Screw it, I should be asleep, but here's a quick series of pictures I've been delighted with tonight:

A little video heavy this evening, I know:

This has been making the blog rounds - watch it or BE BEHIND THE TIMES. What a frightening prospect.

When did Elijah Wood become so absolutely adorable? I have to admit: I swoon over hipster work casual.

Al Roker Face

I've seen this before, but it was just now brought back to my attention and therefore must be posted. The video combines cats, children and voiceovers and therefore is the Captain Planet of internet cat videos.

Haikus sent to Glenn Beck Blog

Warning: they are from a variety of background, so there are actually some rather conservative, Beck-loving haikus in the mix.

1. Haha at the misspelling in this lolzdog picture.

2. Dog Leaps in Front of Bullet, Saves Owner, Vanishes, then Reappears (Presumably After Recuperation Stint at the Fortress of Howlitude)

This is just one of many reasons why dogs are amazing and cats are of no use, except when they are being made fun of in homemade internet videos.

The cat videos never cease to delight.

Slate is running a somewhat ridiculous column this morning written by a quasi-vegan who makes the dubious argument that oysters are a vegan-friendly food.

The author makes a few good points: oyster farms have almost no impact on the environment, the mollusks thrive when farmed, and (she argues) they do not feel pain. He even goes so far as to claim that oysters are more akin to plants that animals - though this argument is completely bogus, as oysters (1) move, (2) eat other living things and (3) have internal organs. I admit that I do not know where the line between animal and plant is drawn, but I have a general rule that things that poop are animals. And oysters poop.

I think this article misses the point that most people are vegans. Admittedly yes, oysters might not feel pain, they may enjoy living in oyster farms, and their farming may very well create no negative environmental effects. However, Cox forgets a big point on most vegans plate when it comes to skipping animals: animals, we assume, can appreciate and understand their existence - and plants do not. To eat an oyster is to end an existence that it appreciates. And that is just not within veganism.

I am not a vegetarian and never will be. I find an inherent flaw in the argument above: there is no particular reason to value animals' right to existence over plants'. Animals and plants are alive. For all we know, both can feel pain. I assure you that plants, just like animals, do not want to be hurt or eaten or killed - plants exhibit plenty of behaviors suggesting this very fact. I think the author of this article is struggling with a fact that many vegetarians and vegans choose not to address: it is inherently hypocritical to morally reject eating animals but to devour plants at will. The author goes in the opposite (and incorrect) direction, trying to justify eating an animal because "it is like a plant." This is bullshit, and the article rings false because of it. The fact is, there is no real difference between plants and animals. In turn, living beings can only exist by eating other living beings. You can't live without killing something else to do so; this is an unfortunate fact of life, but also the very foundation ensuring our continued existence.

I fully support vegetarians and vegans who reject eating meat because of the inhumane treatment of animals currently going on in most meat production plants. However, rejecting meat because it's alive while still eating plants is like stealing from the rich because the government is over-taxing the poor. You're just as guilty, but you've managed to convince yourself that the party you're wronging will not feel it.

Oh Noes! of the Week:

Elian Gonzalez Spotted at Young Communist Union Congress Meeting; Janet Reno Slightly More Relevant Than Yesterday

Honestly, though, could he look less invested? The drooping eyelids, the limp grip on the flag...I didn't know Communist Union Congress was Spanish for high school biology lecture.

I posted a couple weeks ago about a glorious recipe blog called TasteSpotting. Not only does that blog contain a seemingly unending collection of recipes, but it shares them in such an aesthetically pleasing format that you can't help but appreciate the blog itself, beyond the food.

Almost identical in form (but not in function) is Liqurious, a recipe blog sharing directions for preparing that most glorious of elixirs, the mixed alcohol beverage.

Perhaps not as drool-worthy as TasteSpotting, but equally interesting to look through. I can't imagine I'll every use the blog, though: I limit my alcohol mixing to the meeting of rum with coke.

"This, therefore, is a faded dream of the time when I went down into the dust and noise of the Eastern market-place, and with my brain and muscles, with sweat and constant thinking, made others see my visions coming true. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that all was vanity; but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes, and make it possible."

- T.E. Lawrence

Yesterday evening I stumbled upon a short story by actor James Franco published in Esquire magazine. Some of you might know that I like to think of myself as a fiction writer of sorts, and actually applied to M.F.A. Fiction programs two years ago. Imagine my chagrin/nonplussed-ness/effort in getting my vomit-covered bedspread to the cleaners when I discovered not only this story, but that Mr. Franco is currently pursuing an MFA at Columbia. See attached picture for his academic dedication at said program.

Reading the story, I was initially confused. I thought it was perhaps about blue-color Latino workers in the US – mainly because a supporting character referred to the narrator as “Manuel”. Paragraphs later I was informed this was incorrect – the character’s name was not Manuel but Michael. This misnaming did not get woven into the plot. I have to conclude that James Franco either lacks a backspace button or is too computer-incompetent to know how to erase. This would also go a long way to explain how the story got its “plot”.

Another hint at the theme of the piece was the repeated instances of characters calling one another “Homes” – like the house, not the detective. I take this to mean that Franco’s story is set in a 1994 episode of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. I invite you to find a deeper implication.

Let me be frank (or perhaps let me be franco): this story is painfully regular college writing class gumbo. Late teens writing for fiction courses typically submit work meeting these requirements:

1. It must clearly be a scene from their everyday life. For example, New York city writers must write about living in Chinatown and watching their neighbors from the rooftop and have existential weed-smoking experiences.

2. There must be long, ephemeral stream-of-consciousness paragraphs about what the narrator/protagonist is thinking. Typically these will be whiny and reflect a discontent with life as we know it. Also, use lots of adjectives. (PS. Thank you J.D. Salinger. You effectively ruined contemporary literature. I would've hidden myself away, too.)

3. There must be a lack of a coherent and complete plot line. The shorter the time span the piece covers, the better. The New Yorker is contractually obligated to publish any piece that takes place over a period of time shorter than fifteen seconds. Less than five, and you get a book deal with Harper Collins. Additionally, the more obscure the author is to any actual happenings, the better. Show, don’t tell. And by show, we mean show your familiarity with clichés and catchphrases! Who let the dogs out? You. You. You.

Am I bitter that Franco is published in Esquire and has a book deal? Certainly. Would I be as bitter if his writing showed an ounce of skill? I’d like to think no. And when it comes to my own writing, should you be wondering, it is very likely that I will say that I will show it to you and then never do so. Not because I’m embarrassed, but rather because I’m lazy. Then again, maybe it's because I AM NO JAMES FRANCO.

Two of my “favorite” parts of the story:

1. Joe and I sit and stare at the wall of the building. The building is beige, but the shadows make it shadow-color.

Joe smokes. His window is all the way down, and he breathes his smoke out the black gaping gap.

2. I wish I was Mexican, or Hebrew, I mean Jewish, I mean Israeli, or Mexican Jewish, or Mexican Jewish gay, because it can be so boring being you sometimes, and if you were the most special thing like that, it could be really great, but maybe some people say the same thing about you, and you want to tell those people: "No, you're stupid, it's no fun being me."

I had this dream this morning while watching the Saved by the Bell episode where they go to Hawaii and Jeff tricks Kelly's grandpa into losing his hotel that there should be a tumblog called "Jeff From Saved by the Bell is a Jerk and Stuff" featuring Jeff from Saved by the Bell being included in pictures of other real life and fictiony jerks. Other rules:

1. Kelly must be somewhere in the picture. Bonus points if she is a donkey or some other beast of burden.

2. Negative points for usage of AC Slater.

3. Images of Screech may only be included if they are from his sex tape or sufficiently bearded.

4. Bonus points for incorporating Elizabeth Berkeley, but only if she's included as part of a tree or a boot or a lawn chair or something.

EXAMPLE:

Someone was rambling to me about Coolio this morning (apparently I had time warped to 1997) and Gangsta's Paradise and it hurt my soul to discover they did not know that Coolio is a complete thief.

DEAR COOLIO: WHEN YOU COPY AN ENTIRE SONG AND ONLY CHANGE TWO WORDS, IT IS NOT SAMPLING. IT IS STEALING.

It also hurts my soul that Billboard named this crap the #69 best song of all time. Coolio added nothing to this song but changing the word Pastime to Gangsta'. Are we really giving him props for advancing the popularity of the word gangsta'? Really?

THE FOUR MURDERERS KILLING AMERICA'S GAYBORHOODS.

Omg hyperbole much?

I link this purely because it brought the Big Gay Ice Cream Truck to my attention. Where is my soft serve, Adrian Fenty?

PS. In regards to the picture at the left, no self-respecting homosexual purveyor of frozen treats would pack so many calories onto an ice cream cone. That potato chip monstrosity represents a good eight hours at the gym and four weeks in near-suicidal self-loathing over the pound you'll gain eating it.

I find this tie mesmerizing. I love the Escher-esque pattern and the way it somehow manages to combine every pastel without being overbearing.

Unfortunately it is $50. Sigh. Now I know what Langston Hughes meant by a dream deferred...

Thing You Probably Could've Googled Yourself of the Day:

Blog roll of the past decade's silly New Year's Eve glasses.

I can't wait until 2010. Finally it will be Joaquin Phoenix's time to shine!

This band reminds me of Vampire Weekend. And hebephilia.

Oh my -- this has been reuploaded! If you don't find this funny we may not be able to be friends.