Huffington Post showed us the incredible differences from one country to another. Where would you like to study of you could be a kid again?


More than one-third of kids in America are obese or overweight. In 2013, the National School Lunch Program, a federally assisted meal program operating in public and nonprofit private schools, served 5.1 billion lunches, Bloomberg reports. The quality of these lunches must somehow correlate to the health of America’s youth, considering more than 32 million children are served NSLP every day.

Parents could model better eating habits and stock their crispers with fresh fruit and vegetables, but a viable starter solution might begin at lunchtime. Sweetgreen, a healthy quick-serve restaurant that values local and organic ingredients, clarified disparity between American student lunches and those of other countries by photographing typical school lunches from around the world. The visuals are eye-opening.

A representative for the company told The Huffington Post that to create these mock meals, Sweetgreen evaluated different government standards for school lunch programs and compared the data to real photos from students who had posted on several social media platforms. Because school lunches can vary by region, it’s important to note that the images below aren’t exact representations of a country’s school lunch, but offer a resemblance.

The U.S. government acknowledges that our nation’s children should not go hungry, but there’s less of an emphasis on what exactly our children are being fed. With the great risks associated with being overweight and news that diet may be just as important to mental health as it is to physical health, the state of students’ nutrition should be all it takes to improve the quality of the lunch tray — think fewer chicken nuggets and more produce. But America’s got some work to do.

That’s not to say the country is apathetic: U.S. government sectors are making strides to improve the current condition of the food we’re serving to our youth. For example, by 2013, all 1,300 of New York City’s public elementary schools were equipped with a fresh salad bar in their cafeterias (and they’ll be getting snazzier in the near future). First lady Michelle Obama is vocal and active about her passion for standardizing healthy meals and snacks for children. And in 2010, President Obama signed the Healthy Hunger-Free Kids Act, whichrequires child nutrition programs to improve and help schools provide healthier meals, including more fruits and vegetables.

A typical lunch served in the U.S.

Fried “popcorn” chicken, mashed potatoes, peas, fruit cup and a chocolate chip cookie.

Comparatively, countries have got us beat when it comes to school lunches, nourishing their students with fresher, greener and more nutrient-rich foods that are very much brain foods. There’s less fried stuff, less brown mush (see above).

Take a look at the photos of school lunches served around the globe, originally posted on Sweetgreen’s Tumblr. Which lunch do you want your child to be eating at school?


Pork with mixed veggies, black beans and rice, salad, bread and baked plantains.


Local fish on a bed of arugula, pasta with tomato sauce, caprese salad, baguette and some grapes.


Pea soup, beet salad, carrot salad, bread and pannakkau (dessert pancake) with fresh berries.

South Korea

Fish soup, tofu over rice, kimchi and fresh veggies.


Steak, carrots, green beans, cheese and fresh fruit.


Baked chicken over orzo, stuffed grape leaves, tomato and cucumber salad, fresh oranges, and Greek yogurt with pomegranate seeds.


Mashed potatoes with sausage, borscht, cabbage and syrniki (a dessert pancake).


Sautéed shrimp over brown rice and vegetables, gazpacho, fresh peppers, bread and an orange.

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English words that get lost in translation when you’re traveling abroad by Tyler Vendetti (

In my lifetime, I’ve encountered two people that have admitted to genuinely disliking traveling and on both occasions, I had to be practically dragged away from the conversation to avoid bombarding them with reasons why they should change their mind. Traveling is something that I believe everyone should experience, even if that means hopping in your car and driving to the next town over. If you’re ambitious and decide to go overseas, you may eventually find yourself in a communication blunder that ends with you blubbering on about how you don’t understand slang and being the butt of the joke. Some words that may be completely innocuous in English may have different connotations abroad, which may result in you feeling utterly embarrassed or getting reprimanded by one of the locals.

1) Mist

Meaning in English: a light sprinkle of water that floats in the air

Meaning in Germany: manure

I never realized how delightful mist sounded until I wrote the definition above. In most English-speaking countries, mist refers to water in the form of very small droplets that float in the air or fall as rain. When capitalized, (The) Mist can also refer to the 2007 Stephen King movie that made me fear foggy weather conditions for life. But in Germany, saying “I love mist in the morning” will earn you more concerned looks than you want. “Mist” in German roughly translates to manure, so unless you actually want to express your appreciation for the feces of farm animals (hey, it helps our plants grow so it’s not all bad), I would settle for something a little less confusing, like “light rain.”

2) Bangs

Meaning in English: a hairstyle where the front of one’s hair is cut in a straight line so it lies across the forehead

Meaning in everywhere else: multiple loud noises

Here’s a story for you: at one point during my semester abroad, I journeyed to a hair salon in town to get my haircut. I had avoided the place for a good three months, hoping my hair would realize how ridiculous it looked and retract back into my head but apparently, that’s not how the human body works. When I showed up, I sat down in the salon chair and asked the woman for a quick “bangs” trim. She chuckled and nodded her head the way someone would when they just witnessed a puppy run into a sliding glass door. “Do you mean fringe? That’s what we call them in England.” I imagined her adding “silly American” to the end of the sentence, because that’s how I felt as she snipped away the last of my dignity. After some preliminary research I discovered that, yes, they do call bangs fringe in nearly every other part of the world and yes, people will call you out on it every time.

3) Bugger

Meaning in English: endearing or cheerful way to say “troublesome person” or “brat”

Meaning in the UK and most of Europe: contemptible person; swear word

Many people have claimed that the word “bugger” is comparable to the F-word in English but it really depends on who you talk to. Some Europeans have adopted the lighthearted American definition while others still use the term in a derogative way to offend their friends or to get annoying strangers to leave them alone (“bugger off”). I’d err on the side of caution and avoid the phrase altogether, just in case.

4) Thong

Meaning in English: type of underwear

Meaning in Australia and Western Europe: flip-flops

You’re allowed to wear a thong wherever you want if that’s what you’re into, but don’t expect people to know what you’re talking about in Europe and Australia. In Europe, the word “thong” is used to differentiate flip-flops made of sturdy or comfortable material and regular rubber flip-flops. In Australia, people prefer the term “jandals” which actually have nothing to do with “Jesus sandals” or “jean sandals” like my Google search query suggested.

5) Pants

Meaning in English: article of clothing that you wear over your underwear

Meaning in the UK: underwear

If you tell your friend that you almost forgot to put on pants before you left the house, you might actually be sharing too much information if you live in the United Kingdom. Around England, the word “pants” actually refers to underwear so if you want to avoid having to explain yourself (“I did eventually put underwear on, I promise”), use the word “trousers” for pants instead. (Don’t be too embarrassed. The English have a lot of tricky word differences.)

What other English words should you not use abroad?

Featured image via.

Why Is America Dotted with Giant, Concrete Arrows?

These old air-mail beacons are visible all over the land (if you know where to look).

An old air-mail beacon gathers dust in St. George, Utah. (Dppowell/Wikipedia)

Back in the 1920s, a pilot lost on a dark, thunderous night couldn’t depend on GPS to save his bacon. But there was something almost as good: giant, cartoon-style arrows, stretching in an illuminated path on the ground from New York to San Francisco.

This rudimentary form of navigation was part of the Transcontinental Airway System, an effective aid for air-mail pilots that by the ’30s incorporated 1,500 ground beacons over some 18,000 miles. NASA ambassador Patrick Wiggins recently explained how it worked for the Universities Space Research Association:

Every 16 km, pilots would pass a 21 m concrete arrow on the ground that was painted bright yellow. At the center of each arrow there would be a 15.5 m steel tower, topped by a million-candlepower rotating beacon. Below the rotating light were two course lights pointing forward and backward along the arrow. The course lights flashed a code to identify the beacon’s number. If needed, a generator shed at the tail (or feather end) of each arrow powered the beacon and lights.

The arrows represented a leap forward from previous nocturnal guideposts. “One of the first attempts at navigation involved setting huge bonfires next to landing strips to help guide pilots,” notes one scholar. “This idea proved very impractical.” People had such faith in the newer system that Popular Mechanicsran a story about a floating version eventually spanning the Atlantic Ocean (ifWikipedia is to be believed). Yet by the 1940s, the arrows and towers were already becoming obsolete, leading to their gradual removal or abandonment.

Today the only state using these janky beacons is Montana, where pilots rely on about 19 to fly through the mountains. But that doesn’t mean they’ve disappeared. Some peek out in aerial imagery like cryptic, alien messages in barren stretches of Utah, Wyoming, Indiana, and elsewhere. Others have fallen into the hands of property owners, who keep them around perhaps for historical value or as conversation starters.

Below are a few of the arrows still visible across America; you can search for more on this handy map and this daunting but thorough web of flight routes. Here’s a striking pointer southeast of Indianapolis directing long-dead pilots toward the capital:

Google Maps

A beacon in Lake Point, Utah, points to Salt Lake City:

Patrick Wiggins
Patrick Wiggins

This is an overhead view of the arrow pictured at top in St. George, Utah. Writes a Google reviewer: “I’ve been trying to locate one of these ancient aviation aids for years. As it turned out one was practically in my back yard—about 2 miles from our home.” Adds another, ungrammatically: “This is definitely a giant concrete arrows that help point the way across America.”

Google Maps

This lawn decoration near Minneapolis is hard to see from above, but pops up when spied from the street:

Google Maps

A crooked-seeming beacon in Toole County, Utah:

Google Maps
Patrick Wiggins

An arrow abides near an isolated home near Meacham, Oregon:

Google Maps

This sad-looking guy rests west of Albuquerque:

Google Maps

And here’s an arrow accusing a tree near Anthony, Kansas:

Google Maps

Post from


Last weekend the Grammys brought to light an important, yet hush-hush topic, to light: violence against women.

Watch his message about how the media can help stop this now.

Join the “It’s On Us” campaign to stop violence against women by taking the pledge at

Have you ever wondered when do they actually come from? Who created them?

Check this video out, practice your English AND get smarter!

You’re welcome.

Do you need a dose of “feel good” in your life right now? Watch this video and rest assure it will give you that and so, so much more.

Starting out by reciting an amazing poem, she goes on telling us how to teach kids poetry and performing. It’s worth your while, trust us.


If I should have a daughter, instead of “Mom,” she’s gonna call me “Point B,” because that way she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I’m going to paint solar systems on the backs of her hands so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say, “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.” And she’s going to learn that this life will hit you hard in the face, wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here,that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry. So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried. “And, baby,” I’ll tell her, don’t keep your nose up in the air like that. I know that trick; I’ve done it a million times. You’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house, so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place, to see if you can change him.” But I know she will anyway,so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby, because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks that chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything, if you let it. I want her to look at the world through the underside of a glass-bottom boat, to look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind, because that’s the way my mom taught me. That there’ll be days like this. ♫ There’ll be days like this, my momma said. ♫ When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises; when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape; when your boots will fill with rain, and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment. And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you. Because there’s nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it’s sent away. You will put the wind in winsome, lose some.You will put the star in starting over, and over. And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute,be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life. And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am pretty damn naive. But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily, but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it. “Baby,” I’ll tell her, “remember, your momma is a worrier, and your poppa is a warrior, and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.” Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things. And always apologize when you’ve done something wrong, but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining. Your voice is small, but don’t ever stop singing. And when they finally hand you heartache, when they slip war and hatred under your door and offer you handouts on street-corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.

Thank you. Thank you.

All right, so I want you to take a moment, and I want you to think of three things that you know to be true. They can be about whatever you want – technology, entertainment, design, your family, what you had for breakfast. The only rule is don’t think too hard. Okay, ready? Go. Okay.

So here are three things I know to be true. I know that Jean-Luc Godard was right when he said that, “a good story has a beginning, a middle and an end, although not necessarily in that order.” I know that I’m incredibly nervous and excited to be up here, which is greatly inhibiting my ability to keep it cool.(Laughter) And I know that I have been waiting all week to tell this joke. Why was the scarecrow invited to TED? Because he was out standing in his field. (Laughter) I’m sorry. Okay, so these are three things I know to be true. But there are plenty of things I have trouble understanding. So I write poems to figure things out. Sometimes the only way I know how to work through something is by writing a poem. And sometimes I get to the end of the poem and look back and go, “Oh, that’s what this is all about,” and sometimes I get to the end of the poem and haven’t solved anything, but at least I have a new poem out of it.

Spoken word poetry is the art of performance poetry. I tell people it involves creating poetry that doesn’t just want to sit on paper, that something about it demands it be heard out loud or witnessed in person. When I was a freshman in high school, I was a live wire of nervous hormones. And I was underdeveloped and over-excitable. And despite my fear of ever being looked at for too long, I was fascinated by the idea of spoken word poetry. I felt that my two secret loves, poetry and theatre, had come together, had a baby, a baby I needed to get to know. So I decided to give it a try. My first spoken word poem, packed with all the wisdom of a 14-year-old, was about the injustice of being seen as unfeminine. The poem was very indignant, and mainly exaggerated, but the only spoken word poetry that I had seen up until that point was mainly indignant, so I thought that that’s what was expected of me. The first time that I performed, the audience of teenagers hooted and hollered their sympathy, and when I came off the stage I was shaking. I felt this tap on my shoulder, and I turned around to see this giant girl in a hoodie sweatshirt emerge from the crowd. She was maybe eight feet tall and looked like she could beat me up with one hand, but instead she just nodded at me and said, “Hey, I really felt that. Thanks.” And lightning struck. I was hooked.

I discovered this bar on Manhattan’s Lower East Side that hosted a weekly poetry open mic, and my bewildered, but supportive, parents took me to soak in every ounce of spoken word that I could. I was the youngest by at least a decade, but somehow the poets at the Bowery Poetry Club didn’t seem bothered by the 14-year-old wandering about – if fact, they welcomed me. And it was here, listening to these poets share their stories, that I learned that spoken word poetry didn’t have to be indignant, it could be fun or painful or serious or silly. The Bowery Poetry Club became my classroom and my home,and the poets who performed encouraged me to share my stories as well. Never mind the fact that I was 14 – they told me, “Write about being 14.” So I did and stood amazed every week when these brilliant, grown-up poets laughed with me and groaned their sympathy and clapped and told me, “Hey, I really felt that too.”

Now I can divide my spoken word journey into three steps. Step one was the moment I said, “I can. I can do this.” And that was thanks to a girl in a hoodie. Step two was the moment I said, “I will. I will continue. I love spoken word. I will keep coming back week after week.” And step three began when I realized that I didn’t have to write poems that were indignant, if that’s not what I was. There were things that were specific to me, and the more that I focused on those things, the weirder my poetry got, but the more that it felt like mine. It’s not just the adage “write what you know.” It’s about gathering up all of the knowledge and experience you’ve collected up to now to help you dive into the things you don’t know. I use poetry to help me work through what I don’t understand, but I show up to each new poemwith a backpack full of everywhere else that I’ve been.

When I got to university, I met a fellow poet who shared my belief in the magic of spoken word poetry.And actually, Phil Kaye and I coincidentally also share the same last name. When I was in high school I had created Project V.O.I.C.E. as a way to encourage my friends to do spoken word with me. But Phil and I decided to reinvent Project V.O.I.C.E. – this time changing the mission to using spoken word poetry as a way to entertain, educate and inspire. We stayed full-time students, but in between we traveled, performing and teaching nine-year-olds to MFA candidates, from California to Indiana to Indiato a public high school just up the street from campus.

And we saw over and over the way that spoken word poetry cracks open locks. But it turns out sometimes, poetry can be really scary. Turns out sometimes, you have to trick teenagers into writing poetry. So I came up with lists. Everyone can write lists. And the first list that I assign is “10 Things I Know to be True.” And here’s what happens, and here’s what you would discover too if we all started sharing our lists out loud. At a certain point, you would realize that someone has the exact same thing,or one thing very similar, to something on your list. And then someone else has something the complete opposite of yours. Third, someone has something you’ve never even heard of before. And fourth, someone has something you thought you knew everything about, but they’re introducing a new angle of looking at it. And I tell people that this is where great stories start from – these four intersections of what you’re passionate about and what others might be invested in.

And most people respond really well to this exercise. But one of my students, a freshman named Charlotte, was not convinced. Charlotte was very good at writing lists, but she refused to write any poems. “Miss,” she’d say, “I’m just not interesting. I don’t have anything interesting to say.” So I assigned her list after list, and one day I assigned the list “10 Things I Should Have Learned by Now.”Number three on Charlotte’s list was, “I should have learned not to crush on guys three times my age.” I asked her what that meant, and she said, “Miss, it’s kind of a long story.” And I said, “Charlotte, it sounds pretty interesting to me.” And so she wrote her first poem, a love poem unlike any I had ever heard before. And the poem began, “Anderson Cooper is a gorgeous man.” (Laughter) “Did you see him on 60 Minutes, racing Michael Phelps in a pool – nothing but swim trunks on – diving in the water, determined to beat this swimming champion? After the race, he tossed his wet, cloud-white hair and said, ‘You’re a god.’ No, Anderson, you’re the god.”

Now I know that the number one rule to being cool is to seem unfazed, to never admit that anything scares you or impresses you or excites you. Somebody once told me it’s like walking through life like this. You protect yourself from all the unexpected miseries or hurt that might show up. But I try to walk through life like this. And yes, that means catching all of those miseries and hurt, but it also means that when beautiful, amazing things just fall out of the sky, I’m ready to catch them. I use spoken word to help my students rediscover wonder, to fight their instincts to be cool and unfazed and, instead, actively pursue being engaged with what goes on around them, so that they can reinterpret and create something from it.

It’s not that I think that spoken word poetry is the ideal art form. I’m always trying to find the best way to tell each story. I write musicals; I make short films alongside my poems. But I teach spoken word poetrybecause it’s accessible. Not everyone can read music or owns a camera, but everyone can communicate in some way, and everyone has stories that the rest of us can learn from. Plus, spoken word poetry allows for immediate connections. It’s not uncommon for people to feel like they’re alone or that nobody understands them, but spoken word teaches that if you have the ability to express yourselfand the courage to present those stories and opinions, you could be rewarded with a room full of your peers, or your community, who will listen. And maybe even a giant girl in a hoodie will connect with what you’ve shared. And that is an amazing realization to have, especially when you’re 14. Plus, now with YouTube, that connection’s not even limited to the room we’re in. I’m so lucky that there’s this archive of performances that I can share with my students. It allows for even more opportunities for them to find a poet or a poem that they connect to.

It is tempting — once you’ve figured this out – it is tempting to keep writing the same poem, or keep telling the same story, over and over, once you’ve figured out that it will gain you applause. It’s not enough to just teach that you can express yourself. You have to grow and explore and take risks and challenge yourself. And that is step three: infusing the work you’re doing with the specific things that make you you, even while those things are always changing. Because step three never ends. But you don’t get to start on step three, until you take step one first: I can.

I travel a lot while I’m teaching, and I don’t always get to watch all of my students reach their step three,but I was very lucky with Charlotte, that I got to watch her journey unfold the way it did. I watched her realize that, by putting the things that she knows to be true into the work she’s doing, she can create poems that only Charlotte can write – about eyeballs and elevators and Dora the Explorer. And I’m trying to tell stories only I can tell – like this story. I spent a lot of time thinking about the best way to tell this story, and I wondered if the best way was going to be a PowerPoint or a short film – and where exactly was the beginning or the middle or the end? And I wondered whether I’d get to the end of this talk and finally have figured it all out, or not.

And I always thought that my beginning was at the Bowery Poetry Club, but it’s possible that it was much earlier. In preparing for TED, I discovered this diary page in an old journal. I think December 54th was probably supposed to be 24th. It’s clear that when I was a child, I definitely walked through life like this. I think that we all did. I would like to help others rediscover that wonder – to want to engage with it, to want to learn, to want to share what they’ve learned, what they’ve figured out to be true and what they’re still figuring out.

So I’d like to close with this poem.

When they bombed Hiroshima, the explosion formed a mini-supernova so every living animal, human or plant that received direct contact with the rays from that sun was instantly turned to ash. And what was left of the city soon followed. The long-lasting damage of nuclear radiation caused an entire city and its population to turn into powder. When I was born, my mom says I looked around the whole hospital room with a stare that said, “This? I’ve done this before.” She says I have old eyes. When my Grandpa Genji died, I was only five years old, but I took my mom by the hand and told her, “Don’t worry, he’ll come back as a baby.” And yet, for someone who’s apparently done this already, I still haven’t figured anything out yet. My knees still buckle every time I get on a stage. My self-confidence can be measured out in teaspoons mixed into my poetry, and it still always tastes funny in my mouth. But in Hiroshima, some people were wiped clean away, leaving only a wristwatch or a diary page. So no matter that I have inhibitions to fill all my pockets, I keep trying, hoping that one day I’ll write a poem I can be proud to let sit in a museum exhibit as the only proof I existed. My parents named me Sarah, which is a biblical name. In the original story, God told Sarah she could do something impossible and she laughed, because the first Sarah, she didn’t know what to do with impossible. And me? Well, neither do I, but I see the impossible every day. Impossible is trying to connect in this world, trying to hold onto others while things are blowing up around you, knowing that while you’re speaking, they aren’t just waiting for their turn to talk — they hear you. They feel exactly what you feel at the same time that you feel it. It’s what I strive for every time I open my mouth – that impossible connection. There’s this piece of wall in Hiroshima that was completely burnt black by the radiation. But on the front step, a person who was sitting there blocked the rays from hitting the stone. The only thing left now is a permanent shadow of positive light. After the A-bomb, specialists said it would take 75 years for the radiation-damaged soil of Hiroshima City to ever grow anything again. But that spring, there were new buds popping up from the earth. When I meet you, in that moment, I’m no longer a part of your future. I start quickly becoming part of your past. But in that instant, I get to share your present. And you, you get to share mine. And that is the greatest present of all. So if you tell me I can do the impossible, I’ll probably laugh at you. I don’t know if I can change the world yet, because I don’t know that much about it – and I don’t know that much about reincarnation either, but if you make me laugh hard enough, sometimes I forget what century I’m in. This isn’t my first time here. This isn’t my last time here. These aren’t the last words I’ll share. But just in case, I’m trying my hardest to get it right this time around.

Thank you.


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