no legitimate medical use grows more and more foolish the more scientists are able to get around the Schedule 1 designation and perform research.

Reader Ryan McCormick sends this amazing story from ABC News. Robert Jordan wanted to be a cop and he applied for a job as such in New London, Connecticut.

His problem? He scored too high on the IQ proxy test and was thus excluded from consideration.

Jordan, a 49-year-old college graduate, took the exam in 1996 and scored 33 points, the equivalent of an IQ of 125. But New London police interviewed only candidates who scored 20 to 27, on the theory that those who scored too high could get bored with police work and leave soon after undergoing costly training.

Most Cops Just Above Normal The average score nationally for police officers is 21 to 22, the equivalent of an IQ of 104, or just a little above average.

Jordan sued for discrimination but to no avail. Here's what a federal court ruled:

The U.S. District Court found that New London had “shown a rational basis for the policy.” In a ruling dated Aug. 23, the 2nd Circuit agreed. The court said the policy might be unwise but was a rational way to reduce job turnover.

Too smart for police work, "Jordan has worked as a prison guard since he took the test."

Read the whole thing here.

O Officer Krupke, O humanity.

Few experts seem to think Apple has another megahit product ahead of them. But I think the iWatch might be bigger than anyone imagines. You should keep in mind that I'm the oracle who predicted that no one would want an iPad. I repeated that prediction with the oversized phones from Samsung - the so-called phablets - and those are flying off the shelf too. So we know I suck at predicting consumer demand for gadgets. And while you might think I would be too embarrassed to make another prediction about consumer electronics, apparently I don't feel shame like normal people.

So let's get to it.

I've been holding off on buying a normal watch for the past several months because I'm fairly certain I'll get an iWatch if it ever hits the market. And when it does, ordinary watches will start to look the way flip-phones looked six months after the iPhone was announced. You're probably thinking an iWatch would be too geeky for any fashion-conscious consumer. But I think your old-timey standard watch will look like a butter churn in a few months. Fashion will require you to get an iWatch.

I see the iWatch as the next phase in our evolution to full cyborg status. I want my Google glasses, iWatch, smartphone, and anything else you want to attach to my body. Frankly, I'm tired of being nothing but a skin-bag full of decaying organs. I want to be the machine I was always meant to be. That prospect excites me.

But what excites me most about the iWatch is all the potential apps. Let's assume that the iWatch will be connected to your phone by Bluetooth. And let's assume the watch can measure movement. If you wave your arm in a figure eight, the phone senses it.

I'm also assuming the watch has a camera or two. I'd like one camera on the underside facing forward and one on the top facing forward, sort of where a wind-up stem would be on a standard watch. If you want to take a picture, just point your arm toward the scene and snap your fingers to operate the camera.

You'd also be able to control your environment with hand motions, like an orchestra conductor. Control the lights by pointing your arm toward the fixture and giving, let's say, the thumbs-up motion.

Likewise you can control everything from the television to video games to your heating and cooling just by hand motions, as if using magic. You would walk through your home like a wizard, with all of your electronics responding to your arm motions.

Your hand would also act like a computer mouse. Just move your fingers over the desktop to move the cursor on screen.

To make a phone call, just put your hand in the "call me" position as if holding a fake phone to your ear.

If you walk too far from your smartphone, the watch gives you a quiet alarm. That way you never leave without your phone.

If you want to wake up without bothering your spouse, the watch could have an alarm vibrator built in.

If you can't find your phone in the house, the watch would sense its direction and show an arrow on screen. Just follow the arrow to your phone's general direction. Ask the iWatch to find your phone and it sends a signal to the phone to make a continuous beep until found.

The watch could have sensors on the underside to monitor blood sugar, heart rate, and oxygen levels.

When I'm working in the kitchen, I often want to see an incoming message but I don't want to dry my hands. The iWatch would let me see messages even with wet hands.

When I want to add something to my to-do list, I can use my smartphone, but I generally don't because that means fishing it out of my pocket, and frankly that takes longer than I can hold most thoughts. But I would speak a to-do note into my iWatch just because it would be so accessible.

Imagine an app that lets you find compatible mates in public places. You fill out a dating questionnaire and your watch glows a certain color when someone compatible and available is in your public space. There are already a number of apps like that for your phone. The watch would add a level of fun because your friends could see your watch glowing too and be part of the fun.

Your watch could act like an emergency backup battery for your phone. Just plug a power cord between phone and iWatch and keep texting.

I would say my family misses 75% of all incoming phone calls even when our phones are nearby because they tend to be on vibrate. I even miss calls when my phone is in my pocket. The iWatch would be a huge improvement in not missing calls. I would buy the iWatch for that one feature.

Okay, that's my wish list. What apps would you want in an iWatch?

Hurray! You’re eating for two!¹

Eat every two hours and consume 75g of protein every day.

Meat is a great source of protein.²

Make sure you consume ample folates.³

Don’t consume raw eggs—or Cadbury eggs with that gooey white-ish yellow-ish stuff in the middle.

Avoid all alcohol and cigarettes.⁴

Constipation is a common symptom during pregnancy.⁵

Get your Omega 3s! Leafy greens, walnuts and fish are all great sources.⁶

Avoid hot tubs, hot baths, and Bikram yoga, just to be safe.⁷

Exercise!⁹

Avoid subways, sidewalks, and cars, since these three things are responsible for the majority of transportation-related accidents.

Enjoy sex with your partner.¹⁰

Peppermint, rose, and lavender oils can be excellent alternatives to allopathic medicines for soothing your nerves during pregnancy!¹¹

Scrutinize every activity, neighbor’s pet, atomic particle, and conversation with your mother for potential harm to your unborn miracle.

Above all, relax! Enjoy your pregnancy! This will be the happiest time of your life.¹²

- - -

¹ Actually, you’re only eating for 1.085. Take in no more than an extra 200 calories per day.

² Avoid meat.

³ Too many folates can harm your baby.

⁴ Unless you’re European, in which case, limit yourself to three bottles of Sauvignon Blanc and a pack per week.

⁵ Do not take colonics or laxatives of any sort. Try pushing. You will need that skill for labor.

⁶ Avoid sushi—salmon, tuna, yellowfin, shark or any other fish with high mercury content.

⁷ Your baths must be 83.1 degrees F, precisely.⁸

⁸ Avoid thermometers.

⁹ But not too much.

¹⁰ Gross.

¹¹ Peppermint oil, rose oil and lavender oil may cause miscarriage.

¹² AVOID STRESS AT ALL COSTS.

Kristy Daum just finished this massive quilt, called "The Tenth," which features an amazing portrait of David Tennant!

Read the full article on MAKE

The latest Dove advertising campaign, “Real Beauty Sketches,” has already garnered its share of well-deserved criticism: That “Dove is owned by Unilever – the same company that owns Axe, king of misogynistic ads.” That “the real take-away is still that women should care whether a stranger thinks she is beautiful.” That the women in the ads don’t look like the women one sees “on the subway, at highway rest stops, in suburban malls.” That the “main participants” are mostly Caucasian, blonde, thin, and young. Etc.

All that is true. But my interest in the ad is pedagogical. For me it is the perfect illustration of what I call the “bent-stick theory of ideology.”

This is the view that ideology is like wearing glasses that distort the world. All we need to do is apply the correcting lens of critique and we will be able to see the world as it really is. Calibrated correctly, our anti-ideological lenses will enable us to see the straight stick we know is there, not the bent stick distorted by the water. Or at least, like a hunter fishing in a stream, we will know where the stick really should be even if we can never truly rid ourselves of the distorting effects of ideology.

In the case of the Dove ads, this is illustrated by the women’s confrontation of the sketches showing them how they see themselves compared with how their friends see them.

Since the picture on the right more closely fits with what the audience sees, the message is clear: the image on the left is a distorted image caused by low self-esteem. These women will need help from their friends and loved-ones to better see themselves as they really are: beautiful.

That Dove wants you to associate their product with this demystification is besides the point. They are like Penn and Teller, magicians who have made a career of dazzling audiences with magic even as they reveal their secrets.

Like Penn and Teller, Dove are doing advertising with clear plastic cups. They are still selling beauty, but they are doing so by associating their product with the “real,” “undistorted,” “inner-beauty” that our friends and lovers see in us but which we ourselves cannot see. Dove isn’t hiding anything from us, so revealing that they are still in the business of selling beauty products doesn’t really get us any closer to understanding the distorted self-images we see from these women’s self-descriptions.

In my discussion of David Graeber’s Debt I wrote:

Marxist ideology is not some kind of “false consciousness” which is simply imposed upon people by the media, it is the product of their lived experience within market based societies. Markets make us see the world in a certain way because markets involve us in certain forms of social action that lend themselves to see the world in a market-oriented way.

I would like to make the same argument for these women. A recent study of attitudes towards female politicians found that any mention of a female candidate’s appearance “whether those mentions are flattering, unflattering, or neutral — has a negative impact on her electability.”

Why might that be? One explanation might come from Bourdieu, who would talk of beauty as a kind of game.  Just mentioning how a politicians look (as Obama did with Attorney General Kamala Harris)  takes them off the political stage and places them on the stage of a beauty pageant.

The critiques of the Dove ad I linked to above all made this point in the sense that they understand that the ad ultimately reinforces the importance of “beauty.” What I want to add to this discussion is to point out that a distorted self-image is a manifestation of misrecognition, not of false-consciousness. What is the difference? False-consciousness would imply that these women are simply deluded as a result of watching too many advertisements (presumably those advertisements made by Dove’s competitors). Misrecognition, on the other hand, is an accurate assessment of the beauty game (even if it mistakenly blames the individual for their inability to win the game). When lined up next to a dozen other women on the beauty pageant stage, the fact that their chin is too pointy or their brow too wide suddenly matters. Our society puts women in that lineup every day, whether or not they wish to be there. What is wrong with the Dove ad isn’t that it is selling beauty, but that it depoliticizing and psychologizing sociological critique in order to do so.

Popular media perspectives on traumatic brain injuries (TBI) in sports like ice hockey has changed over time and may influence people's attitudes towards these injuries, according to research published in the open access journal PLOS ONE by Michael Cusimano and colleagues from St. Michael's Hospital, Toronto, Canada...

Sparkling wine is already a festive pour for a party, but here's an idea for making it a little more special: serve homemade fruit liqueur lollipops for guests to stir into their bubbly. It's an elegant, surprising take on the usual champagne cocktail.

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Sex apparently is like income: People are generally happy when they keep pace with the Joneses and they're even happier if they get a bit more. That's one finding of Tim Wadsworth, an associate professor of sociology at the University of Colorado Boulder, who recently published the results of a study of how sexual frequency corresponds with happiness...

A new study that examined how the brain learns and retains motor skills provides insight into musical skill. Performance of a musical task improved among pianists whose practice of a new melody was followed by a night of sleep, says researcher Sarah E. Allen, Southern Methodist University, Dallas...

If you've been in a cocktail rut, we're about to bust you out of it. In what just happened to be perfectly timed with The Kitchn's Cocktail Week, yesterday New York Magazine unveiled 50 cocktail recipes, one from every state (plus D.C) — all recipes gathered from a country in the throes of a cocktail renaissance They're calling this a "cocktail terroir," or as close as one can get to such a thing: original, innovative recipes often made with local spirits and homemade infusions, syrups, and ingredients. If you get tired of one drink, there are 49 others to try. 

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Excerpt of messages from my friend (who asked that her identity remain a secret because she’s embarrassed to admit that she knows me in real life.)

me: Ugh.  Don’t tell Victor, but I REALLY hate jizz.

friend: Um.  Okay.

me:  I mean, I get the draw, but it just doesn’t do it for me.

friend: Why exactly would Victor be mad at that?

me: Because he really likes it and he wants me to share his interests, I guess?  I just can’t get into it.

friend: Speechless.  What does he expect you to do with it?

me:  Just enjoy it, I guess?  He collects it.

friend:  Like…in a jar?  This is kinda TMI.

me:  Oh, holy shit.  I just reread what I wrote.  Not jizz.  JAZZ.  I meant to write JAZZ.  Victor wants me to appreciate JAZZ with him.

friend:  Oh, thank Christ.

me:  I really need to spell-check this shit before I send it out.

friend:  The “i” and the “a” are like…not even remotely close to each other.  Was that an autocorrect?

me:  I don’t think so.  I’ve never even written “jizz” on my phone before.  I must have done it unconsciously.

friend:  That’s a weird Freudian slip.

me:  I guess I just had jizz on the brain.

friend:  Stop typing.

me:  No way.  My phone is finally starting to recognize jizz.  It’s like it’s learning.

friend:  You’re corrupting your phone.  With jizz.

me:  Ew.

friend:  I need a shower.

me:  You and me both, sister.

“Welcome to thirty,” she said.

I laughed, but she couldn’t see me. I was lying stomach-down with my face halfway through the hole of the massage table.

“Our bodies can only handle so much for so long.” Robyn, the attractive physical therapist with a Neutrogena face and soccer player’s physique, wasn’t pulling punches. “These muscles,” she said, drawing her hands up my spine and out toward my shoulders, “are weak.”

I felt like a magical eagle with a broken wing. Maybe she sensed my bruised ego, because then she started sugarcoating:

“You are super strong in your arms and up here,” she embellished, pointing somewhere between my trapezius muscles and gallbladder.

The truth is, I had failed the test. To pass, you have to touch your chin to your chest, keeping your head lifted off the table for about 48 seconds. After nine or ten seconds, I’d started shaking like a bobble head.

I wanted to tell her it wasn’t my fault. I wanted to tell her that years ago, I was a decent tennis player. Had a wicked topspin forehand. And in 7th grade, I anchored my team in the shuttle hurdle relay. But here I was, thirty, with a weak back and old-woman slouch.

The last time I’d been here, I was twenty-one. A doctor at student health had referred me to the UVA Sports Medicine and Rehabilitation Center. Throbbing lower back pain—that’s what I got for wearing fashionable boots to class, constantly picking the skinny heels out from between cobblestones as I walked, still trying to keep up with the Jeffersons even in my fourth and final year at the university.

You see, you could wear jeans at UVA… with a fitted blazer. You could even wear sweats… if you had mono. Let me make it plain for you: Brooks Brothers carries a line of UVA sweater vests and dress shirts.

I had also switched to a shoulder bag for my books after discovering that oversized hiking backpacks were all the rage only in Ohio. So between the heels and the bag and a bad habit of showing up to tennis matches without having practiced or stretched since the previous match, my back gave in. Though at twenty-one, back pain felt sexy. As the beautiful, blonde Kelly (does UVA only hire gorgeous physical therapists?) kneaded what I imagined were the striated muscles of my athletic back, I pondered the cost of exceeding Mr. Jefferson’s standards in both the classroom and on the court. Ahhhh, the agony of perceived superiority.

Breaking News: It’s no longer sexy.

These pictures are real. They have not been exaggerated to heighten your level of terror. You need to know that people age. As you can see on the left, they grow up, and they look like turtles. And then, as you see on the right, they try to sit up straight and look like a stork pushing out a turd.

But you know what’s great about all this? My hair. I made that ponytail in the heat of the moment without a mirror, because I thought it’d be vain to ask for a mirror when Robyn suggested I pull my hair back. The watch I’m wearing isn’t bad either. And the lighting? Phenomenal.

You’re wondering if this is genetic, because then you can assure yourself that you will age differently. Do I come from a line of weak backs? Did my slouching African, German, and Native American ancestors only procreate with other hunchbacks? Were gnomes involved?

While you’re tracing my family tree, I’m doing physical therapy homework. Not just the chin tucks and eagle-wing exercises, but mental notations that every time I sit at the computer or read Elie a book or give Tophs a bottle, I have terrible posture. Robyn says noticing my posture is half the battle. She says I’ve probably slouched forever and it’s just now catching up to me. If Robyn weren’t so pretty, I’d punch her.

Physical therapy isn’t the only way I know I’m thirty. I feel it in my face. When my friend FaceTimes me, I can’t even focus on what she’s saying because I’m smoothing out wrinkles on my forehead. If this is technology, I’d prefer a rotary dial. I have more freckles, too, and I’m not sure when they’ll become raised and create a topographic map across my face.

I also can’t stay up past 8:30 pm if I’m sitting on a couch. At first, I blamed it on the book of Leviticus. A girl could only read about so many ram and bull offerings. But when I started falling asleep during Jesus’ transfiguration and supernatural fish fry, I knew something was up.

I’ll come right out and say it: Thirty can be scary. Do I need a colon cleanse? Can you buy enemas at the dollar store? What exactly is a bunion? Should I wear tights with my clogs?

The most terrifying aspect of turning thirty has been severing my ties to the twenty-something crowd. Twenty-somethings have articles written about them in the New York Times. They own Facebook. They belong to the cool groups at church. Once you’re thirty, you might as well sit on a hemorrhoid cushion and play the organ.

I thought I would have a breakdown right after my birthday in March. Thought I’d need to take a few days away from the kids and visit the electronic cigarette kiosk in the mall.

But I didn’t. I ate leftover sweet potato cake and bought a pair of brown leather flats. Because while thirty is scary, it’s also comfortable. Not in a Depend undergarment way and definitely not in that Cialis bathtub commercial way.

Thirty has allowed me to step out of the hamster wheel. I’m no longer racing against my own thoughts, second-guessing every decision I made in my early twenties, wondering if I could have been or should have been everywhere else other than right where I am. My American Studies major? Fantastic. The two years I spent teaching first grade? Perfect. Writing personal essays rather than news stories? Emotional gold mine.

I’m not saying those futile thoughts never sneak up on me (I’d love to have my old metabolism and figure back). I’m saying, thankfully, they’re no longer my theme music. I don’t find myself haunted daily by the Ghost of Who Taylor Was Supposed to Be. It could be safe to say my quarter-life crisis has ended.

Even if my crisis is only on administrative leave, I’m not twiddling my thumbs until it returns. I’m strengthening my back just like the 43-year-old man on the rehab handout. I’m playing indoor soccer with Elie while she’s in her diaper and I’m in big-girl underwear, because we don’t always have time for pants or potties. I’m dancing with Tophs to a children’s Pandora station, because even though I’m that Black girl with no rhythm, I’m the best dancer he knows. And while I’m feeling good about this age thing, I might just get a head start on those bone density scans and estrogen pills.

Cosmetic injections to decrease crows' feet may actually leave people feeling depressed, a new small study reveals. The treatment uses the Botulinum toxin and reduces the strength of the eye muscles which aid in the face's overall formation of a smile...

Older adults who categorise themselves as old and frail encourage attitudinal and behavioural confirmation of that identity. This is the conclusion of a study conducted by Krystal Warmoth and colleagues at University of Exeter Medical School, which was presented at the British Psychological Society Annual Conference in Harrogate, UK...

We received a note from a reader named Peggy, who sent us these photos of the loveliest family heirloom: A hand-embroidered seasoning chart. Want to hear her story about this beautiful heirloom? 

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Writes Renata: “On our holiday to northern Tasmania, we were driving to Mole Creek Caves when I spotted this sign in a tiny little town called Chudleigh. The town’s main point seemed to be the sale of honey, but obviously some of the residents have a sting in their tail.”

related: Canadian is angry; still says thank you

The Paradigm Shift

The Epistemological Break-it-down

Pop’ and Locke’ It

The Dada Slide

The Kuhnwalk

The Bertrand Hustle

You Kant Stop the Beat

The Complete Twerks of Martin Heidougier

The Tenure Crawl

Four Wilcox County high school students are raising money to hold an integrated prom. Racially integrated. Because they don’t have one, because ever since the school itself integrated 30 years ago, the parents have been throwing separate proms. Because it’s the parents, and not the school, who are sponsoring the separate, private proms, they’re legally free to exclude anyone they want. (Last year, the police were called to remove a biracial student who had attempted to enter the white prom.) The school also recently integrated their homecoming court, but not their homecoming dance, so the white king and black queen weren’t allowed to attend the same dance or be photographed together for the yearbook.

A group of friends — Stephanie Sinnot, Mareshia Rucker, homecoming queen Quanesha Wallace, and Keela Bloodworth — are raising money to sponsor an integrated prom. They say they pressed the school for a single prom, but all they could get was a resolution to permit an integrated prom in addition to the segregated ones. So they’re doing the entire thing themselves. “If we don’t change it, nobody else will,” Bloodworth says.

The prom is scheduled for April 27, and the girls are taking care of the DJ and refreshments and venue all on their own. If you want to help them out with a donation, you can do so via their Facebook page.
Similar Posts:

• One Billion Rising and Dance as a Radical Act by Jill February 14, 2013
• We Are Not Your Afterthought: responding to LGBT Soup by Guest Blogger April 2, 2013