A completely serious list.
"Whose Line Is It Anyway?": Improvisational Speech Acts
How To Talk About The Death Drive At Cocktail Parties
Girl, Interrupted: In Gothic fiction, only heroines seem to faint
Two Is The Loneliest Number
Driving Out of Time
Pathos and Pathology
Creepily Benevolent Masculinites: Caspar Goodwood versus Casper the Friendly Ghost
"I'm Pregnant" and The Periperformative
Hangry and Other Food Feelings
A Will To Irrationality
Freud's Penis Envy in Beyond The Pleasure Principle
We salute you, Robin Griffin, Wendy Davis, writers of dinosaur erotica, Kreayshawn, Diane Martel, Adele Exarchopolous, Erykah Badu, Emily M. Keeler, Nancy Silberkleit, our mothers and role models and newlywed lovers and really you guys, all of our friends.
Yesterday was the official release date for Midnight Memories, One Direction’s third studio album. Aaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Yessss!! No? Am I talking to the right demographic? It doesn’t matter. I’m here to talk to you about the important stuff, which is the music.
The music: holy smokes.
Our boys are still the same boys, even if they're now boys-verging-on-men, and they even helped write almost all the tracks on the new album. Let that sink in: it’s their very own words coming from their very own souls into my very own earphones.
Let's do this: track-by-track, first-but-not-final impressions.
(And if anyone can correctly list them in [...]