• I was literally feverish last weekend, rushing through my True Blood recap for The Boob so I could get a bit of sleep on Monday before leaving for Atlanta and Conan. The fever meant that everything about the experience--the oppressive heat, Reggie Watts's act, the beach balls, the giant inflated bat, Evander Holyfield, Jack McBrayer--was very surreal. The fact that the Fox Theatre's auditorium is built to look like an Arabian courtyard under a night sky with actual twinkling stars and moving clouds did not help. There was an additional odd element in Conan's singing--well, anything for that matter but especially "Poke Salad Annie," since there were probably a few people in the audience that have actually eaten poke salad. I'd be surprised if Conan has. But we had fun and I think Coco and crew did, too.
  • I finished reading Drood finally. Drood, by Dan Simmons, is a 800-page spooky story and I'm not sure I understand the ending totally. I'm not sure if I don't get it or if I'm willfully not getting it because doing so would involve accepting that the end is a few streets over from "it was all a dream." I'm just going to pretend that it's about purgatory. But I do have one question, which was not answered to my satisfaction: Wilkie, what was in the servants' staircase?!


  • I saw some movies:


  • Mother's Little Helpers--How to make me watch anything:



    The description of the movie sounded like some sort of Loverboy sex comedy from the 80s, but the tone was different from what I was expecting and there were some great performances in this. Gallner was perfect as always, but also good was Sarah Hyland, among others.

    Splice--There is a certain part that has upset some people, I know, but I found an earlier part, when Elsa tries to cure Dren's "species confusion," much more upsetting. I thought the characterization was paper-thin. One of Conan's writers said that you can always tell when a comedian bombed a joke because they bust out a "shit's crazy, though." That's what the idea that Splice provokes discussion about genetic engineering or abortion or family is like to me, in that it provokes discussion only so far as "Genetic engineering...shit's crazy, though." It may refer or allude to these things but when we get there, it doesn't seem to have very much to say. When we have a discussion, the audience shouldn't have to provide all the conversation. TL;DR: I wasn't very impressed by this.

  • Personal life stuff...is personal. I have some stuff going on. Legal stuff. Idk, I can't really talk about it, for legal reasons. But anyway, in the actual personal part, as in my feelings, let me just say that I've seen and read and heard from some of you about your feelings--feelings of despair, feelings of sadness, etc--and in the manner of the famous bit from The History Boys, consider this part as my hand taking yours.
I was googling "weeping angels" the other day, as one does, when I stumbled upon this list of scariest TV characters. Now it's all subjective, of course, but I thought it was a pretty good list. But then again, maybe that's because it names the only thing on TV that's ever really scared me--the Peacock family.

[X-Files spoilers follow, although I don't know why I'm spoilering this since it's been a looooong time since it was on TV and this episode's been repeated umpteen times since then. (Salomé, say "since" again.) Although my mom did ask me last week if I "still watch the X-Files."]

The pride. The love... )

That's one of the things I've noticed that always scares me--the notion that there is no place to hide, there is no escape. Nightmare on Elm Street runs on that energy. I slept with the light on while reading American Psycho not because of the variety of grotesque incidents recounted--although that didn't help--but because of this part: ..that if she had gone to Nell's or Indochine or Mars or Au Bar instead of M.K., if she had simply not taken the cab with me to the Upper West Side, that this all would have happened anyway. I would have found her.

Yeah, I don't feel so good now. (Also, I have "Against All Odds" stuck in my head now.) I need a palate cleanser. Oh, I know! I posted this on Tanis's facebook a coupla weeks ago and it's been making me laugh ever since.



It may also be the reason why I tell my Boston every day that he's the most beautiful creature I've met.

My thoughts on last night's Glee, briefly (no real spoilers):


*I'm glad they acknowledged how terrible "Run, Joey, Run" is.
*I loved the Casino reference not in spite of, but because it was so obscure and nerdy. Because I am also obscure and nerdy. First Community, now Glee--Scorcese, I think you might be going somewhere!
*If Brittany is not the best, then that's because Puck is.
*If Brittany is not the best, that's unpossible.
*There's never an excuse for stirrup pants!
Sean Penn wants me dead. Well, me and anyone else, I guess, who has the temerity to criticize his charitable efforts. We may have the spleen or spine or nerve to criticize him, but he's thinking about an entirely different body part.

Penn says he ignores the negative chatter. "I guess I’ve been so away from it all–-and our tent camp in Haiti--that I haven’t had an awful lot of time to pay attention to them," he says. "You know, do I hope that those people die screaming of rectal cancer? Yeah. You know, but I’m not going to spend a lot of energy on it."

I kind of love that last part. Yeah, I want them to be eviscerated and then tossed into a giant vat of rice pudding, but whatever. Nothing too complicated.

And also, to be fair (mostly to me!), I have no idea what he's doing in Haiti. But I know what he did in New Orleans. Remember when he got there?

[Larry] King: How soon after?

Penn: I got there on day four.

Matt Taibbi wrote in Rolling Stone, "It's a little before midnight on Friday, September 2nd, and I'm sitting in a hotel bar in Houston...Now he and Penn are talking about commandeering private jets, helicopters and weapons for a grand mission into hell that begins tomorrow."

Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans on 29 August. Day 4 would have been the first of September. So the idea of Penn's plan didn't even germinate until 2 September, the early hours of day 5. For you longtime readers, here's a reminder of where I was when he was thinking about going to New Orleans: "...I didn't really sleep again until 2 September, when I got to my room in Philadelphia."

By the way, why did they want to go to New Orleans? The "he" in the earlier quote from Taibbi is Douglas Brinkley, who left his cats and housekeeper in New Orleans when he evacuated. So, Taibbi writes, "...here we are, a bunch of half-drunk, affluent white people quaffing eleven-dollar foreign beers and planning what appears to be a paramilitary mission to rescue two cats and a maid in the wreckage of New Orleans."

The Penn party actually didn't get into New Orleans until after midnight on the 3rd ("When we got into New Orleans, it was already midnight the first night we got in..."). He was out and humanitarianing in New Orleans only on the 4th. So he didn't do anything in New Orleans until DAY SEVEN, went there originally on a personal mission, wore a bulletproof vest (unlike everyone else in his boat), and struggled to get through those raging eight inch floodwaters that whole day he was there. I didn't even mention the shotgun he carried or having to bail out the boat with a Solo cup. So, it's possible that he doesn't want me dead at all. He does have a problem with accuracy, after all. Maybe he just wants us all to have uncomfortable beds or to be slightly dyspeptic. Who knows?

And for the record, I don't have anything against anyone helping people, although I do think that in cases like this, it's far better to direct money and resources to people with the experience and expertise to do real good, rather than just charter a plane and bail out somewhere over Port-au-Prince. Or Baton Rouge. But I don't think saying so is going to make any difference to Sean Penn, so shine on, you crazy diamond. Can someone get him Andy Dufresne's rock hammer? He's got some tunneling to do.
In the middle of a whatever-happened-to-that-one-guy chat inspired by Tanis's viewing of Can't Hardly Wait, I realized that Ethan Embry had been on an episode of Fear Itself, around the same time I saw that my That One Guy, Sean Patrick Thomas, has been on Lie to Me (which I somehow have not noticed, despite the fact that I watch it regularly).

Tanis: I watched my first episode of that the other day.
Salomé: It was filmed in Alberta
Tanis: No, really!?
Tanis: I had no idea it was filmed in AB.
Salomé: Okay, you watched it
Tanis: yes.
Salomé: (In my mind, you are watching in a hockey jersey while eating poutine)
Tanis: And I enjoyed Tim Roth's accent very much.
Salomé: Oh, are we talking about Lie to Me?
Tanis: Yes.
Salomé: Oh, okay
Salomé: Now I will revise my image of you watching it
Tanis: Fear Itself was the thing that was filmed in AB?
Salomé: There's an American flag behind you, rippling in the breeze
Okay, I was already unnerved by the most recent issue of Out because the last time I saw that kid, he was literally, a kid--the kid in About a Boy. (I haven't seen Skins, sorry. I'm only now getting caught up on It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia...it's gonna be a while before I can get to Skins.)

Shortly after my hip stopped creaking at that, I saw this picture from Nowhere Boy, the John Lennon biopic, and who is that second from left playing McCartney? Oh, just the little boy from Love, Actually. Whoa, okay.

So, since then I've been poking around looking at other photos from the movie, the trailer, and whatnot--as George is my favorite, I wanted to see the kid playing him, for one thing. Then a stray bit of gossip concerning the lead actor and the director caught my eye.



This is too much for me. I need a Bex and a lie down.
*The other day at work, I spent about a good 30 seconds trying to decide if I could get away with saying, "There's [a slang term for male genitals] everywhere" (it was in relation to the conversation we were having, shut up). I finally decided that since I'd already talked about that one guy who tried to trick me into looking at his, the polite thing to do would be to refrain. So I still said it. I just substituted "wang" instead.

*My festival of Euro movies continues. It's starting to have an effect on me. The other day, I turned on the TV and was confused because they were speaking in English. It actually took me a second to shake the feeling! And then last night, I dreamed in German.

Oh, wait--I have seen an American movie. Sort of. I started watching the SCIFI* channel's redo of Children of the Corn but I've made it only halfway. The problem is mainly the portrayal of Burt and Vicky, the outlanders who stumble upon Gatlin's secret. Whereas I felt empathy for Gary Shepherd and Sarah Connor in the original movie version, these two? Ugh. I can't get scared because I spend all my time wishing they'd shut the hell up. It's like the part from the Twilight Rifftrax:

"That guy can't get drained of blood fast enough for me."
"You hope a vampire gets him?"
"That's one way."

I just don't understand why Stephen King feels he has to make these terrible TV movie versions of his stories when there are already perfectly cromulent to superior versions out there. Look, I'm happy for you, I'ma let you finish, but Kubrick's The Shining was the best Shining of all time! Of all time!

I also skimmed CotC 4 to make caps. I'm going to go back and probably make more, but here's two of Mark Salling, better known as Glee's Puck.

*I've been trying to do some shopping. I stumbled upon this necklace.

This is a transformative piece. It takes something that was once destructive & violent, now dead and spent, a symbol of fear, and gives it a new meaning by using it to house a crystal which is alive with positive, healing energy and is a source of light and beauty in the world.

Aw, that's nice.

And this one kills werewolves.



Now back to watching Being Human and working out scenes. And relaxing, because it's fall break.

*I will never spell it the new way.
So let me get this straight: Kanye West is excoriated--Pink called him the "biggest piece of shit on earth" (on earth*!)--for essentially, interrupting an awards show and hurting the feelings of a voting adult. Michael Jackson, who went to court (albeit dressed as Cap'n Crunch, TM Chris Rock) and stood trial--don't even get me started. But Roman Polanski? He fugitived for our sins.

*These ladies were like, you're right, Pink. What a jerk.
*This is pretty much how I've decorated my room, except with waaaaaay less Robert Pattinson. And don't put your shoes on my bedding!



Speaking of, I keep going back to this article I read in the Daily Fail about the rise of the non-threatening man-boy actor and I have to agree. I've been watching a lot of European movies and as I said to my mother, "Ugh. Why are American actors so gross?" That is not to say that they're all gross. Just a lot of them. And by gross, I mean...I cannot be attracted to a man that looks like he spends more time getting ready than I do. I'm not really attracted to men that look like they came from a blister pack. I like imperfection. One of the things I notice the most in European movies is the teeth. They're crooked and normal color--not a lot of blinding white smiles.

*Oh God, I want to go! You had me at Werner Herzog, but then: Related, but more practical subjects, will be the art of lockpicking. Traveling on foot. The exhilaration of being shot at unsuccessfully. The athletic side of filmmaking. The creation of your own shooting permits. The neutralization of bureaucracy. Guerrilla tactics. Self reliance.

*I finally got everything settled with school. I don't really know what to say about that--I'm kind of stunned that my biggest school problem is how high the stools are in the cafeteria. [Below: Artist's rendering.]



*Anyway, I would talk more about my personal life, but I don't have one! It's all writing and school and research and Hershey's Caramel Apple Kisses. Oh, I did teach Sadie how to high five. And I'm going to the Sidewalk Film Festival this week, so maybe I can find someone to help me with my application movie for Werner Herzog summer camp and in the meantime, here's Eric Idle responding to comments left on the Monty Python yt channel:




"And Gilliam, of course, being American went to no known school at all."
I think it was Thriller. If you didn't own a copy of Thriller--an original copy, on vinyl--whose cover you dragged around everywhere or studied endlessly or pinned to your wall. If you didn't, as a child, dance around your room or your living room to "Beat It" and feel cool. If you didn't see a man moonwalk. If you didn't or didn't know anyone who owned and wore a single glove, preferably a perfect replica--white with silver sequins. If you didn't. But in a few cases, maybe it wasn't Thriller. Maybe it was Bad or even something later. All I'm saying is, if you didn't have a certain childhood memory that you can associate with him, before he was an abstract concept, a tabloid conceit...then you probably can't relate. But for some of us, he was a "strand of our cultural DNA," as John Mayer put it.

Or as Touré said the day of, "If you remember Michael Jackson as a weirdo you didn't know him. There was a long, beautiful, groundbreaking career before all that stuff."

Read more... )
Things I've read, things I've thought, things I've done, things I've bought:

  • Holocaust Museum Attack Is an Excellent Media Opportunity For Deranged Racists: While you're at it, though, do you mind if I tell you about my interesting ideas on race? Or, barring that, at least let me look respectable in a coat and tie on your air?


  • I saw a blurb this weekend where the Operation Rescue head compared himself to Nat Turner. Let me just pry my forehead from the desk and say that if you are any abolitionist, which...not, but if you were, you're John Brown at Harpers Ferry getting a bunch of people killed. Now you and Glenn Beck, get back to history class.


  • Oh and speaking of Fox News, here's Frank Rich talking about the kerfuffle going on re: my bff Shep and his "I get crazy talk!" comments.


  • An amazing set of photos from the aftermath of the Iranian election.


  • Polidori Chocolates: Mmm, I ♥ marshmallows. PS: [livejournal.com profile] start_0ver, ahem, ahem.


  • Les Blank, with his documentaries about blues musicians and gap-toothed women, may be my dream man. Too bad he's 73.


  • Listening to: Lay Low, The Emperor Machine, Dirty Projectors, Passion Pit, Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears, JB Lenoir


  • Watching: Les Blank documentaries, lots of giallo, American Gothic


  • Going: To see DRH next week. To lose my mind if my knee doesn't heal right (I injured it in an incident really too unseemly to describe--there was a pop, then an ow. I don't think I tore a major ligament because there was no swelling and the pain subsided within a minute. Nevertheless, I am terrified that something will go horribly wrong).


  • Thinking about: Going to see Porter Batiste Stoltz in Florida next month. Moving to the city of angels and stolen water.

    I love summer. I have a tan and mosquito bitten legs, I watch movies by the pool and read all the time. It's like I'm 12. Er, except for the part where my two biggest concerns are my screenplay and how my tomaters are doing.
  • The other day, one of my instructors asked us where the first (WWII-era) concentration camp was. [Man, do I know how to open a post on a high note or what?] No one answered, so he gave us a hint by saying it was near Munich. Like it was Pavlovian, I immediately said, "Dachau." I didn't even know that I knew that. Then I realized how I knew that:



    Mr. Schmidt, recently arrived in a small Bavarian village which lies eight miles northwest of Munich...

    And unfortunately, I realized that right as I was taking a sip of Dr. Wham--yes, it's a real thing--and almost asphyxiated because of course I would get my random history trivia from the glass teat.

    We've been talking about WWII a lot the last week and we probably will be talking about it a lot this week, so I look forward to the opportunity to frighten people with my knowledge of terrible stuff (see also: talking about serial killers in psych classes). It's all the same curiosity, though--I just keep hoping that at some point, it'll all click and I'll understand how people become monsters. And yeah, I had to laugh when I realized where I'd first learned to draw a link between Nazis and other monsters (see the part from about :18 to :58).

    For those of you who can't see youtube:

    Scary German Guy: *shows kids his reflection to show that he couldn't be a monster*
    His name is Horace!: Man, you sure know a lot about monsters.
    Scary German Guy: Now that you mention it, I suppose I do. *closes door as camera focuses on his forearm*

    And they say popculture rots your brains. On that note, The Different Kinds of People That There Are. I particularly enjoyed People Who Don't Watch TV: "Are we really still having this conversation? Television is a part of the cultural landscape at this point—a lot of it is good. A lot of it is bad, some of which is also good. You know, LIKE ALL THINGS MADE BY HUMANS?" I'm sayin'.

    And for those of you who have no idea what that movie is, see here for the glory you've been missing. Now get out there and rock until you drop! Dance until your heart stops! Rock until you drop! Dance until your feet fall off!

    (Seriously--you haven't seen it? Really? Man. "Look, what your brother is so delicately attempting to inquire is the degree to which you may have or have not, at some point in time... been dorked." That. You missed that.)

    • I was browsing the iTunes store last night (looking for female-sung alternapop; ended up having a nostalgia breakdown and stocking up on my old riot grrrl favorites) and I checked out the celebrity playlists. They've got the cast of Watchmen. Malin Akerman was first and one of her choices is "Dreamworld" by Rilo Kiley. Says Akerman, "Rilo is such a great artist. All of her songs are my favorite..."

      I, uh...yeah. Besides the obvious, I'm pretty sure that's Blake singing lead.

      [As far as I can tell, Zach Snyder is the only one who chooses a version of "Hallelujah." The version, by Allison Crowe, is okay.]


    • Can I just add the site to my cart?


    • Okay, I know Carol Burnett was the big draw for tonight's SVU episode but whooooa, Matthew Lillard looks crazy! You know who he looks like? Remember that episode of Full House where DJ goes on the date with the mustachioed dude who looks crazy old and thus, totally inappropriate for DJ? Yeah, he looks like that guy. That's your boyfriend, by the way.

      Roger! That was his name. That guy went on to play Hannah's dad on Veronica Mars.


    • I saw Last House on the Left Saturday. 12 people walked out, which I gleefully twittered. As for my thoughts, I agree with this paragraph from the Pajiba review: It’s frustrating because one can see throughout the film moments of where it could have been so much better. There are two families here, one of love and one of violence, but families with loyalty nonetheless. There is the potential for a beautiful intertwining of two stories: a boy rejecting the monstrosity of his father, a father becoming a monster on behalf of his daughter. It seems at quiet moments to realize its potential as a meditation on violence, but jettisons that too often for the cheesy violence of bad horror. It does not seem to realize that its most horrific moments are not filled with blood, but with Garret Dillahunt’s smile.


    • Speaking of movies, I just read that James Franco is playing Allen Ginsberg and this movie will also feature Mary-Louise Parker and Paul Rudd. I believe it will be called America, this movie is awesome.

    • I used to listen this reading of "America" by the man himself (and Tom Waits, the most patient man in rock) all the time. [Video may be NSFW.] Hearing him read it illuminated the poem. This part always breaks my heart:

      Are you going to let your emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
      I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
      I read it every week.
      Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
      I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
      It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
      producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
      It occurs to me that I am America.
      I am talking to myself again.


    • But back to Paul Rudd for a sec, did you know that he and Jon Hamm were college friends? Oh, yeah. It's true. "He's adorable. There's no two ways about it," says Hamm.


    • I've been making amazing strides with my screenplay. I didn't so much neglect it as I did have a momentary crisis of confidence. Now though, I've regained motivation and momentum and that's helped me regain my confidence in it and my ability to write it. Part of what has helped has been Twitter of all things. When I've got daily meditations on art via David Lynch and that man named Ludacris (woo!), among others, that helps keep me focused. In addition, I've been doing creative writing exercises with a friend of mine who is also working on his own artistic endeavor, and I've found that doing so keeps my brain in the right frame of mind to create. I think I've come up with a title. I was able to give the pitch clearly and concisely, as opposed to the novella-length uh-studded mess it has been. Finally, being on spring break and having time to rest and to reflect has also helped.


    • And now that I've made the post-Vicodin Herculean effort to write that, I must go nap and catch up on my Tivo (I set a recording for "Sex and the Civil War"? Really?) and exchange coded Tweets and birthday party cheesecake jellybean boom before I descend into total incoherence. You know...stuuuuuff.
    First of all, RIP Konrad Dannenberg. Don't know who he is? Well, he's one of the men who put a human being on the moon! See When The Germans, And Rockets, Came to Town, a favorite article of mine, for more details in general and NASA's own Legendary Rocket Pioneer Visits Kennedy. Or you know, any of the articles shooting across various news wires today.

    "In an interview with The Associated Press on the 30th anniversary of the first moon landing, Dannenberg said of all the rocket launches, the test launch of the V-2 on Oct. 3, 1942, stood out the most. It soared 53 miles high, just past the 50-mile point where space begins. It was the first rocket to break that barrier."

    Can you imagine what that felt like?

    How did I learn about Dannenberg's death? From Twitter, of course. My favorite tweet this week (from Quest while at a gentleman's club): "lol @ 6 people outtin me on twitter like this is some gossip girl ep: SPOTTED AT STRIP CLUB W/ 4 HONEY DIPS, DR AFRO LOVE LOL"

    I am down to Scumdog Nixon as my last Best Picture nominee to watch, having finished The Curious Case of Benjamin Button the other night. I thought I kind of liked it, but when I wrote a capsule review on Facebook, this came out: Lovely and well-acted, but based on an absurd premise that provokes more questions than it answers. Worst of all, the inclusion of Katrina is not only hamhanded, but cheap and offensive--it's the real curiosity considering Pitt's work with Make It Right Nola.

    Um, thumbs down?

    Urgh, I hate this story about the chimp in Connecticut, particularly all the "Ooh, what could have caused it? Could have it been Xanax or the Dow or the position of the moon?"

    Or was it the fact that THE CHIMP IS A WILD ANIMAL? Have you heard about Frodo, the on-and-off alpha male at Gombe?

    Frodo seized the position of alpha male in 1997, taking advantage of his brother Freud when the latter came down with mange. By then, however, his instinct for dominance had already produced a series of violent run-ins with prominent Homo sapiens. In 1988, for example, "Far Side" cartoonist Gary Larson was the target of Frodo's belligerence. Larson walked away from the tussle with only bruises and scratches, but his caricatures of primates as malevolent geniuses gained a sudden authenticity. A year later Frodo jumped on Goodall and thrashed her head so thoroughly that he nearly broke her neck. In the wake of that incident Goodall has consistently refused to enter Frodo's territory without a pair of bodyguards along for protection.

    Oh and what happened after those incidents? "...Frodo snatched and killed the child of a Tanzanian park worker." To quote Cracked (on the subject of the dingo, but still), "It took 7,000 years of breeding and training to make your pet dog. This is not your pet dog." And hey, look--that post is where I learned about Frodo in the first place.

    In other news, I fulfilled a cheese dream last weekend. I finally got some Rogue River Blue and it is everything that I hoped it could be. I was a little nervous when I was perusing the cheese counter and the guy asked me if I needed help--I didn't want to have that awkward conversation where you have to be like, "Actually...I already have a cheese advisor." [As per our previous talk, I also got Gjetost. As I was raised by Norwegians (on my dad's side), I am charmed by it. As a person who likes cheese, I am unsettled by it. I'm going to have to do some more experimenting with it, maybe try it in some recipes. "The Norwegian game sauce suits excellent game meals as for example reindeer." No, not that one.]

    Speaking of food, I have to bounce 'cause it's dinnertime, but first--a conversation I had with my grandmother.

    Me: Oh, MIA had her baby.
    My grandmother: Oh, I knew that already.

    PS: I don't care what anyone says--I am psyched about Inglourious Basterds.
    Why so defensive, man? I don't really understand either side of this--I don't get why he's so freaked out about critics, who by the way, do serve a valuable role in art and I don't understand the vitriol aimed at freaking Paul Blart. Well, okay. I do, to an extent. Pop culture bullies. What it is that I actually don't understand is people who seem surprised that Paul Blart is a hit and has been since it dropped. Lemme mosey on over to Ebert's review and steal something...I'll just have to put you on hold for a second:

    "Chocolate bears and gingerbread cats, All dressed up in whipped-cream hats. Danced in the garden under the moon, Beat sweet rhythms with a wooden spoon, Whirling, turning, jumpin to the beat, Melting down to their ice cream feet."

    Okay, I'm back. Here it is: "Paul Blart: Mall Cop is a slapstick comedy with a hero who is a nice guy. I thought that wasn't allowed anymore...And he's in a PG-rated film with no nudity except for a bra strap, and no jokes at all about bodily functions." I can't imagine why families would find that appealing.

    Okay, back to the first point. Critics are important and this "those that can't, review" nonsense is about as compelling an argument as "No, you are!" Critics can help you make choices and they can serve to educate the reader and illuminate a truly masterful work of art in a way that one never considered. Critical thinking is something they used to teach in schools. Judging by the discussion answers I've read in one of my classes, though, it got left behind.

    For more words on this subject than I care to write at the moment, I highly recommend my man Ebert's post Death to film critics! Hail to the CelebCult!:

    "The celebrity culture is infantilizing us. We are being trained not to think. It is not about the disappearance of film critics. We are the canaries. It is about the death of an intelligent and curious, readership, interested in significant things and able to think critically. It is about the failure of our educational system. It is not about dumbing-down. It is about snuffing out."

    No one is saying that you must live and die by what the critics say, of course. In fact, before Dennis Miller drank the Flavoraid and shrugged off everything he used to say, he said this:



    And I agree with it now, as I agreed with it then. Don't let anyone make you feel bad for liking something simple. But don't let them make you feel bad for liking something smart, either.

    Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to watch White Dog and vote on the hottest Congressional freshman. Good day.
    1) There are many great pieces out there about the election and its aftermath, but my favorite may be Kobe Bryant Scores 25 In Holy Shit We Elected A Black President.

    My second favorite being Wil Wheaton's "...or else we didn't win anything at all": “I guess we’re supposed to be gracious in victory,” I said, “but I’m profoundly offended to hear ‘we need to look forward and not backward’ and ‘we need to stop being so partisan’ from the very same fucking motherfuckers who have been telling us that we hate our country and love terrorists for the last eight years? These are the same people who worked really hard to make sure that I and everyone who didn’t agree with their blind support of Bush and Bush policies didn’t feel welcome in our own fucking country for eight years!”

    I looked down at my hands, which had involuntarily clenched into fists. I felt a frightening and unexpected, uncharacteristic fury rise in my chest.

    “I want to grab these people by the throat and scream at them ‘HOW DO YOU LIKE IT FUCKER?! YOU LOST! YOU FAIL! YOU GO HOME NOW!’”

    2) Speaking of Wil, this might be my favorite Tweet ever-- True story: Keith Coogan and I went to a Dead Milkmen show when we shot Toy Soldiers in Charlottesville, Virginia. King Missile opened.

    3) MST3K is TWENTY YEARS OLD how did this happen.

    And where is Keith Coogan? Breaking: Don't Tell Mom... is not on instant Netflix, but Toy Soldiers is. This movie is so deliciously 80s.

    4) After my last Secret Senator Crush went rogue and then totally fucking insane, I had to pick a replacement. I pulled out a longtime favorite who, bonus--is already totally fucking insane. Senator and soon-to-be Chief of Staff Emanuel, I love you Rahm time. See also: Rahm Facts for a let-me-count-the-ways of his majesty. Yes, they include my favorite Rahm fact: the steak knife story.

    Now that we're reminiscing about the Clinton White House, I have to say that Erskine Bowles is a great name.

    5) Simultaneous thoughts my sister and I had at Wal-Mart Tuesday:

    My sister: That looks like Salome's head.
    Me: Why is that angry girl with the baby staring at me?

    ...

    I will write about my NY adventures later. I have to prepare a powerpoint on compost heaps and be glad that this semester is almost over. I really hope I pass this math class and then never take algebra again ever.
    A snippet of an oddly familiar political debate, featuring noted politicians the Penguin and the Batman.


    Behold a Krystal's commercial from 1975. See if you recognize anyone. Then, uh, bring me a sackful, would ya?




    PS: In related news, the pumpkin pie Milkquake is A+++. I just need to try the Hershey's pumpkin kisses and I will have conquered all of the mass-marketed pumpkin food items I've heard of so far.
    wolfpangs: (Weir and Barlow)
    Maybe if we don't move, they'll turn off the lights and go away.

    (Yes, that picture's probably 13 years old.)
    A. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

    B. Explain, please.

    C. I'd pretty much resolved that I was trying for UVa and commenced to fantasizing about the cabin in the woods I'll totally be living in with my cat and my nerdiness. All of a sudden, NYU has started hitting me up like a repentant ex who just realized he effed up by letting me go. We'll see how things go after I take my SAT and ACT again (the last time I took them, I scratched my answers onto a stone wall).

    D. Thanks to everyone for their kind words regarding my not dying. I do appreciate it. As for my leg, it's still pretty gross but it stings only a little bit. It really hasn't hurt all that much except for the moment I got cut.

    E. I just took the Canada skilled workers self-assessment test. I made a 78. Obviously, they've seen my cartographic work.

    F. Now back to the screenplay mines.

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    wolfpangs

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