Steeped with constant disappointments, the horror genre seldom satiates my longing for it. I prepared for another ambush watching American Horror Story. It began with promise of familiar conventions: gothic architecture, creepy psychological overtones, but quickly spiraled downwards into a Nine Inch Nails music video parody with comedic predictability. I hoped for a serialized Rosemary’s Baby but got Prom Night campiness with repurposed soundtrack bites from Coppola’s Dracula. Say it with me: UGH! I tried finding something redeeming amid characters I couldn’t pull for and tired storytelling. Connie Britton, the opening credit sequence and good typography. Terrifyingly, that’s all.
At first, I didn’t know why they called you “the Kid.” You appeared older than most of your teammates. But as I got to witness the effervescence of the second-half of your career, it became clear. I was hooked, and along for the ride. From your opening day game-winning debut home run, to your integral play in the Mets’ lone series title in my lifetime, to your labored push to home run #300, and all the way to your hall of fame election. Some called you arrogant, but the real drive was pride.
One last fist pump.
twothickthumbs asked: What happens when shitty people die?
In light of recent developments with Muammar Gaddafi and earlier with Osama Bin Laden, I figured this would be an appropriate window to field this question. Shitty, however is subjective. Even the celebrated Steve Jobs assumed an inglorious standing. Sadly, like everyone else, I can’t presume what will happen to shitty folks post-departure. If they were monumentally shitty, their passing will likely become trending topics on Twitter, instantly immortalizing them (in a sense). They’ll likely be cremated or buried just like everyone else. What happens to their soul, if anything, is something no rational human being can speak to.
Struggling to get past chapter 3 on my first read several years back, I dismissed the novel as gimmicky and hokey. I never doubted the author’s skills, but always questioned his motives. Recently, film crews stationed in my neighborhood prepped the cinematic adaptation. Prior to the holiday release, I decided to revisit it. As a new father, it really struck a nerve with me. Jonathan Safran Foer’s “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close” is actually a very, very touching and well-written book I’d like to endorse. It gives me extremely heavy boots that it took so long to (re)discover.
Today, there will be countless words written in remembrance of the man who was one of the great innovators of our lifetimes. But I’ll only pitch a few. I propose in honor of the dude who changed the landscape of digital and made all of your lives richer and easier, we do the following three little things to pay our collective respect:
So long, Steve.
Hold up, did you just stop to tell me that the weather is inappropriate for our morning stroll? Much like when I became a pet owner a decade ago, it seems like becoming a pop also comes with an endless stream of unsolicited “advice.” While I’m always up for comparing notes and sharing stories, I abhor all of the presumptuous dysentery that new parents are regularly subjected to, especially from folks that don’t know anything about them. Be warned: I’m not the type that will humor you with a nod and smile. Seriously, mind your own fucking business.
The fermentation is spontaneous. The author offers a reading. The painter invites you to a gallery opening. You’re so there, no question. You devour and consume the works. But you leave the room without word. You click the “like” button and you’re on your way. They go home, build and compose and create more continuing the vapid cycle. Like playing tennis with nobody on the other side of the net. You hold your head up high. You saw this, you read that. This relationship is not symbiotic, but forming curds. Sadly, yogurt has far more culture than you.
mjxm asked: why is it that people like grom so much? i don't get it.
In their own words, Grom is “a high quality gelateria.” Since quality is totally subjective, we must dig for the real scoop. The simple answer to your question is: it’s gelato. Who doesn’t like frozen desserts? Even the lactose-averse are covered with Grom’s varied and seasonal offerings. Maybe their minimalist, fresh presentation is what distinguishes them from competing gelaterias. Relatively speaking it’s a far easier question to answer than say, “why is it that people like post-meltdown Charlie Sheen so much?” Or maybe their signature Crema di Grom is really Crack di Grom in disguise? Duh, #Winning.
Your name is Zion. Today, you open your eyes to us and to our world. Let it be known that your chosen name comes not from a century-old political movement, but from a far deeper rooted standing and relevance. Your arrival earmarks a turning point in our unending story. I see your gaze is earnest, interrogating with questions of preparedness. I vow to you, my son, to help filter out the gobbledygook of our times, and to raise you to be a good man. Until then, enjoy the monkey print bedding set we got for you. Love, Papa.
I’d like to make a confession. I believe our species is a byproduct of genetic manipulation by advanced lifeforms. That said, I cannot subscribe to the word “alien” to describe said beings since they were basically here before us. I also believe that hard evidence is all around us. In our scriptures, our ancient monuments, our cave drawings, our effin’ DNA. Everywhere. The biggest problem with our species is the inability to take these clues and construct a historical narrative that is far less primitive than what religious doctrines of today exploit, over and over. There, I said it.
The web is dead. Or so I’ve heard. At first, the news dotted the landscape of social network trending topics and wall posts. I felt the collective gasp of masses looking at those horrid words in default Lucida Grande. Even the king of pop isn’t bigger than this, right? As the folks gathered for the vigil, I realized the turnout was for a smart phone, on the eve of sales. The distant flickering was of screens, not candles. Apps, they say, aren’t the web, but the Internet. I read it first on a website. And TMZ didn’t break it.