The government has spent years studying the body language of Russian President Vladimir Putin and other world leaders, the Pentagon acknowledged Friday, but it said its Putin studies have not informed its decision-making during the Ukraine crisis.
"We may not all live on a small island but we do all share a planet and the responsibility to protect it," says Ban Ki-moon, Secretary-General of the United Nations.
Read more about what he says on LinkedIn about the challenges that small islands face.
We sure all have that one special friend in our lives.
I have mine as well.
That one person who treats you really well, whose relationship with you is beyond just friend, a brotherhood.
The friend who is caring, protecting, advising, listening, joking, and always being there for me.
Well, there he is, Agam or Badar.
I don’t know what to express when I heard earlier that he is leaving for Medan. Geez.
Honestly I don’t think I can manage to live my own life like the same without him being around. He’s not just my guardian friend who’ll kill other for me nor just a chatting mate to hear my problems out.
He’s the best. He always are.
Though he is far from perfect, far from a good role model, and seldomly acts seriously toward major serious problems of ours, his, or mine.
Though he probably won’t be able to understand the meaning of this text.
Though he probably won’t realise how important he is for me.
Though he probably won’t feel as insecure as I feel now that he’s leaving.
Though he probably doesn’t know how much he has helped me going through my life.
He’s still the best. Best friend, brother, mate, dude, whatevs. He’s the biggest bestest and most awesomest person in this world.
I always remember the first time we get along, we were the part that sickest neighbouring residents in our dorm and we cooperated well in having fun and mostly breaking rules.
We brought up the fun in our lives. He was so full of bravery himself, while I contributed the evil ideas.
Till now we’re still partners in crime, though. The only difference is that he’s about to leave. Not just me, but mostly a lot of his, and my friends also that stay here in Jakarta.
He’s really leaving in a moment isn’t he?
How do I do now?
Life must be getting a lot more sicker than it is already.
But, we said, LIFE GOES ON.
I’m living mine, he’s living his.
What we should do right now is living it to our bests.
Though I wasn’t saying it is easy for me to know that he’s actually going to go quite far. We just have to live it.
Take care, Gam.
I really do wish the best of everything for you.
I am so thankful to have a GREAT friend like you. Especially when it comes to hearing my problems and giving solution to it, or mostly you just replied with opinions that calmed me down successfully.
I also wish that you’ll know how bad I, and your friends here, want you to stay in Jakarta.
But as I said, LIFE MUST GO ON.
So, farewell then.
We’ll meet again and exchange our stories.
Thank you for all the things you’ve done and made me felt so far.
You are still and will always be the very bestest friend of mine.
Wizards, Elves, and Well-Dressed Men
Because I have a curmudgeonly and anti-modern disposition, I once made the stupid argument in a graduate sociology seminar that the internet was partly responsible for the decline of social capital in the US. That is, people can’t make “real” or “meaningful” social connections online.
[A] couple of weeks ago at the office, one of the IT guys showed me a personal blog post he was working on. It was a tribute to a Massively Multiplayer Online (MMO) game in which he had participated for the last four years or so under a screen name that included the word “Hammer” or “Sword” or something along those lines. As he described the final battle from the previous night in which many users from the history of the game returned for one last go, he said he was reminded of an excerpt from a letter that Ken Burns used in his Civil War series. He got a little misty. I bit my tongue. “Pathetic,” I thought. “That’s not a real community. Those people don’t even know each other.”
Needless to say, this morning amidst my disappointment that HTJ was shutting down, I couldn’t help but consider how ridiculous I would sound were I to explain all this to the IT guy on Monday. “Yeah, it was great. We all went there to look at his shirts. And sometimes his jackets. And shoes! Oh the shoes! No, I don’t know his name. None of us use our names. Except Muffy, and that’s a nickname. What did he look like? No idea. Never saw his face. I think he was in Japan. You should have seen the sweaters though! Have I mentioned the catalog scans? Yes, old catalogs. And the collar roll discussions? But now it’s over. Too bad. Where will we go to look at old shirts?”
By now you know that conversation will never take place. Because just like the MMO games that allow people to be wizards, dwarves, elves, and monsters by night, looking at another man’s shirts on Saturday mornings is awfully private business.
Indeed, half the enjoyment of clothes for me is being able to participate in the community that exists for it online. I’m sad to see Heavy Tweed Jacket leave the party, but hopefully he’ll return (again).
(Pictured above: HTJ in a Shaggy Dog, candy striped shirt, Dress Gordon scarf, and waxed cotton Barbour)
A trove of rare Gold Rush-era coins unearthed in California last year by a couple as they walked their dog may be the greatest buried treasure ever found in the United States, worth more than $10 million, a currency firm representing the pair said on Tuesday.
Read more: http://reut.rs/1mxY5Nu
(Photo: REUTERS/KAGIN’S, INC/HANDOUT VIA REUTERS)
“you won’t stop missing someone till it hurts”
Monkey-Head Transplant - When Vladimir Demikhov unveiled his two-headed dogs in 1954, it inspired a strange kind of surgical arms race (or rather, head race) between the two superpowers. Eager to prove that its surgeons were actually the best in the world, the American government began funding the work of Robert White, who then embarked on a series of experimental surgeries, performed at his brain research center in Cleveland, Ohio, resulting in the world’s first successful monkey-head transplant.
The head transplant occurred on March 14, 1970. It took White and his assistants hours to perform the carefully choreographed operation, separating a monkey’s head from its body and reattaching it to a new body. When the monkey woke and found that its body had been switched for a new one, it angrily tracked White with its eyes and snapped at him with its teeth. The monkey survived a day and a half before succumbing to complications from the surgery. As bad as it was for the monkey, it could have been worse. White noted that, from a surgical point of view, it would have been easier to put the monkey’s head on backwards.
White thought he should have been treated like a hero, but instead the public was appalled by what he had done. Nevertheless, White soldiered on, campaigning to raise support for a human head transplant. He toured with Craig Vetovitz, a near-quadriplegic, who volunteered to be the first to undergo the procedure. The public is still a long way from accepting the idea of human head transplants, but if White has his way, one day it will happen.