“The hype surrounding George Saunders’s Tenth of December in the early days of the calendar year was kind of staggering. The backlash followed not long afterwards, when it was suggested that someone who can’t seem to accrue enough pages to pen the Great American Novel couldn’t actually be considered the writer of our time. This makes me cringe — maybe because I’m beginning to suspect that it’s true.”
This week. (x)
(Source: striginesensibility, via powells)
It’s pronounced “jif”, gust jet over it, you juys.
I’m working on a creepy story…sorry for all the, well, creepy stuff I’m about to reblog.
I’ve never understood all these yoga crazes.
(Source: picadorbookroom, via powells)
Mix granola and peanut butter, spread between two thick apple slices for a hearty, fruity sandwich.
Looks delicious but THAT IS NOT A SANDWICH.
The Great Gatsby is a book by F. Scott Fitzgerald about how you shouldn’t just buy a castle near your ex-girlfriend in the 1920s and then wait for her to fall back in love with you, because eventually you might get murdered by a poor person. — SPOILER WARNING»Book Report by a 16-Year-Old Who Only Saw the Movie (x)
Writing a story about fingers, which are really weird/creepy things. I mean, just imagine you aren’t a human for a second, and a human comes up to you and puts out its hand. YOU’RE TELLING ME YOU DON’T FREAK OUT?!
vintagenatgeographic: Giant century plant in Southern California - National Geographic | February 1958
One of these is growing in my parents’ backyard. It is indeed giant but, sadly, not sturdy enough to climb.