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Director Ridley Scott has recently revealed that he’ll be directing a new Blade Runner movie. Pretty exciting, given that he directed the first one. It remains unclear whether the new film will be a prequel or a sequel to the original; the filmmakers have simply described it as a “follow up.”
Every single painting had someone taking a picture of it. Sometimes it was just a quick iPhone click-and-go, other times it was a full-fledged staging that required a squint, squat, and snap.
Saying “I love you” during a hook up with your serious BF/GF is cute and sweet. Saying it to someone you don’t really love and/or know is just weird. But it happens! The premature “I love you” is a real issue.
There are guides and handbooks on making it in NYC, the city that never sleeps – but what about DC, the city that always sleeps? There are documentaries chronicling the rise and fall of stars out in LA, the city of dreams, but not much has been said of those of us living in DC, the city of nightmares.
To this day, I can’t remember the name of the girl who drove us, which is unfortunate because after ten minutes of us driving, I began to vomit all over the interior of her car. Being a near stranger, she started to get really pissed and scream, “OMFG, MY CAR! MY CAR IS RUINED!”
Lots of credit goes to the old, familiar tricks, but few people take the time to stop and recognize the newer tricks in the book. Sure, they may lack the simple elegance of that trick where you point at a stain on someone’s shirt and then poke that person in the face when they look, but there are plenty of modern ploys, dupes, and cons that rival them in effectiveness.
Always talk about being Greek. Make sure that everyone you encounter knows, unequivocally, that you are Greek. Refer everything you do to how Greek you are. If you feel like you’re talking about being Greek too much, you’re not—talk more. If you talk about being Greek enough, your friends will probably give you a neat Greek nickname, like GKG (Greek Kat George).
They’re my friends—I know what they think their problem areas are, I know what colors they think they don’t look good in, I know if wearing a 4-inch heel makes them homicidal. These questions are not for them.
“Uhhh,” I stammered, already getting very uncomfortable. “I know you have to be naked, right? And you, um, hug or something?” My dad was smiling as I wracked my brain trying to remember the details of every sex scene I had witnessed on television, before my mom could change the channel. If he felt awkward too, he was doing a great job of hiding it.
North Vancouver and its Alpine peaks spread out in the skyline. Undulating ridges lit by moonlight. Grouse Mountain had extended their operational hours to celebrate 5cm of fresh powder; late in Spring, almost Summer. Their ski-lift fog-lights made dark-red, champagne-yellow and bright-white stars. We smoked. We talked real estate. We did not kiss.
Androgyny, as I intend for this piece, is not concerned with sexuality. Rather, it is androgyny defined as the spiritually developed person in the Jungian fashion of recognizing the anima (for guys) and the animus (for girls). There is a girl inside every boy and a boy inside every girl, to put it simply.
Tattoos are art. Someone drew them and I paid to hang their work in the gallery that is my body. Would you bum rush the Mona Lisa and start smearing your dirty hands all over it? Do you need to touch every bump on a Van Gogh to appreciate what it looks like? Not if you’re not Mr. Magoo, you don’t.
In retrospect, my objection was nothing but pop prudishness. Without noticing it, I was using the same arguments as old people who hated The Beatles. What helped me understand this was actually the Hipster Runoff-coined term “Slutwave” which perfectly described Ke$ha’s musical philosophy.
To really understand what’s at stake, you should know that You Are Free was instrumental in bridging a gap in between The Terrible Crap I Listened To Before The Internet, and The World Of Real Music With Meaning. So you should know that “He War” will cut me deep, exposing raw bone from an incarnation of myself long before I moved to New York City.
Whenever I have to mail something, I have a mini panic attack. First, I have to get stamps, which seems super daunting because I have no idea where they’re sold. Can I get one at my vegan co-op later or maybe the guy I’m sleeping with from OkCupid has some at his apartment. IDK!
Meet dude, purveyor of fine ladies’ clothing at Divine Rags, a clothing store in Memphis, Tennessee. My trolldar is going off here, albeit slightly, as I’m a little suspicious this is a joke, but the store does appear to have a website, which is perhaps just as confusing as the commercial.
There’s something magical about musical collaborations—rather than just being plain old “excited” about your favorite artist releasing a new album or single, you get to be “double”, “triple” or “super” excited to see two or more of your favorite artists performing together (remember how you felt the first time you heard “All About You”?).
“I saw him read from Downtown Owl at Highline Ballroom a few months ago; I can’t wait to read it,” I bragged. Sam wasn’t having it. “I was there, too. God, I love him. He actually emailed me once, with writing advice. I know his fiancée; she set it up.”
There’s a class of movie that has at its center the basic idea of “character who has everything on the outside, but has just figured out that s/he has nothing on the inside.” Arguably one of the lessons of these kinds of movies is something like “Money doesn’t buy happiness,” but somehow, some films seem to glamorize both the affluence and the emptiness that may come along with such a lifestyle…
Typically when a celebrity wears a designer’s clothing it’s seen as being mutually beneficial. It’s an exchange that’s as old as time— designers lend their clothing to an influential name so that their frocks can be photographed by the press, seen by millions of people, and hopefully bought up by their fans. It’s the best promotion someone can get!
I apologize, what an awkward way to Break The Ice! If I’ve made you uncomfortable in any way, Don’t Let Me Be The Last To Know. I wouldn’t want you to Hold It Against Me.
The woman who wont drive 45 minutes to the only open McDonalds in her town at 5am when her stomach threatens to suicide over an unrequited love affair with a cheeseburger is not to be trusted. Having the willpower to overcome her instincts would make her a formidable opponent in both war and sex games.
Watch time pass and nothing changes. Start to get nervous and feel like you’re running behind on your grieving process. You shouldn’t still be seeing their face in the clouds or feeling nauseous when drive past their house. Start to panic.
Depardieu began shouting, “I want to piss! I want to piss!” in front of the crowded passengers. In her attempts to assuage the actor, according to one passenger, the air hostess informed him, gently, “I’m sorry, sir, the facilities are locked, there is nothing I can do to help you right now.”
The basics are great, but they’re not everything. Here are four simple tips to avoid being labeled and forever known as an “asshole roommate.” Let me preface these tips by saying that I’m not the best roommate, but I’ve had enough bad ones to have learned some things…
I couldn’t be sure, but I felt like I’d spend the rest of my life with her. Rounded bottom, eyes bruised by lack of sleep. She thought in a linear but beautiful way. She saw consequences and never alluded to mysterious objects, places or feelings of the past—things I could interpret ambiguously. I enjoyed her enthusiasm for life. Her willingness to speak her mind, belong to my heart.
This is the oldest narrative. One loves one while he or she loves the other. I’ve always felt that it’s clichéd to write about love, be it unrequited love or contented love. The topic has seemingly been exhausted. It’s been written countless times in countless iterations. But isn’t that the point? This is universal.
Here in Texas, the Sun has turned into a morally bankrupt psychopath, and it wants to kill us and our families. All the cities around me are breaking records for 100-degree consecutive days. Wichita Falls is up to 52 days (previous record of 42), Tyler’s up to 47 days (previous record of 20 days), and Waco has 43 days (previous record of 42)…
Kmart has experimented with putting laundromats inside its stores, and everyone has heard about laundromats that are teamed with taverns or live music. I’d like to suggest some ways people who own washers and dryers could be persuaded to fill their pockets full of quarters and head to the coin op.
We can go back to my dilapidated apartment in one of those old factory row houses that hasn’t been renovated since the Hungarian immigrants moved out a century ago. There, we can drink 40s on the porch, ironically or not, and sow the front lawn with cigarettes while feeling “gritty.”
I am more truthful than he is, she says, something he never quite understood the importance of. She believes me with the trust of a child, my mother. There is truthful, and then there is believable. I am nothing but an impeccable liar with an innocent smile. In that way, I am my father.
This past weekend, the American Heartland played host to the many faces of our splintered culture, inviting them to unite behind the notorious harlequin mask of the Juggalos. For more than a decade now, The Gathering of the Juggalos has tended and entertained thousands of devoted travelers, determined to experience its distinct vortex of music, violence and low culture.
The second time you fall in love with someone, it’s going to feel different. The first time felt like a dream almost. You were untouched, untainted by anyone. You accepted love with wide open arms and desperation. “Love me, love me, love me!” So you did.
Oh man, white girls, you crossed the line this time. I think some discretion should have been used here, because you may have just made yourselves into the next Rebecca Black, and it’s possible you’ve all just lost any position in your little fraternity/ sorority hierarchy your house may have had previous to the unveiling of this extremely embarrassing video.
Online dating isn’t as complicated as it seems. In fact, I can tell you all about it. After all, I’ve been using it for almost twenty four hours, so I’m the perfect person to give an introduction to its desperate world.
Most parties are the same, most will be like watching a reel of someone else’s life, but there are some that you will never forget and that’s why we keep going to them. We hope that it will be a party where everyone is equal amounts of wasted.
But there must have been a you before this you that exists now, there must have been a part of you somewhere that danced, that smiled, that lived in some way aside from vicariously through your children and the people on your TV.
Senior year. Everyone is turning eighteen. Everyone is applying to college. Everyone is very serious about their future adulthood. Everyone has bought Catcher in the Rye and it is changing their lives and then one day in English I say something like, “I think that book is pretty lame” and this one girl in soccer socks turns to me and she has the gall to go, “you’re so ignorant, Leigh.”
Think it’s a swell idea to get on a snowmobile? You’re wrong. You’ll fall into the ice and be stuck in freezing water for an hour and a half until your brother rescues you. Think it’s a good idea to climb trees and hunt for animals? Wrong again. You’ll fall off the tree, break your legs and land in cactus.
He walks past you, a fit figure of confident posture and elegant air. “Jesus,” Kyle utters as Ryan Gosling is four steps away. “That was totally a famous actor that just walked past us.”
Schadenfreude Syndrome (SS) plagues the singles who are jealous of someone else’s relationship. The SS sufferer carefully monitors a couples’ behavior and has a small celebration whenever something appears to have gone wrong.
And then—we were speeding through the thick Athens early morning humidity. Syntagma, Plaka and Monastiraki all became blurs and lines as the round circles of traffic lights morphed into long lines fading into one another like rainbows, and my hair whipped across my face, stinging my eyes and choking my open mouth.
I had never seen someone eat a cigarette butt before. Much less on a Sunday, in a park, surrounded by nothing except bottle caps and nameless bugs. “Why am I eating this again?” She asked.
I swim, but I do not see. The water is thick with turbidity: fibers of fish scales, the forgotten breath of deforested sea weed. A snorkel leads from my puckered lips and broaches the thin surface above me. The snorkel is my division, because I am not as decisive as I might hope. I cannot fully detach myself from one world for another.
Ofelia Hunt is the author of the novel Today & Tomorrow, recently published by Magic Helicopter Press, as well as several poems and short stories scattered around the internet. The following interview was conducted via a series of emails.
My boyfriend was away, and we were fighting. Several nights in a row I came home too drunk and such to sleep, but also too effed to work, and in the indecent hours Tumblr is only interesting for so long (~12 minutes). So, porn…
When I was younger, I would get caught up in the fame. Whenever I would go to a fancy restaurant, I would just drop my last name and immediately be escorted a table. “Anything for the star of Joe’s Apartment‘s cousin,” they would tell me.
It hurt because you didn’t really seem to care. You moved on so easily. Almost instantly, you found someone else to take to dinner, someone else to get too drunk with, someone else to hold in your naked arms in the sweaty early morning hours. I hate that the rotation was so easy for you; that you so effortlessly flicked me off your life and replaced me with someone you obviously deemed ‘better.’
It’s enough to make you think God creates humans on a computer game like The Sims – everyone gets one of the forty-two available character flaws. It’s just your luck that you got stuck with ‘bottles up emotions,’ which is easily spotted and frequently commented on.
