I have also spent time in Istanbul more recently than in Paris and have more friends who have lived in Istanbul than in Paris.
The visualization featured here looks at these areas in terms of Internet penetration (i.e., the share of their population that have ‘used the Internet (from any location) in the last 12 months’ where ‘Internet can be used via a computer, mobile phone, personal digital assistant, games machine, digital TV etc.’ (United Nations (UN), 2015).
The Archipelago of Disconnection highlights all territories that either have Internet penetration below 10% (coloured yellow) or for which no data from the World Bank exist (orange)…
Among these very poorly connected Sub-Saharan nations there are some very populous countries – the three largest are Ethiopia (with 94 million inhabitants), the Democratic Republic of the Congo (68 million) and Tanzania (49 million) – with an overall Internet penetration of a mere 2.6%. [link]
In honor of post-Brexit xenophobia, a reminder that this didn’t just start last week …
To the Student Who Asked Why He Earned a “C” on an Essay about Love
by Clint Margrave
Because love has its own grammar,
its own sentences,
some that run-on too long,
others just fragments.
It uses a language
not always appropriate
or too informal,
and often lacks clarity.
Love is punctuated all wrong,
changes tenses abruptly,
on the first person,
can be redundant,
full of unnecessary repetition.
Every word is compounded.
Every phrase, transitional.
Love doesn’t always know the difference
between lie and lay,
its introductions sometimes
lack a well-developed thesis,
its claims go unfounded,
its ad-hominem attacks
call in question
With a style that’s inconsistent,
a voice either too critical
or too passive,
love is a rough draft
in constant need of revision,
rarely gives any sense
or reveals the lingering
possibilities of a topic
that always expects high praise,
and more often than not
fails to be anything
Professor Michael Rosen, British children’s novelist and poet, author of 140 books. [link]
Levi had already glimpsed an unpleasant instinct lurking beneath the polite surface of the Bayer headquarters outside Cologne, when an employee observed that it was “most unusual” for an Italian to speak German. Levi countered: “My name is Levi. I am a Jew, and I learned your language at Auschwitz”. A stuttering apology was followed by silence…
Levi’s most dramatic encounter – what he later called “the hour of colloquy” – took place one lunchtime at Bayer’s guesthouse on Kaiser-Wilhelm-Allee. He was seated at the dining table in shirtsleeves and making small talk when a director asked him about the 174517 tattoo exposed on his forearm. Levi instantly replied: “It’s a memento of Auschwitz”. Accati’s daughter Luisa, who was in Germany with her father to improve her spoken German, recalled the scene: “All one could hear was a polite clatter of forks on plates as ten Germans – all men – shifted awkwardly in their seats”. [link]
…I went running. I ran a little way, then walked a little way, over and over, for 20 minutes. And when I got home, the serotonin rush was so strong, my head felt as though it was hosting a firework display. I wrote down how I felt: “I want to go up to strangers and lick their faces”; “I am Jesus in trainers.” God, I was so high.
Because of this, it occurred to me that I’ve had a fundamental fact about my life completely wrong. All the years that I spent going to nightclubs, I thought I was out of my head because of the music and the people and the stimulants. And, actually, I was out of it because of the exercise. Dancing all night: that was the rush.
Now I go running, round the park, twice a week. I wear my Lycra trousers and my trainers and I run very slowly, not much faster than most people walk… I have taken part in one race, a 10K, because I was asked to by an editor. I ran at a very slow speed (afterwards, I discovered that I was in the slowest 5% of runners). I didn’t stop, which I was very proud of, and I walked for a long way afterwards, trying to find a bus to get home. [link]