Ohio Governor John Kasich, who has been running for the Republican nomination for president for seven months, decided last night that he would like to be president, after all. At a town hall on Tuesday, he told voters, “I don’t know if my purpose is to be president,” but in an interview with Fox News’ Megyn Kelly last night, he corrected himself.
If listening to the current Republican presidential frontrunners speak is scaring you to death, here is something to make you feel better: there is now a semi-plausible scenario in which the entire party hilariously self-destructs.
This nation has a very fundamental problem. Its best city—New York City—exists in a northern latitude so extreme that it is a frigid sub-Arctic wasteland for half the year. Why don't we rebuild somewhere down south?
For the last decade or so, some of the best music to come out of Sweden has been focused on and associated with non-Swedish places. Gothenburg bands like Studio and Air France got called "Balearic" — in the style the chill-out come-down music popular for early mornings in Ibiza and other club-heavy Mediterranean islands — but their songs tended to draw less on the specific sounds of that scene than it did on the hazy quality of distant shores and dreamy memories.
Above, Nicolas Cage describes his acting discipline, "nouveau shamanic," which involves "put[ting] on Afro-Caribbean paint" and "sew[ing] in bits of Egyptian artifacts that are thousands of years old into my costume and gather[ing] some onyx or tourmeline or something that was meant to have vibrations." Yesterday, he told Moviefone:
A soldier tries to sleep. But he is not safe in his dreams. Jolted awake by a nightmare, the combat veteran fumbles in the dark for his 3-D glasses. He puts them on. Around him are the faces of people whom he trusts. They fight the darkness with him. The soldier's re-lived this scene in his head and the laboratory over and over again, until it has become reassuringly familiar. The soldier knows that his pixelated friends will take him away from these troubled dreams. When the scene is over, he takes off his goggles and looks around him. The soldier is home.
This morning, down in the desert deeps of El Paso, a 5-year-old child was found, at 1 am, behind the wheel of his mother's minivan after driving it into a pole. The boy tried to flee the scene but was caught. His intended destination? Candy.
There's no more bewildering place than Charlie Kelly's dream journal, apparently a random collection of drawings and symbols displaying his greatest aspirations. The rest of our heroes try their best to give him these gifts, if only for one day.
This is the new path to success: quit Wall Street, drive a cab, and then make it big in the TV business. Are you listening, laid off derivatives traders? It works!
Dreams! NYC Prep was all about dreams last night. Not the fitful things that muddy up your mind while you try to get a good sleep. The beautiful faraway things that some people might call Wants. Singing careers! Fashion!
