Wonka lied. All you had to do was follow him and you’d be “in a world of pure imagination”? Apologies to the snozz berries, but we don’t all come equipped.
I don’t think I have any. None imaginations.
I am kind of creative — but that’s different from having imagination. I can come up with nonsense — but oh looky, science says that just makes you a liar.
Not only do naturally creative people cheat more than uncreative people, subjects cajoled into thinking outside of the box become cheaters, too. This suggests that the creative process isn’t just tied to dishonest behavior; it actually enables it.
Well, sure. If you can come up with a scheme, should it just go to waste? Let’s be reasonable.
What I cannot do, the imagining bit, is picture stuff. Sports radio might as well be in another language, I cannot make a scene in my head out of those words to save my life, and it’s not just because sports, BORING, I just can’t do it. I can’t read a fight scene and make sense of it either. My eyes blur and who hit who what now? That happened in The Hunger Games yesterday. (Book #12, finished in a day because who could put it down? Now on to the second in the series which seems to have a sophomore slump and too much romantical stuff, but.. I’m still in.)
The point is, Wonka better show me the money, or I’m sunk. No imagination.
And if science is right, he probably would have dumped me down the shoot with the bad eggs.
There will be no chilling. Do you remember how tortured and full of angst Raphael was? That was no alien. More to the point, thou shalt not cowabunga when this conversation happened today, with no preface.
“Hollywood is the worst-“
“I KNOW. Michael Bay is ruining TMNT.”
Michael Bay To TMNT Fans: “Chill” | THR (via popculturebrain)
Which is to say, I watched half of of (500) Days of Summer. It’s that movie you’ve been meaning to see forever, and forget or can’t download or don’t feel like it, and then all of a sudden, “Oh, hey. Put it on up on the screen thing.”
Do you know the moral of the film?
Hair-bow ponies on adult ladies make you want to punch. (Also cap sleeves, cotton shirt-waist dresses, and anything with a scalloped edge.)
I don’t hate the movie like I hate hair bows. I might even finish it, because that Joseph Gordon Levitt is a fine actor, see: 10 Things I Hate About You and it’s not formulaic. I might even be a little hooked.
Though. Wikipedia should really re-URL itself like spoileralert.wikipedia.com.
Okay, friends. Who was in charge of telling me this existed? Lights, Camera, Annie: The Making of Annie? Because I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t have JUST found it looking for audio of “Leapin’ lizards!” to use for the Leap Day show. (I do very important things.)
PUT IT IN YOUR POCKET, MRS. MUDGE.
Man, this looks like marvelous fun. (Okay, I might be over not being an ingenue, but do you ever REALLY get over not being Annie?)
Can’t unhear, probably. How does 1993 become 2011? On a Friday radio show…*
Which is second only to my personal song-related “Can’t Unsee” — a video of a friend’s two year old dancing to it in diapers. A cinematic upgrade on both Night at the Roxbury and LMFAO.
“I watched a very provocative film last night about internet safety. It was called The Net.”
Because if you’ve only sat still for two films this year (The Great Justin Bieber Film Never Say Never ((HEY. John Waters liked it too)) and the Russell Brand Arthur, a historical 15th Anniversary viewing with a technology anthropologist is… well, it happened.
Verdict? The one thing the film predicted with great prescience: ordering pizza online.
So help me Jonah Hill, this gets a big ol’ “uhduh” from anyone who’s been to the movies in the past forever, but somehow when it’s quantified, your suppositions are more than just side eyes — they’re science.
In a survey of the top 100-grossing movies of 2009… researchers found that 32.8% of the 4,342 speaking characters were female and 67.2% were male.
Well, sure. You need more bomb diffusers than you need damsels. But wait, there’s more!
Women were still far more likely than men to wear sexy clothing in movies, such as swimwear and unbuttoned shirts (25.8% versus 4.7%) and to expose skin (23% versus 7.4%).
This is thanks to what I, as former Chairwoman of the Society to Make Jonah Hills’ Chromosomes Match, call the “Harrison Ford Effect.”
The HFE isn’t mentioned in the rest of this study, but it’s very, very real. You’re a dude. You’re a dude in the movies. You’re playing a character anywhere between the ages of 35 and 85. Your female counterpart will be 24. Not only that, but you and you alone are allowed to show the signs of age. What the man looks like matters none. What the woman looks like matters ALL.
Sure, I took Quantitative Research Methods in grad school just like everybody else, and I know you can’t just SAY that without a “Mall Intercept Survey” or the Likert Scale, but you can. It’s true enough that when you see smile crinkles on a woman on screen, you write about it.
Men get to be in movies. Men get to keep their clothes on in movies. Men get to age.
Is there a solution?
In movies directed by women, 47.7% of the characters were female.
Surely, directed and created by, right? Pass me a vampire. Oh, wait.
So the sad Kirk Cameron Subway shindig that allegedly wasn’t so sad?
If you haven’t seen Listen to Me on the original vintage VHS, you cannot judge.
It’s a movie about a college debate team circa 1989, which not even the author of its very own wikipedia page cares to note centered around the fact that scholarship-kid Kirk Cameron was so poor in high school that he had RICKETS.
That was the disease they picked. In almost the 90s. Rickets.
But wait! There’s more!
The team eventually wins a chance to debate the issue of abortion in front of the Supreme Court. Along the way, the students learn lessons about life, love, friendship, and politics.
Abortion. In front of the Supreme Court.
I dabbled in debate in a college where the only championships painted on the side of our athletic bus were: Women’s Basketball, 1992; and Debate [all the rest of the years].
It is, therefore, the greatest sports film of all time.
Between finally finishing the narratively-abusive-yet-disturbingly-prescient Super Sad True Love Story, with its occupation of New York City parks by displaced and disgruntled “Low Net Worth Individuals,” combined with the full-tilt inanity of what is already a circus politicus, this election 2012, I am exercising the only clear and wise option.
Vote President Dwayne Elizondo Mountain Dew Herbert Camacho.