Do Germans hate the “is there a German word for” meme? Or is it a tribute to the depth and subtlety to their language? I see it as a compliment and maybe a nod to the superiority of complex expression, but the Internet has a tendency to sort of cartoon-ify anything widely beloved, and I imagine it could get old pretty quickly. Like, “No. German does not have a word for the desire you have for pizza when it’s 3 in the morning but you’re too drunk to dial a phone or operate an oven and the disappointment that comes from your own frailty in that moment. No.”
Do I have any German followers who want to enlighten me?
Conferences always mean long, exhausting days full of talking excitedly and listening intently, so it’s not even 6 p.m. and I’m beat, is what I’m saying.
I took a little walk in the last of today’s sunshine and met a stray cat near the hotel. And then I walked up into my room, ripped off my blazer, my scarf, and my pants and decided to just chill in the silence for an hour before dinner. I threw off my clothes with the same motion I would use if I were trying to smash a guitar. Felt like a weird rockstar.
For an ignition switch problem I’ve had half a dozen times in the past 6 months. 13 people are dead because when they had this problem, their car was moving. I am driving a death trap around Long Island. SOMEONE GET ME A NEW LIFE.
CAPE CANAVERAL - A meteorite as large as 4-1/2 feet in diameter smashed into the moon in September, producing the brightest flash of light ever seen from Earth, astronomers said.
Back off, meteorite. No one messes with our moon.
(Also, I wish I had happened to be looking at the moon when this occurred because the article says it lasted 8 seconds and was visible to the naked eye. I might have freaked out just a bit, but it would’ve been cool.)
You can have a perfectly functioning tire one hour and a complete flat the next.
A small nail goes through a very thick rubber tire surprisingly easily.
Erin & Joe are great in a crisis. They’re action folks. They see a problem and fix it.
Printed right on the side of a spare tire are instructions that tell you how much air pressure it can handle, and how fast you can drive on it.
Everyone on Long Island will try to murder you with their vehicle if you are driving slower than the speed limit. Flashing brights, honking horns, swerving unnervingly close to your car, flipping you off, all to get home 15 seconds earlier.
Eating sour pickles with a fork straight out of the jar and snuggling with a kitten will make almost any stressful evening a thousand times better.
“Should public schools teach the gay rights and civil rights movements as parallel narratives? That all moral criticisms of homosexuality are motivated by irrational animus? That virtually the whole of the Judeo-Christian tradition is homophobic? That the Roman Catholic Church, which continues to describe homosexual acts as “objectively disordered,” is the moral equivalent of a hate group?”—
YES. The answer to the question you’re posing in such a way as to guilt the reader into doubting the truth of the matter — that moral criticisms of homosexuality are irrational; that organized religion (not necessarily religious people) is largely homophobic; that large organizations, whatever their tax exempt status may be, should be classified as hate groups when they evangelize hatred — is absolutely one hundred percent: YES.
“Long years have passed.
I think of goodbye.
Locked tight in the night
I think of passion;
Drawn to for blue, the night
During the page
My shattered pieces of life
watching the joy
shattered pieces of love
My shattered pieces of love
gone stale.”—"Long years have passed", current leader in "Most human-like computer poems" on Leaderboard | bot or not, “a Turing test for poetry. You, the judge, have to guess whether the poem you’re reading is written by a human or by a computer”, via @goto80 (via new-aesthetic)
I’ve been smelling black licorice all day. I have not eaten black licorice and there is no black licorice in my house (that I know of). So either I’ve got a burping ghost with a penchant for oldey-timey snacks or I’m about to have a stroke.
PS: I have no fennel, anise, or stevia around. So seriously, what is going on here??
I’m stuck at Midway airport. The weather here seems fine, and I’ve heard that New York isn’t too bad, but my flight is still delayed three hours. I’ve eaten and shopped and looked for one of those airport spas so I could pass the time with a pedicure. No dice.
My phone has been on the fritz lately. It’s constantly searching for signal, data connectivity exists only on roaming. It gets too hot to handle a few hours after I disconnect it from the charger, its inner workings just whirring away, trying to find a way to connect.
In the first few hours I was at the airport, I made a friend at the bar. A chatty older gentleman with a decidedly conservative bent to his conversation. Still, he was kind and interesting to talk with for a bit.
I followed a toddler (and his Mom) down six moving walkways. He was endlessly enthralled by them, and every time we got on another one, he’d do this little wiggly leg dance like one of the Charlie Brown kids. He made me laugh and I remembered how airports can be fun when they’re still unfamiliar.
I feel a little like my overworked phone. Searching for goodness-knows-what, roaming around aimlessly, waiting, waiting, waiting.