This is really, really...funny.

Funny counterpoint.
Before going to the link, read the article below this first.
This is from the blog Jennslyvania, written by NY Times best-selling author, Jen Lancaster. Tagline: "Land of the free, home of the bitter." (fuck yeah) It's a rebuttal to that "misunderstood" Marie Claire bitch straight from a "jiggly" lady herself. And, oddly enough,  the narration sounds like Carmen Electra in my head.
For the record, my friend refused to read Maura's article because it was too mean. And she's not even obese or anything.
As for Maura, I'm sure she's crying at her computer right now hoping to not be assassinated. Poorly played, honey. Very poorly played.

Marie Claire blogger Maura Kelly has something to say...

When I woke up this morning, I did my usual round of websites: People, Gmail, TheFrisky, Hulu, EW, TheDailyWhat, and so on. On TheFrisky, however, journalist Jessica Wakeman has uprooted a rather startling discovery from the blog page of MarieClaire.com, for which Maura Kelly is getting some serious, insulting, and personal flack for her article entitled, "Should Fatties Get a Room?" to which she immediately replied, "Yes!" In the article, Maura addresses a TV show, "Mike and Molly", that follows two obese characters in love and how their weight effects their lifestyle and relationship and what not. What seems like a fairly harmless show just trying to shed light on a stereotype not typically romanticized, Maura finds "disgusting."
Posted on the 25th, there are now over 1,200 comments found on the page addressing how horrid Maura's statements are, especially from the readers who actually are obese, which Maura did not seem to take into account. As if only thin people would read it and the others would somehow bypass the word "Fatty" in the title. Just to quote a few sentences: "So anyway, yes, I think I'd be grossed out if I had to watch two characters with rolls of fat kissing each other...because I'd be grossed out if I had to watch them doing anything." "...I find it aesthetically displeasing to watch a very, very fat person simply walk across a room." Then she has an entire paragraph in parentheses claiming she'd be "happy to give nutritional information" and a rather two-faced-sounding "YOU CAN DO IT!"that comes across as incredibly ignorant.
Also surfacing with Maura's childish article is her own body image issues. Editor-in-chief, Joanna Coles, who OK'd the article, is admitting these words of hatred are really addressing Maura's own self hate towards her body. Having dealt with anorexia almost her whole life, it is imperative that Joanna take Maura's issues into account when dealing with such a sensitive subject as for both readers and the writer herself. The whole fiasco is based on very poor judgement, which does not represent what Marie Claire stands for at all. Last fall they made headlines by hiring a plus-sized stylist for the magazine spreads. Indian Plus-sized model, Crystal Renn, is more popular than ever after a ten-year hiatus. Yet Maura decides to write as if all obese people should all feel ashamed and constantly try to fix their bodies, which are "mistakes to be corrected," completely forgetting that not everyone needs to be ten pounds underweight be satisfied with their bodies.
In the comments--there's a new testimonial posted about every 2 minutes--are women telling Maura she should be fired, that this shows how she was raised, that she should be ashamed of herself, that she's a terrible writer who wrote about nothing important except how she felt, some even say they'll never purchase another Marie Claire magazine again (uh-oh). All very well thought out and not a trace of profanity to be found. Despite the fact that under the article is a long apology from Maura, no one is taking her seriously. Hopefully Maura's next article (if she can get passed this) is more people-friendly and not something sprung from a one-sided opinion.
To read Maura's article, go here.
For Jessica Wakeman's response, go here.

Movie: Away We Go.

Being in a relationship is like being in your car. No one else knows what it's like to be in that particular space, and when you're on the road amongst hundreds of other drivers, you know your car is unique in some way. It's the center of the universe, if you will. Just like no one knows what it's like to be in your particular relationship, with the other half that makes you a couple, and the feelings can never really be explained--they're just meant to be felt.
I wasn't compelled to see this movie when it first came out, mainly because of the contradictory reviews. It's depressing; it's a stoner movie; Sam Mendes is amazing; Sam drops the ball. Regardless, I'm glad I saw it so my mind could be made up.
It's one of the very few films that makes you forget the two actors acting like a couple, who probably met just two months before filming, are not really a couple in real life. Especially not John Krasinski and Maya Roudolph. She's too wise for someone like John, who's a joker.
John plays Burt. Maya plays Verona. They're not married. Verona is six months pregnant with a girl. One day they're comfortably in love, the next, one or the other needs reassurance that one isn't going to wake up the next morning feeling differently. Burt is very much committed to Verona. He proposes almost every day, even casually repeating himself at dinner with friends: "Verona, you are the love of my life." "Thanks, babe." "Will you marry me?" "Nope." They smile. It's not personal that Verona won't marry Burt. It's not him, who says he can't wait to see her as a mother, and hopes the baby has her smile. It's Verona.
Burt and Verona decide, three months before the baby's arrival, to leave their home due to Burt's parents absence. They're moving to Europe (the bastards). Burt and Verona feel desperate for familiarity and structure for their baby, so they go searching for a new home, one with friends and neighbors to help their new lives. They drive hundreds of miles in their little orange car visiting old friends with kids and Verona's younger sister, all exaggerations of textbook examples of the various families that differ in the world.
First stop is a near-neglectful family. The wife (Alison Janney) talks loudly about obscene subjects in front of her two chubby kids, claiming they don't hear her. It's "jibberish" to them, even screaming about her young daughter's dykish ways and her son's trophy-handle ears. The husband is just as dumb and passive as his kids.
Then is Verona's younger sister, who is single and curious to know what Verona remembers about their deceased parents.
After that, Maggie Gyllenhaal gets the hippie mom spot-on, banishing strollers from the house, claiming, "I LOVE my babies. Why would I want to push them away from me?!" when two minutes ago, Burt bought her an expensive stroller. She tells him to put it on the porch. Outside. Almost in tears due to quiet frustration.
And then is the Montreal family. Lovely parents. Five adopted children, all different ages and ethnicities. Verona loves this family most. In an amateur strip club, the father tells Burt about his wife's four miscarriages, and one a few days before, while his wife sways and twirls unhappily on a stripper pole. She's not in lingerie, just average clothes, as if she's done it a hundred times.
Towards the end, Burt learns his brother's wife has left he and his daughter down in Miami. And thus comes a fantastical scene, a screenwriter's wet dream, of Burt and Verona alone on a trampoline at night. Just talking about what they've seen and how it's affected them. Burt proposes again, in the midst of a tantrum directed at his betraying sister-in-law. And Verona says, "No one loves each other like us," and she tells Burt what to do and what not to do with their daughter and he listens like non of the previous husbands did. They're the best example.

Ne pas faire ce qu'il fait...

J'ai un ami. Je veux le garder mon ami. Recemment, il n'a fait rien mais m'ennuie avec ses singeries. Il pense qu'il est me gagnera plus d'avec ses voies mignonnes et avec du charme. Quand reellement, il me repousse. Je suis sur que n'est pas ce ce qu'il veut pour se produire. Tellement voici quelques choses qu'il devrait eviter tout en feignant pour ne pas avoir des sentiments pour moi.
Quand je me dis n'aimez pas quelque chose, je la signifient. Au lieu de me corriger comme je badine, notez lui. Feignant je suis dans le dementi n'est totalement pas mignon.
N'essayez pas d'etre avec du charme si ce n'est pas comment vous pensez a vous-meme. Il semble force. Ce n'est certainement pas mignon.
NE MENANT PAS. Vous ressemblerez a une Ass. Vous semblerez faible. Les seules person autorisees a se trouver sont des agents secrets, celebrites, et Chuck Bass de Gossip Girl. Pas quand vous essayez de courtiser une fille.
Ne pas repeter les meme questions. Il sera probablement la meme reponse. Et la reponse est non, je n'ai pas  besoin que vous pour rien avez a poser. "Je peux faire quelque chose?", "Desole je me suis endormi la nuit derniere [la messagiere text]", "Ce que vous faites?" Si vous devez forcer une reponse de notre part, vous etes deja hors de nos espirts.
Plus il est facile d'obtenir des informations des notre part, plus nous vous le souhaitez. Et vice-versa.
Il ya une ligne fine entre la parole et souvent harceler. Parlant souvent a un but. Pestering n'a d'autre but de que de vous garder dans notre espirt, meme si nous ne voulons pas de vous la-bas.
Il vous en avez, garcons et filles. Ne soyez pas pester. Soyez Chuck Bass.

How to turn your kitchen into a bubbly wonderland in 4 easy steps.

Step 1: Open dishwasher, mix two dish soaps into the door container.
Step 2: Close dishwasher and turn to "heavy wash."
Step 3: Leave the washer running and don't go into the kitchen until it is finished.
Step 4: Walk into kitchen. There should be a large puddle of suds on the floor, crackling away. Enjoy!

Bubbles--a lot less appealing when you least expect them.

Dear Cat: thanks for the suicide scratches ya brat.

There are four lovely scratches going down my left wrist, the "down the valley, not across the street" ones.... I hate you.

Juno has much more respect for Elmo.

"Elmo likes wasabi!" Hahaha

I'm sorry, Willow Smith, but you're still 9 years old.

She's such a pipsqueak! Watching this makes me think her tiny neck will break off from all that "whipping".

What European techies do for fun: be awesome.

I'm not sure what language that is, but come on. Does it matter?

Drop everything and watch this.

The 600 Years from the macula on Vimeo.


To mark the 600th anniversary of Prague’s preposterously complex Astronomical Clock, video mapping specialists The Macula, aided by Lukáš Duběda and Michal Kotek, projected a stunning 10-minute-long animation against the clock’s facade. - The Daily What

I believe it's called paranoia...

I would write this article in French, but sometimes it's hard to get the right sense of humor across in a different language. So I'm sticking with American.
I didn't think last night would actually happen after moving into this apartment, but it did. I was tossing and turning, burning up but reluctant to remove the covers, and looking around every time I opened my eyes. I was afraid. But why? At one point, it was about 2AM and I was drifting to sleep, and I opened my eyes when I felt the bed shake. Tucker was moving next to me, but did he really cause that shake? Or did I  do it, I just wasn't aware? Neither of those made much sense. Tucker's a 6 month-old cat. And on my left side, I don't know if it was just my body relaxing or if it really did feel like something pushing the covers under my ribs, as if to tuck me in or whatever.
I even had a dream that I woke up one morning to find my CD player close shut and play music on its own, at which point I went next door to my mom's apartment (we were in a boarding house-type place) so  she could grab a Bible and take it into my room. The Bible shook terribly in her hands, like a radar, and that confirmed my worst fears.
I've always had a terrible phobia like this. It goes up and down. For the passed few months it's been a pretty quiet whisper, but ever since Halloween has flashed commercials for horror movies in my face during Glee, it's shot back up to a dull roar. Especially the Paranormal Activity 2 trailer that I can't seem to get away from even on Hulu.com. The grotesque thing is that I tend to apply those scenarios to my own life for some reason. I can't help it. They just play out with no Stop button. All it takes is one little commercial and the idea spreads like wildfire. Then I have to wait at least five or six days to convince myself that nothing is wrong, nothing will happen.
I have a friend who says she loves scary movies. She just thinks it's fun to feel scared, like it's some form of entertainment and enjoyment. I'd rather have that attitude towards horror flicks to save myself from the night sweats because it sucks not wanting to even glance at my mirrors for fear I'd see something I don't want to see. The feeling just sits in my body and rots, digging holes, drying me up inside. I can't wait till I'm 25 and won't give a damn no matter what I see.

Congratulations, RiRi, I (kind of) like you again.

How effing charming.

Movie: It's Kind of a Funny Story

I saw this last night on the verge of getting over a cold, which has drained me of my usual long attention span. Being not so patient, I sat through the hour and forty minutes of quirkiness, hearing the audience react in a way I couldn't. So I sat there, criticizing, trying to enjoy what moments seemed enjoyable. And I did enjoy it for the most part.
Based on the book by Ned Vizzini, the movie is about introverted Craig. Craig (Keir Gilchrist), 16, is not quite a severe case of depression. When we first meet him, he's about to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge--actually, he does it. It's confusing whether or not his parents showing up to stop him is real or if he's dreaming, nor is it explained. And I don't care much for the dialogue there. Me=1, Movie=0. So that morning, he checks himself into the psychiatric ward of a hospital. He tells the front desk, "I want to kill myself." She hands him a chart and says, "Fill this out." Me=1, Movie=1.
He sees a doctor, an Indian one (because this is a movie and it needs diversity so in with the Indian doctor). The doctor is about to send him back home when Craig makes a desperately bold speech about how he absolutely cannot go home, fearing "I might...do something." The doctor reluctantly checks "admitted" on the chart. Thus opens the doors to a windowless, bottom-floor world of psychosis in its different forms. Me=1, Movie= still 1.
Craig is shown the room he'll be staying in for five days minimum, and his roommate, an old Egyptian man who "hasn't left the room in weeks." Me=1, Movie=2.
Bobby is played by Zach Galifinaikis, and rightfully so. Bobby is comfortably insane, wearing his pudgy body and scruffy beard and sad eyes like a walking teddy bear. Craig likes him because Bobby gives him more attention he's received in weeks. The diagnosis doesn't matter. What matters is that they're there, alive, interacting like two new friends at school. The pacing tends to remain a bit slow even though Craig is now at the hospital. Me=2, Movie=3.
Noelle (Emma Roberts) is another specimen of the ward. Also 16 and donning three scars on her left cheek, she takes an interest in Craig after watching him offer Bobby one of his dad's shirts for an interview. Noelle, playing the ultimate teen, thus too shy for direct verbal contact, drops a note at Craig's feet telling him to meet her that night.
They play the Question Game, where she asks him a question and he must answer with a question. This is point where I stopped seeing Craig as imaginary and started appreciating Keir's abilities to pretend like he was a depressed adolescent attempting to flirt with a pretty girl in a mental hospital. The cool shyness is mastered with a few raised eyebrows and seemingly coy teasing that made me wish I was Noelle just so he could ask me questions. Me=2, Movie=4.
As Bobby puts it, their chemistry is like his vocalized air missiles followed by an explosion.
Truth be told, my favorite part of this movie has to be during "music time" when half the patients gather round in a circle with various instruments and attempt to recreate "Under Pressure" by Queen. Noelle has a tambourine while Craig is just fine empty handed so he can watch peacefully. But then, the instructor insists he must do something, so "you're on vocals." The last thing anyone wants to hear at a hospital. After much encouragement, Craig stands at the mic. Then begins a dream sequence of rock n' roll where Craig has a mohawk and skinny jeans, Bobby is on keyboard, Noelle is on guitar, and they're all in 80's David Bowie attire. I much enjoyed watching Keir's abs through his open leather jacket. Me=2, Movie=5.
As you can see, IKFS won by a few points.

Mirror's aren't really mirrors....

This is just something I've noticed... with a slight pang of what-the-fuckery.
Having two mirrors opposite each other in my apartment, I've noticed that reflections play tricks on you. For example, my lamp in front of the mirror is on. My closet mirror, parallel to the other mirror, is reflecting a wall with light switches, an intercom, and an alarm panel. In the mirror there seems to be a boxy, orange light on the wall. But when I look at the wall, there's no light on it at all. There also seems to be a difference in shadows in the mirror. Some objects have darker shadows or even an extra one I can't see without the mirror. What the heck, science?!

I'm not sure why I like this...but I do.

I think it's the accents and fantastic nerdiness....

Old crush reignited: Jack White.

There's something oddly sophisticated about him, don't ya think?

Movie: The Social Network.

Not your average, run-of-the-mill biography, that's for damn sure. First, I couldn't believe the amount of creativity that went into emulating the birth of Facebook and the simultaneous (somewhat) intimate relationship roller coasters. But, of course, I wasn't expecting anything less from director David Fincher either.
Mark Zuckerberg is definitely not a common character, especially one commonly pulled off by actors. This is why God invented Jesse Eisenberg. If Jesse's portrayal of Mark was any more believable you'd think Jesse really was a total asshole compared to his typecast soft-yet-brave roles. Mark is introduced as a fast-talking Harvard student with a dangerous anger and way of speaking that makes you think he enjoys talking to himself more than others. He is smart because he is both inside and outside every situation. He is fascinating to watch because of his unpredictability, and likable because he makes mistakes just like everyone else. My favorite line of his: "I can't stand here staring at that loop of Niagra Falls, which has nothing to do with the Caribbean."
His best and only friend, Eduardo Saverin, played with fragility by the British Andrew Garfield, is sweet, sensitive, and caring. Also smart, has his own funding from oil futures, and is never not in a button-down silk shirt. My favorite line of his?: "You better lawyer-up, asshole, because this time, I'm coming back for everything." Ahh, revenge.
Sean Parker, acted by Justin Timberlake, is somewhat of a lost cause on the inside. Paranoid, desperate for emotional connection lasting more than two hours, and devilishly likable, Sean weasels his way into the Mark-Eduardo relationship better than James Bond ever could. Having founded Napster at 19, he has his own history, and Mark can't help but be drawn to his consistent coolness. But Eduardo can see right through those tight blonde curls of his. Favorite line: "Amy, come quick! There's a snake in here! Okay, there's not a snake, but I have a question."
Cameron and Tyler Winklevoss. The Abercrombie & Fitch twins. Only better. Who knew someone as mathematically good looking as Armie Hammer could pull of such a complex role--times 2? Armie plays both Harvard students with body doubling by a real A&F model, Josh Pence. The brothers are rowing machines and always have their wits about them, never acting too quickly without thinking long and hard about the consequences. They're the ones who claim Mark stole their idea for Facebook and take him to court. Favorite line from Tyler: "I'm 6'5", 220 [lbs] and there's two of me." Cameron: "Oops, broke your 335 year-old doorknob."
Moving on to the man behind it all: David Fincher, who has a reputation for pewter tints in all his grim movies. This is the first one I've seen with a rather smooth, warm palette, it's almost fantastical. This review would not be complete without the mention of the rowing scene when the Winklevoss twins race and lose by less than a second (not really a spoiler). Why is this pivotal? The fucking camera lens has such a shallow depth of field, causing everything to look ridiculously 2D, you'd swear you were staring at a painting and not actual people. With the sharp-blurred focus, it's perhaps the trippiest scene in the entire movie. And no Fincher movie is complete without at least one scene giving off a that's-not-normal feel.

Movie: The Town.

(I saw this a week ago so bare with me.)
First, I loved it.
Second, The Town is one of Those movies: the cheap-looking expensive film. The picture is grainy, no fancy suits to be seen, dirty neighborhoods, low-maintenance hairdos, no make up.... Enter various bullet-proof trucks, tons of police man/cars, explosives, ridiculous guns, bank robberies with elaborate vaults, etc.
It's also a movie with much passion involved. Ben Affleck seems to have a knack for producing likable, vulnerable characters and dropping them in a pot of trouble to stew. Perfect.
Sir Affleck plays Doug MacRay, a native to Charleston in Boston. In Charleston is a one-square-mile neighborhood of bank robbers who are damn good at their jobs of driving up to a bank in costume, demanding money, getting the money, and leaving with nary a fingerprint. Doug is one of the good ones.
Lovely Rebecca Hall plays Claire Keesey, a victim of one of Doug & Co.'s many bank jobs. Left completely traumatized by the experience, Doug discovers Claire is practically his neighbor; she lives across the street in a town home. Naturally, Doug decides to follow her to make sure she doesn't go to the FBI.
He watches her at the laundromat, silently folding clothes, even asking him if he has quarters for the dryer. He doesn't. Claire freezes at the sight of dried blood on the collar of her work shirt and Doug is immediately guilty as Claire starts to cry. Sitting just a few feet away, Doug feels obligated to charm a smile back onto her face.
And thus begins the secretive, complex, and most enticing romance to watch on screen.
I'd say more but I'd rather just see the thing again.
Fine, one more thing. Blake Lively can most definitely pull off a lost Boston hoochy, and Jon Hamm can beat the shit out of criminals as an FBI agent.