Oh, LA. I missed you.
Oh, LA. I missed you.
Look! I made a thing! The table turned out NOT BAD I think. It’s a little My-First-Decoupage, which is okay because that’s what it is. There are a lot of weird wrinkles and bubbles and time will tell if I put on enough layers of glop for this thing to withstand the ravages that come from being my table. During the process I got worried that I was ruining a perfectly good piece of furniture (and two perfectly good books), but I think at the end of the day I’d rather have something that’s a little less perfectly good if that makes it a little more mine.
If ‘Pineapple Express’ had been about two girls, they wouldn’t have made it. And if I were a woman, I wouldn’t have a career.
Oh, cool! Good to know things will be different for women when Seth Rogen is in charge of things!
We watched all three Step Up movies today. Step Up 2 The Streets is probably the best of the three, but this number is the best number of the series. Watch this!
JUST realized the young woman in this charming number is also the little white girl from the Missy Elliott videos.
Having a very productive week already! Dance us into the week, Alyson Stoner!
YOU GUYS! I figured out the best kind of joke! I’ve been workshopping this bit for the past few months and when dropped into casual conversation it has never not received an overwhelmingly positive reaction. I do not think I am overstating things when I call this ever-adaptable joke structure the very best kind of joke there could ever possibly be. Since I am nothing if not generous I now give this bold new style of joke to you, the world. Have at it! Enjoy being hilarious!
A few of my favorite pieces from the Christopher Wool exhibition at the Guggenheim.
Move across the country.
Move across the country and hope the sadness won’t find you, won’t follow you like a stray dog from coast to coast. Hope that the sadness isn’t just a fog on a leash shadowing you always. Hope that the sadness can’t be as fleet as you are, hope that the sadness is more rooted. Perhaps the sadness has friends, a family, and can’t just pick up and go. Look at all this stuff the sadness has in California, New York, wherever you’re currently leaving. How’s the sadness going to survive without all this stuff? Hope this isn’t one of those Anywhere-I-Hang-My-Hat-Is-Home type situations where the sadness hangs its hat on you. Hope that you are not the sadness’s home, anywhere you go, no matter how far, no matter how quick, the sadness lives in you. Hope to God it’s not that.
Move across the country and start a new adventure. Create a brand new life, buy a new set of furniture, a fresh autumn coat. Make new friends and reconnect with old ones. Fill your days with distraction. Take a class, pick up a hobby, learn an instrument, anything to make the days pass quicker, to accumulate distance, to get you as far away as possible from the day that you left.
Move across the country and watch the short yellow lines shoot past you down the pavement. See the city recede in the distance behind the boxes of things obstructing your rear window. Settle somewhere fertile, plant a new you and watch you blossom. You can barely remember that old you now, the you who lived in that other city and was sad. That old you wasn’t you; this is you. This is the you you want to be.
And when the sadness catches up, tracks you down, when the sadness like a phoenix regenerates, when you return home one day, arms full of groceries, to find the sadness sitting at the kitchen table, casually reading the paper as if it never left, eating a muffin as if this was all perfectly natural — when that happens, you can put your groceries down and walk back out the door and close the door behind you. You can get a job in another town and pack up all your stuff and move across the country. Move across the country and start again someplace new.
Let’s be honest. Halloween sucks. It’s the same boring shit every year — scary this, sexy that, candy, witches, whatever. That’s why for the October 31st edition of Fresh Out, we’re throwing a very special Un-Halloween bash!
If you’re sick of this trite, shallow holiday, take refuge inside the UCBeast Theatre for a show that we guarantee will be 100% devoid of Halloween-themed content! There will be games, contests, and tons of fun, none of which will require you to put on an uncomfortable, unfunny costume just because you’re afraid you’ll get made fun of if you don’t.
With me as my very special cohost will be the hilarious and decidely unspooky Raphael Bob-Waksberg. Come out for what definitely won’t be the fright of your life!
Get ready for an epic spooktacular of frightful proportions! Wait, no, the opposite of that.
are like really short mystery novels.
"It’s" (why the gender neutral pronoun?) "a" (suspense is building) "boy!" (Oh! It was a boy all along!)
If policemen and doctors would just do their jobs, we wouldn’t have any crime or any death.
Look, I know you cops like hanging out at Dunkin Donuts most of the day. I know you doctors like playing golf every afternoon. But if you want to keep your cushy jobs, you’re going to have to step up and show us some RESULTS to justify your pay.
If a police department has more than three crimes per month committed in its jurisdiction, funding for the department will be cut, and some police officers will have to be fired until the crime rate goes down. If a two or more patients under a doctor’s care die (for any reason) in a single year, fifty-percent of that doctor’s salary will be garnished by the government, and he will risk losing his medical license if the survival rates do not improve.
Now, I already hear you complaining. “I’m a police officer in a dangerous area. We risk our lives each day, and we can’t afford to lose funding or manpower.” Or, “I’m a doctor who specializes in treating cancer patients and the elderly. I work as hard as I can to keep them alive against incredible odds.”
Well, guess what? Nobody forced you to become a police officer or a doctor. Get with the program, or get out of the field.
NEW GAME! Spot the women’s names in the opening credits of Boardwalk Empire!
This veneration of comedic truth, often at the expense of less-cited virtues like imagination, has become so widespread and unquestioned that comics sound like rappers boasting about being “real.”
Ms. Berlant’s comedy makes a mockery of realness. She keeps it fake. She spills paragraphs of verbiage about herself without revealing anything. And she says nothing with the profundity of a thousand tenured professors. The few details of her life she shares are obvious lies. (She said she was once in vaudeville, for instance.) At the same time, there is integrity to her artifice, a conviction behind her aesthetic that isn’t merely satirical.
While she’s parodying a type of intellectual bravado, the main thing her monologues attack is the idea that there is a strict divide between our real self and the one we put onstage. Onstage, she is all mask; that’s her truth.
At the Pit, she paused to address the sparse crowd. “I want to open it up for questions,” she said, walking toward the front row. “I want to, but I won’t. In a way, I just did.”
She flashes a smug expression that seems to say: Did I just blow your mind?
Attend well! We are the wee knights! Wee knights we be, brave men and small! As valiant and true as dainty and adorable, this wee brigade doth tarry twixt the borders of our vast empire by miniature horse, protecting all corners of the realm from those wretched villains would see it destroyed. Mayhaps ballads of our pint-sized bravery have reached thine ears by wandering minstrel, or else whispers of our derring-do have galloped cross the ale-soaked lips of drunkards and gossips. Stand, fool! For ye be in the presence of tiny greatness! Arise, vile rake, and pay heed. The wee knights have arrived. The wee knights have arrived. The wee knights have arrived. Wee knights are we.
Heidi is a book about an orphaned girl who was brought by her aunt to the Alps to live with her grandfather who is known to be bad-tempered and mean. Heidi loves her home on the mountains but is taken away from them to be a friend for Klara, a wheel-chair bound child. Heidi likes to be with Klara but yearns for her home on the Alps. She ends up home and happy.
I like Heidi because the author, Johanna Spyri, makes it seem like you are seeing the book happen as you read it. For example, when Heidi sees the shepherd-boy Peter and his goats coming up or down the mountain you feel like you are seeing them too. Johanna Spyri uses lots of detail making it easier to picture the book happening though she doesn’t add too much detail making the book boring.
Heidi is a wonderful book that I think kids should read!
These days, before we talk about misogyny, women are increasingly being asked to modify our language so we don’t hurt men’s feelings. Don’t say, “Men oppress women” – that’s sexism, as bad as any sexism women ever have to handle, possibly worse. Instead, say, “Some men oppress women.” Whatever you do, don’t generalise. That’s something men do. Not all men – just some men.
This type of semantic squabbling is a very effective way of getting women to shut up. After all, most of us grew up learning that being a good girl was all about putting other people’s feelings ahead of our own. We aren’t supposed to say what we think if there’s a chance it might upset somebody else or, worse, make them angry. So we stifle our speech with apologies, caveats and soothing sounds. We reassure our friends and loved ones that “you’re not one of those men who hate women”.
What we don’t say is: of course not all men hate women. But culture hates women, so men who grow up in a sexist culture have a tendency to do and say sexist things, often without meaning to. We aren’t judging you for who you are but that doesn’t mean we’re not asking you to change your behaviour. What you feel about women in your heart is of less immediate importance than how you treat them on a daily basis.
You can be the gentlest, sweetest man in the world yet still benefit from sexism. That’s how oppression works.