Red Band Movie Trailer of the Day: The first official trailer for Troy Duffy’s long, long, long (long, long (long)) awaited Boondock Saints follow-up, The Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day.
The film, which features role reprisals from Sean Patrick Flanery, Norman Reedus, David Della Rocco, and Billy Connolly, alongside the welcome addition of Peter Fonda and Judd Nelson, is due in theaters October 30.
[via.]
We’re good. Yes, we are.
KICK. ASS.
Fuck. Yes.
I recall being told, when I first moved to Los Angeles and was living on an isolated beach, that the Indians would throw themselves into the sea when the bad wind blew. I could see why. The Pacific turned ominously glossy during a Santa Ana period, and one woke in the night troubled not only by the peacocks screaming in the olive trees but by the eerie absence of surf. The heat was surreal. The sky had a yellow cast, the kind of light sometimes called “earthquake weather.” My only neighbor would not come out of her house for days, and there were no lights at night, and her husband roamed the place with a machete. One day he would tell me that he had heard a trespasser, the next a rattlesnake.
The city burning is Los Angeles’ deepest image of itself. Nathaniel West perceived that, in The Day of the Locust, and at the time of the 1965 Watts riots what struck the imagination most indelibly were the fires. For days one could drive the Harbor Freeway and see the city on fire, just as we had always known it would be in the end. Los Angeles weather is the weather of catastrophe, of apocalypse, and, just as the reliably long and bitter winters of New England determine the way life is lived there, so the violence and the unpredictability of the Santa Ana affect the entire quality of life in Los Angeles, accentuate its impermanence, its unreliability. The winds shows us how close to the edge we are.
I’ve tried to read everything I can about the fires currently raging in Southern California, as the area’s palpable sense of pending doom has long been a morbid fascination of mine. Invariably, when such things take place, as they often tend to do, I’m reminded of Joan Didion’s essay “The Santa Ana” from Slouching Toward Bethlehem, from which I pulled the excerpts above.
And if you haven’t seen Eric Spiegelman’s cool videos of the fires raging on the horizon from his balcony, one during the day and the other at night, they’re a must see.
(via cajunboy)
Living in Los Angeles is the very nexus of living with impending doom. It’s a tremendously rough city to exist within, and your day to day life is a constant reminder of the balance of victory and defeat you play. The ground upon which the city itself rests is inherently unstable as well, with earthquakes and fires in the back of one’s mind at all times. There is a sort of degree of terror which each of these inherits: a 4 pointer is whimsical; something to forget to tell your parents about the next time they call. A seven pointer is disastrous. A small fire happens 30 or so times a year, sometimes it’s a reason to be 15 minutes late to a meeting in the valley. On the other hand, the wrong fire at the wrong time is devastating.
You’re constantly reminded by your outside-the-city friends about “The Big One,” or that LA is one big desert, waiting to burn to the ground. It’s weird. You can only hear it so many times, and yet you know that it’s inevitable. One day, Southern California will have another massive earthquake. People will die. The city - for a brief period - will become an embodyment of chaos and the philosophical question of whether people are inherently good or evil will rage in the streets.
Those feelings and understandings never go away, you just become used to the various degrees of horror which could happen at any time. It’s odd saying this, but it’s not denial, it’s complete acceptance. It’s also not letting that fear and knowledge run your life. But it’s tough, man. It’s really fucking tough living in LA.
FUCK. I NEED TO GO TO A FAIR. WHO WANTS TO DO A TUMBLR MEET UP IN SIX FLAGS.
I’d be down for 6 Flags Magic Mountain…
I, also, would like to have dinner with Imogen Heap so she could tell me all about the different parts of the galaxy she’s visited.
“Hello, folks, Captain Harrison here. We’re about to make our final approach into LAX, so why don’t you fold up those tray tables and bring your seats HOLY FUCK MOTHER OF FUCK! What is that? Oh, shit! Do whatever you want! Recline your goddman seats, fuck in the aisles, whatever, go for it! The end of days is here, and it’s everyone for themselves before Satan reaches up a giant, gnarled claw from those flames and pulls this tin bird straight down to Hell! Oh, Jesus. Repent! No, fuck! Keep fucking! Your stewardesses will be by to prepare the cabin for damnation. Have a lovely stay in the Malebolge, or wherever your eternal destination might be.”
The fire, as seen from my window on approach to LAX #2
This is, without a doubt, my favorite reblog of all time.
The fire, as seen from my window on approach to LAX #2
The fire, as seen from outside my window on approach to LAX
![thedailywhat:
Lost: Dignity.
[via.]
I’m not ashamed to admit that were I this cute boy, the hotmail address would keep me from writing.](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_kp1xod0sdG1qzpwi0o1_500.jpg)
Lost: Dignity.
[via.]
I’m not ashamed to admit that were I this cute boy, the hotmail address would keep me from writing.
First one to guess where I am wins all the change in my pocket (approx total: 87c and a button)
Theory: Time Doesn't Exist, and Space Isn't Expanding. In Fact, Space Might Not Exist Either.
This article blew my mind, especially the part where it describes how a single particle spinning in space might not actually be said to be spinning at all. I felt like CJ right after they flipped the map.
As much fun as cats and sharks are, there should have been a “Velociraptor” option.
Things About Crocodile Dundee
— Crocodile Dundee was made for under 10 million, as an Australian movie meant to appeal to American audiences.
— It became the highest-grossing movie worldwide of 1986.
— The real Crocodile Dundee and inspiration for the film, Robert Ansell, was killed in a shoot-out with police in 1999.
— Paul Hogan is extremely lame.
- His name was ROD Ansell
- Your apparent lack of this most basic of Crocodile Dundee knowledge saddens me.
Our J!NX TV Commercials Airing Right Now!!!
Zadi and I met Ray Doustdar a few months ago when he got in touch with us to ask Zadi to be a part of the “Get Into It” brand campaign he was directing for J!NX, a clothing company…
Awesome!
Fingers = wood-stained. Living room = disaster zone. Negligee with a snap-out crotch = acquired. One-act up in one week! http://bit.ly/SX71L
Man, I totally left the party early…
It’s almost time. And just in time for when I’ll be unemployed!Shotgun drums. We should have a massive unemployment party 2 days later.
That’s my 29th birthday. No shit.
