Is anyone else watching this @PBS doc about the #Amish?
Sarcastic Internet hashtags aside it’s actually really good. I’d kind of like to give up all this modern technology and live life on an Amish farm… for about a day. But still, it’d be something, wouldn’t it?
There are a bunch of Mennonite communities in the Prairies, is that pretty much the same thing? I think it is, right?
I knew adding my uncle to Facebook was a genius idea
Today he reposted this and I can’t stop laughing:
ALL PARENTS PLEASE BE AWARE!! …There is a drug going around the schools …Its known as Strawberry Quick …or strawberry meth …it looks like pop rocks kids eat & also smells like strawberries & also comes in other flavours like chocolate etc … Please tell your children not to take candy from anyone even a class mate because this drug that looks like pop rocks is actually crystal meth rocked up with strawberry flavour & can kill them :’( …PLEASE REPOST!!! so all parents are aware of this …Thank You! This is happening all over the country
Like · · Share · 13 hours ago
and no, there isn’t a chance that he’s self-aware enough to be posting this ironically.
I don’t even like dogs, but last night I stayed up all night looking at pictures of dogs and reading about them and trying to decide what dogs I would want if I liked dogs and got one (answer: either this or this but maybe even also this). I even thought about calling a local shelter but then I realized it was 3am and that I hate dogs they don’t do anything and I don’t like caring for things. What the fuck is wrong with me?
It’s 4am Mountain Time and I’m currently listening to the CBC’s overnight radio broadcast which is apparently some guy arguing with a Dutch guy about the financial collapse and I’m making food that consists of sad pasta (microwavable spaghetti-Os still in the metal can), toast and Mexican beer.
When this is done I’m going back to my room to watch the last of Downton Abbey on my laptop and hopefully I’ll remember that I just put an orange in my pocket so maybe I’ll eat that too.
I mean, obviously I’m not jealous of the oppression and lack of personal liberties, but I am kind of jealous that Muslim women can walk around in public all day without anyone having to see their faces. Also they sometimes look like ninjas and I want that. For me.
For all its bravura, Mr. Fairfax’s seafaring almost pales beside his earlier ventures. Footloose and handsome, he was a flesh-and-blood character out of Graham Greene, with more than a dash of Hemingway and Ian Fleming shaken in.
At 9, he settled a dispute with a pistol. At 13, he lit out for the Amazon jungle.
At 20, he attempted suicide-by-jaguar.
My favourite parts:
At 13, in thrall to Tarzan, he ran away from home to live in the jungle. He survived there as a trapper with the aid of local peasants, returning to town periodically to sell the jaguar and ocelot skins he had collected.
He later studied literature and philosophy at a university in Buenos Aires and at 20, despondent over a failed love affair, resolved to kill himself by letting a jaguar attack him. When the planned confrontation ensued, however, reason prevailed — as did the gun he had with him.
In Panama, he met a pirate, applied for a job as a pirate’s apprentice and was taken on. He spent three years smuggling guns, liquor and cigarettes around the world, becoming captain of one of his boss’s boats, work that gave him superb navigational skills.
The long, empty days spawned a temporary madness. Desperate for female company, he talked ardently to the planet Venus.
Next Thanksgiving I’m going to be thankful for anatomy. I mean, yes, the human body is disgusting and there is that old joke about how even a city planner isn’t stupid enough to put the sewer and the playground together but it could be so much worse. Imagine you woke up tomorrow and your butt and your mouth were switched. Gross, right? Eating would be weird as fuck and your nose and eyeballs would be right above your butt so you’d see and smell everything and I gagged a little bit thinking about that. You’d probably communicate with farts.
What I’m trying to say is that things could be a lot worse.
I’m learning how to cook real people food and it’s kind of awesome. I just finished eating roast beef with mashed potatoes, yorkshire pudding and gravy. My stomach feels like it’s going to burst from awesome but that’s okay because it’ll mean I can eat my supper again as I wait for the paramedics to show up.
Dishes I can make like a bau5:
Spicy, spicy chili
Roast beef and yorkshire pudding
Probably some other stuff too
Cooking is awesome because it’s kind of fun and and you get to eat tasty food and the people who eat with you are tricked into thinking you know how to do actual things. I don’t want to sound too arrogant, but I really am the best person ever for learning how to make food that doesn’t come from a box. This must be what life was like back in the 1800s before they had pizza delivery.
So it turns out spies used to live in my apartment building and the RCMP spied on them and they were spies and it was espionage.
Back in 1995, clear evidence of such cat-and-mouse spy games in Halifax was unearthed when a window in a 21st floor apartment of the Welsford apartment complex was replaced, exposing a listening device with wires travelling up toward the penthouse offices of the Russian Fishing Federation.
The bug was inactive when found by workers and didn’t have any identification markings. The apartment with the bug had been rented by Mounties a couple of years before, while the Russian offices had been at the Welsford for about a decade before that.
No one from the Canadian Security Intelligence Service (CSIS), or the Mounties would comment about the spy world discovery then or now, and police said they’d have to rip out walls to trace the maze of wires.
Back then a fishing federation spokesman said he’d contacted his embassy in Ottawa, but had been given no instructions on what to do about the incident.
It wasn’t the first time that such a game had been played. Quoting sources this newspaper published an article in 1988 saying CSIS agents monitored the Welsford apartments both electronically and watched Russians’ movements from a parked car outside.
And there were always rumours swirling in the police community that Russian envoys picked apartments that rose high above Halifax with a view to the naval dockyards on the waterfront.
Acquaintance: [telling me about their family.] Me: that’s fascinating. Acquaintance: oh okay, I can tell when I’m boring someone. Me: I was being sincere. I could listen to people talk about themselves for hours. Acquaintance: … really? Me: yeah, I just have poor communication skills.
I’ve crossed the line where even I don’t know when I’m being sarcastic/honest/patronizing/sincere/condescending/earnest anymore.
Friend: I don’t even get why Garfield hates Mondays. He’s a cat. He doesn’t have a job.
Me: you know, I’ve been thinking about this. Garfield doesn’t have a job, but presumably Jon does. And Garfield, being a particularly grouchy cat, is unable to admit that he loves and needs and wants Jon, who is away on Mondays for work. So instead of showing his affection to Jon, he gets angry about Mondays.
Friend: you sound like you’re speaking from experience about not being able to show affection.