Concomitant Affinity with flavored ices

"They have concerts there." Joanne Cristinziani

Did Patricia Arquette stop to consider the plight of Amy Pascal before giving her Oscar speech? Probably not, but it points to the inherent implosion of the ever expanding egalitarian tent. Amy Pascal certainly had a salary that offered her security and self sufficiency, and yet, Sony Entertainment allowed one of the worst extremist states in Asia to dictate the terms of Ms Pascal's departure. How does this happen in the most powerful republican democracy left on the planet? The President of the United States lost face to Kim Jong Un. Truman fought a war over this peninsula, a real war with real consequences, and technological interface turns us all into a laughingstock.

Arquette is a slightly older, better branded, variation on Kathryn Morris: the ice blonde with a cellophane glamour who can be the predator and carnage target simultaneously, obviously to keep viewers in suspense. Morris, intuitively closer to the ground, has not fully mastered the leitmotif as Arquette managed to do after leaving her first horror franchise. By the time she landed Medium as a signature role, industry critics conveyed that Medium respected its audience. That is true, but if it enabled morons to take psychics seriously, it raises interesting questions about morality and artistic license, which Jerry McGuire, as an instructor, would have been cool to. (Yes, I remember everything.) The series gave the predictive qualities of its title character a natural realism, at least initially, without the need of grandiose spectacle.

I have a word both about Chris Peak's reprint from Gawker and to the author himself: Some forms of suffering are worse than existence. That is just the way it is. I fell into mental health to earn a living, and between that experience, my life, and a corrupt unethical Protestant corporation intent on being a skin flint, living in one of the poorest cities on the east coast, I never fully recovered. Part of my solution, is to deactivate the grid. We are the animals that created it, and can still cut across it, but don't get too involved with the emotional pain of others. I could write fifty posts in a week, and no one can understand the fact I am in my last functional years, and yes, despite every TOS governing every online portal, my strongest years of sufficiency were taken from me, illegally. No adjudication can turn back that clock, hence my options are unpleasant. Those who can evade such stark choices are blessed. Yesterday's storm offered the type of snowfall which lends itself to metaphysical inquiry, and I had logged in to actually telephone Inglis House-- the idea being vaguely, to force their intake to kill me; yet I stopped, wrote a post instead.

I don't suppose my fine European viewers in Germany will give me any indication of what their 30 page views mean, of course not. Hitler's grave will degrade and re-enter the evolutionary food chain before I'm offered any legitimacy..

Slay your own Jewish princess

"They weren't really your friends," my ex, who wasn't either.

I held my nose, and offered Alyssa a compliment in the comments thread for her column on streaming distributors and damaged old men who assimilated the upheavals of the sixties. Alyssa even looks the self-depreciating brunette I was in high school, if you take away the cerebral palsy. I try not to read her columns that often. Sometimes I missed the point; sometimes I didn't care, but even she realized that progressive furor should not have felled Amy Pascal. The difference, between Ms Rosenberg's soft-pedaling on the reigns, and my objections?

I do not see where Pascal's exchanges with her co-ceo were insensitive. I did not read the original hacked accounts, but on the basis of media comments, don't see the supposed insensitivity. What I read was a powerful corporate female letting off steam, just like the jokes Linda, as a locally powerful executive, used to send me-- about being a psycho killer. I knew they were jokes, I knew she was letting off steam, and that they were her way of being my friend, much like her confidences about why she was throwing me over, and I asked her to stop sending me these transmissions even though they were popular snark into which she submerged for an outlet. I should have ended this communication long before her bemusement at my expense led to the knife in my back.

But Amy Pascal wasn't betraying anyone, and asserted herself to get where she was, and as citizens, we should be ashamed for ending her career on such a note. I could have put some weight on it, rolled up my sleeves and tried to halt the train, defending her before she resigned.

I'm also willing to tell progressives they are insane motherfuckers, and its perfectly understandable that they get murdered in gay panic scenarios-- the unprintable aggressions (I am fully aware that "motherfucker" is still forbidden in mainstream typeset), and it is this which sets me off against ADAPT demonstrators like Jimmi Shrode. I pulled on him, and I pulled on his transsexual partner. Why did I do that? Because I knew if I stayed at Riverside it would cost me terribly, envelop me, take me out of the mainstream, and I've been right about that, even while admitting that I should have held my pain in, upon realizing the full extent of Linda's treachery. I did not, and let both Jimmi and Erik have it. They're corrupt, and that corruption hurts innocent people, and it is this silence of liberal disabled LBGT activists which throws me into a frenzy: Your utter inability to be accountable. Jimmi is still cognizant enough to know that he broke the law to accept that job at the disability center, and refuses to even concede that states have non-profit guidelines for a reason; his activism has no room for my non-compliance; I am cut out, like a cancer, ignored, even to the degree that other wheelchair users talking to me, upon greeting him, get ignored, and this too, is insane, not advocacy.

The good gay doctor of The Constant Gardner may not have deserved to have his balls shoved down his throat with such gruesome revelation, but this is the kind of reactions humans have when compliance models insist that discrimination is meaningless. It is nearly midnight. I am strolling out to the 7-11.

Anointing Hillary and Jeb without the bother of retail handshakes

"Is my sex too straight?" Diane Keaton

Brian De Palma is in many ways a shameless hack. Kirk Douglas certainly enjoys himself, realizing, that his lead billing days were fading. John Cassavetes offends sensibility as Childress, and Amy Irving has "fuck me I'm new babette" stamped on her brow, but given all this, I have an attachment to the implosive repressions at play in The Fury (78). People actually were that new age, and the sixties had been that corrupted by Saccharine, making the viewer squint with bemusement. Preposterous, a cheap commercialization that anticipates ISIS aping Arabic stereotypes. To illustrate to my audience that I am capable of mortification, ISIS has gone too far in how it killed the Jordanian. There is absolutely no honor in that excessive overkill toward a fraternal adversary, and Abu Bakr is disrupting my desire to die on European soil, I'm no longer amused.

Even as I'm seriously considering sending Toomey my resume without deleting this blog or the tweets linking to it, but if Toomey's people were willing to consider deploying me as a consultant, then I'd have a pickle. I don't like online shaming, which is why I stand by my belligerent rivulets. It has not yet truly affected my pitching, my attitude, to my knowledge, but it could, and if Toomey's people said "okay she has a point, let's use her mandate attack", then outlets like Daily Beast would look at my posts, privately asking wtf is the Thorzine?

True, I shamed a former supervisor into a demotion, but that is not the same thing as lynching people for sensitivity into extreme life altering circumstances, and I do not like what was done to Sacco, nor did I like the routing of Amy Pascal. I never felt her remarks about Obama's viewing habits were insensitive; they were white, and sardonic, but should never have cost her her executive position, and I hold this take on Jeb Bush'es advisor Ethan Czahor. The left cannot wish utopia into being by wiping out human prejudice. The species would not be human anymore. (I just wrote a radical beatnik type, of the kind with whom I used to associate, sent her some samples and wrote I was against lesbianism. If she gets back to me and I go up before her audience, I might have a routing of my own.)

An Algerian Conspiracy

Somethin' in the wind has learned my name
And it's tellin' me that things are not the same--Karen Carpenter

In a vein similar to David Slade's Hard Candy, Mathieu Kassovitz's Gothika toys with its audience in a fairly cheap fashion, Dark Castle Entertainment not daring to make a mature snuff film, David Slade himself might provide us with a rationale for why studio executives welsh on the rigors of testing our mettle; Hard Candy is haunting, dangerous. I've written a revenge fantasy similar to it which was accepted for publication and then killed, and Slade somehow manages to push boundaries which keep those open sores bleeding.

Kassovitz doesn't have Slade's taut discipline, but he trades on inferences: Pretty people sex, (Downey, Berry), i.e., "Were we going to have an affair?", drives homily rubes (Dutton, Lynch) to insanity for not being pretty people too, caters to our hatred of psychiatric proscriptions, and offers adoring wives, say hello Camille Cosby, compensations for killing the oafs who will not be tamed. The ghost story embedded within the culpability of Halle's confused character, as most biracial offspring get psychologically confused due to ethnic rejection or displacement, is as much escapism as Zhang Ziyi's flight out of reality in the end of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon conveys a dream sequence. Asians have flights of fancy over their physical discipline as much as Americans do with their Hollywood ornaments. Americans simply use high grade trash to sublimate base instincts, and Cruz takes on the role of the typical disenfranchised victim, fixated and dismissed, not for telling the truth, but for lack of adaptable outgrowth to move beyond the entrapment.

Yesha Callahan's aggregate hurried article on the family court battle between Halle and Aubry is as muddled as Berry's psyche, evidently. We understand that Halle is angry, throwing out 'the one drop theory' to shame bigots, but why is race such an elemental factor here? Aubry certainly knew Berry was mixed race, and Berry certainly knew Aubry was European when they married. The marriage failed, and I am sure we all have crocodile tears from losing our peeping tom rights on that beautiful people copulation, but that is par for the course. Halle and Yesha both engage in a disservice in the rarefied privilege of liberalism: stooping. Vilifying Aubry without allowing his side of the argument on the record is the equivalent of African magical thinking. The latest take on Ebosse's death is a severe post game beating.