This Recording: In Which We Await the Imminent Robot Takeover
There are really only two reasons to watch Cherry 2000.
1.) You’re an insomniac whose penchant for Battlestar takes you to the SciFi channel at 3am, or
2.) You have this theory that you tend to divulge whilst intoxicated on dates about how exactly the inevitable robot takeover is going to happen, and Cherry 2000 happens to be a 1987 Melanie Griffith film about futuristic sex robots.
This Recording: In Which This Is Not Love
John Hughes rightly concerned himself with crushes, infatuations, the first flushes of like—developments that can realistically be covered in two hours. Molly Ringwald scores the popular bro and Eric Stoltz learns that there is such a thing as upward penis mobility for the working class redhead. Real love is boring and unwatchable. This is not love:
I LOVE The Smiths.
Wait, you like The Smiths?
Yeah! (sings) ‘To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die’ Love ‘em.
Bitch Magazine: Same Shit, Different World
Second Life may be an online utopia, but its social politics look awfully familiar.
New York Times Blog: Facebook Rules
What other entity exists to mop up those who have grown accustomed to a life of constant online communication and disclosure?
In Which We Drive So We Can Get Laid
Apparently it was impossible to fall in love in the late ‘80s without a car.
In Which We Can Look Forward To A Nazi Spring
Directed by Bryan Singer, Tom Cruise plays Colonel Claus von Stauffenburg, a Fucking. Good. Nazi. Too good even to speak with a German accent.
In Which These Were The Real Best Moments In Film
Reeves’ main talent lies in sounding monotonously confused; hence he is best cast as a stoner, an awed human-Jesus, or an emotionless alien-Jesus. Only Reeves’ lack of expressive talent could deliver such riddles as “If the Earth dies, you die. If you die, the Earth lives” (a question I got wrong on my LSATs) with such convincing alien indifference. He makes Jon Hamm in the role of the government science dude seem like a trained thespian. I salute you Keanu Reeves for turning tricks on your non-talent during these recessive times.
The Awl: The Man Who Was Richard Elvern Marsh, Sky “Sunshine” Saxon and Arelich Aquarian: An Appreciation
A brief history non-lesson: In the 60’s everyone except your parents was tripping on acid and spilling the dream juice of sexual liberation all over their translucent muumuus. Music was at the forefront of this cultural cabal—maybe you’ve heard of Woodstock. And then this guy came to Hollywood to audition for Tarzan only to fail as an actor, find yoga, and turn his fortune around by starting a health food restaurant at the corner of Sunset and Sweetzer called The Source.
Double X: Cheese Poppers, Pork Sausage, Carbonara: What Christina Hendricks Puts In Her Mouth
The interview fetishizes the deep-fried bits she eats and her girdle-induced upper thigh bruises (yes, she talks about how the Mad Men costumes uncomfortably pierce her flesh) as only a magazine whose pages are usually filled exclusively with size 2 women can.
In Which We Teach James Cameron A Thing Or Two
But the more blatant lesson of Avatar is not that American imperialism is bad, but that in fact it’s necessary. Sure there are some bad Americans—the ones with tanks ready to mercilessly kill the Na’vi population, but Jake is set up as the real embodiment of the American spirit. He learns Na’vi fighting tactics better than the Na’vi themselves, he takes the King’s daughter for his own, he becomes the only Na’vi warrior in centuries to tame this wild dragon bird thing. Even in someone else’s society the American is the chosen one. He’s going to come in, lead your army, fuck your princesses, and just generally save the day for you. Got it? This is how we do it.
Bitch Magazine: Wee Are The Champions
It’s no surprise that competitive eating draws both avid fans and disgusted jeers: America is obsesssed with both food and the denying of it. And it’s this fact that makes the ascendancy of female competitive eaters all the more fascinating.