I would say that OREO has eagle eyes to know the opportunities in the comfort food industry. KEEP EVOLVING, OREO! NEVER STOP EVOLVING!
When i'm hungry, i just go crazy on the internet looking for mouthwatering food pictures. it's like a torture, it makes you even more starving. like right now. it's no use, but i'm doing it anyway. it gives an unusual pleasure.
The Broccoli Roast (smittenkitchen.com)
"Money can't buy happiness". "Money can buy happiness. Don't be so naïve."
I've heard these arguments million times, because it's indeed arguable and it depends on people's personal perspectives. So i want to try to enlighten you with a theory from Gretchen Rubin's The Happiness Project (self-help book). I found it quite fair and objective.
"Can money help buy happiness? The answer: yes, used wisely, it can. Whether rich or poor, people make choices about how they spend money, and those choices can boost happiness or undermine it. It's a mistake to assume that money will affect everyone the same way. No statistical average could say how a particular individual would be affected by money - depending on that individual's circumstances and temperament. After a lot of thinking, I identified three factors that shape the significance of money to individuals:
It depends on what kind of person you are.
Money has a different value to different people. You might love to collect modern art, or you might love to rent old movies. You might have six children and ailing, dependent parents, or you might have no children and robust parents. You might love to travel, or you might prefer to putter around the house. You might care about eating organic, or you might be satisfied with the cheapest choices at the grocery store.
It depends on how you spend your money.
Some purchases are more likely to contribute to your happiness than others. You might buy cocaine, or you might buy a dog. You might splurge on a big-screen TV, or you might splurge on a new bike.
It depends on how much money you have relative to the people around you and relative to your own experience.
One person's fortune is another person's misfortune.
You decide.
gif: forums.archeagegame.com
the beautifully silly Disney characters are now coming with emojis that are even sillier.
i found this amazing article. credits to Dan Martin
"Cynicism, apathy and, like, whatever, man."
I picked my tribe a long time. As a bookish 13-year-old Brit just getting turned on to rock'n'roll, I picked grunge and never really looked back. It's of course completely rational to mould your entire adult identity around a sub genre of music that you were just that little bit too young to experience first hand and geographically nowhere near. Never mind that this was the 90s and telecommunication amounted to little more than tin cans on the ends of strings.
The better part of my years as
a music journalist was spent trying to enact a Grunge revival;
straight-facedly talking up bands like Cage The Elephant as the next
major event in youth culture and putting together tribute issues for
various anniversaries of Nevermind.
This
compulsion came from outsider's anxiety, since, as a pasty teenager in
the north of England who was turned onto this far-flung subculture (and
as a consequence, pretty much everything else) by Nevermind blowing
up, I was by definition, part of the problem. I could never be grunge
enough. How could I be? The truly grunge gave up on Nirvana in 93, and a
year later Kurt Cobain would kill himself because he was getting too
much attention from people like me. Grunge was probably the genre that
originated the attitude of turning on your favourite artists as soon as
they became commercially successful.
UrbanDictionary.com's
scientific list of grunge attitudes lists; 'strive for apathy and
underachievement'; 'act like you don't care, even if you do'; 'usually
have cynical and negative outlooks upon life'; 'respect women and reject
jocks'.
Grunge was born because so few people cared what was
going on in Seattle that the bands were able to feed and breed off each
other in a bubble. It was a hybrid of punk's energy and politics and
metal's insularity and down tuned chords. It mixed the feral fuzz of the
former and the rhythmic complexity of the latter. Kurt once described
Nirvana as a mixture Black Sabbath, Black Flag and The Beatles. So it
follows that the true grunge fan will take a gene from both parents too,
a mix of nihilistic apathy mixed with bookish precision. When you're
grunge, you can maintain a righteous disillusionment with absolutely
everything while still alphabetising your record collection. Screw the
music, here was a genre that had me at hello! And so in my happy place, I
will always be sat stapling together my fanzine in a Seattle coffee
house circa-93, while my straight best friend performs open-mic poetry
about his issues while people do smack in the corner.
Grunge is
the ideal tribe for somebody who was never really part of it in the
first place, because at the time, nobody really wanted anything to do
with it. Soundgarden's Ben Shepherd said years later, "That's just
marketing. It's called rock and roll, or it's called punk rock or
whatever. We never were Grunge, we were just a band from Seattle." You
could even argue that his immense discomfort with celebrity meant the
word 'grunge' played a part in Kurt's suicide, but let's not go there.
But
Grunge has form as the genre that never wanted to be. In the early-90s
feeding frenzy, the Seattle scene was getting attention from the success
of its sons and daughters and so its sons and daughters were getting
issues about their success. This was a time when Seventh Avenue was
co-opting plaid and flannel, and Marc Jacobs was straight-facedly hailed
"the guru of grunge."
One such un/welcome piece of attention came
in the form of New York Times reporter Rick Marin in 1992, who was
writing a piece about this hot new trend which was "coming soon to a
high school or mall near you."
Wanting the skinny of the Grunge
street-speak, which of course, obviously definitely existed, Marin
called up the offices of scene hub Sub Pop Records to find out.
Receptionist Megan Jasper was unimpressed enough to while away the
afternoon making up a list of terms off the top of her head. And so the
Times helpfully printed a sidebar to its feature; 'The Lexicon Of Grunge: Breaking The Code'.
A 'lame stain' was an uncool person, a 'harsh realm' was a bummer, a
'cob nobbler' was a 'loser', a 'dish' a desirable guy. To be
'bound-and-hagged' was to be staying home on a Friday night; if you were
a 'bloated, big bag of bloatation' then you were drunk, while 'swingin'
on the flippity-flop' meant simply hanging out.
It was a comprehensive directory, nobbled only by the fact that nobody actually said any of that stuff at all. The Times was outraged when The Baffler
magazine exposed the hoax and demanded they fax over an apology for
suggesting they had published misinformation, believing that their
writer, Thomas Frank, had got it wrong. Frank responded with realness.
"When The Newspaper of Record goes searching for the Next Big Thing and
the Next Big Thing piddles on its leg," he wrote, "we think that's
funny." Things were so much more fun before we had Google, weren't they?
Musically,
grunge is just as inscrutable. Plenty of the bands most fondly
associated with it, like Pixies and Sonic Youth and Dinosaur Jr,
actually had very little to do with it. Sitting alongside Nirvana and
Soundgarden and Alice In Chains are Foo Fighters (Dave Grohl's presence
doesn't make you grunge); Bush (watered-down Brit-grunge), the
Presidents Of The United States Of America (okay, actually from Seattle
but just no) and Cage The Elephant. Actually Cage The Elephant, I really
like you, sorry guys you don't deserve this. A few years ago I joined
London grunge descendants Yuck on their US tour in Seattle, for a
magazine feature because we thought it would be the most hilarious
wheeze. They didn't get the joke at all, which of course, was the
grunge-est response they could possibly have made.
So screw you,
place and time. Grunge is a state of mind, and I'm off to get like a
bloated, big bag of bloatation while y'all sit there all bound and
hagged. If you need me I'll just be swingin' on the flippity-flop, lame
stains.





