There’s a girl in New York City who calls herself the human trampoline.
(Source: nevver)
“The buyer of $9 jam, after all, isn’t another maker of $9 jam. It’s the guy whose multinational robotic assembly line spits out jars of $1 jam. Or it’s his trustafarian son, the Global Jam Logistics heir. Or it’s the private-equity guy who just offshored GJL to a sweatshop in Bangalore.”
- The Twee Party, New York Magazine
This song was written for a Progressive Party mayoral campaign back when the MTA (now the MBTA) decided to add an exit fare to each ride. I’d seen the lyrics written down in several stations but never actually heard it until I read this article in which a Mother Jones writer begrudgingly admits that he doesn’t find Mitt Romney’s Spotify playlist half bad.
I’ve since moved out of Boston, but the thought of being stuck on a Green Line B train (especially during a Saturday night Red Sox game) for eternity is still exactly what the innermost circle of hell looks like for me.
Just a nice little self-timer…outside of a stranger’s house.
Sufjan Stevens - “Casimir Pulaski Day (Demo)”
because how could i not post it every year. andhetakesandhetakesandhetakes
Haven’t listened to this in a few years. It’s, hands down, always the most heartbreaking song I’ve ever heard.
Alhambra
Granada, Spain
This time last year.
Via The Kitchn and Brittany Powell of Low-Commitment Projects, here’s something directly in my wheelhouse: the marriage of art and sandwiches.
Rest in Peace, my man.
You always knew how to wear a beard.
