Helping to feed the hungry has never been easier, especially if your Instagram is inundated with food pics, like every other person on social media.
In an astute move that will not only combat hunger, but thin the herd, Land O’Lakes is donating 11 meals for every food pic deleted on Instagram.
And it’s easy to do.
Simply synch your Instagram account with the Delete to Feed website, and they’ll keep track of how many photos have been deleted. Ad Week reports the campaign will end in mid-October or when the brand reaches its goal of 2.75 million meals donated. That’s about a quarter of a million bucks worth of food.
The ancillary goal of this campaign is to get people thinking about those in need every time they post a food photo on social media, which likely doesn’t happen often.
“Who are the nine hottest First Ladies in History?” is a question that, for centuries, no one has been able to answer definitively. For starters, there have been many, many First Ladies—in the U.S., and abroad, where they’re often known as “Queens.” All have had various extremely hot traits. To settle this age-old debate, we at The Fresh Toast combed through the history books, consulted various scientists, and polled millions of people–alive and dead–who work in the front part of our office. The result is this list, which is the definitive record of the nine hottest First Ladies in History. Enjoy.
Catherine Jagiellon, 1526-1583, Wife of John III of Sweden
Jagiellon had quite the life. At different times, she was a Polish princess, the Queen of Sweden, and the Grand Princess of Finland, which puts her in a tie with First Lady Hillary Clinton (First Lady, Senator, Secretary of State) for most professional titles for a First Lady that I know of. Also, she wore good hats.
Michelle Obama, b. 1964, Wife of Barack Obama, 44th U.S. President
An Ivy League-educated lawyer, Michelle Obama is objectively hot because she’s friends with many celebrities, and celebrities do not spend time with non-hot people, even if their husband is the most powerful person on Earth.
Dolley Madison, 1768—1849, Wife of James Madison, 4th President
The first First Lady was technically Martha Washington, but the first First Lady to be known as a First Lady was Dolley Madison, who was referred to as such at her funeral in 1849. If that interesting fact isn’t enough to make her a top-7 hottest First Lady, how about this: In 1814, as the British approached the White House at the War of 1812, Madison is said to have chosen to save an $800 portrait of George Washington by artist Gilbert Stuart instead of some of her personal belongings. The painting turned out to be a copy, but that doesn’t take away from the hotness of Dolley’s bravery.
Catherine Howard, 1522-1542, Wife of Henry VIII
The fifth wife of Henry VIII, Catherine was a hot First Lady because she had lots of extramarital sex both before and during her marriage to the King. Sadly, those affairs led to her beheading. Worth it? Maybe.
Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, 1929-1994, Wife of John F. Kennedy, 35th U.S. President
Considered by my girlfriend and probably many others to be the hottest First Lady of all time, Jackie O. is the only First Lady to have married a billionaire. Other First Ladies should be so lucky, aside from the assassination-of-her-husband-right-next-to-her-in-broad-daylight part.
Laura Bush, b. 1946, Wife of George W. Bush, 43rd U.S. President
Reading, especially if your husband is functionally illiterate, is sexy, which explains why former librarian Laura Bush is on this list.
Abigail Fillmore, 1798 – 1853, Wife of Millard Fillmore, 13th U.S. President
What can we say about Abigail Fillmore that hasn’t been said before. She’s clearly hot.
Margaret Trudeau, b. 1948, Wife of Pierre Trudeau, 15th Prime Minister of Canada
Everyone talks about how hot new Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau is and how many push-ups he can do and blah blah blah, but compared to his mother Margaret, Justin is blander than a bag of milk. In the 1970s, Mrs. Trudeau reportedly smuggled drugs in luggage belonging to her husband, then-Canadian PM Pierre Trudeau, and was a regular at Studio 54. She also claims to have had affairs with Jack Nicholson (cool) and Ted Kennedy (gross).
Carla Bruni, b. 1967, Former Wife of Nicolas Sarkozy, 23rd President of France
Let’s talk about “Survivor: Millennials Vs. Gen X.” Wanna know what you’re playing for? Currently America is at war with itself. Two ideologies pitted against one another, fighting for the soul of our country. This is not a joke. This is no time to distract oneself with Skittles or Zodiac signs. The stakes are as high as they’ve ever been. As the dawn of a new era peaks over the ‘morrow, the fate of so many lives hang in the balance.
Your vote matters.
This isn’t the time for carnival games like professional football or the presidential election. We’re talking the most #important competition that’s ever been played.
Survivor: Millennials vs. Gen X.
The culture wars have taken a toll on this country. *Cue the Sarah McLaghlin* Each day, lives are lost. Heroes fall. Internet cities crumble. Too many loved ones #logoff-ed. So much pointless bloodshed.
But the fine folks at CBS are finally gosh darn doing something about it. (Thanks for always keeping that one eye open for us.) They are hosting a reality show competition unlike the world has ever witnessed. Millennials. Gen Xers. Pitted against one another to crown one generation superior for evermore. It’s like that one movieHunger Games ripped off, but way more real.
I’ll be your faithful correspondent, delivering dispatches from the frontlines. Where this war will lead us who knows? But I’ll do my best to be there every step of the way.
Here’s how it works:
A millennial becomes the Sole Survivor, millennials win the culture wars forevermore.
A Gen Xer becomes Sole Survivor, Gen X (kind of) wins, but millennials will be around longer so no matter what they’ll win, which makes you wonder why we debate about the fate of “the culture” every damn day, unless it’s just some shit we can further thump our chests about, but hey, I’m just a simple war reporter, so what do I know about media? [grinning emoji]
Here are some rules I made up to entertain myself:
+10 points to any contestant who says “I’m not really a Gen Xer/millennial”
-20 points to any contestant who say “I’m a Gen Xer/millennial so…”
-15 points to any Gen Xer who bemoans “participation ribbons”
-15 points to any millennial who brags of “being a free spirit” or “not following the rules”
+250 points to any Gen Xer who wins any competition (reward or immunity), immediately turns to a millennial opponent, and spits the following phrase in their face: “Tweet that, bitch.” Actually any Gen Xer who tells a millennial to use social media in a derogatory manner will receive these points.
+50 additional points if Snapchat is the platform
+200 points to any millennial who references the following movies to a Gen Xer in a derogatory manner: Slacker, Clerks, Reality Bites, Less Than Zero, Kids, The Breakfast Club, Say Anything.
That’s it for now. Let’s get into the episode.
This year Survivor travels to Fiji to stage this vital warfare. I get the choice: Best to isolate and contain violence within the most beautiful portions of our world. Like all Survivor seasons, the contestants lack any awareness of the battle about to be raged.
Photo screenshot via Survivor/CBS
Just look at them. Sitting so close together. Enemies sworn to fight one another and they don’t even know. It’s like if I were sitting that close to someone who didn’t absolutely love the cinematic classic Fast and Furious franchise. I’m not saying there’s no shot of us being friends, but you’re making it real hard. I mean, you definitely wouldn’t be invited to my birthday parties is all I’m saying.
So sworn enemies? I can hardly imagine. Probably best they do it this way, not announcing the theme ahead of time. Who would volunteer their life for such a brutal, pointless war? You’re right: Too many.
Anyways, the cast members. To learn more about them, let’s play a game shall we?
Photo screenshot via Survivor/CBS
In the above photo, one of these contestants is a millennial. Bragging about his rapturous, freewheeling millennial lifestyle, he included the following statements: “I’ve been to North Dakota” and “I’m a Peter Pan type.” Guess who? Wow congratulations you’re right. Man bun dude! Who would’ve guessed it.
Now you won’t believe this, I hardly did myself, but a Gen Xer ranted about millennials. Host Jeff Probst asked a member from each tribe to define some characteristics about their generation. The Gen Xer bemoaned millennial work ethics, eventually making the best #humblebrag ever delivered on camera: we “actually had to walk to the store and get milk—it didn’t come in a drone.” Let’s examine the face of such a humblebragging man.
Photo screenshot via Survivor/CBS
Truly the fiercest champions have been assembled to wage this battle.
The tribes go on to pilfer some gear to help them survive the next few days. We learn some surface-level details about the contestants as they construct their shelters. Narratives form: Gen Xers *get to work* while the millennials half-work before playing in the water. Who am I to judge? They earned it.
My favorite tidbits: One Gen Xer claims to have lived off the grid for like five-and-a-half years (though he’s no hope building the shelter!) and a millennial explains her career as a YouTube gamer. Because I’m a good wartime correspondent and not creepy, I looked her up. Guess what? She made a Minecraft parody video about being on Survivor and…it’s incredible.
Now if that doesn’t win an Academy Award, it might be time to finally boycott the Oscars. Maybe form a hashtag to raise awareness: #OscarsSoUnfairlyAgainstMillennials. Now that’s an important cause.
Though a storm approaches into the night and their shelter literally collapses when they sit on it, the millennials remain confident.
Photo screenshot via Survivor/CBS
See, that’s the attitude that got millennials entering the workforce during the recession. While everyone continues to doubt the generation, they fight and find new ways to—
Photo screenshot via Survivor/CBSPhoto screenshot via Survivor/CBS
Well, that escalated quickly.
Anyways, Probst rides into the respective camps to deliver this endearing news: the tropical storm has been upgraded to a cyclone. And to those people who say global warming isn’t real, well, I bet you’re still feeling real good about yourselves.
Probst then informs the tribe they’re evacuating them because it’s unsafe and cloud monsters have populated the sky like this:
Photo screenshot via Survivor/CBS
So funny story: The Gen Xers didn’t need to leave because a tree fell on their shelter. They would’ve been safe the whole time!
Eventually the tribes battle in a challenge. Climb through some ropes, walk across a balance beam, assemble a puzzle. There’s some nuance but it doesn’t matter. What does is one generation strikes the first blow in the war: wait whoa it’s the millennials? Looks like Mom was right: not working hard always pays off.
Just look at the stunned faces on those Gen Xers.
Photo screenshot via Survivor/CBS
You might say, Reality Bites. (+200 points to me!)
The Gen Xers vote out someone not fit for such a battle. We hardly knew ye.
Well it looks like things are just heating up. Stay tuned for my next dispatch from the frontlines because one thing’s for sure: The culture wars have just continued again.
After a long week sometimes there’s nothing like a couple of perfect icy-cold martinis sipped slowly as you melt into the couch. Now I know that “stirred” in the land of mixology is the “correct” method for all-spirit drinks, but I, like many others, enjoy my martini shaken. Some like gin, some like vodka, some like vermouth, and some not. It’s really about what you enjoy!
The Vesper is one of my favorite cocktails: gin, vodka and Lillet Blanc (a French aromatized white wine) – so lovely; so delicious. The drink was invented and named by Ian Fleming in the 1953 James Bond novel Casino Royale. Traditionally made with 3 parts gin, 1 part vodka and a half part of Lillet. I switch up the traditional proportions with a little less gin in my modern take on the Vesper.
The Modern Vesper
(Makes 1 drink)
1½ oz gin
1 oz vodka
½ oz Lillet Blanc
Garnish: fat lemon zest peel
Fill a small martini glass with ice and a splash of water to chill. Set aside.
Meanwhile, measure the gin, vodka, and Lillet into a cocktail shaker. Fill with ice, cap, and shake at least 15 times—until very cold.
Empty the ice from the martini glass. Strain the drink into the glass. With a vegetable peeler, peel off a large piece of lemon peel, then with 2 hands, spritz the lemon peel over the drink to release the oils, swipe around the lip of the glass, twist and then place in drink – enjoy!
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Kathy Casey is a chef, mixologist, and is known as the Original Bar Chef. Her newest book is D’Llish Deviled Eggs, which is a great accompaniment to any cocktail. Follow Kathy Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. For more great cocktail recipes, visit www.LiquidKitchen.com.
This weekend, I was very excited to experience my first ever ride on Amtrak. From New York City to Albany, a scenic ride along side the beautiful Hudson River. I got up, went to work, then took the subway into Manhattan to Penn Station.
Soon I was on the north-bound train, and was welcomed by a cozy, big, double seat to myself and free WiFi. Before the train even starts a group of women sits down and begins talking very loudly. One of them is clearly drunk, and is the only person whose voice can be heard throughout the entire train car.
The young woman starts mentioning to the stranger next to her that she’s with her boss. “This is my boss … this is my boss.” She’s pointing at her aggressively. She starts asking the stranger what he does for a living, and he says he’s a musician. She starts yelling out her guesses about what instrument he plays, and scores with a “fucking saxophonist.”
Mind you, this is only 5 or 10 minutes into all of us boarding the train. An older man shouts out, “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” She responds: “Yes, that’s why I’m here and not home right now.” Whatever that means. The boss mentions aloud, perhaps in an attempt to shut her up, “We were supposed to be working on the way home, weren’t we Suzy?”
Do you ever have sex on stage?
Suzy* responds that there isn’t WiFi, but I know there is because I’m on it. The conversation strays back to Suzy asking the musician what he does and she asks, “Do you ever have sex on stage?” Right, because that would be appropriate. Eventually the nice saxophonist says, “I hope you have a job tomorrow.” Her boss’ reply: “She may not.”
The boss continues throughout the first hour of the three-hour train ride to apologize profusely for her employee. The boss is also sitting next to a stranger; she and her hot mess entered the train last so they had to take the only available seats left on the train and are sitting apart from each other, allowing me to be a witness to all of this. The boss says to the man next to her, “You’ve gotta feel bad for me that I need to supervise her.”
At one point, Suzy takes her boss’ glasses and starts imitating her. She goes, “Jillian is like this at work … hey, I’m Jillian!” Good one, Suzy! The boss begs for her glasses back, to no avail.
Eventually Suzy gets up to go to the bathroom, and the boss starts to explain to the man next to her that Suzy won’t actually be losing her job tomorrow. She says it’s because, she is “a good person” and though “one may question my judgement, why I hired her … she’s very smart.” She also apologizes again to the person sitting next to Suzy and he responds, “Don’t worry I’m used to it. I have children.” Shortly after she returns from the bathroom, and right on cue, Suzy asks: “Are we there yet?”Just like a child would.
I try to pretend this isn’t happening around me and do some work on my laptop. But it’s impossible to ignore. “I guess my alarm won’t have to be set for work tomorrow.” At this Jillian says, “Don’t start with me, Suzy.” About a half hour later, she starts asking her boss to set her alarm for her! Then asks if she is staying at her house tonight! Well, by now it’s clear this boss-employee relationship has some blurred lines!
The boss says in a stern, motherly voice: “Suzy, we have two events tomorrow. You know you need to be working.” Suzy trails off and starts asking where they will be partying tonight once they get to Albany.
If we’ve learned anything from this story it’s that you probably shouldn’t (or totally should) get drunk on Amtrak with your boss, and that the real Hot Mess in this story is Jillian! Get it together lady—there are plenty of good and smart people out there you can employ that won’t make a total fool of you on public transportation!
There are very few good excuses for crashing your car in a ditch. “Driving away from bad guys and losing control” is one. Another is “swerving to avoid hitting an animal or child.” A third is “panicking because a Goddamn spider just dropped near your face from the rearview mirror.”
Spider season in full swing.Driver not injured after crash when spider drops from mirror on NW Thompson Rd today.BR pic.twitter.com/oV3woHyv9Z
— Washington County Sheriff’s Office (Oregon) (@WCSOOregon) September 21, 2016
The latter happened to a woman in Portland, Oregon, Wednesday morning, according to KATU. The woman apparently saw the spider, freaked out, and lost control of her car, which rolled over once into a ditch. She escaped with only a minor cut on her hand, but her car wasn’t so lucky: It was totaled. No word on what happened to the spider.
Say what you want about the woman’s driving skills, but at least she didn’t try to set the spider on fire.
Someone finally did it. They invented a hamburger-hotdog hybrid. It’s called, of course, the Hamdog. And we have a guy named Mark Murray to thank.
Initially pitched as a business concept on Shark Tank, Murray was left to create and market the product on his own after the short-sighted (and obviously not craving the perfect munchie) panel passed on investing.
But who’s laughing now, sharks? After declaring it would be nearly impossible and way too expensive to patent and produce the Hamdog, Murray proved them wrong.
The Break reports that the Hamdog is currently being sold at special events and local markets around Australia for about $6.00.
Not to be confused with the one-off American Hamdog, which was introduced when MySpace and Jay Leno were still popular, Murray’s Hamdog is already in franchise mode; he’s selling rights for $10,000 a pop.
If your mom is anything like my mom, the first day of fall is basically a national holiday. The fake leaf wreaths come out of storage, cinnamon sticks go from an infrequently-used food item to an acceptable coffee table decoration, and the weird pumpkin spice latte scented candles come out to play.
If you mom also has access to the internet and YouTube, she might have — like my own mom — sent you a quirky video to mark the Earth’s tidy right angle to the sun. Which is how this amazing dog ended up in my inbox today.
This is Stella. She’s a Very Good Dog. According to her Instagram, she’s a three year old yellow lab who “loves life” and gets a phone camera in her face fairly regularly. In between social media posts, she can be found embodying the purest definition of joy: Jumping headlong into giant piles of leaves to retrieve a ball. She dives in like the universe itself depends on it.
Someone put a camera on her collar and it’s like BEING the dog:
We write frequently about Good Dogs here at The Fresh Toast. They’re super chill, they float on through this crazy life, and they know we’re talking about them. Stella is an excellent addition to our dog lineup. She is living her best life.
But does she actually enjoy the leaves, or is her owner just torturing her by tossing the ball into the pile over and over? Decide for yourself.
Everyone’s tweeting and Facebook-posting and texting me, for some reason, about this new Patronus quiz. Now, I thought I took this quiz a long time ago, but it turns out that the one I tried to take was a “sorting hat quiz” that assigns the quiz-taker a Harry Potter “house.” I didn’t go to boarding school or anything, but to me that sounds pretty much like a cult, probably.
I half-assedly tried to sign up for Pottermore once, when the sorting hat quiz was a big deal. It was like a twelve step program to get an account. In my hazy recollection, I gave up after several tries. Signing up for a Nickelodeon account when I was 13 was easier than this. Children accomplish this, and I cannot.
I’m told by people who go to Harry Potter World for honeymoons that a patronus is NOT your house animal, like the big fancy bird or the honey badgers that belong to houses in the HP world. The patronus is your “spirit animal,” to put it in a culturally appropriative yet socially recognizable way. It’s what you are, deep down.
So here I am facing this freaking signup for Pottermore again, because my social feed has peer pressured me into finding out what kind of lame-ass animal I am. I know it will be lame, like a groundhog or some similar kind of chunky furry land-dweller, because the same friends have informed me I am House Hufflepuff. And I’m ok with that. Which is more evidence toward Team Hufflepuff, I think.
Somehow, I ended up completing enough steps in my first go at Pottermore years ago, because I successfully log in with the same password and email that I use for everything. I’m brought to a page where my cursor is glittery and trails fairy dust around the screen. I spend some time playing with that. It’s nice. I could do this for a while instead of taking the actual quiz.
After I hit Begin, it presents me with “Shine Glitter Glow,” so now we’re in a Claire’s, that’s cool. Next, I swoop over to “Blood, Bone” and I hesitate because it’s Hot Topic now and I am really conflicted. Blood or bone, indeed!? The words disappear before I can choose, because apparently something called a dementor could have “gotten me” while I hesitated. I’m not sure what a dementor is but I don’t want that.
Next are a bunch more adjectives and prepositions: Over Under Around, Warm Cold, and… that’s it? I’m suddenly faced with a blob of swirling sparklies that I assume will form into my patronus, but instead it just hangs out and swirls at me for a solid three minutes, taking a lot of joy out of eating through my MacBook Air’s meager CPU resources. My laptop is legitimately hot at this point.
It shows no sign of stopping after a full 10 minutes, which is way beyond my attention span and those of the children taking this quiz. So I refresh the page and start over. My patronus cannot be “confused glitter blob.” It’s really accurate but I need some answers.
This time around, it gives me a much less graphically intense version. It’s just a pretty background with words, and it all holds still instead of swooshing around. Excellent. I get much farther, this time. “Something’s trying to emerge from your wand, keep going!” it tells me. They let kids take this? “It’s forming! It’s forming!” Jesus, J.K. Rowling. Calm it.
Finally, the moment! My patronus is… a Pine Marten. I fucking knew it would be some furry ground dwelling punk-ass weasel looking slinky-cat. The kind of animal that sticks its face into wine glasses and then tips the whole thing over or makes homes in hats. Totally called it. I knew it in my heart of hearts.
But wait! A cursory Google of my newfound animal form tells me that Pine Martens are “adorable assassins.” Okay, I’ll take it. Maybe there is something to this quiz. I will own my Pine Marten-ness, because it is mine. Work with what you’ve got.
It’s a good gag, the stage. Waiting for Kanye West’s Saint Pablo tour to begin, it hovers above, almost taunting the crowd. Seeing it in person before the show, you kind of doubt it will work. By now you’ve probably seen or heard, but there is no static place for everyone to direct their attention throughout the concert. Instead, Kanye climbs atop a platform that floats above the standing general admission concertgoers, and rotates around the arena, giving almost everyone a great view during the show. Part performer, part preacher.
The punchline: Yeah, Kanye literally places himself on a pedestal above other people. But that’s a limited view because it also democratizes the experience. No one earns a better angle because they arrived early and it isn’t a severe penalty because you can’t afford great seats.
But all of this is an afterthought once the music began. Following that big-bang drop of “Father Stretch My Hands, Pt. 1”—hearing “If young Metro, don’t trust you…” then Kid Cudi crooning can only be described as spiritual—church was in session. Kanye claimed Life of Pablo was “a gospel album with a whole lot of cursing on it,” but outside some obvious standouts like “Ultralight Beam,” “Pt. 1,” and “Waves,” it was initially difficult to agree. Where were the choirs and the organs? Where was the message?
Yet with more spins—and seeing these songs performed live—that proclamation crystallized. Darkness permeates the record because Kanye’s in a crisis of faith. As brash as his ego seems, these songs come from a man on the cusp of turning 40, staring into the void, and still not sure what he’s doing. He’s a bit confessional—“FML,” “Wolves”—but mostly reacts by turning up more. He refuses to break down. Damn what he’s supposed to do or be.
Photo by Brendan Bures
Though the schizophrenic nature of the record turns off some fans, the overwhelming pressure he endures, and the existential fear Kanye has is poorly hidden—but that’s why the kids love him. Of course they relate to that level of insecurity. When Ye played those new songs, the arena thumped. But when he ran back some earlier hits like “Touch the Sky” and “Jesus Walks,” the energy evaporated. My eyes popped out my face watching kids just a few years younger than me rap every word to Kanye’s “That Part” verse, then appear clueless when “Flashing Lights” played. Part of that’s the evolution of Kanye’s sound—your body literally vibrates from the bass of those new records—but it’s also what appeals to the newer generation.
During the show, Kanye would often lean over the platform edge and perform to a specific group in the mosh pit. Not that surprising. But once, as “Heartless” played, a majority of the pit was lit up, with a smaller bit cast in a reddish glow that Ye honed in on. The kids in the light didn’t care. They turned inward, facing one another, rapping the words, performing for the crowd. Call me corny, but it was kind of magical: Kanye shined his light on them, empowering them to be the stars they always wanted to be.
When describing Kanye’s previous Yeezus tour to friends, I inevitably landed on the word “theater.” Kanye underwent costume changes, a cast made on-stage appearances, the set-design included a damn mountain. The Saint Pablo concert wasn’t that; it was church. Kanye wasn’t the religion’s God, though. More like the church’s leading pastor, rapping its scriptures and singing its hymns.
Throughout the night, audience members raised one hand high, with their other over their heart. A response to the sermon. You couldn’t hear what was on their lips over the music, but their expressions delivered the message: their prayers were heard. Not answered but at least heard. For that, their joy rang unanimous. Their spirits were renewed. Praise Yeezus.
