The Ten-Year Anniversary Of This Is The End

Ten years ago I saw This Is The End for the first time. For those who lived a sheltered life, this was a creation from Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg that saw nearly everyone who was a part of Knocked Up, The 40-Year-Old Virgin, and Pineapple Express all congregate onto one set, to make a completely outlandish and meta-comedy about themselves and how their supposed friend group would handle a biblical apocalypse.

I Watched Bupkis

The lives of celebrities often feel comparable to a show. Maybe it’s not a good show, but it’s one of those shows people can’t seem to look away from, like seeing a train set ablaze, steaming down the tracks with an incapacitated conductor, heading right towards a nursery, a disaster in the making. The masses seem to love this, the ingesting of drama within famous lives.

Some Appreciation For The Cold Opening Day

It’s beautiful. Earth is not yet ready for baseball but baseball doesn’t care. That’s mainly because there’s a ridiculous 162 games that need to be played, and if we don’t start when a majority of the states are still escaping from winter’s grip, then things just won’t add up. So, America’s pastime is forced to endure the elements.

Tales Of A Part-Time Employee

I don’t talk about where I work. Anyone who has worked as a part-time employee—call it hourly, retail, lackey, regardless of the term it’s a job where you’re a small piece of the bigger machine—can resonate with this to a certain extent. Sometimes the reluctance to speak about work stems from the number of years you’ve wilted away in the same position or the title you technically have but refuse to acknowledge.

Venmo’s Social Currency

There’s boredom and then there’s the level of boredom someone reaches when they begin to swipe through their Venmo feed. Certainly it’s not a level of desperation that would lead them to Facebook, the wasteland reserved for everyone’s aunts and uncles and parents to entertain themselves with.

Rambo Has Feelings Too

It feels like I should’ve seen this a long time ago. I can imagine a thirteen-year-old me stuck at home during winter break with nothing to do other than glue my eyes to a television screen and my Dad—in his ever obsession with war movies and any type of military-related media—would turn on First Blood so we could watch Sly Stallone use his Green Beret skills to pick off hapless, spiteful, and overwhelmed deputies one by one in the Washington wilderness.

Love And Ridicule In The Time Of Reality Television

Watching The Bachelorette has cleared up a couple things for me: there may be no good people left in this world, and epicaricacy is America’s national pastime. I’m sure plenty are sounding out epicaricacy at this very moment as they try to connect the dots between this cumbersome word and a show where women date a litany of men in their search for love.

Belly Up

When wildfires surge in the mountains across the state you feel guilty because you lather your dying yard with water hoping the green hue will return. Your neighbors don’t wave to you because of this. The neighbors search through the recycling bins of every house in the neighborhood. They wear sandals made out of recycled rubber and pineapple leaf fibers.