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pokemoncanoncalls · 4 months
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Hello, I'm Dawn/Akari from both Diamond/Pearl and Legends Arceus!
I'm looking for anyone I knew from either game, and also Emmet + Elesa since I knew them from Ingo! I had some sort of ambiguous found family dynamic with Ingo (and, again, later Emmet+Elesa), but other than that all relationships match canon.
I'm 18, but willing to talk to anyone! Preferred method of contact is through my blog @hisuian-dawn, but I'll check the post for likes a few days after posting :)
ㅤㅤᓚᘏᗢ
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you're telling me that people in the past could tell if a letter was written by a man or a woman because people were taught different scripts based on their gender?!
"In 1845[,] writing master James French issued two copybooks, a Gentlemen's Writing Book, bound in blue, and a Ladies ' Writing Book, bound in pink. In the former, French's male students practiced their mercantile running hand [a script style used by 18th- and 19th-century American and English businessmen] ... while their female counterparts rehearsed the ladies' epistolary [a more delicate and ornamented writing style, taught to women and girls of the era instead of the styles considered proper for males] ... " Source: Handwriting in America: A Cultural History by historian Tamara Plakins Thornton, 1998, p. 43.
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kammartinez · 7 months
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Because I am a writer, and because I am a hoarder, my apartment is littered with notebooks that contain a mixture of journal entries and school assignments. Many pages don’t have dates, but I can tell which era of my life they correspond to just by looking at the handwriting. In the earliest examples, from elementary school, my print is angular, jagged; even the s’s and j’s turn sharp corners. In middle school, when I wanted to be more feminine (and was otherwise failing), I made my letters rounder, every curve a bubble ready to pop. In my junior year of high school, when it was time to get serious about applying to college, I switched to cursive, slender and tightly controlled.
Each of my metamorphoses was made in keeping with a centuries-old American belief that people—types of people, even—can be defined by how they write their letters. Now, though, this form of signaling may be obsolete. In the age of text on screens, many of us hardly write by hand at all, so we rarely get the chance to assess one another’s character through penmanship. Handwriting, as a language of its own, is dying out.
Over the centuries, the way people read that language has shifted. Until the 1800s, at least in the U.S., writing styles were less an act of self-expression than a marker of your social category, including your profession. “There were certain font types for merchants, for example, that were supposed to reflect the efficiency and the speed with which merchants work,” Tamara Plakins Thornton, a historian at the University at Buffalo and the author of Handwriting in America, told me. Lawyers used a different script, aristocrats another, and so on. The distinctions were enforced—by social norms, by teachers, by clients and colleagues and employers.
Men and women, too, were assigned their own fonts. Men were taught “muscular handwriting,” Carla Peterson, an emeritus professor of English at the University of Maryland, told me. They used roundhand, a larger script that was meant to be produced with more pressure on the quill or pen; women, by contrast, learned the narrower Italian script, akin to today’s italics. The latter style was compressed, says Ewan Clayton, a handwriting expert at the University of Sunderland, in the United Kingdom, in the same way that women’s waists might be limited by contemporary fashion. Eventually, women switched to using roundhand too.
The idea that handwriting styles might differ meaningfully from one person to another—and that those differences could be a means of showing your true nature—really took off in the 19th century, around the time that business correspondence and records started being outsourced to the typewriter. As penmanship was freed from professional constraints, it became more personal. “It was really believed that handwriting could be the articulation of self, that indeed the character of script said something about the character of a person,” says Mark Alan Mattes, an assistant English professor at the University of Louisville and the editor of the upcoming collection Handwriting in Early America.
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Samples of “purely intuitive” (top) and “purely deductive” (bottom) handwriting styles from Talks on Graphology by Helen Lamson Robinson and M. L. Robinson
Graphological tendencies continued into the early 20th century, when researchers published studies proclaiming that readers could guess a person’s gender from their script with better-than-chance accuracy—as if students hadn’t still been taught that boys and girls should write in different ways as of just a few decades prior. Through the 1970s, scientists were plumbing handwriting for character traits; one study found that “missing i dots are related to the nonsubmissive, non-egocentric, socially interested person,” whereas the “number of circled i dots relates positively to the intelligent and sophisticated personality.”
Handwriting analysis moved further toward the fringe in the age of computer connectivity, when typing took over. “We are witnessing the death of handwriting,” Time proclaimed in 2009. Things have only gotten more digital since then. I now spend half of my waking life talking with my co-workers, and I have no idea what any of their writing looks like. Same for the subset of my friends who don’t happen to send birthday cards. One of my best friends is getting married next year, and I have never seen her fiancé’s handwriting. How am I supposed to know whether he tends toward deduction or intuition, whether he’s intelligent or socially interested, whether he’s an artist or a serial killer?
Let me be clear: Graphology is, as Thornton told me, “complete B.S.” Very few innate factors influence a person’s penmanship. Neither legibility nor messiness indicates intelligence. (Both claims have been made.) Handwriting can be used to diagnose conditions that affect a person’s movements, such as Parkinson’s, but you can’t learn anything about a person’s moral fiber by how they cross their t’s. What you can learn is how that person has been socialized to present themselves to the world, says Seth Perlow, an associate English professor at Georgetown. Doctors have a culture of sloppy writing; teen girls have a culture of dotting their i’s with tiny hearts. Girls don’t write that way because they’re feminine; they write that way because they’ve learned that tiny hearts are associated with femininity.
I remember practicing my letters as a kid when I got bored in class, adjusting the parts I didn’t like, adding and removing the belts from my 7s, the caps from my a’s. Testing out a new style was like trying on a new outfit in front of a mirror—assessing how it looked, knowing other people would see it too. Now, as handwriting becomes less and less enmeshed in our daily lives, Thornton told me, “there’s good reason to think this is not an arena for self-expression. It’s just something you have to learn and get away with as best you can.” If you want to assert your identity, and you want people to see it, you’re more likely to do so by sculpting your appearance, adding your pronouns to your Instagram bio, or updating LinkedIn so everyone knows you’re a merchant without having to decipher your chicken scratch.
In fact, many of the qualities that were once conveyed with a certain type of handwriting—literary bent or emotional openness, for example—may now be conveyed by the act of putting pen to paper at all. Perlow has studied the practice of posting photos of handwritten poems on Instagram, and he told me that it “conjures a feeling of personal authenticity or expressiveness or direct contact with the personality of the poet.”
Tech companies have even tried to sell that feeling, in the form of computer-generated “handwriting.” Services such as Handwrytten, Simply Noted, and Pen Letters allow customers to type out a message that a robot will then transcribe, using an actual pen, in any number of “handwriting” styles. (The robot-written letter is then mailed on your behalf.) But these tools run the risk of conjuring less a sense of personal authenticity than one of inconsiderate laziness. If a friend or family member sent me one of these cards, I’d be annoyed that they didn’t put in the time, or the work, to write out a message with their own, human hand.
Perhaps that’s really what handwriting comes down to in the digital age: time and work. My husband and I write letters to each other a few times every year, and it’s a grueling act of love. Figuring out what I want to say is an emotional and intellectual project. But after a few paragraphs, the challenge becomes mostly physical. The muscles of my right palm start to cramp up; my ring finger aches from where I rest the pen against it. I’d like to think my determination to write through the discomfort says more about me than the script I settled on a decade ago.
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kamreadsandrecs · 7 months
Text
Because I am a writer, and because I am a hoarder, my apartment is littered with notebooks that contain a mixture of journal entries and school assignments. Many pages don’t have dates, but I can tell which era of my life they correspond to just by looking at the handwriting. In the earliest examples, from elementary school, my print is angular, jagged; even the s’s and j’s turn sharp corners. In middle school, when I wanted to be more feminine (and was otherwise failing), I made my letters rounder, every curve a bubble ready to pop. In my junior year of high school, when it was time to get serious about applying to college, I switched to cursive, slender and tightly controlled.
Each of my metamorphoses was made in keeping with a centuries-old American belief that people—types of people, even—can be defined by how they write their letters. Now, though, this form of signaling may be obsolete. In the age of text on screens, many of us hardly write by hand at all, so we rarely get the chance to assess one another’s character through penmanship. Handwriting, as a language of its own, is dying out.
Over the centuries, the way people read that language has shifted. Until the 1800s, at least in the U.S., writing styles were less an act of self-expression than a marker of your social category, including your profession. “There were certain font types for merchants, for example, that were supposed to reflect the efficiency and the speed with which merchants work,” Tamara Plakins Thornton, a historian at the University at Buffalo and the author of Handwriting in America, told me. Lawyers used a different script, aristocrats another, and so on. The distinctions were enforced—by social norms, by teachers, by clients and colleagues and employers.
Men and women, too, were assigned their own fonts. Men were taught “muscular handwriting,” Carla Peterson, an emeritus professor of English at the University of Maryland, told me. They used roundhand, a larger script that was meant to be produced with more pressure on the quill or pen; women, by contrast, learned the narrower Italian script, akin to today’s italics. The latter style was compressed, says Ewan Clayton, a handwriting expert at the University of Sunderland, in the United Kingdom, in the same way that women’s waists might be limited by contemporary fashion. Eventually, women switched to using roundhand too.
The idea that handwriting styles might differ meaningfully from one person to another—and that those differences could be a means of showing your true nature—really took off in the 19th century, around the time that business correspondence and records started being outsourced to the typewriter. As penmanship was freed from professional constraints, it became more personal. “It was really believed that handwriting could be the articulation of self, that indeed the character of script said something about the character of a person,” says Mark Alan Mattes, an assistant English professor at the University of Louisville and the editor of the upcoming collection Handwriting in Early America.
Tumblr media
Samples of “purely intuitive” (top) and “purely deductive” (bottom) handwriting styles from Talks on Graphology by Helen Lamson Robinson and M. L. Robinson
Graphological tendencies continued into the early 20th century, when researchers published studies proclaiming that readers could guess a person’s gender from their script with better-than-chance accuracy—as if students hadn’t still been taught that boys and girls should write in different ways as of just a few decades prior. Through the 1970s, scientists were plumbing handwriting for character traits; one study found that “missing i dots are related to the nonsubmissive, non-egocentric, socially interested person,” whereas the “number of circled i dots relates positively to the intelligent and sophisticated personality.”
Handwriting analysis moved further toward the fringe in the age of computer connectivity, when typing took over. “We are witnessing the death of handwriting,” Time proclaimed in 2009. Things have only gotten more digital since then. I now spend half of my waking life talking with my co-workers, and I have no idea what any of their writing looks like. Same for the subset of my friends who don’t happen to send birthday cards. One of my best friends is getting married next year, and I have never seen her fiancé’s handwriting. How am I supposed to know whether he tends toward deduction or intuition, whether he’s intelligent or socially interested, whether he’s an artist or a serial killer?
Let me be clear: Graphology is, as Thornton told me, “complete B.S.” Very few innate factors influence a person’s penmanship. Neither legibility nor messiness indicates intelligence. (Both claims have been made.) Handwriting can be used to diagnose conditions that affect a person’s movements, such as Parkinson’s, but you can’t learn anything about a person’s moral fiber by how they cross their t’s. What you can learn is how that person has been socialized to present themselves to the world, says Seth Perlow, an associate English professor at Georgetown. Doctors have a culture of sloppy writing; teen girls have a culture of dotting their i’s with tiny hearts. Girls don’t write that way because they’re feminine; they write that way because they’ve learned that tiny hearts are associated with femininity.
I remember practicing my letters as a kid when I got bored in class, adjusting the parts I didn’t like, adding and removing the belts from my 7s, the caps from my a’s. Testing out a new style was like trying on a new outfit in front of a mirror—assessing how it looked, knowing other people would see it too. Now, as handwriting becomes less and less enmeshed in our daily lives, Thornton told me, “there’s good reason to think this is not an arena for self-expression. It’s just something you have to learn and get away with as best you can.” If you want to assert your identity, and you want people to see it, you’re more likely to do so by sculpting your appearance, adding your pronouns to your Instagram bio, or updating LinkedIn so everyone knows you’re a merchant without having to decipher your chicken scratch.
In fact, many of the qualities that were once conveyed with a certain type of handwriting—literary bent or emotional openness, for example—may now be conveyed by the act of putting pen to paper at all. Perlow has studied the practice of posting photos of handwritten poems on Instagram, and he told me that it “conjures a feeling of personal authenticity or expressiveness or direct contact with the personality of the poet.”
Tech companies have even tried to sell that feeling, in the form of computer-generated “handwriting.” Services such as Handwrytten, Simply Noted, and Pen Letters allow customers to type out a message that a robot will then transcribe, using an actual pen, in any number of “handwriting” styles. (The robot-written letter is then mailed on your behalf.) But these tools run the risk of conjuring less a sense of personal authenticity than one of inconsiderate laziness. If a friend or family member sent me one of these cards, I’d be annoyed that they didn’t put in the time, or the work, to write out a message with their own, human hand.
Perhaps that’s really what handwriting comes down to in the digital age: time and work. My husband and I write letters to each other a few times every year, and it’s a grueling act of love. Figuring out what I want to say is an emotional and intellectual project. But after a few paragraphs, the challenge becomes mostly physical. The muscles of my right palm start to cramp up; my ring finger aches from where I rest the pen against it. I’d like to think my determination to write through the discomfort says more about me than the script I settled on a decade ago.
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lenbryant · 2 years
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From The Atlantic: Gen Z Never Learned to Read Cursive
How will they interpret the past?
Drew Gilpin Faust
September 16, 2022
It was a good book, the student told the 14 others in the undergraduate seminar I was teaching, and it included a number of excellent illustrations, such as photographs of relevant Civil War manuscripts. But, he continued, those weren’t very helpful to him, because of course he couldn’t read cursive.
Had I heard him correctly? Who else can’t read cursive? I asked the class. The answer: about two-thirds. And who can’t write it? Even more. What did they do about signatures? They had invented them by combining vestiges of whatever cursive instruction they may have had with creative squiggles and flourishes. Amused by my astonishment, the students offered reflections about the place—or absence—of handwriting in their lives. Instead of the Civil War past, we found ourselves exploring a different set of historical changes. In my ignorance, I became their pupil as well as a kind of historical artifact, a Rip van Winkle confronting a transformed world.
In 2010, cursive was omitted from the new national Common Core standards for K–12 education. The students in my class, and their peers, were then somewhere in elementary school. Handwriting instruction had already been declining as laptops and tablets and lessons in “keyboarding” assumed an ever more prominent place in the classroom. Most of my students remembered getting no more than a year or so of somewhat desultory cursive training, which was often pushed aside by a growing emphasis on “teaching to the test.” Now in college, they represent the vanguard of a cursiveless world.
Although I was unaware of it at the time, the 2010 Common Core policy on cursive had generated an uproar. Jeremiads about the impending decline of civilization appeared in The Atlantic, The New Yorker, The New York Times, and elsewhere. Defenders of script argued variously that knowledge of cursive was “a basic right,” a key connection between hand and brain, an essential form of self-discipline, and a fundamental expression of identity. Its disappearance would represent a craven submission to “the tyranny of ‘relevance.’ ”
In the future, cursive will have to be taught to scholars the way Elizabethan secretary hand or paleography is today.
Within a decade, cursive’s embattled advocates had succeeded in passing measures requiring some sort of cursive instruction in more than 20 states. At the same time, the struggle for cursive became part of a growing, politicized nostalgia for a lost past. In 2016, Louisiana’s state senators reminded their constituents that the Declaration of Independence had been written in cursive and cried out “America!” as they unanimously voted to restore handwriting instruction across the state.
Yet the decline in cursive seems inevitable. Writing is, after all, a technology, and most technologies are sooner or later surpassed and replaced. As Tamara Plakins Thornton demonstrates in her book Handwriting in America, it has always been affected by changing social and cultural forces. In 18th-century America, writing was the domain of the privileged. By law or custom, the enslaved were prohibited from literacy almost everywhere. In New England, nearly all men and women could read; in the South, which had not developed an equivalent system of common schools, a far lower percentage of even the white population could do so. Writing, though, was much less widespread—taught separately and sparingly in colonial America, most often to men of status and responsibility and to women of the upper classes. Men and women even learned different scripts—an ornamental hand for ladies, and an unadorned, more functional form for the male world of power and commerce.
The first half of the 19th century saw a dramatic increase in the number of women able to write. By 1860, more than 90 percent of the white population in America could both read and write. At the same time, romantic and Victorian notions of subjectivity steadily enhanced the perceived connection between handwriting and identity. Penmanship came to be seen as a marker and expression of the self—of gender and class, to be sure, but also of deeper elements of character and soul. The notion of a signature as a unique representation of a particular individual gradually came to be enshrined in the law and accepted as legitimate legal evidence.
By the turn of the 20th century, the typewriter had become sufficiently established to prompt the first widespread declarations of the obsolescence of handwriting. But it would be a long demise. In 1956, Look magazine pronounced handwriting “out-of-date,” yet cursive still claimed a secure place in the curriculum for decades.
Given a current generation of students in which so few can read or write cursive, one cannot assume it will ever again serve as an effective form of communication. I asked my students about the implications of what they had told me, focusing first on their experience as students. No, most of these history students admitted, they could not read manuscripts. If they were assigned a research paper, they sought subjects that relied only on published sources. One student reshaped his senior honors thesis for this purpose; another reported that she did not pursue her interest in Virginia Woolf for an assignment that would have involved reading Woolf’s handwritten letters. In the future, cursive will have to be taught to scholars the way Elizabethan secretary hand or paleography is today.
I continued questioning: Didn’t professors make handwritten comments on their papers and exams? Many of the students found these illegible. Sometimes they would ask a teacher to decipher the comments; more often they just ignored them. Most faculty, especially after the remote instruction of the pandemic, now grade online. But I wondered how many of my colleagues have been dutifully offering handwritten observations without any clue that they would never be read.
What about handwriting in your personal lives? I went on. One student reported that he had to ask his parents to “translate” handwritten letters from his grandparents. I asked the students if they made grocery lists, kept journals, or wrote thank-you or condolence letters. Almost all said yes. Almost all said they did so on laptops and phones or sometimes on paper in block letters. For many young people, “handwriting,” once essentially synonymous with cursive, has come to mean the painstaking printing they turn to when necessity dictates.
During my years as Harvard president, I regarded the handwritten note as a kind of superpower. I wrote hundreds of them and kept a pile of note cards in the upper-left-hand drawer of my desk. They provided a way to reach out and say: I am noticing you. This message of thanks or congratulations or sympathy comes not from some staff person or some machine but directly from me. I touched it and hope it touches you. Now I wonder how many recipients of these messages could not read them.
Sometimes handwritten documents tell stories that their creators neither intended nor understood.
“There is something charming about receiving a handwritten note,” one student acknowledged. Did he mean charming like an antique curiosity? Charming in the sense of magical in its capacity to create physical connections between human minds? Charming as in establishing an aura of the original, the unique, and the authentic? Perhaps all of these. One’s handwriting is an expression, an offering of self. Crowds still throng athletes, politicians, and rock stars for autographs. We have not yet abandoned our attraction to handwriting as a representation of presence: George Washington, or Beyoncé, or David Ortiz wrote here!
There is a great deal of the past we are better off without, just as there is much to celebrate in the devices that have served as the vehicles of cursive’s demise. But there are dangers in cursive’s loss. Students will miss the excitement and inspiration that I have seen them experience as they interact with the physical embodiment of thoughts and ideas voiced by a person long since silenced by death. Handwriting can make the past seem almost alive in the present.
In the papers of Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr., I once found a small fragment with his scribbled name and his father’s address. Holmes had emphasized the significance of this small piece of paper by attaching it to a larger page with a longer note—also in his own hand—which he saved as a relic for posterity. He had written the words in 1862 on the battlefield of Antietam, where he had been wounded, he explained, and had pinned the paper to his uniform lest he become one of the Civil War’s countless Unknown.
But sometimes handwritten documents tell stories that their creators neither intended nor understood. James Henry Hammond maintained a ledger in which he kept scrawled records of the births and deaths of the enslaved population on his South Carolina plantation. Because he included the names of the newborns’ parents and often some additional commentary, it was possible for me to reconstruct family ties among generations of people forbidden to keep their own written history. At one point, Hammond purchased an 8-year-old boy named Sam Jones to work in the house, changing his name to “Wesley” in the process. Nearly three decades later, Hammond recorded the birth of a son to Wesley—a child to whom Wesley had given the name “Sam Jones.” As he recorded the baby’s birth, Hammond was in all likelihood unaware of Sam/Wesley’s act of memory and resistance. More than a century and a half later, we can still say Sam Jones’s name.
All of us, not just students and scholars, will be affected by cursive’s loss. The inability to read handwriting deprives society of direct access to its own past. We will become reliant on a small group of trained translators and experts to report what history—including the documents and papers of our own families—was about. The spread of literacy in the early modern West was driven by people’s desire to read God’s word for themselves, to be empowered by an experience of unmediated connection. The abandonment of cursive represents a curious reverse parallel: We are losing a connection, and thereby disempowering ourselves.
On the last day of class, a student came up to me with a copy of one of my books and asked me to sign it. I wrote an inscription that included not just his name and mine, but thanks for his many contributions to the seminar. Then I asked, a little wistfully, if he’d like me to read it to him.
This article appears in the October 2022 print edition with the headline “Cursive Is History.” When you buy a book using a link on this page, we receive a commission. Thank you for supporting The Atlantic.
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fatehbaz · 4 years
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“’These are my conquests,” Josephine, wife of Napoleon Bonaparte, is reported to have said of the roses and lilies in her renowned garden showcase,” Bennett writes. [...] “She would spend as much as 3000 francs on a single rare bulb [...].”
Gardens are “the most political thing of all -- how you grow your food, whether you eat, the fact that the plant collectors followed the Conquistadors,” Leslie Marmon Silko told Ellen Arnold on the eve of the publication of Gardens in the Dunes [1999]. “You have the Conquistadors, [...] and right with them were the plant collectors.” [...] In Gardens, Silko uses the image of the garden to illustrate imperialism on international, national, local, and domestic levels. [...] Silko offers a microcosmic history of [...] conquest, European imperialism, and modern botanical piracy, while demonstrating commercial trivialization of the sacred. [...]
The gardens [...] exemplify America’s nineteenth-century gardening ideologies. In his 1782 Letters from an American Farmer, Hector St. John de Crevecoeur wrote of the spiritual benefits of agricultural labor. By the mid-nineteenth century, this idea had evolved into gardening as a form of moral calisthenics. [...] According to historian Tamara Plakins Thornton, in the 1820s “[h]orticulture entered the mainstream of American life ... as a movement [that] promised ... moral benefits to an entire nation.” [...] Further, by the 1890s, thanks to the early-nineteenth-century efforts of America’s premier landscape gardener, A.J. Downing, and, later, British gardening authority Gertrude Jekyll, landscape gardening had achieved the status of a fine art (Thornton; Bisgrove). It was in 1893 that historian Frederick Jackson Turner announced that the American frontier was “closed.” With [...] Native peoples more or less incarcerated on reservations, the American landscape garden provided a blank canvas on which the gardener could impose control and exercise her fine art [...].
[In Silko’s novel] kindly Mr. Abbott busies himself with agricultural experiments; he hopes to relieve hunger among the [white European] poor of the city [...]. Yet horticulture, as Mr. Abbott practices it, is a means of implanting American ideologies into the minds of the arriving [European] immigrants -- a microlevel exercise in nation building.
So preoccupied with the struggles of the urban [white European] poor, this [so-called] philanthropist seems oblivious to the fact that he and his neighbors are responsible for the displacement of the Mtinnecocks. [...] But perhaps Mr. Abbott is not unmindful at all; perhaps [...] he simply feels entitled to live wherever he pleases, even if that means displacing a community of indigenous people from their ancestral [land]. [...]
In Gardens nature is grossly manipulated by Euroamericans in landscapes that are designed to bolster the egos of their owners. [...]
“In a 1992 seminar,” notes Joni Adamson, “[Silko] explained that she wants readers to see [...] murder ‘side by side with what’s been done to cultures and populations and geography.’“ […] Lee Schweninger notes that in  [Silko’s] Ceremony, “[o]ppression of nature, Silko suggests, goes hand in hand with oppression according to race, gender, or class.” Silko reiterates this argument in Gardens. Plants “come from all over the world, and they’re also another way of looking at colonialism, because everywhere the colonials went, the plants came back from there,” Silko told Ellen Arnold. In Gardens plants are exquisite tokens that signify the international imperialism behind the botanical piracy in which [Euroamerican characters in the novel] engage. […] “Now, the Indians knew the value of wild orchids, but frequently white brokers came upriver and demanded their entire stock of a species to corner a market,” Silko’s narrator observes. “Indians who did not cooperate were flogged or tortured, much as they were at the Brazilian and Colombian rubber stations.” [...] The jungle scenes portray acts of gross violence in which the indigenous peoples and the land are […] exploited in the name of commercial imperialism. The pilfered cuttings, we know, will [then] be propagated and planted by the subjugated peoples of Britain’s Far Eastern colonies.
---
Text by: Terre Ryan. “The Nineteenth-Century Garden: Imperialism, Subsistence, and Subversion in Leslie Marmon Silko's Gardens in the Dunes.”  Studies in American Indian Literatures. Fall 2007.
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portalickemi · 4 years
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Gabimet që ju plakin më shpejt, çfarë duhet të shmangni   Plakja është një proces natyral të cilin njeriu nuk e eviton dot.  Megjithatë, njeriu dhe zgjedhjet e tij mund të ndikojnë në mënyrën e plakjes. 
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itsyourturnblog · 4 years
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Can you guess how I feel about cursive? Great, I won’t bother with the poetic critique today.
There’s an interesting article about cursive in the New York Times.
A Defense of Cursive, From a 10-Year-Old National Champion
One legislator in New Jersey (a Democrat!) is trying to pass a bill that would re-mandate cursive be taught in schools.
Her reasoning? She feels like her son can’t properly write his signature in cursive (like she can). How will he ever sign a home loan? Write an autograph? This is not hyperbole. It’s her actual reasoning. Ugh…palm meet head.
While the democracy stumbles onward, there’s an interesting quote in the article.
Professor Plakins Thornton, who wrote the book “Handwriting in America: A Cultural History,” said the pendulum tended to swing back toward cursive instruction during times of cultural upheaval. She pointed to the early 1900s, with its influx of immigrants, and the 1960s, when America was roiled by the antiwar movement and the sexual revolution, as two of the biggest heydays for cursive instruction.
“Cursive — it’s all about following rules,” she said. “Whenever the present looks scary and the future looks worse, we tend to want to go running back to the past.”
Ah ha. We’ve nailed it.
The present is scary. Let’s go backward to see if that cures the fear. Spoiler: it doesn’t.
Instead, let’s encourage our children to make new things. Write new words. Invent new languages. Connect with new people.
If we hold their hand and walk them toward what’s new and scary. They’ll do the same when we aren’t able to hold their hand anymore.
Today, in your class, send Assembly woman Angela McNight a piece of paper. On it, ask each student to sign their name. Cursive, print, symbol, animal, stamp, finger print — no wrong answers.
It’s about expanding the box, not shrinking it.
cursive was originally published in It's Your Turn on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
by Dave via It's Your Turn - Medium #itsyourturn #altMBA #SethGodin #quotes #inspiration #stories #change #transformation #writers #writing #self #shipping #personaldevelopment #growth #education #marketing #entrepreneurship #leadership #personaldev #wellness #medium #blogging #quoteoftheday #inspirationoftheday
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uartslibraries · 7 years
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Handwriting in America: A Cultural History
by Tamara Plakins Thornton
Call # 652.10973 T396h  
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xhemilbeharaj · 3 years
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Tri gabimet e përditshme që po ju plakin para kohe
Tri gabimet e përditshme që po ju plakin para kohe
Dëshira për të sfiduar kohën, për t’u dukur më i ri/e re sa jeni në të vërtetë ka lindur bashkë me njeriun dhe nuk është një shpikje e kohëve moderne, por sigurisht që prania e rrjeteve social e stimulon më së shumti. Ndoshta mund t’i fshihni disa vetes falë ndonjë filtri të smartphone-t tuaj, por sërish nuk mund ta frenoni këtë proces aq natyral. Megjithatë nëse tregoheni të kujdesshëm dhe…
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apelmedia · 4 years
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5 veprime që na plakin më shpejt
1. Qëndrimi ulur
Njerëzit që qëndrojnë ulur pjesën më të madhe të kohës dhe nuk ushtrohen duken 8 vite më të vjetër nga ç’janë në të vërtet. Qëndrimi ulur për shumë kohë është provuar se shkurton gjatësinë e kromozomeve, prandaj ekspertët sugjerojnë të paktën 30 minuta në ditë aktivitet fizik dhe këshillojnë të çoheni çdo 30 minuta për një shkëputje të vockël.
2. Vathët e rëndë
Vathët e rëndë, ushtrojnë shumë peshë dhe forcë në zonën më delikate të veshëve. Kjo bën që forma e veshëve të ndryshojë dhe të lëkura të plaket më shpejt.
3. Mungesa e shokëve të ngushtë
Duket se lënia pas dore e shoqërisë na çon drejt problemeve me shëndetin dhe plakjen. Eshtë provuar se vetmia rrit shanset për të vdekur më herët dhe pasojat e saj janë krahasuar herë pas here me ato që vijnë nga duhanpirja.
4. S’bëni dush pas palestre
Jo vetëm që nuk është higjenike, por duhet të kujtoni që djersa irriton lëkurën dhe e dëmton atë, duke e bërë të duket më e plakur. Prandaj, këshillohet gjithnjë që lëkura të lahet në mëngjes dhe para para gjumit, që djersa dhe toksinat të dalin jashtë.
5. Konsumi i shumë sheqernave gjatë ditës
Kur konsumojmë shumë ushqime të procesuara dhe sheqerna, niveli i stresit tonë rritet, e ndërsa lëkura plaket më shpejt, si pasojë e “luftës” së sheqerit me kolagjenin./Apel.al
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rrjetat-online · 5 years
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Gabimet që Ju Plakin më Shpejt – Çfarë Duhet të Shmangni
Gabimet që Ju Plakin më Shpejt – Çfarë Duhet të Shmangni
Plakja është një proces natyral të cilin njeriu nuk e eviton dot. Megjithatë, njeriu dhe zgjedhjet e tij mund të ndikojnë në mënyrën e plakjes.
Ushqyerja e keqe, duhanpirja, ekspozimi në diell dhe aktiviteti fizik luajnë një rol të fortë në jetëgjatësinë e njeriut, shkëlqimin e fytyrës së tij, plakjen e shëndetshme dhe funksionet e trurit.
Janë pikërisht zgjedhjet që bëjmë çdo ditë që mund të…
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sherohu · 5 years
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SHTYJE PLEQËRINË! Shmang këto 7 Veset Ditore që ju Plakin më Shpejt!
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rtklive · 6 years
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Cilat veprime plakin l9kurën tuaj?
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Testosteronihoito voi lujittaa miehen luita ja muun muassa parantaa anemian, arvioivat tuoreet tutkimukset. Hoidon yhteydestä sydänriskeihin saatiin kuitenkin ristiriitaisia tuloksia.
Miesten testosteronin tuotanto alkaa vähetä kolmekymppisenä.
Hiipuminen on hidasta. Vain yhdellä 200:sta alle 60-vuotiaasta miehestä on pula testosteronista. Sitä vanhemmista testosteronivajeesta kärsii jo kaksi miestä kymmenestä.
Tiedelehdet Jama ja Jama Internal Medicine julkaisivat viisi tutkimusta, joissa selvitettiin testosteronikorvaushoidon vaikutusta. Tutkittavina oli miehiä, joiden testosteronipitoisuus oli iän myötä madaltunut tavanomaista enemmän.
Testosteronilisä ainakin lujitti miesten luita, osoitti yksi Pennsylvanian yliopiston neljästä tutkimuksestahttp://ift.tt/2m8syaQ.. Testoteronibuusti näkyi enemmän selkärangassa kuin lonkassa.
Toinen tutkimushttp://ift.tt/2m4mL9t kartoitti testosteronigeelin vaikutusta 65-vuotta täyttäneiden miesten kognitiivisiin kykyihin.
Kokeessa 493 muistihäiriöistä kärsivää miestä käytti joko testosteronigeeliä tai lumelääkettä vuoden ajan. Osoittautui, ettei testosteronilisästä ollut apua muistamiseen.
Kolmas tutkimushttp://ift.tt/2m8qnE2 testasi, parantaisiko testosteronia korvaava hoito anemiaa. Mukana oli 126 aneemista ikämiestä. Kävi ilmi, että vuoden kuuri testosteronia nosti hemoglobiinia enemmän kuin lumehoito.
Neljäs tutkimushttp://ift.tt/2m4rHeB tarkastelt, hidastaisiko testosteronikorvaushoito plakin muodostumista sydämen verisuonten seinämiin.
Seurantaan osallistui 138 miestä, joista 73 sai testosteronigeeliä ja 65 plaseboa. Vuoden kuluttua kävi ilmi, että testosteroni itse asiassa lisäsi plakin muodostumista, mikä tutkijoiden mukaan on ensi oire tulevista sydänongelmista.
Viides tutkimushttp://ift.tt/2m8rTq6 ei kuitenkaan löytänyt näyttöä lisätestosteronin vaarasta sydämelle –päinvastoin.
Tutkimuksen Kaiser Permanente -keskuksessa Kaliforniassa osallistui 8 800 yli neljäkymmentävuotiasta miestä, joiden testosteronin tuotanto oli vähäistä.
Heille annettiin testosteronin korvaushoitoa joko suun kautta, pistoksena tai voiteena. Ilmeni, että sydänkohtauksen tai halvauksen riski oli suurempi niillä miehillä, jotka eivät saaneet korvaushoitoa.
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