The Avengers (May 4)

I hope you won’t judge this movie preview based on the fact that: A.) This movie has already been out for almost two weeks and B.) I haven’t seen it. I’ve been meaning to, it’s just that I’ve had one of those two week stretches where you have an insatiable appetite for alcohol and drugs.

The Avengers has been breaking all kinds of box office records. It represents the zenith of cross-promotional, unilaterally-integrated film marketing: built on a foundation of lesser blockbusters (Iron Man, Thor, Captain America, etc.) manufactured with the overarching goal of delivering this project, The Avengers represents literally billions of dollars and unimaginable time and effort. Maybe that’s why it feels so obscenely crass — The Avengers is a brazenly transparent calculation, comprised entirely of commercial interests, contrived even by Hollywood blockbuster standards.

Studies show that people mistakenly tend to assume that their peers are less savvy and more likely to be illogically persuaded by advertising, so I won’t unjustly judge the millions and millions of people that have already packed the theaters for this monstrous tent-pole… they probably didn’t expect it to be any good, either. I guess they’re all just doing their part in contributing to the creation of an economically beneficial, cultural experience — and I promise to pitch in and do my part once I finish huffing this bag of cleaning supplies!

Battleship (May 18)

As alluded to above, a lot of people are up in arms about how Hollywood is so creatively destitute and openly shameless that it’s resorting to board games and children’s toys for launching multi-million dollar film franchises. I used to feel that way too, until I realized my life is pretty much just one long Apple Jacks commercial, so who the hell am I to judge anyway?

The Dictator (May 18)

If this is the one where Sacha Baron Cohen pretends to be a reprehensible dictator and films Americans making a bunch of social faux pas, then count me in. If it isn’t, then I don’t know — tell me what it’s about before you buy a ticket, okay? I mean, is Craig T. Nelson in it? Does it have an extra scene after the credits that we’ll have to awkwardly watch from the aisles because we already started filing out of the theater? Christ, you know what, just forget about it. I’ll rent it.

Men in Black III (May 25)

Will Smith is having one of those days where you see a really ugly person check their reflection in the mirror, and you can’t help but wonder, “Why bother?” And you’re not sure if you referring to the act of looking in a mirror, or their entire lives.

Madagascar 3: Europe’s Most Wanted (June 8)

Finally, a CGI movie about talking animals! Phew.

Prometheus (June 8)

This has Michael Fassbender in it, so you’ll probably see his penis. Michael Fassbender and his penis are like the Robert Redford and Paul Newman of Michael Fassbender movies.

That’s My Boy (June 15)

Adam Sandler plays Andy Samberg’s father in this one. He keeps talking in that enjoyable Adam Sandler voice in the trailer. This one promises to be a real “laugh riot,” so sit close to an emergency exit in case you suddenly can’t stop crying and need to run out of the theater and vomit.

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter (June 22)

This is definitely a good idea for a movie. I’m hoping it’s really successful so I can finally start shopping my George Washington: Stupid Dead Asshole with Wooden Teeth script, which has at least 80% as good of a concept as this movie does. A couple of my friends read it and they said it was “really long.” But in a surprised voice.

G.I. Joe: Retaliation (June 29)

I’m just hoping this doesn’t have subtitles, because I accidentally sat on my reading glasses the other day.

Magic Mike (June 29)

Channing Tatum plays a male stripper, but hopefully the kind of male stripper with a really good investment portfolio. ‘Cuz those guys have a really hard time finding work once they hit their early 50s.

Tyler Perry’s Madea’s Witness Program (June 29)

Oh, boy. I’ll have to make sure I can make it out of the house for this one. The only reasonable plan would be to spend the preceding days whispering personal affirmations into the mirror while rubbing my penis over the Braille alphabet.

The Amazing Spider-Man (July 6)

Even though the last Spider-Man movie just came out like five years ago, and most people really liked the series and the cast and the director, and each one made a butt-load of money, this is a brand new one that starts the story completely over. I guess they thought that was more convenient, or something.

Sometimes I wish I could be like a Hollywood franchise and just “reboot” my identity every five or six years and pick out some poor schlub walking the down street and be like, “Okay, from now, you’re me… and Go!” And it’d be like, okay, now you’re the guy with a $60 bank account who’s banned from the library. So, uhhh…good luck with that. Sucker.

Katy Perry: Part of Me 3D (July 6)

Katy Perry stars in this movie that is presumably about her. It’s probably a documentary/concert movie about her or like that thing where you videotape yourself taking absurd doses of over-the-counter items like antacid or Vick’s VapoRub in the desperate hope that by sheer overconsumption you will transform yourself into another form or enter some kind of altered conscious or state of being, but you usually just wind up falling asleep crawling under the porch trying to get the god damned dog to give you the tennis ball back.

Never mind, I just checked — it’s a documentary about her.

Ice Age: Continental Drift (July 13)

This is a great movie to see with a small child that you really, really hate. If you’re having a hard time narrowing it down, just bring all the small children you really, really hate and try and get a matinee price or something.

Ted (July 13)

On one hand, I like going to the movies because you get to sit anonymously in the dark, and there’s no expectation of talking to strangers. On the other hand, you never know if the guy sitting next to you will turn to you after it ends and ask, “Hey, did you like the movie?” It hasn’t happened to me yet, which makes me worried that I’m “due” for it.

The Dark Knight Rises (July 20)

This film is about Leslie Nielsen. He’s probably in some role that requires him to be responsible and wise, like a brain surgeon or an air traffic controller, and the humor will arise from the juxtaposition from these expectations and his bumbling incompetence. I can’t wait to see it. I keep thinking about how if Carly Rae Jepsen was singing to Leslie Nielson in that “Call Me Maybe” song, when she got to the part that’s like, “Hey, I just met you and this is crazy/ But here’s my number so call me maybe,” he’d wait a beat and then deadpan, “Thanks, Maybe.” But the joke wouldn’t really work, because she might just think he was being coy about whether or not he was going to call her. Wait, this isn’t the movie where Leslie Nielsen’s an air traffic controller? Ah crap.

The Bourne Legacy (August 4)

Jeremy Renner replaces Matt Damon in this continuation of the Bourne series. I thought these movies were pretty cool until I remembered that I also wake up most days in a frenzied daze, unsure of my identity, frightened of my own past, and convinced that shadowy organizations are out to kill me. So, you know, it’s not really that original.

Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Dog Days (August 4)

I hope this movie doesn’t have a scene in it that’s just like that time when I was in 7^th grade, and that really popular kid came up to me after school and was like, “Hey, uh, what sex position makes the ugliest kids?” and I was really excited that the popular kid was talking to me, especially since he had a few almost-as-popular kids with him (and a few girls who were really pretty). I stood there, debating whether to try and think of a really funny, witty answer to make them all laugh, or to tell him the true answer (which I knew), because it was pretty cool that he was asking my opinion about it, and maybe he needed to know for like a science project or something. I was finally about to answer when he got tired of waiting and went, “I don’t know, ask your parents!” Everyone laughed, even the Chinese foreign exchange student who hated me for no good reason.

But the joke was really on the popular kid, because he didn’t get to hear the truth, which is that the ugliest kids are made from that sex position where a girl accidentally gets pregnant from sitting on a toilet that some guy masturbated on. I’m the one laughing now, Jarred Brockman — I hope you’re happy with your ugly toilet-seat kid!

Total Recall (August 4)

If you could recreate moments from your own past, would you choose the best ones and risk tainting them, or pick the bad ones and try and fix them? Hollywood would rather just make a mockery of the good ones because it gives you a better gross per screen for your opening weekend. So, that’s one consideration if the opportunity should ever present itself.

The Expendables 2 (August 10)

I’m legitimately rigid with anticipation for this one. I was going to rip off the “No Girls Allowed!” sign from my tree house to bring along to the theater until I remembered that I haven’t gone up there since that run-over possum crawled in it to die. Sorry, but I’m just not so good with that kind of thing.

The Possession (August 31)

Finally, a horror movie about a demonically possessed child! Phew.

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Here’s some sweet nostalgia for you. TMZ seems to have had set up a pretty impressive flash mob situation recently. They got Alfonso Ribeiro, the actor who played Carlton Banks on 90s television hallmark Fresh Prince of Bel-Air to lead a flash mob in his signature dance to Tom Jones’ “It’s not unusual” in LA. Only thing that could have improved the performance would have been stern glares from Uncle Phil and a Will Smith cameo. I’m a fan.

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Drive a Souped Up Ice Cream Truck

Lots of famous people drive fancy cars, but usually they become annoying spectacles of luxury. I would drive a fancy ice cream truck with a killer sound system, and I’d make it rain popsicles as I drove through town. I would hire T-Pain to remake (cream-mix) strip club anthems so that they’re about ice cream. It would be the best.

Have a Ludicrous Entourage

An entourage is the province of the rich and famous, but so few people do it right. Rappers usually bring their rap crews along for the ride. Actors have assistants, stylists, and other employees. Even the entourages in 30 Rock and Entourage don’t show a lot of imagination.

Here’s my roster.

#1. Human Cell Phone. He makes my calls, tells me the time, and checks my e-mail. I give him my messages, and he relays them to the relevant party in real time. All incoming calls go through him the same way.

#2. Hype Man. Just a guy yelling for people to be excited when I arrive places. Barber shops, memorial services, wherever.

#3. Mime. No entourage has a mime. I’m changing the game.

#4. A Grandpa. I don’t have any living grandfathers, but I still want someone around to give me sage advice and buy me lunch just for visiting. I just want a grandfather to hang out with. If you know any freelance old guys, holla atcha boy.

#5. Duck Billed Platypus. Nature’s hybrid. Reminding me to be versatile and to stay humble.

Hire Less Famous People as Personal Assistants

What’s Dustin Diamond doing nowadays? That Saved By the Bell nostalgia train has to pull over sometime. Plus, does he really want to be Screech forever? I’ll pay him handsomely to be my personal chef.

Early ‘90s one hit wonder Skee-Lo used to wish he were a baller. I’d keep him on retainer to play high stakes games of one-on-one with me.

How much could it cost me to get former MTV VJ Jesse Camp to change the channels on my television? Certainly not more than minimum wage.

Wear Ridiculous Clothes

I’m always thinking fashion forward, and once I get in the spotlight, I’ll be ready to shine. First, I’d get prescription versions of those novelty glasses that make you look like you have glowing 3D eyeballs. Also, a new sombrero for every day of the week. All different materials, too. Velvet, bamboo. Real unorthodox sombreros. Finally, fake mustaches. All day, e’rry day.

Make Up New Slang

Paris Hilton takes credit for “hot.” Will Smith popularized “jiggy.” I’m going to coin more words than Shakespeare. Try these on for size.

My term for a cool older guy is Chilliam H. Macy. The grandpa in my entourage, for example, would be a real Chilliam H. Macy.

If you recoil from something morally reprehensible, you Atticus Flinch. As in: “My buddy wanted to steal all the bulkie rolls from that bread truck, but I Atticus Flinched.”

A boring magician is a David Plain. I don’t think I need to explain that any further.

Are those less like slang terms and more like puns? Who cares. I’d be loaded. Here’s eight hundred dollars. Don’t worry about it.

Enter Every Room to a Theme Song

Whenever I walk down the street, there’s a soundtrack playing in my head. It’s always been a dream of that to share that beat with the world. I’ve never had the means to achieve that goal, though. We’ve all seen it done in the movie Zoolander, as Hansel continually enters to a techno backdrop. But that’s tacky. And a DJ? Come on.

If I were rich and famous, I’d have a string quartet follow me around and play whatever song happens to be stuck in my head. They would, of course, wear tuxedoes at all times. They would also have matching 3D glowing eyeball glasses. To show that they’re with me. That, to me, would be the apex of fanciness.

My Entire Life Would Be Narrated by Morgan Freeman

Even the boring parts of life would become amazing with Morgan Freeman’s voice describing them.

Eating alone: “I’d like to tell you Josh didn’t finish that entire pizza by himself, but that would be a lie.”

Napping: “Josh Gondelman slept through three hours of the afternoon and came out clean on the other side.”

And the cool things would be even cooler. Imagine how Morgan Freeman would narrate as I drove down the street tossing ice cream to the children I passed as Screech from Saved by the Bell made custom sundaes in the back.

The world will never know until I am insanely wealthy. So… get on that everyone. Let’s make me rich. I promise it will pay off in antics and sombreros. Someone call Skee-Lo and have him get a Kickstarter going.

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I recently learned several things about LMFAO (creators of “Party Rock Anthem”) that changed the course of my life. Specifically, I now need to join forces with them because everything about them is amazing.

Some pearls I scooped up from their official bio and their Wikipedia entry:

1. The group’s two members are an uncle and a nephew. WHAT? I assumed that those guys had simultaneously spawned asexually from the Jean-Ralphio character on Parks and Recreation and willed themselves into real life. Redfoo, the uncle (the one who looks like Justin Timberlake in an afro wig), is eleven years older than Sky Blu, his nephew (the one who looks like Jersey Shore Yanni). Awesome.
2. They were originally called Sexe Dudes, but their grandmother thought that name was dumb. She wasn’t wrong.
3. Redfoo is the son of legendary Motown Records founder Berry Gordy. Which makes Sky Blu Berry Gordy’s grandson. Which makes the fact that their music sounds like something a robot composed for other robots to make out to all the more ironic.
4. LMFAO does not claim to be a band. Redfoo uses the term “Music Designers.” That is the most pretentious way to describe a music duo, except to say that they see themselves as “Sound Kafkas.” Incredible.

I think that alongside Redfoo and Sky Blu, I would be probably the greatest Music Designer in history. In fact, I have already legally changed my name to Josh Gondelman, MD in anticipation of the success of my first single. I have designed it in hopes of joining their music-creating group. Consider this sonic blueprint my application for employment, LMFAO. Submitted for your approval: “Party to Death.”

Opening

The pulsing sound of helicopter blades dominates the soundscape. Scattered machine gun fire is audible. Terrified shouting in German. As the sound of the helicopter grows quieter, so do the screams. A synth riff starts off, quietly at first, but growing louder measure by measure. Eventually, the ambient noise is drowned out as the synthesizer reaches a crescendo.

I bellow: “TONIGHT! WE PARTY! TO DEATH!”

The snare drum kicks in. It’s fast and syncopated, like someone opening a bag of marbles down a spiral staircase. Celebratory shouting commences, also in German.

Chorus

The bass drops into the mix. It’s loud and thumping. Picture someone banging a washing machine with a wet mop. Yeah, that’s it.

A smooth R&B voice croons the hook.

“Gonna party ‘til my heart stops/

Gonna party ‘til the ball drops/

Gonna party ‘til my head explodes/

Gonna party ‘til I’m dead whooooaaaoohhh”

The synth loop stops.

Sixty-five classically trained musicians play the theme from Rocky on kazoos.

Kazoos stop. Synth loop starts back up.

Verse

Over the synth loop, I rap in a stilted, self-conscious manner. It’s the off-kilter flow of someone who has no flow and is doing damage control by not trying very hard.

“The party’s startin’ up, tell your sister and momma/

My poems go straight to your dome like blunt force trauma/

Don’t worry if the jam’s on the hook… it’s off/

This party’s sick like lupus or whooping cough/

Go ahead and ask your doctor, he ain’t got no answer/

My diagnosis is the dopest, makes you terminal dancers/

I rock harder than Campbell’s chunky soup is hearty/

Until the coroner declares me “Dead By Party”

Bridge

The music is replaced by an irregularly beeping EKG monitor. Voices of confused doctors in the background: “We’re losing him!” “He’s too funky!” “I told him not to party so hard!”

The EKG speeds up. The doctors grow more frantic. Then, three slow beeps. Nothing. Silence.

“We’ve lost him.”

“No, there’s still time! Give him 40ccs of party, stat!”

“Doctor, you’re insane!”

“SHUT UP AND THROW THE SWITCH!”

Crackling electricity. Screams of agony. Silence. The bass drum starts up again for five seconds and then drops out abruptly.

My voice, triumphant: “THAT PARTY SAVED MY LIFE!”

All instruments come back in. The synth. The drums. The helicopter. The Germans. The electricity. Barnyard animals. Fireworks. Swordfight sound effects. Lasers.

The chorus repeats for roughly one minute over the cacophony. The music swells.

In the background: “I can walk!” We understand this voice to belong to FDR.

One final pulse of music. Silence again.

The helicopter is heard in the distance. The Germans are safe.

Me: “See y’all next time!” Then I give a Will Smith-esque “HaHA!”

Sound of transporter from Star Trek: The Next Generation.

End of song.

So, guys… am I in? If I don’t hear from you, I’ll just assume yes and buy my own leopard vest and giant sunglasses.

See you at band music design practice!

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Shutterstock

I received the news of Heather (a.k.a. Dooce of Mommy blogger fame) and Jon Armstrong’s separation with a mixture of emotions. Having been through the full spectrum of wearing white and saying “I do” to seeing red and saying “get out” myself, I relate. I feel sad for their loss. I worry about their children. I don’t know them, but I’ve followed their lives online since Heather began blogging in 2002.

The press is saying that Will and Jada are definitely breaking up this time. Johnny Depp and Vanessa are rumored to have been separated for some time. J Lo and Marc. Katy and Russell. Even Kobe’s wife finally called it quits.

I don’t care that famous people are breaking up; they’re strangers to me. But I know this: the same thing happens to people in the spotlight and out. And that leads me to ask:

Is everyone breaking up?

And what about it? Is it okay? Should we accept our new identity as a culture of people who can’t stay married for more than five or ten years? Sure, I feel a sense of loss when a couple that was a unit goes back to being two people. But these days, it seems that maybe we’d all be better off celebrating the time served, and thinking of it as just another chapter in a book of a variety of adventures that is our life.

When I was married and thought I would be for the rest of my life, there was a gray dullness surrounding my thoughts, as if someone dimmed my lights from the inside. It came from a sense that my future was predictable: locked in and not likely to change.

Then, all of a sudden, I was single! It was terrifying and wonderful at the same time. Holy hell, what will become of me? I can go on a date tomorrow? With a stranger? And then have drinks with friends and wander back to my house at who cares what time, because no one will be waiting for me and asking questions about where I’ve been!? Fantastic freaking freedom! The lights flooded back on. Good or bad days, they were all mine. I was the only driver of this party bus.

After a while, my single life began to bother me, just as my married life did. Too much of any one thing is hard to handle. I know now that the key to happiness in my own life isn’t held by a man, and it’s my right and responsibility to change things up when the light begins to fade.

My parents have been married for so many years that I’m not sure anyone is keeping track anymore, but it’s somewhere over 40. And I love that for them. Congrats, Mom and Dad! You’ve done something that the majority of our country won’t ever be able to master. But while I applaud your ability to stick to it, I’m not sure that the traditional formula of marital commitment — say your vows, grin and bear it for the rest of your life — is working for the rest of us. And I think that we as a society may need to redefine what a “successful relationship” is.

My boyfriend said, “the best I can guess is that it’s a combination of recognizing the person that’s right for each of us, grabbing hold when the chance presents itself, having a good portion of luck, and constant, open communication so that both people evolve together. And I believe that the best part of rich and diverse experiences is having someone with whom to share it.”

He’s so sweet, and still very romantic in this new relationship of ours. I guess, for now, we’re not breaking up.

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I have this recurring dream.

In the dream I turn to my model girlfriend Daisy Lowe at a Childish Gambino show and say, “See, he’s like The Throne and Lonely Island in the same dude!”

Her eyes twinkle before she grabs me, plants a kiss on my lips, and yells out like that adorable Debeers Diamondcommercial, “I love this man! Yes, that’s brilliant! And it’s so sexy to deconstruct it from afar, over being, like, on stage. Seriously! We should just go home and talk more…” followed by a big slow wink and a smile.

Her tights second the motion; the pursed pouty lips are lilting, “thirded.” But I barely notice “the signs” because I’m still dazed and confused thinking about the Throne/Lonely Island dude. It’s really important to me! What the world needs now, the great missing link in the cultural food chain, is an emcee with hot flame-spitting authority whose brains are scrambled with, and this is the tricky part, Chappellian, Galifianakian, Silvermanian irreverence. You know what I mean? Throw some cheese and bacon on that? Hold the grits. The best rappers, for better or worse, are best at a sort of artful-aggression. The best comics sprinkle some crack on all of that silliness. Put that in one person and then maybe locate the Gay Blake Griffin along with whomever is a mix of Kristen Wiig and Beyoncé (call me!) and we’re well on the way to righting the universe. I know this to be true.

“Well? Are we going home to think and talk some more or what?”

Daisy’s flashing our secret “let’s go” signal (if you must know, it’s six blinks in rapid succession followed by crossing her eyes until it hurts. This means ¡Ándele! ¡Ándele!). I look around and all the faces at the concert look like Donald Glover’s. Hmmm, maybe I’ve been thinking about this too much. I give her the nod for departure.

So we’re off!  Daisy and I hail a cab. Or rather, she gets the cab and I get in it with her (black dude joke). Inside she puts her head in my lap and I say, “Okay look, I’m going to try not to ramble. I mean it!  But real quick, here’s what I think are five crucial questions/issues for Donald.”

She looks up at me like she cares what I have to say, even though in five minutes I know she’s going to fall asleep, and I’m going to wake up. It happens every time. I keep thinking if I get my points out quickly enough maybe she’ll stay and talk to me some more:

Okay, #1, is Donald like Blackcore or not?: Gambino is very black-conscious, but is it for real or for show? I’m down with Glover’s potential as a household name in the lineage of contemporary black-conscious artists like Tribe, Lauryn Hill, Will Smith, Chris Rock, OutKast, Dave Chappelle, The Roots etc. This type of talent can trickle down to the tectonic level of culture and loosen the ground for deep-seated progress (though maybe you just like the music and laughs!). But Donald’s “swing-low” lament goes in and out of tune. Is he comfortable throwing up the fist clad in black leather or not? This is a question because:

#2, Ballad of the Stereotypical Non-stereotypical Black Dude: His lyrics have a lot of e-moaning about being racially pigeonholed, but on a landscape littered with hip-hop hyphenates you want to point to his wings and say fly, little pigeon, fly. Do you. If someone isn’t on board with DG being a rap star, they’re probably just indifferent. Or maybe bored with the stereotypically non-stereotypical black dude routine. Sometimes it feels like he’s pounding on the walls of a box he made for himself. There’s no groundswell for “thug nigga” shit from Childish Gambino. Everyone’s fine, I think. If he were a blog or think piece, his would be a straw man argument. Ultimately all this false melodrama in his lyrics about identity issues distracts us (and more importantly him) from actually venturing into new ground instead of just talking about it.

Daisy Check: fffffff, she’s fading, though mumbling something about me not being a stereotype. (ya heard.) I nudge her to buy some more time, but also because the next thought relates to the ladies.

#3 Isn’t his sexism a little out of character? Rappers play characters that fit the narratives they tell, and so we accept some “Let’s pour nut-juice on all these hoes” from a Rick Ross and others who traffic in this, uh, glamorous? lifestyle. But the self-awareness we love in Donald’s comedy undermines the cum/female-face ratio of his albums. Honestly, who pines for the face your dick constantly uses as a spittoon? Now don’t get me wrong, I’m pro blowjobs. Love ‘em! Rock the Vote for the Blow Jobs/Sex ticket in 2012! But the Gambino-as-playa-playa shtick feels, well, childish; if not weird or disingenuous in a smarmy way.

Daisy perks up for a second. “I’ll show you smarmy!” She’s tickling me.

Stop it, Daisy! Only two more:

#4 is: like, dude, Why So Serious?: Sincerity is a noble conceit in these days and times, but much like interrupting a tickle session with Daisy Lowe, sometimes being too self-serious bogs you down en route to Enjoying Life(™). He may deny how seriously he takes his rap career in interviews because he is smart and humble enough to know better, but you don’t go from Wu-Tang name generator to Rolling Stone on a lark. He means business. And the show-and-prove sincerity shows in the music. There’s talent, but the overall effect is a little sweaty. The best rappers sound effortless, but Gambino’s always turned up to 10. The irony here being that for all the comic pedigree his rap persona is too serious (bordering angry) to be the butt of a joke.

AND FINALLY…

#5 is: Why are Gambino and Glover so different?:

As a hip hop fan, I’m delighted to see a mind like Glover’s in the mix. A potential Joker to hip-hop’s Batman. But it’s also kind of sad to see what he thinks good rap should sound like. How he modifies Donald to service hip-hop. When Gambino grabs the mic and says he’s destroying everyone, it includes the Glover persona we know from his sketches, standup, and internet presence. With the petty humblebrags, sexism, self-inflicted racism (he harpooned this himself, we get it) etc. the concern is that he’s a lesser rapper specifically cause he’s chosen the lesser parts of rap to emulate.

EXHALE

Daisy Check: Aggggh! she’s asleep, which means I’m probably about to wake up.

But that’s the dream, pretty much. I guess it’s only a dream. But it’s been bothering me. Hopefully this helps. At least with the Donald part.

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Jack Black, host of the 24th Annual Nickelodeon Kids Choice Awards.

Source: Sam Jones / Nickelodeon / 2011 Viacom International, Inc.

This past Saturday evening at the University of Southern California the 2011 Annual Nickelodeon Kids Choice Awards (KCA) ceremony was held. Nickelodeon began the award show in 1986, and over the years it has undergone several transformations before its present incarnation, where kids vote on the internet or via text message for their favorite TV shows, movies, and celebrities. Jack Black, a KCA regular, hosted the ceremony; other notable hosts from the past include Rosie O’Donnel, Ben Stiller, and Whitney Houston, among others. Winners receive an orange blimp.

Miranda Cosgrove in character as ‘Carly’

iCarly, a show about two adolescent girls who realize the dream of the internet age and create a popular web cast, won the award for best TV show.

Dylan Sprouse and Selena Gomez won for best TV actor and actress. Gomez stars in Wizards of Waverly Place as a magician who misguidedly uses her magical powers to advance her social standing. Justin Beiber is reportedly a fan of Gomez.

The new remake of the classic The Karate Kid, starring Jaden Smith (son of Will Smith, who also produced) and Jackie Chan took home the award for favorite movie. The Karate Kid tells the tale of a young American boy who has to move with his parents to China, and it deals with themes of adolescent love, violence, and cultural assimilation.

Johnny Depp scored a Blimp for his role in Alice In Wonderland. In a startling gesture, he turned his back on the crowd to retrieve a slime hose, which he then proceeded to use to slime the front row of the audience.

Miley Cyrus nabbed a Blimp for the best actress category for her role in The Last Song, a coming of age drama written by Nicholas Sparks. Cyrus was criticized for her very formal dress (most of the adolescent females present were dressed casually) because some felt that it was suggestive of her growing out of her child/teen star persona, according to US Magazine. Cyrus has caused a lot of controversy for a number of incidents, among them being featured in a provocative Vanity Fair photo shoot and getting caught smoking a bong filled with what she claimed was salvia (legal in California) but what others claimed was marijuana.

Cyrus cried during her acceptance speech, for which she later expressed embarrassment. “I don’t know why that happened.…That was like bad teenage hormones kicked in where I was just like, so touched,” she said after the show.

Highlights of the affair included a performance of the hit song “Boyfriend” by Snoop Dogg and Big Time Rush, the stars of the show Big Time Rush, which was a nominee for best TV show. Snoop Dogg was one of the many guest celebrities who were slimed, another notable example being super model Heidi Klum.

Justin Beiber, who was not in attendance, won two awards for Best Song and Best Male Singer. Some speculate that a sliming is in order for Bieber if he attends next year’s ceremony.

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Three things about Willow Smith: She whips her hair back and forth, she has super famous parents and she’s the coolest nine year-old we know. At Willow’s age, we were playing in the sandbox and trying not to pee our pants. We wondered how she became so evolved and avoided this pesky thing called a childhood so we  went straight to the source to find out. And when the source refused to talk to us, we just made something up.

Thought Catalog: Hey Willow, What’s up?

Willow Smith: Who is this? My nanny just handed me the phone and said that you had candy and a big water slide.  Is that true? Can I go play on your waterslide? Ours is under construction.

TC: I’m a journalist, honeypie. We’re here to talk to you about “Whip My Hair.”

WS: Oh, that stupid song I made? I didn’t even wanna make it.

TC: What do you mean?

WS: Well, it all started because I really wanted to go over to my friend Jocelyn’s house because she just got a new Wii. I love Wii, I get like super high scores. Everyone knows I’m really good at it. Anyways, my mom told me, “No, Willow. You can’t go to Jocelyn’s until you go in the studio with Daddy and record this song.” And so I had to do it. And then I went to Jocelyn’s and we played Wii and her mom made us pizza. It was kind of gross pizza.

TC: You like pizza usually though?

WS: Duh. I love pizza. Are you kidding me? It’s so freaking good.

TC: Lets talk about the music video. Pretty crazy stuff, right? Whose idea was that?

WS: Some big director guy. I don’t know. It was pretty fun though because I just sucked on Pixi Stix the whole time. Pixi Stix are crazy. Have you had them before?

TC: Sure.

WS: This one time, I paid my friend Alexandra 20 bucks to snort some and she did! She started crying afterwards though and then I felt bad.

TC: Well, that sucks.

WS: Yeah. After that, she switched schools because her parents were getting a divorce and they had to move. That sucked too.

TC: Yikes. So Willow, you’ve been in some of your parents’ movies too. How does it feel to have such crazy famous parents?

WS: I don’t know. It’s good I guess because we’re super rich and a lot of people are poor. My dad can also introduce me to some awesome people and that’s cool.

TC: People like Muhammad Ali and Nelson Mandela?

WS:  Who? No, Miley Cyrus and like, the twins from The Suite Life. They are so cute.

TC: You know what’s cute? Your style. Where do you get your inspirations?

WS: Hold on a second. (CALLS TO JADA PINKETT) Mom! Where do I get my, um, style inspiration from?

Jada Pinkett-Smith: Berlin art scene, sweetie.

WS:  (BACK ON PHONE) Um, the Berlin art scene. (CALLS TO JADA PINKETT AGAIN) What else?

JPS: Basquiat!

WS: Who is that? Ugh. (BACK ON PHONE) Um, Boss-Key-Aught,

TC: Were you just asking your mom for the answers?

WS: (GIGGLES UNCONTROLABLY) No! I gotta go, Mr. Interview Man. I’m going to go ride our dolphin in our pool.

TC: You have a real dolphin?

WS: Duh. (DIALTONE)

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On his creative process:

…That’s all I do while I work on music in the studio, I just look at all these photographs, look at movies, I watch Avatar, like we got this 72-inch screen at the studio, and I watch Children of Men, There Will Be Blood, and just create music and I look at the visuals and I’ll turn the track up… And we’ll be in Hawaii and just completely zone out.

On whether or not he is a racist

I actually don’t know a rapper before me that liked white people more than me. I don’t know a rapper that wore tighter jeans. I don’t know a rapper that collaborated with more white people than me.

On the way he makes decisions

…I don’t know, feeling random, you know, my moves are a little bit random sometimes. I am not really that calculated it’s just like hey this is what I felt like doing, hah.

“Portrait of Power” video

On the “Power” music video

… So we, you know, vibe’d out at my house and we just kept bouncing ideas and we had all these references of these like renaissance paintings and baroque paintings, and I always had the dream of, like, re-creating the Sistine Chapel in a way so you, you know, when people say that this is not the full re-creation cause I still might want to do that, like re-create the Sistine Chapel. But, um, just emotionally and image-wise all that’s it it was really easy on set to, you know, to create the characters because it just feels things I dream and I see and that I felt since I was child from reading comics to being in love with paintings to going to art school and just always wanting to apply that.

On his ambition

When I make music I am not really thinking about other rapper’s albums I am trying to make my music compete with that McQueen collection. Which is, and I am not saying that it does, I am just saying that is the goal, that is how I set the bar of creation. You know, I rather compete with, umm, you know, when I think of competition it’s like I try to create against the past I think about Michelangelo, Picasso, you know, the pyramids. That’s the reason I put, like, 5,000 years in a song like “power.”

On how a philosophy course he took at SUNY Stony Brook on Gilles Deleuze inspired him:

… It’s funny I like want to find more of an abstraction in my work when things are, like, completely literal and you have to take it one way it’s just too commercial for me. But when it’s a bit more abstract and people can take it a lot of different ways so whatever people think about it it’s good, if people think hundred different things and have hundred different opinions about it that’s, that’s much better than giving or demanding that person or someone thinks one way about it…The fact that there is such a vast opinion makes it so great.

On his mission as an artist

I just feel like things on, um, the radio they just almost seem just too clear to me. It’s like when I listen to Thom Yorke or Trent Reznor I don’t understand everything they are saying the first time, but I feel it, I feel the emotion of it, I feel the artistery in it, and to take what I feel is that level and bring it to the radio is an extremely important task and I don’t take that lightly.

When the zombie first appeared on film in the 1930s, audiences became hooked on what they saw. Often depicted with crazed, transfixed, and bloodshot eyes, an insatiable hunger for human flesh and above all, a reckless disregard for human life, these terrifying creatures were slow-moving pack travelers. Audiences loved witnessing the random chaos visited on everyone and everything by these soulless corpses. As popularly conceived, a zombie is an infected human who has died from a virus, only to rise up as the ‘walking dead’ with a severe attitude problem.

These eerie creatures first identify, then surround, their victims, spreading infection at high speed, rampaging as they go. No wonder they became an enticing subject for film makers who, over the last century, have created thought-provoking and horrifying films built around them.

When George A. Romero released The Night of the Living Dead in 1968 he began a new era in zombie film making. Romero raised the creature’s profile to definitive cult status and inspired both fans and film makers around the world with his unique take on the zombie genre: a mix of classic horror/gore overkill with humor that established a new standard. Sequels like Dawn of the Living Dead, Day of the Dead, Land of the Dead, and Diary of the Dead followed suit. His work has continued to spur exciting contemporary directors to make modern zom-com classics like Shaun of the Dead and Zombieland which pay homage to Romero’s work. Other directors like Danny Boyle have taken a more serious and thoughtful stance, examining our drive to avoid irradiation as well as the impact of “total infection.”

Whatever the take, zombie films live on, and there’s no doubt that zombies will continue to dominate our screens for many years to come. With the firm belief that every zombie freak should have his day and draw up a list of the ten best, here’s mine.