January 2010
19 posts
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Re: The iPad's lack of Flash support
Seems like everyone on the Interwebz is bemoaning the lack of Flash support on Apple’s new drool-worthy iPad (yeah, I want one…but I’ll wait for the 2nd generation, thank you).
The problem is, these people are wrong. The iPad does support Flash, just not through Safari. It’s call the YouTube App. The YouTube App calls on YouTube’s APIs to deliver Flash content to...
How to Suck at Facebook - The Oatmeal →
Yeah … I know a lot of these … which is why I’ve pretty much jumped off the Facebook ship.
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a poem by Pablo Neruda
Another
From so often traveling in a region
not charted in books
I grew accustomed to stubborn lands
where nobody ever asked me
whether I like lettuces
or if I prefer mint
like the elephants devour.
And from offering no answers,
I have a yellow heart.
from The Yellow Heart (Copper Canyon Press, 1990), translated by William O’Daly
(hmm… Tumblr is choking on the accented...
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a poem by George Oppen
A Theological Definition
A small room, the varnished floor
Making an L around the bed,
What is or is true as
Happiness
Windows opening on the sea,
The green painted railings of the balcony
Against the rock, the bushes and the sea running
from Of Being Numerous (New Directions, 1968)
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a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
Der Tod der Geliebten
Er wußre nur vom Tod was alle wissen:
daß er uns nimmt und in das Stumme stößt.
Als aber sie, nicht von ihm fortgerissen,
nein, leis aus seinen Augen ausgelöst,
hinüberglitt zu unbekannten Schatten,
und als er fühlte, daß sie drüben nun
wie einen Mond ihr Mädchenlächeln hatten
und ihren Weise wohlzutun:
da wurden ihm die Toten so bekannt,
als wäre er durch sit...
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oh, by the way . . .
I’m back.
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a poem by Richard Katrovas
A Dog and a Boy
Joe Brickhouse saw his dog
get smashed by a garbage truck
in Elizabeth City, North Carolina.
He was twelve and smoked Luckies
and had a glass eye.
I won’t tell you about the games of marbles
or how he fucked his sister,
nor shall I discuss in the abstract
his deep-seated contempt for authority
or why he kicked my ass
just because I was his friend and he loved me....
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a poem by Lynn Emanuel
Frying Trout while Drunk
Mother is drinking to forget a man
Who could fill the woods with invitations:
Come with me he whispered and she went
In his Nash Rambler, its dash
Where her knees turned green
In the radium dials of the ’50s.
When I drink it is always 1953,
Bacon wilting in the pan on Cook Street
And mother, wrist deep in red water,
Laying a trail from the sink
To a glass of...
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a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye
Rain
A teacher asked Paul
what he would remember
from third grade, and he sat
a long time before writing
“this year sumbody tutched me
on the sholder”
and turned his paper in.
Later she showed it to me
as an example of her wasted life.
The words he wrote were large
as houses in a landscape.
He wanted to go inside them
and live, he could fill in
the windows of...
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