HA! When I first saw this section in B&N, I was like, “Whoa, wait, there’s a whole section now for ‘Teen Paranormal Romance??!!??!?’”
(Source: cosmopsis)
The fact that there was any debate over whether to call in experts on such a matter should tell you something about the integrity of Congress. It’d be one thing if legitimate technical questions directed at the bill’s supporters weren’t met with either silence or veiled accusations that the other side was sympathetic to piracy. Yet here we are with a group of elected officials openly supporting a bill they can’t explain, and having the temerity to suggest there’s no need to “bring in the nerds” to suss out what’s actually on it… The chilling takeaway of this whole debacle was the irrefutable air of anti-intellectualism; that inescapable absurdity that we have members of Congress voting on a technical bill who do not posses any technical knowledge on the subject and do not find it imperative to recognize those who do.
This used to be funny, but now it’s really just terrifying. We’re dealing with legislation that will completely change the face of the internet and free speech for years to come. Yet here we are, still at the mercy of underachieving Congressional know-nothings that have more in common with the slacker students sitting in the back of math class than elected representatives. The fact that some of the people charged with representing us must be dragged kicking and screaming out of their complacency on such matters is no longer endearing — it’s just pathetic and sad.
– Joshua Kopstein, Dear Congress, It’s No Longer OK To Not Know How The Internet Works (via drinkyourjuice) Via drink your juice.I Love Food
I’ve been encouraged to go to culinary school by, well, pretty much anyone who has tasted my cooking. I love good food, good restaurants, innovative cuisine, well-made classics, so many things about food.
But I am sick to death of food culture. The endless navel-gazing of chefs, critics, diners, freaking everyone who has ever tasted a white truffle, and thinks that somehow made them qualified to expound at length on the relative merits and meanings behind the newest gelee topped with powdered frozen foie gras. I’m sick of hearing about every hip, hot new chef, or how Brooklyn has so many damned amazing restaurants “all of a sudden.” I’m sick of watching a million TV shows about chefs (though I’m certainly guilty of watching Chopped, Top Chef, Next Iron Chef, etc.). I’m sick of the snobbery, even found within such supposedly simple places as Roberta’s, or Prime Meats, or even, say, Court Street Grocers. Food has become as obnoxiously twee and insular as indie rock ever thought about being, and it’s ruining the experience.
It’s like the god-damned bacon-hipster-explosion. Too much of a good thing, overly analyzed by self-important twats, and wielded like a club of cool.
I’ve got enough Christmas leftovers from the feast I cooked yesterday to last me at least a week, once I get back to NYC, so, no, you won’t be seeing me at Brooklyn Fare, or Momofuku Ko, or even Lucali. I’ll be eating excellent food in my own house, cooked with my own hands, and the only insufferable twats will be my roommates, who are, thankfully, too pathetically passive-aggressive to even sit in the same room where I’m eating.
Happy New Year! Get over yourselves.
When I looked through your phone and found out you were cheating on me,
you had the naked audacity to ask me, “Why were you looking through my phone?”
Well, whore, maybe it was because I had an inkling that your filthy whore ass shouldn’t be trusted.
Just throwing that out there. Whore.
Ever write a huge text and don’t send it because you feel stupid or want to avoid confrontation….yeah, guilty.
Sending a text is just another way of avoiding confrontation, anyway.
I have a cat crammed into each armpit while I lie in bed debating whether I can ever get over being cheated on, and both cats are drooling heavily on me, while purring so loudly that I’m pretty sure all of my friends on the block must know that I’m home now. Cat drool is surprisingly inoffensive, at least as compared to human drool. I never have a stinky pillowcase as a result of half-retarded felines, at least.
Or maybe Oliver Sacks should record a case study on my inability to detect cat slobber.
Whatever. Squish is getting fat and I think she knows that it is making me love her less. I always thought she was the dumb one. Maybe she always stayed little because she was actually the smart one.
Maybe they’re both just cats, and inherently dumb as fuck.
Tarantino said that this movie is his #1 favorite since 1992 and it’s playing through the last week of December at Cinefamily. I think it’s like the Hunger Games but with a less teen fingerbangy vibe? I plan to see it!
Such a good movie.
All I want for Christmas is a pup and a hooded jacket for him to ride in.
Tomorrow is chocolate chip cookie baking and Peanuts Christmas DVD day. Yay.
(Source: deposito-de-tirinhas)
About me
a blargh.
