(Source: akaixab)
A meritocracy is a system in which the people who are the luckiest in their health and genetic endowment; luckiest in terms of family support, encouragement, and, probably, income; luckiest in their educational and career opportunities; and luckiest in so many other ways difficult to enumerate — these are the folks who reap the largest rewards. The only way for even a putative meritocracy to hope to pass ethical muster, to be considered fair, is if those who are the luckiest in all of those respects also have the greatest responsibility to work hard, to contribute to the betterment of the world, and to share their luck with others.
Ben Bernanke’s commencement address at Princeton University. (via theatlantic)
(via theatlantic)
This was the first time I saw a hummingbird. Who said that they never sit still? They do! They also pose for us ;)
San Diego, CA
This is an image I made in the 70s of Boston’s Haymarket outdoor street market which had been in existence since the late 19th century. The maket thrived until the late sixties, early seventies when redevelopment of the Boston Harbor waterfront began. By the time of the the “Big Dig” it was all but given up for dead. Haymarket survived and thrived and is now as popular as it ever was. During most of its time vendors obtained their produce from distributors who collected from farms just outside of Boston who took their goods to Faneuil Hall market stalls where vendors from the Italian North End would make their purchases. What wasn’t sold to hotels, grocers, institutions, and restaurants was loaded onto pushcarts and sold on weekends at Haymarket. The still fresh fruits and vegetables were discounted and people from all over the city would shop there. Outdoor markets are now found all across New England featuring local grown products and remain quite popular. Vendors at Haymarket now, for the most part, choose their products from distributors located in Chelsea, MA.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place, and in the sky,
The larks, still bravely singing, fly,
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead; short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe!
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high!
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
by John McCrae
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