When I visited on an oppressively hot early July day, visitors dipped their hands into the reflecting pools and poured the water onto their heads and legs to cool off. They leaned on the marble panels with the names of the dead to eat snacks, even though there are no food vendors or trash cans allowed on site.
Annoyance. Anger. Despair. Rage. Existential confusion. The G train.
meredithmo reblogged
Don't touch women and don't talk to them.
Last night after the No Regrets event I took the F home and there were two incredibly drunk guys in my car, middle-aged white guys in button-down shirts, not young fratty bros. They were hugging a pole in the middle of the crowded car, talking to each other loudly, moving unsteadily, slurring their words. I was worried, like I am 50% of the time on the subway at night, that vomit might happen on or near me. But they were only bothering each other, til they started talking to a woman who was sitting in the outer seat of a two-seat facing them, effectively underneath them, such that to talk to her one of them had to put his hand on the metal pole right behind her head so that he was sort of crouching over her. She had big, obvious neon green headphones on and I couldn’t see her face because of the direction her seat was facing. And she had a book open, but they were talking to her anyway. I couldn’t hear anything she said. She laughed at one point but to me it sounded like an uncomfortable laugh. Everyone else in the car was looking at these guys, looking at her, looking at each other, saying nothing. And then the louder of the two guys I guess wanted to get her attention because maybe she went back to her book and stopped nervously appeasing him so he reached over and touched her shoulder, not hard, just like “hey,”
DON’T TOUCH HER, I screamed.
"Whuh? Hey, I’m just … mind your business, we’re just talking," or whatever nonsense, he slurred.
DON’T TOUCH WOMEN AND DON’T TALK TO THEM. YOU’RE DRUNK. SHE DOESN’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU. DON’T TOUCH WOMEN AND DON’T TALK TO THEM, I screamed.
He protested, he called me “McSweeney’s” (!!) and he called me some other names, including, of course, “crazy,” But other women in the car chimed in, telling him to lay off, back off, calm down. And I got off at the next stop, so I don’t know what else happened.
A Manhattanite by birth, Dinanda Nooney's first photographic project (1974-76) was to document the entire length of the West Side Highway, which had partially collapsed in 1973 and was demolished beginning in 1977. The Getty Center acquired Nooney's West Side archive, including negatives, prints, notes, and newspaper clippings.
Her second project, the documentation of Brooklyn, was much larger in scope. Nooney initially became interested in the borough in 1976, while working as a volunteer for George McGovern's presidential campaign. Two years later, she used the connections she had made in order to gain access to rooftops and other vantage points for a survey of the borough. She soon became more interested in the people she met and began photographing families in their homes. Many of these sitters then recommended other potentially willing subjects.
Working almost daily from January 1978 to April 1979, she crisscrossed the borough, documenting the broad ethnic and economic range of Brooklyn's residents. The portraits that emerge are striking in their attention to the details of architecture and décor, which reveal just as much about the subjects as how they choose to pose themselves for Nooney's camera. This project was the subject of an exhibition, At Home in Brooklyn, at the Long Island Historical Society in 1985.
meredithmo reblogged
The MTA has pics up on their Flickr of several new peregrine falcon chicks living on top of three New York City bridges. Wildlife specialists tagged them and shot a bunch of great photos, and these little birds seem to have googley eyes and also the most incredible eyelash/feather situation on their faces.
BAYBEEEEES
meredithmo reblogged
**~OMG~**! SICK DEAL ON THIS XXXTRA CHUNKY GEM IN THE HEART OF SOHO (SOUP/HOT)!!! __COLOSSAL__ CHUNKS SO BIG YOU’LL NEED A SHOVEL!!! ($5100) - Sterling aluminum fixtures + retractable balcony - Available A*S*A*P* with microwave recipe!!!
fucking genius
meredithmo reblogged
Have Fun Paying For His Therapy
Man walks up holding small child.
MAN: Have you a trash can? To put him in. He is garbage.
These are real things tourists say to Times Square hotel concierges.
So very, very real.
Prohibition-era bar in a shed, part 3. #latergram
Prohibition-era bar in a shed, part 2. #latergram
Prohibition-era bar in a shed. #latergram
Feels nice and relaxing to lean on that pole, eh? Just treating that pole like your own personal leaning area? Stone cold relaxing, on the crowded train? Hey, guess what, THE POLE IS FOR EVERYONE TO HOLD, so get the fuck off the pole.
Source: Gawker
One night, Stephen Colbert and his Strangers With Candy co-star and co-creator Paul Dinello rented bassoons for a duet of “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.” Every time there was an instrumental break, they’d dramatically lean into the mouthpieces, lick their lips, and make other grand “about to play” gestures. But they never did, always pulling away from their instruments at the absolute last second, for almost ten minutes of this song. Finally, near the end, they blew into them with full force, having no idea how to play them. “It sounded like elephants dying,” says Showalter who, like Black, remembers this as one of the funniest things to ever happen at Stella. Wain doesn’t remember it, but concedes that his own recollection of bits is hazy because between Stella’s material, “I would go around the room in the audience and just flirt with girls.”
Source: vulture.com
Speakeasy business cards.
Source: the Time-Life series This Fabulous Century.
meredithmo reblogged
floridaredsnapper-deactivated20
1000% done with you idiots.
WHAT THE WHAT
Man, they look hammered.
meredithmo reblogged
togatherinc
We’re thrilled to have writer Emily Gould join us for our second Author Support Group Meetup — Navigating the Shift to Digital — on Wednesday, December 12 at Lolita Bar in Manhattan’s Lower East Side.
Emily’s career has spanned both sides of the digital-print “divide”. She’s perhaps best...
We're pretty psyched about this. Writers, wannabe authors, people who think Emily is awesome -- come join us, won't you?!