You know, I don’t even want context for this. I like it, just as it is.

So, I have cats – two of them, both inquisitive and both deeply affected by things that are small, made of hard plastic, and fun to bat off a table. Despite that, I think… I think I need to own this. I need to own it and kind of gently spoon it sometimes when I’m longing for far-off places, and maybe stick my hand inside the tiny rooms to pretend it’s a tiny bit real. Related: how the fuck did Brickcon just happen in my city without me being aware of it at all? I’m going to blame it on being largely offline while I was in Hawaii, because any alternative suggests an intolerable failure on my part.

An essay about the stifling power of seeking perfection – and how most other people don’t give that much of a shit anyway. And that’s good.

I’ll make you dinner if you make me one of these with my own dudes on it. (I’m online friends with this person, and it’s extra exciting in this moment.)

A collected photo tour of the abandoned Holy Land theme park in Connecticut, over at Messy Nessy Chic, documents the live times and the end times of what looked to be a somewhat eerie place, even when it wasn’t decaying and covered in graffiti. For bonus unsettling, check out this old Time slideshow of post-Katrina Six Flags New Orleans.

If you think this applies to you, it does. If you don’t think it does, it still might. Ask your friends.