Josh got married to a dog on the street today
Daft Punk - Get Lucky (Radio Edit) 
What’s my favourite part? Nile? The bassline? The vocoder? The outro? Jam of the year…
Bring on the summer.
I heard this for the first time today and I hear echoes of Will Smith and Justin Timberlake, but more than anything it reminds me of my biggest guilty pleasure song of 2000: “Faded” by Soul Decision. Everything about “Faded” by Soul Decision is cheesy: the lyrics, their name, the way they wrote their name (soulDecision), but I heard this song one night while driving home from work in 2000 and was totally into it. It’s awful. I love it. I refuse to actually watch the video, but you should open it in another tab and tell yourself it’s JT if that’s what you need to get you through the night, but I bet you move your ass.
I remember the tiny bottle of Tinkerbell perfume I got for my fifth birthday. I kept it through my teens because it was the most comforting smell in the world. I would totally buy body wash tomorrow in that scent.
“Get in Shape, Girl!”
I have mixed feelings about this product. I mean, I get what it was trying to do and all (promote fitness, I THINK, around the time of the Jane Fonda craze). But putting an exclamation after a command like that just makes it seem like GIRL, GET IT TOGETHER! YOU ARE 8 YEARS OLD AND NEED TO START TALKING ABOUT WEIGHT AND FITNESS AND JUDGING YOURSELF!
Maybe some advertising person was just like WHAT KIND OF PRODUCT CALLS ITSELF “GIRL, YOU’RE ALREADY BEAUTIFUL AND GOOD IN MATH AND SCIENCE SO HERE’S A FUN WAY TO PRACTICE RHYTHMIC GYMNASTICS WITH YOUR FRIENDS”? THIS IS ALL WRONG! NEEDS MORE ZIP! SHORTEN IT! AND PUT IT IN PINK! But maybe not. Maybe the whole thing was more calculated than that.
Because all I can see here is exactly what it looks like. A really depressing box of fitness tools that young girls all over asked for and opened up on their 8th birthdays. And then subconsciously were like, OHMYGOSHAMIFAT? I NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT IT THAT MUCH BECAUSE I WAS TOO BUSY USING MY RUBBING CRAYON ON MY FASHION PLATES AND READING SUMMER OF THE SWANS AND THE LATEST RANGER RICK AND I DIDN’T KNOW I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DOING EXTRA EXERCISES BEYOND RECESS AND P.E. AND RIDING MY BIKE FOR 3 HOURS AROUND THE NEIGHBORHOOD AND PRETENDING TO BE A HORSE AND RUNNING IN MY NEIGHBOR’S BACKYARD! And then a new consumer group was born.
A Dormouse appears to be laughing as it sits on top of a yarrow flower. The amusing photograph, taken by Italian photographer Andrea Zampatti, in Italy, shows how the heat had a strange effect on this little critter. Photograph: Andrea Zampatti/HotSpot Media
This is a very good thing to look at when you’re stressed.
My job today is to go through the closet before we move and get rid of any clothes I don’t wear anymore, but to do this properly I have to try them all on, and if I’m going to try them on I should probably shower first and put on a bra, and then maybe some lipstick just to give them a fair shake, and that is why I am standing in a trash heap wearing my underwear and a full face of makeup.
Mama’s Family. God. My grandmother used to love this show. I’m too young to remember its brief run as a prime-time program, but it had a brief time in first-run syndication, and it was rarely missed at our house when I was a kid. It still haunts the Saturday nights of my childhood: it came on either before or after Hee-Haw, another beloved syndicated show, and I can still remember those awful just-dusky Saturdays, around seven o’clock, when both of those shows would settle down on my eight year old shoulders like the weight of all the world’s frustrated ambitions.
I hadn’t thought of the show in a long time, but I caught the Carol Burnett episode of PBS’s American Masters, and aside from reminding me of just how great Carol Burnett is—if you haven’t seen her in Robert Altman’s A Wedding, you really really should—it dredged Mama’s Family back up into my brain. The show was, in theory, a comedy, and I remember people laughing at it, but I wonder if anyone was actually paying attention, because what I remember was a pitch-black show about discord and squabbling, a family constantly at odds with itself, people blaming each other for their failed dreams and trying desperately to escape the cage they were born in.
Looking at it now, I think what always struck me about the show was how weirdly, awfully familiar it felt. I grew up being dragged along by my grandmother to visit old relatives that I really didn’t know, or even understand how I was related to them, and they always lived in these depressing, dark little houses, all tobacco brown and faded yellow, always in the hot summer, always a sad and endless time in those sleepy inescapable rooms.
I feel like I could have written this. The opening credits of Mama’s Family gave me terrible childhood anxiety. We’d spend Sundays at my grandma’s house in west Tulsa, and by the time Hee-Haw ended and Mama’s Family came on and dusk settled, all the adults would finally wake up from their post-Sunday dinner naps in front of the giant wood-encased television and take us home.
“St. Dennistoun Mortuary” Coin-Operated Automaton, attributed to John Dennison, c. 1900, the mahogany cabinet and glazed viewing area displays a Greek Revival mortuary building with double doors and grieving mourners out front, when a coin is inserted, doors open and the room is lighted revealing four morticians and four poor souls on embalming tables, the morticians move as if busily at work on their grisly task and mourners standing outside bob their heads as if sobbing in grief