Ask any college instructor about online professor-rating sites such as Rate My Professors, and she will insist that not only does she find the anonymous student-rant irrelevant to her career, she hasn’t so much as peeked at her own ratings—in fact, she doesn’t even know if she’s on there.

Hardly. I know enough professors to know that there are two kinds in the world: 1) those who have been equal parts elated and bent out of shape by their RMP ratings—and 2) liars.

This is an old bit of pop culture cleverness, but it was new to me: “Apocalypse Pooh,” created in 1987 by Canadian filmmaker Todd Graham, tells the story of Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now using clips from Winnie the Pooh cartoons (with a few bits of the Coppola movie spliced in as well). It made the rounds on VHS tapes for years before it was uploaded to the Internet.

In an interview with film critic Tom Shone for his book Blockbuster, George Lucas said, “Star Wars is basically a silent film, was designed to be a silent film.” The director was referring to his style of storytelling, and its reliance on dazzling visuals meant to wow the audience in the way early cinema had once done.

Of course, so-called silent movies were generally shown with musical accompaniment, and so Lucas’ line of thinking perhaps helps explain why the Star Wars score is so essential—as the folks behind Auralnauts have just amusingly demonstrated.

Last year, the Replacements played their first live show in 22 years. Last night, the band—pioneers of alternative rock who in the ’80s strung together a series of classic albums—played on Jimmy Fallon, looking no worse for wear after decades of inactivity.

Much can and has been said about Robin Williams’ brilliance—his improvisational gusto and inventive energy left an enduring legacy on screen. Tony Zhou, whose incisive work we’ve highlighted before, has a new video essay that explores a more specific aspect of Williams’ genius: how he used motion to deepen and develop his characters.

Last week, I received an email from a representative of the public relations firm Weber Shandwick asking if I was “interested in receiving a first taste of the newest treat from OREO.” “We can’t tell you what it is yet,” the email continued, “but I can say … you’ll want to get your hands on these cookies before they’re gone.” I doubted that—I’ve never been a huge Oreos fan, finding them simultaneously cloying and bland—but I said yes anyway. (What can I say? The email was the PR equivalent of a tantalizing Upworthy headline, and the curiosity gap got the better of me.)

I was nonetheless surprised and perplexed when I found a box on my desk yesterday containing a package of Pumpkin Spice Oreos. These aren’t new, I thought to myself. I could swear that Pumpkin Spice Oreos already exist. A Google search soon disabused me of that notion. I had apparently only imagined that Pumpkin Spice Oreos had comprised part of my colleague J. Bryan Lowder’s “Pumpkin Spice Diet,” the weeklong experiment in which, last fall, he ate nothing that was not pumpkin-spice-flavored. (Apparently I’d confused them with pumpkin spice M&Ms, pumpkin spice Pop Tarts, and pumpkin spice Pringles.)

Oreo seems to be the last major food brand to release a pumpkin spice version of its signature product. At least I hope it’s the last. Pumpkin Spice Oreos do not bode well for the enduring popularity of pumpkin spice as a corporate-culinary concept.

This article originally appeared in Vulture.

On YouTube right now, you can—and should—watch the entirety of Live in Sydney, a 1993 performance from U2’s ridiculous, iconic, and undeniably spectacular Zoo TV Tour. It’s a polarizing junction in the band’s 38-year run, but it’s also the one I’ve always found most fascinating: pre-Pop, post-Achtung Baby, when they were trying to distance themselves from the achingly earnest image perpetuated by Rattle & Hum. It worked. For a few years, at least, the guys got to have their lemons and eat them, too: With his Bowie-esque alter ego the Fly, Bono could indulge his inner preening rock star and call it performance art; the band could justify the tour’s outrageous special-effects budget by saying it was some kind of McLuhan-esque critique of technology and the mind-numbing effects of the media’s “sensory overload.” Dopey and indulgent as they sometimes were, these contradictions were what made U2 a great band in 1993. They performed “The Fly” beneath a flicker of words that suggested the media’s complicity with war and capitalism’s distortion of our desires: WANT, BOMB, URGE, BUY, MEDIA, ORGASM, that kind of thing. Hey, it was the ’90s. One of the most memorable images from the tour is the band performing against a backdrop of glowing screens that sardonically instruct, “Watch more TV.”

That’s the image that stuck in my mind yesterday afternoon, when at the Apple Keynote, U2 announced that—surprise!—it had just released its 13th album, Songs of Innocence, and if you are one of 500 million iTunes users, it was already in your library right now. It was “the largest album release of all time,” a humbly attired multimillionaire businessman informed us. Then, to symbolically seal the deal, he and Bono touched fingers ET-style, and in the front row a constellation of glowing, already-obsolete iPhone 5 screens rose to capture the moment. Even the Fly couldn’t have envisioned this scene exactly.

Long before Catfish, the documentary and spinoff reality series about people carrying on online relationships under the guise of fake personalities, Saved by the Bell’s Zack Morris practiced his own zany version of such deception.

Yesterday, whether you liked it or not, you became the owner of U2’s new album Songs of Innocence. Apple effectively auto-purchased the album for you (though it was free), beaming it directly into your iTunes library, available immediately for download and play off the cloud. As Apple tells it, the company paid U2 for the music, then gave it away for free to you, the users, as a gift and display of their ultimate beneficence.

That seems pretty harmless, right? Even generous?

But we can only imagine the ramifications if this trend goes unchecked:

Key & Peele is set to return with its fourth season in exactly two weeks, and the latest promo serves as a special treat for the sketch comedy show’s long-time fans. Taking a visual cue from the classic music video for “Mo Money Mo Problems,” Obama and his anger translator Luther team up to hype the show’s return by rattling off a series of callbacks to some of the its most well-known sketches.