The holidays, time to curl up next to an open fire and listen to Granny read tales from 50’s Twitter.
Take pictures of the food you’re eating in other countries and post them on Facebook. Take your time ‘figuring out your plan’ while your aging parents extend themselves to pay back your student debt. Brag about your dick size. Brag about your game. Brag about how many beautiful women you have been with this week to the woman you are drunkenly going home with.
But over time, I would increasingly see people coming to my blog because they were using Google to try and figure out how to gas themselves. When I wanted to kill myself, this was my primary interest, the idea of gassing myself. Most of the time, they came at night.
To be a feminist, I quickly learned in my first year of college, I had to be an activist. I had to be angry about the condition of women around the world. I had to despise pop culture for maintaining the status quo. I couldn’t be interested in fashion. Nor could I straighten my naturally curly hair.
Go home for the holidays and run into old friends from high school. When you tell them that you live in New York, watch their eyes widen. They’ll say, “Oh my god, New York? That’s so crazy. I’m so jealous!” Have a blasé attitude about it but deep down inside, know they have good reason to be jealous.
What’s especially inefficient is when you stop for me on a busy two-lane road and I have to begin walking in front of you, only to realize that I have to wait for a number of cars going the other direction to pass. This situation can not by its nature have a positive outcome.
In this video, from a series Desktop Diaries from ScienceFriday.com, Oliver explains his scared work place. Filled with precious metals and child like trinkets, it is a rare and refreshing glimpse inside the thoughts of a true genius.
When it comes to getting a dog, clearly, the kind of person who chooses that as her profession isn’t going to prance over to a breeder’s and walk out with some asshole Pomeranian to lug around in her Louis V bag. No, Sophie’s a mutt.