stories that struck my fancy

tyleroakley:

thedailywhat:

Heartwarming Tearjerker of the Day: The sheer cliffs at the mouth of Sydney Harbor have long been a popular Australian suicide spot. But they’re about to get a lot more deadly — the local man who is credited with talking at least 160 people out of killing themselves since 1964 died this week.
Window-watcher Don Ritchie, known as the Angel of the Gap, could spot the troubled ones from his home across the street; he’d wander down to the cliff-edge and calmly ask, “Can I help you in some way?” More often then not, he could. He’d chat with them a bit, then invite them back to his place for a cup of tea.
“My ambition has always been to just get them away from the edge, to buy them time, to give them the opportunity to reflect and give them the chance to realize that things might look better the next morning,” Ritchie once said. “You just can’t sit there and watch them. You’ve got to try and save them.”

Inspiring.

tyleroakley:

thedailywhat:

Heartwarming Tearjerker of the Day: The sheer cliffs at the mouth of Sydney Harbor have long been a popular Australian suicide spot. But they’re about to get a lot more deadly — the local man who is credited with talking at least 160 people out of killing themselves since 1964 died this week.

Window-watcher Don Ritchie, known as the Angel of the Gap, could spot the troubled ones from his home across the street; he’d wander down to the cliff-edge and calmly ask, “Can I help you in some way?” More often then not, he could. He’d chat with them a bit, then invite them back to his place for a cup of tea.

“My ambition has always been to just get them away from the edge, to buy them time, to give them the opportunity to reflect and give them the chance to realize that things might look better the next morning,” Ritchie once said. “You just can’t sit there and watch them. You’ve got to try and save them.”

Inspiring.

jonopoly:

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 cardboardbox 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 drivethrough 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.

jonopoly:

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 thatguything)

Feminist Disney: r0bertbrowniejr: Yesterday my mom posted a picture on Facebook of my 5...

r0bertbrowniejr:

Yesterday my mom posted a picture on Facebook of my 5 year old brother Sam wearing a pair of shoes he picked out for his first day of preschool.

She explained to him in the store that they were really made for girls. Sam then told her that he didn’t care and that “ninjas can wear pink shoes too.”

Sam went to preschool and got several compliments on his new shoes. Not one kid said anything negative toward him about it.

However, my mom received about 20 comments on the photo from various family members saying how “wrong” it is and how “things like this will affect him socially” and, put most eloquently by my great aunt, “that shit will turn him gay.”

My mom then deleted the photo and told Sam that he can wear whatever he wants to preschool, that it’s his decision. If he wants to wear pink shoes, he can wear pink shoes.

Sam then explained to her that he didn’t like them because they were pink, he liked them because they were “made out of zebras” and zebras are his favorite animal :)

(Source: batmansbutt, via avatarblargh)

kimpoyfeliciano:

GET INVOLVED. STOP AT NOTHING. THE WORLD MUST KNOW.

I dare you to stop scrolling through your dashboard. Stop checking your Facebook newsfeed that you’ve already checked two seconds ago. Stop updating your Twitter and seeing what your favorite celebrities are saying. Stop watching funny and nonsense videos on Youtube. Take time to educate yourself to MAKE A DIFFERENCE in this world. This is your chance! WATCH THIS VIDEO.

Let’s make JOSEPH KONY Famous!!

Who is JOSEPH KONY?

He is THE WORST LIVING CRIMINAL. He abducts children and makes them use guns to kill their own parents. He takes girls and forces them to be sex slaves. He calls his abducted children the Lord’s Resistance Army, AKA the LRA. He has abducted over 30,000 children and forced them to be child soldiers in Central Africa. He remains at large because he is INVISIBLE to the world. FEW know his name, even FEWER know his crimes. WE ARE MAKING HIM FAMOUS! Because when he is, the world will unite against him and demand his arrest.

We can help make a change. We can make a difference.

I feel so inspired. I feel the need to help and make a difference. This has to happen in 2012. We can’t let him go around and keep doing this to children in Central Africa. Let’s make his name known so he can be stopped. HE CAN NO LONGER BE INVISIBLE!

REBLOG IF YOU CARE.

This will not make your blog ugly, please take a moment to reblog and get the word out. SHARE THIS TO EVERYONE! Be a part of something BIG and when they catch this man, you would be able to say.. “I HELPED.”

LET’S START HERE ON TUMBLR.

(via the-parkster)

manzanasverdes:

minijustliving:

lafillenoir:

This is a photo of the first Black girl to attend an all white school in the United States—Dorothy Counts—being jeered and taunted by her white, male peers. This photo encompasses a lot of things that I really hate: prejudice, ignorance, racism, sexism, inequality…

powerful picture.

but it also encompasses strength, determination, inspiration.

manzanasverdes:

minijustliving:

lafillenoir:

This is a photo of the first Black girl to attend an all white school in the United States—Dorothy Counts—being jeered and taunted by her white, male peers. This photo encompasses a lot of things that I really hate: prejudice, ignorance, racism, sexism, inequality…

powerful picture.

but it also encompasses strength, determination, inspiration.

(via -shewontwaitforever)

sticky-minaj:

l00k-alive:

The beautiful face of courage: Lance Cpl. William Kyle Carpenter USMC
Carpenter, 21, of Gilbert lost the eye, most of his teeth and use of his right arm from a grenade blast Nov. 21 near Marjah, Helmand Province, Afghanistan.Friends and family say he threw himself in front of the grenade to protect his best friend in Afghanistan, Cpl. Nick Eufrazio
This deserves more notes then anything on Tumblr. It’s sad to say stupid pictures of a flower some girl takes with a Nikon D40 that her parents bought her for Christmas or a picture of A Day To Remember has more notes then this. The world is fucked up. So much respect for this man.

able to take a grenade blast, protect a comrade, and he still looks pretty good. badassery. 

sticky-minaj:

l00k-alive:

The beautiful face of courage: Lance Cpl. William Kyle Carpenter USMC

Carpenter, 21, of Gilbert lost the eye, most of his teeth and use of his right arm from a grenade blast Nov. 21 near Marjah, Helmand Province, Afghanistan.

Friends and family say he threw himself in front of the grenade to protect his best friend in Afghanistan, Cpl. Nick Eufrazio

This deserves more notes then anything on Tumblr. It’s sad to say stupid pictures of a flower some girl takes with a Nikon D40 that her parents bought her for Christmas or a picture of A Day To Remember has more notes then this. The world is fucked up. So much respect for this man.

able to take a grenade blast, protect a comrade, and he still looks pretty good. badassery. 

(via sticky-minaj)

science:

Meet HM. You may have heard of him: his name was Henry Gustav Molaison, and he is one of the most famous patients in the history of medical science. It would probably be fair to say that he is the single individual who has contributed most to our understanding of how memory works. When he died in 2008, the New York Times went with the title “an unforgettable amnesiac” for his obituary.
The young HM was plagued by incapitating epileptic seizures. After all conventional treatments had been exhausted, he submitted to an experimental procedure performed by the neurosurgeon William Beecher Scoville, wherein large parts of his medial temporal lobes, including the majority of his hippocampus and amygdala, were removed. After the surgery, his epilepsy was reduced, but he had also, in addition to forgetting some years before the operation, lost the ability to form new memories. The first paper on HM was published in 1957, a few years after his operation. HM spent the last fifty years of his life willingly letting himself be studied by scientists.
One of the most profound lessons scientists have learned from the study of HM’s case is that there are different types of memory, centralized in different parts of the brain, and it’s possible to lose one form while preserving the others. While HM couldn’t recall things that had happened to him since the surgery, or learn new facts or definitions, he did show improvement on learning skills. After repeatedly practicing a task where he would draw a figure while looking at his hand and the paper in a mirror, HM could not recall having ever practiced, but he did show marked improvement. His short-term memory was also intact; he performed no worse on tests of short-term memory than control subjects, and his scores on intelligence tests actually increased after his operation. Scientists now divide long-term memory into two kinds: declarative memory (episodic and semantic memory), which is apparently highly dependent on the hippocampus, and procedural memory, which is located elsewhere.
HM practiced a task where he navigated a maze with a stylus. His number of errors didn’t decrease with practice, indicating that he was unable to recall the correct route; he was, however, able to reduce his times, indicating that he could learn the motor skills necessary to perform the task. And although he couldn’t learn a spatial layout in the lab, he was able to draw an accurate floor plan of the house he had moved into after his operation—apparently, his spatial memory wasn’t completely gone, and moving around his house every day allowed him to learn the layout.
In another experiment, HM studied magazine pictures, and showed normal recall relative to healthy controls (who had studied the pictures for a shorter time period). The researchers argued that HM couldn’t consciously recall the pictures, but could make limited judgments based on familiarity. Their hypothesis “is that conscious recollection of the learning episode depends on the hippocampus, whereas familiarity judgements without episodic content rely on perirhinal cortex.”
Word stem completion is a task where subjects first read a list of words, and then later complete a series of word stems with the first word that comes to mind. Studies show that people are more likely to choose words that have been “primed” beforehand: if you read “thing”, you’d be more likely to later complete the stem “TH” with “thing” than with “thumb” or “thong”. The task tests unconscious memory. HM showed normal responses when primed with words he had learned before his amnesia. However, when primed with newer words that entered use after his surgery, HM didn’t respond to the priming. The hypothesis goes that priming activates existing memories, thus making us more likely to recall them later, but HM had no representation of the newer words, and thus couldn’t recall them.
Interestingly, although HM had learned next to nothing about popular culture, politics or public figures after his surgery, he was able to name John F. Kennedy and Ronald Reagen when looking at their photographs. He could also, after receiving phonemic cues (e.g., M.T.) name other people, like Mao Tse-Tung, although he couldn’t identify famous faces based on semantic cues (e.g., he was a leader in China). Perhaps what little was left of HM’s medial temporal lobe could still function, but what he could learn was clearly very fragmented and incomplete.
The picture that emerges from the study of HM and other amnesic patients is that memory is a lot more complex than previously thought. It consists of a series of related processes that depend on different areas of the brain.
Henry Molaison died in December, 2008. His brain, which he had agreed to donate to science, is now stored in a thousand slices at the University of California, San Diego. Although he still couldn’t recognize researchers who’d studied him for decades, Henry remained dedicated and motivated until the end, optimistic that what science had to learn from him could help others.

science:

Meet HM. You may have heard of him: his name was Henry Gustav Molaison, and he is one of the most famous patients in the history of medical science. It would probably be fair to say that he is the single individual who has contributed most to our understanding of how memory works. When he died in 2008, the New York Times went with the title “an unforgettable amnesiac” for his obituary.

The young HM was plagued by incapitating epileptic seizures. After all conventional treatments had been exhausted, he submitted to an experimental procedure performed by the neurosurgeon William Beecher Scoville, wherein large parts of his medial temporal lobes, including the majority of his hippocampus and amygdala, were removed. After the surgery, his epilepsy was reduced, but he had also, in addition to forgetting some years before the operation, lost the ability to form new memories. The first paper on HM was published in 1957, a few years after his operation. HM spent the last fifty years of his life willingly letting himself be studied by scientists.

One of the most profound lessons scientists have learned from the study of HM’s case is that there are different types of memory, centralized in different parts of the brain, and it’s possible to lose one form while preserving the others. While HM couldn’t recall things that had happened to him since the surgery, or learn new facts or definitions, he did show improvement on learning skills. After repeatedly practicing a task where he would draw a figure while looking at his hand and the paper in a mirror, HM could not recall having ever practiced, but he did show marked improvement. His short-term memory was also intact; he performed no worse on tests of short-term memory than control subjects, and his scores on intelligence tests actually increased after his operation. Scientists now divide long-term memory into two kinds: declarative memory (episodic and semantic memory), which is apparently highly dependent on the hippocampus, and procedural memory, which is located elsewhere.

HM practiced a task where he navigated a maze with a stylus. His number of errors didn’t decrease with practice, indicating that he was unable to recall the correct route; he was, however, able to reduce his times, indicating that he could learn the motor skills necessary to perform the task. And although he couldn’t learn a spatial layout in the lab, he was able to draw an accurate floor plan of the house he had moved into after his operation—apparently, his spatial memory wasn’t completely gone, and moving around his house every day allowed him to learn the layout.

In another experiment, HM studied magazine pictures, and showed normal recall relative to healthy controls (who had studied the pictures for a shorter time period). The researchers argued that HM couldn’t consciously recall the pictures, but could make limited judgments based on familiarity. Their hypothesis “is that conscious recollection of the learning episode depends on the hippocampus, whereas familiarity judgements without episodic content rely on perirhinal cortex.”

Word stem completion is a task where subjects first read a list of words, and then later complete a series of word stems with the first word that comes to mind. Studies show that people are more likely to choose words that have been “primed” beforehand: if you read “thing”, you’d be more likely to later complete the stem “TH” with “thing” than with “thumb” or “thong”. The task tests unconscious memory. HM showed normal responses when primed with words he had learned before his amnesia. However, when primed with newer words that entered use after his surgery, HM didn’t respond to the priming. The hypothesis goes that priming activates existing memories, thus making us more likely to recall them later, but HM had no representation of the newer words, and thus couldn’t recall them.

Interestingly, although HM had learned next to nothing about popular culture, politics or public figures after his surgery, he was able to name John F. Kennedy and Ronald Reagen when looking at their photographs. He could also, after receiving phonemic cues (e.g., M.T.) name other people, like Mao Tse-Tung, although he couldn’t identify famous faces based on semantic cues (e.g., he was a leader in China). Perhaps what little was left of HM’s medial temporal lobe could still function, but what he could learn was clearly very fragmented and incomplete.

The picture that emerges from the study of HM and other amnesic patients is that memory is a lot more complex than previously thought. It consists of a series of related processes that depend on different areas of the brain.

Henry Molaison died in December, 2008. His brain, which he had agreed to donate to science, is now stored in a thousand slices at the University of California, San Diego. Although he still couldn’t recognize researchers who’d studied him for decades, Henry remained dedicated and motivated until the end, optimistic that what science had to learn from him could help others.

susansaywhat:

mpdrolet:

Photographs Of Japan’s Criminal Underground Organization
Anton Kusters
“After countless months of intense negotiations Belgian (and brave) photographer Kusters was  granted the opportunity to spend 2 years with one of the Yakuza gangs  to document and photograph their way of life. He was given unprecedented  access to one of the most inaccessible subcultures in the world – able  to photograph business meetings, visits to bath houses, strip clubs and  even funerals.”

Kinda, sorta, want this book.

susansaywhat:

mpdrolet:

Photographs Of Japan’s Criminal Underground Organization

Anton Kusters

“After countless months of intense negotiations Belgian (and brave) photographer Kusters was granted the opportunity to spend 2 years with one of the Yakuza gangs to document and photograph their way of life. He was given unprecedented access to one of the most inaccessible subcultures in the world – able to photograph business meetings, visits to bath houses, strip clubs and even funerals.”

Kinda, sorta, want this book.

iloveyouasshole:

This man died today, he may look like any other old person but he was the last remaining combat veteran of The 1st World war. He joined the navy at 14 and had a 41year military career, published his 1st book at 108 and he was 110 when he passed away. No matter what your view on war, people like this deserve all our thanks. Governments start wars and the people fight them.
RIP Claude Stanley Choules.

iloveyouasshole:

This man died today, he may look like any other old person but he was the last remaining combat veteran of The 1st World war. He joined the navy at 14 and had a 41year military career, published his 1st book at 108 and he was 110 when he passed away. No matter what your view on war, people like this deserve all our thanks. Governments start wars and the people fight them.

RIP Claude Stanley Choules.

(via hidingunderamoustache)