Vagabond Operatic

skunkbear:

Close-ups of butterfly wing scales! You should definitely click on these images to get the full detail.

I’ve paired each amazing close-up (by macro photographer Linden Gledhill) with an image of the corresponding butterfly or moth.  The featured lepidoptera* are (in order of appearance):

*Lepidoptera (the scientific order that includes moths and butterflies) means “scaly wing.” The scales get their color not from pigment - but from microscopic structures that manipulate light.

The great science youtube channel “Smarter Every Day” has two videos on this very subject that I highly recommend:

17 April 2014 reblog: skunkbear


beerburritowhiskey:

20th-century-man:

The Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco / open to pedestrian traffic only, during its opening in May 1937 (top) and on its 50th anniversary in May 1987 (bottom).

In 1987, the weight of the 300,000 people that crossed the bridge caused it to sag by 5 feet.

My dad and I were watching it live on TV and he had to assure me that the bridge wouldn’t break or collapse. 

(via npr)

17 April 2014 reblog: 20th-century-man


fishingboatproceeds:

cornchipz:

daleksunshine:

danfreakindavis:

when you find that perfect gif but don’t know how to use it

image

You can reverse the flow of the hotdogs if you concentrate hard enough

oh my god you can

What I find fascinating is that they appear to go in much faster than they come out. Hank, explain this to me using science.

17 April 2014 reblog: danfreakindavis


fozmeadows:

nothingman:

via http://www.listen-tome.com/save-me/

IT’S 2AM AND I’M LAUGHING WAY TOO LOUD HELP

fozmeadows:

nothingman:

via http://www.listen-tome.com/save-me/

IT’S 2AM AND I’M LAUGHING WAY TOO LOUD HELP

(via professorspork)

17 April 2014 reblog: nothingman


heidi8:

pierogi-jarskie:

smithsonian:

Protip: This is a really bad question to ask when visiting the National Mall. We have 8 buildings surrounding the Mall, and a total of 19 museums, 9 research centers and the National Zoo. A S.H.I.E.L.D agent should know better! 

(We think she means the Smithsonian’s National Museum of Natural History in this case.)  

I love that this is on the Smithsonian’s tumblr

Whoever does social media for the Smithsonian is awesome. 

(Source: runakvaed, via edwardspoonhands)

16 April 2014 reblog: runakvaed


thatsmallbluebox:

my dad kicked my brother out of the house for a week because of this stupid game

(Source: tastefullyoffensive, via daftwithoneshoe)

16 April 2014 reblog: tastefullyoffensive


thenotoriousscuttlecliff:

the-timelord-girl-who-hunts:

wordsofdiana:

The only thing I want in Avengers 2 is Cap picking up Thor’s hammer, totally unaware it should be impossible.

Actually in Marvel lore it is implicitly stated That Steve is one of only a few people on earth actually worthy of carrying Thor’s hammer

To hell with Steve, I want Natasha to pick it up and realise, even with all the red in her ledger, she is still just as worthy as Thor or Steve. 

(via professorspork)

16 April 2014 reblog: wordsofdiana


In 1979, when the minimum wage was $2.90, a hard-working student with a minimum-wage job could earn enough in one day (8.44 hours) to pay for one academic credit hour. If a standard course load for one semester consisted of maybe 12 credit hours, the semester’s tuition could be covered by just over two weeks of full-time minimum wage work—or a month of part-time work. A summer spent scooping ice cream or flipping burgers could pay for an MSU education. The cost of an MSU credit hour has multiplied since 1979. So has the federal minimum wage. But today, it takes 60 hours of minimum-wage work to pay off a single credit hour, which was priced at $428.75 for the fall semester.

The Myth of Working Your Way Through College - Svati Kirsten Narula - The Atlantic (via infoneer-pulse)

(via professorspork)

16 April 2014 reblog: infoneer-pulse


sheep-boy:

a ravenclaw inventing a spell like “ive enchanted this quill so that one dip in an inkwell and it will be able to draw from that inkwell until its out! no redipping!” and their muggle born friend just

"a…pen.you literally just used magic to make a pen" 

(via professorspork)

15 April 2014 reblog: sheep-boy harry potter


theorlandojones:

theorlandojones:

My parents drove a white Chevy Monte Carlo with powder blue interior. Technically, this was my mom’s car. I always sat in the middle of the the back seat and leaned forward between the two front bucket seats with my nose firmly planted in what my mom called, “grown folks business.” On this summer day about thirty years ago, I sat back and quietly stared out the window. The road signs zipped past as we raced toward our destination. We arrived at the airport moments later and approached the departure gate (back when you could do that sort of thing). My mother’s demeanor clouded and a monsoon of tears rolled down her face. She squeezed me like a black rubber ducky. I made a high pitched squeal as she pushed all the air from my lungs. My father reluctantly joined in. I heard a low deep voice whisper, “love you boy.” My mother couldn’t speak. I’d only be gone for three weeks. To Mattye Jones this was an eternity.  I boarded the plane first. I was not seated in first class. I was a minor flying alone. I acted like a spotter at the gym following behind the flight attendant as she teetered down the isle in high heels wearing twelve and a half pounds of makeup with a faded gold airplane pendant pinned to her lapel. 
She giggled as she walked and I did my best to catch her when she lost her balance and pulled some escapee from the Real Housewives of Alabama’s wig off. When we arrived at my seat she pursed her lips and asked me, in a voice that sounded a lot like she was talking to a Yorkshire Terrier in a Burberry sweater, “is this your first time flying darling?”  We were early in the boarding process and I had my doubts about her ability to supervise passengers in flight. Yes, I was a child troll. I fastened my seat-belt and responded with a curt, “nope.”  I looked like a little junior mint in a bowl full of marshmallows on this flight. This would be a temporary feeling. 
Soon I’d be in Mobile Alabama spending the summer with three of the four southern belles whose homes I grew up in:  Zeola Ransefore, Dolly Mae Pettus and Daisy Mae Cowan.  These are the women that raised me. These Black women are my heart. They fed me, taught me, reprimanded me and loved me. 
This is my context. I don’t see the world through a strictly Black point of view. These women made damn sure my perspective was not mired by their negative experiences. They chose to focus on the positive. I can never repay them for that. 
Like any normal person, when I watch television and film I look for things that are familiar and unfamiliar. Sometimes, I like to see things that represent where I came from. It pains me to see the women that raised me so grossly under/misrepresented in media. I can’t be alone. 
It is with that mind set that I decided to compile the following list to celebrate just a few of the amazing women who have touched my heart with their work. It’s not a definitive list. It represents many women of color, some women of a certain age that we’ve been lead to believe is less desirable because it falls out of the market tested demographic that we’re meant to covet, women more defined by the content of their character than the color of their skin. But they are women whose work has stood out to me on various television series, in new digital programs that represent the future of storytelling, women who have blazed trails, changed the game and much more. I always try to keep an eye out for their projects when I get the chance.
Thank you ladies. Your amazing work has not gone unnoticed. 
PS - If you have some favorites that I did not include please share your list as well. I’d love to see whose work gets you excited too.

Reblogging with link to a larger version of chart which many have requested. Thanks.
http://i.imgur.com/XuWps7c.jpg

theorlandojones:

theorlandojones:

My parents drove a white Chevy Monte Carlo with powder blue interior. Technically, this was my mom’s car. I always sat in the middle of the the back seat and leaned forward between the two front bucket seats with my nose firmly planted in what my mom called, “grown folks business.” On this summer day about thirty years ago, I sat back and quietly stared out the window. The road signs zipped past as we raced toward our destination. We arrived at the airport moments later and approached the departure gate (back when you could do that sort of thing). My mother’s demeanor clouded and a monsoon of tears rolled down her face. She squeezed me like a black rubber ducky. I made a high pitched squeal as she pushed all the air from my lungs. My father reluctantly joined in. I heard a low deep voice whisper, “love you boy.” My mother couldn’t speak. I’d only be gone for three weeks. To Mattye Jones this was an eternity.  I boarded the plane first. I was not seated in first class. I was a minor flying alone. I acted like a spotter at the gym following behind the flight attendant as she teetered down the isle in high heels wearing twelve and a half pounds of makeup with a faded gold airplane pendant pinned to her lapel. 

She giggled as she walked and I did my best to catch her when she lost her balance and pulled some escapee from the Real Housewives of Alabama’s wig off. When we arrived at my seat she pursed her lips and asked me, in a voice that sounded a lot like she was talking to a Yorkshire Terrier in a Burberry sweater, “is this your first time flying darling?”  We were early in the boarding process and I had my doubts about her ability to supervise passengers in flight. Yes, I was a child troll. I fastened my seat-belt and responded with a curt, “nope.”  I looked like a little junior mint in a bowl full of marshmallows on this flight. This would be a temporary feeling. 

Soon I’d be in Mobile Alabama spending the summer with three of the four southern belles whose homes I grew up in:  Zeola Ransefore, Dolly Mae Pettus and Daisy Mae Cowan.  These are the women that raised me. These Black women are my heart. They fed me, taught me, reprimanded me and loved me. 

This is my context. I don’t see the world through a strictly Black point of view. These women made damn sure my perspective was not mired by their negative experiences. They chose to focus on the positive. I can never repay them for that. 

Like any normal person, when I watch television and film I look for things that are familiar and unfamiliar. Sometimes, I like to see things that represent where I came from. It pains me to see the women that raised me so grossly under/misrepresented in media. I can’t be alone. 

It is with that mind set that I decided to compile the following list to celebrate just a few of the amazing women who have touched my heart with their work. It’s not a definitive list. It represents many women of color, some women of a certain age that we’ve been lead to believe is less desirable because it falls out of the market tested demographic that we’re meant to covet, women more defined by the content of their character than the color of their skin. But they are women whose work has stood out to me on various television series, in new digital programs that represent the future of storytelling, women who have blazed trails, changed the game and much more. I always try to keep an eye out for their projects when I get the chance.

Thank you ladies. Your amazing work has not gone unnoticed. 

PS - If you have some favorites that I did not include please share your list as well. I’d love to see whose work gets you excited too.

Reblogging with link to a larger version of chart which many have requested. Thanks.

http://i.imgur.com/XuWps7c.jpg

15 April 2014 reblog: theorlandojones