The sudden absence of Robin Williams from this planet has shaken several generations in a surprisingly severe way. No one’s holding back this time, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it; we’re all suffering, and we’re all reliving the childhood memories that wouldn’t exist at all if it weren’t for him. With some exceptions: those who think he deserves no sympathy because he chose the “selfish” and easy way out. Robin was never that insensitive about suicide. In fact, the movie that caused him the most pain during filming, What Dreams May Come, shed a beautiful light. . . keep going
Oh hi! My name's Brittney; welcome to my soapbox. I'm an Angelina Jolie scholar, cooking-illiterate vegan, and fledgling, flailing poet who quit her corporate job to take the freelance plunge.
Feel free to laugh and point as I attempt to master everything from my bunnies' bathroom habits to self-employment taxes. I'll be using this blog to share my clumsy moments, check my own privilege, show what Florida life is really like, and remind everyone what "feminism" actually means.
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the recent past
- Cat bites are NO JOKE.
- No, you weren’t “flunked for your faith”. You were flunked for refusing to learn.
- Live-blogging the Golden Globes?! Stay tuned, gentleladies and gentlemen.
- This Simpsons producer is dying, so he’s using the rest of his life (and money) to save animals. What are you doing?
- Failure and mediocrity, take a seat. I’m not afraid of you anymore.