if only typewriters cured my hangovers as well

my year, in song

This mash-up of all the hits from the past year has been floating around the internet today and I'm kind of obsessed with it. I listened to it this morning and it got me to thinking about how integral music is to my life in that I tie so much memory to certain songs -- where I was, what I was doing, who I was with, when, in that singular moment, it imprinted on my brain and will forever remind me of a time and place (good or bad).

So I decided to sort of dissect the mash-up and illuminate the memories that come with some of the sampled songs. In doing so it was kind of a great way to time stamp the last year, which obviously had a lot of ups and downs. I'm going to go the way of the optimist and say that it was all for the best.

The Black Eyed Peas - BOOM BOOM POW
-- Logan Slaughter's twinky sidekick busting out Fergie's "people in the place..." bridge at Barracuda, sending the whole place into a riot of laughter and dance.

Lady Gaga - POKER FACE
-- Andy Dodds. Period.

Lady Gaga Featuring Colby O'Donis - JUST DANCE
-- more from 2008, but dancing at Splash on Thursdays with Ryan and Michael and anyone else who decided to be as delightfully tragic as we were each week.

The Black Eyed Peas - I GOTTA FEELING
-- cruising to the beach in San Diego with Aja, Charlotte, and Caitlin."Mozel tov??!!"

Taylor Swift - LOVE STORY
-- runs along The East River.

Flo Rida - RIGHT ROUND
-- general skankiness throughout the year

Jason Mraz - I'M YOURS
-- singing to myself alone in my room...sometimes way too loudly.

Beyonce - SINGLE LADIES (PUT A RING ON IT)
-- Lauren Murphy busting out the dance, full stop, at any opportunity available, sometimes with her sister as backup

Kanye West - HEARTLESS
-- lamenting our love lives with Christine

Taylor Swift - YOU BELONG WITH ME
-- T. Swift jam sessions at ELLE

The Fray - YOU FOUND ME
-- watching So You Think You Can Dance with my ladies of Hotel 194

Kings Of Leon - USE SOMEBODY
-- moments like this

Jamie Foxx Featuring T-Pain - BLAME IT
-- giving my number, yelling at someone, or eating something when I shouldn't have

Pitbull - I KNOW YOU WANT ME (CALLE OCHO)
-- the top 16 group dance of SYTYCD season 5. BEYOND.

T.I. Featuring Rihanna - LIVE YOUR LIFE
-- Ringing in the New Year at our kick-ass party NYE party

Jay Sean Featuring Lil Wayne - DOWN
-- getting low at Elena's wedding

Miley Cyrus - THE CLIMB
-- camping out on Lauren and Blythe's floor, watching Hannah Montana: The Movie, and noming on Mexican food before saying goodbye to my chica as she leaves New York.

Kelly Clarkson - MY LIFE WOULD SUCK WITHOUT YOU
-- all my friends who kept my chin up through 2009 and who, truly, without my life would so suck.

Beyonce - HALO
-- weekend ski trip to Vermont with my harem of women: Aja, Charlotte, Caitlin and Lauren.

Katy Perry - HOT N COLD
-- jumping around like fools at Hiro with Patrick (aka Tragitwin) and Mary at the Paper+H&M party/Katy Perry concert

are you there, Santa? it's me, Seth

I went to a Christmas party/variety show of sorts last night and we played a game that involved reading quotes from notable Christmas movies and then trying to guess what film they were gleaned from. I got this gem:

The worst thing that ever happened to me was on Christmas. Oh, God. It was so horrible. It was Christmas Eve. I was 9 years old. Me and Mom were decorating the tree, waiting for Dad to come home from work. A couple hours went by. Dad wasn't home. So Mom called the office. No answer. Christmas Day came and went, and still nothing. So the police began a search. Four or five days went by. Neither one of us could eat or sleep. Everything was falling apart. It was snowing outside. The house was freezing, so I went to try to light up the fire. That's when I noticed the smell. The firemen came and broke through the chimney top. And me and Mom were expecting them to pull out a dead cat or a bird. And instead they pulled out my father. He was dressed in a Santa Claus suit. He'd been climbing down the chimney... his arms loaded with presents. He was gonna surprise us. He slipped and broke his neck. He died instantly. And that's how I found out there was no Santa Claus.

Poor Kate. I guess a story like that puts the whole gremlins-are-trying-to-claw-my-face-off situation into perspective....

Think dad dead in the chimney trumps your older brother telling you Santa isn't real when you're only four years old? It's debatable, me thinks.

Seth

currently with Seth Plattner

Song of the moment: "Alejandro" Lady GaGa

Phrase I'm Using Too Much: "deal breaker!"

Over it: Serena's philandering

Girl Crush: Cate Blanchett

obsession: athletes

shout out

to Mikey at a gay hockey kids life

Because I remember what you're going through.

Hang in there.

It gets better.

It gets easier.

Do what you have to do right now.

You'll know when it's time.

Seth

step and repeat

Ya know those times when you walk out of your apartment on a cold-ish type day, where the sun is just starting to shine through a gray morning, just enough that you put on your sunglasses not to look cool but maybe to just to protect yourself, and you have a converse feeling of solitude before you become enveloped by the city and all you want is something other than your own self-awareness, your own self-analysis to do all the work for you, to be like "hey, this is how you're feeling right now and if it's not how you're feeling I'm going to make you feel this way because you sometimes don't have a fucking clue what to feel" and what that something is is a song that comes on in a moment of kismet timing so you just go with it and it feels good, really good, to just get lost in something, even if it's just on the walk to the subway station and even if it kind of hurts at least you know if it hurts something is working and everything isn't covered in scars where only phantoms get the last laugh?

these are those songs:

allow me ruminate, dammit.

How hot is this poster?!

I originally had no plans to take to my blog to talk about New Moon, because -- while I'm finally OK with admitting I'm a Twihard -- I didn't want to contribute to the collective Twitteratti that is making everyone else want to put a gun in their mouths.

Nevertheless, this is my blog, and I need to realize that it's perfectly fine to indulge my obsessions so long as they don't become destructive and/or all consuming (thanks for go-ahead, Dr. Kelly!). That being said, I'm simply going to expound on Twilight v. New Moon. This isn't review so much as observation; so observe me observing.

Given I saw New Moon two times in 24 hours, I can't say I didn't like the movie. I obviously did. I know how to walk into a movie like this and reduce my critical eye to that of an untreated, nearly blind syphilitic (STD reference is intentional and appropriate), able to enjoy spoonful after spoonful of schmultz because, look, there's pleasure in the lowbrow if you just get over your ego for a couple of hours. And so I "eee!"-d a bit when the title came across the screen; I clapped when Edward did his first slow-motion walk across the school parking towards Bella; I gaped and then cried when Jacob took off his shirt; I snapped my fingers and said "Yeah, bitch!" when Dakota Fanning was all "Pain." You watch for moments like these that speak do your immature whims, not Oscars and accolades.

Still, if I have to be comparatively critical, I liked Twilight better, and here's where I'm going to get all first-year-film-major on you. There are moments when New Moon certainly exceeds Twilight. The overall scope of the story is more easily managed by Chris Weitz. That is to say he's able to take the remarkability of vampires and wolves and capture it with more technical savoir faire. It just felt like a bigger, meatier movie with him at the helm. However (and this is a big however), I really really missed Hardwicke's direction when it came to the emotion of the story. One of the reasons I was unable to stop watching Twilight over and over again was due to her ability to take the complexities of teenage emotion and attraction and desire and channel them through Bella's experience. Across the board, any emotion a teenager has is going to be affected by some type of angst, and no one does adolescent angst better than Hardwicke. Watch 20 minutes of Hardwicke's raw masterpiece, Thirteen, and you'll understand that. So when I saw New Moon, I just couldn't help but wonder what she would have done with Bella's gyre of despair post-Edward walk-out. And even Bella's recovery at the hands of Jacob would have been more treated, more palpably wearisome and painful. Hardwicke noted in the commentary of Twilight that she inserted a lot of Thirteen-type shots and scene set-ups that were, for me, really effective in conveying the story. And while she got a few knocks for having a directorial style that was too narrowed and sometimes careless, I actually felt it worked in the movie. The fact that she would approach certain scenes with a "let's-just-film-and-see-where-it-goes" mentality made for a movie who's instabilities only enhanced the themes of the books and the nature of teenage main characters. I'll cite the first time Bella comes to The Cullens in Twilight, when we get the whole dancing in Edward's room/climbing through pine trees/Edward playing the piano to example how she can seriously set a mood and capture sensibility.

It's a pity Hardwicke never got her shot at New Moon, but given her lack of experience with CGI, it could have been an embarrassing disaster. When it's all said and done she got to introduce the world to what will -- lamentably, perhaps -- become one of the greatest love stories ever told. Weitz did an OK job with his turn, but I'm glad there will be some new blood in Eclipse with David Slade, who directed 30 Days of Night, where vampires looked like this:



So if anyone is going to bring a darker, more mature element to this franchise, it's going to be Slade. Let's hope for an epic werewolves + The Cullens v. new vampire army battle.

Seth

The Big Pink is My New Therapy

Why I thought a Sunday night would be appropriate for a viewing of the mind-liquifyingly horrifying House of the Devil, I have no idea, especially considering I hate scary movies. Alas, I found myself hunkered down in the Angelika Theater mentally preparing for what was sure to be almost two hours of sheer terror. And it was, OK? I cowered. I covered my eyes. I jumped. I shrieked. I nearly wept. But I don’t want to talk about it, alright? Because if I talk about it I...look, I’M NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT IT!

But, what I am going to talk about is The Big Pink. What I love about the Angelika Theater is their dedication not only to little-engine-that-could movies, but also indie music that deserves to be heard. Before previews start they’re always running those fun trivia/factoid reels with featured music playing on top. On Sunday night, one of those featured bands was The Big Pink. The playlist had to loop through a couple of times before I started to take notice of their single, “Dominoes,” that was playing amid other tracks. I jotted down their name in my moleskin and, later that night, looking for something—anything—to ease my mind after what I’d just watched, I downloaded their debut album, A Brief History of Love, which dropped back in September. I owe my post-House of the Devil-sanity in part to British duo Robbie Furze and Milo Cordell for creating so cohesive an album and sound that I was able to fully get lost in it, momentarily forgetting that not half an hour prior I’d seen a deformed satanic old lady bleeding from her eyes.

Beyond the unstoppably catchy “Dominoes” is a collection of songs that reminds me of Animal Collective—distorted noise, synthetic riffs, doctored voices—only better, more focused with the right kind of intention of heavy beats, consistent tempos, and hooks I can actually get behind. “Crystal Visions” starts things off beautifully and “Velvet” kicks in mid-album just when you need it. Two days later and I’ve still got ABHOL on repeat, definitely for the sound…but also just to maybe get me back to that place before I’d seen House of the Devil.

—Seth Plattner, Assistant Editor

via ELLE.com

currently with Seth Plattner

Reading: Lolita

Song of the moment: "Dominoes" The Big Pink

Albums on repeat: A Brief History of Love, Lost Channels, Glee, The Music: Volume 1

Phrase I'm Using Too Much: "of the what?"

Over it: regret

Girl Crush: Carrey Mulligan

obsession: Frosted Flakes!

Wicked + the gays = yeah. and?

While famed NYC gay hot spot Splash Bar can get just a wee bit seedy on most evenings (especially when those college guys get rowdy on Thursdays!), Monday night found the dance floor occupied by a decidedly mixed crowd all there to enjoy the weekly Broadway sing-along night deemed Musical Mondays. Though any Monday night is a good excuse to gather your gaggle, down a few drinks, and belt your lungs out to video-taped recordings of some of the Great White Way’s most famous performances, this particular evening held the especially high occasion of celebrating the six-year anniversary of the opening of Wicked. In honor of the show’s almost 2,500 performance run (and certainly counting) a handful of Wicked cast members took their night off from the Gershwin Theater to lend their voices to some memorable performances for a gathering of their most adoring fans.

Dee Roscioli (pictured), who plays Elphaba on Broadway, ripped through “The Wizard and I” as if the cold she was reportedly nursing didn’t even exist. Chelsea Krombach, currently the Elfaba understudy, blew our ears off with “Defying Gravity,” and Heather Spore, a Galinda understudy, did the dutiful role of bewitching the crowd with Wicked fan favorite, “Popular.” After a performance by the Wicked dancers and a crowed giveaway, night took a, uh, charmingly desperate (?) turn when Craig Jessup, the make-up artist responsible for greenifying Elfaba every night, sang an original number, “Date With Myself.” Naturally, almost everyone in the room identified. At least we’ll always have our musicals.

—Seth Plattner, Assistant Editor

from ELLE.com

forgot to import this

but I'm (still) reading it, so (still) apropos.

When faced with the decision of what book to read next, I’m always torn between whether to go light or heavy. I generally try to keep it even, indulging in something mindless yet entertaining (think the Twilight saga) and then making my brain sweat a little with, oh, say Goethe? But at my last literary crossroad, I found myself wanting both. A tough request some might say, but not impossible thanks to Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Seth Grahame-Smith and, of course, Jane Austen. The book made the press rounds a couple of months ago at its release, and I finally decided to grab a copy knowing that hilariously desecrated high literature would be exactly what I’d been looking for. Elizabeth Bennet is everyone’s favorite classical tough girl, even more so when Grahame-Smith gives her action lines like this:

“Elizabeth lifted her skirt, disregarding modesty, and delivered a swift kick to the creature’s head.”

Chortle. I know there are P&P purists out there, but I for one think the zombie injection makes it a much more engaging read. Except I’ve never actually read the original text…which is making it kind of hard to know what’s from Austen and what’s from Grahame-Smith. Oh well. England and brains and death and innuendo and stuff!

—Seth Plattner, Assistant Editor

via ELLE.com

hm.

Had to repost to my blog because I am so intrigued, saddened, frightened, weirded out, excited about this movie:

Currently with Seth Plattner

Song of the moment: "Space Jam"

Phrase I'm Using Too Much: "You got cheesy blasters!"

Over it: "Run This town"

Girl Crush: Jean Thompson

Current obsession: Celtx

this made me smile this morning

Y3

an import from ELLE.com:

It always makes me chuckle when certain bands take the stage at Radio City Music Hall. I mean, it works for things like the Tonys or an orchestra or Rufus Wainwright (not a dig, Rufus. You know I love you.) but when I hear that groups such as Metallica or, as was the case last night, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, are performing, the kind of glitzy, kind of schmaltzy venue just doesn’t fit. Nevertheless, I wasn’t going to miss Karen O, Nick Zinner, and Brian Chase do their best to turn the Rockettes' home into an indie-rock dance party complete with fog, loads of confetti, and huge inflatable eye balls. And let’s not forget Miss O’s wild stage outfits of headdresses, vinyl bodices, some tentacles (I think), and capes.

While the main concert itself was rip-roaring with an alternated set of numbers form It’s Blitz, Fever to Tell and Show Your Bones, the real punch came at the end in YYY’s encore. We didn’t really get a word from Karen all night, but when they re-took the stage she open-heartedly dedicated the final set to not only their opener, ESG, but also the bandmates' parents. It was a tender moment that was made even moreso when, in an ode to their home city and crowd, she cathartically sang through tears and a choked up voice their first hit “Maps,” referring to it as “a New York love song.” It hit me hard as an almost-seven-year New Yorker always longing for something or someone. And though, yes, I’m typically inclined to indulge in that sappy side of, well, everything, I was pleased they ended the concert on a rager note with “Y Control” and “Date With the Night,” even smashing guitars and slinging microphones before exiting the stage. That was probably cathartic, too.

—Seth Plattner, Assistant Editor

Photo: Getty Images

this is why i love you

Bam. Stam.

more love.

Currently with Seth Plattner

Song of the moment: "Skeleton" Yeah Yeah Yeahs. And I guess "Bulletproof" by La Roux given the pertinence.

Phrase I'm Using Too Much: "You've got Braditude"

Over it: the Hachette email system

Girl Crush: Karen O

Current obsession: fried pickles

imma rollin

rollin rollin rollin

HEY

take your bow, bitch.

00:48

collective hysteria

Currently with Seth Plattner...

I have this currently running in the "About Me" section of my Facebook profile, but seeing as how not everybody reads it, I'm going to make it a regular post here on my blog. Maybe I'll enlighten somebody after all...

Song of the moment: tie -- "Please Don't Go" and "Come Back When You Can," Barcelona

Phrase I'm Using Too Much: "Alas"

Over it: summer

Girl Crush: Mélanie Laurent

Obsession: Brave New World

talk on the phone. finish your homework. watch tv. die.

best tagline ever.



and the trailer in all its classic horror film glory:

this is what happiness looks like

so...

when do I get to do this?

without you

I had a plan today for something a little more grandiose, more tributary, more encompassing of how it feels now that my girl, my Lauren, has left New York.

I thought about a poem, but I'm not a poet.

I thought about a short story, but she knows I don't have that kind of time.

I thought about maybe just pictures chronicling the long, remarkable, sometimes sordid but undeniably genuine history that has been Lauren and Seth. But 3x5's couldn't begin to do it any sort of justice.

So, for now, just let it be that I am sad.

There have been a lot of come-and-go, ebb-and-flow moments for me and Lauren -- me going to college, she going to college, me moving to Denver, she moving to London -- so you think I might be used to her ins and her outs in my life. But it's never easy to say goodbye to her; to the person who is, without a doubt, my soul mate.

It feels wrong that she's gone. The city feels wrong without her. In fact I think the city only felt right when she got here, just a short year ago, and only now that she is gone do I realize what exactly my New York life was missing all these years.

I could pontificate for hours, lament for days. But I'll do that privately.

For now, I just want to dedicate our laughter, our crying, my sanity, her gas, our boy issues, our cookies, our love of food, our German accents, our New York accents, our runs on the weekends, our brunches, our naps, our singing, our complaining, our every whimsical notion and romantic indulgence to you, Lauren. It all matters more because it's with you.

You'll be back. We'll be back. Ruling this world we've made for ourselves.

With more love than you'll ever know,
Seth

Great Paragraphs

Though this obviously differs from my normal formatting for great paragraphs posts, I just figured I'd lift the text from a post I recently submitted to ELLE.com and you bitches can deal with it.

Some time ago the BBC released a list of 100 books, classic and otherwise, and along with it a claim that most people have read only six of them. A former English major, I tallied up my own number, expecting that I had at least half of them on my bookshelf. To my literary dismay, I'd only knocked down 36 of the 100. Feeling demoralized and humbled, I recently printed out the list, determined to conquer them all. But, before I could get to any number of the novels I hadn't read, I had to revisit one I had: Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. So much was lost on me when i first read it way back in high school, probably because a) it was an abridged version and b) I was an antsy teenager. Thus I recently picked up a new copy, ready to try and finally appreciate and contextualize Huxley's satiric vision of a "utopian" future where humans are genetically bred and pharmaceutically anesthetized to passively serve a ruling order. It only took the first page for me to realize what I'd missed before. The second paragraph, describing the Central London Hatchery and Conditioning Centre, had me gasping in awe:

The enormous room on the ground floor faced towards the north. Cold for all the summer beyond the panes, for all the tropical heat of the room itself, a harsh thin light glared through the windows, hungrily seeking some draped lay figure, some pallid shape of academic goose-flesh, but finding only the glass and nickel and bleakly shining porcelain of a laboratory. Wintriness responded to wintriness. The overalls of the workers were white, their hands gloved with a pale corpse-coloured rubber. The light was frozen, dead, a ghost. Only from the yellow barrels of the microscopes did it borrow a certain rich and living substance, lying along the polished tubes like butter, streak after luscious streak in long recession down the work tables.

"Wintriness responded to wintriness." Chills! It feels like I'm reading the book for the first time, and, though it's not getting my number up, I'm ok with that.

Extra! Extra!

The New York Times makes another earth-shattering revelation that men are adopting retro hair styles from the 60s, 70s and 80s. HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!


related: behind the times

please don't go

or -- ya know what -- do.

(thanks Jaber)

point taken

At least someone was on the right track.

Testing. Testing. One deux tres. Blogging on the go? Dangerous. 

a/s/l? pic?

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

school's in

this looks absolutely marvelous.

can I borrow your dog to help me trick that goat?

screaming goats. hilarity.

from Russia, with love

ignorance ain't bliss

There is an advertisement all over the city on billboards and bus stops and, frankly, it pisses me off. Not because I'm a pessimist and not because I hate these ridiculous motivational posters, but mostly because it is pretty much, well, wrong.

While Norman Rockwell gained an inescapable notoriety as "the guy who painted the Saturday Evening Post," what most people tend not to know is that he was an actual artist, one with convictions and a point of view and a real understanding of the sometimes shitty and fucked up world we live in. So when I see something like this:



I am irksome because, look people, he didn't really see the best in all of us. At best, Rockwell saw the best in some or, hell, even just a few of us. His Saturday Evening Post covers were idyllic images, ones that many used as a sort of benchmark on which they could base their own lives and families. And while, yes, the 40s and 50s were a bit easier, a bit nicer, a bit more relaxed and innocent, most people didn't have it so nice. But that's not to say they didn't want to think they they did. And that's sort of the point of magazines and advertising, right? There's always some fudging going on, an uptick of the truth, a slight exaggeration that Rockwell was no doubt aware of and paid to depict.

I know it sounds like I am undercutting Rockwell and perhaps projecting my own despondency onto him as a person and an individual, but the advertisement just strikes me as propagandist based on a collective ignorance. Because when you see Rockwell paintings like this:



And this:




or even this (note the heartbreaking loss of innocence, the insecurity freshly realized on her face):



I wouldn't quite say that Rockwell saw the best in us, so much as the truth in us. And that truth is sometimes kind of ugly.

SP

those were the days

A simpler time, a simpler fashion advertisement.

that to this to that

before:



right now:



after:






Farewell, Keith Haring.

behind The Times

Once again, the New York Times exerts its authority as the go-to news source for groundbreaking journalism and unheard of claims on what is gripping society and why (note the sarcasm) with their piece on the allure of vampires. Really? NO! Vampires are popular these days? Good God who the hell would have known that?! Well, just in case you didn't, Ruth la Ferla -- after some arm-twisting from an editor, no doubt -- theorizes:

"Rarely have monsters looked so sultry — or so camera-ready. No small part of this latest vampire mania seems to stem from the ethereal cool and youthful sexiness with which the demons are portrayed. Bela Lugosi they are not."

or how about this gem:

"Given all that baggage, what keeps vampires so alluring? One might point to their combination of deathless good looks and decadent sexuality."

I mean, really? This is what the Style section of the New York Times has to report on? Something that I and even my yet-to-be-conceived child are aware of? I only point this out because it happens ALL THE EFFING TIME in the New York Times these days, particularly The Style section. For a publication of which we are reminded daily in the back of a taxi "the best journalists in the world work at the Times, and there's no denying that," I think I can, without remorse, fucking deny that.

Ok ok, yes they cover all those things that actually, like, matter with the kind of journalistic integrity we've come to know and respect, but maybe that's why instances like these, and when they tell us two fashion seasons too late that shorts are, in fact, in for men, or -- gasp! -- food carts are popular in New York City (weren't we hunting these down last summer?), it just makes me shake my head in disappointment that they are so lagged in reporting any sort of trend. And I get that blogs are raping and leaving for dead the print media, but if the NYT wants to continue to be the NYT they're going to have to up their game in the digital age, because, while I love the daily crossword as if I bore it from my womb, I can't get behind wonky reporting.

SP

p.s. same goes for you, Wall Street Journal!

oh, alex....

Alexander McQueen went by way of many designers this menswear season and opted out of showing a full collection on the runway. Instead, the designer chose to present his S/S 2010 collection in a kind of eerie video directed by David Sims. Dazed Digital says the video "represents a journey as artistic ideas metamorphose into their physical manifestations, and as the artist himself submits to the painstaking process of invention." What that translates to on film is a guy rolling around in paint playing with what look like Lincoln Logs, a guy in underwear running down a hallway, and another guy sitting in a chair drawing all over himself with a marker. As far as the clothes go, looks like you'll have to keep waiting.

via Dazed Digital

because it make me laugh so good

I want to see a battle between ENDCAT:



And Bacchus:



Bets on who prevails?

can't nobody hold me down

I get fickle with my blog, so look for a few changes re: posts. I do a lot of blogging and writing for my perspective jobs (ELLE/Out.com) but not all of it makes it into the mag or onto the web (editors -- who needs em?). So I've decided to start posting my unpublished musings on fashion and pop culture here, at things that go splatt.

i mean i can't my head is going to explode

and then I'm going to cry and barf rainbows.

These two were rescued from the Jesusita Fire in Santa Barbara and immediately started snorgling. It's like the Fox and the Hound but real and so much fucking cuter!





via, who else, Cute Overload

Michael Scott is my tragic hero

I finally got around to watching the season finale of The Office last night, and Michael's speech about his relationship with Holly was arguably one of the most poignant moments the show -- and Steve Carell -- has ever delivered:

I didn't find the perfect moment [to tell Holly we belong together]. Because I think that today was about just having today. And I think that we are one of those couples with a long story when people ask how we found each other. I will see her, every now and then, and, maybe, one year she'll be with somebody and the next year I'll be with somebody. And it's going to take a long time... and then it's perfect. I'm in no rush.

Me neither.

Dude...

Hah, he's drowning!

At first I thought this video was all relaxing and stuff...until I realized it was about a rescue mission...


Bathtub IV from Keith Loutit on Vimeo.

Give it to me, I want it now

Thank you, Korean scientists, for making a puppy that GLOWS IN THE FUCKING DARK.

lights on:


lights off:

Happy Anniversary

2 years at E L L E. Christ.

Clinton Street Bakery, before and after

Bravo.

this commercial made me a runner

May have got a paycut today...

But this cheers me up:

Shouldawouldacoulda

Last night in my screen writing class we were asked, if you could have written any already written screenplay what would it have been? Here are a few:

1. Leaving Las Vegas

2. Anchorman

3. Brokeback Mountain (this goes for the short story, too)

4. Gladiator

5. Can't Hardly Wait

6. Memento

7. Léon

8. Kill Bill

9. Monty Python and the Holy Grail

10. Jerry McGuire

A blog after my own heart

I'm thinking about asking to contribute to this blog, Fuck Yeah Cilantro. A few excerpts: