Taylor's 2011 interview with The New Yorker is so interesting in the context of Clara Bow...
"Swift is sometimes called a twenty-one-year-old 2.0—the girl next door, but with a superior talent set. She has an Oprah-like gift for emotional expressiveness. While many young stars have a programmed, slightly robotic affect, she radiates unjaded sincerity no matter how contrived the situation—press junkets, awards shows, meet and greets." ("Flesh and blood amongst war machines.")
"Swift has the pretty, but not aggressively sexy, look of a nineteen-thirties movie siren. She is tall and gangly, with porcelain skin, long butterscotch hair that seems crimped, as if from a time before curling irons, and smallish eyes that often look as if they were squinting. She loves to wear makeup, but it tends to resemble stage makeup: red lipstick, thick mascara. . . . She is in the midst of her second world tour, and every show begins with a moment in which she stands silently at the lip of the stage and listens to her fans scream. She tilts her head from side to side and appears to blink back tears—the expression, which is projected onto a pair of Jumbotron screens, is part Bambi, part Baby June." ("You look like Clara Bow.")
in one of my agriculture classes we had a guy come in who was like "now we all know that roundup causes cancer, but if I sell someone roundup, I can sell them 6,000 gallons of roundup whereas another guy who is just in it for the money can sell them 9,000 gallons, so there is a lot of opportunity to make a difference"
paraphrasing, but "now we all know that roundup causes cancer" is pretty much verbatim
Rice Krispies smartest decision is by far their Treat. Turning their cereal into a strange brick relies on the natural fact that all children are hopelessly dependent upon the ingot.
sometimes im like "wow holy shit im being really fucking annoying. i should stop talking" and then i pull out my magic 8 ball and it says "youve always been annoying and your friends chose to talk you anyways. youll be fine" and im like wow thanks magic 8 ball. and then the ogre attacks me
All the Presidents of the United States are resurrected in the far future with their last memory being at the point of their death but in refreshed, youthful bodies. They’re dumped on a planet where they are told they must kill each other, Hunger Games style, until only one survivor remains…
25-35 is such a weird fucking age because you’re 100% a bread-and-butter Standard Edition Millennial but the cool teens are like “ok boomer” because you have a Real Job but the actual Boomers at your job are like “I’m not going to listen to a literal fucking child” as they download 16 self-replicating viruses and meanwhile the Gen Xers are telling you to refinance a mortgage for a house you don’t have and you’re sitting there at the Adults Table with the pretty tasty casserole you cooked because you’ve finally figured out how to do that now but everyone is eating the Boomer’s store-bought macaroni instead and admittedly they do sort of taste similar so it probably wasn’t worth all the trouble of cooking from scratch and you’re trying to comfort the freshly-graduated sobbing 22-year-old next to you because she just woke up here and doesn’t know where she is but you have like maybe 5k dollars in a savings account labelled RETIREMENT that grows approx. twelve cents a year and you keep eating dry macaroni while smiling incomprehensibly and periodically blacking out like ??????????
randomly remembering the time in 2012 when everyone kept saying the world was going to end at midday that day and like, i didnt really believe it, but i didnt want to be a complete fool if i was wrong, so i excused myself from class to go sit the field and perfectly timed the beat drop to a skrillex song just in case something happened. and im just. retroactively amused by the idea of ushering in the appocalypse with skrillex. most 2012 thing you could possibly do.
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