the child grows enormous but never grows up
jhermann:

shaunbwilson:

A map of the United States with each state’s name replaced with its etymological root translated into English.
(via imkharn)

sorry Idaho

jhermann:

shaunbwilson:

A map of the United States with each state’s name replaced with its etymological root translated into English.

(via imkharn)

sorry Idaho

If you plucked an average American (mean, median, or modal) out of Kansas City or Aurora, and plopped them down in the middle of Gothenburg, the average American would be very unhappy. Yes, they’d have generous social benefits and lots of vacation, but they’d also be crammed into a small apartment in a very small country. They wouldn’t be able to afford services that average Americans take for granted, like lots of restaurant foods and extremely high levels of customer service, which means they’d spend a lot more time doing basic housework, childcare, and so forth. They would find it very expensive to fuel their car, and the insular, almost formal culture would make them crazy.

This is also true the other way, by the way; the average Swede would not be happy living in America. Sure, they’d have a huge house, filled with cheap consumer goods, and they could drive their car everywhere, particularly to their incredible array of dining options. But they’d miss their vacation and find America’s looser safety net both terrifying and inconvenient. They would hate the inefficiency of our government services, and miss their cozy circle of friends and family. Part of the reason that we have different systems from the Swedes and the Germans is that we place different emphasis on various possible sets of amenities, and of course, the availability of various amenities changes what we think of as the basic package for a decent life. In most of America it includes a house, preferably detached, and a car. In Sweden it includes a year of mandated maternity leave and a well-run streetcar system. Losing any of those amenities is usually more painful for people than getting whatever the other folks have—which is why most expats are some combination of young, unhappy in their home country, or wealthy enough to buy the stuff they miss.

kateoplis:

60-foot-long Kodak Coloramas that were displayed in Grand Central Terminal in NY 1950-1990, can now be seen at NY Transit Museum Gallery.

1. Lake Placid, NY, 1966

2. Francestown, NH, 1971

3. Pendelton, OR, 1961 

4. Grand Teton, WY, 1964

Recursive metafiction worships the narrative consciousness, makes ‘it’ the subject of the text. Minimalism’s even worse, emptier, because it’s a fraud: it eschews not only self-reference but any narrative personality at all, tries to pretend there ‘is’ no narrative consciousness in its text. This is so fucking American, man: either make something your God and cosmos and then worship it, or else kill it.
David Foster Wallace in conversation with Larry McCaffery
thelifeguardlibrarian:

Americas Through a Lens: Colonial Office Photographic Collection Released Online By National Archives (UK)
Gorgeous, complicated, fascinating. America through the lens of her colonizers.
Mario’d fallen in love with the first Madame Psychosis programs because he felt like he was listening to someone sad read out loud from yellow letters she’d taken out of a shoebox on a rainy P.M., stuff about heartbreak and people you loved dying and U.S. woe, stuff that was real. It is increasingly hard to find valid art that is about stuff that is real in this way.
David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest

yourmonkeycalled:

What Cricket Looks Like to Americans

“Look how he fringes the ring.” Brilliant.

(via Robert Popper)

American experience seems to suggest that people are virtually unlimited in their need to give themselves away, on various levels. Some just prefer to do it in secret.
David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest
What I discovered in my researches about this part of the country was a vigorous civic idealism and a deep commitment to education. In its early history there was a significant presence of young clergy from places like Yale and Amherst who came to the frontier intent on starting the civilisation over again on the basis of real equality, and proofing it against the encroachments of slavery. Their approach to every problem was to educate – women, African Americans and, crucially, the general population. It was an exhausting and extremely generous campaign, carried on for decades. Its effects are still palpable. The fine little colleges they founded in surprising numbers flourish still. It is true at the same time that the history behind this heritage is largely forgotten, that it persists as custom rather than as memory. In practical terms it has meant that the clock was turned back and the best reforms were compromised or lost until the civil rights movement took hold a century later. John Ames lives in this middle period, old enough to remember his abolitionist grandfather, and to see the beginnings of the new era. I am sad to say that in this respect he is a conventional good man of the period. The novel is, among other things, an inquiry into the question of how individual lives interact with culture and history, for weal and for woe. A modest query and a vast question. Still, as an American, I can only grieve at the thought of the possibilities that were raised on this gorgeous, storm-ridden prairie, then foreclosed and forgotten – history somehow erasing itself. There is a deep and abiding loveliness nevertheless, the ember still to be breathed upon. And this is in Ames’s mind, too. The prairie still shines like transfiguration.
dumbjabronimotherfucker:

bingo
washingtonpoststyle:

Barack Obama shakes the prosthetic hand of Army Sgt. 1st Class Leroy Arthur Petry, who lost his hand in Afghanistan when he tossed aside a live grenade and saved the lives of his fellow Army Rangers.

washingtonpoststyle:

Barack Obama shakes the prosthetic hand of Army Sgt. 1st Class Leroy Arthur Petry, who lost his hand in Afghanistan when he tossed aside a live grenade and saved the lives of his fellow Army Rangers.

greatleapsideways:

“In a relative sense, America has a small literary mythology but an immense visual mythology in common Western consciousness. Moreover, as so much 20th century road-trip photography demonstrates in telling and often ironic ways, more than many other countries (perhaps all?) America images itself back to itself, it is rife with images of its own landscape, with visual proof of the forcefulness of its history and the promise of its landscapes. It is against the weight of these multiple histories - those of commemoration and those of erasure, those of tradition and slippery actuality - that Bryan Schutmaat’s “Heartland” is situated. It seeks to assess, interrogate and re-imagine that culture through the prism of its ‘heartland’ landscapes.”  
— excerpted from forthcoming essay on Bryan Schutmaat’s “Heartland”

greatleapsideways:

“In a relative sense, America has a small literary mythology but an immense visual mythology in common Western consciousness. Moreover, as so much 20th century road-trip photography demonstrates in telling and often ironic ways, more than many other countries (perhaps all?) America images itself back to itself, it is rife with images of its own landscape, with visual proof of the forcefulness of its history and the promise of its landscapes. It is against the weight of these multiple histories - those of commemoration and those of erasure, those of tradition and slippery actuality - that Bryan Schutmaat’s “Heartland” is situated. It seeks to assess, interrogate and re-imagine that culture through the prism of its ‘heartland’ landscapes.”  

— excerpted from forthcoming essay on Bryan Schutmaat’sHeartland