allthecymballadies:

cymbals12345:

bandllama:

I don’t know if anyone noticed this (because it gave me a little chuckle when I first saw it in Walnut, CA at Corps at the Crest) but in SCV12 (Music of the Starry Night), there’s a set with a giant zigzag across the field that forms just before the corps begins Mars. 

OKAY so Mars (the actual planet) does this thing called retrograde motion every two years or so where it appears to move across the sky, reverse in direction, and then continue back in its original direction (forming a zigzag shape if tracked). I mean, obviously http://mars.nasa.gov/allaboutmars/nightsky/retrograde/ is better at explaining it than I am.

So moral of the story, I don’t know if Pete Weber was being tricky or clever or just coincidentally wrote the drill to look like Mars, but I thought it was cool little gem and thought most people wouldn’t have noticed it. The more you know.

This is really freaking awesome!

This is one of my favorite corps and here’s yet another reason why

(Source: originalzinn, via jay-kuh)

theldsinvestigator:

avatarwithconverse:

PSA: if Mormon missionaries come up to and you’re not interested, just so say. Don’t be dicks to them. They already have enough crap as it is and they are people who have feelings who probably have at least a few meltdowns each week.

I will never not reblog this.

Yup. Yup.

raptorific:

Fun game for ladies: In front of a geeky dude, say “Silence, Earthling! My name is Darth Vader! I am an extraterrestrial from the planet Vulcan!”

If he gets all mad, condescendingly explains to you why you’re wrong, or starts talking about that “fake geek girl” nonsense, not…

"i.

“Your name is Tasbeeh. Don’t let them call you by anything else.”

My mother speaks to me in Arabic; the command sounds more forceful in her mother tongue, a Libyan dialect that is all sharp edges and hard, guttural sounds. I am seven years old and it has never occurred to me to disobey my mother. Until twelve years old, I would believe God gave her the supernatural ability to tell when I’m lying.

“Don’t let them give you an English nickname,” my mother insists once again, “I didn’t raise amreekan.”

My mother spits out this last word with venom. Amreekan. Americans. It sounds like a curse coming out of her mouth. Eight years in this country and she’s still not convinced she lives here. She wears her headscarf tightly around her neck, wades across the school lawn in long, floor-skimming skirts. Eight years in this country and her tongue refuses to bend and soften for the English language. It embarrasses me, her heavy Arab tongue, wrapping itself so forcefully around the clumsy syllables of English, strangling them out of their meaning.

But she is fierce and fearless. I have never heard her apologize to anyone. She will hold up long grocery lines checking and double-checking the receipt in case they’re trying to cheat us. My humiliation is heavy enough for the both of us. My English is not. Sometimes I step away, so people don’t know we’re together but my dark hair and skin betray me as a member of her tribe.

On my first day of school, my mother presses a kiss to my cheek.

“Your name is Tasbeeh,” she says again, like I’ve forgotten. “Tasbeeh.”

ii.

Roll call is the worst part of my day. After a long list of Brittanys, Jonathans, Ashleys, and Yen-but-call-me-Jens, the teacher rests on my name in silence. She squints. She has never seen this combination of letters strung together in this order before. They are incomprehensible. What is this h doing at the end? Maybe it is a typo.

“Tas…?”

“Tasbeeh,” I mutter, with my hand half up in the air. “Tasbeeh.”

A pause.

“Do you go by anything else?”

“No,” I say. “Just Tasbeeh. Tas-beeh.”

“Tazbee. All right. Alex?”

She moves on before I can correct her. She said it wrong. She said it so wrong. I have never heard my name said so ugly before, like it’s a burden. Her entire face contorts as she says it, like she is expelling a distasteful thing from her mouth. She avoids saying it for the rest of the day, but she has already baptized me with this new name. It is the name everyone knows me by, now, for the next six years I am in elementary school. “Tazbee,” a name with no grace, no meaning, no history; it belongs in no language.

“Tazbee,” says one of the students on the playground, later. “Like Tazmanian Devil?” Everyone laughs. I laugh too. It is funny, if you think about it.

iii.

I do not correct anyone for years. One day, in third grade, a plane flies above our school.

“Your dad up there, Bin Laden?” The voice comes from behind. It is dripping in derision.

“My name is Tazbee,” I say. I said it in this heavy English accent, so he may know who I am. I am American. But when I turn around they are gone.

iv.

I go to middle school far, far away. It is a 30-minute drive from our house. It’s a beautiful set of buildings located a few blocks off the beach. I have never in my life seen so many blond people, so many colored irises. This is a school full of Ashtons and Penelopes, Patricks and Sophias. Beautiful names that belong to beautiful faces. The kind of names that promise a lifetime of social triumph.

I am one of two headscarved girls at this new school. We are assigned the same gym class. We are the only ones in sweatpants and long-sleeved undershirts. We are both dreading roll call. When the gym teacher pauses at my name, I am already red with humiliation.

“How do I say your name?” she asks.

“Tazbee,” I say.

“Can I just call you Tess?”

I want to say yes. Call me Tess. But my mother will know, somehow. She will see it written in my eyes. God will whisper it in her ear. Her disappointment will overwhelm me.

“No,” I say, “Please call me Tazbee.”

I don’t hear her say it for the rest of the year.

v.

My history teacher calls me Tashbah for the entire year. It does not matter how often I correct her, she reverts to that misshapen sneeze of a word. It is the ugliest conglomeration of sounds I have ever heard.

When my mother comes to parents’ night, she corrects her angrily, “Tasbeeh. Her name is Tasbeeh.” My history teacher grimaces. I want the world to swallow me up.

vi.

My college professors don’t even bother. I will only know them for a few months of the year. They smother my name in their mouths. It is a hindrance for their tongues. They hand me papers silently. One of them mumbles it unintelligibly whenever he calls on my hand. Another just calls me “T.”

My name is a burden. My name is a burden. My name is a burden. I am a burden.

vii.

On the radio I hear a story about a tribe in some remote, rural place that has no name for the color blue. They do not know what the color blue is. It has no name so it does not exist. It does not exist because it has no name.

viii.

At the start of a new semester, I walk into a math class. My teacher is blond and blue-eyed. I don’t remember his name. When he comes to mine on the roll call, he takes the requisite pause. I hold my breath.

“How do I pronounce your name?” he asks.

I say, “Just call me Tess.”

“Is that how it’s pronounced?”

I say, “No one’s ever been able to pronounce it.”

“That’s probably because they didn’t want to try,” he said. “What is your name?”

When I say my name, it feels like redemption. I have never said it this way before. Tasbeeh. He repeats it back to me several times until he’s got it. It is difficult for his American tongue. His has none of the strength, none of the force of my mother’s. But he gets it, eventually, and it sounds beautiful. I have never heard it sound so beautiful. I have never felt so deserving of a name. My name feels like a crown.

ix.

“Thank you for my name, mama.”

x.

When the barista asks me my name, sharpie poised above the coffee cup, I tell him: “My name is Tasbeeh. It’s a tough t clinging to a soft a, which melts into a silky ssss, which loosely hugs the b, and the rest of my name is a hard whisper — eeh. Tasbeeh. My name is Tasbeeh. Hold it in your mouth until it becomes a prayer. My name is a valuable undertaking. My name requires your rapt attention. Say my name in one swift note – Tasbeeeeeeeh – sand let the h heat your throat like cinnamon. Tasbeeh. My name is an endeavor. My name is a song. Tasbeeh. It means giving glory to God. Tasbeeh. Wrap your tongue around my name, unravel it with the music of your voice, and give God what he is due"

Tasbeeh Herwees, The Names They Gave Me (via cat-phuong)

I am weeping.

(via strangeasanjles)

(Source: rabbrakha, via chozoraptor)

killuangel:

"it’s like freud always said," says the ‘psychologist’ character in the movie, making everyone in the audience who knows anything at all about psychology flinch involuntarily

(via velociraptorwithaquillpen)

gallifreygal:

archiemcphee:

Just in time for Halloween, we’re happy to introduce our new Eagle Mask and Eagle Talons. The Eagle Mask is perfect for everyday use freaking people out, but it’s also great at political events. Someone shook hands with the president wearing a Horse Mask, imagine shaking talons with the president wearing an Eagle Mask. 
America’s Got Talons!
Buy them here

"Hey what’s your costume?"
I’m freedom, bitch! Caw caw motherfuckers!

gallifreygal:

archiemcphee:

Just in time for Halloween, we’re happy to introduce our new Eagle Mask and Eagle Talons. The Eagle Mask is perfect for everyday use freaking people out, but it’s also great at political events. Someone shook hands with the president wearing a Horse Mask, imagine shaking talons with the president wearing an Eagle Mask. 

America’s Got Talons!

Buy them here

"Hey what’s your costume?"

I’m freedom, bitch! Caw caw motherfuckers!

(via jay-kuh)

caffebear:

zzazu:

raaawrbin:

I feel like very few, or at least not many of the people of tumblr are aware of what is going on in my home country Hong Kong right now.

You guys gave alot of coverage and support when Scotland was voting for its independance, so I’m hoping you’ll all support the people of Hong Kong as well.

Right now, many of us are in a mass demonstration of pro-democracy against China. But wait a sec, isn’t Hong Kong China? This is a big misconception amongst foreigners, but please, we are far from being similar to China at all.

A little history class: Hong Kong used to be colonized by the British, and before you white-knights begin going all “them damn white racist ppl taking over another asian country” please don’t. We are thankful Britain took us under its wing and instilled in us values that I feel made us what we are today; that is, a democratic people with respect for free speech, amongst many things.

On the other hand, China is communist, with government controlled media and news. Google, instagram, facebook and many tv shows are blocked in China. It really is just a few steps from North Korea imo.

So what’s the problem here? Britain unfortunately had to hand back Hong Kong to China, but one of the requirements is that Hong Kong be allowed to operate as ‘one country two systems’, meaning Hong Kong should be able to have its own democratic government. But China has broken its promise. A while back, China tried to put a mandatory ‘national education’ curriculum in all our primary schools. We all know what that is; a communist brainwashing regime. And now, they have announced that in 2017 Hong Kong will be able to vote for its president; BUT only from 3 candidates hand picked by its PRO-BEIJING legislation.

As you can see, China is trying to takeover completely and turn us into another communist state.

Of course, we have taken to the streets. In a mirror if the Tiananmen protests, students have also stepped up to fight for our rights and our future, albeit in a peaceful protest of course. But the police force who have always been a friend of the people, are now responding with force, something that had never been done before in Hong Kong.

First it was pepperspray, then teargas. Then, armed forces came in qith rubber bullets. They warn they will come out with live ammunition soon if we do not get off the streets but the people continue to sit tight, disrupting businesses China so strive to takeover and make use of. It’s been 2 days now, but the people plan to continue at least till 1st October or even beyond. The significance is that October 1st is China’s National day, not ours, Hong Kong has not been granted it’s own National day.

Please spread the news. This is a country we’re talking about. These are my people.

You can join this event to wear yellow in support of my people on October 1st.

You can also read a more detailed explanation of what’s going down here and watch a live feed here.

"They cant kill us all"
holy shit

Reblogging. HK is a beautiful place and very close to my heart.

(via jay-kuh)

giraffepoliceforce:

theonion:

Reclusive Deity Hasn’t Written A New Book In 2,000 Years



But God didn’t write that book!

antelopesaplenty:

The Golden Oryx is believed (but not yet proven) to be a subspecies of the Gemsbok in southern Africa. It is a rare species of antelope in Africa. They live in a small isolated part of Namibia. Scientists at Onderstepoort University are looking at the genetics of this Oryx and will have more specifics on it very shortly.

 Like the American Bison and Tule Elk, Golden Oryx numbers dwindled to less than one hundred with small isolated herds clinging to remote isolated canyons. Over the past two decades rancher Fred Burchell has rounded up small herds of these Oryxes from these remote canyons in the Namibian desert.

The future is bright for the Golden Oryx. But unlike America where the US Government and Yellowstone National Park spent millions of dollars restoring the bison herds of America, the Burchells’ Family will bear the cost of propagating the small but growing herd of Golden Oryx.

~

As far as I know, the website hasn’t been updated for more than four years. I still found this incredibly interesting; I doubt that the golden oryx is a true subspecies. It’s more than likely just a recessive color. However, it is very beautiful and the information we have on it is worth sharing!

{all information and photos from this website}

swinginginathunderstorm2:

nonlinear-nonsubjective:

no i dont want to be a billionaire to live a lavish lifestyle i want to be a billionaire to be financially secure and have enough money to give people things and support charities and fund kickstarters and leave hundred dollar tips

…and you need to be a billionaire for that, why?

I think that actual amount mentioned is beside the point, haha XD

(via understandthelights)