Sonder (noun)
President Obama, second inaugural address (via barackobama)
His words give me goosebumps, you guys.
Oh, shit.
WHY DOESN’T EVERYONE JUST LISTEN TO JON STEWART?
(via indelicateink)
Indiana Jones Mystery Package
We don’t really even know how to start this post. Yesterday we received a package addressed to “Henry Walton Jones, Jr.”. We sort-of shrugged it off and put it in our bin of mail for student workers to sort and deliver to the right faculty member— we get the wrong mail a lot.
Little did we know what we were looking at. When our student mail worker snapped out of his finals-tired haze and realized who Dr. Jones was, we were sort of in luck: this package wasn’t meant for a random professor in the Stat department. It is addressed to “Indiana” Jones.
What we know: The package contained an incredibly detailed replica of “University of Chicago Professor” Abner Ravenwood’s journal from Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. It looks only sort of like this one, but almost exactly like this one, so much so that we thought it might have been the one that was for sale on Ebay had we not seen some telling inconsistencies in cover color and “Ex Libris” page (and distinct lack of sword). The book itself is a bit dusty, and the cover is teal fabric with a red velvet spine, with weathered inserts and many postcards/pictures of Marion Ravenwood (and some cool old replica money) included. It’s clear that it is mostly, but not completely handmade, as although the included paper is weathered all of the “handwriting” and calligraphy lacks the telltale pressure marks of actual handwriting.
What we don’t know: Why this came to us. The package does not actually have real stamps on it— the outside of the package was crinkly and dirty as if it came through the mail, but the stamps themselves are pasted on and look like they have been photocopied. There is no US postage on the package, but we did receive it in a bin of mail, and it is addressed to the physical address of our building, Rosenwald Hall, which has a distinctly different address from any other buildings where it might be appropriate to send it (Haskell Hall or the Oriental Institute Museum). However, although now home to the Econ department and College Admissions, Rosenwald Hall used to be the home to our departments of geology and geography.
If you’re an applicant and sent this to us: Why? How? Did you make it? Why so awesome? If you’re a member of the University community and this belongs to you or you’ve gotten one like it before, PLEASE tell us how you acquired it, and whether or not yours came with a description— or if we’re making a big deal out of the fact that you accidentally slipped a gift for a friend in to the inter-university mail system. If you are an Indiana Jones enthusiast and have any idea who may have sent this to us or who made it, let us know that, too.
We know this sounds like a joke/hoax… it’s not (at least, from our end). Any hints, ideas, thoughts, or explanations are appreciated. We’ve been completely baffled as to why this was sent to us, in mostly a good way, but it’s clear this is a neat thing that either belongs somewhere else— or belongs in the halls of UChicago admissions history.
Internet: help us out. If you’re on Reddit (we’re not) or any other nerdly social media sites where we might get information about this, feel free to post far and wide and e-mail any answers, clues, ideas, thoughts, or musings to indianajonesjournal@uchicago.edu (yes, we did set up an email account just to deal with this thing).
This belongs in a museum.
(via indelicateink)
CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW THIS IS THE MOST PERFECT THING I’VE EVER SEEN.
“Gay Men Will Marry Your Girlfriends”
College Humor NAILS this one.
this is literally the best thing ever
(via indelicateink)
Cat-Friend vs. Dog-Friend
> If your friends acted like your pets, you probably wouldn’t keep them around for long.
OH MY FUCK
holY FUCKing chRist
True story. o_o
(via wasdplz)
Unfuck your Election day by getting your ass to the polls. Here’s some useful shit for your epic journey on November motherfucking 6, 2012:
- What the fuck does my asshole state want me to bring with me to prove I’m not a zombie voter or some shit? Calm your tits and just choose your asshole state from this fucking list, then click on “Commit and Plan to Vote.” They’ll tell you what shit to bring on your quest.
- Who the fuck do I contact if dickshits try to fuck with my voting? Call one of these toll-free hotlines, these badass motherfuckers know their shit and are wise in the ways of giving vote-supressing dickshits the fucking smackdown:
1-866-MYVOTE1 (866-698-6831)
1-866-OUR-VOTE (866-687-8683)
1-888-VE-Y-VOTA (en Español)
- Can I get in on that early/absentee voting shit? Fuckin’ how? (Second to fucking last on the menu.)
- Sandy just fucked my shit right up, how the dick am I supposed to vote? (Mainly NYC info)
- When the fuck do I have to get my ass in line by?
- The League of Women Voters are rifuckulously on top of shit, and they’ve got your back as a motherfucking voter, lady or not. Have more questions, such as whether or not you get time off to vote? Then step on over to their nuts-blastingly awesome and user-friendly search tool that lets you look shit up by state and topic.
This list is fucking incomplete—so if you have anything important, how about adding that shit? People out there could fucking use it.Most importantly, get your ass to the polls and vote, or so help me god I will haunt you in your nightmares.
(via oppergod)
“Persephone Lied”
The truth is, I was bored.
My mother blissing ahead of me, rosebuds rising in her footsteps,
And I skulking behind, thinking,
Oh look. She walks in beauty.
Again.Her power could boil rivers, if she chose.
She doesn’t choose. She scatters
Heliotrope behind her.And me, I’ve no powers. I think she’d like
A decorative daughter. A link to the humans
She feeds with her scattered wheat.
A daughter wed to a swineherd’s just the thing
To show that Demeter’s a down-to-earth
Kind of goddess.Do you know what swineherds talk about?
Swine.
Diseases of, ways to cook;
“That ‘un’s got no milk for ‘er shoats;
Him, there, he’s got boggy trotters.”And when he leaned in, smiling,
While we sat in a bower sagged with Mother’s honeysuckle,
When he said, “Now,
My herd’s growing and I’m thinking I could feed a wife—”
That’s when I snapped, I howled, I ran.And when a hole opened up, a beautiful black, in all the pastels of my mother’s sowing.
Let me fix the lie: Nobody grabbed, nobody pulled.
I jumped.I thought it was a tiny earthquake,
Thought I was killing myself,
Starting a long journey to Hades.
It was a more direct trip
Than I’d imagined—
I landed in his lap.He just looked at me, said “Well,”
And kept driving his chariot down,
Flicked his leather reins near my face.
He did not give me flowers.
He never spoke of pigs.Didn’t speak much at all. Just took me down in darkness
And did dark things.
I liked them.I stumbled through his grey gardens, after,
Sore and smiling.
And the gardener said, “Little girl,
Little sunlit flower,
You belong in the world above.
Trust that they’ll come for you,
But while you wait
Don’t eat the food of the dead, for it will trap you here.”
And I said give me the fucking fruit.But when I ate I could hear her howling,
See her spreading winter on the world.
My poor mother, who missed me after all;
My poor swineherd, starving.
Huddled up for warmth with the few he hadn’t eaten.I spat out half the seeds.
So now I suffer through the summers,
Smile at the swineherd who tells me
Which shoat is off its feed.
Smile at my mother and walk behind her.
My powers have come to me now, and in her candy-colored wake I scatter
Sundew and flytrap, nettles and belladonna.I smile and wait for November,
For when I come back to you.
Your clever cold hands and your hard black boots.
I don’t ask what the leather is made from.
I don’t think I want to know.And I said give me the fucking fruit.
Holy shit. I love this so much, I love this poem so much.
I smile and wait for November,
omfg <3
(via indelicateink)
Candles can be lit by their vapor trail
Mostly reblogging just for that reaction gif, lolol.
(via peace-be-upon-you)
11 More Wonderful Words With No English Equivalent
- Seigneur-terraces (French)
Coffee shop dwellers who sit at tables a long time but spend little money.- Ya’arburnee (Arabic)
This word is the hopeful declaration that you will die before someone you love deeply, because you cannot stand to live without them. Literally, may you bury me.- Schlimazel (Yiddish)
Someone prone to bad luck. Yiddish distinguishes between the schlemiel and schlimazel, whose fates would probably be grouped under those of the klutz in other languages. The schlemiel is the traditional maladroit, who spills his coffee; the schlimazel is the one on whom it’s spilled.- Packesel (German)
The packesel is the person who’s stuck carrying everyone else’s bags on a trip. Literally, a burro.- L’esprit de l’escalier (French)
Literally, stairwell wit—a too-late retort thought of only after departure.- Hygge (Danish)
Denmark’s mantra, hygge is the pleasant, genial, and intimate feeling associated with sitting around a fire in the winter with close friends.- Spesenritter (German)
Literally, an expense knight. You’ve probably dined with a spesenritter before, the type who shows off by paying the bill on the company’s expense account.- Cavoli Riscaldati (Italian)
The result of attempting to revive an unworkable relationship. Literally, reheated cabbage.- Bilita Mpash (Bantu)
An amazing, pleasant dream. Not just a “good” dream; the opposite of a nightmare.- Litost (Czech)
Milan Kundera described the emotion as “a state of torment created by the sudden sight of one’s own misery.”- Murr-ma (Waigman, language of Australia)
To walk alongside the water while searching for something with your feet.
#11 is my favorite, I think.
(via indelicateink)
Zombies performing CPR. Yeahhhh buddy.
Found at this article: http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/sideshow/zombies-teach-cpr-public-announcement-video-204425430.html
oh my god
didyoujustmolotovmybrother-blog:
A Batman Themed Wedding “Gotham Nights”