Beach Feet
I would probably have to say that reading fiction — those stories fill the space that other people might use religious stories for. The bulk of what I know about human life I’ve gotten from novels. And I think the thing about novels that make them important to the people who love them is that there’s always another perspective.
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| — | Tom Perrotta on fiction vs. religion (via nprfreshair) |
A lot of young people often describe and evolve their identities online, curating them 24/7. So their relationships with others and their self-image are deeply affected by the images that they present on Facebook, Google+ and elsewhere.
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And Tumblr? [full interview here] (via nprfreshair) So interesting. How does this compare to old ways of constructing identity? Writing in journals, hanging posters in your room, making mix tapes, getting dressed … |
Thursday Just Got Interesting: MIT Team Creates Ketchup Bottle That Pours Like Milk
How did the Ketchup Industry keep us suffering for so long? Was it a conspiracy to get us to buy more ketchup? Or did they just like watching us struggle?
Major quality of life improvement, thank you MIT.
Next step, per my boyfriend’s request: Heinz should make ketchup with Tobasco premixed. I told him they probably already do that — does anyone know?
Ne me quitte pas | Regina Spektor
This song is refurbished on the new Regina Spektor album, “What We Saw from the Cheap Seats,” which NPR ever-so-kindly allows you to listen to for free until it is released right here.
Sing with me: Ne me quitte pas mon cher, ne me quitte pas. Ne me quitte pas mon cher, ne. me. quit.te. pas.
Good. Now it’s stuck in your tetes too.
This has nothing to do with DC, but I have been listening to it incessantly in DC, so that counts for something, non?
A tout a l’heure mes chouchous.
P.s.,
If anyone knows how to make accent marks on the tumblr, do let me know. I swear, I studied French for 8 years.
One of the things I had to do in Northampton was to buy a couple of loaves at Hungry Ghost Bread.
It may have been a mistake, as now I cannot stop thinking about it, and am plotting a trip back maybe just maybe for the sole reason of getting more bread. 8 hours in a car and back. For bread. That’s some serious bread.
I don’t think I understood the luxury at the time, when I lived just up the street from what was then just a teeny brick building that would waft savory waves of rising sourdough baking in a wood-fired oven right into my window.
But that was just one of the many luxuries I failed to fully appreciate both in the Pioneer Valley and at Smith.
My friends say I could just learn to bake. But no, I don’t think I could make a loaf of potato thyme the way they do.
It’s little things like that that make a time and a place special, right? If we had them at the snap of a finger, well, what would be the fun?
