1 minute read # Tuesday Dec 6, 2011
Saying that 3D movies are the future of cinema is like saying that Magic Eye books were the future of literature.
Thus at the next cocktail hour, I reached for the bottle of Poland's finest in my freezer. (Of course I keep vodka in the freezer. As Jack Donaghy would say, "What am I, a farmer?") Staring at the frosty bottle, however, caused flashbacks to Unpleasant Speculums I Have Known. Instead, I rooted around in a kitchen cupboard for some cheap (but warm) vodka left over from a party. There it was, in a jug. Not even my kids would sneak sips of this stuff. And I didn't think that that particular area of my body would be especially fussy about brands.
Skeptical of the story going around the internet about teenagers using booze-soaked tampons to get drunk, HuffPo writer Danielle Crittenden decides to try it for herself.1 minute read # Saturday Nov 26, 2011
1 minute read # Wednesday Nov 16, 2011
What I’m saying, basically, is that Quentin Tarantino is our Woody Guthrie; he is the Woody Guthrie of mondo and the midnight movie.
1 minute read # Tuesday Nov 1, 2011
I was trying to prove something to myself, too. It was like, "Am I genuinely eccentric? Or am I just wearing a funny hat?
1 minute read # Monday Oct 24, 2011
A waltz called “Last Leaf” — with Mr. Richards joining on vocals — celebrates the image of a lone leaf clinging to a tree: “The autumn took the rest but they won’t take me,” Mr. Waits sings. It’s tempting to hear it as a manifesto of stubborn persistence, but Mr. Waits shrugged that off.
“It was a tree, and there was one leaf left on the tree, and I wondered: ‘Wow, if you can make it through winter, you may be here until next year. Wouldn’t that be great, if you were just the only guy that hung on?’ ” he said. “I guess you could say everything’s a metaphor for everything else, but sometimes it’s just what it is. It’s just what it’s about — about a tree.”
1 minute read # Friday Oct 21, 2011
"It was really strange, they were holding hands, and dad stopped breathing but I couldn't figure out what was going on because the heart monitor was still going," said Dennis Yeager. "But we were like, he isn't breathing. How does he still have a heart beat? The nurse checked and said that's because they were holding hands and it's going through them. Her heart was beating through him and picking it up."
"They were still getting her heartbeat through him," said Donna Sheets.
"They just loved being together," said Dennis Yeager.
I had been obliged to watch two hours of literally senseless violence being perpetrated on something I loved dearly. In fact, the sense of violation was so strong that it felt as though I had witnessed a rape.
There are a few, horrible cases where this sentence would be justified. Sorry, Nicholas Lezard, but watching Tintin is not one of them.1 minute read # Wednesday Oct 19, 2011
1 minute read # Tuesday Oct 4, 2011
The first level is a flashback level where you are a old man retelling the events of the last level of the game to your grandson. Only your grandson doesn’t exist yet and it’s really you in the present day imagining what it’ll be like to be an old man retelling the last level of the game to your grandson. Then your grandson (who doesn’t exist) kills you.
1 minute read # Thursday Sep 29, 2011
I just think that the internet has been sold to us as our savior. As a means to create a new economy, as our spiritual salvation, whatever. Everything is supposed to be bigger and better online. But what I think people have lost sight of — and I don’t think the internet has done a good job of self-evaluation in this respect — is the massive shift between the brave new internet world of the late ’90s and now. Its early philosophy seemed to be one where everyone was an individual whose opinions were respected. A decade later, everything is corporate-owned, advertising is incessant, and the diverse opinions of internet commentary are often shouted down. Now there’s much more online groupthink.
1 minute read # Monday Jul 25, 2011
In person, Kobayashi is sweet, like a curious kid — unfailingly polite, charming and humble, with no brashness or other signs of rampaging ego. But he is hard on himself. He locks himself away performing dangerous feats because it is all he knows to do. He was the milk-drinking champ in school, the stew-eating champ in college, the winner of the biggest eating contest in Japan, then the Nathan's champ. Until he wasn't.
"Are you the Che Guevara of gurgitation or the Kenny Powers of power eating?" I asked him.
He paused, then laughed: "I am both!"