This kid....omg, this kid!!!
styofa doing anything

tannertan36
d e v o n

if i look back, i am lost
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Monterey Bay Aquarium
almost home

çĽćĽ / Permanent Vacation
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
One Nice Bug Per Day
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
wallacepolsom
Today's Document
occasionally subtle
Keni
Aqua Utopiaď˝ćľˇăŽĺşă§č¨ćśăç´Ąă
NASA
Cosimo Galluzzi
trying on a metaphor

seen from Germany

seen from TĂźrkiye

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States

seen from TĂźrkiye

seen from TĂźrkiye

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from Malaysia
seen from France
seen from Netherlands

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from Germany
@danf63
This kid....omg, this kid!!!

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Almost better than HHH opening night 1...she forgot the thousands in attendance and the millions watching around the world.
To anyone that's lost someone (person or animal) that held a special place in their heart.
My Dad loved her voice
Iâve reblogged this before but there are some new ones!
These are awesome
that last one is brilliant. They probably wonât jump.
I wouldn't jump
Wish he was booked better...looking forward to the third try though...

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OMG
i lost it at jondor
GACKASS
âit is a gifâ oh itâs perfect
I went OMG again.
Listen Legoland Â
Wow...
watched this for the first time when i was 14 i think? it saved me
Knew what this was before I clicked and had to watch the whole thing again.
If you havenât seen it, nowâs your chance!
ten years later still get shook
The universal urge--young and old--to pretend you're the one conducting
Classical music brings joy to us all
Using this anon hate I got as a teaching example
So if you get anon hate like this, there is a few things you can do. (Also once again the person linked is totally innocent, anon is just using a link to them for some reason, do not bother them)
First of all, Tumblr made it so only people who have accounts and are logged in can send anons AT ALL. So if you want to you can click the three little dots in the upper right corner and report them
Anyways once you're there, select the type of harassment you're getting, after consulting a few people on discord I decided it was the second to last one.
Then of course you fill out the little form
Afterwards you can hit "Submit and Block"
Fun fact: when you block an anon you permanently (there is no way to reverse it) block their IP address and they can't send you any more anons, also as a bonus, if you've received a LOT of anon hate and then you block one of them, reload your inbox to see how many it got rid of, because it might have just been one loser spamming you. If you don't feel like reporting them then that's fine too, just block those suckers.
And finally, you can take solace in the fact that you could never be as big of a loser as the anons sending people hate.
well shit i didn't know we could block them!
Good information to have. I've never had to do this, but will if I need to.
An SR-71 Blackbird once flew from LA to Washington DC in 64 minutes. Average speed of the flight: 2145mph.
âThere were a lot of things we couldnât do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.
It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet.
I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldnât match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury.
Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace.
We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: âNovember Charlie 175, Iâm showing you at ninety knots on the ground.â
Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the â Houston Center voice.â I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this countryâs space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that, and that they basically did. And it didnât matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.
Just moments after the Cessnaâs inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed. âI have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed.â Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. âCenter, Dusty 52 ground speed checkâ. Before Center could reply, Iâm thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, olâ Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. Heâs the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: âDusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground.â
And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done - in mere seconds weâll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn.
Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: âLos Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?â There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. âAspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground.â
I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: âAh, Center, much thanks, weâre showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money.â
For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A. came back with, âRoger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one.â
It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine dayâs work.
We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast.â
-Brian Schul, Sled Driver: Flying The Worldâs Fastest Jet
Always reblog passive-aggressive Blackbird speed check
My recently departed father's favorite story about his favorite plane...

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I like this...
There should be no doubt ever
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Next, read 15 books to teach you a new skill.
For me, pr you,, to try later
Rebloggers will get a free pic đ
Maddy's definitely on fire!
bruluccas
Shake those hips baby!

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Always appreciated
Nothing needs to be said...