(this post was reblogged from fuckyeah1990s)
I wanted to tell that story about a magician, I think, in part because I felt so lost and so rudderless in exactly the same way that fantasy heroes tend to be so focused and directed. They’ve always got the Dumbledore, or the Gandalf, to guide them and put them back on their path, tell them where to go. And I felt like there was no one in my life like that. I felt the real absence of someone like that. So I wanted to give these characters the experience of wandering around and where there ought to be a mentor showing them were to go, there’s nobody. They just have to figure it out for themselves and they make a lot of bad choices along the way.

Recommended Reading: Lindsay Whalen’s interview with Lev Grossman, which goes nicely with our review of The Magicians. (via millionsmillions)

This explains why I found The Magicians so stressful to read. I devoured it, but I havent read the sequel(s?), because the last third of the novel made me so anxious, much like my own lack of/need for a mentor.

(this post was reblogged from millionsmillions)

"Who cares if I’m a cat? This car says I’ve got it going on!"

no i will NOT rate my transaction at amazon.com

Ode to Dog

Now, I’ve written a few poems in my day: i went through a suuuuuuuuuper angsty face, and then i wrote a lot of feminist poetry near the end of high school, but this is the best poem i’ve ever written.

Come live with me and be my dog,
And we will all the pleasures hog,
That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the Rocks,
Seeing the Shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow Rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing Madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of Roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty Lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and Ivy buds,
With Coral clasps and Amber studs:
And if these pleasures make thee agog,
Come live with me, and be my dog.

The Shepherds’ Swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may jog,
Then live with me, and be my dog.
(this post was reblogged from fat-birds)

(Source: danezus)

(this post was reblogged from unimpressedcats)

The cruel irony of candy corn season is upon us once again

(Source: peterpansflight)

(this post was reblogged from tilisokolov)

politicalprof:

This might have been more useful yesterday ! …

(this post was reblogged from pol102)

draelogor:

darkchocolateandtea:

fuckingconversations:

teamfreekickass:

spiffypop:

thebraveandmischievous:

housetohalf:

mysnarkasm:

When I grow up I want to be Ming-Na Wen.

She’s the voice of Mulan, as if she wasn’t amazing enough.

She broke it with her fingers. Not a fist, her fingers.

Girl is 50 years old.

FIFTY. YEARS. OLD.

fun fact: When you break things with your hands like that you have t break your fingers on purpose before so that they heal stronger. So basically this woman is so badass she broke her hands just to do this. 

You asshat, you’re making it sound like she snaps her fingers in half. 

Martial artists like Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee (and yes, fucking Ming-Na Wen, that beautiful badass) will build up their bone strength by repeatedly (and fairly gently) striking sand, gravel, wood and steel - this creates tons of microfractures in their bones (smaller than even a hairline fracture) so the bones will heal over again and make the bones stronger and denser with increased deposits of calcium. 

This has to be done over long-ass periods of time, so the bones have time to heal, and none of the fractures expand into actual breaks. 

Oh, and she’s doing precise-ass kicks in HIGH HEELS. 

she kicks ass like a coursing river

with all the force of a great typhoon

(Source: bucky-thevampireslayer)

(this post was reblogged from tilisokolov)

Help, Menopause Ruined My RV Vacation!

thatbadadvice:

Ask Amy, 13 September 2014:

Dear Amy: When we were dating, my wife was the sweetest woman in the world. She didn’t make a move without asking me. We had a few kids. She stayed home and raised them while I worked. The kids grew up and went off on their own. The wife got a part-time job to keep herself busy. Then she got promoted. Now she works full time, goes to business lunches and dinners, meetings and training sessions. She comes home, cooks and cleans. She doesn’t ask me what I’d like for dinner but makes whatever she feels like. Our plan was for me to retire when I turned 62 (she’s 57), buy an RV and travel the country. Well, we bought the RV, but she can only go on weekend trips. Vacations are saved for when the kids come home. She traded in the car I bought her to tote the kids around for a sports car that I can barely fit in. Now she’s talking about getting a smaller house because she doesn’t have time to clean “a big empty house.” I keep telling her we will have grandkids one day and she will be glad we have all the space. She’s changed so much in 37 years that I don’t even recognize her, and I’m afraid one day I will wake up to a “for sale” sign in my front yard. How do I convince her she is just going through “the change” and in a few years she will be back to normal again? — Mystified Mike

Dear Mystified Mike,

Boy howdy, the ole’ ball and chain sure has pulled a fast one on you! Time was nice ladies like ole’ wifey knew their place. (Slightly behind you but never out of sight, holding a dishrag.)

But here you are today, seeing your wife bring in an income and cook and clean your home while you pine away for an RV you can’t use unless she’s in it—I mean, it’s not like it’s going to clean itself during a trip to Flagstaff, is it?

When you married your wife, she had a lifetime obligation to stay the same person she was on your wedding day. That’s what long-term partnership is about: wives graciously taking orders from their husbands for their entire lives, until they drop dead on the ironing board. You understand this, but your wife clearly doesn’t—and for that, you can definitely blame menopause, the only possible cause of your wife’s desire to be an independent human being with her own interests.

Nothing besides a totally natural hormonal change could possibly have compelled her to seek out new occupations and hobbies after the make-up of her life shifted away from the daily tasks involved in raising your children for you—certainly not the prospect of living under the thumb of a man who takes offense to the purchase of a sports car for the rest of her god-forsaken days.

What, are you supposed to cook dinner? Mop a floor? Have an open and honest discussion with your wife about household purchases and meal planning? No man should ever deign to engage in such offensive activities with his helpmeet. Nevertheless, you may have to gently suggest to her that she’s getting a little uppity these days, and has she talked to her doctor about her bizarre and offensive interest in acting like an autonomous human?

After all, your dinner is at stake.

(this post was reblogged from thatbadadvice)

his-submissive-girl:

britain-land-of-hope-and-glory:

Some Very British Problems (x

Oh. My. God.

It’s me. In word form. It’s me!

(this post was reblogged from nanoochka)

odditiesoflife:

Frost Flowers

Frost flowers, also known as ice ribbons, are common in the arctic region of the ocean, but extremely rare when they occur on land by a plant. Only several species of plants can produce these extremely beautiful, yet sadly temporary spectacles.

They are produced when the water in the soil is not frozen but the air temperature is. As water in the soil is drawn up through a plant’s stem, the water freezes and expands, breaking the stem walls and creating a flow of ice. As crack after crack yields another layer of ice, the total effect resembles the many layers of a flower petal. Each layer of ice is so thin, the frost flower is almost weightless and will shatter if touched.

Id have been more into the flowers in the Secret Garden if they were frost flowers.

(Source: gardendesign.com)

(this post was reblogged from tilisokolov)

last night i dreamed that i was lecturing a group of people about the connection between nineteenth-century feminism and the anti-vivisection movement and how the Victorians founded the first Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

that was it. just me explaining some facts. thats what i dream about apparently.