R.I.P. Kenny Baker (1934 - 2016)

Sammy OPT ~ 10x23 / Brother’s Keeper

Chris Pratt Interrupts Interview To French Braid Intern’s Hair

Despite what you may believe, you can disappoint people and still be good enough. You can make mistakes and still be capable and talented. You can let people down and still be worthwhile and deserving of love. Everyone has disappointed someone they care about. Everyone messes up, lets people down, and makes mistakes. Not because we’re inadequate or fundamentally inept, but because we’re imperfect and fundamentally human. Expecting anything different is setting yourself up for failure.

Daniell Koepke (via psych-facts)

Saving people, hunting things, the family business? I am down. But I was raised on Tolkien, man. I mean, where is all this? Where are my White Walkers and my volcano and magic ring to throw in the damn thing? Where’s my quest?

Fuck all the monsters and shit, the Winchesters will probably end up dying due to the fact DEAN CANT KEEP HIS EYES ON THE FUCKING ROAD

some ways to help your fellow american citizens in puerto rico

over the last few days i have received many messages asking where and how to help those in need in puerto rico. as always, i went to my go-to person for more information on all things relating to my homeland: my father - who is not only a pillar of the puerto rican community, but also a dedicated philanthropist whose specific focus has been to support charitable organizations with low overheads, administrative transparency, and a commitment to insuring that donations make their way to those who need in the fastest and most efficient way.

we would also truly appreciate your sharing this post!

if you are interested in giving to help rescue and rebuilding efforts in puerto rico, here are some organizations that we believe will work diligently to make sure you make a difference:

THE GOLDEN TRIANGLE ROTARY CLUB (La Jolla) As a family with four generations of Rotarians (my father is a former president of this chapter) we know and trust this organization - not to mention that there are multiple Rotary Clubs on the island whose volunteers are standing by to help. Here is the Golden Triangle Rotary Club’s statement:

“All our fundraising will result in donations that will benefit people in Puerto Rico. Every penny of your donation will go from our Rotary Club directly to Rotarians in Puerto Rico who will convey to victims of the hurricane the food, drinking water, clothing, and other supplies they may need. There is no overhead, the work is all carried out by Rotarian volunteers on site in Puerto Rico; there are no intermediaries; there are no costs, fees, overhead. Rotary International has set up a Puerto Rico Donor Advised Fund (DAF-PR) initially funded at $1 million by an anonymous donor. The Rotary District Governor for Switzerland has been contacted by one of our members and has indicated that they are already sending 1,000 Shelter Boxes to the island. More and more good things are happening every day. We are here to help mankind, to make a difference.”

Donations can be made by check to: Pamela Russell, Treasurer La Jolla Golden Triangle Rotary Club Foundation 7954 Auberge Circle San Diego CA 92127

Please specify “Puerto Rico” in the memo box on your check. Rotary is a 501c3 foundation - all donations over $250.00 are tax deductible. Please ask for a receipt in your correspondence.

http://lajollagtrotary.org

THE FOUNDATION FOR PUERTO RICO Mission statement:

“The Foundation for Puerto Rico, a well-respected local non-profit foundation, is dedicating all of its efforts to hurricane relief. Given the logistical challenges of moving supplies to those most in need, financial donations will support the Hurricane María Relief Fund and will directly put dollars to work for immediate relief, providing food, water, and basic needs on the ground. They will also provide recovery assistance to the small business sector that is the backbone of the local economy, and the rehabilitation of Puerto Rico’s unique natural assets.”

http://foundationforpuertorico.org

UNITED FOR PUERTO RICO An organization spearheaded by the First Lady of Puerto Rico in conjunction with local and international businesses - here is their mission statement:

“United for Puerto Rico: Together Changing Paths is a 501©3 organization, operating under the guidance of the First Lady of Puerto Rico Beatriz Rosselló, that will be providing funds for immediate emergency aid needs of citizens that are not otherwise being funded, and then eventually will be provided to help rebuild homes and local community facilities. Any and all support will be highly appreciated by the 3.4 million U.S. citizens in Puerto Rico affected by hurricanes Irma and Maria.”

www.unitedforpuertorico.com

http://youtu.be/8fuWtaWd50A

“Lovely bit of design. MT @jeanlucmargot Ettore Perozzi & Giovanni Valsecchi’s poster for our @IAU_org symposium http://t.co/6ju3X8vMEm”

What if Harry Potter, the chosen one, had turned out to be a squib, how do you think history would have turned out differently?

It was Mrs. Figg who suspected first.

She noticed many things, sitting on her side of her fence with her cats chasing butterflies and nuzzling her ankles, Mundungus and the other watchers dropping by for tea now and then.

Mrs. Figg noticed that Petunia was a nosy bit of work with insecurities hanging from her every harsh angle. She noticed when Dudley learned the word MINE– the whole neighborhood noticed that one. She noticed that Vernon glared at owls.

She noticed that when Petunia gave Harry a truly horrendous haircut one year, it grew back in at a normal rate. Harry was uneven and weird-looking for ages, hiding under beanies when he could.

When Mrs. Figg had Harry over for carefully miserable afternoons of babysitting, she noticed nothing moved that shouldn’t. He didn’t accidentally make flowers out of fallen leaves, or levitate anything during tantrums, or turn toys funny colors.

Mrs. Figg called up her mother, interrupting the wizarding bridge game she was winning against the nursing home staff, and asked her how she had known, decades back, that her youngest daughter was a squib.

When Albus Dumbledore received Mrs. Figg’s letter he wrote back a polite thank you and then went to talk with Minerva McGonagall, who inhaled sharply in horror when he told her the news.

Finally, McGonagall gave a gathered sigh. “I suppose we can ask one of the wizarding families to homeschool him,” she said. “We can’t have the Boy Who Lived not knowing about his own world.”  

“No, he’ll come to Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore.

“Hogwarts is not a place for–” Her voice fell. “–squibs, Albus.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Harry must be taught.”

“Be taught what, Albus?”

But Dumbledore just sighed and offered her a lemon drop.

Years later, the owls and the letters came to 4 Privet Drive. The Dursleys ran, dragging Harry with them, and the letters and one stubborn gamekeeper followed– none of this would change with a magicless Harry.

When Hagrid asked Harry in that little cabin on that little rock in the middle of the sea if weird things always happened around him, Harry couldn’t tell him about vanishing glass and setting captive snakes free, about ending up somehow on the school roof, or growing his hair out overnight.  

“Strange things always happen around you, don’ they?”

“Um,” said Harry, racking his brain. “Well… I live in a cupboard under the stairs…”

Harry could tell him about how snakes sometimes talked back, because that had never been Harry’s magic, but when he did Hagrid just blanched and changed the subject.

Hagrid held out hope, even against Dumbledore’s quiet warning explanations, until they made it to Ollivander’s Wands. Harry marveled at Diagon Alley, got his hands shaken in the Leaky, pressed his nose up against shop windows. Hagrid watched the scant boy– looked at James’s messy hair, Lily’s eyes, Harry’s own wandering gaze– and he wondered how this boy could be anything but magical.

In the wand shop, Ollivander said, “James Potter, yes… mahogany, eleven inches. Pliable. A powerful wand for Transfiguration.” He said, “And your mother, Lily…  strong in Charms work, ten and… yes, ten and a quarter, willow, swishy.”

Harry picked up stick after wooden stick. They remained just that– wood with bits of feather or scale or hair. Harry wondered if the creatures who gave these offerings were still alive– if they were given or taken. What did it do to your wand when they died? He waved a maplewood wand (unicorn hair, eleven inches) and a gust from the door opening blew some receipts off the counter.

“Well, said Ollivander. “I think that’s as close as we’re likely to get.”

He sent them out with the maplewood. Hagrid bought Harry a snowy owl and a fudge sundae and tried not make it too obvious that these were condolence gifts. The next day the Prophet’s headlines read: The Boy Who Lived– A Squib? Various magical medical experts weighed in on how it might have happened. Fingers were pointed at childhood trauma, at his upbringing, at his family lineage.

Harry still met Ron on the train– Ron was still smudge-nosed and Harry still bought enough candy to share. When Molly had helped him through the platform entrance, her voice had been a little softer, a little more pitying– but it was still better than the laughter that had been in his aunt and uncle’s voices when they dropped him here to find a platform they didn’t think existed.

Hermione Granger dropped by their compartment, looking for Neville’s toad, but got distracted when she spotted Harry. “I’ve read about you! In my books, and in the paper,” she said. “You’re the Boy Who Lived, and you’re a squib.”

Harry sank down in his seat. Ron hid Scabbers under a candy wrapper.

“Squibs have never been allowed in Hogwarts,” Hermione announced. “According to Hogwarts, A History, squibs try to sneak in now and then– the furthest anyone’s ever gotten is to the Sorting Hat before they got found out.” At eleven, Hermione still believed in expulsion being worse than death. Her voice was thrumming with sympathetic horror.

“But they already found out about me,” Harry said, alarmed.

“It’s alright, mate,” said Ron. “You’re Harry Potter. Oy, Granger,” he added. “What’s this Hat? Fred and George were trying to sell me some story about having to fight a mountain troll to get your House…”

Harry sat back and watched the countryside rush by. Yes, he was Harry Potter– his aunt’s useless sister’s useless child, the boy in the lumpy hand-me-down sweaters who named the spiders who lived in his cupboard. And here, in new world, he was apparently useless too.

When they got to Hogwarts, Harry clenched his fists and stood in line with the other first years. He barely twitched at the ghosts or Peeves, just stared ahead and thought about how far he would get before they turned him around and sent him back to Vernon and Petunia.

They opened the Great Hall doors. They called the first years one by one. Harry clenched his teeth and walked up to the Hat when they called his name.

As he turned to sit down on the stool, he really caught sight of the Hall for the first time– the hovering candles, the big wooden tables, the black robes that swallowed the light. Translucent ghosts gossiped with the students beside them. The paintings on the far walls– were they moving?

Harry’s jaw had unclenched, falling open. His fists curled open, curving around the stool’s seat as he leaned forward to stare. If this was it, if this was as far as he’d get in this world, then he wanted to drink it all in. The candles were floating, in mid-air.

The Hat dropped down over his eyes and blocked out the light.

Well, said the dry voice that had been hollering House placements all night. What do we have here?

Ron had been begging for not-Slytherin. Draco from the robes shop had been scornful of Hufflepuff, desperate in his disdain. Neville had begged for Hufflepuff, sure he was not brave enough for Gryffindor.

Please, thought Harry. Don’t send me back.

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