25 Random Things: Miley Cyrus Edition

We at FCN have been able to access Miley Cyrus's Facebook profile through sources that will remain confidential. We found one of her recent notes to be particularly interesting, and will now re-distribute it here without permission. Enjoy, but don't tell the cybercops.


My 25 totally random things! =)

1. Pink isn't just a color, it's an attitude!


2. The number of years I dated Nick Jonas. LOSER.

3. I'm obsessed with brushing my teeth... it bugs Emily Osment, but whatev.

4. I tape Hannah Montana so I can study myself. You gotta love TiVo.

5. I'm a vegetarian, but I so totally love shrimp!

6. I have pet chickens. Isn't that hot?

7. I'm hypoglycemic. OHMYGOSH, I finally spelled it right!

8. I'm a fan of cosmetic dentistry.



9. I'm starting to get worn out. See here for an explanation of my demise.

10. Miley was totally not my real name. It was a nickname. My real name was Destiny. But I changed my name, so I'm all legal and everything now.

11. I'm not just a celebrity. I'm a corporation.

12. I totally heart Chinese people even though my slanty eyed pose thingy got slammed by the press. Bummer. Chinese people are totally boss. AND Chinese food rocks.



13. To prove that the above random fact is totally true, I decided to show that I am tolerant of ALL my fans! See here:



14. I've never taken formal singing lessons! Bet you couldn't tell, huh?

15. Dolly Parton is my godmother. That. Is. So. Messed. Up.

16. I could shop all day. Shocker!

17. I don't pose nude. Only partially nude. There's a big difference.

18. I date underwear models. But my daddy-poo approves.

19. Oh my goodness, there's a piece of glitter on the carpet!

20. And there's a piece of glitter on my shirt!

21. I'm working so hard to be a "good girl". My Disney career depends on it!

22. I'm a borderline schizophrenic. My alter ego has long blond hair and wears tight brightly colored pants.

23. I heart txting.

24. I look so fat in 3D. Time to go anorexic again.

25. I wear a promise ring. As soon as I can remember what the promise is, I can take it off. But I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings by breaking a promise when I don't remember what it was!

FCN sees “Cloverfield”

“Let’s go see a movie.” A statement not a question, the line is uttered with no regard to consequences or costs, direct or hidden. Friends are over and conversation needs stimulation. A movie is just the thing.

But what to see? I like chick flicks, but F and N hold an automatic veto over any movie directed by Anne Fletcher. The visiting friends suggest the Johnny Depp movie, a proposition that is quickly asphyxiated with a chorus of “nos.” N puts forward his bid, a film with a couple of Academy Award winning actors that are probably closer to retirement than their next nomination, but no one is in the mood for a movie about a couple codgers end-gaming their life. F wants to see Enchanted, again. Yeah, right. The arguments buzz around like bees in a Penn and Teller magic trick. People change sides faster than Mitt Romney and preferences go from comedy to drama and back again like the F-Train. Even ambivalent viewers turn into ardent advocates as soon as choices are presented. The debate is fierce and enemies are made. Nobody is permanently hurt, though, and a choice is made before the clock strikes an hour.

None of us are sure who’s idea it was – the end of the film had us pointing fingers like a six year-old in a candy shop – but someone introduced the name “Cloverfield,” a virally promoted disaster movie shot entirely with hand held cameras. The merits of "Cloverfield" were never heavily explored but, by virtue of the fact that all the other films were disqualified, “Cloverfield” got the selection. It's a movie about a monster, filmed by a badly shaking cameraman who didn't know it was all computer generated and/or ketchup.

I wont drag you through the hour and twenty minutes of dizzying and horrifying film footage that was flashed before our wide-eyed faces, except to say that the plot moved exceptionally slowly and was a grating regurgitation of every other disaster movie plot, except it was worse. When the credits rolled, a gentleman sitting behind me muttered “Is it over? [Boy], what a waste of money. I should have just left a tenner at the foot of the movie poster.” Great piece of critical analysis, that. He should start a blog.

I, for one, have never witnessed such a tepid reaction to a movie in theaters. All fifty plus people in attendance sat stunned for over a minute before picking themselves up and walking shakily toward the exit, rubbing their eyes. The roomed seemed to spin slowly and I was a little nauseous as I stood up to follow their lead. Looking at the back of so many heads in dim light exiting a building reminded me vaguely of a scene in the movie. Which scene, you ask? All of them.

The baby boomer in attendance speculated that it was the “worst movie she’d ever seen,” a perspective that has been proffered for a dozen other cinematic productions. I thought the movie was creative, but was upset that all the attractive females were killed off (sorry, is that a spoiler?) and that the monster’s soft side wasn’t exploited by the directors.

F made the mistake of defending the movie’s concept publically and was berated excessively for his lack of taste. Defending bad movies is tantamount to making bad movies on the hierarchy of cinematic sins. It might even be worse than defending that limited release Hannah Montana production. Goodness, F, grow a tongue.

By the time we got home, the dizziness and arguments had worn off. We hopped out of the car and looked around. After an awkward pause, somebody asked: “So, now what do you want to do?”