BLADE RUNNER || Aesthetics
via fh. @CC
Before Radiohead’s Thom Yorke was a global superstar helping Iranian couples smooth over their troubled marriages, he was just another babyfaced bloke in an oversized T-shirt having a blast with his college band. That’s evident from archival video footage of Headless Chickens, the violin-augmented group he was in while attending the University Of Exeter in the late ’80s. In the newly uploaded clip, which was filmed by fellow musician Shaun McCrindle at the college’s venue, the Lemon Grove, the noisy troupe rattles through a shambling, brisk “High & Dry,” which later appeared on Radiohead’s 1995 album, The Bends. Although Yorke’s familiar falsetto is muted somewhat by his bandmates’ harmonies, he unleashes a rather-proficient electric guitar solo that’s just as incisive.
Incidentally, this clip isn’t the only Yorke rarity lurking on the YouTube channel, which is run by McCrindle, who sometimes plays guitar with ...
it's been a firehose morning.
via fh. almost spit my coffee near the end.
Standup comedian Eugene Mirman, best-known for his role as Gene on the hit series Bob's Burgers, gave one town in New Hampshire a piece of his mind when they issued him a ticket for backing into a parking spot.
Mirman had been walking around the town of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, with his girlfriend. Upon their return to the car, he claims he found a slip of paper on the windshield, even though there was an hour left on the parking meter. A closer inspection of the citation revealed the explanation for the ticket: He was "parked in the wrong direction" and would have to pay a fine of $15.
Despite the paltry size of the fine, Mirman was not going to stand for what he deemed a total injustice. He took out a full-page ad in a local paper to
give Portsmouth a piece of his mind.
The letter reads:
Dear Portsmouth, NH, and Especially the Parking Clerk’s Office,
Last June I had a wonderful day walking around your historic downtown with my girlfriend. I bought two puppets, who turned out to be gay. Just kidding, they’re puppets. We stopped in cute shops, ate a popover and saw Black David Cross. It was nice.
Then — when we returned to our car, on the windshield was a ticket. “What could this possibly be for,” I thought. I paid for three hours of parking (but only used two — you’re welcome, Portsmouth.) Is it a crime in Portsmouth to not use all of the parking you bought? How'd you know I’d be back early? Do you have a PreCrime division? Why are your PreCogs working on traffic tickets? Shouldn’t they be out preventing Street Performers before they happen? But no, I read the violation—we backed into a spot and were being fined $15 for being “parked in the wrong direction.”
What kind of horse$&it charge is that? It’s illegal to back into a spot? Before I embarrass myself, I want to make sure that Portsmouth is still inside the United States and not considered a part of Iran?
You’re probably thinking, “Well, if before visiting Portsmouth, like everyone else — you’d simply gone to the City Clerk’s Office website, clicked on City of Portsmouth ordinances and looked in chapter seven — Vehicles, Traffic and Parking. Right there in section 7.316: BACK TO CURB, it says, “No vehicle shall remain backed up to the curb.” Similarly, if you had gone to my website before I came to your city and clicked on Eugene’s ordinances, you’d know that in Chapter One under “F%#K You Don’t Steal My Money,” in section 8.215 is says, “F%#K You Don’t Steal My Money.”
But even if I had gone to your website — is states that the online ordinances are not an official copy — that for the official ordinances, I have to call 610-7245. Why no area code? Am I calling from a local payphone in 1986? But instead, I foolishly looked around for signs, both real and from God. I saw nothing, but I heard God’s voice, and he said, “This is f%#cking bull$&it. You need to write them a letter.”
Lastly, as you know, New Hampshire‘s state motto is General John Stark’s celebrated quote, “Live Free or Die,” which he famously said before attempting the first recorded self-BJ. If John Stark was alive today, he would be 287 years old — also, right after learning about cars, General Stark would then be disgusted ti discover that Portsmouth doesn’t even give peopple the freedom to back into a spot — which by your own state’s twisted logic, turns my $15 ticket — into a fight to the death.
With Great Disappointment In You,
This isn't the first time Mirman has taken out an ad to express his dissatisfaction. In 2011, he spent $1,100 to buy a full-page ad that called Time Warner Cable an "an ill-run Soviet factory." Mirman told The Observer at the time that he "might end up taking out more ads."
Mirman has made good on that promise. Here's hoping he continues.
@Lev. Birthday idea?
Breakfast of Champions (donut plates!)
Well that's fun. I never really considered Wal-mart a competitor to Amazon (because I don't usually consider Wal-mart at all, aside from some respect for supply chain and logistics disruptive ideas). But cool that Wal-mart and Amazon are competing openly.
via osiasjota. I hope this is true. It's hilarious either way.
Fantastic. via Sophianotloren.
Hovertext: This comic is an allegory for, of course, the 1896 presidential elections.
My favorite self help blog. Behind Seth Godin, but I don't follow him.
As I pulled off my tennis shoes just inside my front door that day after fifth grade, I heard my mother say it, “No one knows what they’re doing.” She, in a simple response to a query I had about some confusing adult thing or another, continued, “You know, we’re all just making it up as we go along.” And there it was. In one fell sentence, she had introduced me to the secret of adulthood.
While the secrets of adulthood are many (we can say no, doctors no longer fix things, we can actually learn new skills), the sentiment of expertise is less contested. Or, less often revealed anyway. People aspire to be expert. And more often, we assume the following: we grow up, we become experts, the end. With age, we gain wisdom. Nothing could be simpler. But nothing could be further from the truth.
Early on, my mother exposed this myth — casually, just after piano practice and before dinnertime. Adults too were making it up. Adults were winging it. It has been an invaluable insight that’s guided me my whole life.
So what follows, really, are the virtues of making it up:
I don’t know is, in fact, the most important secret to reveal.
Before we knew design, before we knew what we did was “a profession,” we wrote. We sat patiently through grammar class, learning when the participle dangled and the sentence ran on. As we got older, we were handed down paperbacks gilded with lessons and rules about how to write. Guidelines from Strunk & White guided our grammar and high school prose. But if we braved on, we may have encountered a different kind of grammatical attitude. Grammar rules dropped away, and we were left to our own devices. If we forgot the rules, we could speak and write in our own voice, we could develop a style that could only be our own.
In the land of making it up, there is no word for “misstep,” no dictionary entry for “mistake.” Such words would assume there is a right way to do something. Tolerance, then, is a way of life. And seeking others who experiment and fail is encouraged and celebrated.
3. More making.
Make believe is contagious. So do what feels right. What moves you. What inspires you. Make up more.
Far earlier, even before fifth grade, I discovered Fred Rogers with his make-believe and Neighborhood itself who said, “Discovering the truth about ourselves is a lifetime’s work, but it’s worth the effort.” These virtues of make believe, no matter how deeply we trust the notion we’re all making it up together, still take a lifetime to trust.
In the meantime, I’m making it up.
Kermit porn. NSFW-ish.
Fking terrifying is right. The damage evident in the slideshow pictures turns my stomach.
Erryday allday. via firehose.
I'm so bored with Atwood always talking about Air Jordans.
Everybody has a thing.
Hmm. I guess I can relate to this very much.
Reza Aslan, TDS, May 13, 2015
Frollo, upon meeting Gaston for the first time. True story.
No ooone’s thick like Gaston/Moves those hips like Gaston/No one makes an old priest want some dick like Gaston
I choked on my drink
I’m in tears holy shit
i AM FUCKING WHEEZNG
The retail scenario.
do actors get boners while making sex scenes this is one of the things i’ve wondered my whole life
Idk if you actually care for the answer, but they have to put their dicks in little sleeves that attach to the leg so if they get a boner it just get held down.
that sounds like a garment that should be sold everywhere and considered polite if not mandatory to wear, like bras
Omg I can’t
As a guy I second this.
If I have to wear a titty sling because there might be an event where it becomes chilly and my nip noops become visible through my shirt, people who have a peenor should be expected to wear a peenor sling in case there is an event where a gentle breeze occurs and their peenor becomes erect.
I kind of feel like if we’re gonna do that we should go all-out and they should be IMPOSSIBLE to size, VERY expensive, flimsy, and made of uncomfortable, itchy materials.
And the little ones should have cute designs but the big ones only come in white,black, and tan
and there should be a company that sells them called Victor’s Secret, that has uncomfortably large, close-up photos of enormously-endowed male “angels” stuffed into their gorgeous little pouches spread all over every mall and TV channel, which changes societal expectations on penis size as a whole, so that men who don’t have incredibly large penises feel impossibly inadequate and feel compelled to make up for it by spending a fortune on overpriced penis pouches as a way of compensating.
Then Victor’s Secret should be sure not to actually carry any of these garments in the sizes that they advertise, so that only modestly-endowed men have the privilege of being seen in the shop, which is the type of place that simultaneously clamors for huge dicks, but refuses to cater to them in any way, leaving everyone involved vaguely uncomfortable and slightly ashamed.
and there should be a belt component, presumably to keep everything in place better, but it also subtly shames anyone who’s a little overweight or who has anything like hips. and they make ones that just have a part to loop around the thigh, but for some reason it’s frowned upon either as “slutty” since it’s not QUITE as secure a hold, or people assume you’re too overweight for the “normal” belt sizes.
Fking Elmo Harvey Oswald.
Autoshare hall of fame ballot #7.
@bjorno. your move.
Recently, I went pseudo Paleo.
I say pseudo, because, like most things in my life, I’ve jumped in headfirst without putting any thought or research into it (this is also how I ended up taking a workout class called “Insanity.” Afterwards, I was drooling and delirious. So I guess it delivered).
So, despite being totally unclear on what Paleo entailed, I figured I would try it because the hot guy from the gym told me I ate too many carbs.
Parenthetically, I really should stop listening to people just because they’re attractive. If Jeff Goldblum told me to get a bowl haircut and rob a bank, I totally would.
As far as I can tell, Paleo is based off of the premise that humanoids were never sexier or healthier than when they were cavemen. Even though they had no birth control or Penicillin or dental floss, and everyone was probably covered in lice, they were super cut and sexy and that’s a lifestyle to which we should aspire. Behold:
The Paleo diet demands that you only eat what cavemen did, which means that you need to chew raw woolly mammoth meat for hours with a mouth full of rotting teeth, and wash it down with a nice refreshing gourdful of mud.
I KID! I kid. Apparently with Paleo, you need to eat a lot of protein, in the form of meat, seafood, and eggs. Plus a ton of veggies. A crazy quantity. Like, “the neighbors will start asking if you are in trouble with the local CSA-mob” number of veggies. “You might be having an affair with the guy from the farmer’s market” quantity of veggies.
This has curious side effects, especially gastrointestinally. Without going into too much detail, some days are … biologically slower than others. And some days … on some days things flow way too quickly. Like, I’m basically a human Play-Doh press.
Paleo also requires you to give up processed food, refined sugars, and alcohol, which makes sense because those things are wonderful. But you’re also supposed to avoid grains, starches, and natural sweeteners (like honey), and you are supposed to limit your fruit intake. It’s sort of like the Inquisition, but less fun.
In some respects, it’s worked: being Paleo has killed my will to live, so I’m too sad to snack. My abs look pretty damn good, but I suspect that’s from all the nights I spend wracked with sobs because I can’t eat anything fun. I would take a selfie to show you, but this isn’t Facebook and I’m not your misguided teenage niece.
To give you an idea of the waking nightmare that is my life, I’d like to walk you through today’s Paleo abomination, in which I endeavored to make something called “carrot cake cookies” – a name which is at best a misnomer, and at worst a cruel mockery. The recipe describes them as “savory cookies” which is something that, if your blood sugar is low enough, you can almost pretend is a real thing.
But it’s not. Savory cookies do not exist. There are real, honest-to-god cookies, which are filled with sugar and flour and all sorts of wonderful things that some random hot guy said I can’t eat. And then there are crumbly pucks of carrot and nut that are held together by the indelible resilience of failure and good intentions. I ate three in a matter of seconds. And you know what? They weren’t bad … though they were seasoned by a bit of forbidden honey and the salt of my own tears.
Carrot Cake Cookies (a.k.a., Pucks of Suffering)
- The salt of your own tears
- Nuts or something
- You know what? It doesn’t matter what I list here. You should not make these.
If you want to go Paleo, you’ll probably need a food processor, which doesn’t really make sense, because cavemen didn’t even have pants, so they obviously didn’t have food processors or ovens or organic coconut oil. Take your ingredients, none of which are even remotely cookie-like, and grind them in the food processor until they resemble cat vomit.
(This is the first and only time in my life I didn’t want to eat the cookie dough.) Take the mushy chunks and form them into little patties of sadness.
Bake them in the oven for 30 minutes at 350, or just toss them directly into the trash because life is meaningless.
Remember when we cared about things? Remember when our great aunt sat us on the counter of her kitchen in Rome and we watched her fold tortellini by hand, which she made just for us? And how she smiled as we sat there, staring intently at her hands?
Remember that little girl? Who spoke Italian effortlessly and ate carbs with abandon? What would she think of all this?
“We forgot the taste of bread, the sound of trees, the softness of the wind. We even forgot our own name.”
The cookies look exactly the same before they are digested as after. They are eternal and unchanging. As time passes, they don’t decline in quality or taste because they can’t. They’ve already started out at theoretical zero on that scale.
I weep as I take a bite. These cookies will outlive me unless I destroy them.
Tomorrow, I am getting a slice of cake from the French bakery down the street and eating the entire thing. Then I will eat a plate of pasta, and think of people I loved who are no longer with me. Tomorrow, I will do this. And the cookies will be waiting, watching.
P.S. – You don’t want the actual cookie recipe. You don’t. But here it is.
@Lev. It's not quite Fleetwood Mac - Don't Stop, as a campaign song, but still... https://soundcloud.com/the-irish-times/martin-omalley-song
Actual lyrics: "Tiraloo! Tiraloo! Let's go on the trip / With Martin O'Malley in his new leader-ship!"
Get the popcorn ready, Federer is about to hit the court! Oh, no scrap that, he's just busy campaigning for important worldwide issues, like the lack of popcorn emojis.
Federer clearly loves his emojis but has been struggling to make any sense without a popcorn one. It's a sad sight to see.
⏰ ☕️☀️ ❤️ ✈️ ☀️ ☕️ pic.twitter.com/6QfQ5WGE3v— Roger Federer (@rogerfederer) June 12, 2015
It's just great to see someone with Fed's power putting it to good use. No word yet if he's fighting for the much-desired taco emoji.
Inside Kevin Wheatcroft’s mazelike house is the largest collection of Nazi artifacts in the world. “Hitler’s eye for quality was just extraordinary”
Everybody's got a thing.
How, exactly, did Greece come to be teetering on the edge of economic collapse? A John Oliver segment from this past February offers a very helpful explanation.
Back then, Greece got a four-month extension to pay back money borrowed from the International Monetary Fund to keep its economy afloat. It's that four-month extension that runs up Tuesday, and Greece still doesn't have the money to pay back.
The four-month extension required Greece to make some difficult cuts to government spending. And at the time, Oliver flagged some reasons to be skeptical this would all play out well for the country. Exhibit A: The Greek finance minister, Yanis Varoufakis, said the country would have to do something akin to Ulysses and "tie [itself] on a mast in order to get where you're going and avoid the Sirens. We intend to do this."
"That's not that reassuring," Oliver pointed out at the time. "Everybody in Ulysses' crew dies in that story, and Ithaca falls to absolute shit in his absence."
The whole clip is worth watching and, if you're looking to learn more, check out Vox's explainer on the Greek financial crisis here.
This post seems to be in favor of shitposting (since Far Side is excellent), but after further extensive research (http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/shitposting) I realize one of my main MOs is shitposting. Fuck.
a verbal description of a far side comic is indistinguishable from a fine shitpost
far side comics are just visual shitposts
It’s rare that I come across a post about the Far Side.
God I love the Far Side. I used to have a calendar of the comics and my dad had a bunch of books. They’re great.
via Tertiarymatt. I like the inclusion of Lebanon. I would not have expected that.
Canada: We have gay marriage.
US Homophobes: Oh... well then England...
England: We have it too.
Mexico: And us.
Lebanon: Us too.
Netherlands: Had it for ages.
New Zealand: Gay marriage all the time everyday.
US Homophobes: Is there any country we can go to where gay people can't marry?
Australia: *Sweats nervously*