Are kids today familiar with the trope of borrowing a cup of sugar from a neighbor? I never saw or heard of anyone actually doing it, but it was at least part of the culture when I grew up.
I wonder what would happen if in one of those cases where someone is fired for on his own time not showing sufficient deference to the, you know, powerless and downtrodden, his co-workers went on strike demanding reinstatement.
And if the employer appealed to the NLRB to declare the strike illegal, claiming (and publicizing) harassment by the (disproportionately white, male) strikers of (disproportionately not) scabs…
Would be *fascinating* to see how everyone lined up on that one.
Man, humanities education was never *supposed* to prepare you to work for someone, it prepares you to have people work for *you*.
Just saw a desi girl with skin tinted self-tanner orange, that’s an interesting aesthetic.
One thing we’ve lost, in the modern day, is the notion of poisoning as a particularly feminine pastime. That was a pretty firm association for a while, that where men might get impulsively, physically rough women’s violence was calculated and chemical, poisoning abusive or just unsatisfactory husbands, or parents who refused assent to marry a lover, or in-laws to “hurry the inheritance”.
You’d see that association invoked in things like Arsenic and Old Lace, but the last pop culture surfacing I can think of is the Dixie Chicks’ 1999 “Goodbye Earl”. (Maaaaybe Gillian “Gone Girl” Flynn’s ‘06 debut novel Sharp Objects but that’s reaching.)
Probably has a lot to do with forensic advances ruining the party, you still see the dynamic in suicide, with women favoring overdose and men trauma.
(probably a lot to do with the decline of from-scratch food prep, too)Getting in touch with your inner child has never been so expensive.The Brooklyn-based Preschool Mastermind, as it’s called, is a preschool-type experience for adults. No, really. And according to its founder, there’s show-and-tell, arts-and-crafts such as finger paint, games (think musical…*shoots up a preschool*
“Next week there’s a field trip. Then the last week of class is “parent day” when the students bring two adults of their choice to class. One woman is actually bringing her parents.”
“…when the students bring two adults of their choice to class.”
…
For a while I’d been thinking it would have been nice, after high school or college graduation, to get another year of kindergarden to color things with crayons and decompress.
I told this to an English man I met in a bar once and he was like “ah yes, we do that, we call it a gap year, except instead of crayons we have drugs and sex.”
And I was like “touché”.
In a bar playing some hipster rap, and I’m like wait, is this a radio edit? But they don’t even cut out the profanity, they put in these absurdly brief cuts at, like, the sub-syllable level. It’s like those h-mangas that are “censored” by way of a thin black bar where the glans meets the shaft. I don’t listen to radio (motorcycle, remember), is that the done thing these days?
“to take a French leave” (to leave a party or other gathering without taking polite leave of one’s host) is referenced in French as filer à l’anglaise (lit. “flee English-style”).
In slang, sexual acts and diseases are *consistently* attributed to another nationality. Like in modern American English, you have *French* kissing (and historically, “French letters” for condoms), anal sex is called “Greek” and titty-fucking “Russian”.
IIRC at some point every country in Western Europe referred to syphilis as “The (X) Disease”, where X was a different foreign demonym.
Doesn’t that look beautiful?
Like something you’d find on one of those soft/nature blogs?
Well you are in for a surprise
The Bolton Strid in England is one of the most innocent looking streams.
Though it looks like you could just hop across the rocks, but if you miss you will die for sure. It packs very rapid currents just a couple of feet below its surface. No one really knows how deep it really is. Nobody who has ever fallen into the Strid has survived. It has a 100% fatality rate.
It’s always the things I google expecting to be false that wind up being horribly true.
I forgot to add but here is a SOURCE
“It’s relatively common for people to assume they can jump the creek, walk across its stones or even wade through it (again, just looking at it, the Strid really seems to be only knee-deep in places, and certainly not the instant, precipitous drop into a watery grave that it is). Most of the time, they never even find the body. Which means there are just dozens of corpses down there, pinned to the walls of the underground chasms, waiting for you to join them…”
how dare you leave out the best quote
“It’s exactly how water works in a video game: It looks all stupid and harmless, but the second your foot touches the surface, you get some bullshit drowning animation and die instantly.”
The fact I can get it right away with the best of the day
before I get a follow back on my way home from work
to be the first half of the day
before I get a follow back on my way home from work
to be the first half of the year
and the first half of the year
and the other hand is the only thing that would have to go back
and the other hand is the only thing that would have to go back
and the first half of the day
I have a great way of life
and the first half of the year
of high quality of life
and the other day I have a great way of the year
“Huh, that’s a name you don't… wait. Subtract from 2015… hahaha she’s *totally* named after Shania Twain.”
…
“Fuck, am I old now?”
(…
“Damn, that’s a comprehensive Wikipedia page.”)
Garbage is doing a 20th anniversary tour where they’re playing the first album (including b-sides) and holy shit yes.
(the first two albums were amazing, and the first 1.5 worth of b-sides [say up to 13 X Forever/Tornado] hold up alongside)
I love that Garbage’s social media presence is obviously Shirley herself and you can tell when they finally convinced her to stop drunkposting
In the supermarket: Premium Canned Alaskan Wild Salmon! me: Wow! Why is that not a— In the pantry: may contain bones me: Well that's just a— In my mouth: … me: Fuck
The Nation (or at least Michelle Goldberg) has been staking out a decent claim on the “last generation’s left-media stars tell the kids their leftism is mewling, toxic, illiberal shit” beat. (See for example) I won’t say it’s the last place I expected that from but it’s not the first. An open niche, I suppose. Before and into the dawn of the Internet I tried to live up to my pretensions of worldly knowledge by going to the library to read a “balanced diet” of The Nation and National Review. (I was, like, twelve, so this was a precocious pretension.) So my image of The Nation comes from its post-Cold War stumblings, all “Fuck, socialism isn’t even a *dream* anymore? Well I, uh… hm. Well how about – no. Hm. Fuck. Look, Adbusters!” The Zack de la Rocha era of American left media, before George W. Bush came along to rescue it. (My memory of ‘90s National Review was a bunch of indistinguishable columnists trying too hard at second-rate Buckley impersonations with the result that they all sounded like poncey British twits. The exception was John Derbyshire, who secure in the knowledge that he *was* a poncey British twit allowed himself a personality.) Anyway, it’s a noble fight, or at least an interesting one. Has me actually paying attention to The Nation for the first time in a while.
