Haute Kid-ture

A Facebook friend who likes to keep me angry recently sent me this article about upper crusty fashion houses releasing clothing lines for small children. So the good news is, if you have like 600 bucks to drop on some stupid t-shirt with a Swarovski crystal skull on it for your three year old, you're in luck. Basically, if you're into forcing your kid to look like one of of Gwen Stefani's offspring, you're good to go. (On a related note, WHO DOES THIS TO THEIR 5 YEAR OLD? I hate you, Gwen Stefani.)

If you've got money to burn and time to kill shopping, then knock yourself out, I guess.

More disturbing than the immediate financial aspect is what kind of values dumbass parents are instilling in their progeny with this kind of thing. It reminded me of this post on STFU, Parents, a site that I visit when I want a laugh. In short, some mom's got her kids all outfitted up in "Jordans", Coach sunglasses (??!!), Dooney and Bourke bags, etc. so much so that they actually DEMAND these items by name and reject lesser impostors. Her kids are 7 and 2. Ugh. Way to perpetuate the mindless consumerist culture that's running us all into the ground. Also, newsflash: labeling them "divas" just because they like "the finer things" doesn't make this cute - it just makes it grosser.

Visiting STFU, Parents always starts out good (the Mommyjacking threads are pretty awesome), but it ends up depressing. You start thinking, "Why are morons having children? STOP IT."

I say, let's put something in the water that makes everyone sterile, and then if you want to have a kid, we'll give you a basic skills test and if you pass, BAM - antidote coming your way. I mean, you need a license to go fishing but not to have kids? Mind boggling. Of course, it opens up questions of who is writing this test and by what standards are people being judged, to which I say, "Me" and "Mine."

Toilet Paper Revolt

Can someone tell me what is up with this spate of disgusting toilet paper commercials? Listen: this is America. Toilet paper is, thankfully, pretty plentiful, even if it's the nasty one-ply kind found in public restrooms or the guest bathrooms of cheap people. WE GET WHAT IT'S FOR. What is up with all these commercials hell-bent on elucidating exactly what it does? Enough, already! Unless they're marketing to the recently toilet trained or members of some ecoterrorist group ideologically opposed to toilet paper, I don't get it.

Cases in point:

1) Those Charmin bears who are plagued by their TP "leaving pieces behind". Um, just because they're animated bears and one's a baby doesn't make this any less gross. And it's not bad enough that they just talk about this burning issue - then they go a step further and show the particles. I don't care that it's just a cartoon - it's disgusting.



2) Speaking of disgusting, let's talk about this new Quilted Northern commercial where a bunch of non-animated dames stand around and talk about what they need their toilet paper to do. "It gets you clean while helping to keep your hands clean." HELLO. It's toilet paper. THAT'S WHAT IT DOES. This whole "we need it to protect our hands, too" stuff... Isn't that part of the deal?! Who is watching this and thinking, "Oh, I never thought of that!"? Since this commercial is clearly not teaching us anything new, I can only conclude that it exists to enrage people with its stupidity. And totally skeeve them out.

And also, don't dudes buy toilet paper? How come all these commercials feature women (or adorable bear children)?

Look, all you need to do to successfully market toilet paper is to ensure people that it's not going to scrape off their flesh when they use it (I'm talking to you, Scott Tissue) or render you infertile. Let's leave this all behind (no pun intended), bring back that Mr. Whipple guy and tell him to start squeezin'.

Christmas Jeers

There are many gross things associated with the Christmas season. Even with the decorations and stuff, the cheer part often eludes me. Let's have a rundown of what's not cute about this time of year:

1) Commercials like this, which are even more annoying because you can't embed the file in your blog. Here's the gist: "I love Christmas because... I love to shop!" Really? That's great.

2) The aforementioned Gap commercials which drive me into a near-homicidal rage.

3) Candy canes. They look cute, but I don't want to eat that. And now I feel obligated to do so because what about all the starving children.

4) Cookies and cake that look delicious but then you bite into them and they taste like rum or some crap. What is that? I don't need to get hammered from eating a cookie. I just want a damn cookie that tastes like a cookie, not a cocktail.

5) Those cards that you get that don't fold. Don't get me wrong. I love getting picture cards. But the ones that don't fold and that you have to prop up against the wall get relegated to the back row on the mantel with the free-standing ones obscuring them and their beauty. Which kind of sucks because then I can't see the cuteness.

6) The fact that every store feels the need to play nothing but Christmas music. Come on. Not everyone is into it. Can we throw some Doobie Brothers in there to break it up?

7) Crap like this:

which they then made even worse by making a TV movie based on it. Mom's dying and your buying her shoes? Good luck with that. How about buying that kid a coat, instead?

8) When they do crud that messes with my precious childhood memories. Like those parodies about Rudolph being a porn star or something. Take your pick here. I don't need that, OK? It's not helping.

9) Sexy Santa lingerie. Really?

10) This:

If this is what I'm getting from my piece this year, we're over.

Hype-Cast.

All of these horrible shows on the VH-1 are pretty low-budge', right? Like in addition to being light on content and any lacking in any redeeming qualities, they also don't have much going on by way of production values. Throw some skanks in a room with a D list celeb and a bottle of Old Crow, film it and then slap it together with some Nickelback in the background is pretty much the formula.

If they want to save even more coin, they just need to keep recycling all of the cast members of each show. Maybe they already do this, I don't know. But for some ungodly reason, I found myself watching "Tough Love" the other night. This show features many ladies with low self esteem and body issues being coached on how to hide their foibles and be what dudes like so that some tool will marry them.

One of the charmers on the show is Rocky, whom I recognized from ("The Soup"'s clips of) that show with Danny Bonaduce about how you should under no circumstances let your kid go into show business because the kid might end up looking like a leprechaun made of Slim Jims and giving beat-downs to unsuspecting transvestites. She's the lady who gave us this clip (and no, she is not the transvestite previously mentioned).

Someone please call CPS immediately.

Anyway, they could easily just shuffle these people around: move the skanks from "Rock of Love" over to find husbands on "Tough Love." Have the d-wads from "Tool Academy" go on "For the Love of Gay J". Then funnel everyone on over to either Sex or Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew.

Tyra's Stank.

The time may have come for ANTM and me to part ways. Sad, as we spent some good Wednesday evenings together. Who can forget Crazy Lisa and the funniest thing I have ever seen on reality TV?


I've been overlooking Tyra and her nonsense for well nigh 13 cycles of ANTM, but after this week's installment, I'm finally acknowledging that Tyra is a total reject. For the photo shoot this week, Tyra shot the midget model hopefuls as "two different races".

First of all, she seems a little confused on what a "race" is. "Laura, you're going to be Mexican and Greek!" Um, neither of those is a race. Secondly - WTF?! This shoot involved all of the girls except Sundai, the lone black contender, to be dipped in dark body paint and "transformed into a new race." Basically, it was blackface, under the guise of celebrating President Obama's biracial heritage. I'll give you a moment to try to comprehend that crock.

Are you for real, Tyra? "Celebrating" different nationalities by painting skin and dressing the models in the most stereotypical (not to mention chintzy) clothing representing said nations/nationalities? The Native American/East Indian shoot included a full-on feather headress, sari and bindi, and came complete with regal, stoic stare. I was waiting for a lone tear to come dripping down her cheek. COME ON. These stupid stereotypes are how you're purporting to break down racial barriers? Are you serious?! If you want to celebrate being biracial, HOW ABOUT HAVING SOME BIRACIAL MODELS IN THE COMPETITION? You could totally save on body paint!

We should have seen this coming. There were precursors. Exhibit A: When Tyra made the models dress up poor and pose with real life homeless (yet photogenic) people! Then she explained that she knew the deal with homelessness, since she, too, was homeless FOR AN ENTIRE DAY. What does that even mean? That she didn't go home to her mansion until bedtime one day?! Then there was the Tyra in a Fat Suit episode of her unwatchable daytime TV show, "A Daily Celebration of Tyra." On the real, this woman is clueless. But in an increasingly harmful way.

Dirty Diapers.

WTF is up with the people at Pampers? Most of their ad campaigns (with the exception of that one with Salma Hayek and the most-imitable pronunciation of "Pampers" ever) are geared directly at toddlers. Like, they address babies directly about their diaper needs.

Where do I even start with this nonsense? How about that it's totally gross to market directly to PEOPLE WHO CANNOT EVEN INFLUENCE PURCHASING DECISIONS YET since they can't, you know, TALK. Like it's not bad enough that kids are constantly bombarded with commercialism and consumerism, now we're indoctrinating them to buy, buy, buy practically as soon as they emerge from the birth canal? Are the parents watching this thinking, "Why aren't they talking to me? I'm the one with the cash money"?

Secondly, what is this crap about how busy toddlers are, toiling around the house? No, they're not. They're napping, being waited on hand and foot, occasionally throwing tantrums and generally making a mess.

I get that they're really addressing the parents here with mentions of lawn care, household chores, etc., but it's really disturbing. Isn't it bad enough that 6 year olds know all the words to Pussycat Dolls songs and that child beauty pageants exist? Do we have to take a bunch of kids with no pants on who can't even use indoor plumbing yet and project them into roles of daily drudgery? Can we not just let kids be kids? Cripes. It's enough to make a person want to turn off the TV and become Amish. Although then I guess the kids would be raising barns from the time they could walk, so...

Go Away, Ginkgo.

Let me tell you, no one loves a tree more than I do. Remember when those trees all went ape in one of those Lord of the Rings movies? That was totally the best part. I also aspire to live in a tree one day. I'm aiming for those stars.

But unlike man, not all trees are created equal. Some are hotter than others and some are a downright mess. Take the ginkgo tree - please. These things are nasty: when the ginkgo berries get ripe or whatever and plop down on the sidewalk, they emit an exquisite scent reminiscent of like, rotten fruit meets manure (identifying scents is not my strong suit and my inability to do so points to what I fear is early onset Alzheimers. Ironically, ginkgo is supposed to be good for your memory.)

And for some reason, the city of Philadelphia has seen fit to plant these things on every. single. block. Not only do they stink, but once you step in the fallen berries, they form a slick gel that then smells AND could potentially cause you to have a Life Alert moment. I know they're supposed to be hearty and be able to thrive in polluted environments, but man - they are contributing to the pollution.

Tippie Toe.

Remember that whole Ted Danson/Whoopi Goldberg conflagration? Like, what was that? They got together whilst filming edgy, topical comedy "Made in America" during which Whoops visits Ye Olde Sperm Bank and gets implanted with Sam Malone's fluids. Next thing you know, they're dating in real life and he's donning blackface at the Friar's Club in a misguided attempt to be his generation's Al Jolson (not to be confused with this guy).

Evidently, movie sets lead to strange bedfellows: Billy Bob and Angelina, anyone? Those were the days: those two sittin' around, swappin' blood vials and eatin' only orange foods. Then there was Brad Pitt and Juliette Lewis. Um... what? Slightly less weird was the Uma Thurman/Gary "Sid Vicious" Oldman connection. Homegirls were hitched when Uma was only 20 years old and Gary had not yet made cinematic history with his pivotal role in the cinematic classic, Tiptoes.

Are you aware of this film? If not, you should familiarize yourself with it, stat. It features Matthew McConaughey and Gary Oldman as twins. Not only are they visibly like 20 years apart in age, but Gary makes a brave choice here and plays a midget. Matt's midget twin brother. Walking around on his knees, not unlike Dorf. It's all quite extraordinary. Thrown in for good measure is a cornrowed Patsy Arquette, Kate Beckinsale and real-life midget Peter Dinklage. He also makes a brave choice by playing a Frenchman with what might be the worst fake French accent since that guy who called Sarah Palin pretending to be the King of France. I hope I'm not giving anything away, here. It's really a must-see.

Fat Joe

I normally limit my reality TV dating show viewing only to shows with the word "Joe" in the title: Average Joe, Joe Millionaire, Outback Joe, Joe Cruise, The Littlest Groom... Then I discovered More to Love, which is evidently like a big-boned version of The Bachelor. The Bachelor's chunky cousin, if you will: a smarmy, husky fella dates a bunch of ample ladies then has to give one an engagement ring at the end. In between, we're treated to the stats of each trick, including name, hometown, age and of course, weight. Classy!

In between, there's a lot of boring dates involving rich desserts; forcing insecure, plus-sized women to appear in swim wear on national TV; labored breathing; and making out. Herein lies the problem (because obviously, the problem is not that this is a show that exploits the overweight while purporting to "empower" them, as Daisy of Love purports to empower hookers): the sounds of mastication and of sucking on one another's faces are not hot. Slurping, swallowing, sucking melted cheese out of one another's teeth - it's gross no matter who's doing it. And because the producers wanted to remind us that HEY THESE PEOPLE LOOOVE EATING! there was an inordinate amount of it on More to Love.

On the plus side (no pun intended), M2L marked the triumphant return of Emme, who is like the plus-sized version of one Ms. Janice Dickinson, minus The Crazy, probable Quaalude addiction and botched plastic surgery. Emme was the "hostess" of M2L, meaning that at the end of each episode when it was time for the smarmy guy to boot off one in his stable of women, she came out of nowhere wearing some rag that looked like a castoff from Dancing with the Stars to like, announce that he was about to kick someone out, then swiftly pivoted and stalked off without further explanation. Way to get that cash, Emme! Bravo. It was actually kind of awesome.

Edible Infants.

You know how they can take a picture now and stick it on a cake? Yeah, that's weird. Like it's Grandpa's 75th birthday and here you are at the family party, eating part of his chin or working your way through his right arm. Festive.

Well, that's nothing. Because I was recently made aware of the 100% horrifying marzipan babies phenomenon. Like, miniature, realistic-looking babies THAT ARE MADE OUT OF SUGAR AND ARE EDIBLE. And evidently, twisted freaks like to give them out to nosh upon at baby showers.

I have good news. Turns out, I'm like five years behind the times and this all turned out to be a nasty rumor. I Snopes-ed it out and they're actually just these weird little figurines that some artist makes. Which, really, is kind of bizarre enough in itself. Weirder still is that I checked out the website and for some reason (read: to make an extra buck), you can buy little outfits for these mini babies and dress them up. What is the scenario like where someone is sitting around doing that? At least they're not eating them, I guess.

Wigging Out.

In the words of the immortal Nigel Tufnel, with certain things, sometimes it's "best [to] leave it...unsolved." Case in point: the mystery of Phil Spector's lid. The recently convicted murderer and music legend has treated us lo these past four years or so to an array of fantastic hairdos the likes of which have not been seen since a 1987 stroll through the Mall of America.

From the Bride of Frankenstein to the Carol Brady, his locks were seriously amazing, and I was happy to leave it at that. Maybe I fleetingly wondered how exactly the hairdos occurred: is there a warehouse in the wig district of some far-flung city filled with these exquisite follicular specimens? If so, can I visit it and is there a discount for buying in bulk?

Then, this happened:
...and suddenly, the party was over. We took a sharp left from what was simply an innocent visit to Crazytown and drove straight into the darkest corner of Beelzebub's basement. It's a look that is also seriously amazing, but in every wrong way possible. Hold me.

Organic Panic.

Few things suck the enjoyment out of a meal faster than being a couple of bites into a green salad, looking down, and realizing the whole thing is infested with aphids (Me: "Did you wash these greens?!" Husband: "They're organic!" Meaning, "No.").

I'm not going to go pro-pesticide, here, mainly because (among other bad things) I'm under the impression that prolonged exposure to them will make you end up looking like the Lady in the Radiator from Eraserhead. But maybe we need to do one of the things Andre was babbling about in My Dinner with Andre and enter into some sort of peace talks with the insect world whereby we set up designated insect infestation areas and they leave the rest of the crops alone. Or maybe we just need to wash the organic salad thoroughly from now on.

To do this weekend: rent Eraserhead, My Dinner with Andre and Mannequin Two. The last is just for good measure.

Gnome Domes.

While innocently perusing the internet in search of an appropriate, gardening-related Father's Day gift, I happened upon this gem: the venerable Mooning Gnome.

You must read the reviews, for they contain high levels of hilarity:

I got the mooning gnome as a christmas gift and it is my least favorite. It is smaller than the standard gnome and made of plastic. I live in Vegas and after two summers my gnome lost all color and turned a grayish black color. You get what you pay for and as a gag this is kind of fun but to a gnome collector it cheapens your yard.

Yes, the poor quality of the pantsless gnome is what is cheapening the yard, not the fact that there is, in fact, a dwarf with his ass hanging out stationed there.

Mooning Gnome too gauche? Try the item "Frequently Bought Together" with it: the Squatting Gnome. Nothing conveys an air of sophistication and elegance quite like a tableau of a miniature man defecating on one's lawn. Majestic!

The Baby Bunch.

What is with this fascination with people who have hundreds of kids? "Jon and Kate Plus Eight," "18 and Counting," "Table for 12," the Octo-Mom... where does it end?!

Is this just another example of our general fascination with excess? Like, the human extension of shows like "Cribs," "My Super Sweet 16," etc., where more is more and there is no such thing as too much? Or is it some sort of weird celebration of traditional conservative values (not so much with the Octo-Mom, there): home, family, kids, kids and more kids? It's like a modern-day "Waltons." But with shoes and without John-Boy. And real.

Is it a matter of schadenfreude, as we watch these parents try and wrangle their gaggles of kids, secretly thinking they're a bunch of freaks and laughing as their kids destroy their homes? Or watching how having so many damn toddlers is destroying their marriage (Jon and Kate)?

How can they afford to have this many freakin' kids, anyway?! I'm guessing it might be at least largely dependent upon the dough they're pulling in for pimping the kids out by having a TV crew follow their every move. So basically, they're getting rewarded for overpopulating an already overpopulated planet and we're helping them along by watching. Or maybe they can afford them just fine and just want to showcase their lives. Would it be so heartwarming if there was a show about a poor family who kept popping out kids like there's no tomorrow? That's who could use the TV show cash. Let's give that a whirl and see how it goes over.

Sick as a Dog.

I am not a "dog person." And after viewing this repulsive Stanley Steemer commercial, I'm even less of one:
Is this like, common practice among dogs? Like they're not stinky enough already, randomly pooping on the sidewalk and breathing their dog breath all up in your zone, now they'll go ahead and drag their stank butts across your carpet?!

I don't know what this lady did to that dog, but that dog clearly HATES HER GUTS. And it has succeeded in making me totally nauseated.

Who taught this dog how to drag his ass around like that, anyway? I'm going to assume it's that kid, and that this was the result of months of concentrated training efforts. Again, I don't know what this lady did to that kid, but THAT KID HATES HER GUTS.

It's probably safe to assume that the other woman there who was innocently enjoying a cup of tea before being confronted by this horrifying spectacle is thinking, "I can't believe these two hate Mindy even more than I do."

Crimes of Fashion.

As the immortal George Michael (the singer, not the "Arrested Development" character) once sang, "Sometimes the clothes do not make the man." But you know, sometimes they can make a big difference. Shouldn't dudes know the basics by now?

The following should be avoided:

1. Flip-flops: unless you're entering a Jeff Spicoli lookalike contest, there's no call for unleashing your hooves on the masses. Very few guys have tootsies appropriate for display outside of a sci-fi convention.

2. Jean shorts: why in the name of all that's holy do these still exist? Too short and you look like a low-rent version of the construction worker from the Village People. Too long, and you look like your legs are four inches long. Either way, an epic fail.

3. Trench coats with built-in capes: Is there a louder way to scream "nerd!" to the world than to wear such a thing? Yes, if you hook it up with a white turtleneck.

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.

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.

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.