Saturday, December 31, 2011

This Is My Story - Ben Breedlove




After cheating death three times, Ben Breedlove, 18, finally lost his life on Christmas night after suffering from a heart attack.

But not before he recorded videos of his life and near-death experiences and how at peace he felt when he believed he was leaving the world.

The Austin teenager had a life-threatening heart condition he fought every day as he was growing up.

He had a near death experience when he was four, fourteen and then less than a month ago.

In the video, he shares these experiences, including the bright light that brought him peace the first time around and the time he was wearing a suit and standing in a white room with his favourite rapper Kid Cudi.

Of this experience, he wrote: 'I then looked in the mirror, I was proud of myself of my entire life, everything I have done. It was the BEST feeling.'

The rapper posted this message on his blog after hearing of Ben's death: 'I am so sad about Ben Breedlove. I watched the video he left for the world to see, and him seeing me in detail, in his vision really warmed my heart.

'I broke down... To Ben’s family, you raised a real hero, he’s definitely mine. You have my love.'

Talking about the white light he saw in the hospital when he was four he wrote: 'I couldn't take my eyes off it, and I couldn't help but smile. I had no worries at all, like nothing else in the world mattered.

Ben had a popular YouTube channel OurAdvice4You in which he dealt out relationship advice to his peers.

It was in his last YouTube video, uploaded on December 18, that he made the heartbreaking video, using a series of flash cards to talk about growing up with the heart problem.

He revealed he regrets not being like everyone else: 'I was never allowed to play sports that my friends did. It kinda sucks that I missed out on that part of my life.'



Thursday, December 29, 2011

Sigh, we all grow old

Do you recognise these old geezers?








These were my heroes! Here they are in their glory days, in the same order







Saturday, December 24, 2011

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Aki Ra - Badass disables 10,000 land mines for free



As a child soldier in Cambodia's notorious Khmer Rouge army Aki Ra laid many landmines. He now clears these deadly bombs with a stick and a pocketknife, more than 10,000 to date. It is very dangerous. No one pays him to do it. Aki is the real deal.

FFUUUUUU

Comic Book Proposal

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Pass It On

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Internet Meme: "I Used To Be An Adventurer Like You..."



Images



“Arrow In The Knee” on Youtube

The quickly spreading phrase is most prevalent on YouTube, where it receives highest rated comment often, and is parodied constantly.[9] Just a small selection of the videos across YouTube covering this line are available below. A far more extensive list of videos on this topic can be found by simply searching.[9]


Saturday, December 17, 2011

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

5 words Babies Use

Where's Wall-E

Friday, December 9, 2011

Vice Guide To Athen Riots

Upon arriving in Athens we find a city whose streets are disappearing under uncollected waste. There's a sense of desperation overcoming the citizens. In the run up to a 48-hour national strike we meet teenage anarchists who are desperate for police blood, communists praying for revolution, and civil servants struggling to understand what has happened to their country.
The first day of the 48-hour hunger strike. A crowd of hundreds of thousands makes its way to parliament to protest the proposed austerity measures. We hear about the tactics used by the anarchists and police before seeing it for ourselves. Tear gas, flash grenades, and rocks fly as the city unites in angry disenchantment and attempts to storm parliament.
The Greek parliament meets to vote on proposed austerity measures while outside their society polarizes itself. All pretenses of togetherness vanish as the lines between authority figures and protesters are blurred, leading to street battles and, ultimately, one man's death.

Vice Guide To Belfast

VICE headed over to Belfast, in the lead up to this year's Twelfth parade, and tensions were running higher than any period in recent memory: It was only a few months since a 25-year-old Catholic police officer was murdered by dissident republicans (to dissuade others from joining the force) and just weeks after altercations between nationalists and unionists in east Belfast ended in riots and multiple shootings, including a cameraman. What better time to explore Belfast and marinate in the divisive hate?
On the eve of the parade, we further explore the divide between the Protestant and Catholics in the Belfast community. We discovered that both sides share a commonality: the involvement from the youth.
It's the day of the July 12th parade, and everyone's celebrating
After the march, we head over to the Catholic area of Ardoyne, and and see tensions are running high. The police are here, in full riot gear. With angry citizens and a massive police presence, we wonder how this will end...

Senna driving F1 turbo race car in 1985 - 1400HP

Of all the lonely people, the loneliest

Source

Joyce Carol Vincent 's body lay unnoticed in her English apartment for three years.

Joyce Carol Vincent's body lay unnoticed in her English apartment for three years


In 2006, someone finally decided to check up on a London woman named Joyce Vincent who was badly behind in her rent.

What they found was a skeleton on the couch. She had been dead for nearly three years, the TV still on and the Christmas presents she had wrapped for friends lying on the floor along with a landslide of mail piled up inside the front door of her apartment.

Vincent, 38, lived alone in Wood Green, a declining but packed area of London, a city of eight million people. Her corpse was so desiccated that the coroner couldn’t figure out a cause of death, couldn’t even identify her from dental records until the police tracked down a photograph of her that showed her smiling.

It could happen to any of us. Apparently she just sat down and died as the TV, turned to BBC1, flickered and chattered away for cycles of leafy springs, hot summers, endless rain and every news event you and I lived through in those years. Her window was open in her busy apartment block above a street-level shopping mall, but the smell from nearby garbage bins disguised the stench of her rotting body.

Vincent had been estranged from her father and four sisters — her much-loved mother had died when she was 11 — but by all accounts, she was a vivacious, accomplished woman, said to resemble a pre-decline Whitney Houston. She had a pile of friends and a terrific job at Ernst & Young until, without apparent reason, she quit in 2001.

Not that there were many accounts. It took a determined filmmaker named Carol Morley many years to hunt down any truths about Vincent’s depressing — even horrifying — death and make a documentary called Dreams of a Life, now playing at the London Film Festival. Morley posted ads in newspapers and on the doors of the black cabs that shoot around the city, but even then it was tough to track down people who’d admit their shame at having let Vincent slip from sight.

The story is paralyzingly sad, all the more because Vincent was the model of what women especially set out to be: smart, kind, ambitious and attractive, and yet these qualities failed her. Perhaps they actually doomed her and contributed to the howling loneliness of her death. Morley talked to her local MP, Lynne Featherstone, one of the few who tried to investigate how and why she died. “I gather she was very beautiful, which for reasons totally spurious makes it more poignant because we always think beautiful people have everything go their way,” Morleywrote recently in The Observer.

The boyfriend of her youth, who kept in touch with her until 2002, bitterly regrets his inattention, but told Morley that Vincent always seemed confident and in control. “The trouble with Joyce was that she was very fanciable,” he said. “Wherever she went and whatever she did, there were people trying to get her into bed. It was a burden that she was so beautiful and she was very clever, a lot more intelligent than she let on. I think she had several lives.”

She seemed to have linked up with a brutal boyfriend. It was a battered women’s shelter that placed her in the subsidized rental where she died, and she may have felt ashamed of her perceived failure.

But why didn’t the friends whose names were on the wrapped gifts ever track down their mysteriously vanished friend?

The scariest thing about Vincent’s death is of course that with a few wrong turns, any of us could die this way. A lost job, divorce, a time of lying low and the remorseless nature of living in one of the huge cities that dot the planet and, bang, you vanish.

This is the kind of truth that keeps serial killers like Robert Pickton going, but there’s no indication that Vincent was murdered, no knife nicks on her bones at any rate. It’s just the nature of the city. It’s why Liz Lemon of the TV comedy 30 Rock teaches herself the singleton’s Heimlich manoeuvre, throwing herself onto the back of a chair to regurgitate a piece of steak.

Urban non-myths like Vincent’s death tableau are why people gird themselves to date even the sad prospects they have met online, their faces frozen into panicked smiles. It’s partly why people marry unsuitably or have children they don’t really want, why rural people resent urban types who seem to have prospered by definition, why so many of the seven billion on earth flock to the city—they fear solitude but think it surmountable.

Urban loneliness is asphyxiating, as Jonathan Raban wrote in his poignant 1974 sociology classic, Soft City. “Just as the city is the place where you can choose your society, so it is also the place where you can ‘drop’ discarded friends, old lovers, the duller members of your family.” And where you yourself can be dropped, as happened to Vincent.

The city is hard, not soft, Raban wrote, meaning that you can make no impression on it. “Lonely people often feel sick with guilt that they are suffering in the middle of such apparent abundance; what is wrong with them that they should be singled out to watch TV while millions are on the street below their windows.”

No one questioned Vincent’s non-stop TV. No one smelled her from the littered pavement. This was the price she and hundreds of millions like her pay for chasing the urban dream and finding it “vain, wanting and destructive,” as Raban described it.

I often look at the condo towers seeding like a forest all over Toronto and its suburbs and wonder about the stark lives being lived. People put out hopeful little café tables and chairs on their balconies, but I have yet to see a brunch party a few hundred metres from the Gardiner or Hwy 407. Who is huddled inside staring out at a city of sociable plenty and yearning for recognition?

Ah, look at all the lonely people. Shuddering at Vincent’s awful end, I suspect we could all end up like Eleanor Rigby. We must die alone by definition, but who will help us if no one notices.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Stop and Hear the Music



‎"In Washington DC , at a Metro Station, on a cold January morning in 2007, a man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, approximately 2000 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.

After about four minutes, a middle-aged man noticed that there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds, and then he hurried on to meet his schedule.

About four minutes later, the violinist received his first dollar. A woman threw money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.

At six minutes, a young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.

At ten minutes, a three-year old boy stopped, but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head the whole time. This action was repeated by several other children, but every parent - without exception - forced their children to move on quickly.

At forty-five minutes: The musician played continuously. Only six people stopped and listened for a short while. About twenty gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.

After one hour: He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed and no one applauded. There was no recognition at all. No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before, Joshua Bell sold-out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100 each to sit and listen to him play the same music.

This is a true story. Joshua Bell, playing incognito in the D.C. Metro Station, was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people’s priorities.

This experiment raised several questions: In a common-place environment, at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty? If so, do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context? One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be this: If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made… How many other things are we missing as we rush through life?"

Monday, December 5, 2011

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Pics That Make Me Think "Holy Shit"

Star Trek vs Star Wars



Leonard Nimoy getting in on it!!!

Leonard Nimoy
Carrie Fisher says her hair buns in Star Wars are better than Spock ears. I don't agree. Her hair can't hear. LLAP




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