Here is a list of things, both on and off the Internet, that have recently amused me:
I feel about this Diplo remix the way I feel about certain whole pizzas: like, it's probably nothing worth writing home about, but I keep taking bites to make sure, and before you know it, pizza's gone and I'm on my seventh listen. (Musicality aside, "Andrew Agassi" is a rock-solid name for a remix and I'm mad that someone got in there and changed it to "Andre.")
I am not surprised by the long and stupid correction that just had to be appended to David Bezmozgis's New York Times review of Rivka Galchen's American Innovations (he is also "frustrated with and sad for Galchen's narrators," who "suffer" from being "liberated from traditional gender roles"; tell me more about how sad the sad liberated girls make you, that is very interesting), but anyway I am sort of laughing my ass off. It is not the case that all of the stories in Galchen's collection are narrated by one particular type of woman that happens to fascinate the author of this book review. In fact, very few of [...]
Last Monday I was on the Willie L. Brown Jr. Bridge, formerly known as the Bay Bridge, on the Amtrak bus. I was very high up and it was a beautiful afternoon—blue skies, sailboats, and the bridges brand-new steel symmetry were all working together in a magical way. On a scale from 1 to 10, I’d say my mood was about a 7, which is very good for me. At one point I started to text my friend, and then I looked around and saw that everyone on the bus—every single person—was looking at their phone. I said to myself, I am not going to be one of those people. [...]
Dearly beloved, you are gathered here today to divvy up my stuff. To cry (possibly), to laugh (hopefully), and to respect my last wish: that I be buried in a seapunk coffin engraved with the words "only god can judge me, lol."
While I am, for the most part, happy to let you take my funeral in whatever direction you choose (as a starting point, consider: group dance), I have a few conditions in addition to the standard business of my will that I hope you will (ha ha) (bit of clerical humor for you there) respect. To that end:
A cool part about being a woman is fashion and trends. But don’t forget, men also get to have opinions about these topics. Here are some new trends that men hate.
Bra worn around the waist like a fanny pack. Men hate this trend. They hate it so much. They don't understand it, and that confusion breeds anger.
Onion rings. You know, the smallish kind you can get at a nice place like Burger King. It’s a trend now to wear them on your fingers. Men just hate this one. What gives?
The horsetail. The ponytail’s more mature cousin is longer, thicker, and primarily used to swat away [...]
Remember Hairpin pal Lauren Hallden's online dating loren ipsum text generator? ("Glass half-full using my farmshare. Netflix my eyes Woody Allen stepping outside your comfort zone, if you're still reading this medical school happy hour too many to list tattoos. I'm just a regular guy I enjoy making lasagna from scratch pickles fascinates me.") Now she's gone and done it again with trendy cocktail bars: the first ones I got were "Pistol & Hoof," "Bull & Hatchet" and "Brim & Crumble." Story checks out! [Name My Bar]
We dudes can be a confusing, emotionally constipated, nearly-illiterate group of horndogs with smartphones. And since it’s 2014 and most people are paralyzed by the idea of speaking into a phone receiver, we must fumble our path to fornication via cryptic texts which barely constitute as flirting, let alone communication, most of the time.
But hey! I’m a dumb dude with thumbs and a libido! So let me pull back the Old Spice-scented curtain and let you peek inside the mind of the modern bro’s texting intentions:
hey = I am scared, unfathomably scared.
sup? = Please do not discover my insane insecurities, I do not feel cool. Ever.[...]
Just kidding, this new weed lube sounds great.
Well, she doesn't know really, and couldn't have articulated it if anyone were to ask her. But no one does. No one asks her much of anything since Anita left. All she knows is the pavement feels sturdy beneath her feet, the road leads somewhere, and crossing it means she will no longer have to be here, in a house too filled with someone who isn't coming back.
A Priest, Rabbi and a Duck
The bartender doesn't initially notice the Priest, Rabbi and duck push through the wooden brown doors and enter her bar. She is gently and mindfully drying pint [...]