f.8.10

So I took this “what typeface are you” quiz, all pumped to get self righteous about the fact that I’m SO GARAMOND IT HURTS and this quiz was so gonna get it wrong (caps because I designed a couple literary magazines in college and got self righteous about that too ((though I also did go out on dates sometimes) (okay twice))) and after sitting through the weird video with the creepy headless hand gestures and revealing to the internet that I am an understated emotional…something, I got: Archer Hairline, which I am shockingly okay with.  

The password is “character” if you want to take it. Anyone who gets that insane one with the drawing of Breugel’s Apocalypse or whatever micro-drawn into the capital A preeeeetty much gets a free pass to make out with me because you’re clearly a superior lifeform. Or Glen Danzig. Either way: into it!

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This post about hobo chalk warning symbols. Especially mystified that a picture of a chicken means “telephone,” a triangle with arms means “man with gun” and  lambda means “you will be beaten” (and again, my useless ancient greek knowledge uselessly confuses my day to day life). But, like, mystified in the best hobo-related way.

via the yoozh, notcot.

Bonanza

f.12.09

All from feaverishphotography:

Jeff Luker:

Lizy Darko:

Gling-glo:

Amalia Sieber:

Sam Coldy:

Arbitrary self psychoanalysis: I really, really miss summer.

Weirdly, this is only one of, like, six math/physics related breakfast foods I can think of off the top of my head. Hilarious nerd brunch, stat.

via the rack and the ram:

“Chic publishing company Assouline has recently launched a trio of candles which smell like books. Bibliothèque, Wood, and Leather candles are priced at a opressing $45.”

 

Other things I should not spend $45 on:

1. Four-point-five bacon guac cheeseburgers at Bobcat bite

2. Zero-point-two pairs of William Rast jeans that make my ass look about as delicious as…well, 4.5 bacon guac cheeseburgers.

3. Actual books, namely: the Twilight Saga (uh), Ulysses (has anyone ever ACTUALLY read Ulysses?!) Skinny Bitch in the Kitch (vegans make me feel terrible about myself but goddamn do they make good rice pudding.)

4. Anything. My car is a mangled scrap of gross Toyota mess and my life will not feel better if it smells like a goddamn octavo edition of the Septuagint.

par_14[1]

In case you’re not persuaded: How much of a stud was Gustave Dore?!!

Paul_Gustave_Dore_by_Felix_Nadar_1855-1859

google

The thing is, I REALLY don’t like thinking about whatever evil genius auteur runs the internet. Reading this is like finding out why God lets war happen and babies get cancer and T-Pain make millions and millions of dollars. We’re just not meant to know.

Why Today Sucks

f.28.09

panda barf

1. I burnt a cigarette hole in my only pair of stockings and my real-person-who-deserves-her-salary-and-doesn’t-burn-cigarette-holes-in-her-clothing disguise is RUINED.

2. I made the most incredible, intricate antlers for halloween and can’t figure out how to make goddamn rabbit ears to go with them. Awesome jackalope costume: TERMINATED. Awful Mean Girls-esque Bambi costume: ACTIVATED.

3. This.

4. I don’t remember who drew the vomiting panda picture and will probably be sued.

farmville

So if you haven’t gleaned it from the fact that I have a damn blog devoted to things I think about with no particular unifying theme, I have an office job. Sometimes I give my “employees” (eighteen year olds with lip piercings and accents) menial tasks; sometimes I participate in clothes swaps with fourteen middle aged women;  sometimes, I play Farmville.

For the uninitiated (I won’t say unaccquainted because this is some cult-level shit,) Farmville is a flash game on facebook (related: FFFFFF) wherein you harvest imaginary soy beans for imaginary coins to spend on imaginary sheep and/or tractors. If you save up enough coins, you can buy a pagoda or a little Italian villa. You can also pay fucking actual money for your farm accoutrements, but I’m not quite at that level yet.

I am, however, at the level of checking on my goddamn digital raspberries hourly in case I forgot when they were suppose to “ripen.” That little guy there, with the mullet? He has been black, female, fu-manchued, and vaguely resemblant of Lady Gaga a la that hella awkward French Vogue shoot when she dressed up like a weeping clown, all in the past three days. I get uncomfortable if I let my land lie fallow. I get weirdly stoked when people fertilize my watermelons.

The thing is, I have a real life. Like today, I discovered the most excellent office-clone-cum-stoner lunch of all time: sage box American Spirits and banana pudding, with real fucking bananas and whipped cream and little swirls of graham cracker dust and oh god it was delicious. Until I remembered that my rice paddies were withering, as we speak, on the internet and suddenly, my banana pudding tasted like shit and everything was awful. Then somneone sent me an elephant topiary, and everything was okay again. Except not on the inside.

So today I’ll shamelessly rip off notcot and do a COOL ART BONANZA DAY!

First: Rob Tarbell.

rob tarbell 1

I mostly love it because of good associations with my weird profusion of circus performer friends, but also the medium is listed as smoke on paper, and we all know how I feel about unconventional substances on paper. Her’es a hint: I’m for it.

rob tarbell 2

 

rob tarbell 3

 

 Swoon.