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*steps over the border into california* 

*red hot chili peppers plays*



The creamiest vegan pasta you’ve ever seen.

Vegan Roasted Red Pepper Pasta on Minimalist Baker

oh my god I want this now <3

Portraits by Nicolas Coulomb for Novembre Magazine

Angelina Rybyakova by Mikhail Malyugin for SOME Magazine

phoebe tonkin for glamour // 2014


Recent studies confirm that reading books and drinking tea doesn’t make you better than anyone else

Hot House Color by Torkil Gudnason


breana mcdow: *is a model*

breana mcdow: *makes money off of pictures taken of her that strangers view and fawn over*

breana mcdow: “selfies are pathetic and i don’t post them because i don’t need validation of strangers”



"He has autism. I’m really surprised he was playing with you."

This happens sometimes at work, and I’m never sure how to react. A parent (or other adult) will come up to me after I’ve been playing with their child, and point out that the child’s current behavior is really unusual for them.

Sometimes it’s young kids who just seem overwhelmed by their surroundings, and we’ll just sit together for a little bit. I’ll talk about things—their shoes, the weather, the character on their shirt—for little while, and then listen when they start talking. If they start talking—often, they don’t,and that’s okay.

Sometimes it’s a copycat game. They’ll hide from me, and I’ll hide from them. They peek out, and I peek out. They put their hands up, and I put my hands up. When they realize that everything I do is copying them, their actions get more intentional, silly, fun.

Last week there was a young man in our new Thomas the Tank Engine gallery. I talked with him for a minute, and it was immediately clear that he a.) loved trains, and b.) hated eye contact. So I stopped trying to make eye contact, and we played in parallel, not facing each other, but talking about trains, Thomas, the toys he had at home.

And it happened again, the grown-up coming up afterwards and confessing “He’s autistic, he doesn’t usually talk to people.”

And I smiled and said, “Well, it seems like he’s having fun,” because I didn’t know what else to say. And it did seem that way, and that’s great.

But I never know how to react when parents say that to me. They always seem pleased, grateful, even, and I guess they must mean it as a compliment. And if I made their day brighter, and (more importantly) their child’s day brighter, good. That’s wonderful, and it’s what I try to do with everyone who comes to the museum.

But it’s also weird, because—it’s what I do with everyone who comes to the museum. I’m not a therapist, I’m not a specialist, I’m not some mysterious Autism Whisperer. I just try to connect with kids and make their days better. I don’t have special tactics for “dealing with” autistic kids. I don’t even work in an environment where autistic kids are identified as such, except by their parents, after the fact.

So I’m literally treating these children as I would any other human: with cheer, and with kindness, with gentleness, silliness, understanding.

So when the adult says to me, “he never plays this way!” I worry.

Because I am not an extraordinary person. I am not doing anything special—just paying attention to the child, offering lighthearted interaction, responding to their needs and desires as best as I understand them. It’s how I approach every child I work with—hell, it’s how I try to approach every person I know.

So when I hear, “He never plays like this!”

I don’t really know what to say. But I hope with all my heart that its not because he’s never treated like this.

I don’t have source citations, but there are apparently studies they have done where, instead of trying to teach autistic kids to do better at faking being non-autistic so they can “socialize” in a way that seems “normal” to non-autistic people, they teach the non-autistic kids to be more responsive to the sensory and other needs of the autistic child.  And the result was that suddenly this autistic kid started being much more interactive.  All they needed was, not social training, but for others around them to be interactive with them first.

I wish more teachers, parents, etc. were aware of this and adapted accordingly.


James Dean in his apartment on West 68th Street, New York City, 1955.


Albe Hamiti and Papis Loveday by Mohamed Gaff

The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary. Men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.
Joseph Conrad (via tinagrey) ←