coffeependulum:

Tenzin’s ballin’ 

thedeedeedee:

Oregon Trail… the game

(via foxtracks)

loveyourchaos:

They’re Valais Blacknose Sheep from Switzerland.

OH MY GOD SKY BISON

(via cosmic-cum)

nikariot:

masterarrowhead:

delicioustrap:

dreammaker-heartbreaker:

benditlikekorra:

chongthenomad:

yournewavatar:

airbendingsaviour:

foggyswamptahno:

divine-bender:

…. I feel old.

[[Ohmygod, no it wasn’t. I was 13 when ATLA came out?]]

*sobs violently*

………………….no.

no

no

No

No

NO

NO.

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

I was 11 O_O

Thank you, childhood. You were great ♥

holy shit I was fucking 11

FUCKING 11.

Thank you so much, A:TLA

I was 12 just like Aang and this show made my childhood the absolute best. And now I’m just an old person enjoying the Avatar-verse all over again with Legend of Korra.

Let’s embrace the fact that we’re village elders!

Haaaaahahahaha 11, 12 and 13?

I was in high school. Mid to late high school. I was almost 16 when this show started, and I was 19 when it ended.

YOU feel old? Give me a break.

yeah now i feel like a geezer. i was 16 when it started. SO LONG AGO THOUGH

wip! doodles. please baby Jesus let Borra happen. a long, intense, soul-searching friendship that explodes into TRU LUV at the end of the series and leaves me sobbing. please.

maudelynn:

A NYC Taxi driver wrote:

I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940’s movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.

There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard
box filled with photos and glassware.

‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.

She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.

She kept thanking me for my kindness. ‘It’s nothing’, I told her.. ‘I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.’

‘Oh, you’re such a good boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, ‘Could you drive
through downtown?’

‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly..

‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.

I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued in a soft voice..’The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.

We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, ‘I’m tired.Let’s go now’.
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move.
They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

‘How much do I owe you?’ She asked, reaching into her purse.

‘Nothing,’ I said

‘You have to make a living,’ she answered.

‘There are other passengers,’ I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.She held onto me tightly.

‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.. Behind me, a door shut.It was the sound of the closing of a life..

I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day,I could hardly talk.What if that woman had gotten an angry driver,or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life.

We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.

But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

via

Homestead Survival

(via expressiveintrovert)

did-you-kno:

Source

name-em-shame-em:

that-cherokee-bitch:

deanpaints:

On January 12, 2010, one day after his 18th birthday, CAPA High School honors student Jordan Trent Miles was ambushed by three plain clothes Pittsburgh police officers, who failed to identify themselves and approached him aggressively. The officers did not say “Stop! Police!”, they jumped out of an unmarked vehicle, one of them yelling “Where’s your money? Where’s the drugs? Where’s the gun?” Miles, never before in trouble with the police and thinking he was being robbed, began to run, and slipped on the icy sidewalk. The officers overtook Miles and administered a brutal beating that left him unrecognizable, ripping dreadlocks out of his head, and continuing to beat him as he lay on the ground after their initial assault, stammering the Lord’s Prayer. There can be no explaining away or excusing what was done to Miles.

The police officers lied about what happened, claiming there was a bulge in his pocket they assumed was a gun but “turned out to be a Mountain Dew bottle”. No bottle was ever entered into evidence, and Jordan and his friends will tell you he doesn’t even drink the soda. The officers also attempted to claim a neighbor reported him as a prowler and attempted to bring assault charges against Miles, which were tossed out of court when the neighbor said she did no such thing. Despite all this, the City of Pittsburgh went on to reward these violent officers with a commendation and, during their suspension, paid them more than they earned while working. Meanwhile, the Pittsburgh DA has not brought charges and the Justice Department announced on May 4th, 2011 that it would not prosecute the three officers. The mayor and police chief announced on May 5th that the three officers would be returning to work.

“I feel that my son was racially profiled,” Terez Miles said. “It’s a rough neighborhood; it was after dark. … They assumed he was up to no good because he’s black. My son, he knows nothing about the streets at all. He’s had a very sheltered life, he’s very quiet, he doesn’t know police officers sit in cars and stalk people like that.”

http://justiceforjordanmiles.com/

this is exactly what i’m talking about.

look at the pathetic amount of notes on this. why can’t this get coverage? i don’t give a shit about another missing white girl.

Omg :-/

It’s a sad fact, but for every Trayvon Martin, where the nation rises up and cries for justice, there a dozens of Jordan Miles and Marissa Alexanders. Jordan needs justice, but we can’t stop with having the police officers who assaulted him jailed. Our society needs to change. We need to stop seeing black men and thinking “criminal,” we need to stop seeing black women and thinking “it was her own fault.” 

(Source: kushite, via birdbrainblue)