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.
This polititcally incorrect moment is brought to you by Walt Disney Productions, the leader in family-friendly entertainment since a stepmother tried to have a woodman cut out the heart of a princess because she was young and pretty.
This cheery piece of wisdom is delivered to Natalie Portman's version of Jackie Kennedy as she's grappling with the trauma of watching her husband's head explode. Jackie is trying to deal with her own grief while also deciding on the most historically appropriate manner of commemorating The President's death for the country. She's never allowed the simple kindness of privately mourning her husband's murder, except the night she spends drinking heavily and staggering around the residence.
I find myself whispering this line of dialogue to myself at work, more and more often as the school year progresses.