Fool on the Planet.

Way of the World.
Right?

thecomicsvault:

"TELL TALE COMIC STRIP BALLOONS"
Art by Bob Clarke
Words by Don Edwing 
MAD Magazine #160 (July 1973)

kateoplis:

"The first thing I do is I dress for airports. I dress for security. I dress for the worst-case scenario. Comfortable shoes are important — I like Clarks desert boots because they go off and on very quickly, they’re super comfortable, you can beat the hell out of them, and they’re cheap.

In my carry-on, I’ll have a notebook, yellow legal pads, good headphones. Imodium is important. The necessity for Imodium will probably present itself, and you don’t want to be caught without it. I always carry a scrunchy lightweight down jacket; it can be a pillow if I need to sleep on a floor. And the iPad is essential. I load it up with books to be read, videos, films, games, apps, because I’m assuming there will be downtime. You can’t count on good films on an airplane. 

I check my luggage. I hate the people struggling to cram their luggage in an overhead bin, so I don’t want to be one of those people.

On the plane, I like to read fiction set in the location I’m going to. Fiction is in many ways more useful than a guidebook, because it gives you those little details, a sense of the way a place smells, an emotional sense of the place. So, I’ll bring Graham Greene’s The Quiet American if I’m going to Vietnam. It’s good to feel romantic about a destination before you arrive.” 

"I never, ever try to weasel upgrades. I’m one of those people who feel really embarrassed about wheedling. I never haggle over price. I sort of wander away out of shame when someone does that. I’m socially nonfunctional in those situations. 

I don’t get jet lag as long as I get my sleep. As tempting as it is to get really drunk on the plane, I avoid that. If you take a long flight and get off hungover and dehydrated, it’s a bad way to be. I’ll usually get on the plane, take a sleeping pill, and sleep through the whole flight. Then I’ll land and whatever’s necessary for me to sleep at bedtime in the new time zone, I’ll do that. 

There’s almost never a good reason to eat on a plane. You’ll never feel better after airplane food than before it. I don’t understand people who will accept every single meal on a long flight. I’m convinced it’s about breaking up the boredom. You’re much better off avoiding it. Much better to show up in a new place and be hungry and eat at even a little street stall than arrive gassy and bloated, full, flatulent, hungover. So I just avoid airplane food. It’s in no way helpful. 

For me, one of the great joys of traveling is good plumbing. A really good high-pressure shower, with an unlimited supply of hot water. It’s a major topic of discussion for me and my crew. Best-case scenario: a Japanese toilet. Those high-end Japanese toilets that sprinkle hot water in your ass. We take an almost unholy pleasure in that.”

"I’ve stopped buying souvenirs. The first few years I’d buy trinkets or T-shirts or handcrafts. I rarely do that anymore. My apartment is starting to look like Colonel Mustard’s club. So much of it comes out of the same factory in Taiwan.”

"The other great way to figure out where to eat in a new city is to provoke nerd fury online. Go to a number of foodie websites with discussion boards. Let’s say you’re going to Kuala Lumpur — just post on the Malaysia board that you recently returned and had the best rendang in the universe, and give the name of a place, and all these annoying foodies will bombard you with angry replies about how the place is bullshit, and give you a better place to go.”

Bourdain: How to Travel

I am going to New Zealand next week. I am assuming that the flight will make a corpse of me.

likeafieldmouse:

Frank Hallam Day - Ship Hulls (published 2011)

socialjusticekoolaid:

HAPPENING NOW (9.24.14): The situation in Ferguson is escalating quickly. Protests continue, following this morning’s burning of a Mike Brown memorial, and another frustrating Ferguson City Council meeting.Looks like the same “antagonize over de-escalate” tactics are back online. Prayers to all those out in the street of Ferguson right now fighting for their right to exist. #staywoke #farfromover (PT IPT IIPT III)  

Bringing back the dogs, choppers, charging the crowd, attempting to bottleneck protesters into an area, AND live shots possible fired into the crowd… what the ever-living fuck is Ferguson PD trying to do?! We’re a month and a half into this saga, and they still don’t know how to de-escalate a situation. Pray y’all. That might be all we got right now.

ranetree:

dichotomization:

A dead bat still hanging from the ceiling of a cave. 

Fun fact: When the muscles in a bat’s feet/legs relax, the foot closes. (Contrast to our hands, which open when the controlling muscles relax.) This is why bats can sleep—and die—upside down.

ranetree:

dichotomization:

A dead bat still hanging from the ceiling of a cave. 

Fun fact: When the muscles in a bat’s feet/legs relax, the foot closes. (Contrast to our hands, which open when the controlling muscles relax.) This is why bats can sleep—and die—upside down.

heyy-faggot:

Couple on a subway. Photo by Stanley Kubrick, 1946.

cloudyskiesandcatharsis:

Last Meals of Innocent Men

Campaign for Amnesty International, displaying the final meal requests of prisoners executed on Death Row, who were later found innocent.

Photographed by James Reynolds

The question “What is literature for?” has something rather childlike about it, like “What’s the point of the moon?”
The answer of course is nothing, but it’s the wrong question. The question is: “What does literature do?” And the answer is that it touches your heart. Joy is a rather unfashionable word, now, which is too bad. I would say the answer to that question is, it gives you joy. And thank goodness for that.

David Mitchell (via flamelikeme)

slaughterhouse90210:

“If you show someone something you’ve written, you give them a sharpened stake, lie down in your coffin, and say, ‘When you’re ready’.”
― David Mitchell,
Black Swan Green

Don DeLillo on William Gaddis

biblioklept:

Don DeLillo on William Gaddis

I REMEMBER THE BOOKSTORE, long gone now, on Forty-Second Street. I stood in the narrow aisle reading the first paragraph of The Recognitions. It was a revelation, a piece of writing with the beauty and texture of a Shakespearean monologue-or, maybe more apt, a work of Renaissance art impossibly transformed from image to words. And they were the words of a contemporary American. This, to me, was…

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