shots of ha long bay, vietnam

vote for these bitches.

This nice band wants to play at the 9:30 club in dc. Vote for them HERE!

go play outside: yoga on the mall

now that the weather is getting nice, go spend every moment you can in the sun. because cube life gets quite boring and dreary. go do some yoga, have a picnic, or go on bike ride. please don’t live up to the statistic that the average american only spends 10% of his/her week outdoors, because that may be the most horribly depressing and lame statistic ever! and you know how we feel about lame.

photos by Alia Khayrullina

thank you japan.

so in 1912 japan decided that they were besties with the u.s. and gave dc a shitload of cherry blossoms. and now those lucky of us living in dc or those visiting the city in late march to early april have the pleasure of enjoying japan’s gifts. too bad the city becomes packed with confused families trying to figure out the metro system and when to get off at the smithsonian.

photos by Alia Khayrullina

rockabilly in the burgh

in the dive bars of bloomfield the rockabilly scene is still alive a kicking. monthly rockabilly riots at howlers are packed with three generations of rockers. the music alone is worth the trip and make no mistake about it, the 50+ crowd brings some sick jitterbug skills. please take note of the accordion and washboard.

nick veasey does x-rays right

read this: eating animals.

I bought eating animals even though I eat animals. I’ve eaten a lot of animals: elk, chicken, salmon, shark, cow, buffalo. check. but jonathan safran foer is kind of my literary hero: he writes books (everything is illuminated, extremely loud and incredibly close) that make me laugh loudly on public transportation, reevaluate my identity, and go through tissue boxes. sometimes they even have funny pictures. anyways, point: I didn’t read eating animals with the intention of not eating animals. I like my dogs. I like cows. one sleeps in my bed. the other sleeps in a slaughterhouse. so goes the circle of life. and jonathan safran foer gets me. he’s not peta stun-gunning me over the head with vegetarianism. he just seems to be saying: here I am, using my literary awesomeness to tell you about factory farming. now what are you going to do about it? I didn’t want to do anything about it. but he crept in my head, and I’ve ordered three weeks of veggie burgers since I turned the last page. I’m not a vegetarian. I think. I’m also just not eating animals. anyways, it’s a literary version of the omnivore’s dilemma. I endorse. As does natalie portman.

singing while drinking is encouraged

I have found through personal experience that there are very few places that allow, much less encourage, patrons to drink large amounts of beer while standing on their seats and singing. Naturally this sounds like a place that I’d love and is too good to be true. But it’s not! Enter the Hofbrauhaus: a place where the servers dress as German beer maids, a man with an accordion leads the drunken chants and inside it always feels like Oktoberfest. Most call it Hofbrauhaus, but I prefer Heaven on earth. Conveniently for me there is one in Pittsburgh, the city of beer guzzling champions. If you’re in the city, try the Dunkel.

the beer snorkel

the next time you go sailing in the caribbean, bum around in australia, or go on spring break trip to panama, don’t forget to bring your snorkel. after a long day of snorkeling, chasing fishies, and basking in the sun it’s time for a drink. this is where the beer snorkel comes in handy. you simply leave your snorkel on or even better continue to snorkel, while someone (or yourself if you have no friends) pours a beer down your snorkel and you drink. now you can definitely be considered a first class multitasker; drinking beer while snorkeling. trust me kids, this is way cooler than those lame, fratty beer bongs.

 warning: this should only be attempted while in the ocean and with a local lager.

or if you are really desperate you can give it a test ride in the bath tub (my roommates suggestion). 

back when I was your age: bjorn’s drunk, 1970’s

Back when they were our age…our parents were smashed too.