Overheard some people talking about a dog park, and going into it, and how nice it was, and it took me a minute to realize that they were talking about an actual dog park, and that it was okay that they had gone into it and had taken their dogs in as well.
To the guy on the elevator who asked if I was alright
Nope, I wasn’t. It was a shit day in the midst of a shit week, and to top it off, I apparently wasn’t even successful in passing off my “recent tears” face as “just got in from the cold and wind” face. Oof.
But you asking, and then bro-nodding as you got off on the floor below me, really helped me feel less alone in and less annoyed at the universe.
Also, your bag was really brightly colored and cheerful. You rock that brightly colored messenger bag, Nice Guy on the Elevator.
Many years ago I overheard a woman talking on a bus. She was a researcher and looking into ways of improving the lives of the disabled, she said something that touched me and has been a core part of my philosophy in building design and engineering ever since.
“I swear to god I will lose my mind if I hear the “sex sells” fallacy one more time. Sex does not sell. If sex sold, we would see penises where we see boobs. Naked men would be on everything that naked women are on. Sex isn’t what they’re selling you. They’re selling you an impossible, pornographically fueled misogynistic idea of the perfect woman.”—
I have a love/hate relationship with academia (I wish it could just be all hate, that's so much easier) but anyway, I just had to say-the image of a lit-crit bird cawking "Derrida! Derrida! Derrida!" like the seagulls in Finding Nemo made me just about lose it laughing. Ok. Now I'm going to go back to reading Foucault.
Oh my god, somebody has to gif this. Though nowadays it’d be “Deleuze! Deleuze! Deleuze!”
I remember when I thought people in their 20’s were adults. Now all of my friends are in their 20’s and everybody is just kind of fumbling around bumping into each other, trying to figure out where the free food is
I have a theory that nobody actually works in Ikea. Their ‘employees’ are people that have gotten lost inside, and over the years they simply assimilate into the store. They find themselves wearing clothes that match the logo, they forget the need to eat or sleep. They are Ikea. Ikea is them. We are all Ikea.
They were terrible together, as a couple, the roll in everyone’s eyes, but behind closed doors they fit together like a jigsaw puzzle and held each other close and cursed the world and its loud noises.