Yes, yes, yes

Thank you CuteOverload.com for this spectacular comparison...

Kitten, will you marry me?

Double-dose

Ok, now, this coupled with the new Radiohead song might be too much awesomeness for one days' worth of entries, but, please behold:

I know that I could be mistaken, but I truly believe that whomever it is with this tattoo is so beyond any concept we have of "cool", that I'm amazed I didn't go blind just looking at the photo.

Stay gold, indeed!

New Radiohead!

Radiohead recently released a new song, These are my twisted words (thanks Matt!). You can download it here for free. 

AND, when you do download it, and you know you will, because it's Radiohead (and free), you also get a PDF containing 15 tree designs, with the suggestion to print on tracing paper. I would love to see some simple, haunting animation done with these. The way they are drawn makes you feel like you're under the tree, looking up. For some reason, I assumed lying down. (Get ready to see some new Halloween decor this year, Liz!)

In honor of the release, I decided to write down my own words, as they came to me, while listening to the new track. I typed whatever little story started growing in my mind and stopped writing when the song ended. Please forgive spelling and grammar mistakes, I wasn't really paying attention. It's kind of a fun way to experience a new song, and I suggest giving it a try. Anyway, so here's what These are my twisted words made happen in my head: 

"there is man in a room, an old dusty bar with few patrons and wood for walls. It’s dark, and he’s tapping his foot really fast. Another man enters, no, he was there all along. He’s playing his guitar. He might be in the man’s head. There’s a window with mountains outside, but the view is obscured by slivers of trees; black streaks against the sunset. He’s tapping his foot, faster and faster. He stops and walks over to the window, taking his hand and running it through his thick, greasy hair. It’s white, but yellowed with age. The other man is completely in shadow, but his guitar is vibrating the glasses on the table. The man begins pacing the room again, hands flying in foreign gestures. The window expands until it is the forefront. Grass and trees spin back, dipped, and pop up to see inside the bar; the man pacing, now through the window. He’s obscured by the shado-guitar man. The tree streaks quiver and stop. Repeat and stand still. The sun goes down."

 

A different shade of grey

The temperature hit 107 in Portland a few weeks ago and there was only one thing for me and my roommates to do: put the air conditioner in the living room window, block the doorways with blankets, and wear as little clothing as possible.

As the heat wave persisted and the hours spent in our homespun fortress mounted, minds began to melt alongside ice cubes, sense and custom evaporated, and we soon found ourselves echoing the hum and frenzy of those perpetual residents, the ladies of Grey Gardens.

Thankfully, the temperate Oregon summer returned, as did our clothes and sanity.