Her Own Turbulence

Congratulations. You've stumbled upon the mental junk bin of a 29 year old ginger who - when she is not wearing her professional language nerd hat - dabbles in amateur photography, prose writing, bad poetry, stale jokes, obscure references, intense fangirling and long awkward silences.

It’s no secret that DC is a foodie paradise. I’ve found a number of great places to eat during my time in the area spanning a wide range of cuisines, but today’s lunch adventure has to top the list. After our first two choices of the day were closed for brunch, my friend and I wound up at Zaytinya - an award-winning restaurant specializing in Greek, Turkish, and Lebanese small plate dishes, which happens to be one of several local establishments under the direction of international culinary genius José Andrés.

After doing a little bit of research, I found out that Mr. Andrés was also a culinary consultant for Hannibal. Hmm…

I went to the National Gallery of Art today and despite the crushes of tourists managed to spend some quality minutes absorbing the magnificence of truly beautiful Impressionist paintings. And even though this is probably going to make me sound pretentious, I found myself tearing up in front of one of van Gogh’s self-portraits - mainly because I thought I’d never see one of his paintings in my lifetime. Then I went into the next room and found myself face to face with works from Cassatt, Degas, and Renoir, mainly domestic scenes of mothers and children. Another room was filled with nothing but Monet landscapes.

Last but not least, I found myself pausing by a Renoir painting of a Paris street in the afternoon where the sky was such a vivid blue that I could almost feel the sun radiating from the canvas. It’s difficult for me to describe exactly the emotions that I felt while standing there or even in the rest of the exhibit, but I’m glad that I went.

Endangered languages stand a greater chance of survival when they are used online.

"Having a Web presence for those languages is super important for their survival. Social media are just another connection point for people who want to stay connected to their language," says Daigneault, Latin America projects coordinator and development officer at the institute.


the only domestic instinct my parents have managed to pass on to me is the tendency to hoard multiple plastic bags in another plastic bags despite the fact that I will probably never need this many plastic bags in my adult life

(via you-cant-stop-the-moriparty)

I should have expected to have the trailer for Fifty Shades of Hell No shoved in my face when I went to the movies tonight. That said, nothing could have prepared me for the melange of sensations that I felt as each second elapsed. The closest analogue I can come up with is a latex-gloved finger in an uncomfortable place during a doctor’s visit mixed with the shock and disgust of going to get the Sunday paper and finding a bag of flaming dog shit on my porch instead. No thank you.


"airbenders are able to warm themselves with only their breathing"

ok so this explains why katara and sokka were bundled up in parkas galore while aang was just walking around in his little jump suit like it was a perfect summer evening. I’m so glad this was cleared up. I literally thought Aang’s optimistic attitude is what kept him warm, heavens. 

(via timetotimeskip)

Half-Assed Review: Lucy

I decided to treat myself to a night out at the movies and, out of the slim offerings available, chose Lucy. Why this instead of Hercules? After all, the latter does have The Rock in an impressive state of gleaming muscularity and I don’t mind that in the slightest. However, I’m still kind of twitchy and I wasn’t up for a few hours of non-stop surround sound ass-kicking.

While my exposure to Luc Besson’s film catalog is admittedly limited, I almost always enjoy what I see for its eye-popping, vaguely hallucinogenic escapism. The very least that is asked of the viewer is a modicum of suspension of disbelief and, at times, a strong stomach. Lucy requires a healthy dose of the former and some of the latter. Throw in fundamentally flawed neuroscience mumbo-jumbo, Scarlett Johansson as a glassy-eyed drug mule-turned-Matrix castoff, a handful of heavily-armed sneering Korean(?) gangsters, and Morgan Freeman, and you get this movie.

There were certain parts of Lucy that were eerily reminiscent of earlier Besson films - smuggling contraband near the stomach, cheek-clenching car chases, and a randomly-appearing bazooka. However, Lucy is no Plavalaguna - not even Leeloo during the fight scenes. Nor is she Frank Martin, despite her antics behind the steering wheel, and as for the heavy weaponry… well, at that point in the movie, it could have been a bald-capped, goateed John Travolta firing it off a la From Paris with Love and I wouldn’t have asked any questions.

Tl;dr - While Lucy bore strong traces of The Fifth Element and The Transporter, it lacked the pizzazz of either film. It was the curiosity of seeing what would happen to the title character when she reached full brain capacity that kept me in my seat and little else. Well, that and Morgan Freeman. This film may focus on the inner workings of the unleashed human brain, but you will not need yours in order to watch this. In fact, you’d best check it at the door. But it is pretty to look at, and as far as diversions go you could pick far worse.




can we all just take a minute to imagine steve rogers’ face the first time he heard someone say “motherfucker” casually


This gets me every time

Thor’s pop-tart and Steve’s face omg

(Source: presidentbear, via nonsibisedsuis)