Hasta La Gadget!

If you like contributing to the development of apps, or if you like to gain access to new features before everyone else, taking part in a beta program is a good way to go about it. The good news for those of you who are avid Instagram users, Instagram has recently launched a beta program for its Android users.

Like we said, this means that you will be able to get access to the beta builds of Instagram and try out new features before anyone else. Users who are part of the program will also be able to send the developers feedback and also help them catch any bugs that they might have missed before the version is released to the public.

Of course this also means that your Instagram experience might not necessarily be ideal as there could be some bugs that the developers missed, some of which could be a breaking bug that might render the app unusable, however we suppose that is the risk that comes with being a beta testing.

For those interested in signing up, all you’d have to do is head on over to the Google groups page, sign up for the beta program, and download the beta version of Instagram from the Google Play Store and you’re good to go.

Instagram Opens Up Beta Program To Android Users , original content from Ubergizmo. Read our Copyrights and terms of use.

The “A” position: When a toddler climbs into bed with their parents and wedges them apart at their hips.

The “B” position: When a parent tries to put a pillow between themself and two kids, but both kids still manage to curve around their respective pillows far enough for their itchy hair and cold toes to bother the parent all night.

The “C” position: When a parent curves their body around a pool of urine in the middle of the bed.

The “D” position: When one parent has been pushed to the very edge of the bed while the other parent’s butt has already been knocked to the floor and only their outstretched fingers and toes remain atop the bed.

The “E” position: When two parents each lay an arm across the top of the bed so their toddler can rest their head on both parents’ arms at the same time.

The “F” position: When a parent lies in bed and two toddlers position themselves perpendicular to the parent, one lying their head on the parent’s face and the other on the parent’s stomach.

The “G” position: When a parent curls into a fetal position because they can’t get five consecutive minutes of sleep.

The “H” position: When a toddler rests their head on one parent’s belly and their feet on the other parent’s belly. (Typically, the toddler changes their direction many times throughout a night.)

The “I” position: When a parent lies still with their hands at their sides in fear of waking their toddler — who is sleeping directly atop the parent.

The “J” position: When a parent lies still with their hands at their sides in fear of waking their toddler — whose feet are pushing the parent’s head to the side.

The “K” position: When two parents form a right angle against the headboard because they have given up trying to stop kids from crawling into the middle of their bed at night.

The “L” position: When a parent lies in bed with one outstretched arm trapped under their toddler’s head. (Typically, the parent’s arm is the only part of the parent to fall asleep due to the toddler’s snoring, coughing and pleas for the parent to get up.)

The “M” position: When two toddlers share a pillow with the parent closest to them, but still find reason to kick each other under the covers all night.

The “N” position: When a toddler lies diagonally in bed between parents to take up the most amount of space possible.

The “O” position: When a parent withdraws into a cannonball position to defend themself against a toddler who won’t stop jumping on the parent’s head.

The “P” position: Not a physical position as much as it is a state of mind. Throughout a night, a parent must remain in an alert P position to be able to quickly dodge or clean pee before a hazardous situation devolves any further.

The “Q” position: When a parent tries to cover their whole body with the sheets but their toddler claims such a disproportional amount of sheets that the parent’s leg sticks out at the bottom.

The “R” position: When one parent is hiding between the headboard and the mattress while the other parent is in the cannonball position (also known as Position O) getting kicked in the kidneys by a toddler having a night terror.

The “S” position: The shape of a parent’s spine after countless nights contorting their body around a toddler.

The “T” position: When a parent stretches their arms out to the sides to allow up to four children (or one child and up to three stuffed animals) to rest their head on each arm.

The “U” position: When two parents and a toddler are all sleeping on an edge of the bed because everybody is too tired to care about the risks of falling out anymore.

The “V” position: When two parents have to share a pillow because their toddler has taken the other pillows (and the sheets) and is hiding them somewhere in the house.

The “W” position: When four children conspire to take up every inch of space in their parents’ bed, forcing the parents to spend the night in separate toddler-size beds and reflect on whether they were as prepared as they thought they were to have the fourth baby. (This position is also known as the coup d’état.)

The “X” position: When a toddler lies across their parent’s belly to leverage their weight and keep the parent pinned down.

The “Y” position: When a parent stretches both arms high above their head and yawns, knowing that they won’t be getting any real rest.

The “Z” position: Ironically named because no parent will ever get zzzzz’s again if their toddler becomes a fully-grown adult who still sleeps diagonally because their parents never made them learn how to sleep in their own bed.

Arriving on the outskirts of Chiapa de Corzo, we spied a masked duo a block away and began to follow them, certain they would lead us to what we had come to witness.

Under the heat of the high noon sun, I knew the pair must be sweltering in their black clothing, heavy serapes and ceremonial headgear. As we made our way down the near-empty street, past casitas painted in pastel shades, others in similar costumes emerged from doorways and side streets and fell into step. Greetings were called and the low buzz of excited chatter and laughter began to hum, punctuated by a percussive rat-a-tat-tat as members of the growing crowd began to shake silver tasseled rattles they held in their gloved hands.

Chiapa de Corzo’s Dance of Parachicos is part of the Fiesta Grande de Enero, or Great January Feast, which takes place from January 4 to 23 every year. The Parachicos celebration has been named by UNESCO as an item of intangible cultural heritage and is often described as the best mestizo festival in southeastern Mexico. UNESCO cites the tradition as being held to honor of the local patron saints Our Lord of Esquipulas, Saint Anthony Abbot and Saint Sebastian.

In another explanation, according to legend, in 1711, during Mexico’s Spanish Colonial era, Dona Maria de Angula was a rich Spanish woman who traveled to Chiapa de Corzo in search of a cure for a mysterious paralytic illness afflicting her son, which no doctor could cure. When she arrived, she was directed to a curandero, a local healer, who examined the boy, and instructed his mother to bathe him in the waters of a small lake. To amuse the boy, a local group disguised themselves as Spaniards with masks and began to dance, explaining “para el chico,” which means “for the boy.” The child was cured and the grateful mother expressed her appreciation to the town with a lavish feast, beginning the Fiesta Grande de Enero and Parachico Dance traditions.

The Parachicos’ masks are made with cedar or Guanacaste, an endemic tree, and carved to resemble the European features of a Spaniard, and then lacquered with oil obtained from an insect called aje. Their wigs, adorned with flowers and ribbons, are made with ixtle, a rough fiber derived from agave plants.

We had become engulfed in a current of surreal strangers, all anonymous behind their painted masks. Bobbing along, we eventually spilled into the town’s plaza, where clusters of raven-haired women congregated, showing off their full-length, off-the-shoulder dresses emblazoned with vivid floral designs. As they vamped and vogued, teenage couples stole kisses in the shadows of La Pila Fountain, a Moorish structure with eight immense arches constructed in 1562. A father and son were beginning to dress in their Parachico attire, with the older man crossing a red sash around his mid-section and the boy wrapping a bandana around his head before donning the heavy headpiece.

Flowing forward with the widening stream of revelers, we found ourselves in an arcade — also dressed for the occasion, its timbered white ceilings festooned with brightly-painted bowls hung by ribbons. A grandmother held a chubby-cheeked girl with a lavender ribbon in her hair almost as big in diameter as her head. Old men in pork pie hats greeted each other with a warm embrace. A middle-aged woman cinched the waist of her 20-something daughter’s dress, and they squabbled affectionately as the mother tightly tied the bow.

The tide of revelers then moved us through an archway, down stairs and into a park pulsating with wildly dancing Parachicos, cavorting to the pounding beat of a ten-piece mariachi band. In the shadow of the towering Santo Domingo church, serapes swirled, rattles waved high in the air, and dust rose around the writhing bodies. On the stage, a trio of full-figured matrons held their flouncy skirts high and twirled while three marimba players displayed artful choreography on the xylophone-like instrument with Mayan roots. The brass section soared and swayed in time, all in matching pale yellow shirts, their hair slicked up and gleaming.

I was unable to resist the call and tore away from my husband Tom and our guide Jesus and dove into the midst of the crowd, determined to do a shutterbug dance and shoot pictures while shaking my hips to the music. Quickly realizing my motor coordination skills only permitted one of the two activities, I slung my camera over my shoulder and became one with the Paracheco movement, joyously dancing with abandon, and letting loose a loud whoop, knowing I couldn’t be heard over the reverberating revelry.

Eventually, sweaty and panting, I found my way back to Tom and Jesus and we made our way to the plaza in front of Santo Domingo. An even bigger crowd milled about, and a sense of anticipation emanated. Jesus tugged at my elbow and pointed in the opposite direction. Up the neighboring hill was a sea of ixtle wigs, bobbing up and down and then advancing toward us. An immense procession of Parachicos made its way to the church, with hundreds of elbows flying, legs kicking, knees jerking, and fingers pointed skyward. As I watched from the sidelines, the individual gyrations blurred into a sensation of one giant mass of jubilant energy.

Inspired as an antidote to one young boy’s ill health, more than 300 years later the Dance of the Parachicos is alive and well. My own middle-aged muscles had begun to ache but I couldn’t have been happier about catching Chiapa de Corzo’s infectious spirit of camaraderie and exuberance.

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Meg Pier’s www.ViewfromthePier.com is all about exploring the world’s cultural traditions & spiritual practices through travel and photography.

Recently I had a rigorous dinner of fondue and wine. That’s me up there on the right.

Sourdough. Melted Cheese. Bordeaux. Repeat. Dark Chocolate. Marshmallows. Strawberries. Bordeaux. Repeat ad nauseam. An entirely indulgent, glutinous and divine meal that has nothing remotely cleansing about it.

The feast was enjoyed while on holiday with happy kids and husband and an infectious, lovely friend. This kind of consumption usually leaves me feeling awful. In that self-loathing bloated, heavy, disgusted, “I suck” way. But enjoyed with gut busting, eyes tearing, joyous laughter, I left lighter on my feet than I would had I limited myself to a lonely salad with dressing on the side and a glass of filtered water, no ice.

This all came on the heels of hearing that certain celebrities won’t smile in photos for fear of crow’s feet. Apparently this is big entertainment “news”. Add to that this little tidbit from the Victoria Beckham 73 Questions from Vogue piece and her response to her least favorite question, “why don’t you smile?” answered with “I’m smiling on the inside. I feel that I have a responsibility to the fashion community.”

I had no idea smiling and laughter in the fashion community was like getting Ebola. Finally there’s something in fashion I don’t want.

Lets makes Crow’s Feet the “it” accessory of 2015. While it’s hard to compete in the world of Keeping Up With the Fabulous, laughter wins over any “must-have” wait-list accessory every time. Besides, it looks good on all of us and there’s no price nor size tag attached.

And what’s not to love from something we’ve earned from years and years of smiling.

Here’s to a 2015 full of crow’s feet generating belly laughs. And more fondue. Now that is something to crow about.

For more of our style musings where we give Father Time the finger, please visit us at Blank Stare, Blink.

The 2015 State of the Union address will be attended by many prominent individuals, including this veteran with a heroic story.

Retired Navy Lt. Jim Downing of Colorado Springs, Colorado, is the oldest known surviving veteran of the Dec. 7, 1941 attack on Pearl Harbor. To honor his service and bravery, the 101-year-old has been invited to attend President Obama’s annual address by Sen. Michael Bennet (D-Colo.), according to ABC News.

“Lt. Downing is a hero who has lived an incredible life,” Bennet said of his decision to bring the Pearl Harbor survivor to the address, according to the Colorado Gazette. “Our nation is indebted to him and his fellow sailors for their service in defense of our country.”

The veteran, who was 28 at the time of the attack, was responsible for incredible acts of compassion back in 1941.

“As I saw these bodies lying around [after the attack] I felt their parents would never know what happened so I started memorizing names on the name tags so I could write their folks a letter,” he told KRDO.com.

Downing wrote to as many families of the dead as he could, delivering the news of the tragedy.

“It was just something you do,” he told the Denver Post.

Downing, who served in the Navy for 24 years, will attend this year’s annual address with his daughter, Marobeth. Sen. Brian Schatz (D-Hawaii) gave his office’s only ticket to Marobeth, according to Sen. Bennet’s website.

“I am excited for the opportunity to attend the State of the Union address and look forward to the visit to the Capitol,” he said in a statement, the Gazette reported. “My daughter and I are particularly thankful to Senators Bennet and Schatz for making attendance at this event possible.”

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