‘Atlanta’ and ‘This Is America’ director Hiro Murai is helming the sci-fi movie ‘Man Alive’ and I’m torqued
Hiro Murai is objectively fucking awesome. Between Atlanta, This Is America, and his work on Barry, he’s more than wormed his way into my heart. But, he’s about to push deeper into it. Dude is doing a fucking sci-fi- movie.
I’ve known how rad Hiro Murai is for a good goddamn while now. But, a lot of people are experiencing his work for the first time through Childish Gambino’s video, This Is America. None the less, with that brag out of the way, I’m stoked that he’s getting a development deal.
Got ourselves another teaser trailer for Atlanta‘s second season, and it is as dope as the first. It’s after the jump, because apparently Twitter video insists on being a fucking thing.
The first trailer for Atlanta‘s second season! Fuck yeah, dudes.
Atlanta is some of my favorite television of the past few years, and I can’t wait to get more. I’m a bit lucky though, because the wait for season 2 hasn’t been long for me, since I, uh. I slept on the first one for so long. But, good news! For everyone! The second season is dropping on March 1.
I do not know know Zazie Beetz well. I know she’s in Atlanta, which I really need to watch. I now know she’s playing Domino in Deadpool 2, which I cannot wait to watch.
The suck: Atlanta is not back until 2018. The good: that means I can actually watch it. The intriguing: Glover has signed a production deal with FX.
I’m up in Vermont for a wedding. My wife is one of two Matrons of Honor (a cowardly option for getting out of determining, in front of friends and family, your “favorite” person), so she’s off doing things. Like what? Oh, I don’t know. Helping the bride ascribe significance to a litany of generic prefabricated rituals that belong to one of the most industrialized and fabricated social customs in our culture.
But hey, that leaves me alone in our overly expensive, gaudy ass, nightmare hotel room at the inn.
To sit, crush Pepsi Max, diarrhea, get some work done. The diarrhea reminds me to drink Pepsi Max, the Pepsi Max reminds my bowels to diarrhea. Speaking of perfect unions, I think I’ve found one. An ouroboros of caffeineated-turd glory.
To refresh the typical blogs, jerk it once-twice-who-is-knocking-go-away-room-service-three times.
And! More importantly! Welcome you to Weekend Open Bar!
Weekend’s half over, and I’m just opening the bar. C’est la vie of a loser blogger with a moderately busy life and a poor sense of discipline. Crazy week. First week of the semester. No gentle ascent into the warm, welcoming arms of academic banality. No ma’am. No sir. Instead. Picture it. A rocket-ship. My ass gently dolloped onto the top of said rocket-ship. Instead. Picture it. Said rocket-ship rocketing into the atmosphere, my poor, sad flaccid dong-dong burning up. My hair a fury’d mess. My nipples chaffing under the duress of embracing former-Earth, my throat. Oh, my throat! A bloodied, shredded mess as I howl at the enormity of the next fifteen weeks, laugh at my general enjoyment of this madness, scream at my own anxiety and depressing encircling my brain-piece with their gnarled claws.
I’m here, though. At the Weekend Open Bar. I’m here though, hoping you’ll join me at said bar. Come hang out. Come tell me what you’re up to throughout this half-over Weekend. What are you eating-playing-reading-drinking-worshipping?