Is there a reason for gen 7 not having its own fossils?
Yes, because Hawaii doesn’t have much of a fossil record. The Hawaiian islands are very young geologically, the oldest rose from the sea, a sterile steaming volcano about 2.8 million years, and the youngest is only about 400,000 years old. Not to mention the archipelago is the most isolated in the world so it would take a long time for animals and plants to gradually get there and to establish ecosystems. There is also a bias as to what makes it to islands, good dispersers such as birds, bats, flying insects, fern spores, organisms we’d all recognise today, and definitely not the big, charismatic and recognisable beasts from this time period, mammals such as mammoths, sabre toothed cats etc. The islands haven’t really had the depositional environments nor the time in which fossils could be preserved, and even if there were, it would be the remains and subfossils of very contemporary faunas and floras, i.e. like animals and plants we know and recognise today. If there are marine fossils in the shallow parts of the sea around the islands, we have no way of accessing them.
White-crowned sparrow (Zonotrichia leucophrys), at the Riparian Preserve at Water Ranch, Gilbert, Arizona.
I love the common little birds. Sometimes they turn out to have uncommon abilities. These sparrows sing songs built of snippets and themes from the songs of birds they are exposed to when very young. Consequently, song dialects can emerge, and if a cohort is in an area where two distinct white-crowned dialects overlap, birds in that group will become fluent singing both songs.
From their beginnings, Candomblé terreiros in general and Bantu-based religion in particular have functioned as sources of social and political mobilization for Afro-Brazilians. While in the past the religion was mainly directed inward toward the community—for example, promoting dignity and carrying out processes of healing—nowadays Bantu culture and religion has also been directed outward, toward achieving social and political ends. ACBANTU’s (Cultural Association for the Preservation of Bantu Heritage) discourse explicitly connects recognition with redistribution, demanding that municipal, state, and federal governments acknowledge the presence of Bantu-based groups in Brazil and include them in the allocation of resources. There has been an increasing interdependence between the struggle for recognition—the need to repair cultural prejudice—and redistribution—the need to repair socioeconomic injustice (Fraser 1997).
The fight for recognition takes place mainly in the realm of communication between different groups within a given society, thus requiring the production and circulation of new cultural representations that will allow for the reinterpretation of the image of the subjugated group. Redistribution is sought mainly by demanding the establishment of new public policies that can be legitimatized only if new representations of the oppressed groups successfully challenge previously hegemonic notions. Therefore, recognition and redistribution are not two separate spheres but are intrinsically connected realms. In their struggles for social justice, grassroots organizations seek both components at once. The interconnection between recognition and redistribution is presented in a discourse in which tradition does not oppose modernity, as is made clear in the statement of Ana Maria Placidino, educator and co-founder of ACBANTU: “We have a whole heritage to protect. We’re traditional communities … that carry out traditional activities in the ways we collect food, fish, and cook, for instance. … But we also want to have access to public policies.”
- “Nurturing Bantu Africanness in Bahia,“ inComparative Perspectives on Afro-Latin America by Kwame Dixon and John Burdick (2012)
All the time we spent playing this Massively Multiplayer Online Game, enshrining the information and history on our wikis.
And now the game, Club Penguin will officially close it’s Abode Flash doors for good.
I highly recommend playing all you can, visit all the rooms, replay all the minigames, feed and care for all the puffles you’ve adopted (or release some, if you wish), buy a lot of items, earn as many stamps as possible and just explore.
However, I’m not sure if the website will be preserved after the fall, so go to the Wayback Machine, and try to save all those recipes and activities in case someone is a blast-to-the-past searcher for fun.
Allah - there is no deity except Him, the Ever-Living, the Sustainer of [all] existence. Neither drowsiness overtakes Him nor sleep. To Him belongs whatever is in the heavens and whatever is on the earth. Who is it that can intercede with Him except by His permission? He knows what is [presently] before them and what will be after them, and they encompass not a thing of His knowledge except for what He wills. His Kursi extends over the heavens and the earth, and their preservation tires Him not. And He is the Most High, the Most Great.
Non ci sono grandi insegne al neon ad indicare il Preservation Hall ma solo una targa scolorita. Dentro non ci sono camerieri sorridenti, non c'è un barista svogliato ma pronto a prepararvi qualunque schifezza vogliate bere. Cristo, non ci troverete nemmeno la più scadente delle birre in lattina! Non c'è molto posto a sedere, solo qualche scomoda panca in legno che metterà a dura prova il vostro posteriore. Manca perfino il microfono per chi deve cantare ma sapete cosa non manca mai? Il jazz. Già, perché il Preservation Hall è lì appunto per preservarne intatto lo spirito. Perciò, se quel che volete è un sassofono accompagnato da tromba, trombone, contrabbasso, piano e grancassa, se cercate un'ora di strumenti che si rincorrono e si alternano l'uno con l'altro, se volete sentirvi scorrere la buona, vecchia Nola nelle orecchie beh, allora è di qui che dovete passare. C'è una cosa che a New Orleans non tramonta mai, una religione che qui domina sulle altre: la musica. E a quel che sembra ci sono tutti i presupposti perché così continui ad essere, nei secoli dei secoli. Amen.
Today I wanted to capture the peak of the “carpet effect” of the explosion of wildflowers in the California desert. These photos show us those carpets. The snow-capped mountain in the first photo is Mt. San Gorgonio, taken from the entrance road to Mission Creek Preserve. The snow-capped mountain in the third photo is Mt. San Gorgonio, taken from Whitewater Canyon Road. The flowers are predominantly brittebush (encilia).
Tomorrow, I’m driving toward area east of Joshua Tree National Park, with the plan to take photos of purple wildflower carpets. I’ll share those tomorrow if I do that.
Iraqi women, myself included, are so damn pressurised to marry early, even within the diaspora. You would think that Iraqi parents would figure out that we don’t live in Iraq and therefore women here have much more of a chance of thriving careers and self-sustenance. If not, we have the welfare system here too. But apparently we still need to be “protected and settled down.” Apparently it’s just impossible for a woman to lead a life of her own because if she does that, she could possibly ruin the honour of the family by going out and doing naughty things so she needs to have a good man watch over her. What “good” is a man who requires you to ask him for permission before going outside and travelling anywhere, who will police you on how you dress and leave all the emotional, sexual and domestic labour to you, regardless of whether you do paid work or not?
Why is the preservation and sustenance of a woman’s hymen until she gets married more important than investing in her education, career and personal achievements? Why is it so super important to protect this hymen which is considered as more sacred than even her limbs? Why is it so emphasised that she must find a man above all else, otherwise we will be forever terrified for the state of her hymen?
I’ve been told, literally “Get married because you have a bad reputation amongst your relatives. If you stay unmarried, that will be their excuse to say that you have no honour.”
I don’t want any “honour” if that means being a prisoner forever.
Comprised of 4 million acres in southwest Alaska, Lake Clark National Park and Preserve is one of the nation’s most remote national parks. Winter conditions add more challenges to those wanting to explore this gorgeous and diverse landscape, but as you can see, the backcountry scenes are worth the cold. Photo of Tanalian Falls by James Walton, National Park Service.