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craigfernandez:

Love & Rockets

Every one a winner.

(via dirtyriver)

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The Limeliters, 1963. Square but stylish.

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Reflecting upon several decades of company logos, I have decided that this one, for the moving company Yamato, is my all-time favorite. It has everything: Moment of mystification, followed by pleasing shock of recognition; implication of a high level of service and literally loving care (as if it were their own!); and, finally, cats.

Reflecting upon several decades of company logos, I have decided that this one, for the moving company Yamato, is my all-time favorite. It has everything: Moment of mystification, followed by pleasing shock of recognition; implication of a high level of service and literally loving care (as if it were their own!); and, finally, cats.

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eudaemaniacal:

ALL HAIL MACBETH HAIL TO THEE THANE OF GLAMIS
ALL HAIL MACBETH HAIL TO THEE THANE OF CAWDOR
ALL HAIL MACBETH THOU SHALT BE KING HEREAFTER

eudaemaniacal:

ALL HAIL MACBETH HAIL TO THEE THANE OF GLAMIS

ALL HAIL MACBETH HAIL TO THEE THANE OF CAWDOR

ALL HAIL MACBETH THOU SHALT BE KING HEREAFTER

(Source: thepowergame, via see-reverse-side)

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Our little corner of Northeast DC is modest, down-home, even a little countrified; but the local land rush has reached us. Over the past year and a half we’ve seen dozens of houses gutted, rehabbed, sometimes built onto (including those ugly extra floors on rowhouses called “middle fingers” in the trade). There’s an eerie influx of young white people, and they don’t seem to be renters; I attended a neighborhood clean-up event some months back and was surrounded by twentysomethings talking about their land values and renovations.

The prices are going up too. Last year a house up in Trinidad, an area long known to realtors as “Trinibad,” went for $900,000. 

But this being, as I said, a modest place, there are still plenty of people here who have no intention of moving — or, if the idea is put into their heads by financial disaster or ambitious relatives, have no idea how to exploit the land rush. Their dealings and those of their friends with the big-money world are rare and usually unpleasant.

That’s what signs like this one are about. They appeal to people who aren’t accustomed to brokers or real estate negotiations. In exchange for a crappy deal on which they will profit handsomely, the house-buyers offer speed and a minimum of fuss, like a pawn shop for property. It’ll be over quick and then you can put something in the bank when you move in with your kids, or to an assisted living facility.

The thing about capitalism that its boosters don’t get is, not everyone is Warren Buffett. No, I take that back — they get it alright.

Our little corner of Northeast DC is modest, down-home, even a little countrified; but the local land rush has reached us. Over the past year and a half we’ve seen dozens of houses gutted, rehabbed, sometimes built onto (including those ugly extra floors on rowhouses called “middle fingers” in the trade). There’s an eerie influx of young white people, and they don’t seem to be renters; I attended a neighborhood clean-up event some months back and was surrounded by twentysomethings talking about their land values and renovations.

The prices are going up too. Last year a house up in Trinidad, an area long known to realtors as “Trinibad,” went for $900,000.

But this being, as I said, a modest place, there are still plenty of people here who have no intention of moving — or, if the idea is put into their heads by financial disaster or ambitious relatives, have no idea how to exploit the land rush. Their dealings and those of their friends with the big-money world are rare and usually unpleasant.

That’s what signs like this one are about. They appeal to people who aren’t accustomed to brokers or real estate negotiations. In exchange for a crappy deal on which they will profit handsomely, the house-buyers offer speed and a minimum of fuss, like a pawn shop for property. It’ll be over quick and then you can put something in the bank when you move in with your kids, or to an assisted living facility.

The thing about capitalism that its boosters don’t get is, not everyone is Warren Buffett. No, I take that back — they get it alright.

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Fuck everything; shut up and drink.

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This new crossfit joint replaced a theater on H Street — which in and of itself speaks volumes about this burgeoning gentry hellhole — and lined up a bunch of state-of-the-art butt-torture stationary cycles in the front window. For weeks we’d walk by, see spandexed douches pumping their butt muscles in the windows, and laugh. 

As it happens, this end of H street is not yet completely gentrifimogrified — there are still some black-owned businesses and some hangout spots for poor people here — and my guess, based on long experience of urban flux states, is that some of the locals were standing on the sidewalk gaping at the butt-self-torturing patrons and perhaps offering commentary. 

The posters, which are new, are almost certainly meant to prevent this. And some management type is probably still fuming that his classy facade had to be marred because not everyone in the neighborhood thinks crossfit training is a holy act to be treated with deference.

Small victories, people. That’s how I get through the days.

This new crossfit joint replaced a theater on H Street — which in and of itself speaks volumes about this burgeoning gentry hellhole — and lined up a bunch of state-of-the-art butt-torture stationary cycles in the front window. For weeks we’d walk by, see spandexed douches pumping their butt muscles in the windows, and laugh.

As it happens, this end of H street is not yet completely gentrifimogrified — there are still some black-owned businesses and some hangout spots for poor people here — and my guess, based on long experience of urban flux states, is that some of the locals were standing on the sidewalk gaping at the butt-self-torturing patrons and perhaps offering commentary.

The posters, which are new, are almost certainly meant to prevent this. And some management type is probably still fuming that his classy facade had to be marred because not everyone in the neighborhood thinks crossfit training is a holy act to be treated with deference.

Small victories, people. That’s how I get through the days.

Photoset

skunkbear:

So photographer David Slater wants Wikipedia to remove a monkey selfie that was taken with his camera. As you can see from this screen shot, Wikipedia says no: the monkey pressed the shutter so it owns the copyright.

We got NPR’s in-house legal counsel, Ashley Messenger, to weigh in. She said:

Traditional interpretation of copyright law is that the person who captured the image owns the copyright. That would be the monkey. The photographer’s best argument is that the monkey took the photo at his direction and therefore it’s work for hire. But that’s not a great argument because it’s not clear the monkey had the intent to work at the direction of the photographer nor is it clear there was “consideration” (value) exchanged for the work. So… It’s definitely an interesting question! Or the photographer could argue that leaving the camera to see what would happen is his work an therefore the monkey’s capture of the image was really the photographer’s art, but that would be a novel approach, to my knowledge.

One of the rare cases in which a lawyer’s opinion improves something.

(via theonlysuccessfulone)

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aristocunt:

sizvideos:

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!!!! This is awesome

It *is* awesome, and may I mention: one of the few things I like about D.C. is that Gallaudet has attracted a large deaf population and this normalizes their presence among hearing folk — one of the students worked a while as a server in our favorite restaurant — you just accepted that he needed to read your lips and occasionally refer to the printed menu, and he did a great job.

(via thingspeopleasklibrarians)

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A few hundred yards from D.C.’s hypsterical Union Market, here’s where the real people get their cow skin on.

A few hundred yards from D.C.’s hypsterical Union Market, here’s where the real people get their cow skin on.