:::::::::::: July 10th, 2016 to December 26th 2016 :::::::::: #TransformationTuesday the left is the by product after 1 year of laziness, eating fast food, drinking, and not giving my body the proper exercise. The right is the result of 6 months of healthy eating, limited drinks (one weekend a month) and regular exercise. July 10th marks one year of health and fitness for me so I have a long road ahead of me but I love looking @ my little progressions along the way…..is that the slightest hint of muscle…? Nahhhh…. lol
In this week’s Spotlight essay, Exploring Alaska’s Roadside Glaciers, Emily Epstein features Anchorage-based photographer Mark Meyer, who races against climate change to photograph as many of Alaska’s glaciers as possible.
A hiker photographs the opening of a moulin—a tunnel that courses though the glacier—in the ceiling of a cave under the Mendenhall Glacier, June 16, 2014. Glacial caves are constantly changing; this cave collapsed a few weeks after this photograph was taken. (Mark Meyer)
An ice wall and exposed crevasse in the Matanuska Glacier, July 22, 2016. (Mark Meyer)
Early morning in front of the Worthington Glacier near Valdez, July 3, 2016. This is the view from an observation deck that is just a short walk from a parking lot and a paved trail. (Mark Meyer)
Ice climbers near the bottom of the ice falls on the Matanuska Glacier, July 22, 2016. During the summer months, guided ice-climbing trips—ranging from simple introductions to the sport to all-day, intensive courses—are available from local guides. (Mark Meyer)
The glaciers don’t crush all the rocks they transport. Those that remain intact are deposited as the glacier retreats and are known as “erratics.” Erratics can range in size from enormous boulders the size of buildings to small boulders, like this one near the terminus of the Matanuska Glacier, July 29, 2009. (Mark Meyer)
A climber scales the face of one of the Matanuska Glacier seracs, July 22, 2016. (Mark Meyer)
An ice “beach” along a supra-glacial lake on the Matanuska Glacier, July 2009. Lakes of melt water often form on glaciers; they can be stable and last for years or ephemeral, quickly draining when crevasses open under the surface. (Mark Meyer)
A guide uses crampons to climb over a moulin on the Mendenhall Glacier, June 16, 2014. Moulins form when melt water and runoff find small cracks and depressions in the glacial surface and erode the ice, creating tunnels. The moulins can be dangerous and extremely deep, leading into the internal plumbing of the glacier. (Mark Meyer)
A hiker (bottom right) is dwarfed by the massive, heavily crevassed ice fall where the Harding Icefield begins its descent into Exit Glacier, August 27, 2016. (Mark Meyer)
Helicopters ferry tourists above the Mendenhall Glacier for aerial views, July 26, 2012. Although several vistas are reachable by foot, many visitors opt to go up in helicopters—a quicker, if more expensive, option. (Mark Meyer)
Jessica Taft pauses above the Harding Icefield, August 27, 2016. The ice field is thousands of feet thick, but it does not completely cover the mountains; those peaks that stick through are called “nunataks,” from the Inuit word for “lonely peak.” (Mark Meyer)
I haven’t had a day off in nearly four months, so I was really looking forward to this particular Sunday morning. No work, no responsibilities; I wasn’t needed anywhere for anything. It was going to be beautiful to finally sleep in. I’m not overstating it, either, the concept alone was the only catalyst to see me through my entire work week.
It was naturally a little confounding, then, to find myself awake and out of bed at 6:35 this morning. Why was I awake? It was as philosophically bankrupt as it was perpetually aggravating, so I decided that the only thing that actually did make sense that early in the morning was to make an event out of it. The clouds were still hanging low in the sky from the day before, lazily making their way through the midwest and stopping in every residential pocket along the way. A thick blanket of warm rain was about to coat the entire landscape, that much was for certain, but I’d woken up before it was ready to fall. And since I was up and I was ready to do something, by seven AM I hit the county roads with a reckless abandon.
One of my favorite things to do in this world is to just get lost for a little while. I turn my cell phone off, throw a CD on in ol’ Betsy, and just enjoy the solitude. When you drive long enough and far enough down these county roads, you can begin to feel like the only person alive in the entire universe. There are no other sounds besides the ones your feet make as they crack the dead branches below your feet. No human beings in overpowered vehicles. If you get out of your car and walk through the woods, you’ll find that the trees block the wind enough that you even avoid it almost entirely, too. There’s truly nothing more instantaneously gratifying than the moment that you know you are far, far away from everything and everybody else.
I walked around for what seemed like an entire day but was really closer to three hours or so. I snapped photos to my heart’s content. And you know what? I think this morning ended up being more refreshing to my soul than sleeping in would have ever been to my body. I’ll sleep in when I’m old.
what she means:
ok but how exactly did blink even shoot the music video for always? like it seems like a relatively basic concept until you break down the specifics of the video. obviously each member has their own frame at the beginning but the video is shot in a four-walled room that they walk around in with a camera crew in it and everything is precisely timed to fit because the video is only one take for the first two minutes and then they have tom in three different segments playing the guitar with different backgrounds but all matched up perfectly then they do that with mark and travis is too but then it gets to the end and the three frames MATCH UP INTO ONE FRAME HOW THE FUCK IS THIS VIDEO NOT APPRECIATED MORE