Thursday, February 26, 2009

Thursdays are Mondays that are your fault no matter how hard you lie cry try



If it's never happened before, then obviously it didn't actually just happen right now. Please don't fire me. See that Powerpoint presentation that accidentally got disrupted by my Javier Bardem screensaver? Please don't fire me. Never happened before. So it didn't just happen. You (and the rest of commitee) were imagining things. Please don't fire me. Not that I'm accusing you of making stuff up. Ofcourse, I'm not. Please don't fire me. Anyway, why don't we forget about the long day and grab a drink? Drinks on me. Come on, now. Please?

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Wednesday, February 25, 2009

The Ghosts of Girlfriends Past makes my wallet cry in shame


It came with a bang. A nightmare. He wasn't the type of person who occasionally befell the spell of a nightmare, tossing and turning, waking up in cold sweats- he loved sleep too much to subject his subconscious to that.

But then it happened. All the pathetic fears and anxieties, the worries that all the potential and hope would never come to be realized, that everything he thought he was capable of accomplishing would just up and vanish. Not because of some accident. Or bad luck. But of his own doing. His own willingness to let the drive subside. To just flutter away into banal obscurity. He couldn't let it happen, wouldn't let it happen, gotta fight, scrape, struggle, realize it and...



"Now imagine she's white." He wakes up and it's still there, the fire, the passion, the...



Oops. Well, at least he looked sexy doing it. j.k. livin y'all.

And scene (Cue shame).

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Delocated is the best thing since Paul Rudd sliced bread


I'll be the first to admit that I don't watch as much Adult Swim as any self respecting hardcore comedy lover should, but longtime underrated creator of comedic brilliance Jon Glaser's new show Delocated may be the awesomely funny kick in the ass I needed to start watching.

The premise alone is pretty damn fantastic:

Jon Glaser plays a man forced into the witness protection program after testifying against mobsters, who moves his family to New York City so they can star in a reality TV show, forced to wear ski masks and voice disguising harmonizers at all times. Eugene Mirman plays a mobster trying to kill Glaser.
Then you throw in Paul Rudd playing Paul Rudd getting gunned down,



A son rebelling against his father and demanding a "Ska Mitzvah!"



And Eugene Mirman playing a Russian gangster...



...and boom. Your mind has officially been blown. Watch the full premiere here.

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Bobby J & Sexy Sarah make 2012 worth the wait

(Via)

Seemingly everyone's picked up on the Bobby Jindal / Kenneth the Page similarities almost instantly after the ill-fated nationally televised response, but it's hard to not dream about the possibilities of Jindal and our beloved Sexy Sarah Palin, be they real:

(Via)

Or comedic:

(Via)

Please FOX, put your criticisms and reservations aside, and let this miracle match-up happen. Pretty please?

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Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Anything you can do, Slim Suit can do better


(Via)

Ball's in your court, Snuggie.

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Tuesdays are Mondays when you realize you love the nightlife more than it loves you



Dreams are the fuel on which we thrive upon during our soul sucking 9 to 5 existences. Except for some dreams. Some dreams deserve to die. Spectacularly.


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Monday, February 23, 2009

Science explains my disturbing Hello Kitty collection


(Via)

Now if science could just somehow figure out why I'm inexplicably drawn to self-absorbed Tool Academy caliber assholes, we might finally be onto something.



Shame. It's what's cuddled amongst your oppressive collection of throw pillows that's for dinner.

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Röyksopp keeps it commercially cute


(Via)

Coming soon, to (a terrible, possibly Caveman inspired) commercial near you.


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Sunday, February 22, 2009

Oscars '09: We came, we saw, we Mickey Rourked- Blue bloggin' the balls off the 2009 Academy Awards

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Saturday, February 21, 2009

John Lennon talks about changing the world with a laptop in the 70s. Wait what?



I'm all for helping close up the digital divide that continues to expand socioeconomically on a global level, but something about the idea of using an old video of a long deceased beloved cultural icon with an obvious impersonator's voice over is kind of, well, unsettling.

It's message and heart is in the right place, and legally Yoko Ono may have total domain over all of Lennon's likenesses, but the idea of using his image with an impersonator who sounds more like Ringo with a head cold kind of opens the door for future well intentioned awfulness. Maybe it would have been more effective to use actual clips of Lennon speaking or the always reliable using-cute-children-to-share-a-famous-message-spiel...



...or um, not.

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Friday, February 20, 2009

6 Hour Power is like 5 Hour Energy, just with an extra hour of dickishness


(Via)

In our hyperkinetic, energy crazed society, I understand the desperate need for alternatives to the standard, boring old cocaine and coffee to get you through your day. But the hell is this? Is 6 Hour Power so good it makes men want to pleasure themselves in the privacy of their public workplace? Is this supposed to make men watching go, "Oh shit that chick is hot" and "Haha, it looked like he was jacking, but he wasn't, so I should totally buy me some of that shit!"

Oh men and your need for stereotypical superficial simplicity, how can you be so...awww, puppies!

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Thursday, February 19, 2009

Tom Waits creates fatherhood envy



Dear Unborn (Hopefully Legitimate) Child of Mine,

In this vast and mysterious world that you have yet to encounter, there is an amazing mixture of cultures and personalities you will come across. Some of them will be people that will actually willingly take part in trying to bring life into this world and help create facsimiles of themselves for future generations. Some of them will wake up and realize they forgot to put a small little plastic thing on and now their lives are completely ruined.

You will not (hopefully) be born of the latter. You will have many friends that will come and go, and possibly meet many of their parents who will make you realize why they may make you feel like you have to come and go (and never come back). Parents that care a little too much about every single detail, parents that won't care at all about whether or not their child is alive, and progressive, forward thinking parents who think that exposing their child to everything and anything the world has to offer will provide for a fulfilling childhood of intellectual and emotional enrichment.

(Via)

I will be none of the above. I will play music (good music, though you will grow up thinking it is bad) all day every day in the hopes that for one futile moment in the sun, father and child can bask in the wonder and glory of shared musical admiration.

You will listen to Tom Waits. And you will like it.

And then you will hate me for being an emotionally distant, actively indifferent invisible father figure that will create within you an emotional chasm you will spend the entirety of your existence trying to fill with empty experiences of sex, alcohol, drugs, and impulsive self sabotaging decisions all in the hopes of finding solace and comfort from the emptiness that never seems to go away.

As you urinate upon my tombstone (probably simultaneously drinking while urinating while lamenting your most recent failed relationship) you will smile in victory at my death, involuntarily humming along and singing a song you're not quite sure you remember the title of, or the artist, or why that precise moment in time needed a soundtrack.

Then you will realize it was a Tom Waits song. And you will like it.



And I will have won.

Love,
Your Future Source of Life-long Disappointment and Tom Waits tunes or...Daddy

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Do It Yourself Sex Toys

(Via)

You know the economy's gone bad when making paper-mâché fleshlights is suddenly becoming a plausible, cost effective option. Do it yourself here.

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Paul Rudd makes me want to buy a house


Viral marketing done right. And yes, I know that's not Rudd's body. But a girl can dream can't she?

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Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Damn President Lover



Really great news report that almost passes for real. Pretty damn hilarious too.

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Sunday, February 15, 2009

Bang goes the Osaka



Kind of like an experiment from Howie Do It, except actually amusing and not angry aneurysm inducing. Also reminds me of my favorite "street gun fight" from the ridiculously hilarious Spaced.

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Saturday, February 14, 2009

Nostalgia for the single life



I wish.

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Friday, February 13, 2009

"To err is human, but it feels divine." ~Mae West

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(Via)

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Confessions of a Superhero: Hollywood Boulevard heroes



An interesting look into the lives of the sidewalk superheroes in Hollywood. Pretty melancholy, if not outright sad, but interesting all the same.

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Don't hate the online dater, hate the sad, sad game




Makes me kinda happy to actually have someone to share this awful holiday with. Until I wake up the next morning looking at a half eaten heart shaped box of Ferrero Rocher (that I haven't touched yet) and a bouquet of flowers that mysteriously died the instant sunlight shined on it... and then suddenly one wonders why they traded in a happy life of shameless promiscuity for the comforts of futon sex.

Just kidding. (Kinda.)

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Red Sea Rising

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Thursday, February 12, 2009

Rachel Maddow makes Valentines come early

Quite possibly the greatest Valentine's Day e-cards ever:






No, definitely the greatest ever. Sigh. Get more of the lovely liberal lesbian lovin' here.

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Absolut Vodka makes the world kinder and gentler until we're all sh*tfaced and happily passing that herpes along



Exactly the kind of sentiment I like to think about when a guy corners me at a bar after his fifth vodka tonic.

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Wednesday, February 11, 2009

...Around


In this spirit of love we're conspicuously forcing ourselves into, here's some dap to filmmaker David Spaltro's personal feature, ...Around. Yours truly and Ms. A caught it at this past Big Apple Film Festival, and were pleasantly surprised by Spaltro's sweet-natured effort at sharing his personal experiences living homeless in New York City while struggling to maintain his film school aspirations. Currently making the rounds on the festival circuit, it's a nice indie to check out down the pipeline.


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Mondays are being the best worst utensil washer


(Via)

Sometimes being able to teach people how to do simple things like breathe air or blink is an accomplishment. But usually you're just being an asshole.

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Anything you can do, she can do fourteen times better


Um....No. Oh, and WTF?

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The Love Boat starts the lovin' right



Now seems as good a time as any to take a little Love Boat break. Here's one of my favorite episodes with Marcia Brady herself, Maureen McCormick. Yay.

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Anna Karina makes me wanna push her and hide behind the jungle gym



Kicking off the day right, here's a little love for the quintessential flame of every newborn hipster's affections, the eternal Anna Karina.







If loving Karina is clichéd, than I don't wanna be...oh well whatever. And yum.

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Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Paul Rudd is a muthaf*cking badass


Though this recent panel at the New York ComicCon was an interesting discussion of Biggest Movie Bad-Asses of All Time (including an amazing display of film geek knowledge by Method Man), it failed to applaud the efforts of one our most unassuming and awesome action movie bad-asses of all time, Paul Rudd in Gen-Y Cops:


(Via)

Paul Rudd. Blonde hair. Character name: Ian Curtis. Set in Hong Kong. Giant crappy robot. Bad English dubbing.

Rudd was so awesome, Chan didn't want to ruin his badassity by putting him on the poster. Like Keyser Söze, only more badass.

Mind officially blown.

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To the gratuitous babymakers go the spoils


(Via)

Well... there goes my monumentally brief child rearing itch. And now we resume our regularly scheduled child indifferent programming with self important celebrity in progress. Thank you, Salma Hayek.


On behalf of Kate Gosselin, touché Nadya Suleman. Well played.

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Sony's brand new piece of sh*t



Along the with Macbook Wheel, the best thing ever that would totally sell for the sake of someone being able to say they have it and you don't.

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Monday, February 9, 2009

M.I.A. makes me want to have a baby

(Via)

Nothing makes pregnancy seem cooler than a nine months+ pregnant woman due to give birth on the same day she decides to rip shit up on stage with Jay-Z, Kanye, and T.I. while wearing whatever the hell she wants.



If a big preggered out lady in a trashy bikini-like pullover can still come off classier than a gaudy over the top fake lesbian, than I might have to reconsider this whole not giving birth to human life thing. Yes mom, you win.

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Sunday, February 8, 2009

The Roots make me almost excited to actually see another Barry Gibb impersonation



"Awkward white boy trying to be down" jokes aside, I can't believe I'm saying this but, I'm growing to be actually sorta kinda excited to see how this Late Night with Jimmy Fallon thing works out.

Sure the novelty of seeing my favorite group five nights a week should wear off somewhere between the odd "Hey guys, could you play 'November Rain' again?" request and the customary Sandler-esque song parody, but maybe, just maybe this could work?



Or not. Still holding out hope ?uestlove goes all Branford Marsalis on his ass. At least on his Twitter.

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Saturday, February 7, 2009

Friday Night Lights' Smash Williams makes sweat develop in grown men's eyes


"We're not crying. We're just...something...stupid dust getting into eyes....(leaves room to throw football against bedroom door and blast music to drown out any possible sound)..."



"CLEAR EYES. FULL HEARTS. CAN'T LOSE...(reenters room and punches the first man they see to reaffirm masculinity)...so yeah, how hot is Minka Kelly?"

(And...Scene.)

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Friday, February 6, 2009

Neil Patrick Harris hugs the world away


BEST. THING. EVER. (Also, awwww)

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Thursday, February 5, 2009

The Bird & The Bee make it like totally cool to go to a museum on a Friday night


Won't you come dance with me?

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Mad Men's universal acclaim finally understood

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(Via)

My father: "That Mad Men show is really good, honey. I recommend you watch it."

My boss: "My wife and I finally found something to keep us from killing each other for one hour a week. Fantastic, the Mad Men is."

My Mister Editor Guy: "Yadda, yadda, yadda...I'm pretentious yadda yadda...wonderfully written blah, blah, blah...Jon Hamm makes me gay yadda blah blah...watch it."

My boyfriend: "Looks kinda snooty and uppity, ya know? But that one chick got them knockers..."

Mystery solved.

In all honesty though, I did watch all of the first season, and okay Mister, you were right. Harry Crane is my soul mate. Bastard.

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Test Pattern Two-Step



When I was a little kid, I had an odd feeling of uneasiness whenever I saw and heard the sound of the television test pattern or of the Emergency Broadcasting System. Somehow, I think this would have allayed those anxiety filled nights with my Kermit the Frog plush.

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Tommy Wiseau's The Room is like discovering the meaning of life, only better

(Via)

As M. Night Shyamalan strives to reach the unattainable Hitchcockian heights he so thoroughly desires (while single-handedly setting back the already meager number of minority Hollywood directors), his recent efforts have all but solidified his place as one of today's most consistent producers of incredibly awful unintentional comedy (see Shyamalan's cough syrup and hot dogs).

Yet despite his best worst efforts (Lady in the Water, The Happening, The Village) Shyamalan's entertaining awfulness pales in comparison to the modern day Orson Welles of awesome ineptitude, Tommy Wisseau.

Wisseau's epic dramedy gone wonderfully awry, The Room, is a meditative masterpiece on life, if life had no logic, continuity or ability to convey genuine human emotion without a terrible accent.



The overrated hype of some cult classics often border on overkill, but The Room's place in the pantheon of "So Bad, It's Horrifically Awful Good" is hard to deny. It's not mediocre and it's not garishly ornamented in the customary accoutrements of camp- it's simply and amazingly terrible, far more awful than an indie film release in 2003 on a $6 million dollar budget could plausibly be.

Seeing a friend's bootleg of it several years ago, I initially thought that
  • maybe it was just a really bad dubbing of a really bad foreign film
  • maybe it was a porn film that just happened to have even worse acting than usual and all of the sex bits cut out
  • had to have been produced in the 80's under the guise of a porn director's first foray into "serious" non-bukkake related film work
  • maybe I had been drinking too much and it couldn't possibly be as funny as it seemed
And yet after a second and even third viewing, it's awe-inspiring awfulness festered and grew inside, defying any semblance of pretentious taste left in my body.



To hate it, is to embrace the limitations of mindless mediocrity. To love it, is to know the limitless possibilities of humanity...and that no matter how bad something in life may be, it could never possibly be as bad as this.

Finally in stock on Amazon, buy it here. And for long suffering New York fans enviously yearning to partake in the film's Los Angeles following, The Room has a midnight screening at Village East Cinemas on March 20, 2009 (At least according to this page). Come revel in the ridiculous. And enjoy.

For the hardcore: A trailer for Tommy Wisseau's TV project / sitcom(?) "Neighbors":



J.J. Abrams, you have been warned.

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Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Burger holders are the epitome of class

(Via)

Finally, we know how to appropriately eat our burgers in a can without spillage.



Now if I could just get that whole fork etiquette thing down, I'd actually be a proper lady.

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If you can't sleep, you're not faking your orgasms right



Bonus points to any lady who can actually find a member of this mysterious twenty four percent of men who "faked an orgasm."

Yeah, sure buddy, you fake just as often as I get mine. Which is never. Assholes.

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You removed a what from where?!

(Via)

While you were listening to Christian Bale freak out or reading up on that woman who had eight babies (damn mutant woman), the doctors at Johns Hopkins decided to release some potentially medically game changing yet completely horrific news.

They successfully performed something called "a transvaginal donor kidney extraction," which in common folk terms means they took a healthy donor kidney out by way of a woman's 'special area'.

Thank you, doctors at Johns Hopkins, for giving me another reason to be afraid of my vagina.

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Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Tuesdays are micromanaged bathroom Mondays

(Via)

Sometimes the bathroom stall is your only friend in the world.

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Harpo and Lucy lighten the load

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Bale's Bile Booty Boogie Remix



Thank you Internet for giving us my favorite new genre of music: the Rant Remix (And yes, I still love you Christian Bale...in the most superficial way a gal could possibly ever objectify another).

Oh, and music industry? You're welcome.

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John Turturro continues to stoke the dormant flames of manhood yearning to breathe free



Frailty, thy name is Heineken. Or something. Damn thine eyes of Turturro.

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Chris Cornell sings for post-racial America by bringing harmonious hatred for all things bitch-like


(Via)

Chris Cornell's (long awaited?) collaboration with Timbaland finally rears it horrifically misguided head. Witness the beauty of lead single "Part of Me":
  • Stereotypical Latin club scene? Check
  • Country Western hoedown with good ol' white folks? Check
  • Sleek black party scene complete with Method Man & Timbaland cameos? Check, check and double check
A painfully blatant attempt at trying to appeal to every single demographic while singing the hook "That bitch ain't a part of me" with some semblance of integrity? Priceless.

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Monday, February 2, 2009

Somewhere in the world you're always a winner, even if you are a loser


Nothing says we really truly care about helping out like passing off our unwanted overpriced goods on you. Charity: it's what's conveniently tax deductible for dinner.


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Groundhog Day: Oh the Horror

(Via)
No.



Yes.

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Sunday, February 1, 2009

Medicine for Melancholy


The morning after. There's a fleeting mix of excitement and shame that courses through the veins as you wake up (probably hungover), assessing your location (possibly not your place), and hoping with all your might that the warm body lying beside you is someone you can quickly identify/forget/maybe escape without awaking.

Yet in director Barry Jenkins' first feature, Medicine for Melancholy, he elevates the one night stand to something bigger than itself- a charming, self conscious dissection of social and cultural definition played within the backdrop of gentrification in San Francisco.


Micah (charmingly played by The Daily Show's Wyatt Cenac) and Jo (a beautifully measured Tracey Heggins) are our accidental couple, awakening from their night of hipster revelry to a morning of uncertainty. After an awkward coffee, they quickly dissolve but eventually reunite partly by luck and partly by Micah's intiative. From there Jenkins takes us through a day in the life of a "morning after fantasy": an idyllic young pair finding personal connection after the physical; emotional intimacy after the lustful matter of fact.

But this isn't about love or a burgeoning relationship. It isn't about young African Americans struggling to reconcile their indie boho lifestyle with the societal constraints they're supposedly supposed to abide by. It's not about urban gentrification and cultural upheaval. Nor is it a cinematic love letter to the city of San Francisco (digitally shot as beautifully as an intermittent mix of subdued tones and flourishes of sparklingly color could possibly be). It's ALL of these things. Which is what makes Medicine both engagingly entertaining and disjointed.


Jenkins posits a beautiful love story of doubt and uses it as a canvas for the colors of complexity in modern relationships. Cenac's Micah aggressively argues about the notion of being "black" and its connotations, why something "indie automatically means something not black" and the internal conflicts of what being in an interracial relationship outwardly implies. Heggins' Jo nicely serves as his counterbalance, relishing the delicacy of being in the moment, all the while cautiously avoiding the "going back to your life tomorrow."

The most jarring sequence is arguably its least cohesive, as the film comes to a complete standstill and suddenly jumps into a conversation amongst real-life community activists lamenting the dissolution of their communities being displaced by the corporate gentrification quickly consuming their beloved city. Jenkins places Micah and Jo on the outside looking in, their romance disrupted by the inescapable reality that surrounds and defines them.


To their credit, Cenac and Heggins generate enough charm and sensuality to make their extended morning after an enjoyable ride, as the sequences exploring the city make San Francisco as alluring as its ever been on film. For a first feature, Jenkins avoids overcomplicating the discussion while still finding nuance within the form.

Though this morning after gradually winds down and gives way to an eventual tomorrow, its remnants still linger like the smell of fresh coffee on your clothes. You don't want to wash them just yet, but maybe hold onto the aroma of the moment just a little longer.


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