Pets & Weddings: “It’s embarrassing,” Mr. Rose said parenthetically, “to still be in this 20-year transition from Ikea.” -
“It’s just like, are we doing this, or not?” Mr. Rose said of his bedside table. And according to The Gray Lady, Mr. Rose is not alone in his uncertainty.
“I have a complicated relationship with the bedside table. I want it to be something that’s somewhat serene.”
My bedside table is a filing cabinet. I feel like it’s always keeping tabs on me.
Ralph Lauren suggests that corgis are a hot fashion accessory this Spring.
Corgis are always in vogue.
CorgiStyle suggests that Hamptons WASPs are a hot fashion accessory this spring. For extra flair, put them in pink!
Wait, Rhod, is that older Sullie or am I just losing my mind?
Les Miserables vid: White Cedar -
I made a Grantaire vid! I know I’m terribly late to the vid-making party (and I should have waited for the shiny DVD anyway), but I couldn’t resist. It’s to the Mountain Goats, everything is the Mountain Goats, they are inescapable. Also soundingonlyatnightasyousleep mentioned in a comment to my fic that this was a good Grantaire song, and they were so right. The second verse that I cut is perfect for reincarnation fic, too.
(I tried really hard to upload this to Tumblr like a proper new media user, but it wouldn’t accept the file and I have zero patience left with Tumblr after this no-more-links fiasco—now it won’t even let me use the HTML editor anymore—so you have to go and download it, sorry.
I’ll try to get a streaming version up soon.You can also watch it streaming at this link! It’s pretty skippy, though. I don’t think Vimeo likes my old-fashioned video files.)
Title: White Cedar
Music: The Mountain Goats
Character(s): Grantaire, Enjolras
Warnings: None that I’m aware of, questions are welcome
Summary: I don’t have to be afraid.
“I saw the light of my spirit descend the other day”
36 Hours in Galway
Bilateral gynandromporphism - half female, half male.. This genetic anomaly is usually restricted to arthropods, but has been known to express itself in birds as well.
I always reblog bilateral gynandromorphic butterflies.
(Source: , via whyisithot)
Education should aim to enhance our capacities, Dewey argued, so that we are not reduced to mere tools. “The kind of vocational education in which I am interested is not one which will ‘adapt’ workers to the existing industrial regime; I am not sufficiently in love with the regime for that.” Are we?
“Who wants to attend school to learn to be “human capital”? Who aspires for their children to become economic or military resources? Dewey had a different vision. — John Dewey’s Vision of Learning as Freedom - NYTimes.com
In Texas by May Sarton | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor -
by May Sarton
In Texas the lid blew off the sky a long time ago
So there’s nothing to keep the wind from blowing
And it blows all the time. Everywhere is far to go
So there’s no hurry at all, and no reason for going.
In Texas there’s so much space words have a way
Of getting lost in the silence before they’re spoken
So people hang on a long time to what they have to say;
And when they say it the silence is not broken,
But it absorbs the words and slowly gives them
Over to miles of white-gold plains and gray-green hills,
And they are part of that silence that outlives them.
Nothing moves fast in Texas except the windmills
And the hawk that rises up with a clatter of wings.
(Nothing more startling here than sudden motion,
Everything is so still.) But the earth slowly swings
In time like a great swelling never-ending ocean,
And the houses that ride the tawny waves get smaller
As you get near them because you see them then
Under the whole sky, and the whole sky is so much taller
With the lid off than a million towers built by men.
After a while you can only see what’s at horizon’s edge,
And you are stretched with looking so far instead of near,
So you jump, you are startled by a blown piece of sedge;
You feel wide-eyed and ruminative as a ponderous steer.
In Texas you look at America with a patient eye.
You want everything to be sure and slow and set in relation
To immense skies and earth that never ends. You wonder why
People must talk and strain so much about a nation
That lives in spaces vaster than a man’s dream and can go
Five hundred miles through wilderness, meeting only the hawk
And the dead rabbit in the road. What happens must be slow,
Must go deeper even than hand’s work or tongue’s talk,
Must rise out of the flesh like sweat after a hard day,
Must come slowly, in its own time, in its own way.