Some of my favorite tunes from 2010. Let’s hear yours.

Verdict?

Sister (6:31): My bum finds $ for weed
Me (6:32): What?
Me (6:32): Seriously, wtf?
Sister (7:18): There’s a bum who lives behind our building. He’s really nice. His name is Michael. He finds $$ for pot.
Sister (7:18): Did you think I was talking about my starfish?
Me (7:20): I’m saving this conversation.

Yep.

yeah.

A few Brazilians first heard of the lone Indian in 1996, when loggers in the western state of Rondônia began spreading a rumor: A wild man was in the forest, and he seemed to be alone. Government field agents specializing in isolated tribes soon found one of his huts—a tiny shelter of palm thatch, with a mysterious hole dug in the center of the floor. As they continued to search for whoever had built that hut, they discovered that the man was on the run, moving from shelter to shelter, abandoning each hut as soon as loggers—or the agents—got close. No other tribes in the region were known to live like he did, digging holes inside of huts—more than five feet deep, rectangular, serving no apparent purpose. He didn’t seem to be a stray castaway from a documented tribe.

Eventually, the agents found the man. He was unclothed, appeared to be in his mid-30s (he’s now in his late 40, give or take a few years), and always armed with a bow-and-arrow. Their encounters fell into a well-worn pattern: tense standoffs, ending in frustration or tragedy. On one occasion, the Indian delivered a clear message to one agent who pushed the attempts at contact too far: an arrow to the chest.

Whole thing here.