How I remember David Bowie…
How I remember David Bowie…
I love Wes Anderson films.
I love the way they look — the elaborate little worlds he creates and populates with lovable, quirky characters and every type of minutiae imaginable.
On Golden Globes Sunday, it seems appropriate to pay tribute to such an amazing talent. Thank goodness Ana Romao has done just that on Vimeo.
Good luck tonight, Wes. I think The Grand Budapest Hotel is your best film to date.
What a difference a year makes.
Just ask Google.
Last year I spanked them for the Father’s Day tribute on their homepage. Sure, they remembered Dad, but the gesture was minimal, stereotypical and lacked animation — a sad effort compared to their extravagant nods to Les Paul and PacMan.
Dad deserves better.
And this year, Google delivered. Their team has developed not only an animated tribute, but a charming story with heart and sweetness worthy of the man of the hour.
Nice work, Google. I knew you had it in you. It just took a little tough love to get the job done right.
Rather fitting on Father’s Day, don’t you think?
Dear Robert Pattinson:
Please hire me as your publicist.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. Being no doubt a faithful reader of The Sticky Egg — and why wouldn’t you? I’ve mentioned you a whopping 12 times during the blog’s two-year existence — you might deem my motives less than honorable.
True, my mind does go a bit blank when I see photos of you. And I will cop to letting a scream or two fly at midnight premieres of the Twilight films.
(All the other kids were doing it.)
No, this plea to join your entourage is motivated by a sincere wish to improve your public speaking skills. It is purely professional. Any personal enjoyment I might glean during the coaching process is simply collateral damage.
Don’t get me wrong — your sense of humor and lack of ‘slickness’ is charming in one-on-one interviews. But in acceptance speeches and during the MTV Movie Awards’ salute to Reece Witherspoon last night, for example, just a bit of preparation and polish would have made a world of difference in that larger venue.
Your ideas are fun; they just need a little more work. Reece showed that when she stepped on stage and made them better.
Let Chelsea Handler’s shocked reaction be your guide…and let me be your coach.
I promise to keep our interaction age appropriate.
When Teddy Kennedy died earlier this week, I didn’t get the news from the Today Show or from the morning paper.
I read it on Twitter.
And I really shouldn’t call it news. The comments on Twitter about Kennedy’s death were more like one-line eulogies. A rolling memorial, if you will. People of all ages had something to say about his passing, his legacy.
I can see this happening for a Teddy Kennedy. Or Michael Jackson, perhaps. Both were larger than life. You can understand how someone of their stature could elicit such attention.
But when I got home last night, I found Twitter eulogizing yet another passing…that of DJ AM.
All I know about Adam Goldstein (DJ AM’s real name) comes from US Weekly and Access Hollywood. He was a popular DJ at Hollywood parties, survived a recent plane crash with Travis Barker, and dated various celebs and models.
DJ AM was only 36 years old when he died at his New York City apartment Friday. And his friends — those who knew him well and those who had only read about him — chose to pay tribute to his passing…by tweeting.
I have to wonder if the minds behind Twitter envisioned their social medium becoming the first choice for remembering the dead. Did they think people would answer “What are you doing?” with memorials and tributes? But Twitter’s very immediacy — and famed 140-character limit — have made it the place to express those first pangs of sympathy succinctly…and publicly.
Like we do everything else these days…for everyone to see.