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My first James Bond movie was Die Another Day in 2002. Pierce Brosnan was James Bond. I was 10. The movie was ludicrous. I loved it.

In Die Another Day, Agent 007 and his female counterpart, Halle Berry’s Jinx, drive their invisible car all around an ice palace in order to stop Gustav Graves from melting the ice caps with his big space laser, which he built with conflict diamonds. Don’t ask how or why the car is invisible. Gustav Graves was born North Korean, but he used some sort of DNA treatment to reverse-Rachel Dolezal himself into a white blonde man as some sort of critique of Western culture, maybe? His henchman, Zao, also tried to do this, but only half-Dolezal’d, so he’s just very pale and also there are conflict diamonds stuck in his face for some reason. There is also a mean British woman who they fight at the ice palace. Her name is Miranda Frost, because her parents had the foresight to assume that she would one day be a henchwoman in an ice palace. James Bond slept with her before he knew she was mean. Eventually they all fight on a plane, and the bad guys and gal die, and James Bond saves the day.

By just about any conceivable metric for evaluating film, Die Another Day is a bad movie. Despite the countless flaws that bloated this ridiculous film, it served as my introduction to all things Bond. The lines were cheesy, but even in the worst Bond movie the cheesiest lines are at least somewhat tempered by sexy delivery and the cool tuxedos. When I saw Pierce Brosnan order his martini “shaken, not stirred” in the ice palace bar, it felt like I was suddenly part of something big, something cool(this part was jarring; I was not a cool ten year old).

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Courtesy of Pizza Hut

Earlier this week, Pizza Hut trotted out a pie with hot dog bites baked into the crust. “Pizza Hut has created the perfect combination for American tastebuds,” they exclaimed in a press release. This Frankenfood is a ploy to drum up new business as Americans move from the convenience of fast food to more healthy options. Pizza Hut is not the only culprit of these gonzo kitchen experiments; Hardee’s and Dunkin Donuts have rolled out their own crackpot foods that seem like a self-aware joke about a certain American ideal: this foodstuff is so crass that it’s American as fuck.

If you pair these abominations with the otherworldly portions of food that are being sold at an unbelievable discount – KFC’s $5 Fill-Up, Taco Bell’s 5 Buck Box, etc. – you’d think that these brands have eaten their own tail in order to get customers. Most Americans who actively exclude fast food from their diets are not likely to be enticed by a pizza that’s the spiritual cousin of the big rig in Mad Max: Fury Road. It’s surely not frequent patrons that need a marketing campaign to get through the door. Who, then, are these unique customers whose dollars are being chased?

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It’s that time again. February. Super Bowl season. Awards season. The greatest season in America because these are some of the most live-tweeted events in the country, and NOTHING brings the people together like live-tweeting. On Sunday, February 22nd, Awards Season pretty much caps off, with the 87th Academy Awards. Which will probably be as long, but hopefully not as boring, as the Grammys were this year. I’m sure we will all be rooting for Dick Poop, because this is America and we don’t let things like that die, but who else will win? I have no idea, because I have seen close to none of the nominated pictures. BUT I’m going to make my picks anyway, because (No, I don’t need a real reason, thanks).

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(Courtesy of Amazon Studios)

Amazon’s forward thinking decision to be the next content supplier along with Netflix and Hulu gave the world the Golden Globe-winning Transparent. Now, with both Netflix and Amazon being validated as outlets worthy of cranking out new stories that can be both critically acclaimed and popular, the rush to create content with high profile names outside of a cable box is now the new normal.

With this, a few new pilots have been dumped out-of-the-blue for the casual consumer on Amazon. And there’s Mad Dogs with familiar names like Michael Imperioli and Billy Zane. Some show that looks like a highly polished Civil War dramatization (we sure do need another one!). And then there’s Man in the High Castle – a joint whose most high profile association is its executive producer, Ridley Scott.

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To say Richard Linklater’s latest film Boyhood was highly anticipated is a gross understatement. Whispers of a movie that featured a main character aging in real time – a 24 for the Roger Ebert wannabes – had been swirling for years, earning the film an almost urban legend status. Would we ever see this cinematic Bigfoot?

Yes, we would, and yes, I did. Full disclosure: I am a big fan of Linklater’s work. I saved my pennies to buy the special edition Criterion Release of Dazed and Confused, and I’m always quick to point out that he directed School of Rock (I know, right?), so I was ready to blindly adore his latest. However, I left the theater feeling hesitant, wondering if all the film really had going for it was the gimmick of time lapse. I mean, the film currently carries a 99% fresh rating on Rotten Tomatoes. I had to be wrong, right? What was wrong with me? Why didn’t I connect with Boyhood?

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Think, if you will for a moment, of your country’s wildest sporting dream. For Canadians, a gold medal in hockey might be just the accessory to go with all that maple syrup. In Australia, winning the Rugby World Cup over rivals New Zealand and South Africa is a source of pride for locals. The people of the United States find it best to rest laurels on domestic competitions, only really getting involved externally if their nation happens to be exerting dominance as a sort of athletic manifest destiny. Regardless of the means, people love putting stock in competition because they believe the payoff far outweighs potential letdowns. It is fun to concoct scenarios, however unlikely, in which your team defies all the odds to win. Be careful what you wish for, however. Living vicariously means dying vicariously, and the only resting place for most is a grave on the world’s most visible stage – the FIFA World Cup.

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Harry-Potter-QuidditchTyler Lauletta and Brian Kraker are two dudes who love NBA free agency and Harry Potter. When J.K. Rowling released a new short story about “The Boy Who Lived” at the Quidditch World Cup, these two started emailing back and forth. The following are actual emails exchanged between two supposed adults.

Brian Kraker: Harry Potter is officially on the comeback trail! J.K. Rowling has gone full Michael Jordan and is coming out of retirement (because posting short stories online is the literary equivalent of playing for the Washington Wizards). The story is written from the perspective of notorious gossip columnist Rita Skeeter, who is reporting from the Quidditch World Cup. While the short story focuses more on the personal lives of Rowling’s heroes, I’m way more interested in the competition. Maybe I’m still just caught up in actual World Cup fervor or I’ve spent too much time traversing the wormhole of NBA rumors that are floating around the Twitterverse, but I’m more interested in the fictional competition than Harry Potter’s graying mane.

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The Soundtrack to Your World Cup Summer

Songs crafted solely for the World Cup are nothing new. This has been happening since 1962 when Chile hosted the tournament. Official songs gave way to unofficial songs and then to a whole anthemic soundtrack that serves as half souvenir and half advertising campaign. This year is no different with FIFA officially sponsoring another soundtrack entitled The 2014 FIFA World Cup Official Album: One Love, One Rhythm. The cover art alone is a vibrant collage of people dancing, a soccer ball, and a toucan that converge to illustrate someone’s face. The album includes “banging pop tracks by artists from around the globe”, according to iTunes. That is why Pitbull is the first artist featured on this album.

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Young and Beautiful Tom Brady

Looking for a way to definitely guarantee that you’ll enjoy the NFL Draft tonight? You’re going to need some alcohol. Please be over 21, though.

The NFL really has us wrapped around its finger. They make puny settlements with former players (while never admitting that football is, you know, dangerous). They take away any and all instances of players having fun. They treat the cheerleaders like second class citizens. They push the date of the draft back, and are even thinking about making the draft last longer. But hey, it’s not like anyone is going to stop being an NFL fan because of THAT STUFF, right?

Truth be told, the draft itself is awful. None. Of. This. Means. Anything. Yet. Don’t kid yourself—-you have no idea how any of these players are going to pan out. So why not have some real fun tonight?

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