I've been listening to episodes of "This American Life" recently and I've found that it's a conversational dead end. Talking about the show at parties is like talking about reading ancient Greek plays: everyone knows they're supposed to be great, but nobody has read enough of them to really comment. If you listened to an old episode of "This American Life" every day for a full year, you'd still have 50 episodes to go.
"A Life Well Wasted" is similarly great, but there are only four episodes. And it's about video games and swearing.
No jokes were made during the creation of this post.
Finally sent in my first White Whine:
Ugh, the $150-a-plate charity dinner I attended for free at the Beverly Wilshire had Colbie Caillat as its surprise musical guest. Now I have to sit and listen to three songs of this. And the waiter never refilled my water glass so I had to get a drink from the open bar just so I could eat the free filets they served. Ugh!
I've just realized that I'm about as skinny as Calista Flockhart.
Also, according to the picture, what I lack in ass, I make up for in sass.
• Hitler skull fragment "undeniably female"
• 1959 Chevy Bel Air vs. 2009 Chevy Malibu" (Apparently the 'driver' of the 2009 car would have had a bruised knee, while the 'driver' of the 1959 car would have died on impact)
Hey, ya'll – remember Creed? Well, they remember you. Don't call it a comeback.
Some great stuff in this article, including the fact that a 2002 Creed show was so bad that some fans filed a class action lawsuit against the band to get their money back.
Still, though, a bit disappointing. This means my theory – that Scott Stapp grew some facial hair and Creed became Nickleback – might not be true. Secondary theory about Coolio turning into Busta Rhymes still stands.
Some people still haven't seen Well-Stocked Fridge
Maybe it's (har, har) old age, but I've grown more unwilling to try new music. I'm fearful of downloading the "best new music" only to find that musical trends have favored the difficult and, by extension, my own tastes have turned mushy.
A solution: In their reviews, Pitchfork should institute another scale next to their existing one – one to show the listenability of the album. One more 1 to 10, with 1 being 'easy listening' to assuage the fears of old, mushy obstructionists like myself. Example:
10.0 – Wolf Eyes
9.0 – HEALTH
8.0 – Fuck Buttons
7.0 – No Age
6.0 – Dirty Projectors
5.0 – Animal Collective
4.0 – The Pains of Being Pure at Heart
3.0 – A.C. Newman
2.0 – Vampire Weekend
1.0 – Fleet Foxes
The only problem would be where to put the new wave of electro-poppers. Just how listenable is Glass Candy?
Related:Watching White People Dance Is Never Not Funny (almost better without sound)
Making fun of SkyMall magazine is way past a comedic cliche by this point (the Genesis of blog posts was titled "Dog Staircases: L, Oh, L"), but some of these are so good the makers of SkyMall must be in on the joke.
This item, for instance:
This makes me think that Skymall is marketed towards people who have never heard of Photoshop:
I would expect to find this in the house of a very cool, mischievous grandfather. The kind that would fake his own death to scare the grandkids:
Surprisingly, the most annoying part of my flight wasn't the smelly dreadlock-ed couple making out next to me, it was the old guy trying to convince a couple of Army officers on their way home from Vegas that counting cards is not cheating.
Having seen The Hangover (Jon's review was spot-on, by the way), I can tell you that counting cards is only legal if you come to the table dressed as Rain Man.
It has to be fascinating to be Seth Rogen. First, you participate in one of the most meta-film conversations of the young 00s talking about similar (or 'paired') movie releases in Knocked Up and then star in a paired release of your own (Paul Blart vs. Observe and Report). Can you guess which film screened on my flight to Houston?
I'm Forest. Long-time reader. First-time writer.
Let's get to it.
A couple of weeks ago, I went to a charity tennis competition at UCLA's Tennis Center between Will Ferrell and Mats Wilander, the noted Swedish tennis pro. Rainn Wilson was there just to round out the trio of oddly-named celebrities. Really Funny. Good Time. Etc.
As I was leaving, I faced a bit of a dilemma. The goodie bag they were giving out had these preposterous Bjorn Borg-themed men's boxer briefs emblazoned with a pink tennis ball pattern. As you would imagine, they picked the prettiest UCLA girl to dress up in a tennis costume and hand out these shorts.
"What size are you?"
"Are you a medium?" Thank God.
"Yes. Well, if you think so, I must be a medium. Heh." Crisis averted, but I am in no way a medium. So I expected to have one more awkward gift lying around my apartment, waiting to be re-gifted. But when I got back home, I saw she had given me a small anyways. I love LA.
In a previous post, Jon compared my brother to Paul Sedaris (aka 'The Rooster'). I initially took offense to the post, but I'm slowly coming around. My brother called me the other day:
"Dude, are you home? I want to share the good word."
"Naw, man, I'm not. What's up?"
"I totally got laaaaaaaaaaaid." This was good, I guess, but my brother didn't know any girls. Let alone any who would sleep with him. So I asked him how he met her and he proceeded to blow my mind:
"Also, she's black."
"And she's in high school."
"She rode the bus over to my apartment."
"And she's a virgin."
I asked how he got her to (my god) lose her virginity to him on the first time over. He said he just watched a movie with her and they fucked afterwards. The movie?