Salisbury steak. Hairnets. PB&Js that taste like tuna fish sandwiches. Yes, folks, it’s National School Lunch Week.
As the government shutdown nears its third week, Americans find themselves staring down the barrel of a looming debt ceiling crisis; the deadline to avoid such a fiasco is tomorrow.
In case you didn’t hear (but I’m sure that you did), last year Lindsay Lohan starred as Elizabeth Taylor in Liz & Dick, a Lifetime biopic about her on-again-off-again romance with Richard Burton.
The medieval Knights Templar may have gone mainstream with The Da Vinci Code, but conspiracy theorists have for centuries exploited these warrior monks for all they’re worth—and they’re worth a lot.
In 2007 Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez teamed up to release Grindhouse, a double-feature paean to 1970s action, horror and exploitation films. Studded with stars of every stripe and featuring plenty of stunts, explosions and sound-enhanced gore, the two films were Tarantino’s Death Proof, a revenge fantasy about a homicidal stunt driver who double-crosses the wrong squad of stunt-driving babes, and Rodriguez’s Planet Terror, a zombie flick centered around a psychotic doctor, his bisexual wife, the military and a stripper whose lost leg is replaced with a machine gun.
Mark Twain didn’t consider himself a novelist, not a good one anyway. He was a short story writer who couldn’t keep his stories short. Setting out to write a simple six-page tale, the author would find it spooling out into myriad story lines, which, to be sustained, demanded additional characters, followed then by more story lines to justify the new cast—and so on. Twain would chase this ball of yarn as it unraveled, until eventually it wouldn’t ball back up. Left with no other choice, he’d arrange, structure, embellish, trim and beautify the whole mess and call it a novel.
More than costumes, more than trick-or-treating, more than gorging yourself on candy, The Simpsons’ annual “Treehouse of Horror” special […]