People drop things on the Internet and run all the time. So we have to ask. In this edition, writer and graduate student Jane Hu tells us more about an especially destructive session of hot yoga she recently experienced.
How Fainting At Hot Yoga Made Me Reevaluate My Life
— Jane Hu (@hujane) February 14, 2014
Jane! So what happened here?
A little over two years ago, I bought a yoga mat. Sort of as a New Year’s resolution thing: “This year I’m really going to discover yoga!” My friend had taken me along to some of her hot yoga classes, and unlike ordinary yoga, it at least felt like something was happening to my body. (This is almost 100 percent because I don’t know how to do yoga, overheated room or not.) Well, I’ve used the yoga mat exactly two times. Once was just at the end of 2011; the other was Valentine’s Day.
Five minutes into the hour-long session, and I was close to blacking out. I did what they tell you to do: Get into child’s pose until you’re ready to join the group again. I got into child’s pose and, almost seamlessly, transitioned into lying on my back. While my instructor’s soothing voice took everyone else through the motions, I was lying on my back FREAKING OUT. Am I blacking out? No, no, I don’t think I’m going to black out. Wow, I don’t remember hot yoga being this hard? But maybe this is why I only do yoga once every other year? If I leave now, would it be super disruptive? Everyone seems so calm. Though I did manage to fumble my way through the hour (with lots of child’s pose!), the physiological consequences were pretty extreme.
I got what was the equivalent of heat stroke—feeling faint and jittery for days afterward, and couldn’t really digest things for the next week. At first I thought it was just the regular Friday night treat-binge (TGIF! on top of Valentine’s Day!), but I was almost entirely confined to my bed until Monday, and even then, walking around was sort of a problem. Light-headedness would strike on the walk from the bathroom to my bedroom. I made a trip to the pharmacy and marveled at all the chewable tablets flanking Tums. But it was all sort of a haze. Really, I just felt weak all the time, even though I was doing nothing but excessive napping and eating. I was completely useless, too—even in bed, I felt nauseous and read maybe a total of 10 pages of my 24623452362453 pages of reading that entire weekend. It took just over an entire week for everything to stabilize physiologically. (Though apparently heat stroke has some potential for brain damage? Hello, readings!) READ MORE
In only a couple of years, Jessica Williams has become a vital member of one the most influential comedy shows on television. She joined The Daily Show in 2012 at the age of 22, making her the show's youngest correspondent ever. Since then, she's become an integral part of the Daily Show team, often reporting as the show's "Senior Youth Correspondent." I got the chance to talk to her about leaving college to join the show and the scariest part of her job.
You were so young when you started at The Daily Show. Did you have any background in political comedy or satire?
I didn’t have a lot of background in political comedy or satire. I did my improv team and musical theater in high school and I did Comedy Sportz and Upright Citizens Brigade in college. That was my background, not specifically satire. Before I left college to come work on the show, we had just been learning about what satire was. They had been showing clips from The Daily Show in class.
Yeah, it was really to have to go up to my professor and be like, “Hey, so I need to reschedule midterms because I’m going to go audition for The Daily Show, which you were showing in class earlier.” READ MORE
"There are people who are very passionately waiting for it. I truly believe that 10 years from now it's going to be hard to think you didn't have something like it."
The song that is generally acknowledged to be the first rock and roll record was recorded on this day back in 1951, and here, 60-some years later, is what they are doing with rock and roll now. I like it, but I also like the song that is generally acknowledged to be the first rock and roll record, so I may be from a different demographic than you. FYI, "the clip features a bit of female nudity, so possibly not entirely safe for work." Enjoy.
— petesouza (@petesouza) March 3, 2014
In which long-time White House photographer Pete Souza corrects idiot Reagan-worshipping celebrity chef Geoffrey Zakarian on the issue of Barack Obama wearing weekend clothes. Now you know where not to eat.
Nestled midway on "Fear of a Black Planet," Public Enemy's 1990 platinum album—and one of the greatest musical releases of all time—comes "Burn Hollywood Burn." (Halfway between "911 Is A Joke" and "Fight the Power"! I mean!)
The track is notable not just for rhyming
"burn" TERM and "perm" (important correction!) but for the collaboration with Ice Cube and Big Daddy Kane—the only guest stars on the album. "Butlers and maids," slaves and hoes" is how Kane describes available Hollywood roles for black people.
Here we are in the future, 24 years later! How did the fellas take last night's best picture win for 12 Years A Slave, in a year in which The Butler was the top-earning black film, at an Oscars where 42 barely made it into a montage?
@Seeds_ONE Seeds whatever fight you're fighting keep on, but keep your focus in reality too.Screaming at speeding trains ranks with crazy
— Chuck D (@MrChuckD) March 3, 2014
Chuck D. spent the night arguing with some troll who accused him of being a sell-out. Didn't mention the Oscars. READ MORE
This article originally appeared on February 22, 2013.
Mallory: Has Crash suffered enough? Sure, it won homecoming queen at the Oscars, but then no one would let Crash sit with them at lunch for the next eight years. Ta-Nehisi Coates named it the worst movie of the decade; Natasha Vargas-Cooper referred to it as a "white guilt manipulation-a-thon." Even Slate wouldn't throw it a contrarian bone. It's The Most Popular Girl That Nobody Liked.
Anne Helen: No, it has not. This movie needs to keep suffering, because it will not stop hurting us. When it came up on Twitter the other night, someone suggested it's a PowerPoint presentation posturing as insight—and that feels true. It has the selfsame didacticism and banality of a white slide, Arial Font: RACISM IS BAD.
Mallory: Let us go back to 2005 and the year it won.
Anne Helen: This film was a bit of an indie-darling-that-could. Paul Haggis was hot stuff after writing Million Dollar Baby, which won Best Picture in 2004. Three months later, Crash hit theaters like the tsunami that hit all those nice white families on vacation in The Impossible. Critics kinda sorta liked it, the way critics kinda sorta do—it's the kind of film that curdles with time, so the real pushback didn't come until months later when a slew of nominations made it clear that people were taking this film, and its notions of race, seriously. And then it won Best Picture and Jesus wept. READ MORE
This article originally appeared on February 22, 2012.
Unbelievably, the French, or some of them anyway, appear to have forgiven us for Freedom Fries. Clear evidence of this arrived late last year in the form of the beautiful movie The Artist that (nearly) everybody loves, plus it's going to win all the Oscars, including Best Picture.
So what makes a movie "foreign"? Is it the financing, the director, the location, the performers? This turns out to be a murky subject, so far as the Academy Awards are concerned. The Artist isn't even eligible for consideration for the award for Best Foreign Film, because even though it's a French movie made by a French production company, a French director and French stars, the few words in it are in (more or less) English. The Oscar is actually for the Best Foreign Language Film, not the Best Foreign one!
If a movie is eligible for the Best Foreign Language category, it can also be nominated for Best Picture, provided the other requirements are seen to (e.g., at least a week's theatrical release in a specific format in a regulation theater in Los Angeles County, if you can believe). So it would theoretically be possible for a movie to be both Best Picture and Best Foreign Language Film, though that has never happened yet. READ MORE
This thing was bashed out on October 11, 2013 between 11:20 and 11:35 AM.
Something about Melissa Leo rubs me the wrong way, and unlike those times you pretend you don't know why or can't quite put your finger on it or whatever I will say exactly what the something is that is responsible for the wrong-rubbing: her "self-commissioned For Your Consideration ad campaign [for the 2011 Best Supporting Actress Oscar]." Remember that, when she paid for her own ads asking people to vote for her for an Oscar? READ MORE
This article originally appeared on February 2, 2013.
This might sound a little nuts at first, but hear me out: the Academy needs to add another Acting category. I know, I know: the ceremony is already too long, and actors already get too much attention, and there are entire subsections of film workers not being honored at all.* And certainly I believe that the Academy should recognize the best of everything from trailers to end credits; as “a professional honorary organization dedicated to the advancement of the arts and sciences of motion pictures,” it should recognize dedicated professionals in all the different fields that make up movies. Why not recognize the people behind particularly striking title sequences or who make credits that an audience will actually sit through and enjoy? Make it about the entire filmmaking process! Mix it up! Let's stay all night, why not? They're never going to actually bring it back to two hours so let's stop the pretense. But those are all ideas for another time, right now I’m arguing for a third acting category.
You see, there really are only a couple handfuls of "lead" roles every year, so every other performance is relegated to the Supporting category. Eight memorable minutes on screen, like Dame Judi Dench in Shakespeare in Love? Supporting! Narrate the entire movie, playing ultimately the most powerful character, like Kevin Spacey in The Usual Suspects? Supporting! It’s an incredibly wide net and smaller roles, like Dench’s, are the exception to the rule—look at this year’s nominees for Supporting Actress. Helen Hunt is practically a lead role, Anne Hathaway monopolized conversations about Les Miz while having, let's say, mostly front-loaded screen time, Amy Adams and Sally Field were major players in their respective films, while Jacki Weaver is on screen a lot in Silver Linings Playbook but rarely speaks. Lots of smaller, but still excellent, performances end up in the snub column in favor of weightier, more dramatic roles. This tends to punish comedies and ensemble casts with a deep bench like Network, Magnolia, or Pulp Fiction.
So I propose adding "Best Supporting-Supporting Actor/Actress." READ MORE
The following article originally appeared on February 20, 2013.
Brian: George C. Scott, loveable old grump that he was, famously called the Oscars "a two-hour meat parade," as well as "offensive, barbarous and innately corrupt." It's hard to argue with any of that, but it makes me nostalgic for the days when the Academy could get it over with in a mere hundred and twenty minutes.
Brad: The Oscars officially died for me in 2002, when Ron Howard somehow won Best Director for A Beautiful Mind over Robert Altman and David Lynch, who were nominated for Gosford Park and Mulholland Drive.
Brian: I think it lost a lot of credibility for both of us in 1995, the year that Letterman hosted, and bombed, and when Robert Zemeckis' Forrest Gump beat Pulp Fiction for Best Picture. We were college kids and movie dorks back then, all fired up about our opinions, and our reaction to that was equivalent to the nation's shock and horror at Dave's "Oprah. Uma. Uma. Oprah" bit. So, we've both seen Pulp Fiction fairly recently, but we just watched Forrest Gump for the first time in forever. I still haaaaaated it. Bradley, what were your impressions, and how do they compare to the way you felt in 94?
Brad: I'm probably more forgiving of Gump now, and less of Ron Howard. READ MORE
This Sunday is the big movie awards thing, and in honor of that special occasion we're gonna pull up some Oscar-related content from the last few years. The following article originally appeared on December 30, 2009.
There was no tragedy this past decade greater than the utter implosion of quality among the winners of the Academy Award for Best Picture.
Some might point to the 90s as the time our troubles began, and I admit that Dances with Wolves and Forrest Gump were bad omens. (The 90s did end with the intolerable American Beauty!) But you also had Silence of the Lambs! Shakespeare in Love! And, OK, Schindler's List, in all its retardedly black-and-white-and-oh-my-God-her-dress-is-red glory! There were glimmers of light, is what I'm saying; yes, 2007, sure;and that light of hope is shows what was missing in the awful aughts. Let me show you. READ MORE
★★ Biting cold, and a sky slightly lighter than medium gray. The gray of a sparsely populated subway platform when every train but the C has already just been through. But a D train came after all, before too long, and the sun began to shine through. Then the sun vanished again and a few snowflakes came twisting down. Half the sky had gone bluer and half darker. Actual brightness came for a while and then faded. People were keeping their hoods up inside the subway station. At Columbus Circle, a wash of even colder air trickled along the 1 platform. At Lincoln Center, snow came blowing down the exit steps, a squall heavy enough for streaks of snow to blow along the surface of Broadway in the headlights.
On Wednesday, the identity of the Zodiac Killer was finally revealed: It was Louis Myers, only 17 when he began the killings, who confessed from his deathbed back in 2001. In 2012, the identity of the Zodiac Killer was finally revealed: It was George Russell Tucker, a pseudonym for a then-recently-diseased 91-year-old former real estate salesman from Fairfield, California. In 2009, the identity of the Zodiac Killer was finally revealed: It was Guy Ward Hendrickson, a carpenter who brought his 7-year-old along for the ride during the killings.
It's worth pointing out that last year, Dick Van Dyke also confessed.
Every cycle through the calendar brings with it a new media-corroborated claim that the Zodiac Killer case has been solved, and every claim is false. Critical of them all is Tom Voigt, owner and operator of ZodiacKiller.com, the expansive clearinghouse for all evidence related to the case since 1998.
Rick Paulas: How many people have claimed to know who the Zodiac was?
Tom Voigt: It happens about every week with me. At least once a week I'll check my email and there's somebody, somewhere in the world, that knows who the Zodiac is. It follows the same recipe. They'll give me a few cryptic clues, but they don't really come out and give any specifics. When I ask for some, I won't hear from them anymore. Then maybe six months later, they'll get back to me and claim they went to the police, and the police are very intrigued, and at that point they'll usually give me an indication that it's about money. They're hoping I'll endorse their theory and it'll lead to a book deal. That's when I usually don't even respond.
Is there a specific time of year when the hoaxsters come out?
Probably the most-prominent was Deborah Perez. That was five years ago or something like that. She'd been in contact with me for several years. She was the first one I saw that really got a large amount of media coverage. That was early in the year as well. This most recent guy came forward in February. You know, maybe it's a New Year's Resolution. Some people want to get a job promotion, other people want to fill people in on who the Zodiac is. READ MORE
Aubade While Falling
the smallest increment above
the sheet, I plummet. We know the law:
we are all repulsive. Nothing
touches anything else.
A café and some version
of you, impatient, dressed in furs,
but this alleyway circuit board. I never
know who’s chasing me.
Define close as nearby
though not imminent: you are close,
but not here. The warm vacuum
between us, not your skin,
but the sensation of force. I am
a magnet. I am a pole.
In this mountain
village, gravity is a lie we tell
to feel connected. I know what’s
scatter. Nothing solid in the stairwell.
From this height, I watch you leave
the table. Have faith: when I
jump from this balcony, or fall,
I will keep on falling, will never
touch the ground.
Adam Boles lives and works in Tallahassee, FL. He holds an MFA from Florida State University's Creative Writing Program.
You will find more poems here. You may contact the editor at firstname.lastname@example.org.