You can’t get there from here Sad but true. here
And what pray tell is a “freegan”?
Glad you asked. Well:
According to a recent report, 70 per cent of produce is dumped by producers and retailers before it even gets to the store. So, will ignoring use-by and sell-by dates help? One quarter of all the food waste that goes into British landfill is reckoned to be edible, and a sizeable portion of that will be food with highly conservative end-of-life dates. Here
I made a short nature film about the lil hedgehog who came to live in our garden. Dig it:
The Devil’s Beatin’ his Wife is what Mom always said when the was sunshining during a rain shower. When I repeat this little tidbit of folksy weather persnickerdoodle to my friends — which I do every time the sunshines when it rains — they usually make some wry comment about southerners or ask about my upbringing.
However, as I first remember Mom uttering the phrase for the first time when we were driving down an English countryside, knowing how much she read up about England when we lived there I assumed it was an old English saying. As it turns out, my friends where right about the expression being a southern thing:
Here is what little Wiki has to say about that.
They suggest that the rain is symbolic of the wife’s tears. This much is easy; but why the sunshine, I always wondered. The idea then came to me when I read the longer version of the phrase: “The devil?s behind his kitchen door beating his wife with a frying pan.”
In a folkish sense, dark and stormy weather could easily be credited to the malicious whims of evil entities such as our mythical devil. So here, one could suggest that the devil is not out at the moment trying to do harm on the world, but he’s back home — in the kitchen — meting out abuse upon his own. Meanwhile on terra firma, all is well save a little sprinkling.
And after all, who of you has ever cursed being caught in a sunshower on an otherwise perfect summer day like the one last weekend; soon there was a rainbow that, from Albertplatz, it seemed to span across the entire Neustadt.
When Rob gave his presentation about New Zealand at camp, he demonstrated the traditional Maori greeting with a camper.
Both participants touch noses. The younger person exhales through the nose, and the elder inhales. Then the elder exhales through the nose and the younger in turn inhales. In doing so, the younger party extends his vitality to the elder and then the elder in turn extends wisdom to the younger.
Thus, it is a great honor in Maori custom to greet elders.
It’s too loud in here.
And because Youbube is apparently overwhelmed right now, I put it up on Google videos instead:
Armor of the Gods?
Toph sent me the link.
At first glance, I’d have to say that is one crazy looking little boy. But then again, why not? I must admit, at the age of 13, I was still building fortresses out of sofa cushions to my mother’s perpetual dismay. How rad would it be to have pjs that resemble a suit of armor, complete with a shield pillow and a helmet styled after ca. 15th century knights? It’s to help me sleep, dammit. But there is a problem here…