And Sometimes

And sometimes its the littlest things that get you. The things that make you actually feel your heart. I knew and I didnt know. Without thought, with knowledge. Something so simple, something without words, speaking to me with every word I've ever known. More meaningful than June. Never a question, never a quest. It came with an introduction like no other. There is no better present. "Just something little," you said. Speak to me without words, you've spoken louder than anyone has before. Fastest subway ride I've ever taken, I was never on the train. Train of thought tucked into a plain white envelope. Some things we protect, hold gently like newborns. Fragile yet strong as the sea. You see me.

June gloom

I love me some Olsens but I had to post this.

Things I find on Craigslist

"Every girl that dreams of dating a bearded uptown hipster with a bike...
Date: 2010-02-12, 4:05AM CST

let me just remind you that when you take away the fixed-gear bike, the messenger bag, the scarf that's worn year-round, the ironic t-shirt, the dumb shoes, the pbr, the tattoos, plugs, and the stupid beard, we all look the same.

so, are you really in love with a guy or his accessories? or is it that you're in love with the whimsical idea of an urban lumberjack type who will go on "adventures" with you, meanwhile being perfectly content with doing what every other human being our age does: drinking and fucking?

also, tell me about the last black guy you dated. what's that? you can't? cause every fucking uptown hipster is a white boy from the suburbs.

the uptown wannabes from the suburbs grow up idolizing the current inhabitants. when they're old enough, they move there, grow beards and do the stupid shit that kids do (eg. drink). what's ironic is that this new generation then grows up and becomes the new kids to be idolized by the new uptown wannabes from the suburbs. it's an endless cycle of superficiality, facades, and stupid kids seeking affirmation from their peers.

the truth is, NONE OF YOU ARE COOL!

i wish i could be there, 20 years from now, when you look back at pictures of yourselves from today. it's like explaining zubas in the 90s to someone today.

irony is not timeless.

marry a guy with a yacht.

Location: uptown
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests"

Expedition Great White, episode 1

No Words

Hot Chip making fun of boy bands? Im down.

1. JLS=awful




2. Hot Chip=awesome

Create Hipster Children

The Indie Rock Coloring Book -- The Montreal-based nonprofit Yellow Bird Project has worked with an amazing range of indie rock musicians over the years to create unique T-shirt designs that benefit an array of charities. This first ever indie rock coloring book is a fitting tribute to the DIY spirit of the bands, featuring witty, hand-illustrated activity pages from artist Andy J. Miller. Music fans can keep themselves out of trouble for hours with mazes, connect-the-dot games, and coloring pages for the Shins, Devendra Banhart, Rilo Kiley, the National, and more than 20 artists. With all royalties going to charity, The Indie Rock Coloring Book is sure to warm even the coolest of hipster hearts.

Vhere's Valdo?

Oh Francis, you are Godly.

Really Simpsons, really?

new new.

New Wolf Parade, EXPO 86 comes out June 29th. dig it.

You can thank me later.

Dig Depp

Little Things

Writing "Tuesday" on your hand helps remind you that its not Friday, nor is it Saturday.

Sometimes looking like The Hangover, the sequel, is completely acceptable. Especially when you went out all night and still go to work the next day.

People. People when you least expect it. People will surprise you.

Asking for "an unhealthy amount" of sauce at Mamoun's at 4am is a fantastic idea, as long as its white sauce and not hot sauce.

Having a best friend. Loving that best friend as much as you love yourself. Being not only on the same page, not only on the same sentence, but on the same word.

Cudi mixtape over and over. And over.

My conscience and OJ Simpson have one thing in common. Starts with a "g" ends with an "uilty."

Meetings on the subway when you least expect it but most need it.

Wake-up calls > Alarm clocks

Up the ramp, down the stairs. Every time.

A person feeling like home, and that not being weird at all.

New friends, old tricks. Old friends, new tricks.

Clearly seeing the stages of how we feel for those we care, cared, will care about.

Postcards from places I've never been but always felt.

Few Facts

1. Q: Why are many coin banks shaped like pigs?
A: Long ago, dishes and cookware in Europe were made of a dense orange clay called 'pygg'. When people saved coins in jars made of this clay, the jars became known as 'pygg banks.' When an English potter misunderstood the word, he made a bank that resembled a pig. And it caught on.

2. Q: Did you ever wonder why dimes, quarters and half dollars have notches, while pennies and nickels do not?
A: The US Mint began putting notches on the edges of coins containing gold and silver to discourage holders from shaving off small quantities of the precious metals. Dimes, quarters and half dollars are notched because they used to contain silver. Pennies and nickels aren't notched because the metals they contain are not valuable enough to shave..

3. Q: Why do mens clothes have buttons on the right while womens clothes have buttons on the left?
A: When buttons were invented, they were very expensive and worn primarily by the rich. Because wealthy women were dressed by maids, dressmakers put the buttons on the maid's right.! Since most people are right-handed, it is easier to push buttons on the right through holes on the left. And that's where womens buttons have remained since.

4. Q. Why do X's at the end of a letter signify kisses?
A: In the Middle Ages, when many people were unable to read or write, documents were often signed using an X. Kissing the X represented an oath to fulfill obligations specified in the document. The X and the kiss eventually became synonymous.

5. Q: Why is shifting responsibility to someone else called 'passing the buck'?
A: In card games, it was once customary to pass an item, called a buck, from player to player to indicate whose turn it was to deal. If a player did not wish to assume the responsibility, he would 'pass the buck' to the next player.

6. Q: Why do people clink their glasses before drinking a toast?
A: It used to be common for someone to try to kill an enemy by offering him a poisoned drink. To prove to a guest that a drink was safe, it became customary for a guest to pour a small amount of his drink into the glass of the host. Both men would drink it simultaneously. When a guest trusted his host, he would then just touch or clink the host's glass with his own.

7. Q: Why are people in the public eye said to be 'in the limelight'?
A: Invented in 1825, limelight was used in lighthouses and stage lighting by burning a cylinder of lime which produced a brilliant light. In the theatre, performers on stage 'in the limelight' were seen by the audience to be the center of attention.

8. Q: Why do ships and aircraft in trouble use 'mayday' as their call for help?
A: This comes from the French word m'aidez - meaning 'help me' -- and is pronounced 'mayday.'

9. Q: Why is someone who is feeling great 'on cloud nine'?
A: Types of clouds are numbered according to the altitudes they attain, with nine being the highest cloud. If someone is said to be on cloud nine, that person is floating well above worldly cares.

10. Q: Why are zero scores in tennis called 'love'?
A: In France , where tennis first became popular, a big, round zero on the scoreboard looked like an egg and was called 'l'oeuf,' which is French for 'egg.' When tennis was introduced in the US , Americans pronounced it 'love.'

11. Q: In golf, where did the term 'Caddie' come from?
A. When Mary, later Queen of Scots, went to France as a young girl (for education & survival), Louis, King of France , learned that she loved the Scot game 'golf.' So he had the first golf course outside of Scotland built for her enjoyment. To make sure she was properly chaperoned (and guarded) while she played, Louis hired cadets from a military school to accompany her. Mary liked this a lot and when she returned to Scotland (not a very good idea in the long run), she took the practice with her. In French, the word cadet is pronounced 'ca-day' and the Scots changed it into 'caddie.'

Speak-ease-y

n., pl., -ies.
A place for the illegal sale and consumption of alcoholic drinks, as during Prohibition in the United States.



Get your fill here.

Awesomeness

This could be the best way ever to waste hours of your time. Click here to experience The Most Awesomest Thing Ever Website. Get it.

Heres a sneak peak, which btw completely stumped me. I mean really, what would you have picked?

Needy Girl

Ignore the silly/vulgar background and just listen.

In Passing

A little bird sitting on the highest branch of a tree, starring into the sun as if it has not a worry in the world. I think to myself "If I were a bird, that would be me." I smile, I relate, I daydream.

Sun bathing spring flowers. A brand new start. "The earth laughs in flowers." Just a month ago, nothing. Now in bloom. Happy. To be a new flower, a fresh start, a hopeful beginning. Leaving me jealous of a plant. They can't walk, they can't talk, they can't smile. Or can they?

A man, maybe a boy, 20 something. You tell me. Sprinting towards newly opened doors, soon to be closing. He makes it. What if he didn't?

There's no wind today. Every flag that I see is sleeping, still as a snapshot, frozen in time. Flags must love the wind. They depend on wind to breathe life into them, let them come alive. Wildly waving to the world.

MyBad.

Heavy on your heart like a million little weights. Knowing from Kudi that everything that shine aint always gonna be gold, but this was platinum. This was diamonds, shining the way you did that very night. With a feeling and a look stronger than an Ironman competition, I knew, and you knew that I knew. "No, its ridiculous..." "Just say it." Then those words, first on your part then on mine. And that was that, and then came tears. Tears not from sadness but from feeling. A feeling of having the breath knocked out of you. That moment in between, when you feel unreal, surreal, more real than you ever knew you could possibly feel. A day, a week, a month, a year. We're both here, always were, always will be. Fight it, go ahead. Youre only fighting yourself. My thoughts, your thoughts, theyre all the same. Wordless, speechless, mindful, thoughtful. I said I hate the middle, and I do with all of my heavy heart, but who am I kidding? We're not in the middle, never were. We couldnt find the middle if it were standing in front of us. Us, yes us. Breathe, just hold your breath. Sink or swim situation. Ive always been a really good swimmer. Water which is too pure has no fish.

"Its the tits."

This is for my good friend RS.
Enjoy.














LAZERTITS

With a cherry on top.

Sylvia Ji

I

I appeared over dressed wearing a dress, blazer, and stilettos.
I wore sunglasses even though my side of the train wasn't sunny.
I smelled of maple syrup and cigar tobacco.
I listened to my ipod way too loudly.
I had elegantly disheveled, dirty blonde hair.
I was busy on my blackberry.
I smiled and occasionally laughed.
I will always be a stranger to her.

She

She was on the 8:04 train, got on at Syosset, and sat across from me.
She had medium length, straight, mousey brown hair and a Cindy Crawford mole.
She was dressed for winter but was clearly in need of summer.
She wore an engagement ring and read Hemingway.
She had on an unnecessary amount of eye liner but no other makeup.
She never smiled.
She will always be a stranger to me.

How I feel Today

Gaaaahhhhhh

"My First New York"

Last spring, New York Magazine invited 30 notable New Yorkers to share their memories of arriving in this vast city. Next week, Ecco/HarperCollins will be releasing an expanded collection entitled My First New York. Below, read a heartfelt excerpt written by Colum McCann about his arrival in 1984 to where else but New York City.

"Drunk and sober, high and low, off and on, up and down, lost and found, New York has been my city for sixteen years now. It’s a vast mystery to me, like it is to most New Yorkers, how this ugly lovely town became my lovely ugly town, this gorgeous rubbish heap of a place, this city of the timeless Now, with little of the style of Paris, little of the beauty of Rome, little of the history of London, and not even much of the dear dirty dereliction of my hometown, Dublin.

New York is a fiction of sorts, a construct, a story, into which you can walk at any moment and at any angle and end up blindsided, turned upside down, changed.

There are dozens of moments I can recall from the early days, when I first got to the city as a naïve young Dubliner, in 1982. I was 17 years old and visiting for the summer. I ran the midtown streets as a gopher for Universal Press Syndicate. I rushed for sandwiches, answered phones, delivered parcels. My ears popped in the Time-Life elevators. On a July afternoon, I lay down in the middle of Sixth Avenue and looked up at the skyscrapers. I laughed as people stepped over and around me. Later, I sat in the back of the Lion’s Head pub and dreamed myself into writing days. I bluffed my way into Limelight. On the D train, I nursed a cocaine itch back to Brighton Beach, where I rented a cockroached room. It was all a fantastic fever dream: Even now, the moments collide into each other and my memory is decorated by a series of mirrors flashing light into chambers of sound and color, graffiti and roar. I left it after a few months, back to Dublin, enchanted and dazzled.

But I truly fell in love with the city many years later, on my second stint, when I wasn’t quite sure if I was meant to be here at all, and it was a quiet moment that did it for me, one of those little glancing shoulder-rubs that New York can deal out at any time of the day, in any season, in any weather, in any place—even on the fiercely unfashionable Upper East Side.

It had snowed in the city. Two feet of it over the course of the night. It was the sort of snow that made the city temporarily magical, before all the horn-blowing and slush puddles and piles of dog crap crowning the melt. A very thin little path had been cleared on 82nd Street between Lexington and Third, just wide enough for two able-bodied people to squeeze through. The snow was piled high on either side. A small canyon, really, in the middle of the footpath. On the street—a quiet street at the best of times, if anything can be quiet in New York—the cars were buried under drifts. The telegraph wires sagged. The underside of the tree branches appeared like brushstrokes on the air. Nothing moved. The brownstones looked small against so much white. In the distance sounded a siren, but that was all, making the silence more complete.

I saw her from a distance halfway down the block. She was already bent into the day. She wore a headscarf. Her coat was old enough to have once been fashionable. She was pushing along a silver frame. Her walk was crude, slow, laborious. With her frame, she took the whole width of the alley. There was no space to pass her.

There is always a part of New York that must keep moving—as if breath itself depends on being frantic, hectic, overwhelmed. I thought to myself that I should just clamber over the snowbank and walk down the other side of the street. But I waited and watched. Snow still fell on the shoveled walkway. Her silver frame slipped and slid. She looked up, caught my eye, gazed down again. There was the quality of the immigrant about her: something dutiful, sad, brave, a certain saudade, a longing for another place.

As she got closer, I noticed her gloves were beautifully stenciled with little jewels. Her headscarf was pulled tight around her lined face. She shoved the silver frame over a small ridge of ice, walked the final few feet, and stopped in front of me.

The silence of strangers.

But then she leaned forward and said in a whisper: “Shall we dance?”

She took off one glove and reached her hand out, and with the silver frame between us, we met on the pavement. Then she let go of my hand. I bent to one knee and bowed slightly to her. She grinned and put her glove back on, said nothing more, took a hold of her silver frame, and moved on, a little quicker now, along the corridor of snow and around the corner.

I knew nothing of her, nothing at all, and yet she had made the day unforgettable.

She was my New York.

Still is."

If I didnt post this then my week just wouldnt be complete.

A Man, A Legend.

Peter Tunney


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Thing that crossed my mind today

Starring down the track doesn't make the subway come any faster.

A change in your attitude is a change in your day.

Men that randomly buy their wives flowers are good men, unless they're saying sorry, then the fact that they're saying sorry makes them good men and not the flowers.

Summer can come in Winter, actually it usually does.

Contrary to what they say, crying only makes it better.

Its not hard to forget about lunch.

Honesty comes from strength, strength comes from honesty.

It is okay on days like this to wear your sunglasses on the train.

I don't need you, I want you.

I will never grow out of my love for chocolate or for myself.

No matter what you do your converse sneakers will squeak as you walk.

Sincerity goes a long way, the longest actually.

Even if your back burner is on, when the heat in the front is extinguished youre left cold.

Once a creep always a creep.

My friends are precious, always, even when they're not.

The taller you are the more you see but the less you know.

Backpacks are atrocious and should be reserved for the 4th grade.

Your darkest jeans will bleed forever.

Jeans and love have a lot in common, worn in washed out comfortably destroyed.

There is nothing you can do to stop your nose from running like a child.

And last but never least, you either are or are not, there's no in between.