then there’s nothing I can do for you.
Stolen from Metafilter. I don’t have a MeFi account, so I can’t even favorite things over there, much less comment. So I figured I’d re-pose the question here.
The MeFi thread is great, but bring tissues. I loved this one most:
My uncle, Albert Crary, was an extraordinary man. Not only was he an explorer and scientist of both poles (The Crary Mountains in Antarctica were named by him and the A.P. Crary Science and Engineering Center at McMurdo Station was named fo him) but he gathered stories like no one I’ve ever met. At his public memorial in Washington DC at, I believe, the Cosmos Club, speaker after speaker got up and told about his staunchness, his incredible endurance, but most importantly, they all told a funny story about him: The time he fell off the ice shelf and what he said to the preacher after his rescue when the preacher came looking for a good sermon. The time he went shopping for supplies in South America when they were running a geophysical line across a South American swamp. The time my father put my brother up to calling him and acting like a dumb reporter asking the stupidest questions imaginable about the ice island T3.
Months later, we had a private memorial in his hometown of Canton, New York. One-by-one his nieces, nephews, in-laws and friends got up and told more stories. To all of us he’d been the source of fun, support and laughter when we were growing up – he never let any of us take ourselves too seriously, but he was always there when anyone needed help. When my turn came, I got up, told my story and then said this:
Everyone deserves an Uncle Albert, we were just fortunate enough to have had one.
posted by BillW at 5:23 PM on March 30
(Via the wonderful Ed Yong.)
The good soldier of cinema. I kept calling him that and he kept calling me that. He saw in me a good soldier in cinema. I said you are even more. He was a wounded soldier. He was ill and struggled and was still plowing on relentlessly. And that was completely and utterly admirable and I love him for that.
Happy Easter, happy spring, everyone!
I don’t know how long this will stay up.
Well-dressed filmmakers and genii Wes Anderson and Roman Coppola have got their brains together and come up with an idea for a short film for Prada entitled Candy in celebration of the brand’s new perfume.
(via It’s Nice That)
Give me. Your dirty love.
That is all. I love y’all all up.
Chiditarod is sort of like if you had Halloween in March for grown ups who love fast-moving parades and races and all the joy it takes you to not feel cold with the swirls of snow at your feet. It has become an art form of who can create the most elaborate or inventive float just as much as who can finish first with checkpoints all over local businesses in the Chicago neighborhood of Ukrainian Village. Sometimes, it feels like Chicago has lost so many great musicians, artists, writers to cities like NYC but whenever Chiditarod comes around, it reminds us Chicagoans why it’s great to be home. As the Chiditarod website points out, the date coincides with the Alaskan Iditarod dog sled race but I’ve always preferred shopping carts to sleds and costume lovers to dogs, anyway. And, as if you needed any more of a reason to support adults donning costumes and running through the wind and the cold, proceeds also greatly benefit The Greater Chicago Food Depository.
Favorite floats from this year’s race include “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea,” “The Beatles,” “DeadMau5,” “Ghostbusters,” “Mr. Potato Head,” “Super Mario Bros.,” “Lucky Charms,” “Unicorns,” “Draculas,” and “Happy Birthday!”
Full set of (large-sized) photographs from Chiditarod 2013 can be viewed on Flickr here.
Everyone needs a manifesto.
In a perfect world, cheese would have a mild laxative effect.
I became tired of losing the TV remote. It’s now up my butt. Watch me change channels.
It’s not brand new, but if you read it you will love this excellent piece written by ‘flocker Sarah Pavis:
It is 9.56 am and I have been awake for 56 minutes now. Willing participant in a life shift that has me seasonally working second-shift at the large gubment agency here in town. I won’t mention its name, but its initials are…wait, I won’t mention them either. Let’s just say I won’t be checking in on personal email or clusterflock from a computer on its premisis. I won’t be checking from my phone either since it gets NO SIGNAL inside the enormous campus. Let’s just say my opinion of it is so far so good.
Just wanted to say how good it is to see activity here. Sheila, MGS, Derek stalwarts all. Congrats Brandon! (You know the leg-bone or thigh-bone I carry in my bag for tornadoes and dreams of tornadoes.) Once I get really settled into my schedule, I hope to sit down and spend some time with y’all.
It’s time to revisit The Mighty Boosh once again. NSFW unless you work someplace way cooler than most of us do.
Born January 3, 1943 in Hattiesburg, Mississippi.
From a letter penned in 1993 by my friend Lee, who can now scarcely find words at all.
Steve & I saw Indochine last night. Horrors! I’ve lost the ability to sit still that long even for La Deneuve. When I left the movie I was saying to Steve that it was remarkable how they handled the time in the movie and this blah blah metaphor for the blah blah relationship between France and Indochina and how leaving the Japs out compressed the blah blah and effectively blah blah. This morning I woke up still thinking about it — or seeing it, really — and there on the screen of my mind was the word SONY. No wonder they left out the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere. Well, I loved it anyway. A French Gone with the Wind. [April 1993]
c’flock in the foreground, disney in the mid-ground, qwirkle in the farground.
I’m still thankful for all you guys.
— Heather McCormack (@HuisceBeatha) November 15, 2012
This is so cool I can’t hardly stand it.
I’ve been way way down lately, so when India’s and Lucy’s friend Heather commenced live-tweeting about Elmore Leonard from the National Book Awards, I got all excited. She and I got going back and forth, and I told her about my crush on Leonard. And we got talking about one of Leonard’s minor gifts — how he never strikes a false note when he writes about music. Anyway . . .
She said she’d try and get me a photo. And she did.
You are caramel and hot wax. I am a new wool sweater with a bull’s eye on its back. The ladder in the yard climbs high into the air and I go up, up, up. I’m afraid to look down. The ladder stands unsupported as if it’s a flagpole. I remove bandages until the fabric coils like snakes, but nothing within is wrapped except old air. A woman in line at the deli complains: “My feet are killing me and I can’t stand for very long because it hurts my back.” I suggest she should wait instead for service at the shoe store. Strangers don’t appreciate it when you’re trying to be helpful.
Something old. Something new.
Something borrowed. Something blue.
The Seersucker Redemption.
I love you guys.