This one goes out to everyone in Hawaii, everyone who loves someone in Hawaii, everyone who's planning a trip to Hawaii, and the guy who thought he could get a flight out of Hawaii before the bomb hit.
This is so spot-on that it could be on a motivational poster at a coporate retreat.
Folks everywhere seem to have strong opinions of one kind or another on how technology is changing us. We're thinking less because we have Google on our phones. We're talking less because we have Facebook on our phones. We are spending less to support entertainment because we have youTube on our phones. And we like ourselves less because we're comparing ourselves to celebrities the Internet made famous.
In this scene, Cosmo is objecting to his daughter's engagement ring. It's her fiance's pinky ring rather than an actual diamond.
When I was a kid, I wanted to be just like everyone else. I wanted to blend in and be part of the crowd. For reasons I never understood, I was never able to pull that off. Even when I was silent and trying desperately to blend in with the wallpaper, people noticed me. What shocked me even more deeply was finding out that they remembered me.
The moment in question is the chance for Pat Jr. to chase after Jennifer Lawrence and confess his love for her. Is there anyone among us who would not do the same? Show of hands?
Granted, the character is a boxer who gets paid to take hits for a living, but don't we all? No matter who you are or what you do for a living, odds are good that someone's got you over a barrel. There's someone whose jokes you have to laugh at, whose ring you have to kiss, and whose scut work you have to do with a smile. That's life.
I've spent a lot of time this year thinking about regret. I don't think I've ever met anyone who didn't have any regrets about their life at all, but I've met a stunning number of folks who look back at their lives more than they look ahead. Their fascination with hindsight borders on obsession and they dwell in the house of "What if?" forever.
To the men who are riding the crest of the wave of sexual misconduct claims, this one goes out to you.
I've been waiting to comment on the tidal wave of sexual assault and sexual harassment allegations that have flooded popular culture since mid-October, when Ronan Farrow's phenomenal piece of investigative journalism hit newsstands and screens. Every time I thought I knew what I wanted to say, there would be a new revelation.