The thing you’ve got to understand is that I grew up being marketed to, so there aren’t many advertising tricks that work on me. Seriously. Ever since I was a child, companies have been telling me to buy, buy, buy—making me think, on some subconscious level, that my needs are the only ones that matter. And I believed it all. It wasn’t until years later that I realized how lonely this had made me, and that mere accumulation doesn’t lead to happiness. I finally understood that no company or product or advertising slogan could provide the companionship I needed. But it was too late. Decades of being told what to buy—and what to feel, and how to think—had left me numb. I carry that numbness everywhere now; I fear that it will never leave me. So, anyway. Maybe write a funny jingle about that?
River Clegg: How to Market to Me
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A falta de dinero, las canciones de Juan Gabriel me inspiraban a grabar casetes con canciones de la Hora de los Novios de Radio 14 que luego regalaba. Mi primer crush lo tuve en la secundaria y grabé un mix que empezaba con Me Gustas Mucho. Preparé todo para el momento de entregárselo, la grabadora, las 6 pilas de 9 volts, una tarjeta hecha a mano en forma de corazón, el segundo receso antes de la clase de Ciencias Sociales, pero no lo hice. Me quedé con este y con muchos casetes que nunca entregué.
I am not an outsider. The persona of ‘‘Billy on the Street’’ may feel like an outsider, but Billy Eichner is not. I never let people tell me that I should be grateful for a crumb of success. There aren’t many openly gay guys in America who have had the success that I’ve had in comedy. I take ownership over the fact that ‘‘Billy on the Street’’ and ‘‘American Horror Story’’ are mainstream successes, and they should be seen as such, because there is power in the mainstream. What changes things is to be in the mainstream, to be Ellen DeGeneres, to be Will and Grace. Just because you don’t get me doesn’t make me an outsider. I feel like I’m at the heart of it all. Whether you come to the party or not is up to you.
This story and photos warmed my heart. Also, you read it right: A grade school with its own mariachi band.
Herrera is here because of the Tucson Festival of Books — he will read from his works and take part in a panel discussion on Saturday, March 11. The University of Arizona Poetry Center, which is sponsoring his visit, arranged for his appearance at the school, where students have been studying poetry for the last three semesters. As part of his visit, a couple of grants were awarded so that every student would receive an age-appropriate book by Herrera.
The boys and girls filed in in single lines and sat on the floor. They were all giggles and chatter until principal Carmen Campuzano stood. The buzz slowly died down, then the school’s mariachi band played a few tunes for the guest of honor. — Kathleen Allen. US poet laureate is rock star to Tucson school's students
John Ptak arranged and re-arranged and “poemized” some text from an old agriculture publication about burying bees. I too found the title, Burying Bees, odd and fascinating and the post another reminder why I enjoy his blog of antiquarian finds.
With a few line breaks here and not there of my own, here it is:
Bees may be buried when flowers are gone,
and left until they come again.
Weak stocks may be wintered,
but they are usually more trouble than they are worth,
because they are annoyed and kept weak,
if not robbed by the stronger stocks,
and because they consume proportionally more honey to keep them warm.
While in the ground each bee eats its own allowance.
They are not annoyed by the mice,—JF Ptak Science Books: Found Poetry on Buried Bees (1865)
nor disturbed by the changes of the weather
but really are at rest; nor is the expense much compared with preparing
and placing bees in a room, or cellar, or watching out of doors,
following which we buried our stocks last winter.
All the music you love from the clubs and nights you can't quite remember. Now without the $15 door, second-hand smoke, or urine smell. It's the San Francisco Disco Preservation Society.
My gaydar has been broken for years now. The further I get from thirty, the gayer everyone under thirty looks.
“If your boyfriend has any facial hair,” she said, “this’ll make his face less scratchy for you!”
The tin held $14 beard pomade. I blinked, startled; I don’t have a boyfriend. If she casually assumed I was straight, that means she probably isn’t queer. But … how?
I backed away from her table. I was surrounded by strangers; I’d lost my way. I used to have a talent, but now it’s gone, vanished, like a beautiful dream I can’t remember. I once had wonderful, startlingly accurate gaydar. I spent years writing a humor blog about the topic to educate fellow queers. Now I can’t always tell right away. It’s ruining my life. —Krista Burton. Hipsters Broke My Gaydar
I have to say I'm not a fan so far of navigating iOS 10. It just seems there are more clicks and swiping and clutter. Two clicks to get in plus navigating to the app I want whereas before there was only one click. If I want to play my music on Apple TV? Click, click, swipe up, swipe left, swipe up.
It doesn't feel like an improvement. But, you know, whatever. Eat what you're given, eat what you get.
But what if there were more at stake? Like teaching a pre-schooler how to contact 911? This is an issue designer Joni Trythall encountered after the update:
My son is four and a half. He has an iPad and is able to use it like a pro. It truly seems instinctual. Earlier this year I had taught him how to dial 911 with my iPhone. He did well considering he cannot read yet but I was always bothered by how wildly difficult the entire thing was; young children needing to gain access to emergency services does not appear to have been a concern during the design process.
After the most recent iOS updates (iOS 10) he can no longer navigate into emergency mode. Why is such a critical action buried under an additional perfectly calculated press of the home button?
She shares her Thoughts On Smartphone Emergency Access.
A shot of Sonoran nightlife with an Almodovar chaser:
Cada año la anfitriona de El Tesoro organizaba el concurso de belleza Miss Sonotl. A diferencia de los típicos concursos de belleza, los organizadores no exigían tener ciertas medidas ni un mínimo de altura, tampoco se ponían límites a la edad y se podía concursar año tras año hasta que ganaras la corona. La misma anfitriona, cuando ganó el concurso, fue coronada en medio de gritos de fraude del público borracho.
Each year the hostess of El Tesoro organized the Miss Sonotl beauty pageant. Unlike typical beauty pageants, the organizers didn't require specific measurements or a minimum height, nor did they set age limits and one could compete year after year until possibly winning the crown. The same hostess, when she herself won the contest, was crowned amid shouts of fraud by the drunken audience.
Not all who wander on prosthetic cloven hooves are lost.
I tried to become a goat to escape the angst inherent in being a human. The project became an exploration of how close modern technology can take us to fulfilling an ancient human dream: to take on characteristics from other animals. But instead of the ferocity of a bear, or the perspective of a bird, the characteristic most useful in modern life is something else; being present in the moment perhaps.
Like a lot of academies that stand as the guardians of language (see: the Academie Française), there is always some grumbling about Spanish tradition being lost to English slang when it comes to the inclusion of English root words in the dictionary. Dario Villanueva, who heads the academy, told the Associated Press that perhaps a better word for "selfie" might be the phrase "auto-foto."
But David Pharies, an associate dean at the University of Florida and author of "A Brief History of the Spanish Language," says these efforts at preservation can be futile.
I know it is wrong. But when I read this article I like to replace the word fusion with futon.
In an essay about growing old, Oliver Sacks compares an age to the elements.
Elements and birthdays have been intertwined for me since boyhood, when I learned about atomic numbers. At 11, I could say “I am sodium” (Element 11), and now at 79, I am gold.
Haha, let's take a minute or six to recall the anxiety inducing technologies of the past.
Thank you for being there for me tonight, pudla.
It's true. It's as if there is a horrible plate shortage no one is talking about and only the wait staff can save us.
Washington Post: The most annoying restaurant trend happening today