i’ve stared at this thing for almost an hour and still can’t tell which one is macklemore and which one is miley cyrus
Heh heh hey, yeah… Uhm, as the extent of my long-term financial/retirement planning is not having sold the Griffey Upper Deck rookie card, that thing’s gotta be worth, what?, a million now? Two? So, I’m rich! Right? Gotta be by now! I haven’t checked or heard anything in twenty years, so… I think I’ll just assume that I’m ALL $ET and continue searching for suitable private islands for my compound…
Oh, wait! Hold up! Just remembered about the mint condition Mighty Morphin Power Rangers POG set I’ve got!
Man, I’m wealthy!
Wow! What a coinkydink! ‘Cuz…
I Pictured Her Taking My DNA!
(Why do I think this story would’ve been less popular if they’d had Paul Krugman do it? Bet we’ll be seeing a lot more of this writer! Maybe she’ll even get the Stephanie Rosenbloom inexplicable [but totally explicable] huge glamour shot treatment for her “article archive” link that, mysteriously, no other writer gets… But, yeah, they’ve got important things to say about travel + genetics + whatever! What next? They let James Franco write about selfies? Oh, wait… they already did. Looking forward to Kate Upton’s political columns in ‘14!)
He was leaning in, and I laughed.
I was burning up under a fluorescent sun when I had an embarrassing realization: I was listening to John Mayer’s “Your Body Is a Wonderland” as it played over the SUPERSTORE loudspeakers. Why??? Something about it was catching my ear and I stopped in my tracks and started actually concentrating. Right there by the section with the bicycles. I scooted off to the side, in between a maroon Schwinn and a black Mongoose (on special) and paid attention.
It was the chorus.
Something about the way he was singing it was … different. Is this just how the song is, and I haven’t noticed in the past? Does he do one pass of the chorus like this and the rest- No, no that’s not it. Can’t be. Was this a live version? Was this some alternate, bootleg thing? The chorus was being sung in an over-the-top lackadaisical style. But it was the same every time. It was borderline comical and increasingly maddening.
Wait - was he attempting a DYLAN!?
Then it clicked. Toward the end, I got it. “Your body” was being censored. Nothing else in the song was. But “Your body” was being digitally altered so that it sounded like he was scatting/slurring, or suffering from some momentary palsy pronunciation difficulties, but it wasn’t.
It was just some textbook “radio edit” backmasking ish on those two words. That’s all it was.
I continued walking as the song finished. I thought about the meetings and the back-and-forth’s and the time that went into the decision and implementation of editing “Your body” (and nothing else) from the song “Your Body Is a Wonderland” … I wondered about the first time, the original experience where Corporate Executive or Appropriateness Algorithm said it needed to be censored.
I felt proud that the decision didn’t escape my notice and uncomfortable that I cared.
While struggling to hack my way through a dense jungle of Clearance Items, and Dance Away the Pounds, and Specials, and Duck Dynasty, and Avengers, and camouflage, and WWE, and Up To 30% Off!, and Doorbusters, and Hot Deals, and Batman, and Craftsman, and Ironman, and Spider-Man, and Big Gas Savings, and Paula Deen, and NFL, and Samsung, and Adam Sandler, and Six Pack Ab Shred, and Angry Birds, and Chocolate Lovers, and NCAA, and Vitamins, and The Big Bang Theory, and While Supplies Last, and Halo, and Savings Celebration, and Joe Boxer, and Chewable I had an embarrassing realization: I was caring about Lorde’s “Royals” as it came on the SUPERSTORE speakers.
I stopped again. I had mixed emotions. I wondered if this song was now officially on the “Somebody That I Used To Know” track. I wondered if it was acceptable for me to tell friends I liked this song. (Or would I have to hide my enjoyment, like with Maroon 5’s “This Love” a few years back?) I wondered how uncool it was for me to tell friends I had wondered if it was acceptable to tell them I liked this song. I wondered if I had any friends. I wondered if she had a second hit on her album. Or will she be crushed by her own eventual ubiquity?
She seems clever. She lacks soul (as does, well, everyone else now), but she knows it and is using it to her advantage. She’s self-aware. She knows our rules, will she play by them? Commence Beyoncification! Will her authenticity play begin to make her insufferable – is the calculated introduction of her “normal” persona reminiscent of the Jennifer Lawrence rollout, the worldwide silver lining playbook? How soon ‘til she sings an auto-tuned chorus on the new Drake track “Feminist Bitch” (ft. Danny Brown & R. Kelly)(Video by Terry Richardson)? How soon ‘til she’s “dating” someone from One Direction? Will she sit courtside on Bieber’s lap, as they take turns feeding each other popcorn at the NBA All-Star game? Will she three-way French kiss and fondle-bang Miley and Rihanna at the VMA’s?
Will she bash in a Kardashian outside the Waverly Inn over the affection of One Direction???
Will she grind ‘n cut herself into a fine powder and feed the beast line after line after line right through its flaring, hairy nostril?
He was leaning in, and I laughed.
I was adrift in a sea of closed registers – there had to be thousands of them, staggered in pairs that stretched for miles when I finally saw one solitary beacon flashing from a distant shore. I wearily approached and saw them.
He was leaning in, uncomfortably whispering something in her ear, and I softly chuckled aloud, and guffawed inside as I thought of the text I’d compose to my friend telling her about the old man blatantly hitting on the middle-aged cashier, right in front of me!
It was the only register open, so I impatiently sulked a few feet behind them for a minute. Foot tapping. Giving the dude a little space, but also letting them know: Hey, I’M here. HURRY this up, already! I was nearing a sigh, and scanning for a manager, hoping to communicate with body language my displeasure at this inappropriate display when I overheard him say “unimaginable” and “worst thing that can happen” … he grabbed her forearm, “I’ll say a prayer to Jesus for you” as my posture shifted and my gaze lowered, “your boy won’t be forgotten” and “stay strong,” as he walked away with his plastic bag and receipt.
I wanted to be anywhere but where I was. I wanted to run in the opposite direction. I almost acted like I forgot to get something, but I didn’t. I slowly placed my items on the counter. Whereas he leaned in, I leaned out. I couldn’t make eye contact. It took ALL her strength – “Did you” sniffle “find everything you were looking for?” sniffle, she said as I swiped my card, tears in her eyes as she busied herself at the register, dignity pouring forth from her soul.
The show must go on.
“Yes,” I said, eyes down, dry as the desert. I wanted to say so much more. But I said nothing. Just like when ( )’s dad died, or when ( )’s brother died. I wanted to do so much more. I wanted to jump the counter and hug her tightly. I did nothing. I pushed the appropriate button, approving the purchase. I waited for the receipt to print, and drifted away to that time I was on the R train back in NYC, heading home, when the Puerto Rican lady in the garish, running makeup sobbed next to me for many stops and I wanted to put my arm around her, and drop the pretense and let my guard down and act like a human being and say I cared and not worry what anyone thought or how it looked - just connect and try and be anything but yet another indifferent asshole on a subway car and world full of ‘em but I didn’t and suddenly I was back in the SUPERSTORE and the transaction was complete and I dutifully took my receipt and quickly walked out the automatic door and pulled out my phone for no reason and felt a frigid Nebraska chill hit me square in the face, knocking me off my stride.
YEAR IN REVIEW!
Don’t even get me started…
DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED!
Ugh, more like Twoshitsgiving
Good Band Name:
Blackballed by birth
Blueballed by experience
At this point
doesn’t the NSA just basically know what health insurance we’d need and can afford?
Can’t they just hack into Healthcare.gov and enter our relevant info and make this whole thing easy?
This Grand Budapest Hotel is the freakin’ Wes Andersoniest Wes Anderson that’s ever Wes Andersoned!
That’s Lizzy Caplan, from the new Showtime series Masters of Sex.
I haven’t seen it, as I’m too poor for Showtime and too dumb to torrent. But I have done extensive research about the show on the internet - I have viewed several short video clips and inspected hundreds of (blurry) still images very closely - and it looks to be the greatest thing ever done in the History of Art.
Anyhoo, the show is about famed sex researchers Masters & Johnson.
When the names Masters & Johnson come up I have one very specific memory of telling my (Catholic) grade school classmates Magic Johnson had died, because my sister misheard something on the way in to school regarding Masters & Johnson and told me and now people in my classroom were crying over the news, which I was excited and sad to solemnly deliver.
One of the teachers went to the office to check (this was before the internet), she came back and said it was something to do with Masters & Johnson, which didn’t get much of a response from the class - there was mostly just relief about beloved Magic being okay.
When I got home and told my parents the “Masters & Johnson” kicker reference was met with HUGE laughter and it’s one story amongst many volumes of “Tony Looks Like A Boob” family chestnuts.
Now when M&J come up hopefully Lizzy Caplan will come to mind first. I mean, I find I’m thinking about her once every seven seconds anyway, but still, it’d be nice…
has made me official comic of Healthcare.gov!
From The Hollywood Reporter:
“Both Cranston and Aaron Paul, in addition to some of Bad's other actors, have expressed interest in making appearances, which Gilligan intends to make happen.”
From The BBC:
"Ricky Gervais has performed the first of two gigs as The Office character David Brent with his band Foregone Conclusion”
Uhm… I think I’m cool with all this. Right guys?
As long as these two stories don’t combine - David Brent’s band arrested purchasing blue meth - then, ehhhhhhhhhhh, I think I’m cool with all this.
(And, yes, that is my Better Call Saul episode pitch, son)
If only foolish pride were currency!
FOR THE SAKE OF HUMANITY LET’S HOOK MALALA UP WITH THIS DUDE