I do sense it--and i judge--

--when your tissue paper is not up to snuff

"Women sense it immediately--that atmosphere of elegance and refinement--those necesary little appointments, noticed but not discussed, which contribute so much to the comfort and well-being of guests and family. Scot Tissue has made a place for itself in well-conducted homes. it is the choice of discriminating women everywhere, because of its hygienic purity and safety. A highly absorbant, snow-white, soothing tissue, marvelously soft as fine old linen. Kind to the most sensitive skin. Peculiarly adapted to the needs of women of intuitive daintiness. Ask your doctor. No conversation. Just say 'Scot Tissue' to your storekeeper and receive a big, economical, dustproof roll"

...wait...is this tissue paper or toilet paper? rolls of tissue paper? Multipurpose paper? It's good to know you can at least value the discretion of your storekeeper.

AND if it wasn't good enough before then

because we're so........cool


Renaissance Art

the happy couple

(Portraits of Angelo and Maddalena Strozzi Doni by Raphael c. 1506)

Maddalena’s eyes are flat, fishy, and a bit vacant. She fixes them with a trace of smug condescension on the distance. Odious man. Why doesn’t he paint her beautifully, the way her mother was done? Didn’t she make that clear? The dress is stiff, snug, and heavy. The thin muslin drape around her shoulders sticks a little with sweat. She watches his hands move the paintbrush minutely around in the paint. Every second passes more thickly and slowly than the first. Dull painter abominably dull dull dull dull and hot what an odious man. She settles into bovine resignation.

Angelo reclines in skeptical composure. Issues of business cloud his features mildly but are easily collected and contained. He is a man of authority. He is soft spoken and he carries the weight of his authority with his eyes. They are expressive and calculating, apt to cast withering looks of disapproval. He glances coolly at the painter, then down to his pale, uncalloused, blue veined hands--twists a ring so to let it catch more of the light. He is a practical man. He muses mildly on his flatly fish-eyed large dowried wife.

what a nice girl

(Portrait of a Young Woman by Antonio Del Pollaiuolo, 1467-70)

She had always been complemented on her beautiful posture. Now she took particular pride in it—arching an eyebrow, tilting up her chin. There. Pollauiolo was satisfied. She must sit in this way for at least another hour. Best to find that spot on the molding where she always latched her eyes. It was a crack below which dribbled a little water stain onto an otherwise perfectly papered wall. On this crack--and upon the faults and irregularities of other inanimate objects she laid the same cool judgment she dispensed on the faults and irregularities of her companions.

one of my favorite paintings?

(Fra Angelico Annunciation and Scenes from the Life of the Virgin c. 1432-34)

I came across this painting while flipping through the textbook. I remember vaguely discussing it in my high school art history class. (I loved that class but my retention rate was not helped by 1)the fact that my friend and I occupied the two armchairs in the room 2)the fact that lunch directly preceded the class 3)dim lights) Fra Angelico is, however, one of my favorite artists. His figures are somewhat stylized and at the same time so delicately and intricately beautiful. In this painting the Angel approaches Mary beneath some kind of pillared awning or porch. The angel steps toward Mary, one hand pointing to her and the other with a finger raised to his lips in assurance. He hunches slightly so that his face he is at her direct eye level. I love the golden words that come from his mouth to the virgin, passing behind the column that separates them. They flow out like the feathery light that radiates from the rest of his body. There doesn’t seem to be much need for Gabriel’s careful approach because although Mary’s hands are drawn across her chest in surprise her face is smoothly tranquil and serene. The book on her lap is precariously balanced—perhaps she has drawn back quickly and this is the moment before the book will slide to the ground if she doesn’t catch it. A halo like a stamped golden platter rings her head and is matched by that of the angel. Above her head is another smaller golden ring—this time the light emanating from a small dove, likely the spirit given to her by God. She sits upon what seems to be some kind of ornately tiled bench, also in gold with circular patterns. Her blue robe flows down to a small rug on the marble ground, the corner of which is turned up—perhaps another signal of agitation. An open door beyond this affords the viewer a glimpse of a mostly bare room, in which is most clearly visible a long red curtain, part of which is pulled back. Perhaps this is Mary’s bed or a reference to the curtain that will be torn in the temple at her son’s death.

This is strange but many of Fra Angelico’s paintings remind me of Polly Pockets I used to own (the old school kind, not the new Barbie-fied big ones). The figures are so doll-like and their features so delicate they I can’t help but imagine they are very small.



top 100 books...novels on the 100th post

why does ulysses (joyce) have to be first? all i remember about it is a man eating sheep kidneys.

he fries them and thinks about the wonderful undertone taste of urine.


Ayn Rand really gets up there on the readers choice list. her recent surge in popularity comes in large part from all the concern on the govs BIG role in the economy...lately...

she's all like, gov interference in the economy is done by flubbery insubstantial people who are unintentionally/intentionally destroying the WORLD. THE WHOLE WORLD.

who is john galt? luckily he and some buff looking architects/railroad CEOS are around somewhere to bring back utopia



Vintage Ad recreating Botticelli's Birth of Venus
if i do like ten more of these i should be good for art history...


Filippo Lippi, Fra Angelico, and Botticelli. If I could choose any artist’s work to have transferred to myself—to be able to say that I had painted this or that painting—I would choose the work of Botticelli-- over that of Michelangelo and Leonardo even. The faces that Leonardo creates are beyond impressive but compared to those of Botticelli I feel that they are too bland or vanilla. It isn’t the ability to create expressions (Leonardo is probably much better at those nuances) but rather more a personal preference on the style. It could be negatively said of Botticelli’s faces and figures that they are a bit too outlined and bordering on the cartoon. I think his balance between stylization and reality is perfect though. The eyes are striking, the noses and hands well defined (especially fingernails)—but in a way that appears intentional. The curls Botticelli creates remind me a little of Leonardo’s, however, Botticellian hair is slightly chunkier, not so feathery and light—as if gel has been used to set the curls and arrange the loose hair in ropey sylized twists. It isn’t that Botticelli wouldn’t know how the create the same kind of hair—he uses lighter and more delicate techniques for the folds of semi translucent lace or gauze that cover Mary’s head and smokily emanate from her crown. The contrast between the delicacy of his style in some places and the solidity in others is then very beautiful. ...If I could meet a real life versions of Botticelli’s, Leonardo’s, or Michelangelo’s figures it would be for different reasons for each. Upon meeting Leonardo’s character I would think, “Well, you seem boring at first glance but your personality seems amazing…so lets have deep intimate talks and become best friends!!” If Michelangelo’s character came up to me my first reaction would be to RUN from such a scarily imposing and majestic person but then (on second thoughts) I would decide it would be awesome to have someone like that on MY side as a kind of body guard—so then I would very politely ask some question so he/she could elaborate on his or her wisdom and enlighten my mind while statue-esquely protecting me more impressively than any Doberman ever could. And yes—although I am partial to the appearances of Botticelli’s people if I met one I don’t think our relationship would ever consist of more than just my awed stares while he or she beautifully but blankly stood, occasionally moving to show a better angle of the face or remain in flattering light. ...Because I will never actually get to meet any of these characters—will never have meaningful conversations with the Mona Lisa or any help in dark alleys from the Cumaean Sibyl—because my interaction will forever be limited by the paint of a canvas—I’ll stick with Botticelli, whose figures are eternally graceful, beautiful, and always in the best light.

partayyy in the LIB

today a robin hopped past with twigs. II can't even build a nest with opposable thumbs, HOW birds manage to do it with a beak like chopsticks is beyond me.

What happens when you let 50 pages of project writing accumulate over the course of the semester and find that the due date for all three classes is the same week?



rain song

that i don't understand a word of


heart warming kitsch.../unicorn souls

i have a question. wouldn't something with a spike like that on its head do damage to your stomach?

this is so beautiful i almost just cried. it's called "soul of a unicorn". then i read the description that went along with it and i did cry. for joy that such wonderful magical creatures exist.

"In a world filled with adversity the unicorn symbolises all that is pure, gentle and loyal. She travels to all corners of the earth, with blankets of flowers springing up wherever she treads. She helps those who are sick in body or mind with a touch of her healing horn. She weaves a special magic to influence our hearts to do good, and to give us the desire to help others, and fill us with joy at the beauty of our planet"

i want my phone.


emannuel jal!!!

emmannnuel jalll, one of my favorite people ever and rapper legit in that he doesn't get his street cred from selling crack

lame movie but there aren't many versions on youtube

can't. sleep.

her facial expressions are the best

i've wanted to be able to speak Xhosa ever since seeing The Gods Must Be Crazy


Bella's half vampire baby's love song

so apparently bella chooses edward but its all good for jacob BECAUSE then bella's vampire human hybrid child is born and SHE grows up super fast so she can both be BABYSAT by jacob AND MARRY him later as his werewolf imprinted soulmate.

ohhhhhh NOW i see why twilight is so big. i didn't even mention that bella drinks hospital blood packets while she's pregnant to keep the little baby thing happy so it doesn't eat its way out of her. woolaaa

but anyway this is the song that the little hybrid girl could sing to her werewolf lover jacob when she marries at like...the age of seven.

and....the video itself is really cool. as in the one below. not the twilight movie.


Melville isn't so bad. when he doesn't talk about whales.

more imaginary people burrnss...

narrator of bartleby = insecure and delusional hypocrite as well as a
selfsoul-killing (Emersonsversionof)satan whose only friends are imaginary and manifestations of his multiple personality disorder self.

cuz it's all in your heeadd (bartlebyturkeynippersgingernut) over and over againnn

ke$ha just came on the radio oh HELP...oh wait, she might brush her teeth with a bottle of jack but she can't MATCH my toothpaste:
mmmmmmmmmm what a deal too

Harvard Sailing Team (on sexist stereotypes)

they aren't affiliated but shanana i really hope there are people like this at harvard. in all your classes. (both the kind of people who make these videos but maybe also others like the stereotypes in real life)

the other side



i'm just going to throw it out there that when my computer turns on sometimes it says "operating system not found"and i DON'T THINK THAT'S A GOOD THING.

also i have this slowly forming queasy fear that this 32 page journal thing for my art history class might be due this thursday. how many pages have i written? oh...about four...handwritten...on scraps of paper....that are somewhere......




1) my mother is a BEAST she ran the hillyyy charlottesville marathon 5 minutes faster than the richmond marathon with a time of 3:55 to qualify her for the BOSTON MARATHON. she runs enough to cover my lack of running for the rest of my life.
2) i'm insanely tired i could sleep until summer
4) now i will add some pictures that are funny but not relevant to anything

and now i will also adopt otters so WELL BEHAVED unlike psycho grounds sqirrels


stereotype me

Today is "stereotype me" day or something. Sadly I didn't get around to picking up one of the free shirts which say in large letters on the front...STEREOTYPE ME....and then are blank on the back where you're supposed to write some way you defy a stereotype. We had a housemate discussion on things we might write on our shirts. I noticed a few things.

1) There are not as many stereotypes for white college girls as you might think
2) I fulfil most of those stereotypes

some exceptions are, however....

1) i'm not in a sorority. i hate most sororities. whoops no offense to sororities. not. ok i know some people in sororities and i like those people. just not. their sororities.

2) i have eaten hippo and alligator (do i look like someone who would?) i uh...think that eating the hippo was probably illegal. i have a feeling they might be endangered. also, i think that hippos are really cute besides the fact that they kill more people than sharks. someone just came to our house in ogbomosho this one day though and was like, here, i have a gift of hippo and alligator meat chunks for your family. so we were like, sweet, what the heck, and barbecued it, and the alligator tasted like chicken (obviously) and the hippo was tough and rubbery.

3) i have been a full time janitor. it was an entire summer 40+ hours a week with air conditioning only some of the time.
experiences included:
--scraping waxed in hair off bathroom floors with a putty knife
--really awkwardly walking into appartment suites of lacrosse camp guys and telling them i needed to vacuum
--weirdly really enjoying cleaning couches with upholstery cleaning machines that spray all this water in and then suck in back out like 20 shades darker
--observing team's soap opera-like drama
--discovering what an inch of beer fermenting even further in the bottom of a fridge for nine months looks like
--finding huge respect for people who do this every day of their lives

seriously, when you stay at a hotel or anything leave everything REALLY clean and if you feel nicer than usual sort the sheets into piles. and forget cool stuff and have no contact information.

things i am not:

actually, i like the people in both these pictures. they are awesome. i can't say i've ever dressed up as beer pong or given my squirrel dog an adorbs little matching hat though.



because....breathing is overrated.


change your life with soap, lard, grapenuts and light bulbs, among other things

Read the text for the cinderella story--pompeian bloom DID CHANGE MY LIFE it can WORK FOR YOU TOO if you're willing to "learn the secret"



Dams-still in distress


I don't really care about...dam problems but I really wanted to use that title.

However, the pdf does have nice little pictures so you can remember exactly how to spot a failed vs filled spillway.


sore spot

writing paper on this painting of elijah but came across this

23 From there Elisha went up to Bethel. As he was walking along the road, some youths came out of the town and jeered at him. "Go on up, you baldhead!" they said. "Go on up, you baldhead!" 24 He turned around, looked at them and called down a curse on them in the name of the LORD. Then two bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the youths. 25 And he went on to Mount Carmel and from there returned to Samaria. --2 Kings 2

1) 50 ish punk kids have nothing better to do than yell at bald people?

2) Bears.

ministry of silly walks

this is my last procrastination before actually writing the paper that is due tomorrow


UNfinished fictional story

I think I wrote this the night before a chemistry exam I like bombed. I wasn't worried about not studying because in that class the amount of work I put into preparing for a test had absolutely ZERO correlation to the grade I got.

Non-chem related Story:

The man paused before the glossy steel and glass doors. He squinted at them, fumbled for his glasses in the pocket of his shirt, and wiped the film on each lens carefully away. Around him, stoplights and storefronts glowed with unnatural color against the darkening and empty streets and sky. A few soldiers melted out from the navy shadows and shifted past in wilted green uniforms.

He mopped damply at his brow. It was twilight but the city air lay thick and heavy, the last tired breath expelled from the blaze and pavement of a passing day. He pushed at the doors. They gave way so smoothly that he nearly felt propelled into the airily chill room. A white and silver easel propped at the entrance displayed opening and closing times, while above them, the letters “MANN GALLERY OF ART: SPECIAL EXHIBIT”. On his left a curved marble desk extended from the wall to form a pale blockade around a thin and stiffly sitting woman with precisely folded hands and a sheath dress. He looked at her curiously.

“You may place your bag by the rail if you wish to come in”

She motioned toward the area vaguely. The man shifted on his feet, nodded, and pulled the worn strap of a bag from his shoulder down to where she had indicated. There were no other bags.

“Hours are until 8, sir, the gallery is down the hallway and to your left”.

He smiled.

“Alright, I’m surprised you’re open at all, thanks then”.

He turned and walked carefully down the hall. It was an illusion, the way that the space inside the building felt so much larger than it had seemed from the outside. Even the air around him seemed to expand effortlessly against the tall white walls and arched ceiling. The chandeliers above splintered their light and cast their reflections into the liquid polish of the floor below. The man felt like a dusty smudge exhaled from the streets into the sterilely sacred atmosphere of the building. He rounded the corner quickly and nearly knocked into an elderly gentleman.

“Oh I’m so sorry! I…”

He stuttered his smiling apology but the gentleman interjected—

“No harm done, don’t worry lad, no harm done, it is easy to think you’re alone in here, and usually one is, now”

The man must have been somewhere in his 60’s but he was thin and his eyes peered brightly through horn rimmed glasses with a wry camaraderie that made one feel a part of some very witty inside joke. He wasn’t tall but he held himself confidently and elastically within an impeccably tailored tweed suit. At this moment he smiled and drew himself up, resting one hand lightly on a wooden cane whose head was carved into that of a duck.

“But say, what do you think of this piece of art?”

He swung an arm round to indicate a massive canvas on the wall.

“I’ve been admiring it for quite a while now and I’m good friends with the artist, which makes me partial. But I’d really love to have a second opinion”.

The canvas was white and stretched across with what first appeared to be a sprawling black web.

The man leaned closer and realized that what he had taken for fine lines were actually long strings of miniscule letters and number, intricately laced together. He squinted at one particular strand that read, “…0200moved1-3mNE2-4SWcontinued10-13mNE…”

“Well, I’m no art expert, but it’s interesting. What is it? Does it mean something?”

The older man’s lips curled back into a smile against porcelain teeth.

“A good question, because it most certainly does mean something. Rather, everything. This, my friend, is the portrait of a man”.

He paused for effect.

“It doesn’t look like much, I know, but this is truth. This is beauty. Stripped to the bone of everything unnecessary. The marriage of science and art, this is how we know…” He laughed. “Oh dear I must be confusing you. And you must think I’m crazy. Do you think I’m crazy?”

The younger man laughed nervously in return.

“I don’t know. But this doesn’t look like a portrait to me. It’s a tangle of lines and letters and everything else. I like this other one better”.

He pointed to another canvas on the wall, beside the first. It was painted in bright colors and showed a man standing in full sunlight, pointing directly to something outside the frame. The older man chuckled slightly.

“aha, yes, but did you know that both of these paintings are of the same man? Very different representations of course, but I believe that both of them are portraits”


All I know so far is that one of them DIES at the end due to the gallery being bombed.

The End for now!



BEST disney movie made since the others
also, why does james marsden ALWAYS play the mostly nice guy eventually dumped?


disney nostalgia

I listened to all these songs on my fricken sweet portable cassette player in preschool.

i was like in 4th grade when this came out, but still. AWESOME.

just a lit-tle snack guys----rip him o-pen take him back guys


i was looking for other clips...and this came up in the sidebar in dutch before english. maybe dutch people are bigger bambi fans?


Good advice for military school attendants on the verge of graduation

Yes, _______ sucks. However.



i don't care if someone sucker punches you in the face, drop kicks you between the legs, steals your friends computer, wakes you up with ice water or insults your mother.

I don’t care if the other kid is a twit, either half or double your size.

There is always a line to cross and sometimes WHERE that is EXACTLY is vague. YOU WILL RUN AS FAR AWAY FROM THAT LINE AS FREAKING POSSIBLE, in the RIGHT DIRECTION, GOT IT????!!!!!!!!!!!!

Whatever happens from now on:



Your Sister