“There are a number of colloquialisms for travelers’ diarrhea contracted in various localities, such as “Montezuma’s revenge”, “turistas”, or “Aztec two step” for travelers’ diarrhea contracted in Mexico, “Pharaoh’s Revenge,” “mummy’s tummy,” or “Cairo two-step” in Egypt, “Kurtz Hurtz” in Uzbekistan, “Bombay belly” or “Delhi belly” in India, “Karachi crouch” in Pakistan, “Suryavarman’s Revenge” in Cambodia, “kabulitis” in Afghanistan, “holiday tummy” in United Kingdom, although this is not directed at tourists in the UK but at British tourists abroad, “Bali belly” in Bali, or “Taghazout Tummy” in Taghazout or “Katmandu quickstep” in Nepal. In Canada it is termed “beaver fever”. In China it is referred to as 拉肚子, which literally translates as “pulled stomach.” A recent local term in Pattaya, Thailand, is “Thai-dal wave”. Peacekeepers to Arabic-speaking countries have called it “yalla yalla” (Arabic for “fast, fast”) referring to the extreme urgency it causes. This one is similar to “corre corre” meaning “run run” used in some regions of Colombia.”—
“If my fellow Democrats and all those progressives wanted to govern without having to make big compromises, then they should have focused their energies last year on winning the House again. Instead, they spent a lot of time complaining that the Affordable Care Act didn’t have a public option. They made that the hill they wanted to die on and when they lost that fight, they left the battle.”—
This instant-message window
is a man of youth & discernment, pretty much no one concluded.
It was that type of window. A
chore to reassemble, we moved
life’s pleasure indoors: the Blowjob
Medley; hit single “Purity You Can
[Blank]”; Strange Hour of Lucid
I have mixed feelings, because sometimes I read things there that are funny and sometimes I am puzzled as to why they published such a pointless piece of crap. So, ya know. Mixed.
Which is a totally fine and fair (and normal) response. I don’t like everything they publish either (sidenote: is it the Angry Feminist thing they posted that’s got everyone upset? I haven’t read that yet) but I don’t know there’s a website in existence that I’ve yet to love every. single. thing. posted therein.
Wait, why do we all hate Thought Catalog all of a sudden?
Or maybe it’s not all of a sudden?
I like Thought Catalog!
BUT I totally respect everyone who sits there and says, “IT’S THE WORST THING ON THE INTERNET!” At least they’re not saying, “It’s the worst thing on the internet because James Joyce wouldn’t have approved of the structure.”
“This robs Friday Night Lights of any pathos and makes it instead an unwitting champion of the bathetic, which Alexander Pope called a work of art’s fall “from the sublime to the ridiculous.” You can be sure that if Oedipus were on Friday Night Lights, he would soothe the pain of his sin by joining the football team. His mother Jocasta would cheer from the stands, and he would wear a patch on his jersey with his dead father’s image.”—
Oh for fucks’s sake. Today is is just ripe with overeducated assholes on the internet.
Here’s what I say: it’s perfectly fine not to like a show — even if it’s a show a lot of people like. It’s acceptable to say, “I think it’s an enormous pile of shit.” Skybarn (sorry, non-tumblr folk) has said such things repeatedly about Mad Men, a show I, and a lot of people adore. But at least he doesn’t dress his dislike of it up the way this dick does.
I hate Family Guy. Anyone asks me why I hate Family Guy and I usually say, “I don’t think it’s funny. In fact, I think it’s amazingly unfunny. I think it’s the worst fucking show on television.”
I would have to be insane to say, “I don’t like Family Guy because it doesn’t follow the classical Greek conventions of a comedy. Though Shakespeare wrote bawdy one-liners for his illiterate fans, even he would be aghast at the non-sequiturs that make an attempt at humor on Family Guy. Even Kafka, king of the non-sequitur, would find this offensive and idiotic.”
It’s always ok to say that you don’t like something — and it’s ok to be an asshole when you say that you don’t like it. It’s not ok to be this particular kind of asshole.
Uh, no. That is not the assumption I would make. This whole piece though, yikes. It includes this sentence: “I’m now looking for work with WWOOF, the World Wide Organization of Organic Farmers on Hawaii.”
“Yeah, Myrracle. You can do this. Come on!” Tookie urged,
holding her sister by her arms and staring into her eyes, trying
to spark a connection. “Dance in your spirit, but not with your
body,” she repeated over and over. Then she turned Myrracle
around, placed Myrracle’s hands on her hips, and whispered in
her ear: “Left, then right, then left, then right …”—
I used to have this problem where I couldn’t get guys to be in the same room with me. As of tonight, I can’t even get them to tell me they don’t want to be in the same room with me. So I was stood up. So what?
At least that’s what I keep saying. But then I think about how I left my mom alone at the hospital to go meet this guy (to be fair, she insisted I go when she learned I had a potential romantic encounter) and I feel like a real dick.
I ran into some coworkers at the bar and stayed and had a few beers with them. I said, “Well, it’s probably better. It might have been awkward to be on a date in front of people I work with. I can just imagine you going in tomorrow and saying, ‘You should have seen this guy Leah was out with.’”
But ugh, I’m pissed. My mom’s probably dying and we might not have an economy next week, but I’ve decided to get pissed off that I was stood up.
The psychologists call it “deindividuation”. It’s what happens when social norms are withdrawn because identities are concealed. The classic deindividuation experiment concerned American children at Halloween. Trick-or-treaters were invited to take sweets left in the hall of a house on a table on which there was also a sum of money. When children arrived singly, and not wearing masks, only 8% of them stole any of the money. When they were in larger groups, with their identities concealed by fancy dress, that number rose to 80%. The combination of a faceless crowd and personal anonymity provoked individuals into breaking rules that under “normal” circumstances they would not have considered.
Deindividuation is what happens when we get behind the wheel of a car and feel moved to scream abuse at the woman in front who is slow in turning right. It is what motivates a responsible father in a football crowd to yell crude sexual hatred at the opposition or the referee. And it’s why under the cover of an alias or an avatar on a website or a blog – surrounded by virtual strangers – conventionally restrained individuals might be moved to suggest a comedian should suffer all manner of violent torture because they don’t like his jokes, or his face. Digital media allow almost unlimited opportunity for wilful deindividuation. They almost require it. The implications of those liberties, of the ubiquity of anonymity and the language of the crowd, are only beginning to be felt.
You guys, the Guardian is just the best. The BEST.
The first is: There is no purpose in “reading” The Great Gatsby unless you actually read it. Fitzgerald’s novel is not about a story. It is about how the story is told. Its poetry, its message, its evocation of Gatsby’s lost American dream, is expressed in Fitzgerald’s style—in the precise words he chose to write what some consider the great American novel. Unless you have read them, you have not read the book at all. You have been imprisoned in an educational system that cheats and insults you by inflicting a barbaric dumbing-down process. You are left with the impression of having read a book, and may never feel you need return for a closer look.
I have not read the full Macmillan Reader edition, although it requires only 67 pages. Readers of the actual novel must have been dismayed to learn that this edition with its 1,600 words arrives at the conclusion: “But he cannot be blamed for that. Gatsby was a success, in the end, wasn’t he?”
No possible reading of the book, however stupid, could possibly conclude that.
“Don’t go outside. Ever. Stay in your apartment in your underwear with your head in the freezer. Make status updates that say “BRB. Putting my head in my freezer.” Get 10,000 “likes”. Listen to lots of Bjork and think of Iceland and how it has the word ice in it and ice is really cold. Imagine being submerged in an ice bucket by an eskimo and have a head chill. You’re almost there, babe. Think it. Dream it. Be it.”—Ways To Cool Down During A Heatwave « Thought Catalog
Bedroom Problems are playing Johnny Brenda’s next month with a couple of awesome bands. Not to sound maudlin (fuck you it’s my birthday, I’m gonna feel how I want to feel), but this kind of a big deal for us. JB’s is a pretty big room — a great sounding one at that — so the stakes are higher this time around, so to speak.
We’re actually going to debut a few new songs at this show, so if you haven’t heard the “old” stuff, this is a good opportunity to see us. Please come out to this show. I will find a way to make it worth your while. (Poster? Tote bag? A drink?)
I spent a nice chunk of 2010 being sad about a lot of things; Bedroom Problems was not only a great way to get myself out of that rut, but also put my life back on an upwards trajectory. If you had told me one year ago that I would be on stage with a great group of friends, playing songs that I wrote, I would not have believed you.
Jokkmokk also gave name to the Japanese cookie company called Yoku Moku. The owner Noriichi Fujinawa was so elated about the beautiful village and the nice people that he named his company after Jokkmokk.
Jokkmokk also gave name to an IKEA kitchen table and chair set made of solid pine.
Today pesto sauce leaked into the lining of my purse. My really expensive purse that was the last gasp of what I now know to be a fairly serious addiction to spending money. I love this purse. Everyone loves it.
And now it has a big, fragrant olive oil stain that’s visible from the outside.
Coupled with the fact that I had sent an email to the wrong distribution list when I take any mistake I make at work as evidence that I’m morally inferior (no, I don’t know why, so don’t ask), this caused me to have a minor meltdown.
My coworker got me cornstarch because we read online that you could use that to leach olive oil out of leather (it doesn’t), and as I tried to get the seal on that open I hear her say, “Leah! Don’t ruin your manicure trying to save your purse!”
And I was like, this is such a Sex and the City problem.
“Shoot for the moon. Even if you fail, you’ll land among the stars.” I think this one only really works in outer space for someone who is actually shooting for the moon because I’ve tried to come up with some normal, earthly applications and I just can’t. ‘Shoot for the hottest guy. Even if you fail, you can still go home with someone uglier.’ ‘Shoot for your dream job. Even if you fail, you can still be a barista.’ ‘Shoot for a liberal arts college. Even if you fail, you can still go to a shitty state school.’ ‘Shoot for New York City. Even if you fail, you can still live in Jersey.’ I don’t know; it just doesn’t seem to pan out.”—
And I mean, we've all done it with THAT guy, and it's just made us more cynical and ironic
The problem with the world is that you can ask someone if the guy she was checking out on OK Cupid had answered his questions ironically and it’s a totally legitimate question worthy of an answer. But then the greater problem is that there are people who answer such questions as those presented on OK Cupid non-ironically, and your impression of them ends up being what Suzanne just sent me:
"i feel like his perfect date would involve going to a club in the meatpacking district, making me make out with some b&t girl bc it was hot, then coming back to his apartment, having anal sex while watching fox news, then eating a steak"