few can compare

neriesle  asked:

It's not an exaggeration to say that every time Benedict shows up on my dash, I grin like an idiot. So I love your posts, especially when my mood needs a boost. :) Works every time.

How lovely of you say so, @neriesle ! He lifts my spirits too, and in so many ways…whether he’s defining classic elegance…

Originally posted by jinnersoo

…or playing the cheeky tart for a bit of fun…

Originally posted by benedict-the-cumbercookie

…the picture of sheer sophistication…

…or being an utter dork…

Originally posted by thechamberofmischief

…teasing us mercilessly…

Originally posted by aesthetickanye

…or being completely, unselfconsciously, confident & casual…

Originally posted by dangbenedict

…or giving us the living heart & soul of his fully truthful & beautifully rendered characters…

Originally posted by littlepenquin1992

Originally posted by annashipper

Originally posted by cucumberbenny

Originally posted by benedictc

Originally posted by mndream

Originally posted by littlepenquin1992

Originally posted by whenisayrunrun

Originally posted by anindoorkitty

…putting his deep compassion into action & urging others to do the same…

Originally posted by londoncallingsigh

Originally posted by imsohappyjusttodancewithgeorge

Originally posted by londoncallingsigh

…and by simply, beautifully, being himself–a generous, shining soul to which few can ever compare…

Originally posted by cumberbatchlives


aerefyr  asked:

-arrives 5 minutes late with starbucks- Ew


  • likes and stans dogma, how dare, who likes flawed characters
  • reblogs too many OCs, because everyone knows that OCs are spawn of the devil
  • makes me see kit fisto’s glistening abs at least once a month, just so I’m reminded of how few crunches I can do
  • compares star wars to musicals, eew, theater

come back to me. always.


I hate rain and I hate wind even more. I don’t quite understand how anyone can enjoy these unless your prepared and happy to be blown about and end up looking similar to a drowned rat. However, as much as I do really despise them, the aftermath of rainwater is something extraordinarily captivating.   

The raindrops appear so perfectly placed on surfaces, moving and connecting with others, whilst the city lights glisten in the reflections. It’s a photographers dream. As I explored London in the early evening yesterday I became significantly soaked and frustrated that I was unable to photograph anything outdoors. However once the rain had come to an end, I could fully appreciate my surroundings. There are very few sights that can compare to the beauty and calm of a city night after a downpour. 

i like joking about 90s columbo but in all honesty there are some damn good episodes

like, okay, 70s columbo was a fucking masterpiece and very few things can compare, but that doesn’t make 90s columbo bad necessarily

Requested by @chara-against-bullshit

Metagross is a pretty cool pokémon all around, especially being the signature pokémon of Hoenn’s champion, Steven Stone. Metagross is both powerful and intelligent, possessing four brains which are faster than a supercomputer.

So we have a lot to cover with Metagross: let’s start with its multiple brains! A brain, of course, controls all functions in an animal’s body. Humans only have one, but having multiple brains is not out of the picture. Leeches, for example, have over 30 ganglia which each help control different segments of its body, effectively acting like individual brains. Perhaps more similar to Metagross, an octopus has one central brain the size of a walnut in its head, but it has auxiliary “brains” in each of its arms: for a total of nine brains! This helps each tentacle of the octopus act independently and think for itself. The octopus as whole acts as a network of these brains, which when put together act the same as one large brain would.

Metagross has four arms, so perhaps it has one brain for each arm, like an octopus. Octopi are also infamous for being incredibly intelligent, able to open jars and solve problems with their tentacles.

So how does a brain compare to a supercomputer? There are a few ways we can compare them. 

  1. First, there’s storage: how much information can the brain store? This is measured in bytes.
  2. The next is processing speed: how fast can the information be processed? This is measured in a unit caled megaflops: one million floating point calculations per secound
  3. The last is power: how much enery does it take to run?This is measured in watts.

As you can see, the world’s fastest supercomputer (in 2011) has 10 times the storage and 4x the processing speed than the human brain, but the human brain needs astronomically less power to run: 0.0002%. The brain is so much more efficient simply due to the size: one brain contains over 200 billion neurons and trillions of synapses. The fastest supercomputer has over 83,000 processors, but takes up significantly more space, meaning it needs much more power to run. To get more computing speed, supercomputers simply need to add more processors. In the current state of technology, processors are as fast as they can get.

So Metagross’ brains are faster than a supercomputer, which means they operate at more than 10 billion megaflops. Super computers, and our brains, use parallel processing to arrive at results. Serial processing, like typical PCs, computers, and calculators use, work on problems linearly, taking steps, and not progressing until the previous step has finished. Parallel processing splits a calculation up into several parts, working on different steps at the same time, which result in a faster calculation overall.

This type of processing is important in the brain for lots of reasons. Take sight, for example. Our brain needs to interpret what our eyes see very quickly: colors, shapes, motion, etc. Parallel processing makes this possible.

Metagross has four brains, which operate like a network to control Metagross. It uses parallel processing, so it is able to work on different steps of a calculation simultaneously, making it faster than a supercomputer.

Edwige Belmore …Rest in Power … I first  met her in 1983 while working  as a ladies’ room attendant at the NYC club Area.  I was new on the scene and feeling awkwardly out of place when  her big beautiful red lips kissed me on the cheek as she was applauding  me for looking  “ unique” .  in 1987,  I was a cocktail waitress at her cabaret night on 13th and 6th . She was the hostess and chanteuse and living life with a passion and flair few can compare. 

if I was, would you be?

April 2, 2010  by Edwige Belmore

My life has been nothing but a blink…. a breath…. a hiccup…. a sneeze….
I’m opening my eyes and everything burns. everything ’s blurred.
I see a bridge, I’m crossing it, I’m almost over it.
Am I the bridge I need to cross and get over? Bridge to what? I’m confused as always, and yet the clarity of my emotions is frighteningly blinding, burning, crippling.
No wonder I’m losing my eyesight along with the rest of my human capacities….
Am I becoming the crumbling stones of what used to be a path, a destination, a temple?
Am I the pounded dirt of a family home, or the dust one kicks in anger? Am I a rock, a root, a pebble, a leaf, a feather?
and again what would be my purpose?
if I was a rock, would you stand on me or hit me with myself?
if I was a root, would you grow with me or trip and fall?
if I was a pebble, would you collect me or throw me in the river?
if I was a leaf, would you gather rain drops on me to quench your thirst or crumble me?
and if I was a feather, would you let me float in the wild wind or wear me on your neck and nestle me on your heart?
If I was, would you be?

Edwige Belmore

Updated Bio from Dean’s WWE.Com Superstars Page

Dean Ambrose is a dangerous man.

The Cincinnati scrapper began his path to WWE with a fearless career on the independent scene, notable for his ability to absorb and to distribute punishment in equal measure. Through his years toiling away in obscurity, Ambrose competed in some of the most vicious environments imaginable, sacrificing his body and blood in the pursuit of inflicting as much damage on his opponent as humanly possible. Victory was incidental. What mattered to Ambrose was always his message: No one is safe.

If you thought the PG-friendly environment of WWE would be enough to contain The Lunatic Fringe, Ambrose’s brutal debut as one-third of The Shield certainly put that notion to rest in a hurry. As did his record-setting reign as U.S. Champion while he was one of the brothers in black, as well as his increasingly manic attitude after The Hounds of Justice imploded, during which Ambrose pursued rivals such as Seth Rollins, Bray Wyatt and Luke Harper with all the intensity and lack of self-preservation instincts you’d find in a rabid animal. This unpredictable nature proved virtually unstoppable and allowed Ambrose to capture the Intercontinental Title from Kevin Owens at WWE TLC in 2015.

Crazy stuff, right? Dean-o is definitely onto something, though: The WWE Universe has latched on to his mad machinations in a way few Superstars can compare with. It seems whatever twists and turns The Lunatic Fringe takes in his career, it’s only a matter of time before this inmate runs the asylum.

Magic Carpet

Full moon’s high in my window pane,
a sleepless night yet again.
I think of what that old moon’s seen,
and the billions of days in-between.

Billions of stories it could share.
But few like grandma’s can compare.
Her life began long, long ago.
Raised in places few ever know.

In forests, jungles and never-ending plains,
there were exotic cities and quiet country lanes.
Naturalist nurtured traversing the globe,
her parents explorers and professors in robes.

She too attended their university,
majoring, of course, in anthropology.
She graduated at the very top of her class.
Then returning to a high mountain pass.

A place where dear friends made, one nevermore,
new will be made though not as before.
For the sisterly love they both did share,
her dowry passed from generations with care.

Their rug was presented for the mutual esteem,
more cherished than a simple weaving would seem.
With sheep twists dyed and hands knotting all day,
life’s artful history’s made to give, barter or pray.

That winter spent mourning by choice and terrain.
Gram then ventured east with the new spring rain.
Her path soon ended on a long Pacific beach,
her life of the past now far out of reach.

She then called upon as never before.
She volunteered proudly as a nurse in the war.
Through years of blood, pain and tears she served,
refusing all the medals and honors deserved.

Though her true love was found slumped on a cot,
they soon returned home, where time was forgot.
Gramps got better and a new family sown.
their many shared scars were never shown.

Her old rug was placed by hearth and chest,
each full of stories though not all are best.
It’s a place we’d sit to hear grandma recall,
sometimes a place to do nothing at all.

So I tip-toed downstairs since sleep no option,
I’ll rest on that rug where dreams are begun.
It’s where secrets are shared and magic seen,
then a place for relaxing time in-between.

Once sewn as a bag keeping safe, precious things.
It’s been many a blanket with a picnic to bring.
It’s been a shawl in the cold and hood in the rain -
and a comfy pillow on the overnight train.

Adventures had in time that’s flown,
together worn from long years grown.
This rug’s grandma’s confidant and oldest friend,
soaring together their wove lives transcend.

Though colors now faded, ends torn and frayed,
beauty more timeless cannot be remade.
And when the winds do bellow just right,
we’re drawn up the flue and into the night.

Holding fast and climbing high,
we touched the stars in our moonlit sky.
We’d see twinkling lights in our town below,
then off to the hills where roads don’t go.

Over the wood, back to the place we all live,
where the door’s always open and love’s to give.
There blissful slumbers had snug as a bug,
whilst wrapped with a hug in grandmas old rug.