These guys are never gonna let you down.
Just look at those spears. Recipe here.
No shame in liking the crunchy ones. Recipe here.
Kale: Even better raw. Recipe here.
I mean…right? A truly inspiring, incredible transformation.
FOX ADHD / foxadhd.com!/gifs?gif=Pizza_Princess / Via foxadhd.tumblr.com
A Boston Marathon bombing survivor and the three people who saved her share their story one year after the attack.
Boston bombing survivors Joe McMenamy, Andrew Daley, Michelle L'heureaux, Lauren Blanda, and a Boston EMT on Boylston Street on April 12.
Michelle L'Heureaux
Michelle L'heureux remembers lying on the floor in the back of Marathon Sports on Boylston Street. She was bleeding profusely from the upper leg and from a deep cut on her arm that went from her elbow to her shoulder. Three people she didn't know were trying to get L'heureux to elevate her leg, stop her bleeding with T-shirts, and keep her calm.
L'heureux put a hand to her cheek and saw more blood on her palm.
"Is my face OK?!" she blurted out loudly and frantically.
"You look fucking beautiful!" replied Joe McMenamy, a 28-year-old Marathon Sports employee and one of the three strangers who came to L'heureux's rescue after the bombs exploded. Even in a state of shock, she laughed when McMenamy told her she was fucking beautiful.
Marathon Sports is typically jammed the whole week leading up to the Boston Marathon. Then the day of the race, business slows down and the managers invite friends and employees to enjoy the marathon from the store. They set up a corral so that their group can have prime space on the sidewalk with a vantage point just a few feet from the finish line. There are usually some beers in the basement.
McMenamy was downstairs getting a beer when the first bomb went off. As he raced back up the stairs, he encountered somebody running down, yelling, "There's a bomb!"
"I couldn't see outside — I just saw people rushing into the store," McMenamy recalls.
McMenamy spotted his friend Andrew Daley, an Adidas sales rep and longtime friend of Marathon Sports, and Daley's girlfriend, Lauren Blanda, carrying a visibly injured Michelle L'heureux to the back of the store. "Help me! Help me!" L'heureux was saying over and over.
L'heureux was at the marathon that day to cheer on her boyfriend as he crossed the finish line. After he went by, she decided to stay and wait for another friend running the race to pass. She was standing directly in front of Jeff Bauman, a bombing survivor who would lose both his legs, when the first bomb went off.
She couldn't hear anything as she pulled herself up off the pavement — but she saw the glass flying, the people on the ground, and thought, I can't be standing in this and not be hurt. As L'heureux stumbled into Marathon Sports, the second bomb exploded. She couldn't feel anything.
"Come inside! Come inside!" Shane O'Hara, the Marathon Sports manager, was screaming, pulling injured and stunned people off Boylston Street into the store. O'Hara grabbed L'heureux and handed her to Daley and Blanda. "Please don't leave me! Please don't leave me!" said L'heureux as they carried her the back of the store.
Daley, Blanda, and McMenamy elevated her leg and tried to stop the bleeding with T-shirts. When that didn't work, McMenamy took off his belt and used it as a tourniquet, squeezing it with all his might around her leg. But they still needed another tourniquet for L'heureux's arm.
"This kid comes by with a bottle of vodka and asks if we need any for sanitizer," said McMenamy. "I grabbed him and pulled off his belt and tied it around her arm."
"You're going to be OK, we're not going to leave you," Daley said to L'heureux.
Blanda called L'heureux's boyfriend to let him know she was safe. Then she called L'heureux's dad, a Boston Firefighter, and held the phone to her ear while her father told her she was going to be OK. Daley and Blanda stayed with L'heureux until the paramedics arrived. Daley, Blanda, and L'heureux were the last three people in Marathon Sports that day.
Over the next week, L'heureux had 30 hours of surgery at Boston's Brigham and Women's Faulkner Hospital in Jamaica Plains. Every time she asked a doctor if she was going to lose her leg, they told her she was going to be OK. That's not an answer! thought L'heureux. She remembers waking up after the last surgery, looking down and seeing her foot, and thinking, Thank god.
"We connected on Facebook and were able to go see her in the hospital," said Daley. "When we got there, she told us she thought she remembered walking for blocks that day to get to the store" — even though she was just standing out front when the bombs went off.
L'heureaux's heroes visiting her in the hospital a week after the bombing.
Michelle L'heureaux
Hospital visits led to dinners and led to L'heureux going out to Cape Cod to meet Daley's and McMenamy's families in their hometown of Falmouth, Mass. This past Saturday, Daley, Blanda, and McMenamy accompanied L'heureux to a special survivors photo shoot for the cover of Sports Illustrated. Her three heroes couldn't be in the photo with her, so they took a picture, along with one of the paramedics who saved her, as group on Boylston Street.
"We met for some shitty reasons, for sure," said Daley. "But we're going to be friends for life."
"I know someone else would have helped me," said L'heureux. "But I'm glad it was them."
After she got out of the hospital last April, L'heureux couldn't walk for two weeks. On Saturday, she'll run in the Boston Athletic Association's sixth annual 5K race, held two days before the 118th Boston Marathon. Far from a devoted runner, she's recruited some avid road racers do the run with — Lauren Blanda, Andrew Daley, and Joe McMenamy.
"I actually hate running," L'heureux said, laughing. "This [5K] is like my big middle finger to the terrorists."
Helen and Kenneth Felumlee, a couple who held hands at breakfast every morning for seven decades, died within a day of each other.
AP Photo/Felumlee family
According to the Zanesville Times Recorder, Kenneth had his leg amputated 2.5 years ago due to circulation problems. Ever since then, Helen became his main caretaker. She continued to look after him until three weeks before her death, when she grew too frail to care for him.
The two hadn't slept apart in 70 years, the family said. Once many years ago the two took an overnight ferry that had bunk-beds, and decided to both sleep on the bottom bunk instead of sleeping apart a single night.
German art director Robert Jahns shares these stunning edited images with his 360,000 followers. He’s selling a book through his website, and a portion of the proceeds will go to charity.
Frontman Win Butler reportedly referred to the duo as Phat Dunk.
The duo appeared to perform a slower version of the popular Get Lucky single but on closer inspection, neither were actually doing anything on the stage.
Consequence of Sound also claim the pair that appeared were not the same height and weight as the legitimate duo, Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo and Thomas Bangalter.
At one point in the video, Arcade Fire frontman Win Butler can be heard asking: "What the fuck is happening?"
He is also reported to have referred to the masked men as "Phat Dunk".
She offered the information with little explanation in the final few minutes of her show.
Just keep this post bookmarked for when things are going ALL WRONG.
Via imgur.com
Via i.imgur.com
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Basically someone thought the first 10 minutes weren’t sad enough. Via Cheezburger .
Via mashable.com
Via mashable.com
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A spectacle of spectacles.
Danny Moloshok / Reuters
Theo Wargo / Getty Images for IFP
“We’re just oooordinary babiiiies … We’re just leeearning how to craaawwl!”
Hi, John!
Lucas Jackson / Reuters
Grow dammit, grow.
Duration of this period varies, from thirteen seconds to thirteen years.
Via tumblr.com
Rhianna: Samir Hussein / Getty Images
Finally, that killer combination of comfort and connectivity you probably didn’t know you wanted.
The suit was first showcased at the South By Southwest technology conference in Houston earlier this year.
Attendees at the conference in March were invited to track down the onesie using its GPS signal and then upload tracks to curate a playlist.
Ranked from “NBD” to “Gonna Need Therapy.”
Level of wrongness: NBD
Reason for ranking: First, we only say this when our kids are acting like little craps and need an attitude adjustment. More importantly, this lie leads to us giving them a bunch of presents, which rules. When you're older people just lie to you; they never give you a bunch of awesome stuff because of it.
Level of wrongness: Meh.
Reason for ranking: We all know genetics are 95% responsible for how tall we end up being, but milk is good for kids. If this little white lie means they end up with stronger bones and teeth, we shouldn't feel bad.
Level of wrongness: Pfft.
Reason for ranking: What's the big crime here? That we made our kid get more sleep? Puh-lease. Some day they'll dream of getting extra sleep (and that day will be when they have their own kids).
Ah, Coachella!
Rocstar/CPR/FAMEFLYNET PICTURES
Rocstar/CPR/FAMEFLYNET PICTURES
Rocstar/CPR/FAMEFLYNET PICTURES
Rocstar/CPR/FAMEFLYNET PICTURES
What would your dreams have symbolized in 1901?
Noodles
"There is little good in dreams of noodles. It denotes abnormal desires."
Lambs
"For a woman to dream that she is peeling the skin from a lamb, and while doing so, she discovers that it is her child, denotes that she will cause others sorrow."
Adam Ellis
Buttermilk
"Drinking buttermilk denotes sorrow will follow some worldly pleasure. To feed it to pigs is bad still. To dream of drinking buttermilk made into oyster soup denotes that you will be called upon to do some very repulsive thing."
Boa Constrictor
"Dreaming of this is just about the same as to dream of the devil. Disenchantment with humanity will follow. To kill a boa constrictor is good."
Corpses
"For a woman to dream that the owner of the store she works at is a corpse, and she sees that his face is clean shaven, fortells that she will fall below the standard of perfection held by her lover. If the head of the corpse is falling from the body, she is warned of secret enemies."
That’s not a good look.
"He's lucky considering," Hooks manager Keith Bodie said. "It could have been horrific, could have been catastrophic. He never saw the ball out of the pitcher's hand and took a 90-mph fastball right in the face. You can imagine how lucky we are that he's only got a fracture of his cheekbone. His head looks like a beach ball right now."
In honor of Charlotte Brontë’s 198th birthday.
While writing the novel, she stated: "I will show you a heroine as plain and as small as myself."
Focus Features / Via imaginaryeli.tumblr.com
BBC / western-woods.tumblr.com
BBC
Mixtapes are really flattering self-portraits, but the best ones are selfies of two.
Summer Anne Burton
I have always given my crushes pet names: a never-revealed infatuation with my friend "Married," the waiter "Seconds," a future boyfriend "Twelvest," and someone who I would eventually come to refer to as "Purgatory" to his face.
I named "Wilco and Breakfast" that because of how I imagined our future together — listening to Summerteeth on vinyl while smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee in bed. "His beard makes me feel like he'd make good pancakes," I told my roommate during one of our countless conversations about the boys I was considering hitching my crush wagon to.
Wilco and Breakfast was a co-worker, but in a different department so it was a mysterious and slow-moving courtship. He maintained a soft reserve throughout his tenure. He was always kind, but never really hung around to get to know his colleagues. He had a round face, ruddy cheeks, broad shoulders, and that beard, which probably accounted for at least 60% of my reasons for crushing. He was several years older than me and a musician. A musician with a rumbly Southern drawl who would sing his songs about girls in the corner of some Tex-Mex restaurant once a week.
I didn't stand a chance.
I'd wait for him to clock out for his cigarette break and then go out for mine. I'd sit next to him, pretending it was a coincidence, and we'd chat about the easy stuff: books, movies, songs. We shared a weakness for sad stories and vintage anythings. At some point, I loaned him a copy of one of my favorite films — David Gordon Green's All The Real Girls, and he wrote me a short email the next day saying "I loved it. I loved it two times." I found those two sentences so charming that I showed the email to half of my co-workers.
At some point I became confident that my feelings were, at least in some part, mutual. Wilco and Breakfast had a thing for vintage pinup girls — I knew this because of MySpace — and he would compliment my knee high socks or my slouchy trench coat in this certain way that felt like a wink. He would occasionally use the word beautiful — as in "you look beautiful today," or "that dress is beautiful," which knocked me over because boys my age never called anything beautiful, especially girls that they barely knew. It was all very fun and exciting and sweet, as requited crushes tend to be.
My next move was obvious: I made him a mix.
Summer Anne Burton
Someone told me once that mixtapes are barely about music at all. They are about which songs you hope will be forever linked to your face and subconsciously understood as your intentions. Mixtape making is flattering self-portraiture — like choosing the perfect selfie to express how funny, sexy, light-hearted, or endearing you are...preferably all of the above.
I have been working at this art since I was 16, crafting hundreds of meticulously chosen mixtapes, CDs, and playlists for best friends, foxy boys, friendly co-workers, and various bad decisions. I've learned to embrace the vanity of mix-making while also making mixes that people really want to listen to. I've been doing this so much — more than any other creative pursuit — and for so long, that I've started to think that mixtapes have become my purest self-expression.
The only way I know how to feel something is to make a mix about it.
These days, finding someone who actually listens to cassettes is a white whale, so I have switched to Spotify and gift-wrapped CDs. It's fun, but not quite the same. Making someone a cassette was so personal because of the time you had to spend with the songs, sitting in front of a cassette player pushing buttons and obsessing over whether the song you wanted would fit on what was left of a side. It was different for the listener too — cassettes don't make it easy to skip tracks, so they're forced sit and listen to what you have to say.
