@tiffiwiff challenge accepted #iseeyourblazer #raiseyouabowtie #icreatedswag #idontknowwhathappenedtothecuteness #detroit
They remembered #happybirthdaytome #webeatingthestats #2more2thirty #blessed I hate birthdays. #oldmanhuddy
A sixty degree day #latergram #hooper #thathotsaucecross #theywasntreadyyyy real hoopers ball in church clothes and timbs.
i dont remember this episode of breaking bad
If you have any doubt that the hashtag is a frighteningly powerful tool in our modern vocabulary, imagine a person you care about texting you that song’s title line out of the blue: “You’re beautiful.” Now think of the same person texting, “You’re #beautiful.” The second one is jokey, ironic, distant—and hey, maybe that’s what that person was going for. But it also hammers home that point that the internet too often asserts: You’re not as original as you once thought. “Beautiful” is analog, unquantifiable, one-in-a-million. #Beautiful, on the other hand, is crowded terrain. Ten more people have just tweeted about something or someone #beautiful since you started reading this sentence.
As more and more of our daily interactions become text-based — people preferring texting to phone calls, workplaces that rely heavily email and instant messaging—we’re developing ways to stretch our written language so it can communicate more nuance, so we can tell people what we mean without accidentally leading them on or pissing them off. Periods have becomemore forceful, commas less essential, and over the last few years, the hashtag has morphed into something resembling the fabled sarcasm font—the official keystroke of irony. Putting a hashtag in front of something you text, email, or IM to someone is a sly way of saying “I’m joking,” or maybe more accurately, “I mean this and I don’t at the same time.”
In 1961, the 23-year-old son of one of America’s wealthiest families disappeared in a remote coastal area off the island of New Guinea in the South Pacific, a region inhabited by the Asmat, a tribe known to engage in headhunting and cannibalism.
In an effort to solve the mystery of what happened to Michael Rockefeller, son of then-New York Gov. Nelson Rockefeller, writer Carl Hoffman dug into long-forgotten archives and spent time among villagers in the region.
In the interview Hoffman shares what he believe happened to the young man:
"On the day before Michael disappeared, the men of Otsjanep, which was this village that had been assaulted by a Dutch colonial officer and had four of its most important men killed, had in fact set off in canoes — 50 men in nine or so canoes — set off for a government station down the coast. … The next morning, they arrived at the mouth of the [river] … when what they thought was a crocodile swam up, and it wasn’t a crocodile but a man and he was exhausted and vulnerable and weak and they recognized him. They knew his name because he had been to the village before. … They stabbed him with a spear right then and there and took him to a very sacred, hidden spot … where they undertook their ceremonial rites."
Carl Hoffman’s book is called Savage Harvest: A Tale of Cannibals, Colonialism, And Michael Rockefeller’s Tragic Quest For Primitive Art
photo via NY Post
This is a fascinating story. — tanya b.