(Source: toppingfromthebottomx, via electricdoc)

berrodtherapscallion:

me getting onto tumblr in the morning

(Source: gravityfells, via electricdoc)

shadesandsupers:

Danica Williams is the FLASH

(Source: shadesandsupers, via electricdoc)



Young Tyra Banks 

Young Tyra Banks 

(Source: russian-svalka, via instagrampa)

(Source: popkin16, via worlds-meanest-dad)

(Source: ethiopienne, via gotitforcheap)

(Source: thenamesjocelyn, via instagrampa)

"In the end Tommy consented to let me wear the “primitive” sunglasses. I still think it’s hilariously strange that it’s never revealed in the film what Mark does for a living, or where exactly he lives, or why he smokes Rooftop weed, or why he tries to kill Peter, or why he so suddenly turns against Johnny late in the film, or where he and Johnny take Chris-R, or why he does any number of things. He’s a character without a head and without a tail. In terms of characterization, Mark makes André Toulon look like the English Patient."

"Walking into the condo set for my big, freshly shaved close-up was almost certainly my low point in the film. If you look at my face in the dailies, you can detect the precise moment in which my dreams of being an actor are summarily snuffed out. Having to caress my own chin as Johnny and Denny ooh and aah over my freshly shaven face was the most embarrassing scene I’ve ever done or will ever do. I had no idea why Tommy was so anxious to film this scene, until he called me Babyface during one take—the take he wound up using.
The rest of the sequence is just as bad. Not only are the tuxes unexplained, but Tommy had Peter and me arrive one after the other, my doorbell ring coming right on top of his, as though we’re emerging from a clown car on the other side of the door. When Tommy said he wanted us all to end the scene doing his ridiculous chicken imitation—flapping our arms, saying “cheep-cheep”—I almost walked off the set. In the end I gave it everything I had, which was nothing. I barely opened my mouth at all; I moved my arms even less. You really do have to admire the comparative gusto with which Philip cheep-cheeped.”
"Well past everyone’s bedtime, we finally finished this emotionally exhausting sequence. Next up was the scene in which I had to say to Steven, “Leave your stupid comments in your pocket!” The line wasn’t remotely sayable. I couldn’t imagine even Liam Neeson saying this line convincingly. Tommy gave me a brief reprieve from attempting to deliver the line, however, when he decided that he wanted another scene of me and Juliette kissing.
In the original script, Mark tells Peter to keep his stupid comments in his pocket, but this confrontation does not piggyback on Peter’s catching Mark and Lisa secretly canoodling on the couch at Johnny’s birthday party. Peter doesn’t need to catch Mark and Lisa because he already knows they’re romantically involved. But now that the character of Steven had entered the picture, the film needed a moment of discovery, and that moment of discovery had to turn on Mark and Lisa groping each other on the couch. In a way I was impressed: For once, Tommy had accurately identified and worked to solve a plot hole in his own script. The first couple of times I tried to say “Leave your stupid comments in your pocket,” the words just didn’t come. I felt paralyzed, as though I were apologizing to some future audience. The line seemed a violation of drama, of cinema, of language itself. Every time I looked at Juliette she could see how hard I was concentrating. This always made her laugh, at which point we had to start all over again.
After one calamitous take, I asked Tommy if we could go with another line. Byron backed me up on this: “Wouldn’t ‘Shut the fuck up!’ work a lot better?” But whenever Tommy was questioned about his script, he doubled down. He wasn’t going to let any of us move on until he had this ridiculous line of dialogue in the can.
“The problem,” Tommy told me, “is that you’re not upset. No emotion. You need to be upset!”
“No,” I said. “The problem is the line doesn’t work.”
“The line,” Tommy said, “work just fine.”
Byron and I exchanged a long, complicated look of shared misery. Then Byron shrugged. “Guess you gotta give the man what he wants.”
I tried it again.
“It’s not enough!” Tommy said. “Not enough! Not at all enough!”
As we set up again, this was what I told myself: If you can land this pointless, nonsensical line, you will be one step closer to the end and forgetting about this whole experience. What are you even worried about? No one’s going to see this thing. It’s going to sit on a shelf in Tommy’s house. It’s not going to kill you. They’re just words. Leave your stupid comments in your pocket. See? Easy.
“Come on, Greg!” Tommy said when I tried again. “You’re not upset!”
“Actually,” I said, “I am upset!”
“Then give me something, dammit!”
So I imagined I was saying the line to Tommy, and then changed all the words in my head: “Leave [Why] your [are] stupid [you] comments [doing] in [this] your [to] pocket [me?]!” On the next take, no surprise, I nailed it. Well, maybe not nailed it, but the words came out with real, spitting-cobra force. In some sense, saying the line felt like an exorcism of every terrible Room experience I’d had up until that point.
“I’m not saying it again,” I said, walking away from the camera. “I’m done.” A decade later, the phrase I had such trouble wrapping my mind around, much less saying aloud, has at least three Urbandictionary.com entries.”

"In the end Tommy consented to let me wear the “primitive” sunglasses. I still think it’s hilariously strange that it’s never revealed in the film what Mark does for a living, or where exactly he lives, or why he smokes Rooftop weed, or why he tries to kill Peter, or why he so suddenly turns against Johnny late in the film, or where he and Johnny take Chris-R, or why he does any number of things. He’s a character without a head and without a tail. In terms of characterization, Mark makes André Toulon look like the English Patient."

"Walking into the condo set for my big, freshly shaved close-up was almost certainly my low point in the film. If you look at my face in the dailies, you can detect the precise moment in which my dreams of being an actor are summarily snuffed out. Having to caress my own chin as Johnny and Denny ooh and aah over my freshly shaven face was the most embarrassing scene I’ve ever done or will ever do. I had no idea why Tommy was so anxious to film this scene, until he called me Babyface during one take—the take he wound up using.

The rest of the sequence is just as bad. Not only are the tuxes unexplained, but Tommy had Peter and me arrive one after the other, my doorbell ring coming right on top of his, as though we’re emerging from a clown car on the other side of the door. When Tommy said he wanted us all to end the scene doing his ridiculous chicken imitation—flapping our arms, saying “cheep-cheep”—I almost walked off the set. In the end I gave it everything I had, which was nothing. I barely opened my mouth at all; I moved my arms even less. You really do have to admire the comparative gusto with which Philip cheep-cheeped.”

"Well past everyone’s bedtime, we finally finished this emotionally exhausting sequence. Next up was the scene in which I had to say to Steven, “Leave your stupid comments in your pocket!” The line wasn’t remotely sayable. I couldn’t imagine even Liam Neeson saying this line convincingly. Tommy gave me a brief reprieve from attempting to deliver the line, however, when he decided that he wanted another scene of me and Juliette kissing.

In the original script, Mark tells Peter to keep his stupid comments in his pocket, but this confrontation does not piggyback on Peter’s catching Mark and Lisa secretly canoodling on the couch at Johnny’s birthday party. Peter doesn’t need to catch Mark and Lisa because he already knows they’re romantically involved. But now that the character of Steven had entered the picture, the film needed a moment of discovery, and that moment of discovery had to turn on Mark and Lisa groping each other on the couch. In a way I was impressed: For once, Tommy had accurately identified and worked to solve a plot hole in his own script. The first couple of times I tried to say “Leave your stupid comments in your pocket,” the words just didn’t come. I felt paralyzed, as though I were apologizing to some future audience. The line seemed a violation of drama, of cinema, of language itself. Every time I looked at Juliette she could see how hard I was concentrating. This always made her laugh, at which point we had to start all over again.

After one calamitous take, I asked Tommy if we could go with another line. Byron backed me up on this: “Wouldn’t ‘Shut the fuck up!’ work a lot better?” But whenever Tommy was questioned about his script, he doubled down. He wasn’t going to let any of us move on until he had this ridiculous line of dialogue in the can.

“The problem,” Tommy told me, “is that you’re not upset. No emotion. You need to be upset!”

“No,” I said. “The problem is the line doesn’t work.”

“The line,” Tommy said, “work just fine.”

Byron and I exchanged a long, complicated look of shared misery. Then Byron shrugged. “Guess you gotta give the man what he wants.”

I tried it again.

“It’s not enough!” Tommy said. “Not enough! Not at all enough!”

As we set up again, this was what I told myself: If you can land this pointless, nonsensical line, you will be one step closer to the end and forgetting about this whole experience. What are you even worried about? No one’s going to see this thing. It’s going to sit on a shelf in Tommy’s house. It’s not going to kill you. They’re just words. Leave your stupid comments in your pocket. See? Easy.

“Come on, Greg!” Tommy said when I tried again. “You’re not upset!”

“Actually,” I said, “I am upset!”

“Then give me something, dammit!”

So I imagined I was saying the line to Tommy, and then changed all the words in my head: “Leave [Why] your [are] stupid [you] comments [doing] in [this] your [to] pocket [me?]!” On the next take, no surprise, I nailed it. Well, maybe not nailed it, but the words came out with real, spitting-cobra force. In some sense, saying the line felt like an exorcism of every terrible Room experience I’d had up until that point.

“I’m not saying it again,” I said, walking away from the camera. “I’m done.” A decade later, the phrase I had such trouble wrapping my mind around, much less saying aloud, has at least three Urbandictionary.com entries.”

alacanno:

True

alacanno:

True

(via grammarthug)

rifa:

literatenonsense:

exgynocraticgrrl:

Malcolm X: Our History Was Destroyed By Slavery 

on March 17, 1963 in Chicago.

see how little we get taught about history - I never had any idea why Malcolm X used the ‘X’. 

How come I didn’t know this

Also that crusty old white man called the named ‘gifted’. Jesus.

(via rhymeswithjelly)

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