"Be all, 'Hey.'"
I'm dead now. Because you killed me. GREAT JOB, STRAIN.
(No, really, great job)
Oh no, I’ve killed a dear friend! This is terrible! Because I feel incredibly guilty, I offer an as yet to be determined prize to anyone who succeeds in getting laid by using any of the aforementioned seduction techniques I have given you. Leave a detailed description in my ask box of which seduction method you chose and how the object of your affections responded to it (but not the actual sex or makeouts or whatever! I’m not some kind of pervert!). And then yeah, I’ll make up some kind of great prize.*
*prize’s greatness subject to how much I’m feeling it at the time
Learn the national anthem of the country the object of your affections most wants to visit and hum it at them loudly whenever the time just seems right.
Do the robot with—wait for it—actual robot sound effects.
Make the object of your affections a Best of Tiny Tim mix CD.
Paint each of your nails a different color and put googly eyes on each one.
Wink with both eyes at the same time.
Be all, “Hey.”
Ask the object of your affections what his/her favorite kind of donut is and get it tattooed on your butt!
Propose a toast and then leave the room to make sourdough toast because it’s best to keep them guessing.
Wear a spectacular, diamond-encrusted velvet cape—WITH NOTHING UNDERNEATH!
Remind the object of affections to keep his/her heels moisturized to prevent painful cracking—it will show you care.
Impress them with your knowledge that the SyFy Channel actually used to be the SciFi Channel. (Decide amongst yourselves who gets to use this fun fact because if you all use it, then it won’t be impressive anymore, and that’s unfair to your friends.)
Nod emphatically, even when the object of your affections is not speaking.
Put a fuck ton of powdered sugar in a sieve and dust it all over your house to create a winter wonderland.
Recite long passages of Coleridge during intimate moments.
Knit the object of your affections one woolen sock and tell him/her “You’ll get the other sock…later.” (If they’re like “When” just smile slyly.)
“I don’t think the knee-jerk reaction when someone says “I like geeky stuff” should always be to call Shenanigans. Because somewhere there’s a girl watching who does love that stuff and sees it becoming so socially acceptable that she’s able to let her geek flag fly.”—
“This is why you are up there with Martha Stewart, Dolly Parton, and Jefferson Starship on my list of role models.”—Recently found on my phone. My sister sent me this text a few months ago after I had told her that I performed The Carpenters’ “Superstar” at a karaoke bar. EGO INFLATED.
“If GQ ever prints an article where they talk about a dude’s hot butt, I am going to buy thirty copies of that issue. One for reading, one for framing and twenty eight to make into confetti for my “GQ knows what’s up with butts” parade.”—
“When the show went to No. 1 in December 1988, ABC sent a chocolate “1” to congratulate me. Guess they figured that would keep the fat lady happy—or maybe they thought I hadn’t heard (along with the world) that male stars with No. 1 shows were given Bentleys and Porsches. So me and George Clooney [who played Roseanne Conner’s boss for the first season] took my chocolate prize outside, where I snapped a picture of him hitting it with a baseball bat. I sent that to ABC.”—
There Ought to Be a weather report, or weather app, as simple and elegant as Umbrella Today. A straight, yes-or-no affair, with only one of two possible outcomes. This thing should be called “Tights today?”
In which Caroline has blown the lid off the only real weather/fashion decision I ever make.
It’s a very nice restaurant. That is why they are dressed so nice, she in a ballgown with missing sequins, he in a vest and boardshorts.
“Are you enjoying your salad, Barbara?” he asks.
She glances down at the flowers on her plate.
“It’s wonderful, Kenneth, I’ve never had anything like it,” Barbara says between bites.
Kenneth lustfully admires the gleam of her bare shoulder under the sequined strap of her gown. He plays with his food, not really eating it.
They hop on over to Barbara’s house after dinner.
“Would you like to come in?” Barbara asks seductively. “You can see my bedroom.”
“I would like that,” Kenneth replies, not changing his expression.
In Barbara’s bedroom, Kenneth glances at the tissue-paper thinness of the sheets on her firm, boxlike bed.
“Kenneth,” says Barbara, unexpectedly, “I want you to sex me.”
“I’m going to sex you, Barbara,” says Kenneth. He pulls the strap of Barbara’s dress off her shoulder, revealing a fake breast. Barbara rips open the velcro of his pants. He is completely hard. Soon they are both naked. Kenneth lies on top of Barbara, motionless, his stiff limbs intertwined with hers.
When they are done, Kenneth caresses Barbara’s smooth, firm skin with a faintly cupped hand.
“Barbara Millicent Roberts,” he says, gazing into her round, blue eyes, “Will you marry me?”
*this story originally appeared on my old tumblr about 1 1/2 years ago, but I was recently reminded of it and thought it merited a fresh appearance on these pages
Playlist: Start making a themed playlist on iTunes. Go all the way through your iTunes library to make sure you didn’t miss any songs. Realize that the playlist you made is now too bloated and convoluted to even be edited into something coherent. Delete all songs from the playlist and begin again. Repeat as necessary.
Regrets!: Think of as many personal regrets you have as you possibly can. Try to remember them all! Dwell on them for as long as possible.
Name That Paul Thomas Anderson Location: Think of various exterior scenes in P.T. Anderson movies and then try to guess the cross-streets where they were filmed.
Find the Candy: Tear your room apart looking for leftover candy from various holidays.
Memorization: Learn a poem or monologue or the Christian Bale rant (STILL RELEVANT AND WILL ALWAYS BE SO) by rote. When you have it down perfectly, reward yourself with with the candy you found while playing Find the Candy.
Makeover: Get dressed up in something fancy, complete with hair and makeup (for those so inclined). Sit on your bed.
Fake Money: Count your fake money like Ebenezer Scrooge or a drug dealer. What do you mean you don’t have any fake money.
Ghosts: Believe in ghosts until it gets too scary and you have to stop.
“If anyone ever tells you that writing is easy for them or writing is fun or writing comes as naturally to them as thinking, breathing, or talking, don’t be friends with them and avoid them at all costs, because I’m not saying that they’re lying exactly, but they’re definitely not helping.”—Writer and comedian Julie Klausner on the most recent episode of her podcast (which I have been enjoying a lot), How Was Your Week?
“There is nothing more honorable than submitting to the mind-boggling absurdity and often humiliating randomness of the universe. It’s like being the kind of person who can say something witty on his or her deathbed. It gives you the appearance of having accepted what’s usually considered unacceptable about being a human. Whether it’s performative or genuine is beside the point, because it’s the kind of performance that tricks you into believing it’s true if you stick with it long enough.”—
Grumblebrag: “I have such a massive hoard of stupid, awful fans.”
Fumblebrag: “I am so fucking good at dropping footballs.”
Rumblebrag: “Oh, these? They’re just my souvenirs from all the fights under the freeway overpass that I’ve won this week.”
Jumblebrag: “I really went to town on that Boggle game.”
Crumblebrag: “I make one hell of a rhubarb crumble, if I do say so myself.”
Thumblebrag: “I’m so small I can swim in a teacup!”
Plumblebrag: “I have eaten/the plums/that were in/the icebox//and which/you were probably/saving/for breakfast//Forgive me/they were delicious/so sweet/and so cold.” (credit to William Carlos Williams)
Stumblebrag: “I looked so cool tripping over that rock a minute ago, didn’t I?”
Tumblbrag: “Yeah, I started that meme.”
Tumblebrag: “Check out my beautiful array of drinking glasses.”
Mumblebrag: [indistinct murmurs of self-aggrandizement]
Bumblebrag: “Got all my pollinating done for the day, and it’s only noon!”
“I can no longer tell if movies are being serious. I used to be able to watch trailers and say, “This is clearly a parody” or “This is just a bad movie.” But, these days, the gap between the two has become so blurry and thin, I’m like Nathan Poe, looking for some kind of winking emoticon that let’s me know what’s what. So many people will say that they love movies like Machete and Drive Angry and Snakes On A Plane “ironically” which is absolutely meaningless to me because A) I’m kinda dumb, B) irony as a concept was murdered by the Internet years ago and C) I only know how to like movies or hate movies genuinely. Some filmmakers are embracing this idea of movies being designed to be consumed ironically, while other filmmakers are just making shitty movies. And the frustrating thing is that there is no observable difference between the two. Once upon a time, I could finish watching a trailer and my only thought would either be “That was good” or “That was bad.” Now, I watch most trailers and I just scratch my head, thinking, “Hey, filmmakers: Did you really mean that? Do you think shooting a movie where Nicolas Cage has sex on a motorcycle while he shoots machine guns is a genuinely good idea, or a patently ridiculous (and therefore ‘ironically’ good) idea? Is any of this a joke?”—
This man knows my soul (and this article couldn’t BE more dead on) (via starsgowaltzing)
I’ll be blunt here: I hear this same thing a lot, and I kind of think it’s a bogus frustration. To begin from a strict logical standpoint, it doesn’t really make sense. The author says “I only know how to like movies or hate movies genuinely.” All well and good. But if that’s the case, why should it matter whether or not a movie is intended “ironically”? If your sincere gut reaction is truly your guide, why do you need anyone’s permission to like or not like something? Can’t you just, you know, like or not like it?
I’m also sick of this attitude of exceptionalism with people saying “Yeah, I only like things sincerely.” Good for you! I think you’ll actually find that’s true of most people! People who claim to like things ironically either A) actually like something and are too embarrassed to admit it or B) don’t like it at all and are complete schmucks. But believe it or not, I don’t here too many people these days talking about liking things ironically. What I do hear a lot are people ascribing ironic appreciation to strangers and friends. This has a lot to do with universalizing your own taste. “I would never find this entertaining, so clearly anyone who does (particularly anyone intelligent) is somehow faking it.”
But to address the issue the author is actually describing: genre pictures are becoming self aware (like Skynet!). The author makes the mistake of needing to divide everything between “ironic” and “unironic,” but those distinctions are really becoming less important. Smart people are making dumb movies. And they are having fun doing it. It’s not about irony at all so much as it is about big, dumb, fun. About realizing that these kinds of movies were always funny and doing it on purpose this time.
“Hey, filmmakers: Did you really mean that? Do you think shooting a movie where Nicolas Cage has sex on a motorcycle while he shoots machine guns is a genuinely good idea, or a patently ridiculous (and therefore ‘ironically’ good) idea?”
BOTH. “And,” not “or.” The whole argument here seems to be “I’m mad that the people making these movies are smart enough to realize that they are making a silly movie because it confuses things for me.” I don’t see anything arch or distant (in the way that “ironic” has come to mean) in movies like Machete and Piranha 3D—I see people having a good time indulging in stupid things while having a sense of humor about it.
I’ve written about whether artistic intent should affect interpretation before, and increasingly I think it doesn’t matter. I find a lot of bad movies as interesting, challenging, and thought-provoking as the thoughtful, well-crafted movies that go on to win Oscars. And sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I just want to be entertained. But I don’t see any percentage in trying to define which movies are and aren’t acceptable to like.