Because of the weight of the ends of the forks, and how they’re distributed behind the penny (closer to the glass), the center of gravity of the whole system is actually shifted quite significantly. If I’m right, it would actually have to be right where the penny meets the glass. This mean, in a sense, all the “weight” of the system of the forks and penny is resting right on that point, rather than out in the air, so if you balance it, it’ll be stable on the glass.
The difference between Science and Engineering.
This past Sunday, my house in Little Axe, Oklahoma, was hit by a tornado. I was at work and my family was in the neighbor’s storm shelter. When they finally got above ground, my parents only had a few minutes to go inside and grab the essentials. It turned out that my room had taken most of the damage. Most of my books and my copies of National Geographic magazines (I’m crazy about them and want to write for them someday) were either blown away or soaked.
Hours later, when I was able to reunite with my parents and little sister, my mom told me, “I grabbed The Fault in Our Stars. I don’t know why. I just did.” I broke down in tears. Just a week before, I had yelled at my sister because her dog had gotten a hold of it. Now, it’s wet and wrinkled and filthy, but it’s still one of my most prized possessions. I hardly have anything else right now, but I can be happy knowing I have this book.
If you guys can get a girl a fluffy chicken, I know you can make John Green find the thing. I just want him to know that nothing could ever bring me more comfort now than his book. I just want to say thank you to him for helping me through this.Edit: Thank you guys for everything and all the offers to help. I just wanted to make it clear that my family is fine, we have a rental house now, and we were insured. We know so many people who are worse off than we are. I can’t even handle all this support. I’m freaking out. I love you all!
(I have seen this. I sent the young woman a message through tumblr.)
It’s suddenly very dusty around my computer… Please hold while I wipe the tears, caused by dust, from my eyes.
discover card wont stop sending me spam letters trying to get me to sign up for a credit card. unfortunately for them they included a business reply mail envelope that they have to pay the postage for when used
Attach the reply envelope to a box of bricks. They pay postage per weight not parcel.
OH MY GOD
The question is, of course, what did you do for your Klondike Bars?
The blank page. Why is a white blank page so intimidating? Perhaps some part of me realizes the empty page holds limitless possibilities. Any mark limits the rest of the page. What comes next is defined by what comes before. What fills the page after the first mark is still limitless, but its infinity is a lesser set than the unmarred page.
Why then does silence not terrify me so? Because I do not create music, spoken poetry, lyrics. What I create begins always as marks on a page. Silence does terrify me, if I’m being honest, but my silences are never absolute. Even in a still room with no external sounds, the tinnitus ringing ensures I have a constant audible companion. When I am able, I banish silence with music, or crowds. Fans or artificial rain sound. Anything.
Are conversations the same? The blank page of the silence in the air. Alone with the thoughts in my head. Echoing. Battling indecision. Should I say this? Is it a good idea? Are any ideas objectively “good” in and of themselves?
Content is king, but content loses meaning without context. Good and Bad are contextual. Hilarity and sorrow too. Context trumps content. But some content touches on an universal, shared context. Lincoln’s speech at Gettysburg is unquestionably powerful, moving. But how does it sound for someone who does not know the context? The same with Armstrong’s words from the moon. “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” Remove context, that of a man speaking as he takes the first human steps off our home world and onto another, and the words fairly lose their meaning.
I suppose that’s true of everything though. Every word. Every phrase. Every person.
On my way to dinner tonight, I ran into one of the women who sells me coffee every morning on my way to work. She recognized me first, my thoughts on the first lines I would put on the page when I sat down in the diner. I smiled reflexively, recognizing that I’d seen her before, that I knew her, but I did not slow my walk and couldn’t place her until I sat down and got the words on the page. She was out of context for me. Not surrounded by the environment I’d come to associate her with.
Even the page is not immune. I cannot, now, begin a work of fiction here once I’ve started waxing poetic on context; the page is irrevocably locked on context now. The context of a discourse on context.
Practically, of course, this is not true. Demonstrably. There is nothing preventing me from starting another work in the blank space on this page. Nothing except my self-imposed rules and structures. And thoughts of criticism if I publish this as a whole. And my fears of being unable to find a particular passage before I transcribe these handwritten words.
What’s more intimidating? A blank page, or a page full of context? Either way, once you begin, the rest is easy.
I feel that this is accurate:
When the paranoia sets in
Truth in comics
Welp. Time to reblog this again.
I made this stamp set inspired by Hazel Grace Lancaster and Augustus Waters. I think they turned out really cute, especially as a print or as little speech bubbles.
all the feels…
I started reading Looking For Alaska earlier this week, in fits and starts on the bus going to/from work, or while eating lunch, and tonight, just before bed, I got to the part the first half of the book is counting down toward. I’ll avoid spoilers here in case someone who hasn’t read the book comes across this; I know I wouldn’t have wanted the event spoiled for me, even though the book’s been out for a while at this point.
Anyway, so I decided to do a bit of reading before bed, and get to the event around midnight. There’s a very clear delineation in the book between Before and After and I could have put the book down then and gone to sleep. Instead I kept reading, and didn’t stop until I’d turned the last page, fighting back tears, two hours later.
I don’t have anything insightful or meaningful to say. Pudge and the Colonel will stick around in my head for a while as I digest the story.
Suffice it for now to say that I enjoyed the book and found myself altered enough by it to leave my bed and write this, rather than just turning out the light and closing my eyes.
I even spent a bit hunting for an email address for John, so I could say what I’ve said here, or “Thanks,” or something, anything really … But while searching I remembered that one or both of the Green brothers have intentionally obscured contact info like that to deter the fans with border issues and what not, which seems reasonable and I don’t fault them for it. So, Tumblr it is.
Potentially the best thing to happen on the internet today.
It seems so neat when it’s laid out like that.
Welp. Time to reblog this again.
Don’t worry, I won’t forget Mephistopheles.
|—||Neil Armstrong (via sarzha)|