"My parents had sent me to a small village outside of Paris because they thought it would be safer. But I guess there were hidden munition stocks out there, because the Americans bombed the village. They flew very high. The British always flew low— they had the fighters, but the Americans flew very high and dropped the bombs. They were bombs filled with air. I don’t know how to describe it. You were killed by the air. The neighbor was killed. I spent all night hiding in the barn."
THIS is one of the main reasons I find storytelling, human interest pieces, and projects like HONY or Storycorps are so important. Everyone is a part of history and there is so much information that will one day be lost if we don’t take the time to record it.
Les Foufounes Folles Roundup:
Here’s to shameless self-promotion!
- Pantheon Goddesses by Emily - on letting women into French monuments
- 2013 Tinderbox Music Festival by Emily - a review
- When Fictional Violence Gets Real by Kari - sexual violence in horror movies
- On Becoming a Writer by Emily - in which I complain about being a young and broke writer
- Ooh, Bebe Bebe! by Emily - baby naming laws and race in the US
- Please Don’t STFU by Kari - feminism is awesome!
New post from Les Foufounes Folles!
Discussed: boobs, those kuckoo feminists, and intersectionality.
It’s official. I’ve only had a smart phone for two months and it’s already made me terrible at following directions.
La blogothèque continues to outdo themselves. Love it.
To spread political views, soldiers release balloons holding leaflets in Taiwan, January 1969.Photograph by Frank and Helen Schreider, National Geographic
This warms my heart.
The first atomic bomb used by mankind detonated right above this spot.
The anniversary of the Hiroshima atomic bomb dropping is today. Visiting the city last summer was a really strange experience and I’m so glad I went.
I know I’ve posted this here before but I recently watched this episode and it’s still golden. I definitely fell hard for Leslie during the Greg Pikitis episode, but this moment really sealed the deal.
Happy Birthday, J.K. Rowling! And Happy Birthday to Harry Potter himself!
His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,
His hair is as dark as a blackboard.
I wish he was mine, he’s really divine,
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.