You can’t have her, Jack. Jennifer Lawrence is the world’s girlfriend now. She is the rarest, most charming butterfly and can never be pinned onto a piece of decorative corkboard and imprisoned in a frame. Cradle her essence in your hands and then set her free, laughing and dancing against the backdrop of beautiful nimbus clouds in the skies of freedom. Watch the rain tickle the antennae of her many talents, Instagram her wings glittering in the dark night of awards-show disappointments and awful missteps. Don’t ever make her a “poor Oscar spouse.” Hope. Freedom. Change. Obama. Lawrence. Jennifer. Love. That’s a poem, and it’s also what I’m going to name my future children. I plan to have at least 15, so I’m going to look ahead to next year’s Academy Awards for more ideas. Foxcatcher would make a really beautiful name for a little girl. Definite prom queen potential.
Keep your blind-item eyes peeled for who broke the toilet at the Dolby Theatre, by the way. #Jawsmusic
The Hollywood Reporter‘s L.A. office was evacuated after what sounds like a well-meaning gift of some party powder.
This would be a good note on which to end the Harlem Shake.