Hell on Heels.

Here's a tip, ladies: No matter how cute the shoes, if you look like a mentally challenged dog on 'ludes walking on its hind legs while you're wearing them, it's going to ruin the effect. I've seen women on the stroll, obviously hoping to mix and mingle, sporting jacked up walks like this:

This kid does it better.

Fwine Slu.

Swine flu. Great. Like we need something else to worry about. Now every time some germbag sneezes on the street without covering up their pie-hole (which is like, at least six times a day), we're going to have to flee in the opposite direction, covering up our faces, Blanket Jackson-style.

While the King of Europe is telling people there not to come here or to go to Mexico (Canada seems to have escaped the North American stigma), new reports are coming in every 10 minutes, it seems. The last one I read had 73 confirmed cases worldwide: - worldwide. I could be crazy, but that doesn't seem like that much, given the billions of people in the world.

Just tell me whether I need to relocate to a yurt in Montana until this blows over, or what.

Thank You for Being a Friend.

Could this be like, the worst day ever? Sadly, Bea Arthur passed away. The woman was 86 and a national treasure.

You know, she was 86 so it's not exactly tragic, but still - she was one of those people you just kind of felt better knowing was around. And not because at 5'10" with the voice of a gangster she could probably scare off potential attackers - it's because no one could deliver a zinger with withering acidity and impeccable comedic timing quite like Bea. From "Maude" to "The Golden Girls", Bea kept us in stitches and herself in a neverending array of sack-like schmattes.

Farewell, Bea - the world is better for having had you in it. You know she's pointing in the direction she's headed in this pic.

P.S. I just read that in 1996, Bea was on "Judge [freakin'] Judy", called as a witness to a defendant who was somehow affiliated with PETA. I NEED TO SEE THIS. If you can track down a video clip, please post it below!

Restaurant Woes.

Dear Website of Any Number of Finer Dining Establishments:

First of all, kudos on the intro/landing page. I would really much rather wait for your graphic-heavy site to load than to actually get to the menu. Also, good choice on the faux classic jazz sound file that accompanies the sliding images and swirling colors that have nothing at all to do with your food. Bravo!

Also, thanks for not listing the prices. Who wants to think about money when they're trying to plan an evening out? Losers, that's who! I really prefer to have absolutely no clue if I'm going to need to sit in the dark for a few days in order to be able to afford your saffron infused "hot dogs" with truffle oil. The saffron says expensive, but the hot dogs scream "plebeian!" Thanks for keeping my mind sharp with such brain teasers.

Finally, your decision to not list your hours and make your street address nearly impossible to find? BRILLIANT! If I'm going to have the privilege of dining at your establishment, it only makes sense that I'm going to have to work to find it and figure out what time you might open and close. Thanks for putting me in my place.

Love,

Liz

Gross-plait.

I could be biased from my experience toiling in a dry cleaning establishment for a couple of (nauseatingly hot) summers, but it seems to me the chick in this Yoplait commercial is being a total d-wad to this seamstress lady for no apparent reason.

Here's the synopsis: wad lady enters a dry cleaner where she confronts a portly seamstress and mentions that because of all of the Boston cream pie and apple turnovers she's been inhaling, she needs her pants to be taken in. "Out?" says the puzzled seamstress. "No, in, you a-hole," says the d-wad.

Why would a person in any plane of reality would do this? Go in, mention you've been eating truckloads of key lime pie, never mention that it's freakin' yogurt, and then act like someone is a dope for not understanding why this would result in weight loss. To simultaneously flaunt your figure and make some random lady who is forced to work in 1,000 degree temperatures feel dumb?

P.S. It's nice and all that Yoplait does that whole "save your yogurt lid to fight breast cancer" thing, but man - whose job is it to gather up and count the pre-licked lids!? Gross. They should make the wad lady do it.

Well, Suuuuumimasen.

In some countries, it's perfectly acceptable to make bodily contact with strangers. Things can get crowded and stuff happens. You might find yourself being shoved into a subway car, your thighs getting intimately familiar with the contents of a stranger's pockets. Or you punch someone in the face during a soccer riot. That's just the way it is. I'm not judging. I'm celebrating the moments of our lives.

But that's not how it works here, to my knowledge. You bump into somebody, and there's a certain ritual that ensues:

BUMPER: Oops, excuse me. Sorry.
BUMPEE: Excuse me.
or
BUMPEE: That's OK.
or
BUMPEE: [discreet silence]

Nowhere is it prescribed that someone bumps into you, yells, "Owww!" you say "I'm sorry!" although it CLEARLY was not your fault, they make pain face, you say sorry again and then mention the fact that THEY bumped into YOU and then they look at you while rubbing their arm that's in a cast [which clearly should be more carefully protected by the owner and not be bandied about, in an athletic setting, all willy-nilly], LADY AT THE GYM TODAY. Grr.

Lovin' Lifetime.

Even though I've had the distinct honor of having watched "The Invisible Child" (Tom Hanks' wife thinks she has a kid that doesn't exist and everyone goes along with it!), I'm still coming late to the party that is The Lifetime Original Movie.

Seriously, they're soooooo good. The one on yesterday afternoon ("Her Only Child") featured the girl who played the older daughter on "The Nanny" and some lady who looks crazy when the occasion calls for it (e.g. being in a Lifetime Original Movie). Nanny Girl finds a hot piece and crazy mom freaks out because that means the end of her being the center of Nanny Girl's attention. So mom does stuff like poisoning the Nanny Girl's dog in a bid to keep her close! I hope I'm not giving anything away. Let's just say it all ends up with inappropriate work attire, gunplay and a stint in a psych ward.

During the whole mess, they were advertising something called "Unbalanced", which is premiering on Lifetime next Saturday night at 9:00pm. I don't know what that is, but I'm pretty sure that title can apply to each and every made-for-TV movie ever shown on that network. I can't wait to stumble across the next one.

In a Pickle.

In these, our Tough Economic Times, it's nice to get something for nothing. When dining out, getting a little something extra on the house is nice: say, an orange wedge on your brunch plate, a carved radish with your Thai food or a little plastic cup a of coleslaw with your burger.

But you know, not everyone likes pickles. And some people REALLY hate it when they order a delicious grilled cheese sandwich and it arrives SITTING IN A POOL OF TEPID PICKLE JUICE. It's untoward.

The Dreaded Sing-Along.

Can we all just agree that few things are less necessary or more embarrassing than sing along scenes in movies?

You've been there: you're watching some (usually sub par but morbidly fascinating) movie and here it comes - a scene in the film where suddenly, everyone thinks it would be a great time to all bust out their rendition of some overplayed oldies song. Think that "Say a Little Prayer" scene from "My Best Friend's Wedding", Tom Cruise warbling "You've Lost that Loving Feeling" in "Top Gun", a bunch of yuppies prancing around a kitchen, singing "Ain't Too Proud to Beg" (how could you, Jeff Goldblum?) in "The Big Chill"... Gross.

How would you react if people did this in real life? You're in some bar and a bunch of drunks start singing along to "Can't Get Next to You" and dancing around the room. You'd run out screaming (and hopefully at least try and taze a couple of of them on your way out the door.) Or like, you were over at your chronically single friend's house and she started dancing around in her undies, belting out "I Will Survive"? You'd either stage an intervention or stop returning her calls.

Anyway, please, no more of these. They're embarrassing for everyone involved and make people hate Otis Redding unnecessarily.

Pukey in Pink.

"What about prom, Blaine? WHAT ABOUT PROM!?"

This post was just going to be about how annoying it is that the definite article ("the") is left out of the sentences above. Why isn't it "the prom"? Is it like Christmas? It comes yearly so you don't need to qualify it? To me, it sounds wrong. So stop it.

But in remembering "Pretty in Pink", I'm recalling how irritating that movie is:

1. Blaine is a loser who always looks like he's going to cry. What's the appeal? Oh right - he's rich.
2. Ducky is clearly gay and therefore Andie is right not to waste her time helping him discover this. Let some other gal live with the trauma of thinking she turned her boyfriend gay.
3. Still, though, Ducky and Andie should have gotten together at the end. Like we're supposed to believe this random chick at "prom" was all turned on by his pompadour, BOLO TIE and spats? Come on.
4. Pretty sure it's a basic rule of fashion that redheads should generally avoid pink. And for good reason.
5. Speaking of, wtf was up with that prom dress? Annie Potts looked way hotter in the original version of the frock, which Andie then hacks up into that polka-dotted mess that's shaped like an inverted triangle, topped off with pink lace. Are you for real with that thing?
6. On the subject of Annie Potts: way to totally give up your individuality so you can date some chump who owns a pet store. Trading in your various wigs and awesome vintage clothes for a freakin' blazer with 9 foot wide shoulder pads? Ugh.
7. Andie's dad = totally annoying. Get a job.

The only things I like about this movie: Andie's car and James Spader.

Chimp Chumps.

Is there anything more '70's than chimps dressed up in miniature people clothes?

Seems like there was a rash of chimps-as-sidekicks entertainment being churned out around that time. We're talking Clint Eastwood playing second banana (har dee har har) to a monkey in "Every Which Way But Loose", "BJ and the Bear" and "Lancelot Link, Secret Chimp", to name a few.

Then there were those hideous chimp posters where various simians were dressed in novelty clothing (tennis gear, business attire, Sherlock Holmes outfit), curling back their lips in some sort of grimace to expose miles and miles of gums and chimp teeth. Gross.

I hate it when they put chimps in clothing, but let me tell you: I LOVE it when they put wigs on them. It's instantly hilarious. I don't pretend to know why.

Bed, Bath and Beyonce.

Have we had about enough with this Beyonce lady? Why is she still being thrust upon us? Do they expect us to look beyond her dead eyes? Beyond the hideous fishtail dresses she inserts herself into for every awards show, from Kid's Choice to the Oscars? Beyond this Sasha Fierce alter ego nonsense? Shouldn't you have your own personality first, before you go adopting a new one?

The lights aren't on, and no one is home. Plus, her music is all crescendo with NO payoff. Build, build, build and... nothing. Also, enough with the wigs. Who does she think she is, Tyra? No one should have that much hair. Ever. Except maybe Solange.

Having said all of that, I cannot wait to see "Obsessed". From the trailer, it looks like "Fatal Attraction", but racial! It will be undoubtedly awful, hopefully rising to levels of brilliance not seen since Madge took to the silver screen in "Swept Away".

'Tashmanian Devils.

Some dudes' mugs just cry out to be adorned with facial hair. While an ill-advised mustache can be a dangerous thing, conjuring up the obligatory porn star or child molester comparisons, a well-placed crop of facial hair can disguise a myriad of problems. Weak chin? Slap a van dyke over your shame. No lips? Cover that mess up with a big ole push broom. Burn victim? Grow some crap over those scars - no one will realize you're horribly disfigured! It's like magic.

Some men whose facial hair was really working for them have inexplicably decided to ditch the stubble, presumably to "update" their look. Big mistake. Here is a list of men who need to grow it all back as soon as possible:

1. Alex Trebek
2. Tom Selleck
3. Kenny Loggins
4. Local nerd/weather man Hurricane Schwartz
5. John Oates, late of Hall and Oates

Who else?

Variation on a Theme.

Remember when TV theme songs explained the show you were about to watch? Like, if you were in the dark as to what "My Mother the Car" was about, all you had to do was listen to the theme song. It was almost a courtesy to the viewer: "Oh, this show is about a dude whose mom is a 1928 Porter? I thought it was going to be about a lovable black orphan. Next!"

Do they do this anymore? Aside from spoofs? Considering that the titles of six of the ten top rated shows from last week were acronyms (CSI, ER, CSI Guam, NCIS, ACM Awards, NCAA Championship) it might help me get a handle on what, say, "NCIS" is about. That title sucks. It sounds like a federal tax form. NCISuck. A little ditty explaining the concept would go a long way.

Superfood.

If (and when) left to my own devices, my diet consists mostly of saltines, mayo and/or peanut butter, chocolate covered espresso beans and the occasional pint of Ben and Jerry's Phish Food. If I have to go so far as to construct some sort of a meal, forget it. I don't know what goes with what and I'm not trying to dirty any dishes.

So when I heard about these "superfoods" my initial plan was to eat them and only them. Then I'd be getting maximum nutrients with minimal effort, right? Except the "superfood" list I came up with consisted only of kale, berries of any kind, quinoa, probiotics and seaweed. I'm not really into any of these items. Next.

Why can't superfood consist of butter, Cocoa Puffs, and those toasted coconut-covered marshmallows they sell around Passover? Have you had the latter? Because they are awesome.

Shush Thy Neighbor.

Let's play "What the Hell is My Upstairs Neighbor Doing?".

Guesses:

1) Dropping it [anvils] like it's hot [3 a.m.].

2) Violating any number of laws concerning animal husbandry by herding a small tribe of goats in her apartment.

3) Clogging.

4) Attempting to exorcise her possessed Roomba by performing numbers from the venerable Broadway mainstay "Stomp".

5) Pogo-ing to Japanese punk.

6) Practicing smashing plates for her big fat Italian wedding.

7) Generally annoying the hell out of me by lumbering around in heels on hardwood floors every night beginning at midnight, slamming every cupboard and closet door in her apartment and then staging a repeat performance at 7am daily.

Am I the only one suffering? Any other loud neighbor stories? How'd you deal with it?

Job Envy.

What's up with these nerds with cool jobs? Specifically, people who host travel shows. Like, how cool would it be to be the host of a travel show? Pretty cool. So why do they have these wads hosting them?

Have you seen Rick Steves? He's arguably the most successful travel writer/host out there right now. He's also The King of the Nerds. How did he get this job?! The writing part, I can see, but the TV part? And have you seen his wife? She ain't half bad. Maybe there's something more to Rick.

And there's this other show, "1,000 Places To See Before You Die". First of all, that title is a little stressful. That's a lot of places. And they mention the fact that you're gonna die right in there. Come on - ease up! Sheesh. Anyway, this thing is hosted by this American couple who seem to go to all these cool places and act the part of the ugly Americans - yammering loudly in public, pointing, sneering at the local customs, making faces at the local food... Dude, I will take this job if you don't want it. Sign me up!

Table Talk.

What's with this table that everyone keeps talking about? Everyone's bringing something to the table, which is good. Or not bringing something to the table, which is bad. If they don't want to talk about something now, they "table it" and bring it up again later. What does that even mean? Is this some kind of Parliamentary b.s.? Ain't no Parliament here, except for the funk variety. The only thing I want on my table is a mayonnaise sandwich and a glass of chocolate milk.