Update: The tweet has been taken down.
Last night Breaking Bad won its second consecutive prize for outstanding drama series. Its star, Bryan Cranston, won his fifth Emmy. Fresh Air spoke to Cranston while he was on Broadway playing President Johnson in All the Way. In the interview, he tells Terry about his short-lived stand-up career:
"I did it for about nine months in 1981, I believe it was. I did it solely for the purpose of overcoming fear, because I looked at that and I said to myself, "Oh, my God, that’s got to be the scariest thing to do." There’s a microphone and a light on you, and that’s it. It’s all you, and so I wanted to do that. I got into the idea of going from club to club. I was never paid for it, nor should I have been, because I never rose above the level of mediocrity. But it was a great, great experience, very humbling. My respect and admiration for those who do it for a living, like Jerry [Seinfeld], was just enormous."
Photo: Andreas Laszlo Konwrath via Variety
(To Westboro Baptist Church)
"If you really believe in standing up to those threatening the Christian way of life," Hills said on his UK television program "The Last Leg," "how about putting your money where your mouth is, taking a direct flight to Iraq and picketing the people threatening to behead Christians if they don’t convert?"
Hills then took his suggestion a step further by making a generous offer. “I will personally pay for every member of the Westboro Baptist Church to fly to Iraq right now. I’ll even fly you first class and pay the carbon offset.”
holy fucking shit. goodbye WBC
Robin William’s body was found today. It’s amazing how much of an affect someone has on you until they’re gone, and it’s unfortunate that I never got to meet him.
He was Peter Pan when my favorite movie was Hook; he challenged my outlook on sickness as Patch Adams; granted wishes as the genie, one of my favorite Disney movies. I modeled parts of classes while posing as a teacher from Dead Poets Society.
It’s that line though, in Good Will Hunting, that resonates with me most. I have always had a disproportionate amount of emphasis on the girl. The reoccurrence of that line originally delivered by Mr. Williams, that keeps Matt Damon from taking the safe route and electing to be happy.
Perhaps we will all be that happy, someday.
— Malcolm X (via voicesandanalogies)
Hong ngay minh de mat ba noai. Toi de xinh cam on cho moi nguoi dang goi, viec, ha su di tham bien vien.
When my maternal grandma passed away, I was at a flea market, thrifting at the border at Chau Doc, a city in the An Giang Province, which hugs the borders of Cambodia and Vietnam. I had just finished my first contract and was celebrating, I postponed my family obligations until the next morning, where I was to go to Long Thanh and see my aging grandma. I was a day too late.
I regretted that, as one would probably have in my situation, shopping over seeing the final breath of my grandma. In, out, in, still. The reason why I took a day between for myself was because my grandma had chosen to take 20 years to pass. She had lived to be a year shy of a century, but the last 20 was nothing more than a series of if’s and maybe’s this is it, followed by miraculous recoveries. My mom’s life was put in a constant disarray, as the presumed guilt of not being present for the moment one leaves this universe proved especially hard with an ocean for a moat. Still, she managed.
Today my paternal grandma is weaker than I’ve ever seen. She too has begun a waltz with death but seems to embrace it more. A normal day at my aunt’s — where my grandma stays — consists of pleading with her deity that she has lived the required number of days, and that it would be only fair for her to be allowed the opportunity to pass. Still, at 94, she remains with us. The aunts have begun to suspect that pleas for death are only the ultimate form of attention whoring, and so it becomes difficult to appropriately assess a situation as to when she’s in need of help and when she’s in need of ears and time.
I sit in the living room as my aunts have carpooled to a funeral up north for the weekend and try my best to support assistance. It’s hard to describe what may be the indications of a slow stroke or just another attempt by my grandma to steal the room from another death. It’s going to be a long night.