Uh. Guys? A Shuttle food truck is for sale on eBay. Anyone know how to cook? I’ll drive.
$150K. I’d buy it, live in it, and serve space food from it.
Holy. Crap. Want.
1. Run away to Brooklyn. Rent an apartment with a claw footed bathtub. Commute to Manhattan during the week and put in hours at a menial publishing job. Drive home to New Jersey on weekends to swim in the pool and cry to your mother. Smoke Gauloises on the fire escape. Let yellowing issues of Rolling Stone and Vogue pile into a protective fortress around your bed. Listen to Cat Power. Fall asleep mostly naked beneath the duvet watching Sportscenter and drinking earl grey. Date a Yankees fan and kiss his hands on the 4 Train into the Bronx.
2. Run away to Barcelona. Eat milk chocolate magnum bars and drink cheap champagne. Burst into charming fits of laughter whenever you get embarrassed about butchering the Catalan language. Wear denim cutoffs, Dr. Pepper chapstick, and very little else. Go dancing at 3 a.m. Whiten your teeth. Tan your shoulders. Braid feathers into your hair. Perpetually wake up with sand caught in the thin cotton sheets of your tiny bed. Listen to the Rolling Stones and kiss all the longhaired boys you can get your hands on without ever having to apologize.
3. Run away to Los Angeles. Sublet a studio in Venice three blocks from the beach. Listen to top 40 radio. Go to Chateau Marmont and charge drinks you can’t afford to a long-dormant credit card. Sleep with a television actor who lives in the valley. Sleep with a musician who lives in Bel Air. Break things off with both of them when gas prices begin to rise. Find Gilda Radner’s star on the Walk Of Fame and swallow a sob when you see the filthy cement around her name is cracked. Walk through the Venice Canals until the sun sets and you forget your own name. Call your mother crying from the parking lot of a 24-hour Ralph’s supermarket. Tell her you want to come home.
4. Run away to Paris. Gaze at the pink and pistachio glow of macarons in the window on Boulevard Saint-Germain. Listen to Joni Mitchell. Meet an Argentinean man in the Latin Quarter for drinks. Melt into his accent and kiss him goodnight, but return to your apartment alone because his face doesn’t look enough like the man’s you are trying to forget. Get lost in the Richelieu Wing of the Louvre, admiring Napoleon’s fine red damask. Walk alone along the Seine in an old dress, ten-dollar shoes, and an Hermes scarf. Fumble with the locks on the fence overlooking the river. They all have lovers’ names etched into them and the girl who left the red heart-shaped lock has the same name as you.
5. Run away to Martha’s Vineyard. Write heartbroken stories during the day in front of a large fan that blows curls of humid hair across your tired face. Take a waitress job at The Black Dog at night and try hard not to drop too many trays. Learn to ride a moped. Pretend you’re a Kennedy. Listen to Carly Simon. Eat hand-churned ice cream out of waffle cones. Visit the flying horses and consider how many girls just like you have sat on the same horse clutching for the same brass ring. Get stoned and dance barefoot down the length of the eroded Jaws beach. Date a Red Sox fan. Yell at each other during baseball games, and then kiss and make up between tangled sheets.
In case you were wondering, the BBC-approved Tardis blue is actually Pantone 2955C.
You’re welcome.
(via wilwheaton)
People love a happy ending. So every episode, I will explain once again that I don’t like people. And then Mal will shoot someone. Someone we like. And their puppy.
—Joss Whedon (via karaokegal)
(via ashleighlaurenn)
I sometimes wonder if the dude who runs corrections at the New York Times is actually a CIA asset trying to communicate with sleeper agents.
Reblogged solely for the commentary above.
You guys…
There is only one vote remaining between me and my ability to OWN CHICKENS. I’m seriously considering heading downtown with some sort of sign. I’m sure the Metro Council would appreciate a lovely sign (mayhaps with feathers?) asking for a little clucker of my own…
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EdinburghI love this city… Miss it with all my heart.
Ditto. Now I’m all nostalgic…
(Source: wearethefoolish, via kelleytastic-deactivated2012030)
NASA’s Newest Earth-Monitoring Satellite Acquires First Image … and it’s a beauty!
The NPP satellite is a ridiculously lengthy-named project to only have a three-letter acronym (National Polar-orbiting Operational Environmental Satellite System Preparatory Project). In short, it’s a suite of five instruments that will collect different types of data about climate, surface and atmospheric conditions.
This particular instrument, the VIIRS, collects from 22 channels on the electromagnetic spectrum to assemble the highly detailed images like the one above.
Not a bad first day on the job.
(via NASA)
On the margin…DNS filtering will no doubt reduce piracy. But what we have to ask ourselves is, at what cost? And that cost is legitimizing government blacklists of forbidden information… The result could be a virtually broken Internet where some sites exist for half the world and not for the other. The alternative is to leave the DNS alone and focus (as the bills also do) on going after the cash flow of rogue websites. As frustrating as it must be for the content owners who are getting ripped off, there are some cures worse than the disease.
—Jerry Brito, time.com
