Let me tell you something, I felt a real connection. I felt a real vibe between the two of us. I’m thinking, This is something that’s going well! This is somebody I’d like to hang out with outside of the show. You never know about this stuff — sometimes you meet your heroes and they end up being nightmares. Not this one. Exceeded expectations. We talked about her touring, and I asked her who she preferred playing shows to: an intimate audience or an arena. She said to me, in the sweetest way possible, “If you could fill the ocean with people, I’d like to play for them.” My heart stopped.


- Max Greenfield on Taylor Swift- this is great

1 week ago

bestrooftalkever:

jonwattts:

Here’s a fake trailer Ford and I made for our dream project. ATARI is an ensemble film that tells the story of the dizzying rise and spectacular fall of the legendary video game company through the eyes of Billy Kaplan, a young game designer who witnessed it all.

It’s Boogie Nights meets The Social Network meets Yars’ Revenge. Starring Jason Segel, Jessica Chastain, Jonah Hill, Chloe Sevigny, Seth Rogen, Philip Seymour Hoffman and any other awesome actor you would want to see in a 70s movie about sex, drugs, and video games.

Today in THINGS YOU SHOULD WATCH AND THEN THINGS SOMEONE SHOULD MAKE INTO A REAL MOVIE.

Somebody figured out movies.This is wonderful.

2 weeks ago 89 notes

Grown Woman - Beyonce performance in Paris - April 25

Oh, how I adore this.  It flipping snowed all morning here in Minneapolis and this gave me life.  For everything Beyonce is (a very controlled and well-packaged product.  I’m not convinced she’s a real person) she is DAMN good at it and the people around her understand her as a product very well.


This needs to be the song of the summer.  I need to buy a bustle and learn all the moves.

2 weeks ago  #beyonce #grown woman  6 notes
theparisreview: When F. Scott Fitzgerald’s daughter Scottie died in 1986, instructions were left that two boxes of books owned by her father were to be sent to her great friend, Professor Matthew J. Bruccoli of the English department at the University of South Carolina. Among the books was a volume by Ernest Boyd entitled Portraits: Real and Imaginary. On the front endpaper, Fitzgerald had written “Don’t bother about first stuff. Read definite portraits”—instructions to someone to whom he was intending to lend or give the book. Thanks to some fine detective work by Bruccoli’s wife Arlyn, we now know who that person is. Noting that the rear endpaper of the book had been torn out, Arlyn observed faint impressions on the preceding page, which suggested someone had written a message in the book before tearing out the page. Applying the familiar method of rubbing the indentations with a soft pencil, she was able to recover the message. It appears above. From Ernest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast we also know the circumstances—Fitzgerald had missed the train the two of them were to take to Lyon together to pick up the Fitzgerald’s car and drive it back to Paris. As Hemingway writes: “There was nothing to do but wire Scott from Dijon giving him the address of the hotel where I would wait for him in Lyon … ” Hemingway writes of reading a book in his hotel room in Lyon while he waits to hear from Fitzgerald. It is the first volume of A Sportman’s Sketches by Turgenev. Who knows whether he ever looked into the Boyd book, except to write in it. My, my.

theparisreview:

When F. Scott Fitzgerald’s daughter Scottie died in 1986, instructions were left that two boxes of books owned by her father were to be sent to her great friend, Professor Matthew J. Bruccoli of the English department at the University of South Carolina. Among the books was a volume by Ernest Boyd entitled Portraits: Real and Imaginary. On the front endpaper, Fitzgerald had written “Don’t bother about first stuff. Read definite portraits”—instructions to someone to whom he was intending to lend or give the book.

Thanks to some fine detective work by Bruccoli’s wife Arlyn, we now know who that person is. Noting that the rear endpaper of the book had been torn out, Arlyn observed faint impressions on the preceding page, which suggested someone had written a message in the book before tearing out the page. Applying the familiar method of rubbing the indentations with a soft pencil, she was able to recover the message. It appears above.

From Ernest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast we also know the circumstances—Fitzgerald had missed the train the two of them were to take to Lyon together to pick up the Fitzgerald’s car and drive it back to Paris. As Hemingway writes: “There was nothing to do but wire Scott from Dijon giving him the address of the hotel where I would wait for him in Lyon … ”

Hemingway writes of reading a book in his hotel room in Lyon while he waits to hear from Fitzgerald. It is the first volume of A Sportman’s Sketches by Turgenev. Who knows whether he ever looked into the Boyd book, except to write in it.

My, my.

2 weeks ago 635 notes

re: coffee

    Coworker 1: You drink coffee all day?
    Coworker 2: Yeah, I'll probably have another cup before bed.
    Coworker 1: Really? Wow.
    Coworker 2: I don't drink as much as it sounds, though.
    Coworker 1 walks away.
    Coworker 2: (under her breath) It's my drug, man
2 weeks ago

Kim Kardashian and Kanye West insist that they are not asking for baby gifts, though a bunch of fake registries have recently been spotted online. Instead the couple is asking that people donate money to a children’s hospital in Chicago. Which is awfully nice of them. But really, what do they need with baby gifts? They’re just gonna dress that kid in E! merch for a while, and give it Kris Humphries’s old toys to play with. Kris has been trying to get that stuff back, sending crayon-scrawled notes to the house saying “Give me bak my firetruk and Hot Weels or ells” but it’s so far been to no avail. Thus the divorce proceedings continue. Oh the Westdashian baby! What a wondrous young life it’s going to have. What enormous diapers it will have to wear.

Richard Lawson, everybody

2 weeks ago

George

richardlawson:

He felt just then the strangest of feelings. One he’d maybe not felt since he was a boy. That feeling of having done something wrong but getting away with it. The broken teacup, the gash in the lawn, the tear in the sofa. Something done with a giddy dumbness but credited elsewhere. Must have been the wind, the dog, the key sticking out of the purse. It’s a guilty feeling, the success of the lie, but it’s relief too. What a strange mix of things, to both know the truth and evade it, to escape a fact, to scrape past reality and fall, like a mattress for a stuntman, onto the cushion of something else.

The sun was bright but not mean, the newly roomy world of spring wrapping everyone in its celery winds. There on those chairs, mom and dad there, him and him and him there too. After all of that, it was just this. Folding chairs and the computer-blue of April, the hum and honk of a military choir, the flag whipping as if fighting for its place in the sky.

He thought of his paintings back home. Wondered if maybe… If maybe life could have been different, long ago. If maybe there was a quieter place, a quieter time. When all that mattered was the hush of brush on canvas. The barking of dogs. The calm cluck of Laura, rustling through the pages of a book or handing him iced tea, the ice making a song in the glass. If the girls could have maybe grown up this way, with their painter dad, and none of the other stuff, all the noise and power and pain, had to storm its way into their lives. 

But then it was time for his speech, the one he’d practiced in the bedroom. Laura resting her chin on his shoulder as he murmured it into the mirror. This is how life had gone. What they’d told him to do. Was he arrogant? Was he dumb? Was he criminal? Was he all those things they’d said? He didn’t know. How could he ever know? Because he was just him. Just in the slacks, the suit, the pinched knot of a tie. And today it was a library. Tomorrow it was who knew. Back to the canvas, he guessed. To Texas blurting its way into summer. Back to life as he’d never known it. The hush of a library like the grass near the house. A hiss, a common and quiet noise, a whisper saying “Forget, forget, forget.” 

And so he did. 

Richard Lawson, you have my heart.

3 weeks ago 26 notes
Next →