Fuck, the only way to describe this dress, is that it is the Cat’s Meow.
See you on the dance floor, doing the Charleston.
(via josaphi)
+15 °C, Spanish wear caps, gloves and winter coats, Finns are sunbathing.
+10 °C, French desperately try to get their central heating on. Finns plant flowers.
+5 °C, Italian cars won’t start. Finns drive with convertibles.
0 °C, Pure water
−5 °C, First people are found frozen in California. Finnish midsummer festival ends.
−10 °C, Scottish turn the heat on in their houses. Finns start to use long-sleeve shirts.
−20 °C, Swedes stay indoors. Finns are having last barbeque before winter.
−30 °C, Half of the Greek people have frozen to death. Finns start to dry their laundry indoors.
−50 °C, Polar bears evacuate North Pole. Finnish army starts it’s winter training.
−70 °C, Siberian people are moving to Moscow. Finns are furious since the Koskenkorva booze can’t be stored outdoors anymore.
−273 °C, Absolute zero. Finns admit that it is quite cold outside.
−300 °C, Hell freezes over. Finland wins the football World Cup.
When an anonymous advice columnist by the name of “Dear Sugar” introduced herself on The Rumpus on March 11, 2010, she made her proposition clear: a “by-the-book common sense of Dear Abby and the earnest spiritual cheesiness of Cary Tennis and the butt-pluggy irreverence of Dan Savage and the closeted Upper East Side nymphomania of Miss Manners.” But in the two-some years that followed, she proceeded to deliver something tenfold punchier, more honest, more existentially profound than even such an intelligently irreverent promise could foretell. This week, all of Sugar’s no-bullshit, wholehearted wisdom on life’s trickiest contexts — sometimes the simplest, sometimes the most complex, always the most deeply human — is released in Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar (public library), along with several never-before-published columns, under Sugar’s real name: Cheryl Strayed.
The book is titled after Dear Sugar #64, which remains my own favorite by a long stretch. It’s exquisite in its entirety, but this particular bit makes the heart tremble with raw heartness:
Your assumptions about the lives of others are in direct relation to your naïve pomposity. Many people you believe to be rich are not rich. Many people you think have it easy worked hard for what they got. Many people who seem to be gliding right along have suffered and are suffering. Many people who appear to you to be old and stupidly saddled down with kids and cars and houses were once every bit as hip and pompous as you.
When you meet a man in the doorway of a Mexican restaurant who later kisses you while explaining that this kiss doesn’t ‘mean anything’ because, much as he likes you, he is not interested in having a relationship with you or anyone right now, just laugh and kiss him back. Your daughter will have his sense of humor. Your son will have his eyes.
The useless days will add up to something. The shitty waitressing jobs. The hours writing in your journal. The long meandering walks. The hours reading poetry and story collections and novels and dead people’s diaries and wondering about sex and God and whether you should shave under your arms or not. These things are your becoming.
One Christmas at the very beginning of your twenties when your mother gives you a warm coat that she saved for months to buy, don’t look at her skeptically after she tells you she thought the coat was perfect for you. Don’t hold it up and say it’s longer than you like your coats to be and too puffy and possibly even too warm. Your mother will be dead by spring. That coat will be the last gift she gave you. You will regret the small thing you didn’t say for the rest of your life.
Say thank you.
via Maria Popova

Jay-Z & Kanye West — No Church In The Wild ft. Frank Ocean
Coke on her black skin made a stripe like a zebra / I call that jungle fever
(via pale-smokee)
I’m gonna be just as cool as this granny at 100.



