Hot damn UNICEF, take my money.
LOOK AT HIM
This Tree Is Growing 40 Different Kinds Of Fruit At Once
This single (and quite colorfully blossoming) tree grows 40 different varieties of peaches, plums, apricots, nectarines, cherries, and even almonds — but just how does it do it?
It does it through the process of chip grafting. After sculptor Sam Van Aken bought a failing orchard in upstate New York full of hundreds of different fruit trees, he began the pain-staking process of grafting several of the different varieties together into one tree. Six years later, the result is this 40-fruit bearing tree, which includes some heirloom varieties that are centuries old.
Image: Sam Van Aken
Wahhhhhh GMOs are bad wahhhhhhh
this tree is an overachiever
grafting =/= genetically modified (I mean, not that I disagree that it’s stupid to panic about GMOs but this is…not that.)
Peter stared at the tree. “I don’t want to come up there. But I will if I have to.” He leaned in. “I am warning you. I will come up there.”
The tree did not respond. Peter wondered if he really wanted to go up there. Again.
The flicker of light, in the corner of his eye, caught his attention a split second before it coalesced into a burst of heat, and then the Human Torch was hovering in the air, just above Peter’s head. “Hey, Webhead. Whatcha doing in the park in the middle of the night?”
“Meditating,” Peter told him. “And I need serenity and solitude to do it right. So you should go now.”
Laughing, Johnny Storm landed, his flames dissipating in a heartbeat. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Go away.”
Johnny looked around. “No. Seriously. What are you doing here?”
“Shoo. Flame on, or whatever it is you do, go.” Peter made a shooing motion with his hands, flipping his fingers in Johnny’s direction. “Away with you. Off you go. So long, farewell, auf widersehen, good-night!” he sang.
“Is there a crime happening that I can’t see?” Johnny held up a hand, flames swirling around his wrist and up his fingers. “I figured there was crime. But no. It’s just you. Talking to a tree.”
“I’m communing with nature,” Peter said. “Need a private moment with the tree.”
“Buddy, if you’re looking for privacy, you shouldn’t wear that outfit. Kinda loud.”
This is what it feels like to be black in America. It sounds like the symphony of locking car doors as I traipse through a grocery store parking lot, armed with kale chips and turkey bacon. It looks like smiling when I don’t feel like it. It’s the instinct to enunciate differently, to use acceptable methods of signaling that I am safe to engage, or at least to disregard. “We wear the mask that grins and lies,” wrote the poet Paul Laurence Dunbar. I feel that mask covering my soul, never allowing me to just freely exist.
I could argue that any negative reaction to my skin is a problem for others to grapple with and of no concern to me. I’ve tried that approach before; one memorable attempt ended with me being pulled out of my car by two police officers and handcuffed for the felonious infractions of having a blown headlight and insufficient self-abasement. It is an unspoken rule that blackness’ first and most important task is to make everyone feel safe from it. We ignore this mandate at our own peril, realizing that a simple misunderstanding is a life or death proposition.
Jonathan Ferrell ran towards police seeking help after a car accident and was given a hail of bullets for his troubles. Renisha McBride went in search of a Good Samaritan after her accident and a shotgun blast answered her knock. Teenager Trayvon Martin walked home with candy and tea and was greeted by the nervous trigger finger wrapped in an adult’s gun. Jordan Davis sat in a car outside a convenience store listening to music and a man who objected to the volume cut his life short with the boom of a firearm. The principal crime all of them committed, like countless others over the centuries, was being black and not sufficiently prostrating themselves to ensure the comfort of others. — Theodore R. Johnson, “Black History Month Isn’t Making Life Better for Black Americans” (via thisiswhitehistory)
Scholars’ Tower: This is another piece I did for Imagined Realms. This is actually an old sketch from 2006 that I went back and colored, which was a lot of fun. When I said I was putting lots of cats in some of my pictures, I wasn’t joking. ;)
The reason why the room was pink was because on black and white film, hues of red become dark shades of black. Pink is the perfect balance to give it that dark creepy grey.
A related fun fact: while old black and white film was under-sensitive to reds, it was correspondingly over-sensitive to greens. Actors whose characters were meant to have unnaturally pale complexions - like Morticia Addams - would often take advantage of this by wearing makeup with a green base tint in order to make their faces “pop”. This is where the modern trope of cartoon vampires having green skin comes from.
These are some fun fucking facts
(元記事： stupidimagesforcraziestpeople (flatbearから))
come on caps i know my uniform is pimp as fuck but you guys don’t have to be jealous
(元記事： dolcissimo (lazyscienceから))
Out in the country you have two activities to have fun. drink alcohol and have sex. Didn’t say they were mutually exclusive.
(元記事： julzonthego (lazyscienceから))
Imagined Realms: Book 1
I have launched a Kickstarter campaign to fund the first issue of Imagined Realms, an annual art publication featuring positive and diverse representations of women in fantasy and science fiction. Each book will feature 10 exclusive and new illustrations created by me specifically for the book.
Available for purchase are the printed books, 6”x8” and 11”x14” print packs that have all 10 illustrations, limited edition fine art giclees, and a downloadable process video showing my digital painting method.
Please check it out and spread the word!
Imagined Realms just passed $12,000! Only $3k more to go! :D
these four give me life
CLINT IS SITTING ON THE BACK OF THE COUCH WITH HIS FEET ON THE SEAT. THIS FUCKING HOODLUM
everything is making me cry
Clint is sitting on the back of the couch with his foot on the cushions, Steve’s smiling like he knows this room is full of idiots and he’s okay with it, Rhodey’s off to the side with a drink in a full suit clearly wondering what the hell Tony’s managed to do this time, and Mjolnir is on the damn coffee table in the middle of party wreckage of half consumed drinks.
Dear god, Avengers family bonding. 8)