An actual email from my grandparents I got today:
Subject: a picture for you PROPER DRESS FOR FLIGHTS
ON YOUR RECENT TRIP BET YOU DIDN’T SEE FELLOW PASSENGERS DRESSED SO FORMALLY. THIS PHOTO SHOWS US LEAVING ON OUR HONEYMOON FLIGHT TO SICILY MAY 5, 1962. Note granny’s white gloves and my felt hat. this was normal attire in those days. Unthinkable to look otherwise.
I have a new “tenant” ! It is such a beautiful day 50 degrees and I opened all the windows in the cottage to air it out and a bird flew in……Now I cant get it out …………
"How personal is Dad and Mom anyway?"
- New York Times: You always called your dad Don?
- Flavin Judd: Always. Don and Julie were the parents.
- NYT: You never called them Mom or Dad?
- FJ: No. If you’re in a public space and a kid yells, “Daaaaad?” how many people turn around? Dozens, right? So how personal is Dad and Mom anyway? In our case our parents were to some extent the generation of ’68. A lot of Don’s work assumes a utopia. Or, rightly so, assumes the ability to affect the world. Which got reinforced when he did things like help to stop the expressway through SoHo. The use of first names by my parents was a rejection of convention, of their parents. It wasn’t arbitrary. They made it normal that we call them by their first names.
- NYT: What do your kids call you?
- FJ: All sorts of stuff.
- NYT: Including Dad?
- FJ: No. Well, sometimes. Mostly its French “Papa” and “Maman.” My wife Michèle and I made no rules whatsoever. We don’t say one way or the other.
- NYT: As a kid, you were kidnapped by your dad and brought to Marfa.
- FJ: I wouldn’t use that word. That’s an overdramatization.
Reblog if you’re Swedish
I want to follow you :)
Jag skrev på engelska så att ingen blir förvirrad hehe :D
I just want to note that the Finns win on this one. There is no eight-armed cat in this one.
Reblog if you’re Finnish.
BECAUSE WE’RE AWESOME AND WE FIGHT WITH POLARBEARS AND DRINK VODKA AND STUFF.
WE LIVE IN IGLOOS AND IT’S PENGUINS HERE.
If I could half reblog this because I’m half Finnish I would. Also because then the above image would be a lot less frightening.
When I was young, my brother and I used to fight a lot. We’d get into these awful retaliation wars where he would burn down my houses in the Sims, I would log on as his character in Animal Crossing and bring all his fruit over to my house and dump it there, things of that nature. Looking back, it was weird how real this virtual war was over accomplishments and possessions, but at the time nothing could trump the tragedy of losing hours having to recreate my perfect neo- Gothic palace for Bella and Mortimer Goth.