rachelfershleiser

rachelfershleiser:

firstdraftwithsarahenni:

A dynamic, outspoken advocate for the written word, Tumblr’s Rachel Fershleiser works to bring the book industry to the Internet, and to remind the tech industry that books still exist. How Tumblr’s cross-stitching, soup-loving lit fanatics are creating an entirely new community of readers, keys for authors to relax and enjoy social media, and a whooooole lot of book recommendations.

Listen to the podcast here, or download it on iTunes or Stitcher.

Find more of my conversation with Rachel - including her tips for throwing a kick-ass in-person bookstore event - here!

Read More

In which I gush about emchughes, emilygould, katiecoyle, rainbowrowell, italicsmine, lastnightsreading, and all of you.

Oh gosh, you need to listen to this to hear Rach lay down some wisdom about community, diversity, the publishing industry, and the bookternet.

alishalevin

“In your dreams you can buy expensive cars”

alishalevin:

a found poem from Miley Cyrus’s V Magazine interview (Sept ‘14)

(previously)

come over tonight
help me fix all this shit
because it’s kind of a mess
it keeps being too heavy

money can buy you a bunch of shit
but besides that
there’s no more happiness
there’s no point in me
getting any fucking richer

people
I go through them all
they’re a little fucked up
and childish

I’m figuring out the story now
it’s still not quite 100% done
I just wanted to give myself something
something that made me happy

Alisha’s Miley found poem is a thing of beauty forever.

alishalevin

For Shoshanna, or, All my life I want money and power

alishalevin:

a found poem from Taylor Swift’s Rolling Stone cover story

I moved to New York
and every day was a struggle
forget making plans for life
we were just trying to make it to next week

if you’re not in love New York is like
this blazing bonfire and no one is in control
be afraid of it because it’s so powerful
stand near it because it makes you brighter

if you’re not in love…
it’s not that I’ve sworn off love
but I don’t have the energy
I’m realistic about this

(I have to stop myself
from thinking about how
many aspects of being happy
I don’t understand)

I can’t be ungrateful
I chose this
but sometimes – sometimes – I want to
walk around naked with my windows open

alishalevin's found poems from celebrity interviews GIVE ME LIFE (also this one reads exactly like a TSwift song).

velocipedestrienne
But the more I made new friends, the clearer it was to me that no one is ever really done making new friends, and very few people are averse to it. I used to assume that people ALREADY HAD THEIR FRIENDS, but that’s almost never the case. Even when people seem to be busy and social, they’re often very open to getting to know someone new.

Ask Polly: How do I make friends in my late 20s? // The Cut

The first AP over at NYMag’s The Cut, and she absolutely knocked it out. (via velocipedestrienne)

Guys, I know I already posted about today’s other Ask Polly column, but this one hits me in an entirely different place. This was me, two years ago, depressed and lonely and wondering how the fuck you make friends in New York City after college. And you know what? I did it. I did it well. For me the answer was: slowly, through work, through the internet (hi Tumblr beauties, you know who you are), and by being my real, weird self and finding people whose real, weird selves were on the same wavelength. And it’s so true - no one ever has *too many* friends. If they’re truly good friends, your life just opens up to make room. I love you, you fuckin’ weirdos.

cowboykiller

cowboykiller:

cowboykiller:

This is Bobby (rocket nose) and Ani (spotty face). They are a 6 year old (born February 2008) super bonded Calico sibling pair currently living in Brooklyn. They need a new home!

Both are in perfect health, good litter box manners, playful, extremely cuddly, and good eaters. They need to be re-homed due to no fault of their own. There is a new person in the household with debilitating allergies. This was a very hard decision for their person to make, but they’re just not getting the attention and affection they need in their current situation. 

They are great with children, not great with dogs, and would be OK to live with other cats. 

I’ve known them both since they were tiny handfuls and they are really incredibly sweet and playful and mischievous and really, really ridiculously good looking. If I could take them in I absolutely would.

They’re not micro-chipped, but their person would absolutely assume the cost and have this done with their new person’s info. They’re up to date on all their shots and tests. Their person is willing to transport them pretty far for the perfect home - anywhere drive-able from NYC. Help with food and litter costs for the first year would also be possible if someone wanted to take them in but had limited resources.

If you’d like more information - or more pictures! Or would just like to meet them in person (they’re in Bed Stuy in Brooklyn, a few short blocks from the A/C at Nostrand) please drop a note in my ask-box.

Please reblog!

Thank you!

Boost for the night crowd.

I’m literally their emergency contact at the vet. I love these babes second only to California.

I’m heartbroken but I’ve gotta help my friend first.

Please reblog? Thanks.

AUGH if my roommate weren’t horrifically allergic, these sweethearts would come home with me in a second, but alas. Signal boost, Brooklyn pals!

justlikea-kida
lovebug:

Rest in peace.

Mork and Mindy reruns in my pjs with my mom. Mrs. Doubtfire, which made me laugh, but also gave me such strange feelings about my parents’ divorce. Aladdin, one of the first movies I remember seeing. Hook, which is a great movie and if you don’t like it I question your ability to feel joy.
Good Morning Vietnam, which I was definitely too young to watch. Jumanji, age 8, with my dad, in the second-run theater in our town in Massachusetts, and then again, age 24, with my little brother, who was seeing it for the first time. Fern Gully! Motherfucking Fern Gully, man, shown to me by my libdem parents and responsible for turning me into a tiny hippie. The Birdcage - oh, The Birdcage - one of my top ten favorite movies of all time. 
Walking out of the theater after seeing Insomnia with my dad, listening to the group of middle-aged people in front of us laughing maniacally and repeating the phrase “Skippy’s only got one eye!” which is a phrase I love but do not, to this day, even pretend to understand. Freshman year of college in my cinderblock dorm room, with alishalevin, listening to Live On Broadway over and over and over and clutching our sides when we were out of breath from laughing. Matt talking me down from a panic attack over the phone while I was on the downtown M15 by repeating “It’s naht yah fault” over and over. 
Even the terrible movies - AI and Bicentennial Man and Flubber and What Dreams May Come and Patch Adams and Death to Smoochy - god, I saw them all. Sometimes you don’t realize what a constant companion someone you’ve never met has become until they’re gone.
Depression is a motherfucker. Everyone is talking about it tonight and I hope it leads to a better, more open, more tolerant conversation about mental illness. There are times, even now, even in my neurotic, open-minded, New York, therapy-embracing social circle, that I feel like I’ll be judged if I talk about my own situation. But I’ve found that once you mention therapy or antidepressants or panic attacks in passing to the people close to you, these soft little moth-like empathy antennae go up, and gently, slowly, you find each other, and you find a safe place to talk about it, and you recognize the people you can call on the bad days - hey, you’ve been there too. I’m not going to call any of you out by name here, but you all know who you are.
That first step is the hardest fucking thing, though. The hardest fucking thing. Days and weeks of existing in a fog before I could make that phone call. Identify the person your depression-brain tells you will hate you the least for reaching out to them [they won’t hate you, not even a little, or be disappointed or put out or inconvenienced - they will love you all the more for asking for help when you need it - but your brain will tell you otherwise]. If you need it to be me, I am always here. If you need it to be a stranger, there are so many people who will help you. Just. Make the first step. I promise it’s worth it.

lovebug:

Rest in peace.

Mork and Mindy reruns in my pjs with my mom. Mrs. Doubtfire, which made me laugh, but also gave me such strange feelings about my parents’ divorce. Aladdin, one of the first movies I remember seeing. Hook, which is a great movie and if you don’t like it I question your ability to feel joy.

Good Morning Vietnam, which I was definitely too young to watch. Jumanji, age 8, with my dad, in the second-run theater in our town in Massachusetts, and then again, age 24, with my little brother, who was seeing it for the first time. Fern Gully! Motherfucking Fern Gully, man, shown to me by my libdem parents and responsible for turning me into a tiny hippie. The Birdcage - oh, The Birdcage - one of my top ten favorite movies of all time. 

Walking out of the theater after seeing Insomnia with my dad, listening to the group of middle-aged people in front of us laughing maniacally and repeating the phrase “Skippy’s only got one eye!” which is a phrase I love but do not, to this day, even pretend to understand. Freshman year of college in my cinderblock dorm room, with alishalevin, listening to Live On Broadway over and over and over and clutching our sides when we were out of breath from laughing. Matt talking me down from a panic attack over the phone while I was on the downtown M15 by repeating “It’s naht yah fault” over and over. 

Even the terrible movies - AI and Bicentennial Man and Flubber and What Dreams May Come and Patch Adams and Death to Smoochy - god, I saw them all. Sometimes you don’t realize what a constant companion someone you’ve never met has become until they’re gone.

Depression is a motherfucker. Everyone is talking about it tonight and I hope it leads to a better, more open, more tolerant conversation about mental illness. There are times, even now, even in my neurotic, open-minded, New York, therapy-embracing social circle, that I feel like I’ll be judged if I talk about my own situation. But I’ve found that once you mention therapy or antidepressants or panic attacks in passing to the people close to you, these soft little moth-like empathy antennae go up, and gently, slowly, you find each other, and you find a safe place to talk about it, and you recognize the people you can call on the bad days - hey, you’ve been there too. I’m not going to call any of you out by name here, but you all know who you are.

That first step is the hardest fucking thing, though. The hardest fucking thing. Days and weeks of existing in a fog before I could make that phone call. Identify the person your depression-brain tells you will hate you the least for reaching out to them [they won’t hate you, not even a little, or be disappointed or put out or inconvenienced - they will love you all the more for asking for help when you need it - but your brain will tell you otherwise]. If you need it to be me, I am always here. If you need it to be a stranger, there are so many people who will help you. Just. Make the first step. I promise it’s worth it.