beemarket

native bees vs. honeybees

Buzz pollination is a process that sounds very nice for both flower and bee: Bumblebees and some other native bees “use their flight muscles to vibrate the flower until the pollen is shaken loose,” Mr. Seidler said. Like honeybees, they use their middle pair of legs to gather the pollen into pollen sacks. “You can see these on bees when they’re flying by.”

Sometimes they sit on the flower and vibrate; sometimes they hang upside down and do their thing. And when they fly off to other flowers, some of that pollen just naturally falls off and pollinates the plants.

boom boom bap

dear douche with a full drumset who lives downstairs-

your drumming is awful. your drumming haunts my nightmares. i am afraid to bring a child into this world, because if it grows up and play drums like you do i wouldn’t love it anymore. i looked online for advice about what to do when someone with a full drum set moves into your apartment complex, but apparently NO ONE ELSE IN THE WORLD HAS BEEN ENOUGH OF A DOUCHE TO DO THAT, because i couldn’t find anything. i’ve consulted kids in bands and said, hey, am i out of line here or is it absolutely ridiculous to move a full drum set into a 6-unit building? and they have all said no, that is absolutely ridiculous. pay $30 a month and get a practice space or some shit. if this continues during the summer, i am going to snap. i am going to play the thong song, repeatedly, at full volume, every time you so much as touch your bass drum. i am going to buy a didgeridoo and subject you to my struggles in learning circular breathing. i am going to come downstairs and render you incapable of irrhythmically smacking your drums OR playing beer pong with a carefully placed drumstick to the motor cortex.

or else i am just going to whine a lot more.

regards,

the bitch upstairs

what about the sausages?

Brod discovered 613 sadnesses, each perfectly unique, each a singular emotion, no more similar to any other sadness than to anger, ecstasy, guilt, or frustration. Mirror sadness. Sadness of Domesticated Birds. Sadness of Being Sad in Front of One’s Parent. Humor Sadness. Sadness of Love Without Release.

She was like a drowning person, flailing, reaching for anything that might save her. Her life was an urgent, desperate struggle to justify her life. She learned impossibly difficult songs on her violin, songs outside of what she thought she could know, and would each time come crying to Yankel, I have learned to play this one too! It’s so terrible! I must write something that not even I can play! She spent evenings with the art books Yankel had bought for her in Lutsk, and each morning sulked over breakfast, They were good and fine, but not beautiful. Not, not if I’m being honest with myself. They are only the best of what exists. She spent an afternoon staring at their front door.

Waiting for someone? Yankel asked.

What color is this?

He stood very close to the door, letting the end of his nose touch the peephole. He licked the wood and joked, It certainly tastes like red.

Yes, it is red, isn’t it?

Seems so.

She buried her head in her hands. But couldn’t it just be a bit more red?

Brod’s life was a slow realization that the world was not for her, and that for whatever reason, she would never be happy and honest at the same time. She felt as if she were brimming, always producing and hoarding more love inside her. But there was no release. Table, ivory elephant charm, rainbow, onion, hairdo, mollusk, Shabbos, violence, cuticle, melodrama, ditch, honey, doily… None of it moved her. She addressed her world honestly, searching for something deserving of the volumes of love she knew she had within her, but to each she would have to say, I don’t love you. Bark-brown fence post: I don’t love you. Poem too long: I don’t love you. Lunch in a bowl: I don’t love you. Physics, the idea of you, the laws of you: I don’t love you. Nothing felt like anything more than what it actually was. Everything was just a thing, mired in its thingness.

(ran out of new books, so i started again with the old ones)

some flickr favorites

april 2008

angela: bold, imaginative, creative, revolutionary, horsey

sorry guys, my life has been all

“In 2006, a visionary group in Boston recognized that the problem of autism is too complex and too variable to solve piecemeal, too urgent to address incrementally. They founded the Autism Consortium, assembling an unprecedented team of imaginative, bold researchers dedicated to changing the way we understand and treat autism. Bold and creative donors fostering bold and creative science: a potent combination for revolutionizing science and treating a complex disorder now.”

& lymph nodes & waiting on hold with insurance companies & waiting on hold with banks & waiting on hold with BU & not being able to swallow, and not enough sleeping or adventuring or internet-ing. it’s a revolutionary idea to me that sitting at a computer all day at work makes me not want to sit at one all night. i know, wtf.

anyway, how fucking sweet does this class sound?

MET ES 141 From Periwinkles to Pilot Whales: Investigation on Boston Harbor and Massachusetts Bay
Examines the flora and fauna of the Boston Harbor and Massachusetts Bay ecosystems on the beach, at the shore, in the Harbor Islands, and on the waters of Boston Harbor and Mass Bay. With 50 miles of protected water, four sheltered bays, seven river systems, dozens of islands, and a nine-foot average tide, Boston Harbor is one of the most diverse urban ecosystems in America. Students keep daily records of their experiences, record and analyze data for a research paper, and learn to use GIS Datalayers, species maps, and field work guides.

i mean, i’m not gonna take it because it’s at a really inconvenient time. but still… let’s pretend i AM gonna take it, and think about how awesome it’s gonna be.
in other news, there’s nothing like waking up to

STRONG WEST AND NORTHWEST WINDS BEHIND A COLD FRONT WILL REACH 25 TO 30 MPH TODAY…WITH GUSTS TO 45 OR 50 MPH POSSIBLE.

it makes the walk to the bus just a little more exciting.

PS maybe i’ll try to weasel my way into the graduate human anatomy class – dissected cadavers! come on, i’m not far from the morgue. it would be convenient for everyone! (dead people included)

also my left hand smells like horses. uhhhhhhhhh