August 13, 2013
Our New Office Uniform

laphamsquarterly:

Anyone writing or reading Medieval Fantasy, check out this must-have hoodie: pic.twitter.com/0G4qSVfQq9

Lucy Carson (@LucyACarson) August 13, 2013

Get your geek on.

August 12, 2013
"If you already have advice to give, you’re not listening. If you already know how this story turns out, you’re not listening…And if you already have your counterattack planned, you’re not listening…make sure that really listening is your only agenda item at that moment if you want to build trust, develop relationships, solve problems, create collaboration, and demonstrate your leadership."

3 ways to become a better listener (via fastcompany)

I can often use these reminders. I’d love to be a better listener.

(via notational)

Listen to what’s written here.

(via kenyatta)

August 11, 2013
Things I’d Rather Not Get Bit By Today, Vol I

Things I’d Rather Not Get Bit By Today, Vol I

July 29, 2013
"I sometimes feel that every sentence contains a ghostly commentary on its own processes."

Ian McEwan (via theparisreview)

So this thought just blew my mind a little. Especially when applied to Facebook & Twitter posts.

July 27, 2013
collegegentleman:

Lmao


The end of this is the difference between “good” and “brilliant.”

collegegentleman:

Lmao

The end of this is the difference between “good” and “brilliant.”

(Source: ForGIFs.com, via kenyatta)

July 26, 2013
bbook:

I just want to say one thing about optimism and pessimism, because I have this conversation with my kids. They say that a pessimist says the glass is half empty, and the optimist says the glass is half full, and my kids and I figured out there’s a third kind of person. I don’t know what you call them, but it’s somebody who sees that the glass is always full because it’s half filled with water and half full with nothing.
LOUIS CK

I’ve always seen it as half-empty. Not because I’m a pessimist, but because who only pours themselves a half a glass of water and then stops?

bbook:

I just want to say one thing about optimism and pessimism, because I have this conversation with my kids. They say that a pessimist says the glass is half empty, and the optimist says the glass is half full, and my kids and I figured out there’s a third kind of person. I don’t know what you call them, but it’s somebody who sees that the glass is always full because it’s half filled with water and half full with nothing.

LOUIS CK

I’ve always seen it as half-empty. Not because I’m a pessimist, but because who only pours themselves a half a glass of water and then stops?

July 23, 2013
"Admit it. You aren’t like them. You’re not even close. You may occasionally dress yourself up as one of them, watch the same mindless television shows as they do, maybe even eat the same fast food sometimes. But it seems that the more you try to fit in, the more you feel like an outsider, watching the “normal people” as they go about their automatic existences. For every time you say club passwords like “Have a nice day” and “Weather’s awful today, eh?”, you yearn inside to say forbidden things like “Tell me something that makes you cry” or “What do you think deja vu is for?”. Face it, you even want to talk to that girl in the elevator. But what if that girl in the elevator (and the balding man who walks past your cubicle at work) are thinking the same thing? Who knows what you might learn from taking a chance on conversation with a stranger? Everyone carries a piece of the puzzle. Nobody comes into your life by mere coincidence. Trust your instincts. Do the unexpected. Find the others…"

Goodreads | Quote by Timothy Leary: Admit it. You aren’t like them. You’re not even… (via noneck)

check.

(via slavin)

(via slavin)

July 23, 2013
"Inside, we are ageless and when we talk to ourselves, it’s the same age of the person we were talking to when we were little. It’s the body that is changing around that ageless centre."

David Lynch (via bbook)

This is so sad and so true.

(via awildheaven)

It’s sad but not totally true. I feel like, if anything, I’ve been a few different people. I’ve liked some more than others.

But still. It’s a beautiful idea and all beautiful ideas are true.

(via slavin)

(Source: nathanielstuart, via slavin)

July 18, 2013
"       Bronx boy
wondering
       why he is here."

Don DeLillo’s 7-word autobiography, alongside those of other cultural icons. (via explore-blog)

(Source: , via explore-blog)

July 14, 2013
The All-Star Break Up

Or why a lifelong baseball fan considered cheating on his favorite team and faced the existential question of how our teams define us.

by Tom Elia

I bought a Pittsburgh Pirates baseball hat. Bought it just after pitchers and catchers reported for MLB’s spring training in February. I stared at it for a while before putting it on. Admired its newness and nuances from various angles. Flipped it over and peered inside, hoping for a glimpse of the rabbit the ol’ ball club might pull out this year.

No rabbit, though. Just pretty much what I expected: a standard-issue Pittsburgh Pirates baseball hat. Black. The letter “P” with her double meaning stitched to the front in that peculiar serif. Its yellow thread like strands of sunlight plucked from the front end of a July doubleheader.

(Disclosure: I briefly considered ordering one of those ‘79 Willie Stargell, yellow-and-black-striped, tootsie roll, bumblebee caps, but it seemed a little too much for me. Hell, it was a little too much for the late ‘70s.)

If I’m waxing on about a men’s adjustable baseball hat, let me say that I’m one of those fans who believe that a cap bought in spring holds the potential of a new season in its adjustable Velcro straps. Like a magic seed planted on your head for 162 games, a good hat sits there straining to sprout a beanstalk that leads upward to a pennant and, just maybe, a ring.

I’m also older than many of the players I root for these days. Like around 95% of them. (Even the ones with suspect birth certificates.) But still, come Opening Day I think to myself: Hell, this could be the year. And hell, I’m not that old. And as I sit at my desk and flex my calf-muscles, I can’t help but think: Hell, I can still get on my horse and cover some ground, gallop through the endless centerfield grass, ghosting a long, high bullet – crack! – as it tears ass across the blue sky, back-back-back, back-back-back, back-back-back, until– thwack! – the ball slaps against my mitt, like old friends high-fiving at the rowdy end of the bar, the sound louder than the roar of the crowd curling to the heavens behind me, as I toss the ball into the stands to the gangly kid dangling dangerously over the side, screaming as if the center of that cowhide held the cure to adolescence – and everything else that follows – as I jog back to the dugout, head down, humbly tipping my cap, as I make it look so-so-so easy.

It was with those dreams knocking around the diamond of my mind, that I tried on the hat. Didn’t feel right – but most new hats don’t – so I threw it into the wash. After it dried, I put it on again. A little better, but still something was off. I watched my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Was it the adjustable straps? The fabric? The brim? Maybe my head was just not made for a Pirates hat, the way Joey Cora’s head was not made for any baseball hat.

Could be all of those things, I told myself. But I knew it wasn’t any of them. That Pittsburgh Pirate’s hat didn’t fit for one simple reason.

I’m a Yankee fan.

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