The Smiths - There Is A Light That Never Goes Out
Stayed home today, down with a cold. My playlist kept on coming back to this, which, you know—it’s a great song and everything—but I coulda used more, I dunno, something less Smith-ish?
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
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Iranians also criticized “The Wrestler” starring Mickey Rourke as a rundown professional wrestler who is preparing for a rematch with his old nemesis, “The Ayatollah.” During a fight scene, “The Ayatollah” tries to choke Rourke with an Iranian flag before Rourke pulls the flagpole away, breaks it and throws it into the cheering crowd.
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Iran angered over films ‘The Wrestler’ and ‘300 (via ihavegoodtaste)
BAHAHAH. That’s great. You’d think the scene where he’s railing that blonde up the ass would bother them a bit more—but, I guess not?
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In the afterlife you relive all your experiences, but this time with the events reshuffled into a new order: all the moments that share a quality are grouped together.
You spend two months driving the street in front of your house, seven months having sex. You sleep for thirty years without opening your eyes. For five months straight you flip through magazines while sitting on the toilet.
You take all your pain at once, all twenty-seven intense hours of it. Bones break, cars crash, skin is cut, babies are born. Once you make it through, it’s agony-free for the rest of your afterlife.
But that doesn’t mean it’s always pleasant. You spend six days clipping your nails. Fifteen months looking for lost items. Eighteen months waiting in line. Two years of boredom: staring out a bus window, sitting in an airport terminal, waiting on line. One year reading books. Your eyes hurt, and you itch, because you can’t take a shower until it’s your time to take your marathon two-hundred-day shower. Two weeks wondering what happens when you die. One minute realizing your body is falling. Seventy-seven hours of confusion. One hour realizing you’ve forgotten someone’s name. Three weeks realizing you are wrong. Two days lying. Six weeks waiting for a green light. Seven hours vomiting. Fourteen minutes experiencing pure joy. Three months doing laundry. Fifteen hours writing your signature. Two days tying shoelaces. Sixty-seven days of heartbreak. Five weeks driving lost. Three days calculating restaurant tips. Fifty-one days deciding what to wear. Nine days pretending you know what is being talked about. Two weeks counting money. Eighteen days staring into the refrigerator. Thirty-four days longing. Six months watching commercials. Four weeks sitting in thought, wondering if there is something better you could be doing with your time. Three years swallowing food. Five days working buttons and zippers. Four minutes wondering what your life would be like if you reshuffled the order of events.
In this part of the afterlife, you imagine something analogous to your Earthly life, and the thought is blissful: a life where episodes are split into tiny swallowable pieces, where moments do not endure, where one experiences the joy of jumping from one event to the next like a child hopping form spot to spot on the burning sand.
— David Eagleman, from the forthcoming Sum: Forty Tales From The Afterlives
Who would you want to narrate your life?
absurdlakefront:notthatkindagay:joemuto:
branduponthebrain: Ira Glass or Werner Herzog; Whoopi Goldberg, Alec Baldwin, and Morgan Freeman would be second tier candidates.
chimp-shitbitch-kittenscrazy: Hugh Laurie…in french
jackieheartsb: Jonathan Rhys-Meyers or Sean Connery.
Me: Ron Howard, obviously.
Eddie Izzard.
Tilda Swinton.
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The Unaired Opening Oscar Montage
Directed by Bennett Miller (Capote). This was shown in the theatre but not broadcast.
Good thing too—can you imagine if they went over time? Phew. Good save, Academy.
Things that went through my mind while watching the Oscars.
One of the red carpet hosts: “A lot of tweets coming in. There’s plenty to twitter about.” DIE, FAD, DIE!
Oh, Anne Hathaway—I wish I were a rich Italian super-criminal so that I could, like, make out with you or whatever.
What do ABC’s red carpet gay guys do the rest of the year? How do they make a living? One of them said that he liked Evan Rachel Wood’s dress but that she ultimately loses at the red carpet game because she was too conscious of the fact she had a dress on? What does that even mean?
Kate Winslet’s haircut courtesy of the movie Vertigo? The last time I saw that haircut, Jimmy Stewart was dating Carlotta Valdez—am I right, hair experts on Tumblr? Huh? Huh?
ABC’s guy: “Amy Adams, you’re competing against Marisa Tomei, who’s playing a topless stripper. Is that fair?” WHAT?!?
I love when the sad red carpet people try to compliment the non-famous people who are there with famous people. One guy told Frank Langella’s daughter, “You have a great father.” Another just told Richard Jenkins’s wife, “He must be great to live with.”
They’ve made the show slower than ever! They’re complimenting all of the nominees individually now? Instead of Oscar clips, it’s just blowjobs from Whoopi Goldberg? What in the fuck? They acted in fucking movies—none of them fucking solved the Riemann hypothesis!
Yes! Steve Martin and Tina Fey! Scientology jokes! Why aren’t they hosting the Oscars?
Jennifer Aniston and Jack Black presenting the Oscar for…how’s Jennifer Aniston still famous? Really, I’m throwing that out there as a legitimate question.
Jack Black and Jennifer Aniston should make a buddy movie together—they’re completely awful, she’s inexplicably famous…and they fight crime!
Mr. Roboto!
There was a movie called the Duchess out this year? Really? I bet there wasn’t and they just make up one of these movies a year. “The Archduke” will win next year. It’s about an Archduke who’s sexually repressed, and it won’t actually exist, but it’ll win best costume. Start the whispering campaign now. The Archduke—best costume in 2009.
Ben Stiller doing Joaquin Phoenix! This is great. I don’t care if it’s fake or not, we all owe a debt of thanks to Joaquin Phoenix. It’s the best thing he’s ever done.
I liked when Franco and Rogen were giggling at the Reader…
Another musical number—finally, more Abba!
Does the Academy really not mind reminding people they gave an Oscar to Cuba Gooding Jr.? “Let’s talk about taking risks. I was in Boat Trip.”
Bill Maher! And he brought his unrelenting smugness!
AR Rahman! Not great at speeches, but still.
There are no surprises at the Oscars…laaaame.
Meryl Streep’s daughter—good lord!
