Is there anything worse than a poetry slam?
We haven’t named the deer that lives in the corner of our house yet (possibilities: Steve, Stanley, and Uncle Buck) and are open to suggestions.
Jim’s response to my request he do the dishes: “The only things that I do all day long are lift heavy things, wrestle bears, and bonk people on the head. Occasionally, I will swing large hammers at things to make a bell ring, but that’s more of a hobby.”
Remember when Jonathon Richman promised that we all would be dignified and old? I hope he meant this.
gif (via jonwithabullet)
This Stephen Colbert interview with Maurice Sendak may be the best thing I have ever seen.
Come for the critique of Newt Gingrich (“Newt Gingrich is an idiot of great renown.”); stay for the ziploc bag full of illustrated penises!
(via washingtonpost.com)
Typeverything.com - The harder you work, the luckier you get by Studio Muti.

Today is my birthday and I got an anonymous (read: wrong number) text that said “U are hot” (read “Julia is hot”). It seems like it might be a good year.

Even as I sleep, the power of my bun grows! I have captured some of the power in this picture as a burst of light (a flash — if you will; a flash not turned off because I have become an old woman drained of my strength and intelligence by a bun — if you would rather).
Is there anything worse than a poetry slam?
There is, we recognize, a historical danger here. Someday, the record of this exhibition might be dug up by a young art historian, or perhaps a blogger like us, or perhaps some sort of future blogger who does things with brainwaves. They’ll see that there was a massive show spread across every location of the most successful gallery of the time, entirely comprised of one of the most successful artists of the time, and that it was supported by some of the most illustrious voices money could buy. So I’m going to lay this down, just to clarify, so that nobody from the future gets confused: we hate this shit. Everyone hates this shit. These spots reflect nothing about how we live, see, or think, they’re just some weird meme for the impossibly rich that nobody knows how to stop.
(Source: tangentialism)