Nice Tests For You photos

Some cool tests for you images:

GUARDING CHERNOBYL WITH DISTINCTION.
tests for you
Image by DeeAshley
Even on … Those Days.
There will inevitably be one of, well..,
Those.Days.

[CAUSE AND EFFECT:]
Those days when you wonder if this is what those T.V. psychiatrists always seem to refer to as "disassociation,’ or perhaps even more accurately, an "acute psychotic breakdown."
Those days that we never expect, yet, incredibly, (unfortunately), virtually all human beings will have one or more of Those days.
Those days when you walk into your office expecting that double chocolate birthday cake.
Yet, much to your utter shock and jaw-dropping, heart-stopping horror, you’re met with dumbfounded stares – blankly and unblinking just like that cute little blond co-worker staring past you (or perhaps, through you?) . . .
She almost appears to be making sounds with her mouth, her big blue eyes appearing to have been holding back oceans now breaking free, although she doesn’t seem to care- or notice – as her corneas are now drowning in a sea of water that might very well be the infinite source of saline – she’s saying something… something… – lay-offs, FBI Interviews, lie detector tests, bankruptcy, and such. You slowly do an uneven 360 degree rotation, feeling the cold clammy pre-vomit symptoms quickly knotting your gut and working diligently and quite efficiently upward toward the diaphragm, and you swallow as hard as you can in hopes of choking back any projectiles – which would sadly consist of this morning’s Sara Lee Fat Free muffin and that and rather healthy dose of quaker’s oatmeal. The accountant comes running toward you as you instinctively take a step backwards, she stops short, wailing something about the end, "This is THE END!!" After her choking sobs were more manageable you were able to make out a little bit…
Something about the CFO embezzling all of the company assets, the investors, the pensions, the retirement, even the petty cash and the quarters unfortunate enough to be left unsupervised in the vending machine, "EVERYTHING!" Her shrieks trail off into whimpers for a moment, but like a tide gathering strength, the choking, hyperventilating, nose running unceremoniously down her pudgy red face, gathers strength once again…
After 15 minutes of careful lipreading, hugging, and firm shoulder shaking, you learn of His last possible sighting: Somewhere near Krakow, Poland; playing Texas Hold Em’ with a group of 8 foot embittered pro-Stalin, ex-soviet military men waiting with baited breath for anyone to provide them the opportunity to work out their personal anger issues with their current political views as well as their new tenured posts guarding the perimeter encompassing a well-known and lovely region most commonly called Chernobyl.
Those Days.
Still in shock staring blankly at the empty road ahead, you receive a phone call. Your son didn’t know that that giant chocolate bunny was bad for the kitty.
Your kitty.
"Mommy? How long do I have to leave this icky red stuff in my hair to make it look like yours? It’s starting to burn…!"
You were just about to ask your little loved one to repeat that last part, when you notice a disturbingly familiar and distinctive sound couple by bright lights that are flashing red and blue.
"What seems to be the problem Officer?"
"80 miles per hour?" "Really?" "In a 40?" (Gasp!) "A School Zone!"
"I’m sorry? What..? Phone?"
"Oh! [insert sheepish giggle] you mean this cell phone?"
"Inspection?" "That’s impossible! It couldn’t have been over a year-" stop. Damn stickers!
"They used to be transparent!"
45 minutes later, clutching 5 crispy new citations so tightly, you notice with no satisfaction that your bitten-to-the-nub nails have been digging some impressive holes through that wretched, foul-smelling carbon paper. The fifth ticket was for insubordination after you tell Officer Pursey what else seems to be a bit puckered as well. Despite his interjections, you were able to also remind him of what a sad excuse for a job he must have, picking on hard-working middle class citizens while there are grown men and women selling crack to kids on the street corners and how could he live with himself???
As you can see, one can never predict one of those days . . .
One must act quickly and decisively and take drastic measures in order to have the slightest chance of maintaining even the most precarious, desperate grip on that sad, thin, weathered thread of sanity remarkably similar to that which you are clawing and grasping for – any shred of mental cohesion to cling to.
[THE RULES:]
First of all, when in a rural environment such as this one, you must scream as loud as you can and bang on your steering wheel until your palms are throbbing. Sometimes it is even necessary to allow the head to slowly find its way onto the steering wheel, resulting in a shrieking noise that may cause the local canines to react in a rather agitated manner, but that’s fine. Just let the horn go, the noise will eventually drown itself out. Next, the helpless exhaustion should naturally give way to a dawning sense of indignation. This will happen rather quickly so prepare yourself to brush away any tears, mascara trails, and beware of any unintended shards of plastics or glass that may have been damaged during the end-of-the-world tantrum.
Thankfully, this horrific despair and painful psychic asphyxiation will rapidly give way to your new friend:
Fury. Rage.
A Seething cauldron of fuck-this-fuck-you-fuck-it-all-don’t-even-think-of-cutting-me-off-because-i-will-bludgeon-you-with-these-q-tips kind of all-consuming anger that flows hot and fast through your entire body. That 230 pound trucker that had intended on cutting you off takes one look into that cold empty stare and instinctively knows that this is one of those times when concessions are in order.
And Here, ladies and gentlemen, a photo is born. Who knew what that Toyota 4-cylinder hybrid sedan was really capable of until now? Although you may still be mostly(?) lucid, you’ve lost just enough of that annoying trait commonly referred to by the layperson as, "good judgement."
Before you know it, those Angus Cows are merely blurs in your peripheral, adrenaline-filled darting glances, you note an odd sensation that is reminiscent to barreling down those hilltops on your mother’s best cookie sheet after the first snow as a child. Ah, yes, that is the hydroplaning. No matter, friction is overrated.
What better way to salvage what’s left of this wretched, god-forsaken, nail-in-the-head, day than this?
You should have thought of this before!
What the hell, may as well take a picture. It could turn out kinda cool.

Supplemental:
*No cows, children, CFO’s, accountants, vending machines, felines, Toyotas, or law enforcement officials were actually harmed in the making of this photo. This sad day and its unfortunate series of events are entirely fictional, although there can be no guarantees as to the psychological wellness of the prefrontal cortex responsible for the creation of said events.*

DSCF4344
tests for you
Image by Déclencheur de Paysage
Test "OLD STYLE SEPIA"
Look at this if you have not ,sometimes ,an idea…
Friendly 🙂
(Press L to enlarge and to see a detals)

Nice All Your Testing photos

Some cool all your testing images:

Image from page 122 of “The mystic test book; or, The magic of the cards. Giving the mystic meaning of these wonderful and ancient emblems in their relationship to the heavenly bodies, under all conditions; with rules and processes for reading or delineat
all your testing
Image by Internet Archive Book Images
Identifier: mystictestbookor00rich
Title: The mystic test book; or, The magic of the cards. Giving the mystic meaning of these wonderful and ancient emblems in their relationship to the heavenly bodies, under all conditions; with rules and processes for reading or delineating the emblems
Year: 1919 (1910s)
Authors: Richmond, Olney H
Subjects: Fortune-telling Card games
Publisher: Chicago, Ill
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

View Book Page: Book Viewer
About This Book: Catalog Entry
View All Images: All Images From Book

Click here to view book online to see this illustration in context in a browseable online version of this book.

Text Appearing Before Image:
nt regarding a personal friend; usually afemale, under this planet. Disappointment in gainingknowledge. Friendly antagonism to your projects.MARS.Dislike, distaste, disbelief of some person or thing you arebrought into contact with. In some cases a lawsuit.Disappointment caused by lack of knowledge.JUPITER.Discontent with ones pecuniary affairs. News of moneymatters, that is disappointing to you. With 7 d, loss ofproperty by the disappointment.SATURN.Disappointment, discontent or some disquieting feelingcaused by illness of self or some one connected with you.Disappointment in gaining knowledge; caused by illness.URANUS.Disappointment connected with ones business or labor. Insome cases a wish to change avocation. Psychic experi-ence of a disappointing character.NEPTUNE.Disappointment regarding a journey. Generally a longjourney, all or partly by water. Discontent with resi-dence. This card neutralizes the 10, of same suit. GRAND SPREAD,SOLAR. BTXTTJIIE. V 6 0 QUADRATED TOTIME. FJLSrC.

Text Appearing After Image:
V VCi 6 y 0 0 0 0 00 0 000 ♦ 6 6 oooo o o oooo

Note About Images
Please note that these images are extracted from scanned page images that may have been digitally enhanced for readability – coloration and appearance of these illustrations may not perfectly resemble the original work.

Stevie Girl will need surgery ~~ Scheduled for Wed.2/23
all your testing
Image by Trish Hamme
for a small tumour on her left front mammary gland .
Since the first week of Dec. , she has lost almost a pound ~~~~
Blood work results are due Monday , then surgery will be scheduled for Tues. or Wed. ~~~~

UPDATE Sat. 2/19 -Just recieved e-mail from Vet. , with Blood Test results:

"The accompanying blood test results point toward a problem with Stevie’s Liver. The elevated bilirubin (an indication of bile pigment accumulation in the blood called jaundice) is mild but unmistakable, and the liver enzyme elevations (AST, ALT, Alkaline Phosphatase) are mild, but taken as a whole with the bilirubin increase are strongly suggestive that a low grade liver ailment is present. The good news is that every other parameter is normal (including platelets evidenced by the "adequate" platelet estimate). A 12 mg/dL increase in cholesterol is not clinically significant from a health standpoint but adds circumstantial weight to the suspicion of a liver ailment.
There are many possible pathologies that could cause these blood enzyme changes, and the next most logical step diagnostically is to do an ultrasound screen of her liver (whole abdomen really). "
Doctor is not in office until 8am Mon. , so will set up Ultrasound then , and find out if surgery on the
"lump" in her mammary gland should be schelduled , or wait on ultrasound results ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THANK YOU for your Prayers & Well Wishes-Flickr Friends are the BEST !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

UPDATE Mon.2/21—
Stevie goes in to Vet. at 7am Wed morning———–He can do BOTH surgery & ultrasound at same time~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I pick her up at 5pm Wed————–but Doctor will call me to let me know all is well after surgery~~~~~~~~~~will discuss ultrasound results at 5~~~~~~~
Glad can do both at same time —-much less stress on Stevie———
and ME 🙂 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thank You all SO Much for your Prayers & Well Wishes !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

UPDATE Wed.2/23 -UPDATE 2:45pm—Stevie out of surgery , lump fully removed !!!!!!! Ultrasound clear-NO tumors or
abnormaladies found—-Dr. will discuss other possible reasons for weight loss & abnormal liver function
when I pick her up at 5pm .
THANK YOU ,Bless You for all your Love & Support & Prayers !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Will update with more details after I talk with Dr.

Royal Border Bridge.
all your testing
Image by Jonathan Combe (Thank you for 400,000 views!)
I finally got to this spot on Friday night on my way home from visiting the Duddo Five Stones.

When I finish work in the evenings I drive past this bridge and it never ceases to look amazing, especially with it’s lights that change to all sorts of colours.

I parked in Berwick-Upon-Tweed and I knew exactly where to go and luckily had a torch on me as there were a few dark places to negotiate on the way..

I got down to the Riverside and saw how calm the River was, I literally said "wow" and was really pleased to get these conditions..

I set up and took a few test shots as you do, but I wanted to wait and see if a train went over, and eventually one came and I am rather pleased at the result.

Now I know the image is a bit grainy, but I HAD to have a high ISO and wide aperture, because if the exposure is too long, the lights turn out white which can look unpleasing to the eye..

A bit of History on the Bridge:

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Royal_Border_Bridge

Thanks for looking.

Nice Only Your Test photos

Check out these only your test images:

Chicken, Ham and Leek Pie, with Mash
only your test
Image by Wootang01
9.4.09
The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.

Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80’s and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.

Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.

11.4.09
Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul’s is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer – couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I’ll test for next time.

Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch – the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn’t seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!

Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one’s eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.

My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey – on sale, of course – for good measure.

I’m sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I’ve been verily impressed with what I’ve seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace – his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.

For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold – 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I’ve had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.

Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket – if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That’s how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.

The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating – the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.

12.4.09
At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned – China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one’s mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!

We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn’t as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.

I celebrated Jesus’ resurrection at the St. Andrew’s Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that’s what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 – what is that to you?

Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that’s Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde’s Wherry, I’ve had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.

I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp’s DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.

My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history – the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering – and photographing – into every nook and cranny.

13.4.09
There are no rubbish bins, yet I’ve seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white – the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.

People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.

I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.

Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city’s love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.

Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.

I’m nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.

Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba – repeated in clever variants – and parodies of other masters’ works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson – I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.

14.4.09
I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.

Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge – for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.

I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn’t dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we’ve grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere – London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn’t add up for me.

I’m in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.

Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street – yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle – they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!

Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air – fantastic! Taliban beware!

15.4.09
I’m leaving on a jet plane this evening; don’t know when I’ll be back in England again. I’ll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I’m grateful for God’s many blessings on this trip.

On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley’s home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine – I’m happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.

John Wesley’s home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display – I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.

I found Samuel Johnson’s house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.

There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!

I regretfully couldn’t stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen’s take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.

I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies – I got no game – booyah!

Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn’t make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.

At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.

That’s all for England!

Nice All Your Testing photos

A few nice all your testing images I found:

Imagine the Future
all your testing
Image by Viewminder
Imagine ‘becoming’ a digital camera.

Imagine that whatever you looked at… whatever you thought about… whatever you dreamed… whatever you felt…

that an image could be created from that.

A real image.

Stored and transmitted.

Imagine that your eyes are the lenses to that camera.

That your brain is the processor.

And imagine that system working in reverse as well.

Like television…

only ‘feelavision.’

Imagine a reality that’s not too far away.

We are on the edge of knowing so much.

A great paradigm shift is close.

Stars And Sausages
all your testing
Image by Frederic Mancosu
UPDATE:

Over 5000 of you have been visiting my stream now! I much appreciate you popping by and hope you keep enjoying it!

Thanks everybody!

————————————————-
It all began on quite exactly 9:30 PM, when a ship reached a dock with about 10 minutes of delay. I boarded said ship, which brought me all the way into the city. The air was calm and warm, a peaceful evening if it wasn’t for that little voice in the back of my head telling me that I ought to have brought an umbrella. I had hesitated to take it and dismissed the idea as idiotic on a day like this one. Granted, it had been a tad gray, but it had not rained a drop since breakfast. And yet, something bugged me, my intuition told me it had been a mistake. It was undoubtedly right, as intuitions tend to be. Its point then, was illustrated rather well by the shattering bouquet of lightning cutting across the sky just as the boat docked in Zurich, about half an hour later.

Floods were pouring from the sky and dashing across the pavement. I had but one choice, and sought the closest bit of cover. As so often in situations of great mishap, this one lead to something that much better. The closest bit of cover turned out to be the Sternengrill. Now let me explain: Traditional places tend to be quite old, for becoming traditional takes time. Therefore, they are mostly built in ways proper to defeat the test of time. When they outlast the buildings they’re in however, you’d guess they’d offer something rather special for people to be nursing them past the trials of the decades. This is exactly what happened to the Sternen-Grill, the place serving the best-known Bratwurst in town. Even Tina Turner has had one. It has been on Bellvue Platz for almost 50 years and is now being demolished. Or is it? Having lost the location, the owners moved it into an RV parked on the square and this made it… well… almost better, not to say legen – wait for it… – dary!

Nice Tests For You photos

Some cool tests for you images:

I’ve got my eye on you!
tests for you
Image by peasap
Testing a home made macro kit on a one dollar bill.

I put together a reverse lens macro kit which consisted of:

Canon 28-90 Zoom Lens (From a film Rebel G EOS)
Canon Body Cap
55mm UV Filter

I cut out the center of the body cap, glued the 55mm Filter onto it, then screwed on the lens.

I’d actually just finished gluing the filter to the bodycap. As soon as it was dry, I looked for the first thing at hand to test it out and pulled a dollar bill out of my pocket.

The bill was not flat it was kinda wavy which is why the eye is in focus but the nose is blurred. At full size, you can see the fibers in the bill.

There is no aperture control, only shutter spped and the DOF is minuscule but the macros are extreme!! More pics to follow.

Thanks to my friend Matt for all the help.

Streaking Through Pegasus
tests for you
Image by bbusschots
While out testing my new Nikon D5100 at night I got lucky! There was no meteor shower on, so this was just a random meteor doing it’s thing, right through my field of view!

BTW, the very bright ‘star’ next to the tree is the planet Venus, and you can just make out the Andromeda galaxy as an oval-shaped smudge in the top right corner of the shot.

Nice Test Yours photos

Some cool test yours images:


test yours
Image by Alba Soler Photography
Do you know what a model test is?
Sabes qué es un test de modelo?

EN www.albasoler.es/blog/archives/3718
SP www.albasoler.es/blog/archives/3706

#modeltest #model #modelagency

343.365 left you to wait outside,
test yours
Image by ashley rose,
i hope the air will start to remind you,
to get me out of this place.
i’ll remember your face,
and my words are as timed
as the beating in my chest
.

that face is of the face of death.
i’m finalllyy through my day of total death.
and i passed my license test (:
and thanks to uhlissah rose,
i didn’t have to worry about my flickr account expiring today – gaah thanksss !

it looks a million times better viewed like THIS

Nice All Your Testing photos

Check out these all your testing images:

J-2X Engine Prepares for Testing (NASA, J-2X, SLS, 02/11/13)
all your testing
Image by NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center
A J-2X engine, right, is being transported to the A-2 Test Stand at the Stennis Space Center in Mississippi.

Image credit: NASA/SSC

View original image/caption:
www.nasa.gov/exploration/systems/sls/j2x/j2x_engine10002_…

More about the J-2X Engine Development:
www.nasa.gov/j2x

There’s a Flickr photoset about the J-2X egnine development, if you’d like to know more: www.flickr.com/photos/28634332@N05/sets/72157625345364038/

_____________________________________________
These official NASA photographs are being made available for publication by news organizations and/or for personal use printing by the subject(s) of the photographs. The photographs may not be used in materials, advertisements, products, or promotions that in any way suggest approval or endorsement by NASA. All Images used must be credited. For information on usage rights please visit: www.nasa.gov/audience/formedia/features/MP_Photo_Guidelin…

My Beautiful Girl
all your testing
Image by futurowoman
It’s ‘Roid Week 2011!!!!!!!!!
www.flickr.com/groups/polaroidweek2011/

This is my beautiful whippet girl, Laika. I shot this photo back in February 2011 as a test shot for the Impossible Project. <3

Test shot for the Impossible Project
Using PX-680 ß-1
aka PX 680 Color Shade Beta Test Film
Production Date 3 Feb 2011

Camera: SX-70 Alpha 1, Model 2
No ND filter
Dial set all the way over on the black side

Thank so much for putting this in the Flickr blog!
blog.flickr.net/en/2011/07/12/its-roid-week-2011/