Friends, we are gathered here today to bid farewell to…the celebrity sex tape?!
According to Vulture, the era of candid videos of C-listers getting it on is over. It’s dead. Done, as done as Ray J (right, who?) singing about how he “hit” Kim Kardashian first.
Wait, is he claiming Kim Kardashian was a virgin when he made a sex tape with her?
I suppose if we’re lucky this is a death that wasn’t exaggerated.
I need to confront the fact that I’ve thoroughly become a cliché of the urban, well-educated, upper middle-class, cultural elite. I came to this realisation the other day at a work get-together as we discussed the return of Mad Men, the welcome geographic authenticity of The Americans, food blogging, and our shared obsession with NPR’s Tiny Desk concerts.
At least I can hold onto the fact that I have zero interest in Downton Abbey.
Even Alex Trebek couldn’t resist our fellow Canadian.
Come on, if Black Thought couldn’t, what chance did Alex stand?
Sometimes when you’ve been sitting at your computer for 13 hours, you need to blow off a little steam:
If you’re happy and you know it, croon a tune:
And everyone — at least, every Canadian — knows Tim Horton’s is a recipe for happiness.
Loretta Sanchez, you’re no Black Thought.
You know my soft spot for fellow Canadians, but until now, I’ve been largely immune to the charms of Carly Rae Jepsen. What I’m not immune to, though, is the Roots. I mean, kazoos? The triangle? The rainbow xylophone? Black Thought making the “call me” sign…
Call me, maybe?
I can never decide if Zach Galifianakis is funny, or if it’s like laughing at The Rooster:
Across from the Adams Morgan Harris Teeter, Friday night, 7 p.m.
