KonMari, meet Mallory Ortberg. She has some hardcore advice for ridding your life of clutter so you can "live abundantly". Some tips:
How many of the spices lining your pantry have you ever actually used? "Most of them?" Get rid of them. Every one. If you're not using a spice right now, it's not important. Your lymph nodes should be covered in turmeric 100% of the time, but you don't even know where the lids to your Tupperware containers are, do you? Look at the moon. That's all of the spice you need.
Thank every item in your refrigerator deeply -- kiss each one of them softly and slowly with your mouth -- then prepare for each item a small Viking funeral. Set them adrift on a blazing ship into the waters of a very cold lake. In the future, when you are hungry, eat your memories. The only thing that belongs in your refrigerator is mindfulness.
Throw away everything in your dirty laundry hamper. If a piece of clothing really mattered to you, you wouldn't let it get dirty.
There is no need for a bed in the truly de-cluttered life. You should hover gently several inches above the floor in perfect harmony with your surroundings during your yearly nap, like a seahorse.
From Mallory Ortberg, some reviews of children's movies penned by objectivist Ayn Rand.
A woman takes a job with a wealthy family without asking for money in exchange for her services. An absurd premise. Later, her employer leaves a lucrative career in banking in order to play a children's game. -No stars.
From Mallory Ortberg, a hilarious send-up of the comments you see all too frequently on recipe sites.
"I didn't have any eggs, so I replaced them with a banana-chia-flaxseed pulse. It turned out terrible; this recipe is terrible."
"I don't have any of these ingredients at home. Could you rewrite this based on the food I do have in my house? I'm not going to tell you what food I have. You have to guess."
"I don't eat white flour, so I tried making it with raw almonds that I'd activated by chewing them with my mouth open to receive direct sunlight, and it turned out terrible. This recipe is terrible."
"Could you please give the metric weight measurements, and sometime in the next twenty minutes; I'm making this for a dinner party and my guests are already here."
These are barely exaggerated. I once saw a comment on a pesto recipe where the person substituted bay leaves for the basil and used other ingredients in the place of pine nuts and olive oil, then complained how bad it tasted and how terrible the recipe was. Oh, the literal humanity. (via nick)
From Mallory Ortberg at The Toast, an appreciation of Ralph Wiggum.
Ralph is not a rule-follower like Lisa, nor a rule-breaker like Bart; Ralph does not observe the rules because he is almost completely unaware of them. More than any of the other students at Springfield Elementary, Ralph is a child. Bart and Lisa and Milhouse and Nelson and Janey are kids, and therein lies the difference. Ralph sees things that aren't there ("Ralph, remember the time you said Snagglepuss was outside?" "He was going to the bathroom!"), eats paste, picks his nose, volunteers unprompted, nonsensical declarations ("My cat's breath smells like cat food") disguised as Zen koans. His character is sometimes written as dim-but-profound, sometimes borderline-psychotic, and occasionally developmentally disabled, but more than anything else, Ralph like what he is: a child who hasn't yet aged into a kid, which is one of the most embarrassing things a child can be.
Goes nicely with this video of some of Ralph's finest moments: