Ecoley

This post, my boss is having an affair with our assistant — and I’m friends with his wife , was originally published by Alison Green on Ask a Manager.

It’s the Thursday “ask the readers” question. A reader writes:

I work as a project manager at a small business (~25 employees) and have been in this role for more than six years. I was referred to the position through Katie, a friend from a hobby club I belong to. She learned I’d been laid off from my last position and offered to introduce me to her husband (John) who owns a consulting firm in my field. After a standard interview process, I was hired and have been here ever since.

About 18 months ago, we were looking for a new administrative assistant for the business. Instead of advertising the position like we normally would, John hired Tammy, the “daughter of a family friend.” She was supposedly a recent grad, very eager, would need some training, but would be a great addition to the team. From her first day, it was clear that she was not the right fit for the position. Her computer and communication skills were quite poor, she took forever to do basic tasks, was dressed inappropriately for an office, and played on her phone frequently. She was also coming in late or leaving early every day. Every attempt to provide her with instruction or feedback was met with confusion or eye rolling. Another manager asked her for help in stuffing envelopes for a promotional event, and she laughed in his face!

I went to John and asked him what exactly Tammy’s role was supposed to be since she was refusing to do much of anything. He said not to worry, he would have a word with her. The next day he told me he would be managing her directly from then on and if I needed something that fell under the assistant’s umbrella, I could email him and he would see to it that it was done. He had never taken over management of an assistant before this, and it felt like something was amiss.

Within a few weeks, it seemed clear that John is having an affair with Tammy. John has never admitted it to me, but they drive in together every day, have hours-long meetings in his locked office every afternoon, and whenever she is at her desk, she is shopping online or browsing social media. If anyone asks Tammy to do something for their team, she goes straight to John’s office and a few minutes later he sends a message that someone else will need to do that task. My emails to John regarding my team’s administrative needs just get ignored, and I wind up doing those tasks myself or handing it off to one of my team members (who have enough on their plate as it is). I’ve tried to talk to John about how this is impacting our workflow and how we really need a true assistant, but he snaps that these tasks are not so urgent that we can’t handle them ourselves within our own teams. John’s reliability as our CEO and decision-maker has plummeted as well, and morale is low.

I’ve been quietly trying to find another job since early 2020. Covid threw a wrench in those plans, and I have very few prospects at this time. My dilemma is what to do about Katie (my friend/John’s wife). I am very confident that they don’t have an open marriage. She truly thinks Tammy is an assistant at our workplace. I have not told her about the affair, partly because it’s not my business and partly because I need to protect my job. I am the only person at work who would possibly tip her off about this, and it would be obvious it was me if I were to tell her. I feel absolutely awful keeping this secret. I feel so guilty when she earnestly asks me how work is at our hobby group. What do I do?

Readers, what’s your advice?

Gene Parmesan: Uh, I’ve got some bad news. I’m… Gene Parmesan. How you doing?

¡Amigos! - 2x03

rentdyke:

smootymormonhelldream:

kirmira:

young trotsky looks like jean ralphio

"Cuz I got exiled by Staaaaaaaaaaaliiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnn."

I WAS LAUGHING SO HARD WHILE TRYING TO REBLOG THIS I CLOSED THE TAB AND HAD TO SCROLL FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES TO FIND IT AGAIN BUT IT WAS WORTH IT

Central Ohio Horse Arsonist, Vol.3, No.12, June 1987

The internet is filled with plenty of photo fakery. And we here at Factually are here to help you distinguish the true from the too-good-to-be. Today we have six more images you may have seen floating around recently. None of them is precisely what it claims to be.

Read more...

0:00 - 0:04

Blackness. Slow, laboured breathing extends into a death rattle.

V/O, female: ‘We lost the world.’

 -

0:05 - 0:09

Series of fixed-camera shots of cities destroyed and deserted. The images intersperse with close-ups of wounds and dead flesh.

V/O: 'To the dead.’

-

0:10 - 0:13

An overgrown yard crowded with shambling, rotting corpses.

At the farthest corner of the lot, something hidden in the undergrowth snatches a zombie out of sight.

-

0:14 - 0:16

Young man (Y) runs through the charred remains of an art gallery. A mob of bloody dead run after him.

-

0:17

Blackness. Sound of wet explosion.

- 

 0:18

Y has turned, is staring at a swamp of decaying blood, all that is left of his pursuers.

V/O: 'We’re all prey to something.’

-

 0:19 - 0:21

Interior, a broken-down shack. Unkempt men and women surround Y. He says, 'They were taken!’

 A young woman says, 'By what?' 

-

 0:23 - 0:28

Montage of zombies. Some shuffle, some run. They are all taken, yanked into shadows by something unseen.

 V/O: 'First they walked. Then they ran. Now it’s a new phase.’

-

 0:29 - 0:33

Close-up, a dead man’s face. Camera pulls back. He is one of many zombies in a city square. They crawl towards the camera.

They do not crawl on their knees but on their toes, with their backs tilted, knuckles or fingertips or the palms of their hands on the ground. They move at odds with their own bodies, like humans raised by spiders.

-

 0:34 - 0:35

Director card.

-

 0:36

A dead hand slowly lowers a gavel.

-

 0:37 - 0:39

A schoolroom. An elderly woman speaks to survivors. Hers is the voice of the V/O.

She says, 'Life adapts.’

-

0:40 - 0:44

V/O: 'So does death.’

 Zombie alone on the flat roof of a tower. Looks down at humans on the street. Grabs its own solar plexus with both hands and tenses.

 Cut to humans below. Drop of blood hits one man’s shoulder. He looks up.

 The zombie flies overhead, descending, dripping, its arms outstretched. It is tugging its own ribcage and skin apart, taut, making them wings.

-

 0:45

A bat crawls across cement, wrongly quadruped on the points of its folded wings and its stubby feet.

 V/O: 'There are new ways to be.’

-

 0:46 - 0:49

A man staggers in a book-lined library. A zombie clings to him with all its limbs, biting his chest. It stares at him. It is sutured to him, through both their flesh and clothes.

-

0:50 - 0:52

A cellar packed with fresh corpses is knee-deep in dark oil. A fat nozzle descends the stairs and gushes it, slowly filling the room and covering the motionless dead.

-

0:53 - 0:54

The hand continues to lower the hammer.

V/O: 'A different collective.’

-

0:55 - 1:00

A montage of crawling zombies. Some chase human survivors, some standing zombies. The crawlers tear their quarries apart.

 V/O: 'The walking dead and the walking living, we’re both problems.’

-

 1:01 - 1:04

A zombie crawls vertically up the wall of an elevator-shaft. Human survivors stand, oblivious, by the open door a floor above.

 V/O: ‘Problems to be taken care of.’

-

 1:05 - 1:08

The dead hand touches the hammer to the wood at last. It makes a tiny click.

-

 1:09 - 1:14

Human survivors in an aircraft hangar, by a broken drone. There is growling. Dark smoke pours from the drone’s engine.

 Cut to a control room. A dead drone pilot watches on monitors, blasts the jet’s engines with one hand. Pull back: he has been stitched spreadeagled throughout the room, a flesh web.

-

 1:15 - 1:18

Y hefts heavy hydraulic spreaders. There are fragments of the dead around him. He whispers, ’They didn’t come back…’

- 

1:19 - 1:23

Night. A factory. Its windows are lit from within.

 V/O, Y’s voice: ’…it’s that we haven’t got there, yet.’

 -

1:24 - 1:27

Close-up of the face of the young woman. She is newly dead.

V/O, the old woman again: ‘Of course they’re angry. We’re eggs that don’t want to hatch.’

The corpse opens her eyes.

-

1:28

Blackness.

V/O: 'We knew it was war…’

-

1:29 - 1:33

A bridge over a river. Two zombies kiss so hard their faces distort as they shove into each other. Behind them rages a violent battle between crawling and standing dead.

-

1:34 - 1:37

A ruined office. The clicking of a keyboard.

-

1:38 - 1:41

A dark room. A group of long-dead corpses sit, quite still, around a table.

 At one seat is a living man, shivering with cold. He pushes a sheaf of papers forward, as if for consideration.

-

1:42 - 1:45

A rocky hillside. Hundreds of zombies crawl into the entrance of an old mine.

V/O, A: ’…We didn’t know it was civil war.’

-

1:46 - 1:49

Night. Zombies stand motionless by a wire fence. Beyond it are rough edgelands.

V/O, A: 'Between the second dead…’

-

1:50 - 1:55

Close-up of swaying flesh. Pan back to show a zombie sat on the back of another, that is on all fours. The shot pulls back to reveal hundreds of the crawling dead. A few are mounts for zombie riders.

The crawlers labour on hands and feet through scrub and trash, towards the town. We can see the wire, the standing zombies waiting.

-

1:56 - 1:58

Blackness. Title card.

-

1:59 - 2:04

Close-up, wooden floor. A decaying hand slaps down in the centre of shot. It lifts away and a foot replaces it, on collapsing toes, then hauls out of shot.

They leave a wet stain and crumbs of flesh behind.

V/O, new voice, guttural whisper: ’…And the Crawl.’

- - -

Types of Japanese Swords

George, Sr.: They cannot arrest a husband and wife for the same crime.
Michael: Yeah? I don’t think that that’s true, Dad.
George, Sr.: I’ve got the worst [bleep]ing attorneys!

Pilot - 1x01

submission from rngrfreund

buy this print!

Ida! If she's not your hero, she should be. She's mine.

I gave an interview for the Appendix Journal, and cited her as a figure I'd like to make a comic about, but found it a hard thing, so that it never happened. The reason is easy - if you read about the things Ida Wells fought against, you won't laugh. You'll cry, I guarantee. And I thought, well I can't touch that woman with my dumb internet jokes, she's serious business. And she is.

But then, people use my comics as a launching device to learn history, and I would hope that part of what I do is to celebrate history, not just poke fun at the easy targets.

Anyway, I first saw a picture of Ida B. Wells at the Chicago History Museum. She was protesting the lack of African American representation at the Chicago World's Fair. And I am not sure what it was, but the image stuck with me. You could feel a power in the presence of the lady with the pamphlets. I found out later that she was also handing out information on the terrible truths of lynching in America, a crusade that she is best known for, and rightly so. Her writing on the topic is readily available on the internet, and if you read it, well you'll spend a good deal of time wondering at the terribleness of humanity, but you'll also note that she knew how to handle a volatile topic like that with an audience who didn't want to hear it. But, Ida fought against injustice wherever she saw it. You'll be happy to know, that at the 1913 Suffragist Parade in Washington, she was told to go to the back, but joined in the middle anyway.

I'll leave you with this, a review of Paula J. Giddings' Ida: A Sword Among Lions, from the Washington Post. Go forth, marvel at this woman, who was the best. Did I mention she was one of the first women in the country to keep her name when she married? A founding member of the NAACP? Ida! Just pioneer everything.

Fuck your charmingly eclectic, sparsely populated shelves.

"After my divorce, I couldn’t sleep. I tried everything. I ended up going to a skating rink every night, where I’d skate until I was unconscious. I eventually got so good that I turned semi-pro. I was actually all set to tour with Cher as part of her show, but then the bottom fell out of roller skating."

You know that whole Horror-Movie trope where someone’s adorably off-beat child receives messages that warn of the imminent arrival of terrible dark forces bent on the destruction of all humanity holds dear? And, because horror-movie children seem to be Pictures people rather than Words people, they choose to express what they know through the medium of terrifying drawings? Only the parents choose not to act on it because they are busy cooking dinner or working on their tan or getting divorced or something?

Here’s what I found propped up on my seven-year-old son’s desk on New Year’s Eve:

My first reaction was “Ha ha, I hope this isn’t like one of those drawings in The Ring or Silent Hill or Children of the Corn or The Butterfly Effect and I am one of those dozy parents who completely misses the signs of horrors to come.” My second (possibly more rational) reaction was “Holy shit, I hope this really isn’t like one of those drawings in The Ring or Silent Hill or Children of the Corn or The Butterfly Effect and I am one of those dozy parents who completely misses the signs of horrors to come…better do some parenting here and see what’s going down.”

Extensive interrogation revealed the following:

1. The picture is of a devil and an angel
2. The devil has a pitchfork because he is bad
3. The angel has a halo because she is good
4. The thing in the angel’s right hand is a candle
5. Yes, he knows that being naughty isn’t a boy thing and being good isn’t a girl thing
6. Oh yes, and Spiderman. Spiderman is in it too
7. That, um, that blobby thing underneath. Can we talk about something else now?
8. The candle is because. [This was probed further, but no further information was forthcoming. Apparently the candle was its own justification]
9. It’s all drawn in black because it is
10. Because it is
11. Because it is!
12. This is all the information he wishes to share on the matter, or as he put it, “I think I’ve finished talking about this now, mummy. Let’s read The Faraway Tree and talk about Lego.”

In 1955, while attempting to find a name for their hugely anticipated new car, Ford decided to approach the most unlikely of people to assist in the matter: Pulitzer Prize-winning poet, Marianne Moore. Moore, who was known by the wife of one Robert Young, an employee in the car manufacturer's marketing research department, was soon contacted by letter; she agreed to help, and proceeded to supply them with a magnificent selection of words with which to brand their car. The entire chain of correspondence, from initial enquiry to baffling conclusion, can be read below.

As can be seen, all of Moore's delightful suggestions were ignored. The Ford "Edsel" was finally unveiled in 1957. It flopped spectacularly.

(Source: Letters from and to the Ford Motor Company; Images via here and here.)

October 19, 1955

Dear Miss Moore,

This is a morning we find ourselves with a problem which, strangely enough, is more in the field of words and the fragile meaning of words than in car making. And we just wonder whether you might be intrigued with it sufficiently to lend us a hand.

Our dilemma is a name for a rather important new series of cars.

We should like this name to be more than a label. Specifically, we should like it to have a compelling quality in itself and by itself. To convey, through association or other conjuration, some visceral feeling of elegance, fleetness, advanced features and design. A name, in short, that flashes a dramatically desirable picture in people's minds.

Over the past few weeks this office has confected a list of three hundred-odd candidates which, it pains me to relate, are characterized by an embarrassing pedestrianism. We are miles short of our ambition. And so we are seeking the help of one who knows more about this sort of magic than we.

As to how we might go about this matter, I have no idea. One possibility is that you might care to visit with us and muse with the new Wonder which now is in clay in our Advance Styling Studios. But, in any event, all would depend on whether you find this overture of some challenge and interest.

Should we be so fortunate as to have piqued your fancy, we will be pleased to write more fully. In summary, all we want is a colossal name (another "Thunderbird" would be fine). And, of course, it is expected that our relations will be on a fee basis of an impeccably dignified kind.

Respectfully,
Robert B. Young
Marketing Research Department

------------------------------

October 21, 1955

Let me take it under advisement, Mr. Young. I am complimented to be recruited in this high matter.

I have seen and admired "Thunderbird" as a Ford designation. It would be hard to match, but let me, the coming week, talk with my brother who would bring ardor and imagination to bear on the quest.

Sincerely yours and your wife's,
Marianne Moore

October 27, 1955

Dear Mr. Young,

My brother thought most of the names I had considered suggesting to you for your new series too learned or too labored, but thinks I might ask if any of the following approximate the requirements:

THE FORD SILVER SWORD

This plant, of which the flower is a silver sword, I believe grows only in Tibet, and on the Hawaiian Island, Maui on Mount Háleákelá (House of the Sun); found at an altitude of from 9,500 to 10,000 feet. (The leaves—silver-white—surrounding the individual blossoms—have a pebbled texture that feels like Italian-twist backstitch all-over embroidery.)

My first thought was of a bird series—the swallow species—Hirundo, or, phonetically, Aërundo. (A species that takes its dinner on the wing—"swifts".) Malvina Hoffman is designing a device for the radiator of a made-to-order Cadillac, and said in her opinion the only term surpassing Thunderbird would be hurricane; and I thought Hurricane Hirundo might be the first of a series such as Hurricane Aquila (eagle), Hurricane Accipiter (hawk), and so on.

If these suggestions are not in character with the car, perhaps you could give me a sketch of its general appearance, or hint as to some of its exciting potentialities—though my brother reminds me that such information is highly confidential.

Sincerely yours,
Marianne Moore

------------------------------

November 4, 1955

Dear Miss Moore,

I'm delighted that your note implies that you are interested in helping us in our naming problem.

This being so, procedures in this rigorous business world dictate that we on this end at least document a formal arrangement with provision for a suitable fee or honorarium before pursuing the problem further.

One way might be for you to suggest a figure which could be considered for mutual acceptance. Once this is squared away, we will look forward to having you join us in the continuation of our fascinating search.

Sincerely yours,
Robert B. Young
Marketing Research Department

------------------------------

November 7, 1955

Dear Mr. Young,

It is handsome of you to consider renumeration for service merely enlisted. My fancy would be inhibited, however, by acknowledgement in advance of performance. If I could be of specific assistance, we could no doubt agree on some kind of honorarium for the service rendered.

I seem to exact participation; but if you could tell me how the suggestions submitted strayed—if obviously—from the ideal, I could then perhaps proceed more nearly in keeping with the Company's objective.

Sincerely yours,
Marianne Moore

------------------------------

November 11, 1955

Dear Miss Moore,

Our office philodendron has just benefitted from an extra measure of water as, pacing about, I have sought words to respond to your recent generous note. Let me state my quandary thus. It is unspeakably contrary to procedure to accept counsel—even needed counsel—without a firm prior agreement of conditions (and, indeed, to follow the letter of things, without a Purchase Notice in quadruplicate and three Competitive Bids). But then, seldom has the auto business had occasion to indulge in so ethereal a matter as this. So, if you will risk a mutually satisfactory outcome with us, we should like to honor your wish for a fancy unencumbered.

As to wherein your earlier suggestions may have "strayed," as you put it—they did not at all. Shipment No. 1 was fine, and we would like to luxuriate in more of the same—even thosle your brother regarded as overlearned or labored. For us to impose an ideal on your efforts would, I fear, merely defeat our purpose. We have sought your help to get an approach quite different from our own. In short, we should like suggestions that we ourselves would not have arrived at. And, in sober fact, have not.

Now we on this end must help you by sending some tangible representation of what we are talking about. Perhaps the enclosed sketches will serve the purpose. They are not it, but they convey the feeling. At the very least, they may give you a sense of participation should your friend, Malvina Hoffman, break into brisk conversation on radiator caps.

Sincerely yours,
Robert B. Young
Marketing Research Department

------------------------------

November 13, 1955

Dear Mr. Young,

The sketches. They are indeed exciting; they have quality, and the toucan tones lend tremendous allure—confirmed by the wheels. Half the magic, sustaining effects of this kind. Looked at upside down, furthermore, there is a sense of fish buoyancy. Immediately your word "impeccable" sprang to mind. Might it be a possibility? The Impeccable. In any case, the baguette lapidary glamor you have achieved certainly spurs the imganation. Car innovation is like launching a ship—"drama."

I am by no means sure that I can help you do the right thing, but performance with elegance casts a spell. Let me do some thinking in the direction of impeccable, symmecromatic, thunder blender... (The exotics, if I can shape them a little.) Dearborn might come into one.

If the sketches should be returned at once, let me know. Otherwise, let me dwell on them for a time. I am, may I say, a trusty confidant.

I thank you for realizing that under contract esprit could not flower. You owe me nothing, specific or moral.

Sincerely yours,
Marianne Moore

November 19, 1955

Some other suggestions, Mr. Young, for the phenomenon:

THE RESILIENT BULLET

or Intelligent Bullet

or Bullet Cloisoné or Bullet Lavolta

(I have always had a fancy for THE INTELLIGENT WHALE—the little first Navy submarine, shaped like a sweet potato; on view in our Brooklyn Yard.)

THE FORD FABERGÉ

(That there is also a perfume Fabergé seems to me to do no harm, for here allusion is to the original silversmith.)

THE ARC-en-CIEL (the rainbow)

ARCENCIEL?

Please do not feel that memoranda from me need acknowledgement. I am not working day and night for you; I feel that etymological hits are partially accidental.

The bullet idea has possibilities, it seems to me, in connection with Mercury (with Hermes and Hermes Trismegistus) and magic (white magic).

Sincerely yours,
Marianne Moore

November 28, 1955

Dear Mr. Young,

MONGOOSE CIVIQUE
ANTICIPATOR
REGNA RACER (couronne à couronne) sovereign to sovereign
AEROTERRE
Fée Rapide (Aerofée, Aero Faire, Fée Aiglette, Magi-Faire) Comme II Faire
Tonnèrre Alifère (winged thunder)
Aliforme Alifère (wing-slender, a-wing)
TURBOTORC (used as an adjective by Plymouth)
THUNDERBIRD allié (Cousin Thunderbird)
THUNDER CRESTER
DEARBORN Diamanté
MAGIGRAVURE
PASTELOGRAM

I shall be returning the sketches very soon.

M.M.

December 6, 1955

Dear Mr. Young,

Regina-rex
Taper Racer
Taper Acer
Varsity Stroke
Angelastro
Astranaut
Chaparral
Tir à l'arc (bull's eye)
Cresta Lark
Triskelion (three legs running)
Pluma Piluma (hairfine, feather foot)
Andante con Moto (description of a good motor?)

My findings thin, so I terminate them and am returning the sketches—two pastels, two photos: from Mr. M. H. Lieblich.

Two principles I have not been able to capture: 1. The topknot of the peacock and topnotcher of speed. 2. The swivel-axis (emphasized elsewhere)—like the Captain's bed on the whale ship, Charles Morgan—balanced so that it leveled, whatever the slant of the ship.

If I stumble on a hit, you shall have it. Anything so far has been a pastime. Do not ponder appreciation, Mr. Wallace. That was embodied in the sketches.

M.M.

I cannot resist the temptation to disobey my brother and submit:

TURCOTINGA (turquoise cotinga—the cotinga being a solid indigo South American finch or sparrow)

(I have a three-volume treatise on flowers that might produce something, but the impression given should certainly be unlabored.)

M.M.

December 8, 1955

Mr. Young,

May I submit UTOPIAN TURTLETOP? Do not trouble to answer unless you like it.

Marianne Moore

------------------------------

[Message sent to Moore with a bouquet of roses, eucalyptus and white pine.]

December 23, 1955

Merry Christmas to our favorite Turtletopper.

------------------------------

December 26, 1955

Dear Mr. Young:

An aspiring turtle is certain to glory in spiral eucalyptus, white pine straight from the forest, and innumerable scarlet roses almost too tall for close inspection. Of a temperament susceptible to shock though one may be, to be treated like royalty could not but induce sensations unprecedented august.

Please know that a carfancyer's allegiance to the Ford automotive turtle—extending from the Model T Dynasty to the Young Utopian Dynasty—can never waver; impersonal gratitude surely becoming infinite when made personal. Gratitude to unmiserly Mr. Young and his idealistic associates.

Sincerely yours,
Marianne Moore

------------------------------

November 8, 1956

Dear Miss Moore,

Because you were so kind to us in our early and hopeful days of looking for a suitable name, I feel a deep obligation to report on events that have ensued.

And I feel I must do so before the public announcement of same come Monday, November 19.

We have chosen a name out of the more than six thousand-odd candidates that we gathered. It has a certain ring to it. An air of gaiety and zest. At least, that's what we keep saying. Our name, dear Miss Moore, is—Edsel.

I know you will share your sympathies with us.

Cordially,
David Wallace, Manager
Marketing Research

P.S. Our Mr. Robert Young, who corresponded with you earlier, is now and temporarily, we hope, in the services of our glorious U.S. Coast Guard. I know he would send his best.

Late-1946, English novelist Sylvia Townsend Warner received a Christmas present from friend and fellow writer, Alyse Gregory, that was to inspire what must surely be one of the most exquisite thank you letters ever written. The gift in question was an empty matchbox; Warner's magnificent response can be read below.

(Source: The Letters of Sylvia Townsend Warner; Image: Sylvia Townsend Warner, via NYRB Classics.)

23:xii:1946

Dearest Alyse,

Usually one begins a thank-letter by some graceless comparison, by saying, I have never been given such a very scarlet muffler, or, This is the largest horse I have ever been sent for Christmas. But your matchbox is a nonpareil, for never in my life have I been given a matchbox. Stamps, yes, drawing-pins, yes, balls of string, yes, yes, menacingly too often; but never a matchbox. Now that it has happened I ask myself why it has never happened before. They are such charming things, neat as wrens, and what a deal of ingenuity and human artfulness has gone into their construction; for if they were like the ordinary box with a lid they would not be one half so convenient. This one though is especially neat, charming, and ingenious, and the tray slides in and out as though Chippendale had made it.

But what I like best of all about my matchbox is that it is an empty one. I have often thought how much I should enjoy being given an empty house in Norway, what pleasure it would be to walk into those bare wood-smelling chambers, walls, floor, ceiling, all wood, which is after all the natural shelter of man, or at any rate the most congenial. And when I opened your matchbox which is now my matchbox and saw that beautiful clean sweet-smelling empty rectangular expanse it was exactly as though my house in Norway had come true; with the added advantage of being just the right size to carry in my hand. I shut my imagination up in it instantly, and it is still sitting there, listening to the wind in the firwood outside. Sitting there in a couple of days time I shall hear the Lutheran bell calling me to go and sing Lutheran hymns while the pastor's wife gazes abstractedly at her husband in a bower of evergreen while she wonders if she remembered to put pepper in the goose-stuffing; but I shan't go, I shall be far too happy sitting in my house that Alyse gave me for Christmas.

Oh, I must tell you I have finished my book—begun in 1941 and a hundred times imperilled but finished at last. So I can give an undivided mind to enjoying my matchbox.

(Signed)

P.S. There is still so much to say...carried away by my delight in form and texture I forgot to praise the picture on the back. I have never seen such an agreeable likeness of a hedgehog, and the volcano in the background is magnificent.

This Classic Wondermark was originally published April 28, 2009!

How far away is Iowa?

via rachelliez

flavorpill:

danmeth:

Micro-Organisms of the 1980s. 
A guide to the major unicellular microbes of yesterday’s graphic design world.

It’s like a screen grab of the Saved by the Bell intro.

"I’m retired now. But I was the CEO of the NY State Energy Research and Development Authority."
"What’s something about energy that a lot of people don’t know?"
"Energy is the main source of pollution. I don’t think enough people make that connection. They think of pollution as giant industries spewing smoke into the air, but in reality it mainly comes from the energy that we use everyday— driving our cars, lighting our houses, even that camera you’re using. We’re never going to stop needing energy, so we just have to find the most efficient ways of creating it.”

Some of these space-faring animals gave their lives for the sake of discovery, but many of them returned safely to Earth. Here are the stories of these incredible and brave animal explorers.

Read more...

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
“Fireman.”
“Why do you want to be a fireman?”
“I said Ironman!”

Spotted backstage at a resort in St. Petersburg, Florida — drama! 

Or, as RuPaul put it:

related: Stripper Problems

"Tell me something about your grandmother."
"She’s an amazing woman. She lived in Denmark during World War II. After the Allies occupied the country, they began to hunt down Nazi collaborators. Overall this was a good thing. But instead of hunting down the powerful people, such as the police chief, they went after the weaker members of society. One of the main groups that they persecuted were the prostitutes who had slept with the Germans. My grandmother was very active in protecting and advocating for these prostitutes."

At this point, Grandma joined the conversation. “I was working in a hospital at that time,” she said. “After the Americans came, we had our first black baby! Everyone was so excited!”

"What was the happiest moment of your life?"
“Europe in the summer of 1959.”
“What happened there?”
“I was nineteen. I’d just lost 100 pounds and had a whole new set of clothes. I toured Paris and Rome and everyone was paying me so much attention. They were even asking for my photograph! Of course inside I still felt like an awkward, overweight girl. It was all so overwhelming and wonderful!”
“Why’d you go to Europe?”
“To have sex, of course. And I did! I was the first in my whole group of friends. I came home and told everyone that I’d done it with a charming Frenchman. In reality it was some creepy dude from Chicago.”

quickhits:

Washington Post: “William Allison, 92, came to today’s march with same sign he marched with in ‘63 pic.twitter.com/qT3kL8VlEP via @HamilHarris #MarchonWashington”

She had a stack of comic books in her lap, so I asked: “If you had a superpower, what would it be?”
“I’d never have to pee,” she said.