MacGruber: the movie
Believe it.
what I'm thinking about right now
Believe it.
Al Sharpton, to Michael Jackson’s kids, who may not actually be his biological children.
Nothing strange at all.
In 1995, Michael’s brother Jermaine divorced his second wife and abruptly married the woman who had been his brother Randy’s second wife (and mother of two of Randy’s children). She and Jermaine subsequently had two children of their own, whom they named Jaffar and Jermajesty. They filed for divorce in 2004.

the ingredients

olive oil, marinara, garlic & sausage


For the longest time I’ve had trouble making good pasta, but a few weeks ago I saw a video from Mario Batali about how to properly sauce it and it’s changed my life. (I was drowning my noodles instead of lightly coating them like the Italians do.)
Though I’m not averse to recipes, these photos are from an improvised pasta dish I’ve been playing around with since my saucing epiphany. I mix together some vodka marinara and olive oil, add in a clove of freshly-pressed garlic and some sliced sausage and sauté it all for awhile. When that starts smelling delicious I toss in some linguine and throw it on a plate.
It takes maybe fifteen minutes from start to finish and it’s pretty cheap to make — you’re only using about a quarter jar of sauce, a tablespoon or two of olive oil and a single sausage — and it tastes pretty damn good.
Guess who.
Why do we say someone is “growing” a beard? The beard is the one doing all the work; they’re just too lazy to do anything about it.
The woman in this photo is crying after learning Michael Jackson died.
Like thousands or perhaps even millions who reacted in similar fashion on Thursday, she didn’t actually know Michael. They’d never met; he didn’t send her a Christmas card and she never looked after his perpetually-masked children.
So how is it that she was crying and hugging someone in the middle of Times Square like she just lost a close friend? How is it that hundreds of people showed up outside the UCLA Medical Center where he was pronounced dead, dozens milled around his childhood home in Gary, Indiana despite the lack of any real connection to the self-styled King of Pop?
I get that he was a very talented singer and dancer. Like everyone else, I thought Thriller was a great album. But I’ve never met him, and on top of that, he was probably a pedophile, having paid a multimillion dollar settlement to an accuser back in the 90s and admitting just a few years ago that he still shared his bed with children.
Even worse, there are actual things going on right now that are worth weeping over. In Iran, the regime is trying to retain its tenuous grip on power by quashing its own citizens, going as far as placing snipers on rooftops with orders to pick off peaceful protesters. North Korea, which represses its people as much as any country in the world, has declared that it plans to take out Hawaii with a nuclear weapon. Equally horrible things are happening in Burma, Darfur and numerous places throughout the world.
And yet we are busy crying over a pop star we never even knew.
How stupid are we?