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VividCon hangover continues to linger. I can't listen to a song or think about any media I've ever loved without vidding it in my head. And you guys, wow, some ideas are way, WAY better than others.
So things surely happened in the world today, but all I know is that it's a damn good thing the photos from Sherlock filming at the 221B facade in London didn't start rolling in until late in the afternoon because I lost my shit all over the apartment at this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this(!) and ESPECIALLY THESE. It sucks that the fans sometimes disturb filming and that Cinderbalmain has progressed to the level of fame that requires a bodyguard, but I just cannot be anything but grateful for these photos.
Despite living in New York, I am not now, nor will I ever be a foodie. I like good food, but I don't think throwing together unexpected ingredients, making a dish out of moss or the unappetizing voodoo that is molecular gastronomy accomplishes the goal of feeding me something delicious that leaves me satisfied. While these are valid (and represented) complaints, Eater's anonymous restaurant rants have been both educational and cathartic about what else is wrong with the restaurant scene (wine in a tumbler? And yes, keeping restaurants accountable for cost is proper and necessary journalism.)
I'd like to end on a musical interlude, and its accompanied dancing, that has brought me a lot of joy this summer. John Oliver's stint as host of The Daily Show is over, and he definitely grew on me once he stopped fanboying the celebrities and started spouting well-honed rants (because there's nothing so sexy as watching a British man lose his cool, FACT). The Mr. and I got to be in the audience for the royal baby episode, which was AMAZING (largely because we got to sass Jason Jones about drinking on the job, and I got to give props to Jessica Williams before she taped her segment.) But right from the start, he won my heart just a little with his Carlos Danger dance.
And now we're off to see The World's End, in which hopefully Martin Freeman gets to say more than "Noooo." Not that that wasn't fun.
So things surely happened in the world today, but all I know is that it's a damn good thing the photos from Sherlock filming at the 221B facade in London didn't start rolling in until late in the afternoon because I lost my shit all over the apartment at this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this(!) and ESPECIALLY THESE. It sucks that the fans sometimes disturb filming and that Cinderbalmain has progressed to the level of fame that requires a bodyguard, but I just cannot be anything but grateful for these photos.
Despite living in New York, I am not now, nor will I ever be a foodie. I like good food, but I don't think throwing together unexpected ingredients, making a dish out of moss or the unappetizing voodoo that is molecular gastronomy accomplishes the goal of feeding me something delicious that leaves me satisfied. While these are valid (and represented) complaints, Eater's anonymous restaurant rants have been both educational and cathartic about what else is wrong with the restaurant scene (wine in a tumbler? And yes, keeping restaurants accountable for cost is proper and necessary journalism.)
I'd like to end on a musical interlude, and its accompanied dancing, that has brought me a lot of joy this summer. John Oliver's stint as host of The Daily Show is over, and he definitely grew on me once he stopped fanboying the celebrities and started spouting well-honed rants (because there's nothing so sexy as watching a British man lose his cool, FACT). The Mr. and I got to be in the audience for the royal baby episode, which was AMAZING (largely because we got to sass Jason Jones about drinking on the job, and I got to give props to Jessica Williams before she taped her segment.) But right from the start, he won my heart just a little with his Carlos Danger dance.
And now we're off to see The World's End, in which hopefully Martin Freeman gets to say more than "Noooo." Not that that wasn't fun.
