2014 Oscars: The Money Shot Right Here
REBLOGGING THIS BECAUSE I GET THIS WRONG EVERY TIME
move your finger back and forth so it looks like the cat is following it
This is more entertaining than it should be.
It really is.
I DON’T EVEN CARE IF I’VE REBLOGGED THIS BEFORE
how do you tell the difference between a chemist and a plumber
ask them to pronounce “unionized”
How I feel lately about KPOP…
The great-great-great grandchildren of Dickens take a selfie with him on his 202nd birthday.
Although the author himself hoped to avoid such commemoration, a statue of Charles Dickens was unveiled last week just in time for his 202nd birthday.
(Source: Daily Mail)
Johnny Depp photographed by Herb Ritts, 1991.
that one time changmin heard JYP live
♥ KhunKay Hug ♥ in Legend of 2PM 2013 DVD ^^
vid cr : valsgason
Phil Hoffman and I had two things in common. We were both fathers of young children, and we were both recovering drug addicts. Of course I’d known Phil’s work for a long time — since his remarkably perfect film debut as a privileged, cowardly prep-school kid in Scent of a Woman — but I’d never met him until the first table read for Charlie Wilson’s War, in which he’d been cast as Gust Avrakotos, a working-class CIA agent who’d fallen out of favor with his Ivy League colleagues. A 180-degree turn.
On breaks during rehearsals, we would sometimes slip outside our soundstage on the Paramount lot and get to swapping stories. It’s not unusual to have these mini-AA meetings — people like us are the only ones to whom tales of insanity don’t sound insane. “Yeah, I used to do that.” I told him I felt lucky because I’m squeamish and can’t handle needles. He told me to stay squeamish. And he said this: “If one of us dies of an overdose, probably 10 people who were about to won’t.” He meant that our deaths would make news and maybe scare someone clean.
So it’s in that spirit that I’d like to say this: Phil Hoffman, this kind, decent, magnificent, thunderous actor, who was never outwardly “right” for any role but who completely dominated the real estate upon which every one of his characters walked, did not die from an overdose of heroin — he died from heroin. We should stop implying that if he’d just taken the proper amount then everything would have been fine.
He didn’t die because he was partying too hard or because he was depressed — he died because he was an addict on a day of the week with a y in it. He’ll have his well-earned legacy — his Willy Loman that belongs on the same shelf with Lee J. Cobb’s and Dustin Hoffman’s, his Jamie Tyrone, his Truman Capote and his Academy Award. Let’s add to that 10 people who were about to die who won’t now.
This is Foo-Chan, the Japanese equivalent of Grumpy Cat. But instead of being grumpy, he just looks like he’s disappointed all of the time.
OH NO"I’m not grumpy, I’m just disappointed."