Crossing Over - The New News Print Normal.

"...the FT is the first newspaper to have “crossed over” by amassing more digital subscribers than print ones. As of February, the respective numbers were  316,000 to 286,000..."

From paidContent

The FT has “crossed over” to become a digital business — but can anyone else replicate that feat?

Of Rates and Things.

Felling a Coconut Palm.

These are a set of photos originally published as a slide show on my Jux blog, of which there is a link above ↑ under 'The Jux Blog'.

The comments below the pictures are from the originals.

This tree was about 20 meters high or about 65 feet. To put this into perspective: the usual height of a single story in a building is 15 to 20 feet; so this tree was about 4 stories high.

About three Stories Up:  No rope, except the one tied to the crown to make sure the first cut section falls correctly.

Chop That Trunk! Holding on with one hand, still about 15 meters up. And note that's not an axe just an ordinary machete.

A Long Way Down: Actually he's checking to see if his assistant has re-tightened the guide rope.

Going...

And Going....

Gone!

Look No Hands! The next, middle section, still about 15 meters up.

One to Watch: The Skin I Live In

"There are several genres nimbly folded into “The Skin I Live In,” which might also be described as an existential mystery, a melodramatic thriller, a medical horror film or just a polymorphous extravaganza. "

from Manohla Dargis's New York Times Movie Review

A Beautiful Prisoner Lost in Almodóvar’s Labyrinth

Daughter on the Edge

That was an interesting year, 2001. Only it was the next one that blew everything away. So forget 9/11.

Dark night over the Carpathians, looking down onto the the white snow covered place. Safe in our business-class dinner world. Wondering, and sure that all was good down below. 

More fool you.

At the edge of the world, with feeble contact via that machine. We were connected in 2002, so why weren't they? Why did I have to leave that device outside just to get a that txt? That Txt! 

Five words that hope for you, were a throw away for the sender.

 So much for fucking hope.

Back to the city on the lake. Back via the lake front. 

Looking out the taxi window at how grand it was. Looking out at how better it was. Looking out at the grayness of the snow covered mountains that suddenly looked do dull.

And you kept it up for nine months.

Nine months! 

Until the day it did not happen on that Dark Days, Clear Nights time.