The Stars Can't Break the City Sky
You have to listen to this one song.  It’ll change your life, I swear.
Some of the earliest and best memories are living room dance parties, the scratch of the needle on one of my dad’s records, anyone who was in the house piling out of a bedroom to come swing around each other to the Dead or Fleetwood Mac or CSNY.  Records always sounded warmer, closer to what it felt like to sit in a performance space, back before overproduction and Auto-Tune made everything sound eerily perfect.Then it was tapes, swapping them back and forth with friends, spending hours and hours agonizing over composing the perfect mix because if you screwed up and had to tape over the quality was going to noticeably degrade, you know?  I have a box of them, still, in storage somewhere. Can’t bear to part with them though I don’t actually have a place to play them anymore.The click-click-click of Cheapo at 10:30 on a weeknight, as the diehard music snobs worked their way through the not-yet-cataloged batch of used CDs.Spinning around in the dark in the bowels of Bigelow Hall during my weekly program on WMCN, trying to figure out if I could make a Dr. John - Deus transition work.  Trying not to puke that time I got to interview Bob Mould.So many Record Store Days at Atomic in Milwaukee (RIP) or the Fetus in Minneapolis. Every year since we’ve been back in the Cities I’ve thought about putting on my mom jeans and heading over but I’m not antagonistic enough toward the 20-something hipsters to want to subject them to the horror that is little kids tired of waiting in line for something they don’t really yet understand.  I don’t collect records anymore anyway - I don’t have the equipment or the disposable income to support the habit.  Just a few LPs I hang on to for sentimental reasons.But I’m glad it’s still going on, you know?  I roll my eyes a little but I smile at all the kids waiting in line for this release or that one. Because the record store itself is an anachronism, the pressed vinyl even more so, but there’s still nothing like that sound, needle down, nothing we’ve done in the years that quite manages to capture music the same way.  Happy Record Store Day.

You have to listen to this one song.  It’ll change your life, I swear.

Some of the earliest and best memories are living room dance parties, the scratch of the needle on one of my dad’s records, anyone who was in the house piling out of a bedroom to come swing around each other to the Dead or Fleetwood Mac or CSNY.  Records always sounded warmer, closer to what it felt like to sit in a performance space, back before overproduction and Auto-Tune made everything sound eerily perfect.

Then it was tapes, swapping them back and forth with friends, spending hours and hours agonizing over composing the perfect mix because if you screwed up and had to tape over the quality was going to noticeably degrade, you know?  I have a box of them, still, in storage somewhere. Can’t bear to part with them though I don’t actually have a place to play them anymore.

The click-click-click of Cheapo at 10:30 on a weeknight, as the diehard music snobs worked their way through the not-yet-cataloged batch of used CDs.

Spinning around in the dark in the bowels of Bigelow Hall during my weekly program on WMCN, trying to figure out if I could make a Dr. John - Deus transition work.  Trying not to puke that time I got to interview Bob Mould.

So many Record Store Days at Atomic in Milwaukee (RIP) or the Fetus in Minneapolis. Every year since we’ve been back in the Cities I’ve thought about putting on my mom jeans and heading over but I’m not antagonistic enough toward the 20-something hipsters to want to subject them to the horror that is little kids tired of waiting in line for something they don’t really yet understand.  I don’t collect records anymore anyway - I don’t have the equipment or the disposable income to support the habit.  Just a few LPs I hang on to for sentimental reasons.

But I’m glad it’s still going on, you know?  I roll my eyes a little but I smile at all the kids waiting in line for this release or that one. Because the record store itself is an anachronism, the pressed vinyl even more so, but there’s still nothing like that sound, needle down, nothing we’ve done in the years that quite manages to capture music the same way. 

Happy Record Store Day.

eyesofthejackal:

Eggs. Dyeing. Part 2.

Sitting on Mama’s lap, preparing himself to scream when there are no more eggs to dye.

eyesofthejackal:

Eggs. Dyeing. Part 2.

Sitting on Mama’s lap, preparing himself to scream when there are no more eggs to dye.

eyesofthejackal:

The dyeing of the Easter eggs.

Presented by the Mister in artsy black and white.

eyesofthejackal:

The dyeing of the Easter eggs.

Presented by the Mister in artsy black and white.

Flashback Friday: Kid A avec Mama, Easter 2006.

Flashback Friday: Kid A avec Mama, Easter 2006.

buzzfeed:

Soooo, turns out they filmed an alternative ending to Titanic. It’s quite…something.

Wow, and I thought it wasn’t possible for that movie to get any more awful.  WRONG!  James Cameron, you’re a wonder!

zoewashburne:

i’m really glad you guys understand how important this is

zoewashburne:

i’m really glad you guys understand how important this is

image

keiren-smith:

What…the HECK is this from? I may die from curiousity.

He’s a poet in Utah named Jesse Parent. You can watch the whole thing here, it’s pretty great.

And maybe that’s what sets Fraction apart—and what makes Sex Criminals his most daring book yet. It’s not just that he realizes that there’s a serious sex problem in comics, or that he knows how to discuss it in incredibly nuanced ways, or even that his work often functions as counterprogramming. It’s that it so obviously pisses him the hell off. And in an industry that often seems trapped in a reductive and inane conversation about whether or not sex in comics is ‘good’ or ‘bad,’ Fraction loves both sex and comics, and loves talking about both in equal proportion to how much sex in most mainstream comics makes him want to facepalm.

So how is Sex Criminals different? Rather than turning its female lead, Suzie, into an object of lust, at least half the story is told from her perspective, exploring her sexuality and making her a subject instead of an object.

Laura Hudson, "The Man Behind the Comic That Finally Got Sex Right" -Wired (via imagecomics)

There is so much from this article that I want to quote that I might as well just copy and paste the whole thing.  Read it.  Totally worth your time.
acewasabi:

Word.

acewasabi:

Word.

Please allow me to wipe the slate clean. Age has no reality except in the physical world. The essence of a human being is resistant to the passage of time. Our inner lives are eternal, which is to say that our spirits remain as youthful Nd vigorous as when we were in full bloom. Think of love as a state of grace, not the means to anything, but the alpha and omega. An end in itself.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Love in the Time of Cholera