"If one has driven a car for many years, as I have, all reactions have become automatic. One does not think about what to do. Nearly all driving technique is deeply buried in a machine-like unconscious. This being so, a large area of the conscious mind is left free for thinking. And what do people think about when they drive? On short trips perhaps of arrival at a destination or memory of events at the place of departure. But there is left, particularly on very long trips, a large area for daydreaming or even, God help us, thought. ... Driving, I have created turtle traps in my mind, have written long, detailed letters never to be put on paper, much less sent. When the radio was on, music has stimulated memory of times and places, complete with characters and stage sets, memories so exact that every word of dialogue is recreated." - John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America
  • It’s the last day of baseball again… 6 months of withdrawals again…

  • kneebones:

    lythedis:

    I’m going to keep reblogging this…
    Because this means Republican WOMEN in the senate voted AGAINST equal pay.

    the last time this bill came up, Maine’s senator Susan Collins voted it down..she gave a speech at my school and talked at lengths about how “WOMEN CAN BE ANYTHING” so naturally i asked her why she made this very same voting choice and basically her excuse was it would be a struggle for the government because then companies would have to take the time to send in information distinguishing women from the disabled…and obviously that’s too high a price to pay because according to the government being a woman has now become a handicap.

    (Source: melissaannandthecool, via mouse-and-the-model)

  • Hello, Philippines.

    (Source: milosquared, via mouse-and-the-model)

  • Realest shit I’ve heard all morning. (via itsthelesbiana)

    (via nickifm)

  • "Be careful who you vent to."
  • morganoperandi:

    allthebeautifulthings9828:

    Guys, look. They finally made a baby stroller for wheelchair-bound mothers. This is so important.

    My wife is a physical therapist.  She started tearing up when I showed this to her.

    (via nickifm)

  • Anonymous
  • "I spent this year as a ghost and I’m not sure where home is anymore."
  • Agustin Palacios PhD Graduation Speech From UC Berkeley 

    via vickyinfinity

    (via thinkmexican)

    (via lottastuff)

  • "

    I was born to an undocumented Mexican mother in San José, Califaztlán. When my mother was pregnant she crossed the U.S-Mexico border ‘sin papeles’, so that I could be born a U.S citizen. After about a year, we returned to Mexicali Baja California with the rest of our family.

    When I was seven years old my mom left, or I should say, escaped my dad and a life of domestic violence. She took my one-year-old sister and me to live with my grandmother, mi Nana. Then she crossed over to the U.S. again, this time legally, to find work picking strawberries in Watsonville, CA. I really missed my mom then, but really enjoyed the new freedom. After doing my homework, I would spend the rest of the evening playing soccer in the streets and jumping on the hoods of abandoned cars lining the U.S.-Mexico border. You see, my grandmother’s house was just two blocks away from the line Gloria Anzaldúa called a “1,950 mile-long open wound.” My neighborhood friends envied me because I could cross to el otro lado to eat McDonalds and buy cheap clothes at the flea market. Sometimes my friends and I would sneak across the fence through one of its many holes. As soon as we saw the border patrol come by we would rush back across. I remember bragging to my friends that I wasn’t afraid of la pinche migra because I was a U.S. citizen. I did not know then that la migra sometimes can get trigger happy and shoot at children simply for throwing rocks.

    Even though I flunked second grade, mi Nana used to say that I was the smartest child she knew. She would put her hands together and say “que inteligente es mi niño.” Her tone of voice and expression somehow convinced me that I was smart. So I started doing better in school. My uncles would joke about my good grades, and warn me that the Russians would come and kidnap me so I could help them compete with the US.

    When I was thirteen years old my mother finally decided it to bring us with her to the U.S. so that we could get an education. At the time she hoped that I would finish high school and maybe get an office job with air conditioning. But I came to UC Berkeley instead. And like many first generation Chicano college student, I felt lost and uprooted on this campus.

    I remember, as an undergraduate, entering Doe Library for the first time. And as I descended to the lower levels of the Gardner stacks, I pictured myself as the kid in Journey to the Center of the Earth, my face filled with fear and awe. Doe library became my favorite place on campus. It was quiet, like a cathedral. I remember wanting to show my mom how amazing this place was, and then realizing that my mother could not follow me inside those walls. The university library is not a cathedral but a vault. There are bones and blood inside those walls, histories of rebellion not meant for us to know.

    And now, after four years of undergraduate education, and ten years of graduate work, I have a Ph.D. from UC Berkeley. I also have a wife, two beautiful children, three chickens, and a vegetable garden. I have decided to become a scholar in the field of Ethnic Studies, in great part, because of the sense of empowerment and dignity I gained while taking undergraduate Ethnic Studies courses. This is what Ethnic Studies graduates learn. We gain the tools necessary to fight for the well being of our communities, and to push for the radical transformation our society so desperately needs.

    And even though the library is still my cathedral and I have made the university my territory, I must remember to see beyond these local walls. See my brown and black brothers and sisters in the streets of Richmond, Oakland, Salinas, Mexico and all of Latin America. And as the fisherman casts his net over the waters, we must now cast our nets across these borderlands. Fish our youth out of the dangerous streets and into the university. So that they too can see beyond the local walls.

    I will now like to ask all the children in the audience to stand up. Children, please place your left hand on your heart, and repeat after me. ‘I promise’ ‘that I will study,’ ‘that I will dream a better world,’ ‘and that I too’ ‘will one day’ ‘go to college and graduate.’

    Thank you.

    "
  • Tiny Stories
  • "The saddest word
    In the whole wide world
    Is the word almost.
    He was almost in love.
    She was almost good for him.
    He almost stopped her.
    She almost waited.
    He almost lived.
    They almost made it."
  • Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows
  • "Here today, up and off to somewhere else tomorrow! Travel, change, interest, excitement! The whole world before you, and a horizon that’s always changing!"
  • mandasmash:

    diggly:

    mamacastiel:

    why does this have 32k notes? it’s just a picture of a knife in a ranch bottle, is there some unspoken joke that 32 thousand people share? what is going on here, i dont get it. it’s just a fucking picture of a knife in a ranch bottle. is there some spiritual connection people have to this picture? is there some ominous and mystical reasoning that this has 32 thousand notes? do people reblog this because it makes them look like some indie blogger? or is there just something funny to this? someone please explain

    no one tell him

    its not even ranch are you blind idiot no wonder you don’t get it

    (Source: zero1infinity, via sapiogasm)

  • New favourite joke:

    where-am-i-send-help:

    ougbad:

    karlimeaghan:

    A Roman walks into a bar, holds up two fingers, and says ”Five beers, please.”

    i dont get it

    No one explain it

    (via sapiogasm)

  • itsstuckyinmyhead:

    Tumblr and Puns 

    (via bazzle)

  • lotrlockedwhovian:

    baby-dahlia:

    Here’s the thing about being pro choice that people don’t get…
    You don’t have to morally agree with abortion to be pro choice. That’s why it’s not called pro abortion. It’s an understanding that you can’t make that choice for someone else and they have full control over that not you. It’s pro I’m not the boss of everyone else.

    This is important.

    (Source: , via jackalriot)

  • For some reason the important things just end up working eventually. That’s awesome.