kateordie:

haleycomet:

i literally never get tired of this post

I still get chills when I think about people hearing this for the first time.

Always relevant.

(Source: yeah-yougotme)

Moon River gets me every time. And The Honey Trees! My heart.

(Source: coldmountainair, via thatkindofwoman)

awfulreviewposters:

Dirty Dancing

I mean, yeah, because… yeah.

awfulreviewposters:

Dirty Dancing

I mean, yeah, because… yeah.

illustratedexample:

Always

Yep.

illustratedexample:

Always

Yep.

(Source: earl-hof-ert)

I wish, Senior Velvethands. I wish.

I wish, Senior Velvethands. I wish.

Like the old Russian guy said in an ep of The Americans I watched last night, “We all die alone. Before that, we make choices.”

I choose not to watch True Detective until after the final episode airs and people stop asking if I’ve seen True Detective and stop talking about True Detective. If I then decide to watch and if I find it pleasing, I will hide my enthusiasm and will continue to refuse to give the internet the satisfaction.

This winter will never, ever end. It snowed overnight— maybe only about two inches, and much less than our other big snowfalls thus far. I opted to work from home this morning rather than make the trek in, but not because my little Ghostie the Mazda can’t handle it. She totally can. I just couldn’t face the thought of another soul-crushing morning of tromping through ice and muck to get to my car, then scraping ice off the windows and slowly inching up the highway while surrounded by dirty exhaust-stained snow towers. So I begged off and compiled my weekly client reporting in my pajama pants and watched last night’s Girls ep.

Every week there’s a song featured in Girls that I put on repeat over and over until I get sick of it, and this week it was Hannah Cohen’s “Don’t Say.” Were I so inclined to play music at an open-mic-type situation, it would be one of my first picks.

The Simpsons lock down their content like it’s nobody’s business, but the audio for this one is the most important anyway. Happy Presidents’ Day! I do not have off work, but lots of clients do, so I’m free to appreciate William Henry Harrison in relative peace.

ETA: I sent this to a friend, who pointed out that, despite the line “you won’t find their faces/on dollars or on cents,” several of those presidents actually were on currency, though none of it is in circulation today. Fucking buzzkill.

Haven’t written business copy using jobby words for an employer in quite sometime, sorta struggling.

Haven’t written business copy using jobby words for an employer in quite sometime, sorta struggling.

Imprint

The good thing about something so short-lived is that there are very few memories to hide from. There’s only one neighborhood ruined, and it’s one I no longer have cause to visit. Only one restaurant I wouldn’t frequent anymore, but there are plenty of late-night breakfast places in town. Only one movie theater that makes me feel sharp little pangs and suppress a nose-wrinkle when I step inside. Just a few bars I’m keen to avoid, but I already have a favorite dive bar and that fancy cocktail place is too douchey for my taste anyway.

But the speed and velocity with which this thing happened means there are marks. Not just the fading, discolored spot on my hip from the metal part of a over-enthusiastically flung belt, but inside ones. Like when Wile E Coyote plummets off a cliff and leaves a coyote-shaped spot in the earth below. The grooves are deep and jagged, and no one else could possibly fit in the misshapen imprint.

Tags: writing prose