sorry im not done gatsbyposting. the nyc celebrations for its 100th anniversary are so uniquely deranged. like here you have a book that absolutely scathes new york parties & dress-up & entertainment & alcohol & careless wealthy east coast elites. and the way the city is celebrating the 100th anniversary of one of the most beautifully written & personally devastating literary tragedies this country has ever produced is by. offering 10% off gatsby-themed cocktails at luxury bars. hosting pay-to-attend 1920s themed costume balls in the wealthiest areas of midtown. setting up penthouse hotel suites to ostensibly resemble locations from the book. a few hours ago at an exclusive private event they had the cast of the glamorous broadway musical, all in designer clothes, light up the empire state building green to advertise their show where tickets cost up to $670. one of them said the green light ‘represents the beauty of the american dream.’ i think you could power all manhattan with energy generated from the rotational torque of f scott fitzgerald spinning wildly in his grave
anyhow i celebrated this international holiday by leaving work early & dressing up & driving north five and a half miserable hours to see the empire state lit up green because this was a true once in a lifetime event & this book changed my life & i wanted to celebrate a character i loved and mourned & see a glittering green light shining on the water & reach for it like dreamers do. but even though all the websites and blogs i could find told me it would be green on the 11th—that it would blaze green all night on the 11th, and i triple checked each one—by the time i got there at 8:15 pm they’d turned it off. and the parties had happened thursday night, not friday. so i ended up alone & exhausted & rain-drenched & freezing & quite frankly absolutely crying my eyes out on the shore across from the city, just fucking stupidly sobbing above the water, wishing i could go back just a little way into the past. and THATS how you do gatsby. ill kill you all
Send me to Mars with party supplies before next august 5th
No guys you don’t understand.
The soil testing equipment on Curiosity makes a buzzing noise and the pitch of the noise changes depending on what part of an experiment Curiosity is performing, this is the way Curiosity sings to itself.
So some of the finest minds currently alive decided to take incredibly expensive important scientific equipment and mess with it until they worked out how to move in just the right way to sing Happy Birthday, then someone made a cake on Curiosity’s birthday and took it into Mission control so that a room full of brilliant scientists and engineers could throw a birthday party for a non-autonomous robot 225 million kilometres away and listen to it sing the first ever song sung on Mars*, which was Happy Birthday.
This isn’t a sad story, this a happy story about the ridiculousness of humans and the way we love things. We built a little robot and called it Curiosity and flung it into the star to go and explore places we can’t get to because it’s name is in our nature and then just because we could, we taught it how to sing.
That’s not sad, that’s awesome.
*this is different from the first song ever played on mars (Reach For The Stars by Will.I.Am) which happened the year before, singing is different from playing
honestly i think my biggest problem with high society (1956) is that pitting frank sinatra at that point in his life and career against bing crosby at that point in his life and career just isn’t fair. the philadelphia story works bc in 1940 cary grant and jimmy stewart were at similar levels of desirability, just, like, in different directions: grant was 37 years old, out of his baby face phase but still young. he’s suave and sophisticated and portrays dexter as someone who knows katharine hepburn’s tracy better than anyone and can be her intellectual equal. stewart, on the other hand, is a few years younger, boyish and still a little rough around the edges but undeniably charming. he makes mike seem sweet and a little shy, someone who loves tracy a lot but doesn’t fully understand her. in high society, though, there’s really no contest. crosby is in his early 50s, and he’s already on the decline. there’s really no indication as to what grace kelly’s tracy sees in him, aside from the fact that he’s familiar to her, because she’s known him for a long time. sinatra, on the other hand, is in his prime. his take on mike isn’t charmingly inexperienced, but confident and self-assured. the point of the philadelphia story is that tracy has trouble choosing because both men are desirable in different ways. even if you personally prefer mike, tracy choosing dexter at the end doesn’t feel like a let down because, i mean, come on, it’s cary grant. high society falls flat because, for the average viewer, the obvious choice is mike, but, because the plot requires it, tracy chooses dexter. where tracy in the philadelphia story chooses a man who can challenge her and make her want to be a better person over a man who worships her but comes from a different world, tracy in high society chooses what she knows over something new and exciting.
every once in a while i see a post on here making fun of hoodwinked and i get just slightly offended cuz i completely unironically love that movie.
like yeah it’s a bit ridiculous and the animation isn’t great but like. there are so many gems in that movie.
red’s a black belt. granny does extreme sports. the big bad wolf is an investigative journalist and he’s voiced by kronk. a totally random goat that was cursed by a witch for unknown reasons to sing everything he says and has many sets of multifunctional detachable horns and gets an entire musical number despite being only vaguely important to the movement of the plot.
seriously this movie is fantastic and y’all are sleepin on it.
