Man Bites Panda
Sometimes it takes a lot of work to uncover news stories to make fun of. Other times, God delivers them to your doorstep nicely gift-wrapped with a little tag that says, "Cheers!"
The case of Chinese building worker Zhang Xinyan is one of those fortuitous latter opportunities. Mr. Zhang, having had four pints of beer over lunch while on holiday, decided it would be a neat idea to intrude into the territory of one of nature's most adorable beasts; one who has captured the hearts of the world yet is unfortunately known for being somewhat inept with its young.
No, not Britney Spears. A giant panda.
Zhang jumped the fence a
The dynamic between core staff, volunteer staff, and the community can at times be pure quality dArama.
It's worth noting that for years I've worked pretty hard to remain neutral on community politics. Today, I'm going to shatter that concept.
Needless to say, I am extremely politically aware of the inner workings of the deviantART community. I read *a lot* of journals, comments, forums, chat rooms. I have fake accounts. I spy.
But I don't spend my time talking politics, instead I focus internally at deviantART designing technologies and implementing understandings with core staff to address the issues I see pop up.
It's time to take a mo
Skimming through the internet, a girl found a young man (or so he claimed) asking for help in acquiring some paints so he could expand his artistic horizons. Since she had a stash of extras, and she enjoyed seeing people try new things, she offered to send them to him. He agreed happily and sent his address, and the paints were off.
Within a week, the young man had received the paints and was practicing with them. He began painting for his friends. And he told the paint-gifting girl that he would make her something, too.
Soon, a picture showed up in the young man's online art gallery. It had her name in its title. It was meant for her. It
Two Kinds of Christmas by NatalieKelsey, literature
Literature
Two Kinds of Christmas
A warm, citrus-scented breeze wafts across my face and I open my eyes, gazing out my open window at the green trees and the bright blue sky. Untangling my too-long legs from my too-warm sheets, I stretch out my full ten-year-old body and hop out of bed excitedly, roughly shoving my glasses onto my face with momentary distaste. Mixing with the orange-blossom smell is a delicious bacon smell. Daddy's cooking! It's Christmas Eve!
I run down the hall, clumsily lurching around corners till I reach the living room, where I pause and lower my glasses so I can see the Christmas tree all blurred and lovely, a jumbled rainbow of love. I then scamper o
Dear Diary,
I ate a sandwich today. I realized for the first time that one does not use a spoon to eat them. I was at the deli and I ordered my usual, a turkey breast with salmon, bacon, and teriyaki sauce, sat down and began to eat, spoon in hand. The man next to me turned and said, "You know… You don't use a spoon to eat sandwichs…"
This blew me away. All that I had known: destroyed. My world became swirling mist of the unknown. Every fact I thought I knew suddenly came into question. The way of the universe died that day.
The man grew concerned about the glazed look I had while I was shaking uncontrollably in my chair. I snapped to, spo
To my Neighbor,
Thank you for refraining from calling the police last night. I must admit (abstaining from any zealous, overreaching hyperboles) that we were slightly excitable during the time in question but boys will be boys, wont they? From the early days when we fling aerodynamically aligned mud pies to the day we graduate to flaming rolls of toilet paper, were still just boys attempting to emulate our ancient forefathers. Those early men who roamed across majestic safari plains, hunting strange and diverse mammals with crude tools, the first flairs of human design be
Hour of Eternal Grace
December 25, 1914
The slime of the waterlogged trench goes up to my knees, making things quite unpleasant. My stomach rumbles, and my feet are numb. It is my duty to stand watch on the fire step, so I begrudgingly take my place.
"Mornin George….what a way to spend Christmas Morn eh? Fritz is pretty quiet today, but I don't blame 'em with it bein Christmas and all." Says Owens in a thoroughly exhausted voice. It is the usual exchange of pleasantries, and Owens hauls his bleary and mud-splattered self towards the dug out.
"Cheer up!" I call after him "It's Christmas morning!"
"Is that hesitation I hear in your voice?