"Girl with Pearl Earrings" (+) OK! China, April 2013 photographer: Jumbo Tsui Liu Wen

"Girl with Pearl Earrings" (+)
OK! China, April 2013 
photographer: Jumbo Tsui
Liu Wen

Madonna - What It Feels Like For A Girl (Lukes Spanglish mix 2)

It has some of the Spanish version, which I’ve never heard.

"Modern Elegance" (+) Elle Japan, June 2013 photographer: Tisch Chrystal Copland

"Modern Elegance" (+)
Elle Japan, June 2013 
photographer: Tisch
Chrystal Copland

"Modern Elegance" (+) Elle Japan, June 2013 photographer: Tisch Chrystal Copland

"Modern Elegance" (+)
Elle Japan, June 2013 
photographer: Tisch
Chrystal Copland

"Modern Elegance" (+) Elle Japan, June 2013 photographer: Tisch Chrystal Copland

"Modern Elegance" (+)
Elle Japan, June 2013 
photographer: Tisch
Chrystal Copland

"Modern Elegance" (+) Elle Japan, June 2013 photographer: Tisch Chrystal Copland

"Modern Elegance" (+)
Elle Japan, June 2013 
photographer: Tisch
Chrystal Copland

"Modern Elegance" (+) Elle Japan, June 2013 photographer: Tisch Chrystal Copland

"Modern Elegance" (+)
Elle Japan, June 2013 
photographer: Tisch
Chrystal Copland

"Modern Elegance" (+) Elle Japan, June 2013 photographer: Tisch Chrystal Copland

"Modern Elegance" (+)
Elle Japan, June 2013 
photographer: Tisch
Chrystal Copland

I had an auto-repair man once who, on these intelligence tests, could not possibly have scored more than 80 by my estimate. I always took it for granted that I was far more intelligent than he was. Yet, when anything went wrong with my car, I hastened to him with it, watched him anxiously as he explored its vitals, and listened to his pronouncements as though they were divine oracles— and he always fixed my car. Well, then, suppose my auto-repair man devised questions for an intelligence test. Or suppose a carpenter did, or a farmer, or, indeed, almost anyone but an academician. By every one of those tests, I’d prove myself a moron, and I’d be a moron, too. In a world where I could not use my academic training and my verbal talents but had to do something intricate or hard, working with my hands, I would do poorly. My intelligence, then, is not absolute but is a function of the society I live in and of the fact that a small subsection of that society has managed to foist itself on the rest as an arbiter of such matters.

Consider my auto-repair man, again. He had a habit of telling me jokes whenever he saw me. One time, he raised his head from under the automobile hood to say, “Doc, a deaf-and-mute guy went into a hardware store to ask for some nails. He put two fingers together on the counter and made hammering motions with the other hand. The clerk brought him a hammer. He shook his head and pointed to the two fingers he was hammering. The clerk brought him nails. He picked out the sizes he wanted, and left. Well, doc, the next guy who came in was a blind man. He wanted scissors. How do you suppose he asked for them?”

Indulgently, I lifted my right hand and made scissoring motions with my first two fingers. Whereupon my auto-repair man laughed raucously and said, “Why, you dumb jerk, he used his voice and asked for them.”

Then he said smugly, “I’ve been trying that on all my customers today.”

“Did you catch many?” I asked.

“Quite a few,” he said, “but I knew for sure I’d catch you.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Because you’re so goddamned educated, doc, I knew you couldn’t be very smart.”

Isaac Asimov

// aarjhen:skinnybaras

reblogged via aarjhen
Vogue Spain, March 2013 (+) photographer: Michelangelo di Battista Rosie Huntington-Whiteley

Vogue Spain, March 2013 (+)
photographer: Michelangelo di Battista
Rosie Huntington-Whiteley

Vogue Spain, March 2013 (+) photographer: Michelangelo di Battista Rosie Huntington-Whiteley

Vogue Spain, March 2013 (+)
photographer: Michelangelo di Battista
Rosie Huntington-Whiteley