Hi! It's R. Eric Thomas. From the internet?
I'm writing a book! I'll tell you about that plus Blake Shelton, my time on the Notorious RBG workout, Captain Picard's gun show, Jason Momoa's laugh, Trump's further adventures in terrible hand-holding, and Nicki Minaj's very literal magazine cover.
But first, I have to talk to you about the benefits of thirst journalism.
So, last night we saw that new Marvel movie Thirst: Ragnarok, also known as Thor: Line Readings. Everyone in that movie is doing the absolute most in the best way possible. There is something for everybody in this movie; no matter where you fall on the Kinsey scale, this Thor movie is like a dessert buffet. In fact, the Kinesy scale is cancelled. It's now the Ragnarok Scale. I am a Ragnarok 6.
At one point they showed the Hulk's butt (girl, I know. I told you it was the most) and the woman next to me was like "Oh come on! This is too much!" I had to agree. It's an intense experience.
First of all, Cate Blanchett should win an Oscar for withering eye movements alone. She should also win every forthcoming season of Drag Race. She is everything. At one point, she has to get into an underground crypt to revive some zombie soldiers for her army and she literally does a deathdrop into it. SO EXTRA.
Between Carol and Hela and Katherine Hepburn's pants in The Aviator, she has essentially reshaped the gay cannon in her image. Obsessed.
Meanwhile Tessa Thompson is literally changing lives with her badass Valkyrie. Can we cast her as Han in the new Han Solo movie, please? Also! This strut is the thing that dreams are made of. I need this as a mural in my home.
I loved everything about this movie. Jeff Goldblum in blue fingernail polish being delightfully weird! Anthony Hopkins with some How Stella Got Her Groove Back hair twists! Tom Hiddleston IN GENERAL! Plus a Hemsworth.
It's TOO MUCH.
David and I were super hype when we left the theater. We came back to our apartment and discovered a flower delivery on my doorstep. I stooped down to find out who it was from. The card read, "I have never felt more beautiful." And it had a man's name signed to it. I was shewk. Who was this guy and why was he sending me flowers? I could feel David getting nervous behind me; did I have a stalker? Apparently he was a rich stalker because these flowers were gorgeous. But that's beside the point. Or is it? How could I make money off of this? Wait, back the flowers. How do I explain this thing that I don't even understand? Then I got it.
To explain the whole story, I have to show you the first of this week's columns.
"Now, as always, my feelings can best be described as 'Jennifer Hudson's facial expression.' What the Mahershala is going on here? No shade to Blake, but we need to put People magazine in rice. I don't want to bring on the wrath of Blake stans and I took a blood oath in 1996 to never cross Gwen Stefani. But come on. The Sexiest Man Alive, though? I know all men are trash but I wasn't aware that they were all dead, also. [READ THE FULL COLUMN]
Okay, so as part of this Blake Shelton column, I cycled through many of the men who must be ghosts now if Blake is the Sexiest Man Alive. Among them were Fred Savage, star of The Wonder Years and ACTUAL HOT PERSON. This is not up for debate; this has never been up for debate. Fred Savage = hot. Apparently Fred saw my thirst journalism, because I got an email from somebody who works for him thanking me for the shout-out and asking the best address for me.
I am always in the habit of giving out my home address to celebrities and celebrity-adjacent people. I figured I'd get a signed photo or something and, honestly, kind of forgot about it. It was nice enough to get an email from someone who gets to be in Fred's presence on the regular. Plus, celebrities deal with so much nonsense, I just just glad he was flattered and kind enough to reach out instead of being annoyed by me.
So, when I got a bouquet of flowers signed "Love, Fred," it honestly took me a full minute to put together that they were from the erstwhile Kevin Arnold himself. Then I literally collapsed on the floor laughing. Poor David still didn't know what was going on so I had to pull myself together long enough to explain that I didn't have a stalker; I was getting flowers because I'm Winnie Cooper!
As I wrote on Twitter, your move, Trudeau.
Speaking of thirst, I've been working on my fitness by doing the Ruth Bader Ginsburg workout. I've gained some weight recently and I had to stop and ask myself, "What going to do with all those humps, all those humps inside your judicial briefs?"
I’m not a runner, honey. I don’t jog, I have never jogged. If I wanted to jog, yes, I probably could go out and jog but I won’t because I am what? Stationary! With the RBG Workout, I got a compact, easily achievable fitness plan that didn’t have me out in these streets wheezing and sweating.
The instructions say this is a twice-a-week exercise program but I decided to do it almost every day. I don’t have time to follow the guidance of a trained professional. The icebergs are melting; I’m trying to be hot now. Call me Paula Cole cuz I don’t wanna wait. [READ THE FULL COLUMN]
Have you ever seen such a dramatic range of emotions in one group of co-workers? On one hand you have Ben Affleck who is barely hanging on and on the other you have Jason Momoa who is the textbook definition of "Here for this!" He is so present he exists in a fourth dimension. He's like "I got money, I'm married to Lisa Bonet, and I look like this! NOTHING CAN STOP ME (not even the persistent rumors that this movie is very much not good at all!)" I'm not even sure if Jason knows he's at the Justice League premiere. It's very possible that he's in a joy-induced fugue state, just roaming from place to place, guffawing and being 110% hotter than anyone else. [READ THE FULL COLUMN]
The new film is titled The Crimes of Grindelwald, which sounds like a conspiracy theory that your uncle heard about on Fox News. Before anyone asks, Hillary Clinton has never met Grindelwald, nor has she accepted any donations from Grindelwald, despite what Sean Hannity will be saying for the next month.
(Side note: My spellcheck recognizes the word Grindelwald but not Hannity, so J.K. Rowling, whatever you're doing, keep it up!) [READ THE FULL COLUMN]
This is that kid who is mad he didn't get to wear his Iron Man mask for picture day and is going to take that class photographer down a peg. Is this pouting? Is this smiling? Did he think someone said, "Now do a wacky one?" Does he think he's mean-mugging? Is this the cover of the MAGA Mixtape? Is Trump about to release a cypher in response to Eminem's BET Awards diss? Why does your president look like a Mr. Yuk sticker? [READ THE FULL COLUMN]
Why does Deborah have a Bea Arthur-in-Maude haircut? Is she prone to strong social justice stances and wicked line readings? Because I am here for that. Looking at Deborah you might be convinced that this is that film we've all been waiting for: a sardonic look at progressive animals in Biblical times.
I'm sorry to disappoint you, but this isn't quite that. First of all, Deborah wears zero caftans in the film and does not seem to own any oversized shoulder pads. [READ THE FULL COLUMN]
On one hand, oh my gravy, this is more than I expected to find on my work computer this morning. Apologies to everyone who heard me scream "YAS SHE DID THAT! THREE WIGS ON A WEDNESDAY! COME THROUGH KA-WEEN!" I know I normally just say those things in a conversational tone so the yelling must have been very startling. [READ THE FULL COLUMN]
TBH, I'm very excited for this new era of attractive menfolk jockeying for the approval of the masses. Display your wares, Sexy Men, or be thrown to the wolves! You know why Blake Shelton was named this year's Sexiest Man? Because Idris Elba wasn't shirtless in The Mountain Between Us. Let that be a lesson to you.
(Now you may say, it's kind of hard to survive a mountaintop plane crash while wearing only a towel. To that I reply, why don't we just make the movie and find out?) [READ THE FULL COLUMN]
And finally, a random thing from real life... I'm writing a book!
Here's the announcement from Publishers Weekly!
I will now take questions:
Q: Wait. What?
A: Girl, I know! My extraordinary agent Anna Sproul-Latimer and I have been working on a proposal for a non-fiction book of essays for months and it was purchased by Sara Weiss at Ballantine, an imprint of Random House.
Q: When can I buy it?
A: Like, 2 years from now.
Q: Why so long?
A: It's only half-written. Plus, I need to finish my chapter titled "What I Wore to the Trump Impeachment Party."
Q: It'll take you two years to write that?
A: LOL, no. But this kween lives to revise!
Q: How will I know when pre-orders start?
A: I'll call you.
Q: You and I had an awkward interaction yesterday. AM I IN YOUR BOOK?
A: Probably! But your name is changed. All the names are changed. My name is changed. I'm Olivia Pope Jr.
Q: You and I had an awkward interaction in kindergarten. AM I IN IT?
A: ABSOLUTELY, SCOTT.
Q: Is it funny?
Q: Is it sad?
Q: Will I experience laughter through tears like a Chekhov character or a Steel Magnolia?
A: That's very specific but yes!
Q: Should I buy a copy for myself and one for my friend, my aunt, & my favorite college student?
A: What a great idea!
Q: Will my dad like it?
A: Who's your dad?
Q: Will this affect your work at ELLE?
A: Nope! The columns will continue until world morale improves?
Q: Will you come to my local bookstore to read your book?
Q: Will you come to my library?
A: I WILL COME TO EVERY LIBRARY.
Q: Will you come to my school?
Q: Will you be on my podcast?
A: I'm ALREADY IN FRONT OF A MICROPHONE.
That's all for this week!