A.N

Happy halloween!

This punched out font is a quite clever idea, it was created by Tobias, a Swiss designer from Geneva. To use it, just write your words, print it out and cut it out to assemble it.

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Sometimes, there are tiny views of what my future holds.  The view last week was more disturbing to me than usual.

“Well, for one thing, the culture we have does not make people feel good about themselves. We're teaching the wrong things. And you have to be strong enough to say if the culture doesn't work, don't buy it. Create your own. Most people can't do it.” ― Mitch Albom

Wearing: plaid skater skirt c/o boohoo, 90s ASOS crop top, platform ankle strap heels, black faux leather jacket

Happy Friday, guys! As is the annual tradition, we thought we’d share what Clara and Burger are going to be for Halloween this year, especially since I DIYed Clara’s costume for the second year in a row (without crying or cursing!) and I love how it came out. At first when we asked her what she wanted to be for Halloween she said “a lawyer!” True story. And we laughed and pictured her walking down the street with a little briefcase. Then a few days later she said “I want to be a jellyfish!” So asked her a few questions like “what color jellyfish do you want to be?” and that’s when she came out with her full request: “I want to be a pink jellyfish… and I don’t want to be a regular jellyfish, I want to A FAIRY QUEEN OF THE JELLYFISH!” So here’s where we ended up.

I just decked out a clear umbrella with some pink tissue paper, fabric ribbon, and that thinner plastic ribbon that you can curl with a scissors. And then John added some battery powered cold-to-the-touch LEDs to make it glow (tech nerd hubby FTW). Clara could not be more smitten (this is her attempting to hug her costume). Burger, by contrast, abhors his, but we’ll get there in a second.

As for how I made it, first I hit up Sir Google to check out other jellyfish costumes (guys, there wasn’t a single Slutty Jellyfish costume, which was both comforting and surprising). As for the costumes that I did find, some were of the stuffed hat variety (like this) and others were made from umbrellas (like this), which I thought was a good choice for Clara because she could hold it and swing it around if she wanted, but not have to worry about balancing it on her head like a giant hat. So we grabbed a clear umbrella at Target.

The first step in my umbrella-to-jellyfish conversion was sticking some pink tissue paper into each of the umbrella’s panels (those metal arms held each triangle of it in place) so the entire thing wasn’t see-through. I did this because I wanted the bottom to be clear so Clara could walk and see, but thought the top would look more jellyfish-ish if it were more solid. Next I tied some long strands of thick fabric ribbon around each of the spines inside the umbrella that holds it open so those could hang down around Clara. I saw all sorts of fun tentacle ideas when I Googled (using bubble wrap, ribbon, fabric strips, etc) and loved them all, so I decided to just work with the things we already had around the house (like ribbon leftover from this tree) and see how things went.

Lastly I just cut a whole bunch of long pink lengths of curl-able plastic ribbon (the one umbrella-decorating item that I ran out and bought for $1.50 at Michaels) and tied them to each of the metal spines (I did six lengths of them hanging down on each of the eight spines). Then I dragged the edge of a scissors down them after tying each one in place to make them curly.

When Clara came home from school and saw it, oh man, I wish I had it on video. There were lots of wows and even a coveted “it’s AMAZING!” Then John added his little battery powered LEDs (fairy lights he found on amazon for $6.99) and Clara really went wild. Since it gets dark so much earlier these days we actually think they’ll come in handy. Just look at them glow in the darkest spot we could find in our house: our closet.

It’s a bit ambitious to think that Clara will hold the umbrella the whole time, but she gets to wear a little costume of her own (just a fun tulle skirt that she got for her birthday and other general fairy-slash-queen-ness) so in the event that she’s over the umbrella she’ll still have her fairy costume to go door to door in – and heck, I might just tuck a wand and a crown in my purse for added bling. Yes, I still use that word.

As for Burger, well, he’s never a fan of anything on him. Ever. This goes for all sweaters, boots, hats, and costumes. So he was not amused when he magically became a seal thanks to this costume that we found at Target. We just couldn’t resist – especially since it’s a tradition to dress him up with Clara every year (heck, we’ve been dressing him up since way before she was born). We joked that he just needed a crown and a scepter so he could be a King Seal to match Clara’s royal sea-creature status. Still kinda bummed Target didn’t carry the lobster or shark costumes they had in previous years, but he does make a pretty cute seal.

And maybe we have it all wrong. Maybe Burger loves costumes. Because he certainly seems to take immense joy in shimmying around to wriggle out of them. Wish we caught that on video too.

And this year John and I actually have a costume party to attend, so after a little “uh… what should we be?” pondering, we came up with a theme of our own. Some people say that I look like Kahleesi from Game of Thrones (and who am I to argue with the idea of dressing up like a chick who HAS DRAGONS?). So a cheap blonde wig from Target and a green dress that I already had (you might remember it from Clara’s party a few years back) became my somewhat completely ridiculous costume…

Oh and I used a strategically placed ten cent placemat from a yard sale to make a gold belt and some little shoulder things. You know. For flair.

I just snipped it in half and cut off the curved part at the bottom and used the green rope belt that came with my dress to hold that in place in the front like a big ol’ gold front plate or something. As for the shoulder things, I just cut the remaining part of the placemat in half to create little triangles that I could tuck under the straps of my dress and pin them to keep them there (forgot to get a detail shot of those for ya, but you can sort of see them peeking out from behind my wig in the full shot above). Overall, it was really easy and only ran me $9 for the wig and ten cents for the placemat.

But I might like John’s “costume” most of all (ok, it’s tied with The Fairy Queen Of All The Jellyfish) because it’s so him. Keeping with the Game of Thrones theme, I actually proposed that he be Khal Drogo (to which he responded “have you seen me?”) so then I suggested Littlefinger (hello, he’d get to sport a mustache). He went silent for a second and then said “I have a better idea.” Any guesses?

Yup, that’s his pun-tastic interpretation of Jon Snow. Since he looks nothing like the character, he figured “well, I’m already John, so I’ll just wear a wooly hat and add a big ironic snowflake to my shirt or something and poof: I’m John Snow.” Not sure if it would pass muster at Comic Con, but it cracks me up. And if nothing else, at least the background of his photo brought of touch of Winterfell to it. Yes, that’s a deer just grazing about ten yards behind him.

As for how he made his shirt, it’s just white duct tape on a blue t-shirt (so he can peel it off and still wear the shirt the rest of the year when he’s being John Petersik).

It was pretty funny watching him place each strip of tape in the mirror… whilst wearing the shirt. I think he’s nothing if not dedicated (my version of a snowflake would have a lot fewer line segments).

We’re pretty low key about this stuff, so admittedly nothing that we made is super intricate, but we think it’ll do the trick nicely for the costume party. Now to figure out what dish we’ll bring. Ahh!

Also, if you watch Game of Thrones, this ridiculously inappropriate dubbed video of other things that match up with their lips has us walking around saying “Are you a fan of the pikachu?” and “I’m working on a gravity belt.”

Oh and the buggy pumpkins! Here they are. No, they didn’t get infested or anything, I just love unusual pumpkins and Clara loves bugs, so she helped me turn one into a spider and the other one into a caterpillar. Here’s how they started out (we got them here because they looked so bug-like, which spawned this paint-job idea).

I loved them as-is (yes, I truly adore oddly shaped pumpkins just as they are) but I couldn’t resist having some fun with Clara and some paint. So here they are after a laugh-filled little painting sesh with the bean:

She painted the spider with some craft paint (I just told her to go to town on the top and we left the bottom orange since we thought that would make it look more leggy and creepy – just like Clara likes ‘em). Meanwhile I added a little dot for an eye on the caterpillar and swiped my paint brush around it to quickly make some rough little wrinkles, like the sections of a caterpillar. When they dried, we added some little painted on eyes to Clara’s spider (she loved the idea of four of them since I showed her a picture online of a real spider with four eyes) and we called them good.

We still have to grab some pumpkins to carve (there’s a field trip to a pumpkin patch with Clara early next week so we’ve been holding out for that) but one thing’s for sure. There will be some last minute pumpkin seeds baking at our house (mmm, my favorite). What are you guys doing with pumpkins and costumes? Let’s hear it.

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Psst- For anyone who wants to walk down memory lane and check out C & B’s costumes for the last few years, here’s the post about Jesse & Slinky Dog (my first attempt at homemade costumes).

And here’s the dynamic duo as a monkey & banana.

And here’s their very first Halloween together as a hot dog & hamburger.

by Heather Havrilesky

Hi Polly,

So, I was dating someone long distance (YES I KNOW). Though I thought it was going well, he ended it—and now I’m not sure if it’s good for me to be friends with him (YES I KNOW JUST HOLD ON).

I’m a 40-year-old gay guy who’s never dated anyone longer than 9 months. This year I finally felt ready to settle down (not immediately! this takes work!), though I know that may not be possible at this point. I’m smart and ambitious, but with some major problems I’m finally working on (sorting out issues from my college-era drug use, always had difficulty maintaining friendships). Though I’ve always made life choices based on career opportunity, they haven’t always panned out, and there have been a couple spans of lean years. (For context, the men in my family follow this same life arc: troubled youth, then settling down. Maybe some behavioral genetics are playing out here.)

If you’re not married by 40, there are usually a few possible things Wrong With You: you’re unattractive (nope, healthy self-image), you’re crazy (under control I guess?), or you bail on good things. I used to run from relationships; now I’m patient and let them play out. But I have insanely high standards, so good things rarely come along.

When I was a little boy I was really lonely: one older brother who bullied me, and the only other kid in the gifted program who moved away, leaving me to become poorly socialized with boys I saw as below me. I was subtly encouraged to avoid friendships with girls, though I found those in college. But I never recovered from losing the one guy like me, and as an adult I’ve been an isolator.

So I’ve always felt like I lacked my guy-geek best friend, my Lego co-builder, my brother-in-code. I have a family-shaped hole in my heart, but kids are basically off the table now (no nieces/nephews either), and all I want to do as the clock ticks on down is keep the old friends I have somehow held onto, and keep the new people in my life who make it worth living.

You’re supposed to be happy with someone who’s, say, 75% of what you want, right? This guy was 90% (except for living a short, cheap flight away). He’s handsome, my physical type, with a lush and gorgeous beard, age-appropriate, a complete match in the bedroom, sweet and sensitive, grew up in a similar kind of dysfunctional family, never judged my problems, only supported them, and, maybe most important, a socially-competent math whiz (BONERBONERBONER). We programmed together, cooked amazing meals, traveled to places whimsical and mystical. It felt like I was finally building something. I can honestly say that though I’ve dated and fucked a zillion guys by now, I’ve never met anyone like him. I thought he felt the same way; after getting to know each other a little, he declared, over one of those romantic dinners I never seem to get: “You’re so much of what I want.”

But after a few months of weekend visits, and a span of a few weeks on vacation, it turns out a relationship wasn’t what he wanted—but no word on what he did want. As you said, Polly, sometimes guys sense any change in cabin pressure and they just run for the hills, and we never get to know why, there is no why, he just runs from good things and that’s not your fault, stop torturing yourself already!

I stopped trying to figure out why, and have just been letting the reality wash over me, accepting it, trying to feel the shape of what my heart looks like now. He’s getting tenure in his city where Nobody Walks, and I’m in love with my city where Everybody Bikes. I was open to the idea of dating for a year first, but if anything had gotten serious, I’d have had a hard time leaving, even though the dating pool is small and most hookup opportunities are with already-taken guys in open relationships (ugh).

But he keeps texting to say hi. I know he’s never met anyone like me before either, but I’ve given up on the idea of us turning it around. Now I can’t tell if maintaining contact is going to turn him into the lifelong buddy I’ve always craved, or whether it’s picking at a wound I need to just let heal.

And with my history, tendencies, and standards, am I even likely to find anyone, or do I just get the cats and the garden, dress up as Santa for the local orphanage every year, and start work on the conversation-bot that will keep me from feeling lonely when I'm senile and need to pretend someone is still texting me? I mean, all that *does* sound like it'd make me happier than I am now.

Signed,

Old Man-Maid

Dear OMM,

So there you were, swept away by this 90%, almost-true love, when your man disappeared. Should you stay friends and risk great pain? Or would you rather ignore his texts and allow him to take on the mythical status of The Gifted Boy Who Moved Away, serving as both lost love and lost Lego co-builder, symbolizing your one shot at happiness on every front?

At least you have a romantic vision of the future to guide you: "All I want to do as the clock ticks on down is keep the old friends I have somehow held onto, and keep the new people in my life who make it worth living." Whoa, now! You're flying pretty close to the sun, there, captain!

Of course, there's always plan B: Cats, garden, Santa Claus, conversation 'bot. But will they even let you adopt a cat, what with your "history, tendencies and standards"? You do know that playing Santa Claus at the orphanage is a pretty coveted role, right? Plus, if you create this conversation 'bot in your image, making it just as cautious and self-protective as you are, unwilling to speak to anyone who is less than 90% right for it, who says it will even deign to speak to the likes of you?

Do you know why cats and gardens and Santa Claus outfits sound kind of good to you? Because those are the sorts of flawed, messy compromises that your life lacks right now. When you imagine giving up on your story completely ("the boy who got away and never came back, no one is good enough, I'm not good enough") and you strip out the efforts to "keep people in your life" (which sounds arbitrary and sterile for a reason: because you're not good enough and they're not good enough), then you have to stuff something else into the empty space. Then you're free from your own absurdly high standards.

So let's try to disable your onboard superiority complex, with its unmatched level of statistical accuracy that keeps you safe from all human foibles. Let's power down your motherboard once and for all. (I can just hear you now: "Technically you don't 'power down' a motherboard, Polly, but I think I see your point.")

Because once we cut off this very logical, alienating processor of yours, that's when you're free to start living in an entirely new way, whether that means adopting cats or growing a garden that you struggle to keep alive or building a conversation 'bot, simply because YOU want to. And you might even give time to some orphans, with whom you secretly identify.

This circles back to my comments last week about creating a beautiful vision of your future as a single person, so that you know you'll have a great life with or without your imaginary dream mate. It also circles back to times I've urged letter writers to lean into their vulnerability (a few people have asked me what the fuck that means, in fact).

The beautiful vision and the vulnerability go hand in hand.

Your first challenge is that you lack a compelling vision of your future. You would never dare to dream of something so grand as meeting the most amazing man ever, falling in love, and having kids. Your history, tendencies and standards, added into your chronological age, render this pursuit statistically impossible. According to you, you will be lucky to meet a guy in an open relationship, or a guy who's great but isn't looking for the Lego co-builder of his dreams. You will be lucky just to hold onto the friends you haven't alienated yet. You will be lucky to bide your time as the clock ticks on down.

WRONG. You need a beautiful vision. Go buy a really nice journal and write down exactly what you want from the next 10 years of your life. Go nuts. Approach this work with a spirit of optimism and gratitude. If that requires a little extra coffee, so be it. Go to some mountain top in Bicycle Town with a triple latte and write write write. Be romantic. Get wild. Fly close to the sun for once, goddamn it!

But before you set pen to paper, hear me: YOU are the gifted boy who moved away. You have been here the whole time, waiting for kindness, waiting to stop being bullied or ignored. It's time to stop bullying yourself, to stop telling stories about family-shaped holes. You are not damaged beyond repair, your history and tendencies and standards are not deal-breakers. It's time to give yourself the right to want a lot. You deserve a lot. You are good enough right now, to have everything you've always secretly wanted.

So that's the first part: Sketching out your beautiful vision of your life, alone or with another person. It's a fantastical portrait of what you could be, if you applied yourself a little. For example: "I have a gorgeous mansion by the sea, just like Gatsby except I genuinely love all of my beautiful shirts, and I would never throw them all over the place, because they really do complete me!"

There's a kind of overachiever's ball in play here. But it's also about counteracting your compulsion to lower your expectations because you're not good enough and don't really deserve much. Behind every superiority complex, there's an intensely insecure person who just wants to be loved, truly madly deeply loved. 40 is not that old. Why not dare to dream?

The second part of your vision—and maybe the most important part, for you—is about cultivating your own vulnerability and openness. That's the Santa-at-the-orphanage, cats & garden part. Because what lots of overachievers don't realize is that understanding your life in the absence of success is just as important as understanding your goals.

Some people settle for too little, strangely enough, because they're afraid to be vulnerable. We women are much more likely to say "Hmm, this dumpy asshole will do, because he really seems like the kind of dumpy asshole who'll never leave me for his secretary." We don't even know we're compromising, because the message that we should always be humble and grateful is flashing in our faces. Our culture asks: WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, BAR REFAELI? BROOKLYN FUCKING DECKER?

(The irony, of course, is that the dumpy asshole is even MORE likely to dump you for his secretary than the other guy, because you two aren't a good match in the first place.)

The bottom line: Stop playing it safe. That doesn't work. You're not engaged with the world around you, and the scary thing is that you actually believe that that's YOUR DESTINY. Because you're Not Good Enough.

If I were you, I would call this bearded mathematician and tell him you are in love with him and you want the two of you to be together, somehow, some way. He will say "No." FANTASTIC! Now you know he's just texting you because he likes fucking you and wants to try to hit it the next time he's in town. It's time to come on that Hampton blouse, and move on. Don't befriend him, don't fuck him, and don't keep him in the nowhere zone of BIG IMPORTANT SYMBOL, like the mythical Boy Who Moved Away. Move. On.

There's also danger in treating yourself like a mythical symbol of something better than who you actually are. I'm not trying to be mean. I feel thankful for how vividly you've painted your portrait here. I mean this is a first act that practically writes itself. And in the romantic comedy of your life, this would be the point where THE HERO HEARS THE CALL. You'd probably be chugging along, As Good As It Gets-style, all controlling and lonely, and some sloppy loud-ass mess of a man, a mere 20% of what you want, would bust into the picture and kiss you passionately then wipe his big dirty body on all your linens and make you claustrophobic, and you'd kick him out and roll your eyes and then you'd pull your china doll down from a high shelf and cry and cry and cry and smash it against the wall and then weep and snot and moan and… This isn't a very good movie, is it?

But then the sloppy guy would come back. He'd say something like "I love your uptight, not-good-enough ways. And I love your history, tendencies and standards."

OK, hold on. That's not quite right. That won't happen, because no one loves history, tendencies and standards. You know what they love? They love naughty cats and untamed not very perfect gardens, and Santa Claus outfits that hang lovingly in the hall closet all year instead of getting packed away in moth balls, which would be more sensible. Sloppy, lovable, passionate guys love lonely men with half-built conversation 'bots that will barely speak to them. They love Old Man-Maids with friends who aren't just being kept around as the clock ticks on down, but friends with names and their own problems, who are being heard and appreciated and showered with dorky little Old Man-Maid gestures—slightly wilty flowers from the garden, baked bread that maybe isn't as good as the last batch.

So, after you sketch out your beautiful, fantastical vision of the future, I want you to write down what will happen if you fail, here and there. What will you do instead? How will you manage to be happy anyway? What's weird is, this vulnerable vision sometimes seems even better than the beautiful one, once you work on it for a while. Personally, I used to picture being alone and adopting lots of dogs and dressing like a serious freak. I don't know why I found that comforting, but I did. You need to cultivate your crumpled, compromised vision of the future, too. At the center of that vision is you, our vulnerable, flawed hero. You know that everyone loves a vulnerable, flawed hero, right? This is why Seth Rogen has a career in the first place.

Vulnerability is your key to feeling your way to a brighter future. Calling the guy in the other city and telling him your feelings. Deigning to date random dudes who are maybe only 40% right and can't balance their stupid checkbooks. Holding out for good chemistry, sure, but waiting and seeing if you might be attracted to someone unexpected. Making new friends simply because you're curious about them. Daring to get hurt, and accepting the messiness of life.

Vulnerability means getting up in the morning and saying, "It's ok to FEEL not good enough. But I am good enough." Vulnerability means daring to contradict yourself, and daring to want some things that it's illogical to want, like kids or ANOTHER beautiful bearded man who maybe isn't exactly like you this time.

Children with superiority complexes want to find someone who matches them perfectly. "This mirror person who is just like me (and lovable) proves that I am lovable, too."

Healthy adults can love someone who is different. You are already lovable, Old Man-Maid. You want to fall in love. Wear it on your sleeve. The people who own that desire are the ones who find love. You think it's pathetic because you think that most things are pathetic. You are still pretty flippant and caustic.

So am I, by the way. But when I stick my neck out, good things come to me. The more I let other people be who they are, the happier I am.

How much fucking time do we have to feed our egos, as the clock ticks on down? Fuck ego. I like dogs and weirdos and funny women and smart men and also less funny women and less smart men. I don't like people who want me to get the point really fast, or who think I'm wearing the wrong shoes. (I am.) There's a kind of LA person who talks like he's in the car, running late, and his head is on fire. I keep those people out of my life if possible.

Let's close with a dumb story! Once this very successful acquaintance called me out of the blue, and he thought I was Heather Graham, because my name was right next to Heather Graham's in his fucking cell phone. ROLLER GIRL AND ME, RIGHT THERE, TOGETHER! First he left me this ridiculous message, "Hey, we're outside your apartment actually wondering if you're around, we're about to grab some drinks down the block." I'm thinking: Whose apartment? Drinks where? Then he calls me a few days later, and he's chatting in this spirited, trying-to-impress way (but his head is still on fire, of course) and finally he figures it out: I'm not Heather Graham.

So then he's scraping for something to say, and all he comes up with is, "So, are you still doing the TV critic thing? Are you just going to… do that for a while?" AM I JUST GOING TO DO THAT FOR A WHILE. The implication being that I should be, I don't know, strapping on roller skates and fucking Mark Wahlberg?

Are you just going to… do that for a while?

So after I put down the phone, I got a little wilty. "Being a TV critic IS pretty lame," I thought. Shouldn't I be doing something glamorous that this dude would respect? Shouldn't I look much more like a fuck doll? Then I moved on to I'm Not Good Enough. WHO DO I THINK I AM, ANYWAY, HEATHER GRAHAM?

Finally I thought: That guy is a fucking tool.

The people who wonder if you're wasting your time (the snobs, the pretty boys, the mega-uber hipsters) are usually wondering the same thing about themselves. What's with this voice in your head, Old Man-Maid, who says your history will always trump who you are now, who says you're too old to have kids, who says you'll be senile soon and you'll never find anyone who loves you for you?

All of the joy you've ever dreamed of feeling is within you already. The people who care about how much they matter are not the people who matter. The people who want things, who want beauty, who want to seem brilliant FIRST? The people who respond to you sticking your neck out by stepping on it? These are the bullies, or maybe they're just distracted and they were really calling for someone else. Forgive them, but do not allow them to become symbols of anything.

You want love from that guy. You don't really want friendship from him, and settling for friendship from him is really just a way of torturing yourself with his rejection of you. That probably feels natural to you. It's time for longing to stop feeling so natural.

If you give your love, admit your flaws, open yourself up to whatever the world wants to give you, the world will open up to you. If you accept who you are right now and proclaim that this is a person who deserves love, who matters a lot, warts and worries and history and all? If you start to give yourself some of the things you really want, that are just for you? You will draw men with lush, thick beards straight to you. You will be become a Middle-Aged Man Magnet, not an Old Man-Maid.

Stop telling yourself stories about the things you can no longer expect and never deserved. Go fall in love and have babies and live your life. You are special, but you are no better than anyone else. You are just you, a gifted boy with a giant heart. Who do you think you are? It's time to find out. This is only the beginning.

Polly

What do you think you deserve? Tell Polly!

Heather Havrilesky (aka Polly Esther) is The Awl's existential advice columnist. She's also a regular contributor to The New York Times Magazine, and is the author of the memoir Disaster Preparedness (Riverhead 2011). She blogs here about scratchy pants, personality disorders, and aged cheeses. Photo by "istolethetv."

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Remember Lt. John Pike?

The UC Davis police officer is infamous for turning highly-pressurized pepper spray on nonviolent student protesters at point blank range as they sat on a campus path. The assault was captured on camera and video and inspired a web meme.

Thankfully, Lt. Pike is no longer employed by the UC system. His long goodbye was nevertheless a scandal in itself. An official investigation suggested that there was no legal basis for the raid on the students that day and that Lt. Pike violated policy. But California public employee rules prevent the pepper-spray cop from being fired.

After 5 months, an independent investigation found that ""Lt. Pike Bears Primary Responsibility for the Objectively Unreasonable Decision to Use Pepper Spray on the Students Sitting in a Line and for the Manner in Which the Pepper Spray Was Used." Yet he remained on administrative leave eight months after the incident. By my calculations, Pike received more than $70,000 in salary between the pepper spray incident and the day when he ceased being employed by UC Davis, though he did no work in that time. And when his employment finally ended?

"The internal affairs investigation into last November's pepper-spraying controversy at UC Davis concluded that Lt. John Pike acted reasonably, with a subsequent review concluding he should have faced demotion or a suspension at worst," The Sacramento Bee reported. Think of what that means, I urged readers:

Lt. Pike was caught on video pepper-spraying seated, non-violent protesters in the face, using a device he was not authorized to carry and that he held closer to their bodies than is recommended. Those viewing his actions on the Internet regarded them as needless and abusive in sufficient numbers that he became a figure of national attention. Two independent reports commissioned by UC Davis concluded that he had acted unacceptably that day in numerous ways. But the internal affairs process used to discipline police officers concluded that he acted reasonably. It is only because new Police Chief Matthew Carmichael overruled its findings, possibly opening UC Davis up to a wrongful termination suit, that Lt. Pike was reportedly terminated. So I ask again. Is there any doubt that this system prioritizes the job security of campus police officers above the safety and well being of students?

That's where the matter rested until this week.

As noted by The Atlantic Wire:

Former UC Davis officer John Pike, famous for casually pepper spraying a group of students in the face during a 2011 protest, was awarded a $38,000 settlement for psychiatric injuries for the way he was treated afterwards. Pike, who was eventually fired, filed a workers compensation claim this summer. That means that Pike, who walked up to a group of sitting, passive students and pepper sprayed their faces, will get a comparable compensation from the university to that awarded to the students he targeted. UC Davis has also settled with the students actually targeted by Pike's pepper spray, agreeing to pay out $1 million total to 21 plaintiffs. That breaks down to a bit less per student than Pike himself will get: $30,000 per plaintiff, plus a $250,000 sum for their lawyers to split and a handful of other delegated portions of the award. The university also formally apologized... Pike's settlement includes $5,700 in legal fees for his lawyer in the case. 

Pike was eligible for worker's comp from the incident after a psychiatrist found that the former officer has a "moderate" disability, ABC affiliate KXTV explains. He claimed to have "suffered depression and anxiety over the way he was treated in the wake of the incident," they note.

This is the outcome of the rules California has established for dealing with public safety employees and worker's compensation. Does anyone else think it's time for reforms?

So we’re almost a week in, and the twitter contest is ticking along nicely….

(If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you can check out the first blog explaining the game here.)

There’s been a lot of discussion as to the best way to refer to a group of Rothfi. A ponderance? A blither? Someone very clever suggested “Pontography.” Someone else proposed “Pisser” as the proper collective noun. There were a lot of good ones.

Personally, I think a group of us should be “a maunder of Rothfi.”

And don’t bother running off and seeing which of the profiles has mentioned that. I just made it up right now. I’m not going to tip my hand here.

Grammatical flummery aside, so far the contest has been a ton of fun. I’ve enjoyed it immensely, and it seems like most of the spectators are digging it too.

And honestly I’m amazed at the level of competition. Amazed. I knew I was bringing in clever people here, but I didn’t give them *nearly* enough credit.

But it hasn’t all been sunshine and kisses in the shade. There have been a few problems, and the biggest of these has been…

• Verification:

Normally, getting verified on twitter is something you strive for. It’s a stamp of legitimacy. It shows you’re *really* Neil Patrick Harris, and not just some schmoe that grabbed a picture off the internet.

Before I started this contest, I thought verification was something you applied for. I thought there was some arduous process, some gauntlet you had to run. A quest you needed to complete that would please the distant ineffible twitter gods, high on their mountain.

And apparently, that’s kinda true. There is a form you can fill out. There is an application you can submit. Many do strive for verification. Apparently John Scalzi himself has been trying to get verified for ages and hasn’t managed it.

But look at what happened to us about 18 hours into our contest:

See that little blue checkmark? That means that they *verified* one of our accounts.

What’s really funny is this. We created all these accounts using throwaway e-mail addresses *literally* named like this: twitter1@etc.com, twitter2@etc.com, twitter3@etc.com, twitter4@etc.com…

What’s more, the accounts were all identical except for the name and the picture. They all followed the same 7 profiles. They all had the same tagline: “It’s my job to break your heart.” They all listed my blog as their website. They all had one identical post.

And they’ve all sat there, inactive for more than a year.

Then the contest started, and within 18 hours, one of them got verified.

This is because, in addition to having an application process, twitter has a bot that searches around for people and auto-verifies them.

We were all a little stunned when this happened. We figured it was an odd fluke, and figured out how to remove the verification by changing the name on the profile and changing it back.

Then less than a day later….

Re-verified.

We don’t know what sort of algorithm the twitter-bot uses. Nobody does.

After the shock wore off, I realized how hilarious it was. You see, this means is that one of us has completely convinced twitter that this profile is Pat Rothfuss.

And I think this is awesome.

A lot of people have taken this to mean that the contest is over. That it’s spoiled. But nothing could be further from the truth.

The fact is, the only information the twitter-bot has access to is circumstantial. It’s deciding based off the tweets themselves. The friends added. The links linked. I dunno. Maybe the picture, too?

It’s making a judgement based on those things. The same information you have access to.

All this really means is that the twitter-bot has decided to cast its vote early in our contest.

You can trust it if you want. It seems pretty sure of itself.

But personally, I’d like to think that my readers are more independent than that.

In fact, one of my favorite things about the contest so far is watching people declare their allegiance, sometimes just due to a turn of phrase:

Or a piece of punctuation:

Some folks are just having fun with it:

I see folks planting their flags, then sometimes spinning 180 with such force that you’d be amazed they don’t break their own necks.

Here’s one of my favorites:

I love this. These guys are fucking *into* it. They are using their vasty human intellect to crack this puzzle.

This is the very essence of a #BeautifulGame.

So… yeah. If you want to pick a profile based exclusively on what some computer algorithm thinks. That’s your choice. But honestly? I’m a little sad for you….

• Other ways to screw yourselves by being too clever.

I know a lot of you are game players. Probably excellent game players. And if you like my books, odds are that you have at least a passing interest in looking for hidden clues.

So when I put this contest together, I knew I had to thwart those tendencies. For example, if you try to guess based on what device different profiles are twittering from? You’re probably going to be wrong. Why? Because one of the requirements for all the players is that they tweet from all manner of different platforms and devices.

Also, you should be aware that some of the profiles started this game with 5000-6000 more followers than others. In the year the profiles sat around, some collected 6-7 thousand followers. Others only collected 1-2 thousand.

So if you look at a profile and think, “Wow, this one has 4000 more followers, obviously that’s the one pat would pick to use as his own.” or “Wow, this is the one pat would pick because this twitter name is more like something he’d want.” you’re kinda screwing yourself.

First, because you’re missing the main point of the contest, to see who’s best at being me.

And second, you’re screwing yourself because when we assigned these profiles, we pulled names out of a hat for each one. They’re deliciously random.

Ultimately, this game is based on skill. It is a contest of trickery, persuasion, and cunning.

If I were you, I’d base your choice off that….

• What’s still to come.
  

Two weeks is kind of a long time.  Particularly with something that moves as fast as twitter.  Maybe I should’ve thought of that before, but I had no way of knowing.

Lest things start to get a little same-y. We’re going to add a few things to the contest just to keep things interesting.

One of the suggestions someone made to me was that if I’m selling out and getting on twitter, I might as well go whole hog and start making memes too.

I don’t know if they were being snarky or not, but either way, I think it’s a great idea. I think memes and twitter go together like…

Like a…

Like a pithy writer and a good analogy.

So I’m going to challenge my fellow competitors to meme everyone’s new favorite pet from the photo contest.

That’s right: Ugly Cat.

I’ve never memed before. So we’ll use this as another piece of the puzzle that will help people discover #TheRealRothfuss.

(Oh Ugly Cat, you still fill me with such joy…)

Are you good to go, gentlemen?  Ready… set…. meme!

• On Being A Winner.

After my first blog post, there was some confusion about how the money was going to go to the charities in question.

So. Just to clarify, when the contest is over, there will be a great voting. The profile that gets the most votes, wins. The person running that profile will be the winner, and the charity they chose will get the $1000 from DAW.

Originally, that was my entire plan. But now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t see why y’all can’t be in the running for some cool things too….

These are some prototype drabs we’re working on. They’re not ready to go up in the store yet. But do I have a few we can give away as prizes….

So here’s what we’re going to do.

The whole point of this contest is for people to be clever and have fun. To play a beautiful game.

So starting now, if you do something on twitter that strikes me as particularly cunning, or funny, or sly, or smart. I will make a post along these lines.

“Congratulations, @JoeTwitter. That’s the funniest thing I’ve seen today. You know how to play #ABeautifulGame.”

Or

“That’s a really good point, @JustSusan. I bow to your unassailable Aristotelian logic. Congratulations on #ABeautifulGame.”

Then one of my lovely assistants will get in contact with you, get your mailing address, and we’ll mail you one of these prototype drabs. You can then use that drab to taunt your friends until they cry.

Each of my five Rothfussian comrades will be doing the same thing, of course.

This is a new part of the game. Not only do you have to guess at what might tickle the fancy of the Rothfi, but seeing what behavior each profile rewards should give you a lot of insight into which one of us is #TheRealRothfuss.

Have fun, everyone.

pat

by Jia Tolentino

I picked up this March 1950 issue of McCall's magazine in a thrift store a few weeks back and it's a real delight. There's an advice column written by Eleanor Roosevelt (sample question: "Why is it necessary to have guards around President Roosevelt's grave?", which she answers by saying, "I have nothing to do with the management of the government property at Hyde Park"), as well as an Ask the Doctor feature (sample question: "Is measles a dangerous disease?", which the doctor answers, "Yes. Measles can be a serious disease. Don't say, 'It's nothing but measles'").

There are also three short stories (here's the amazing subhed of one of them), and a sizable amount of "Create a Powerful Insecurity + Aggressively Market a Solution" content ("Flatten your bulging tummy," a sidebar urges. "Are you really sure of your charms?"). But, by far, the best part of the magazine is its food coverage. Let's take a look at the kale salads of yore.

Ice-Cold Crushed Pineapple with Plump Piping-Hot Sausage

Toothsome and approachable. The sausage was cooked to perfection: indeed, "piping-hot." Rivulets of icy pineapple juice ran down the luscious mound of steamy, unctuous sausage, and Mrs. Food Critic savored the pillowy contrast on her tongue. "Ah!" she said. "A new just-right taste."

Cuban Salad

Okay, so you make some Jell-O, spice it up with some lemon juice and cinnamon, and get it hard on some banana chunks. Pretty basic until you have to "unmold and serve on salad greens with mayonnaise, garnished with paprika." Makes 4 or 5 servings. God, I love Cuban food.

This recipe is best if you imagine Guy Fieri in a house dress, in front of an ice-cream-colored '50s refrigerator, hosing up all 4 or 5 servings by himself for a midday snack.

Miracle Whip Fruit Salad

"Arrange the peach and pear halves on lettuce. Place a spoonful of crushed pineapple in the center of each pear half and garnish the stem end with a quartered cherry." Seems reasonable. "Fill the center of the peaches with Miracle Whip." THE FUCK I WILL BE DOING THAT

Rice'n everything nice

*including eggs, mushrooms and creamy. 

We may look at this as some sort of Devil's Risotto, in which mustard and Worcestershire are stirred into melting butter, and a 14-oz can of Borden's Evaporated Milk is then blended into the vomitous roux. A cup of Borden's Grated American Cheese is added, then mushrooms, then hard-boiled eggs, then the whole thing goes in the middle of a "rice ring" and Mom goes off to take some tranquilizers in the basement.

Crisco's Rice 'N' Cheese Balls

This ad is the equivalent of when someone starts a story with "I swear I'm not a racist." Because, like… IS IT DIGESTIBLE, CRISCO? IS IT?

Star-Shaped Grilled Cheese Mayo Fantasia (name my own)

"Split frankfurter buns in half and spread with Kraft Mayonnaise. Fill with good thick strips of Velveeta and brush the tops of the buns with melted butter or Parkay Margarine. Place in a moderate oven until the Velveeta is melted, and serve with crispy bacon." Substituting every ingredient for another ingredient, this could be a great recipe. Note, at top-right, another ominous reassurance that Velveeta is "digestible," and at bottom-left, an early predictive image of the End of Men.

Tuna: Just Eat It

This ad is an epistemological nightmare. "This label is white," it sing-songs. "This label is green." Both cans mention both chicken and tuna; the large font screams "Oooooooooh, yes! The Best O'Tuna becomes Breast O' Chicken." The thesis of tuna and the antithesis of chicken are within here united in a synthesis of Breast O'Chicken Chunk Pack Tuna Flakes, which could also be interpreted as nothing but an auto-generated word cloud of insults.

Imagine the copywriter, girdled too tightly and stoned off her hysteria tablets, sitting down at her agency Olivetti. Always the young, she clatters out, an inexplicable tear streaking her porcelain skin. The tenda' tuna. "Perfect," she whispers to herself, and then passes out in the trash can. Two hours later she's woken up by the brown-nosing receptionist, who hisses, "We need a recipe on the copy in 5 minutes before the meeting.

"Okay okay," mumbles the copywriter woozily. The tuna cans swim before her. RECIPE, she types. JUST EAT IT. Any way.

56 Comments

This song goes out to everyone in New Jersey who is now able to marry the consenting partner of their choice. Which is everyone!

Happy days.

It’s also a good day to repost this.

 

Rousimar Palhares has been banned from the UFC for excessive use of the heel hook, but this picture makes it look like he didn’t really have any other options.

FOX is known for their creative reporting, and I assume that this picture isn’t supposed to be taken literally, but I’m not clear on where there’s an odd number of legs, nor why one thigh is clearly not attached to anything. I’m also confused as to why a journalistic source didn’t use an untouched picture. Say, of the match in question.

FOX: We don’t get it, and neither will you.

Thanks Kendra. You can see the original on MSN.

The post FOX Sports: Ban-aid appeared first on PSD : Photoshop Disasters .

by Jia Tolentino

Exhibit A, by Emily Yoffe at Guess Where: 

Exhibit B, by Ann Friedman:

Which tab will you open today?

48 Comments

Did I ever tell you about the time Anni burnt a large batch of paneer in this pot? No? Remind me. . .

I posted Brown Beef Stew in my new archives here! Someone asked after it, so there it is in all its brownness and falling apart glory. I make that one all the time still.

And then a quick few recommendations:

This movie, The Crash Reel, although you have to know someone with HBO to be able to watch it. It's a documentary about the lovely young snow boarder Kevin Pearce, and his recovery from a traumatic brain injury, and it is one of the most moving and wonderful portrayals of family that I have ever seen.

This book, The Unknowns, by Gabriel Roth, which a) is not quite the usual kind of thing I recommend, b) full disclosure, was edited by a friend of mine, and c) is about an awkward computer programmer. It nonetheless utterly captured my heart and imagination and suffered only from being too short. It is a more or less perfect novel, as evidenced by this line: "'I see myself as a life-support system for feelings of anxiety,' I say. 'The anxiety is the organism and I'm the habitat.'"

This album, Southeastern, by Jason Isbell, who used to be in the band Drive By Truckers. Go to that amazon link and listen to the clip from song 12, "Relatively Easy." If you don't like it, you probably won't like the album.

This game, Love Letter, which is small, inexpensive, attractive, easy to learn, relatively quick, and like a cross between Hearts, Stratego, and a Jane Austen novel.

Have a wonderful weekend, my darlings.
xo

As Ben Casnocha says, opportunities come through people. So keeping up with your inner circle of friends and colleagues is just as important as any work you produce. At OPEN Forum, Daily Dot CEO Nicholas White offers an easy way to keep track of your friends’ accomplishments:

Everyone knows that networking is important. I’m fairly extroverted, so I enjoy meeting people and developing relationships, but my problem is the time it takes to do so. For me, that’s the beauty of social networks. They allow you to connect with the people you want to keep up with, and have small interactions with them regularly, again, often from your phone.

But you can help yourself out: I set up Google alerts for people so I get notified when they’ve done something online and I have a reason to catch up. If you want to go super pro, create a simple call sheet: a spreadsheet with names, contact info and last contact. Set aside a small chunk of time to just cycle through people. Drop an email, set up a time to meet up for coffee or drinks. Then you know you’re taking care of your relationships and you don’t have to worry about it the rest of the time.

Read the rest of the post on OPEN Forum, this month’s sponsor of Workbook.

by Jia Tolentino

The clock's still ticking; this elegant visualization shows exactly what that means. A piece at the Nation reminds us that "the government shutdown has already kicked 7,000 children out of Head Start, and endangered 9 million women and children on WIC, including 2,000 newborns in Arkansas that may not receive nutritional formula if the shutdown persists," and details how some domestic violence shelters are two weeks from having to close their doors.

[Enigma.io h/t Emily Greenhouse, The Nation h/t Ann Friedman]

6 Comments

This post is fairly ranty and not just because spellcheck keeps telling me that “ranty” isn’t a real word.  It is a real word and I’m proving it right now, spellcheck.  Question me again and I’ll explain why “stabby” is also a real word.

If you don’t live in America you can skip this post.  If you do, then you’re probably with me when I say that if I could have one minute to have a sensible heart-to-heart with our government I would take a deep breath and smile supportively and then say, “GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, YOU ASSHOLES.  YOU’RE RUINING IT FOR EVERYONE.”

This is not a partisan post and I live in a politically mixed marriage so I have the ability to see both sides.  I’m also a normal human so, additionally, I have the ability to see both sides of two children fighting over the playground slide, but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to just sit there while the kids pull out gasoline and proceed to see who can burn the slide down fastest.  In other words, I’m pissed.  I’m seeing friends furloughed.  I’m seeing people I love out of jobs.  I’m seeing people unable to get the basic care needed for their children to survive and thrive.  This shit happens every day, but it’s not every day that it’s the fault of the government shutting down.  I don’t expect that anyone in the government will read this.  They don’t care about little old me and that’s pretty obvious.  I’d like to think that if enough of us banded together they would care, but it’s probably not true.  The whole nation is looking at them with disappointment and they’re still blaming each other.

That’s not what this post is about though.  You can find people complaining about the government all over the web if that’s what you’re looking for.  What I’d like to do instead is to feel a little less helpless about what’s going on.  So instead of pressuring the government to just DO THEIR JOB I’m going to instead write about a few things that we can do to pick up the slack they’ve left behind.

Right now WIC is running out for many, blood drives are being cancelled from lack of workers, people are out of work and worried.  So how can we help?

Call your local food bank, or church to donate.  Food is good, but money is better as they can use it for perishables.  Or donate to Feeding America.  Every dollar pays for 8 meals and you can do it online.  It’s crazy easy.

Donate blood if you can.  Click here to find the nearest place taking donations.

Send grocery cards to people you know who are struggling…particularly those who rely on WIC, or who are government employees who are working without pay, or are furloughed.  If you don’t know of anyone, call your local Women’s Shelter.  There are a lot of people (especially single moms) who rely on the Women’s Shelter for help and they can pass on the cards or diapers and such to people who need them.

Be nice.  This one is hard because right now everyone is a little freaked out about the fact that our Government is basically the equivalent of your dad not coming home because he’s passed out at the bar.  Tensions are high.  It’s easy to blame each other or lash out at whoever we think is the biggest asshole in the asshole parade, but that’s not solving anything.  Take a deep breath, remember that we have each other’s back, and do what you can to help…even if all you can do is pass on a helpful word, or a link to great resources, or a thank you to the men and women who are working without pay or who are sitting at home waiting for this shutdown to end so they can get back to the work that’s piling up.

We’re all in this together.  And in the absence of the government…we are the Government.  

That’s a scary thought.

PS. Any other ways you can think of to help?  Leave it in the comments.  Please try to avoid partisan blamey comments and don’t fall for it if someone leaves one.  The whole point of this is to not get caught up in the same BS the government is fighting about.  We’re better than that.  Or at least, I hope we are.

I saw an instagram of a fig pizza on Martha Stewart Living's feed and it stuck in my head.

After some research I ended up combining this Fig and Prosciutto Pizza recipe with this Pizza with Fresh Figs, Ricotta, Thyme, and Honey recipe.

It turned out great... it was sweet, yet salty and rich.

Back to the figs. Did you know the weird thing about figs? Some might say "ugly truth" about figs? Most figs are pollenated by wasps. And each fig ends up with at least one dead female wasp inside. In fact some vegans and vegetarians won't even eat them.

I had no idea! Does this change your mind about eating figs?

This song is potato chip-level addictive:

That said, let’s not pretend that the opening guitar flourish and bass drum are not straight out of this.

This video:

This gives me back my faith in social media.

A giant salute to any of you who have ever quit a job that focuses on pageviews and ad dollars over quality.  Another salute to those of you who sometimes spend days in silence rather than adding something blah just for hits.  Sometimes it’s okay to just shut up and listen.  Sometimes it’s okay to just use your voice to promote other people’s awesomeness.  I’m a writer, but I’m also an enormous reader too.  Thank you for respecting the latter in the decisions you make about what you put out into the world.

And another thank you to the people on my blog who advertise here.  I know how rare it is to be able to pay for my server costs without using an ad network.   I recognize how lucky I am that most of the advertisers I have on my blog are fellow writers or bloggers or artists or small businesses who never tell me what I can or can’t write.  I’m so lucky that I usually have waiting lists of people to get on my sidebar because people are so happy to support this blog.  I love that my readers discover new and amazing people who advertise here.  And mostly, I love that I’m part of this community.  Thank you for that.

PS.  Speaking of letting other voices be heard, have you read or heard something lately that you’d like to share?  A song, a book, a post?  If so, leave it in the comments.  It’s up to us to make sure the good rises to the top, and that doesn’t always happen without help.  Spotlight the good.  Banish the shit.  Ignore the mediocre.  This is the way we work.  This is the way we get better.  This is the way we learn.

PPS.  And by “we” I mean “me” too.  I’m still learning every day what works and what doesn’t.  I’m still learning that sometimes my silly fluff can be amazing, but it can also be utter crap.  Also, “good” doesn’t necessarily mean “happy and sweet and positive.”  Some of the best, most important and hardest things to read are critical or painful or bitter.  Sometimes that means reading hard facts about ourselves.  Sometimes that means admitting that there’s a kernel of truth there and that change is needed.  Sometimes it means learning to judge yourself in a kinder way.  Sometimes it means that there are assholes in the world who need to be punched in the junk.  But always, it is good.  Learning and listening and growing is good.

PPPS.  I’m rambling.  This is one of those posts where I look at it and wonder if it should go with the thousands of other of unfinished posts in my draft folder, but today I’m listening to the voice that says “This is good.  Not for everyone.  But maybe it will help for someone.”

I hope that someone is you.

It’s a new week and I can’t think of a better way to kick things off than with a megadose of squee-inducing cuteness that is the new book by photographer J. Nichole Smith called Puppyhood. Just try to have a bad Monday after looking at all these puppies! Oh, what’s that? You can’t? That’s what I thought.

So, think you can handle this? Read on for more info on Puppyhood and, of course, a heart-exploding amount of puppy pictures!

About Puppyhood:

Puppyhood showcases adorable puppies in life-size photographs taken at six weeks old. The book itself is oversize at 13 by 11 inches, allowing enough space to bring each of these little ones to life. Twenty-five breeds are captured in engaging photographs, showing all the details that make puppies so irresistible, from their pink bellies to their tiny teeth, soft ears, and oversize paws. The book features the most popular breeds, including the French bulldog, Labrador, golden retriever, and Parson Russell Terrier. Puppyhood is a unique gift book for dog lovers everywhere.

About Nichole:

J. Nichole Smith is the cofounder of Dog Is Good, a popular lifestyle company for dog lovers, and has photographed thousands of dogs and cats for a variety of clients. She has been published in many pet and lifestyle magazines and was featured on Purina’s Tales for the Pet Lover’s Heart on ABC. She currently lives in London.

Okay, time to come up for air. You can snag a copy of Puppyhood for yourself and everyone you know right here. If that’s not enough, be sure to follow Nichole on Instagram for more behind the scenes photos and other dog-related adorableness — and! Check out her professional portfolio at Dane + Dane Studios.

PUPPIES!!

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© 2013 Dog Milk | Posted by capree in For Humans, Other | Permalink | 1 comment

by Jia Tolentino

Hold onto your butts.

North Texans [were] puzzled over what they saw in the skies Wednesday, but it turns out it was just Mother Nature at work. "I noticed this 8 to 10 foot cobweb strand stringing and dancing across the sky," said Dallas resident Ginger Reid. "I thought ‘Is that real? I don't know if that's real.’”

Long silky strands falling across North Texas actually signal the migration of a cluster of spiders. "Most likely what it is is a thing called ballooning, which baby spiders do," said the Dallas Zoo’s Tim Brys. "So after they hatch, they spread a little silk line from their abdomen, the wind catches that and spreads them into the air like a balloon." The silk acts similar to a parachute, allowing them to move their home from one spot to another.

Very chill! Very chill news. Wait, but what if I'm dining al fresco and one of these spiders just dives into my mouth or something?

For those with arachnophobia, take heart. Most of these spiders are harmless.

Most. But also, if there was ever a season for 10-foot cobwebs silently cascading across the clear autumn skies, this is it.

"I might try and capture some of them and put them on my house or the outside, for Halloween decoration," said Reid.

[NBC DFW]

7 Comments

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

Or, as RuPaul put it:

related: Stripper Problems

Text messages with a friend:

Her: I saw this and it made me think of you: “Your true friends are like stars in the sky.  They’re there even when you can’t see them.”

me:  Aw.  That’s sweet.  And sort of depressing.

Her:  How is it depressing?

me:  Most of the stars in the sky are either dead or currently on fire.  Some are exploding.  So basically you just said that the phrase “Your true friends are either dead or currently on fire.  Some are possibly exploding” reminds you of me.

Her:  Oddly enough, that phrase makes me think of you as well.

me:  Touché, my friend.  Make sure your pajamas are flame-retardent.

************

And in other news, it’s Sunday, which means its time for the weekly wrap-up:

 

by Emma Carmichael

A spooky clown, dressed in white face paint with huge drawn-on eyebrows, a curly red wig and a ruffled collar — and looking exactly like Pennywise clown from the Stephen King-inspired 1990 horror film, "IT" — has appeared in several locations throughout Northampton, England since Friday, Sept. 13.

The #NorthamptonClown has nearly 66,000 Facebook fans. This is totally going to end up being an ad for a local Halloween store, right? RIGHT??? [Photo via]

7 Comments