February 2010
10 posts
DFW: throw me a bone.
A couple days ago, I got mad. You’re saying, “So what’s new about that? You’re always cranked out about something or other.” And I’ll return with, “Yes, but just listen for a sec. I mean, this is MY blog for chrissake. ‘Tis where I vent.”
Late Tuesday night, as per, I opened up Netflix on my browser and flicked through the “Watch...
Klausner for the WIN.
“Also for the record, I hate tough love. I like kind love. And fuck regret, too. It’s like the goy-ish version of guilt in a way — looking backward instead of forward, giving the finger to the natural chain of cause and effect, which is the whole premise of education. And until somebody invents time travel, it’s just such a waste feeling bad.”
The New Yorker has...
The Rabbit Died.
In the past couple weeks, I have had a succession of dreams where I’ve been with child. Everyone who has woken from a nightmare in a body-sized sweat pool and praised the Almighty through broken breath knows the relief that comes from not having whatever pseudo-reality your brain has upchucked up in your bedroom. I’ll take the gelatinous monster from Aliens ripping through my...
Girl, I Love It When You Uhh.
So, I don’t like Valentine’s Day all that much, but I’ll tell you what I do like – panty-dropper music mixes. Which is why, for all my lovelorn mates, I’ve concocted a playlist that is sure to get you love from even the most frigid of hipster hearts. It’s common knowledge that Barry White’s basso rumble wiggles knickers off instantly, but you won’t find him here because as soon as your prey...
We're All Schnooks.
So, I did a bad thing last night. Gutter, sorry, we’re friends and all, but minds don’t always reside there. I watched Love Happens, a rom-com starring Aaron Eckhart and Jennifer Aniston. A moment of weakness, but these things happen when it’s snowing and tits-freezing-off cold out.
Whenever it came out in theatres, last year probs in the black hole of the spring when studios...
Cynicism Is The Only Way To Go.
All right, kids. I know we were all ripped from the land of Nod in hot anticipation of today’s big announcement. Punxsutawney Phil can go fuck himself. I’m talking Anne Hathaway in a surprisingly unfrumpy white pantsuit blaring the Oscar Nominations out her massive red gob.
Now, in my house, Oscar Night is a long family tradition and predicting the winners can come down to some...
