April 2009
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March 2009
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(via indierawk)
Daft Punk vs MGMT vs The Doors -...
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Wii versus me.
Do I really want a Wii? You know… yeah, I do. The more I think about it, the more forward-thinking it sounds to sell my Gamecube and start getting fit by waving around a glorified remote control. The games are pretty sweet too.
Don’t hate me for wanting the Grey’s Anatomy video game. Don’t we all just want to dissect things and fall in love doctor-style?
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“Remember, remember. This is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to...”
– Sylvia Plath. (via jlovely) (via willmccloud) (via thebeesknees4) (via libraries) (via cateo)
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Walk in the Park - Oh No! Oh My!
Roll the windows...
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Shipping container house? →
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When I get home, sometimes,
I like to take a super serious shower after work. Especially after my 9-5 shifts. It feels pretty excellent, even when I’m opening and closing the shower door every ten seconds (after seeing the trailer for this really awful horror movie where Audrina Patridge gets killed - I kid you not).
Since finishing some Sylvia Plath, I’m thinking of moving on to Vonnegut for a bit....
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Depressing.
I can’t think of anyone to see the Thermals or Fischerspooner with. Ben Folds, sure, but I’ve already seen him and it’s pricey. And I totally refuse to see Animal Collective until everyone in Brooklyn (or Brooklyn-adjacent, let’s face it) calms down. Judge me.
On the upside, Nightmare of You and Cloud Cult are in the same week (or just about) so I’ve got something...
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Still Clueless
(via dearoldlove)
You should sell transcripts of my drunken voicemails to the people who write Paul Rudd movies.
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Sylvia Plath's son commits suicide. →
(via trapeze)
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Anyone but Natasha. →
No… no, no, no.
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(via movingalong)
(via jointhequeue) Love Will...
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How Evinrude
(via dearoldlove)
Date number three was too soon for motorboating.
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The Start of Something - Voxtrot.
One of the many...
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News - even to me.
I hate Twitter. It fails me, I fail it, and so forth.
There, I said it.
Dead to me.
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Edit:
While we were throwing out our used napkins and piling our utensils and trays, a man reached into the garbage, pulled out a plastic cup, a half-eaten salad, part of a sandwich, and walked away with it.
This is where I live.
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This is me sticking it to the man.
I met Jess at Panera for dinner and got quite the nice you-pick-two, including my favorite salad (the only salad worth getting, if I do say so myself) and some super ethnic soup. But since I am trying to conserve money and keep my brain moving before I lose all sense of my leftover college knowledge (those two solid months), I asked for a cup for water instead of a cup for soda or something. Got...
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i take a nap and when i wake up...ryan adams is...
(via spinlighted)
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Another wrong number.
If you remember the wrong number saga of last month, then maybe you’ll enjoy this little one too. So I was at work all day, missing calls and serving cupcakes, when a local number (same area code) called my phone. I listened to the voicemail in my car and it was some teacher calling for some parent who hadn’t shown up for their parent-teacher meeting. She was going to stay a bit longer...
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I saw Cursive last night (!) in a sea of plaid. →
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Barbies gone wild? →
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Where Do You Sleep?
(via dearoldlove)
Sometimes I wonder if you are still alive, and if so, if you ever got a real bed.
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If you say, "There's no place like home, there's...
(via indierawk)
-Anatomy of a Hipster #38.
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Fly - Nick Drake.
I have no idea why.
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"I'm a prosecut-ah, not a prostitut-ah."
I watched a lot of Maury in the last couple of days, both before I covered Liz’s shift (yesterday) and after I woke up in one of Jess’s two beds after she’d left for class (today). What have I learned from it? You are not the father. Neither are you… or you. Let’s just say that there are some women out there having far more sex than you - with far more people than you...
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