And I mean the way-back days. Sheila Ryan Coiffed like a Pinhead. One of the first things I remember seeing in my early days here. For the record, I believe the chick in the photo is now a regular on American Horror Story Asylum. I am addicted.
And like a true fashionista, the green Eclectus parrot throws a tantrum if he is forced to change – stamping his feet, flapping his wings and squawking.
(via The Daily Mail)
…I’ve been meandering back. I loved this question and thread.
(via The Gothamist)
How long can you last?
Your social class is stuffy. Let’s dance with the ship’s rats and have fun.
You have captured my heart. Let’s run around the ship and giggle.
(The ship SINKS.)
Never let go.
I promise. (lets go)
Can I do this unobtrusively?
This being: return to the roadside motel where I lived for the past three months, dive into the dumpster to retrieve a garbage bag, open it and retrieve a small trashcan liner filled with vomit and other detritus, and swirl through it in search of a diamond ring that belonged to my mother.
I don’t think I can do this unobtrusively.
– at least in reruns.
Hoisting this post is as poignant for me as it is funny. I’ve been in Dallas for a couple of weeks, in part seeing to troubles swirling around my long-time friend Lee, who’s been diagnosed with a form of dementia.
Lee’s last paying job after her formal retirement was a part-time gig writing summaries of lawsuits filed in various district courts of Galveston (TX) County. Before that, she was . . . oh-so-many and oh-so-much. Read more
Without thinking, comment: What’s the first thing you think when you see . . .
I’ve been eating a lot of sushi lately, I offer by way of introduction to this post.
I have been thinking about something for the past day or so, albeit intermittently, I will admit. Here is the scenario. Please place, to the best of your ability, in order of worseness, from least worse to most worse, the following ways of being killed by an animal . . .
is still a-goin’, y’all.
A few years back, India posted about photographer Lillian Bassman.
Bassman died on Monday, February 13 at her home in Manhattan. She was 94.
Going down the rabbit-hole of Cece’s post. Great rememberies here, following “flockers.”
Any of you watched Life in a Day? I watched it this afternoon as part of my Funemployment. I liked it, put together by many, “directed” by the Scott brothers (Ridley and Tony). I’d like to see other directors take the 4,500 hours of video submitted and do their own take. A sort of “Aristocrats” for directors.
I put a post up before it happened. I didn’t see anyone familiar in the film.
April 27, 2007: Manah Manah.
(Move along. Nothing to see.)
Life in Iowa can be punishing. Many Iowans expend their lives sweating over soil and spilling the blood of livestock; they endure the hardships associated with a life inextricably bound to the ups and downs of nature. Today, those challenges and a shift in our nation’s economy have pushed the youth of rural communities to migrate to the metropolises of America. Those left in the wake of this out-migration continue their lives, seemingly unchanged from the generations that preceded them, and entombed in obscurity.
I always wondered why Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown decided to visit Israel and hang out with Ariel Sharon. Tonight, while eating Country Fried Kalebone™ at phATLanta’s Soul Vegetarian restaurant on N. Highland Avenue, I finally found the answer.
Turns out they are strange animals:
Sneezing that is nothing to worry about:
Did you know that goats use the sneeze sound as an alarm? They use a sneeze to warn each other of danger (be it actually real or imagined). Young goats sneeze as part of their play. If you watch your goats you will begin to notice their use of the sneeze sound.
Goats sneeze sometimes when you give them alfalfa hay. Who knows why? It’s just their way of saying “I like alfalfa!”
It’s important to do good work. But also to be doing THE good work. And I don’t mean that in a religious sense (obviously, because when do I do that?) I mean that in the way that you choose your projects because you want the next door to be even more magnificent than the last. So, can you tell if one door might have a unicorn as opposed to a used car?
Olfuctory has some fucumference to it, word-wise.
My final was yesterday, orientation for the next semester is tomorrow, and today, with no plans, I sat around and was bored, that is, until I read a review of the Adam Sandler film “Click”. Memories started flooding me from my old life in Hollywood. I had to see the film because there were a few things I had to know.
The Flaming Squirrel
3 oz Canadian whiskey
1 oz Frangelico hazelnut liqueur
2 dashes orange bitters
2 dashes Angostura bitters
overproof rum and orange peel for garnish
Combine whiskey (for fuzzy warmth), Frangelico (for general nuttiness) and bitters (for the tragedy of existence, &c.) in a rocks glass. Stir. Dip a wide slice of orange zest in overproof rum. Ignite over glass–when you burn your fingers, don’t come crying to me. Drop flaming zest into glass; garnish appropriately–orange peel squirrel tail charred under the broiler, mine.
Procure eye dropper. “And one for my little homie…”
Deron challenged us to put forth our worst. He whipped our sorry asses.
Update. Deron to Amanda Mae: Did you get my head shot?
I read a story long ago — I think it was in Witness or maybe Grand Street — that was about a small town in Germany during the second world war that did its duty and camouflaged a defunct vegetable canning factory. The factory was out at the far edge of town, and the idea was to tempt allied bombers to drop bombs on a worthless target, which would reduce the number of bombs headed for “important” cities. One night a person who lived near the factory was awakened by a muffled crashing sound. At first light everybody went to investigate, and they discovered that a huge log had been dropped directly on the factory. It was roughly carved into the shape of a bomb, and carved into the side of it was the word: BOOM! The people all shook their heads in wonder that anybody would go to the trouble to do such a thing, and one of them said, “Good God, what sort of people are we dealing with here?!” I have thought since reading this that perhaps the only redeeming feature of Americans is the fact that we value a bizarre sense of humor.