❝ Lets say you love The Melvins. The Melvins aren’t the biggest band on the planet but they fucking rule. Now, the taco shop down the street from your house fucking rules and you love it! Then you have Katy Perry. Whatever, it’s not for me, it sucks. But a katrillion people like it. A katrillion people like Applebees too. It’s like you get what you pay for. ❞

- Music Blues’ Stephen Tanner is our new hero. (via foodisthenewrock)

genprogress:

Beijing, China // Flickr user J Aaron Farr.

Widespread and often photogenic environmental problems in China are no new phenomenon. Whether an apocryphal fake sunrise, genuine warnings for residents to stay indoors, or something else entirely, these stories have made the severity of air pollution in Chinese cities common knowledge. That concern, in conjunction with concern over climate change, has led the Chinese government to do something, however small, to resolve the problem.

Recently, Beijing’s Municipal Bureau of Environmental Protection announced it will ban coal use in Beijing by 2020.

By a wide margin, China has been the world’s largest consumer of coal, well outpacing the next leading consumers, the United States and India. Of course, that consumption has helped fill Chinese cities with smog and make China the largest emitter of greenhouse gases. A full Chinese transition from coal to renewable energy would mean a great deal for both its citizens’ quality of life and long-term impact on the globe.

Sounds great, right? Read why Beijing’s switch to alternative resources might not be great for the long-term health of the planet.

How this goes in the environmental bureau: “We’re not going to burn coal as coal in Beijing. No, first we’re going to convert it to SynGas THEN burn it in Beijing. See, we’re not burning coal!”

After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.

Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
Did this.

I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?

The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.

She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,

Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.

She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.

Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.

Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
Questions.

She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.

To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.

And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.

And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,

With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.

Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.

They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.

Not everything is lost.

-

Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be.  (via oliviacirce)

When I lose hope in the world, I remember this poem.

(via bookoisseur)

I’m really glad I read that.

(via selfesteampunk)

daughterofrage-and-love:

ageekyfemmeforeveringlasses:

iinthebackofmymind:

"The bad part is, you have to be careful when you share all the bad with your girlfriends. Because YOU may forgive him, but we don’t, honey. That’s the thing. If he screwed you over, he screwed me over, because you’re my girl. So you have to be careful with the level of bad that you share with your girls. Because you forgive, but oh honey, mama don’t."

Preach.

THIS IS SO TRUE

evil-bones-mccoy:

"she shouldn’t have worn that skirt to the frat party."

"yeah, well, archduke franz ferdinand shouldn’t have been wandering around sarajevo in an open-top car, so i guess he was asking to be murdered, too."

❝ The Wild still lingered in him and the wolf in him merely slept. ❞

- Jack London (via explore-everywhere)

A man came to our class once,
he claimed to be a fair judge
with daughters he loved.

He asked a question to the class:
“When should a minor be tried
as an adult?”
and students began raising their hand

“murder”
he wrote it up on the board.

“robbery”
he wrote it up on the board.

I said, “Rape”
and he paused, he asked
for clarification

“You mean violent rape?”

“no I mean rape.
It is all the same.”

he looked to a boy
who said “rape only if
he used a weapon and
hurt her.”

and I said, “rape is rape,
whether his weapon is a knife,
drugs, or guilt. She said no.”

he shook his head,
and wrote
“Violent rape” on the board
anyways.

I never understood,
because you can kill somebody
quietly and peacefully with drugs,
or with guns and knives or cars;
but nobody cares if the murder was “violent”

it was still murder.

- #yesallwomen by Amanda Katherine Ricketson (via fragil3rec0very)

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