Would anyone like to see pictures of this bird I’m friends with
I love her
i am loving people’s attempts to identify this bird its just an australian magpie, she’s not a chimera, she’s not a fucked up crow, etc. she is just….. a regular run of the mill magpie
She is also a mother…. here is her yelling son who she brought to me one time
HOW THE HELL DID YOU BEFRIEND AN AUSTRALIAN MAGPIE
i give her chips sometimes
From what I’ve heard, australian magpies are actually quite nice if they trust you not to hurt them. Swooping season happens because, as a species, they’ve learned that most humans are Dangerous and so they preemptively attack to protect themselves and their young. If you’ve been nice to a group of magpies, though, they’ll remember you and you won’t be swooped at.
Magpies are extremely cool birds, and very intelligent… which means that they know that humans are the biggest threat around and that we can be good friends. Thus, swooping, and also not swooping humans who have proven themselves to be trustworthy sources of food.
The funniest interaction I ever had with some magpies was when one of my former workplaces had our Christmas lunch as a picnic in a park. A pair of magpies were teaching their fledgeling how to beg for food from humans. First one would approach, crouch down and coo at us; someone threw them a bit of cheese. Then the other adult approached, crouched down and cooed at us; someone threw a piece of cabanossi. Both tidbits were picked up, taken back and shared with the offspring… then the adults were standing there looking at the fledgeling and then at us, obviously going “Go on, then, you try it!”
Fledgeling magpie nervously walked closer to us, looked back at its parents, then half-crouched and yelled “RAWK!” in our direction. We cracked up laughing, startling the poor baby, but he or she got over it pretty quickly when a HAIL of bits of cheese and sausage landed all around.
I thought the top photo was of some sheep toys that somebody made.
3 cutie sheep
1 cutie sheep with tongue blep
Today I learned about the Valais Blacknose sheep. I think I’m dead of cute.
i met two of these this past spring and please believe me when i say they are EXACTLY as soft and fluffy in person as they are in photos.
I will not lie; I went on a hunt for more pictures of Valais Blacknose Sheep after seeing this. They are all this cute.
Floof Beast: BLEP
Me: I WILL HUG THIS ANIMAL AND BE THEIR MOM
We had a party line until the mid 70's in rural Wisconsin.
One buddy was also on the same party line, so we could do three-way calling with one of our other friends way before it was available as a product.
TIL in the 1880s, many farmers communicated by connecting their phones to barbed wire fences. This process often allowed for up to 20 people to be connected at once, everyone’s phone would ring regardless of who called, and the invention helped many farmers overcome depression and loneliness.
In the groupchat with the lads talking bout the harvest
Yes! I was reminded of this when working on the church story, which is set in rural Texas in the 1930s – most farmhouses in the region didn’t have electricity until well into the 20th century, often not before the 1950s, unless they built wind generators themselves. But a lot of them had telephones, because you didn’t need electricity for a phone (there’s even a town called Telephone, Texas, because they wanted a post office and the post office wouldn’t approve any of the other town names they suggested, so they jokingly called themselves Telephone for the one phone in town, and it stuck). So the family I’m writing about has an outhouse, a hand-pump for water, a wood burning stove, only kerosene lamps for light…and are constantly phoning the next farm over, where one of Mama’s stepdaughters lives with her husband, to share news.I mostly conveniently ignore the fact that their phone would have been a party line – I don’t go into the details of how they call out, just because it’s not really necessary, they’re never sharing news that others can’t be in on. I’m intrigued by the broadcast capabilities though, might go back and write that in. I think it goes to show that people will take any new technology and, as the first order of business, find a way to hack it in order to share more art. A telephone is for talking until you realize it could be for singing!
Also in reading the comments on this I wanted to remind people that while I’m sure it did help isolated farmers, and overall built a sense of community, the people most often using the telephone were those who were more likely to be in the home all day: farm wives. Being a woman on a rural farm in the early 20th century was incredibly isolating, and the telephone became a line out to other women, a way of feeling less alone, and a vital support network if your child was sick or someone in the home was injured, at a time when women did most of the medical care in the community.
My grandmother in rural Minnesota was on a party line until the mid 70s. I was a city kid, and her not answering the phone unless it was her pattern of rings stuck with me. (I was in single digits age wise)
So I just had a thought
What if supernatural creatures don’t exist anymore? What if they did once, but through the years, they slowly mixed in with humans?
You can see the blood of fairies in the way a ballet dancer hovers in mid air before he or she hits the ground. You can see it in the way that middle school girl never forgets when someone makes her a promise. You can see it in how that one little boy in the kindergarten class seems more comfortable in the forest on that field trip than the others.
You can see the blood of dryads in hikers who never trip over roots. You can see it in that suburban grandmother never lets any of her garden die. You can see it in that one kid who climbs a tree faster than his friends, barely looking at the branches as he goes.
You can see the blood of naiads in the way a professional swimmer seems to command the water to help them. You can see it in how a cross country runner needs a water break more often than his teammates. You can see it in the way that one girl in your class always has a water bottle on her desk.
You can see the blood of mermaids in a surfer who can be tossed around underwater for a long time without drowning. You can see it in a teenage boy who doesn’t have to pretend to be unbothered by the pressure when he races his friends to the bottom of a swimming pool. You can see it in the little girl who wades into every stream she sees on a hike without quite knowing why.
You can see the blood of sirens in people who never have a problem with getting people to date them. You can see it in that soprano who can hit notes most of her fellows can only dream of. You can see it in the camp counselor who all the straight girls have a crush on, who can play guitar and sing better than any of the others.
You can see the blood of shapeshifters in the way an actor adjusts their personality to become their character with scary accuracy. You can see it in the subconscious, barely noticeable changes a tween girl’s eyes make to match her outfit better. You can see it in the way you always lose that one friend in a crowd if you’re not careful, because he’s just too good at blending in.
People who carry the blood of werewolves don’t change with the full moon anymore, but you can still see it in the way your best friend always knows something is wrong, though even they don’t know they’re smelling the changes in your body chemistry. You can see it in the way that one guy always seems to eat more than the reasonable amount of red meat at an all-you-can-eat buffet. You can see it in the way that one werido never has a problem when the teacher turns off the lights before a PowerPoint presentation because her eyes adjust quicker and better than yours.
The blood of supernatural creatures may have mostly faded away. But if you look closely, you can still see it.
who are the writers, op?
deadcatwithaflamethrower: widow-tracer: alexaloraetheris: Reasons I believe my friend is secretly...
Reasons I believe my friend is secretly some kind of deity
1) First time we spoke was a week after the beggining of freshman year she summed up my entire character and most of the events of my life Sherlock style. I asked her how the hell she knew all that. She just shrugged and said she figured out our entire class already.
2) The one time we had religion class instead of ethics she listened to the teacher for a few minutes, laughed and told me:
“Humans have wished to be gods so much they’ve forgotten they have to ability to create them. Imagination has truly suffered from this ‘monotheism’ stuff.”
I was confused and asked her if she was an atheist. She rolled her eyes and said:
“Oh I believe in god alright. I just don’t think the bastard deserves to be worshipped.”
3) Out of nowhere she gave me this advice:
“The only truth a liar ever told was that lies weren’t going to save you. Don’t become the liar who has to pass that wisdom on, because they speak from experience.”
4) To this day, she has one of those old-timey phones with buttons she only uses to ocassionally call someone. When I asked her why she never got a smartphone she got pouty:
“I hate social media. On Facebook they talk a lot but never say anything. If I wanted to listen to people moan about their problems and ask for help they don’t expect I’d listen to their prayers.” (Notice the choice of words)
5) I noticed she was stiff and I offered her a massage since I’m really good at it but when i started kneading her back I swear to this day those were not muscles I felt. I asked her what she did to turn her muscles into rocks covered with a thin layer of skin and she kinda froze then shrugged and said she was just really, really stiff. My hands hurt after ten minutes when I can usually go for an hour. Next time I offered she seemed surprised and laughed. She still has rocks for muscles.
6) We were having a debate over the way neural pathways are formed (I study biology and she forensics) and I jokingly asked if I could have her brain for study when she dies. She laughed.
“Sure, if you find a way to kill me you can have it. I’m actually curious what you’re gonna find.”
7) One time she was tired and miserable and I tried to comfort her. We both have really dark sense of humor so I told her she could scare the dead out of their graves with that glare. She told me the dead can’t come back and I rolled my eyes and said ‘obviously’ but she continued:
“When you die you descend to the underworld with nothing to lose. To keep you, they give you something to lose. When you want to return, they will demand it back. That’s why nobody ever leaves. The only way out is to never enter.”
8) One day she just came up to me with a disappointed look on her face. When I asked her what was wrong she was quiet for a few seconds and then just told me:
“Betrayals committed in good intentions are still damning. Just… keep that in mind.” Then she left and didn’t speak to me for three days. I still don’t know what she meant but even three years later I haven’t forgotten it.
9) We were casually sitting on a bench when, out of nowhere, she asked me: “Is it just me or have humans gotten dumber? Or have they always been this stupid and I just haven’t been paying attention?”
10) She asked me if I ever wondered what it was like to die. I said no but told her I would tell her when I found out. I meant it as a ghost joke but she smiled at me and said:
“Great. I’ll wait for you to come back. Maybe you’ll even remember me.”
In conclusion, she is some kind of low-key god and she lost her faith in humanity even before we lost our faith in her but she’s stuck with us because immortality is a bitch.
P.S. I just remembered her name is a variation on ‘Eve’. Maybe I should reconsider my atheist status?!
“Betrayals committed in good intentions are still damning.“
I know far too many people who needed to heed this lesson when it was given to them and then they blithely ignored it anyway because it was convenient to do so.
Take this advice before you commit the betrayal, kids.
In 2006 Ms. Lockwood, an English teacher at Xavier High School, asked her students to write a letter to a famous author. She wanted them discuss the author’s work and ask for advice. Kurt Vonnegut (1922 – 2007) was the only one to write back and his advice is worth reading.
Dear Xavier High School, and Ms. Lockwood, and Messrs Perin, McFeely, Batten, Maurer and Congiusta:
I thank you for your friendly letters. You sure know how to cheer up a really old geezer (84) in his sunset years. I don’t make public appearances any more because I now resemble nothing so much as an iguana.
What I had to say to you, moreover, would not take long, to wit: Practice any art, music, singing, dancing, acting, drawing, painting, sculpting, poetry, fiction, essays, reportage, no matter how well or badly, not to get money and fame, but to experience becoming, to find out what’s inside you, to make your soul grow.
Seriously! I mean starting right now, do art and do it for the rest of your lives. Draw a funny or nice picture of Ms. Lockwood, and give it to her. Dance home after school, and sing in the shower and on and on. Make a face in your mashed potatoes. Pretend you’re Count Dracula.
Here’s an assignment for tonight, and I hope Ms. Lockwood will flunk you if you don’t do it: Write a six line poem, about anything, but rhymed. No fair tennis without a net. Make it as good as you possibly can. But don’t tell anybody what you’re doing. Don’t show it or recite it to anybody, not even your girlfriend or parents or whatever, or Ms. Lockwood. OK?
Tear it up into teeny-weeny pieces, and discard them into widely separated trash recepticals. You will find that you have already been gloriously rewarded for your poem. You have experienced becoming, learned a lot more about what’s inside you, and you have made your soul grow.
God bless you all!
Must have been "warm" days -- I don't see icicles formed on their face like usual.
Shoe company Vans brings its branded content team to Duluth, and the locals show them some of the winter surf “hot” spots.
We post plenty of surfing Lake Superior videos here on PDD, for a different view, you may enjoy the Vans Surf Team riding rivers.
Me, texting my gf: babe pick up some Skeleton Polish from the store
My Girlfriend: Samantha for the last time stop calling toothpaste that…
From now on I will call toothpaste skeleton polish, have a nice day
I’m gonna make this a trend and my gf every time she hears it will be like “God damn it Samantha…”
This my bebe. Bebe is bigger than me. Strong bebe
AND ALSO the mom cat raised the lynx baby ALONGSIDE HER KITTEN so we have all these cute pictures of the lynx cub with the kitten please look at them
^^^ FAMILY PORTRAIT
Couldn’t find any gingerbread men with buttcheeks on Google. Had to make my own.
HONOLULU — When you imagine Hawaii, what do you think of? Perhaps hula girls dancing seductively at sunset, wearing grass skirts, coconut bras, and a flower lei? Or Waikiki beach boys in swim shorts, surfing peaks with Diamond Head looming behind them? Possibly a stone-faced tiki nestled alongside palm trees and a raging volcano?
You know the images I’m describing. Because for over a century, these exotic scenes of paradise were deliberately crafted by travel companies and ad agencies and widely circulated to shape a specific narrative about Hawaii. When the Matson shipping company — which had been hauling freight between the West Coast and Hawaii since 1882 — began expanding its tourism offerings in the early 20th century, they hired a San Francisco agency to create an extensive ad campaign of travel posters and memorabilia that depicted Hawaii as an alluring tropical fantasy. Through colorful, illustrated caricatures of “island life” and photographic prints of relaxing women and beach scenes by famous photographers, including Anton Bruehl and Edward Steichen, the imagery stuck.
“Many are the strange things to be learned about [Hawaii]. However diligently the foreigner seeks he cannot find out all. He gets a fragment here and there and goes home. A heap of absurdities is all he has to show from great [Hawaii],” observed 19th-century Native Hawaiian historian Kepelino. His words are the preface to a current installation, Unreal: Hawai‘i in Popular Imagination, at the Bernice Pauahi Bishop Museum in Honolulu.
At one end of the gallery is an assemblage of rare illustrations, posters, postcards, and other vintage ephemera, including matchbooks and comics, drawn from one of the largest Hawaii-themed private collections known to exist. The material covers the walls and overflows out of a shopping mall kiosk parked on plush artificial grass.
At the other end of the exhibit is a single work that serves as a counterpoint to the commercial art: “‘Āina Aloha,” a 20-foot-long, six-foot-tall, two-sided mural created by six Native Hawaiian contemporary artists: Al Lagunero, Meleanna Meyer, Harinani Orme, Kahi Ching, Carl F.K. Pao, and Solomon Enos. “The challenge was to present a story using iconography that was important, but also to use the mural as a way to paint away pain,” Meyer told Hyperallergic. Reading from right to left, the “green side” of the mural tells a story of ancient voyages and genealogies, elders and ancestors building community, ritualizing ceremonies, and the generations of children that become future messengers of tradition. This side is “Hoopono,” recognizing beliefs, values, and practices.
The other side is “Hewa,” a Hawaiian term meaning mistake, crime, sin, offense. It is an abstract onslaught of jostling shapes tearing against one another; brown hands and small patches of green are caught between jagged, overlapping layers of red, white, and black. Surrounding the mural are questions in Hawaiian and English: Whose child are you? What place claims you? Does the foreigner have responsibilities?
“We want to have meaningful conversations about finding ways to right wrongs. This is a movement happening across the United States, it is not separate. People want a reckoning and we feel it should be now,” said Meyer. “It’s an attempt at an honest reflection about what steps there are in terms of reconciliation and restitution and reclamation. These issues are very real; tourists may not feel them, but we feel them every day.”
The mural is a powerful presence that holds its own against the floor-to-ceiling bombardment of kitschy memorabilia across the room. But juxtaposing the two different works came close to not happening; when Scott Lawrimore, previously the director of the Jacob Lawrence Gallery at the University of Washington and chief curator of the Frye Art Museum, first stepped aboard as exhibit designer in late 2017, the show was originally called The Art of Selling Hawaii and had been first conceptualized as a way to showcase a large collection of Hawaii ephemera.
“The conversation was like, yes, all this commercial art is fun, it has graphic design through the ears, and it’s interesting to see how this place was promoted. But I can’t possibly look at these things with any mindset other than these all being signs of trauma,” said Lawrimore. “There’s not a single one of them that has any sort of integrity and does not signal something that is wrong. Excuse my French, but the whole idea of selling Hawaii is fucking gross.”
One of Bishop Museum’s cultural advisors, Marques Marzan, a Native Hawaiian fiber artist, also expressed the need to balance the exhibit with a Native Hawaiian response. Marzan suggested the “‘Āina Aloha” mural, which was painted in 2015 and had traveled to nearly a dozen conferences from New York to New Zealand in the context of healing and wellness. At the John A. Burns School of Medicine at the University of Hawaii, the piece was included as part of the curriculum on historical trauma.
“The calmer, hopeful side with lots of blue and green, that was the first side to be finished and it started as the trauma side. But when it was completed and all this pain was painted away, we realized we weren’t done with the pain yet, so we started again on the second side,” said Meyer. In pamphlets for the mural, Meyer and the artists encourage viewers to lap “‘Āina Aloha” several times, taking in the alternating red and green while having to circumnavigate this piece that sits in the middle of the room. Similar to Picasso’s “Guernica,” it’s a nod to the cyclical nature of work not yet being finished; of residual pain and resentment that continues to be processed.
“I think for tourists that visit, there’s a giant question mark once they enter the room and their feet touch that artificial turf. Then they start hearing the stories and reading the text and, ideally, they begin to understand what’s at stake with these objects,” said Lawrimore.
When presenting the commercial art, Lawrimore was mindful to avoid exalting works by framing them or placing pieces behind glass. Instead, Bishop Museum graphic designer Ross Yamanaka laid out scans of the assorted advertisements into a sprawling wallpaper where no two images are repeated. “Instead of vitrining or museum-ifying a bunch of these things and putting up stories about the history of the companies and calling it good, the wallpaper approach sort of overwhelms the viewer with this environment,” said Lawrimore. “The logic of capitalism is accumulation and reproduction. I wanted the exhibition itself to manifest that by our accumulating as much as we could and reproducing that as a backdrop.”
Of the dozen or so pieces that were framed or set under glass, wall tags provide context. In “The Fairest Flower,” a 1925 art print by publishing company Brown & Bigelow, a woman in a grass skirt sits in a patch of flowers, strumming an instrument against the backdrop of a beach and a smoking volcano. Except none of this is accurate: the volcano looks more like the Paramount Pictures mountain than Kilauea, grass skirts are originally from the Gilbert Islands, and even the flowers — poppies, violets, and forget-me-nots — are foreign to Hawaii. So is the woman, who appears to be Caucasian. The title refers to her, who is the “fairest” and most desirable according to the print, due to her light-skinned complexion.
Several pieces doubled as instructional guides on how to recreate “Hawaiian”-themed experiences at home. A 1943 food and cocktail recipe book, “Here’s How in Hawaiian Hospitality,” features a cover illustration by painter Ted Mundorff of a woman straddling the Islands. With her legs spread and feet planted on Maui and Hawaii Island, she offers a feast of fruit, food, liquor, and perhaps more, under the sexualized facade of “hospitality.”
Thanks to the decades-long marketing efforts of Hawaii’s flourishing pineapple industry through the early-to-mid-1900s, the tropical fruit soon became synonymous with Hawaii, despite originally being native to Central America. A ‘60s-era poster promoting a “Royal Hawaiian Pineapple Split” represents the type of advertisement that has forever bound the idea of Hawaii with a piece of fruit. Orchids of Hawaii, which sold Hawaiian-grown flowers and party supplies, distributed an advertising mailer titled “Hawaiian Parties are FUN!” in 1955. Their directions encouraged themed cocktails (with pineapple, of course) and for guests to eat with their fingers while wearing “native” costumes. It’s a stereotypical depiction of Hawaiian culture, commodified into party decor.
“I’m hoping visitors ask themselves, why is this work here? What are these Hawaiians saying about their experiences? If reality in Hawaii is the mural, how did we miss that, amongst all the hype and propaganda? It’s because Hawaiians are not in charge,” said Meyer. “People always say that Hawaii feels like another country, like a different kind of place. Well, it is. It’s great that you’re visiting, hello, but it would oblige us for you to learn more. I hope people leave the exhibit and ask, what else do I need to know about Hawaii?”
Unreal: Hawai‘i in Popular Imagination continues at the Bernice Pauahi Bishop Museum (1525 Bernice St, Honolulu) through January 27. The exhibition’s designer is Scott Lawrimore.
The post Native Hawaiians Deconstruct the Misleading Narrative of Hawaii as Paradise appeared first on Hyperallergic.
It must be saying something interesting -- our little dog just ran off looking for the source of the sound
The best thing you will see today (🔊)
Owls are masters of disguise, blending seamlessly into their surroundings.
These trees appear to be judging me.
They are, but the owls are beautiful
I CANNOT FIND THE OWL IN THE FIFTH FROM THE BOTTOM. HELP.
The one with the stone wall. I … am … so confused. Where?!
It took me forever, but he’s in the focused section, standing at the top. His face is in front of the snow. He is smol.
Navidad muy mexicana 🎄🌵#neomexicanismos #arboldenavidad
TIL a local fisherman in Costa Rica nursed a crocodile back to health after it had being shot in the head, and released the reptile back to its home. The next day, the man discovered “Pocho” had followed him home and was sleeping on the mans porch. For 20 years Pocho became part of the mans family
Lizard brain was shot. Dog brain activated.
if you guys look it up there’s pictures of them like wrestling and hanging out and just generally being good ol boys who love each other and it’s really cute
The cats are similar:
Me: stands up
Cat: (laying 5 feet away) WTF!!! How about a little warning next time
Me: walks away
Cat: better follow – might be food or treat time
Me: goes outside
Cat: whoa! Human went through moving wall
Cat: hey! What’cha doing out there, Hey! Hey! Hey!
Me: opens door “want out?”
Me: closes door
Cat: hey! What’cha doing out there, Hey! Hey! Hey!
Sorry for putting pictures of boobies on your dash.
sorry guys, i usually don’t post NSFW stuff..
but this is a great pair of boobies.
I love a bouncing pair of boobies.
I respond to this gifs of cute boobies with a pair of great tits.
omg guys. I’m sorry I usually don’t post stuff like this.
boobies are great
yeah, boobies are okay, but i know somebody out there is just dying for some cock.
This is what tumbler was made for
This post just isn’t complete without a picture of the world’s largest pecker.
I love this
that is one huge pecker you got there
Needs moar tits
What this post needs is a little ass.
Sorry guys, I don’t usually post NSFW, but you gotta admit, that ass looks great.
Don’t forget a little pussy
All the NSFW
How about a nice pair of hooters?
Can you please tag your nsfw?? God….
I laughed at this harder than I should’ve
Flag THIS @staff. You puritanical jerks.
My addition is a nice wet slippery dick!
I welcome our new Sapphonauts