“From what I’ve seen, it has a sense of humor about itself, and it’s also really scary and really, really violent. I would call it a popcorn movie from the planet Popcorn. It’s just all boobs, blood, and—I don’t know, what’s the other “b”? Barbecue.” —
Adam Scott, on Piranha.
And this is why I love Adam Scott.
“We value the truth, because we are weird and obnoxious and loud and clumsy, and so all we have is our brains, and the Truth, and how we express it.” —
Zack Handlen, in a Futurama review on AV Club.
This is why I adore the AV Club TV reviews. And, more specifically, Zack Handlen.
“The toughest thing is to love somebody who has done something mean to you — especially when that somebody is yourself. Look inside yourself and find that loving part of you. Take good care of that part because it helps you love your neighbor.” — Happy Monthly Mister Rogers Quote Day, everyone!
Weird. Okay. See that far less imposing building just to the left of the Trianon? That happens to be exactly where I’m staying with my friends Richie and Shelley, on a mattress in their living room.
See, you can just barely make me out. I’m the one with the furrowed brow, wondering when she’ll get to feel like a grownup again.
(via pauliophonic)
[video]
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As long as the music’s playing, the editors have to run around anxious to find the book that’ll help them keep their jobs. Most editors these days are speculators. They’re no longer asked to acquire the books that readers will read a hundred years from now—books that not only preserve the culture but further it. They’re expected to acquire the books that readers will want to read today, and so instead of reading manuscripts, they read the current cultural landscape. They assess the mass market to figure out which manuscript might be the next bestseller. Literary editors at commercial publishers, the few who still acquire novels, have become investors. Keynes writes that investing is, “so to speak, a game of Snap, of Old Maid, of Musical Chairs—a pastime in which he is victor who says Snap neither too soon nor too late, who passes the Old Maid to his neighbour before the game is over, who secures a chair for himself when the music stops.” But Keynes made another, more lasting, comparison, what has come to be known as the Keynesian beauty contest.
Keynes thought investing was like newspaper competitions in which “the competitors have to pick out the six prettiest faces from a hundred photographs, the prize being awarded to the competitor whose choice most nearly corresponds to the average preferences of the competitors as a whole; so that each competitor has to pick, not those faces which he himself finds prettiest, but those which he thinks likeliest to catch the fancy of the other competitors, all of whom are looking at the problem from the same point of view.” In order to win, competitors are forced to select the outcome most selected by others, whatever their personal preference. “It is not a case of choosing those which, to the best of one’s judgment, are really the prettiest, nor even those which average opinion genuinely thinks the prettiest. We have reached the third degree, where we devote our intelligences to anticipating what average opinion expects the average opinion to be.” If there’s anything that’s killing American fiction, it’s not MFA degrees and the institutions that bestow them. It is this: the third degree.
Finding out Pierce Brosnan’s wife is a sexy BBW just made day. This only further proves my theory that Pierce Brosnan is essentially an awesome black man who accidentally became white and irish, probably in some kind of unfortunate lab accident.
I was indifferent to Pierce Brosnan until about five years ago, when I had a dream that he and I were a detective team à la Remington Steele. We were also lovers. I woke up with a newfound Pierce Brosnan appreciation that I have retained to this day.
So this shit is vindicating as a motherfuck. Yeah, Pierce. You go, boy.
How can I even answer this question without first knowing what React Gump is?
Mod Cloth customers appreciate a good rom-com pun.
Stop it, Gary Cooper. STOP IT. I can’t run away with you, because you’re dead, so stop it.