In another sign of the down economy, Kesha has apparently dropped the dollar sign from her name.
Alright, alright, alright: Matthew McConaughey just gave the most Matthew McConaughey Oscar Best Actor acceptance speech ever.
Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you to the Academy for this—all 6,000 members. Thank you to the other nominees. All these performances were impeccable in my opinion. I didn’t see a false note anywhere. I want to thank Jean-Marc Vallée, our director. Want to thank Jared Leto, Jennifer Garner, who I worked with daily.
There’s a few things, about three things to my account that I need each day. One of them is something to look up to, another is something to look forward to, and another is someone to chase. Now, first off, I want to thank God. ‘Cause that’s who I look up to. He has graced my life with opportunities that I know are not of my hand or any other human hand. He has shown me that it’s a scientific fact that gratitude reciprocates. In the words of the late Charlie Laughton, who said, “When you’ve got God, you got a friend. And that friend is you.”
To my family, that who and what I look forward to. To my father who, I know he’s up there right now with a big pot of gumbo. He’s got a lemon meringue pie over there. He’s probably in his underwear. And he’s got a cold can of Miller Lite and he’s dancing right now. To you, Dad, you taught me what it means to be a man. To my mother who’s here tonight, who taught me and my two older brothers… demanded that we respect ourselves. And what we in turn learned was that we were then better able to respect others. Thank you for that, Mama. To my wife, Camila, and my kids Levi, Vida and Mr. Stone, the courage and significance you give me every day I go out the door is unparalleled. You are the four people in my life that I want to make the most proud of me. Thank you.
And to my hero. That’s who I chase. Now when I was 15 years old, I had a very important person in my life come to me and say “who’s your hero?” And I said, “I don’t know, I gotta think about that. Give me a couple of weeks.” I come back two weeks later, this person comes up and says “who’s your hero?” I said, “I thought about it. You know who it is? It’s me in 10 years.” So I turned 25. Ten years later, that same person comes to me and says, “So, are you a hero?” And I was like, “not even close. No, no, no.” She said, “Why?” I said, “Because my hero’s me at 35.” So you see every day, every week, every month and every year of my life, my hero’s always 10 years away. I’m never gonna be my hero. I’m not gonna attain that. I know I’m not, and that’s just fine with me because that keeps me with somebody to keep on chasing.
So, to any of us, whatever those things are, whatever it is we look up to, whatever it is we look forward to, and whoever it is we’re chasing, to that I say, “Amen.” To that I say, “Alright, alright, alright.” To that I say “just keep living.” Thank you.
Instead of everyone always complaining about the “feckless youth,” how about you do something about it and help them? Contribute to a chairty, put out a donation box at the office, or volunteer at a feck kitchen. In this country, in this era, with all the SUV’s, susidies and supercomputers we have, there’s no reason any youth should go to sleep tonight lacking in feck.
Remember when IKEA was sort of on the downlow?
Time in New York was, you couldn’t order IKEA online. You had to go to Elizabeth, New Jersey. Some people took the subway to Penn station and then rode a bus from there. It was an underground railroad of flat-packed Swedish home furnishings. There was even a time when it was actually hard to get a copy of the IKEA home catalogue. Only one came out a year and you had to go the store and get it and it wasn’t always there. You would get it and read it on the way home and hold onto it for the rest of the year as reference material. Friends would come over just to look at it. It was like samizdat. Now it’s an app.
And in its pages was the promise that you could hack your apartment and get a cheaper American Dream, a newer better urban American Dream, where white picket fences and buying a house you pay off by working a job you hate is for suckers. I’m gonna knowledge work my way up to the top of my dreams, rent, and my furniture won’t be broken or used or look like anything from my mom’s house. IKEA’s furniture was from the future, with funny names and friendly prices.
Then you got it home and tried to figure out how to put it together. Those black and white lines so deceptively simple. And at the front of it there was always that little drawing of the guy with the big nose scratching his head and going huh? and then a drawing of a phone and you’re like yeah what kind of idiot needs to call IKEA to put his shelves together? And then later on you’re halfway through and you’re stuck and the umlaut won’t fit into the fjord and you are that line drawing with a big nose scratching your head and thinking of calling IKEA and you realize that because you didn’t put the board that had three tiny holes on it instead of two the right way up you have to take the whole thing apart and start over and as you’re turning turning that tiiiny hex wrench you’re like oh i get the business model, i get why my parents paid more at Raymor and Flannigans a pre-assembled bookshelf… because it’s already a bookshelf!
At IKEA, the cost of your own labor and stupidity is the savings that we pass on to you.
But you stuck with it because it looked smart and it was cheap. Where did you get that couch? IKEA. Oh I like that desk where did you get it? IKEA. Nice credenza, did you get it at IKEA? Yep. Each time you invoked the store the glow of pleasure spread inside you further, like a reindeer on a spit slowly turning over a fire.
That’s a weird image. I just said that because I imagine that’s something Swedes do.
And that’s IKEA’s whole angle, it’s something you imagine Swedes do, raising robust cheerful blonde families in tiny well-designed spaces excelling in the simple pleasure of a set of interlocking pots “that just work” and enjoying all the fruits of socialized healthcare and getting fined for putting your recycling out on the wrong day. And with your feet up on the $150 KAFETABLU, sipping from a nice wine glass that’s cheaper than the two buck chick that’s in it, all was good.
Then IKEA jumped the shark and landed in Red Hook.
The lines are long, and they’re filled with people. You’re stuck behind 20 Hassids in line and each of them carrying two sinks. There’s a homeless guy camping out in one of the show bedrooms. A Lithuanian family is eating a bunch of meatballs using the home office desk section like picnic tables. Bill DeBlasio is buying a garlic press in the shape of a cat. IKEA has become like Walmart home furnishings for New Yorkers.
Now we get all our stuff from a new place. It’s called Yahoo message groups. People in your community just post stuff they’re selling, often for cheap, or even giving away. I don’t know if you’ve heard about it, but it’s a whole thing. Just don’t tell too many people. We don’t want it turning into IKEA or anything.
I want to make a “day in the life of” video of my son. So we installed closed circuit television in every room of the house. Now we’ll never miss a moment.
My toddler just figured out how to open doors. I’m so proud of him. But we’re done for. This is worse than the target security breach. This is like when the velociraptors in jurassic park got like opposable thumbs. Forget private office time, private bathroom time, private mommy daddy wrestling time. Any one of those moments can be interrupted by a screaming kid wearing a poopy diaper as a hat looking for the one electrical socket in the house that’s not baby proofed. He has evolved. Soon he’ll be teaching all the kids in the building playgroup. They’re trading toddler hacks over by the Duplo area in the common room like an occupy wall street cell. They’ll share how to ride on the elevator, how to press the button to open the building door, then all use the distraction iphones their parents gave them to flee brooklyn. Oh yeah, while you’re telling your friends it’s ok to give a baby a miniature television to “make sure they’re touch screen literate” and telling yourself “at least im not rubbing his gums with liquid benadryl” - they’re ordering up uber cars to take them to six flags. Honey, where’s the baby? Don’t worry, he’s in his room, the door’s closed. Meanwhile little Barthlomew is riding “The Sidewinder” next to that bald guy with glasses, mainlining cotton candy and he’s waving his sippy going “moh wed bull?” And they’re all going bow bow deedidly deeddily bow bow. Yep, pnce they can open doors, it’s over.
I can’t stop adding McGotes to Totes.
You know when you say “totes” and you can’t stop yourself adding “mcgotes?” And then you feel gross about yourself? Like some piece of your dignity has been irrevocably shredded in a black hole of despair and shame? You wanna get a chai latte? You wanna go see francis ha? You wanna go do some dubstep aerobics? Totes! Then McGotes comes tumbling in from where she was hiding around the doorway and she’s all like “heyyyyy guys, wanna see how i can fit my whole fist in my mouth?” Even though you hate yourself for wanting it, you can’t stop yourself. And thats the totes debasing of allure of mcgotes. Totes mcgotes.
You ever see one of those tromp loyz? You know where they have the side of a building painted where it looks like there’s open windows on it. That guy is prolific. Everywhere you guy, people are like look there’s a tromp loy, there’s a tromp loy . I think i should get one as an investment. He’s like the banksy of optical illusions.