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."

Bad Romance

If something doesn't happen on Facebook, did it really happen?

Like, for instance, if you catch your boyfriend cheating, you should probably paste a blow-by-blow (in some cases, literally) of all of his indiscretions on Facebook so everyone can recognize what a wad he is. And if you're sad about it, you should probably post that on your wall so EVERYONE knows. Because what is the point of having the sads if no one knows about your suffering? And when you find a new dude, you should probably unfavorably compare the old guy to the new guy, stat.

I thought there would be umpteen sites about FB breakups, and there are. And dude, some are REALLY funny. Especially when grammar and spelling are concerned, because not only do you get to feel superior to someone dumb enough to air their dirty laundry (in some cases, literally) on Facebook, you get to laugh at their inability to punctuate.

Breaking up with someone you actually like: painful. Sometimes rage-inducing. But if you take to the internet to register your dissatisfaction about your mate or relationship, IT'S OUT THERE. It's not like telling your friend how much your boyfriend stinks (in some cases, literally) and you can hope she'll be too drunk to remember. You're posting this for 237 of your close "friends" to see. So if you do work it out with Loverboy, you're gonna look like an even bigger idiot when you post pics of you guys snuggling at someone's wedding. "Didn't she make disparaging remarks about his manhood and then change her status to "Single" a week ago?"

Let it marinate. Think about what you're doing. Here's an idea: KEEP IT TO YOURSELF. For real! It can be done! People used to do it all the time! There were things called "privacy" and "shame" and they worked out OK for a long time. Then reality TV happened and people started wearing pajamas in public and all hell broke loose (in some cases, literally).

Idiot Box

Is it too much to ask to go and pump some stupid gas and not have a TV blaring nonsense at me while I'm doing it? Can I just go, fuel up, inhale noxious fumes and stare at the pump, contemplating what else I could have done with that $30? Seriously, it takes like 3 minutes to fill up. I'd like to spend it in a moment of Zen-like peace, or at least be able to squeegee my windows without some tool screaming at me from a TV screen mounted above the gas pump. We already have idiots pumping gas while sucking on a cigarette or talking on their stupid cellphones: do we need a bunch of yahoos spraying gas all over the place because they were watching a segment about Star Jones' weave.

The worst is when every pump at the gas station has one of these things on top of it and they are all blaring at full volume, but are all like, an eighth of a second from being completely in synch with one another. It's an endless echo of insanity that I could do without. I don't need to be marketed to every time I step out on public, thanks, and I'm actually fine with not being entertained every second of my waking life.

Speaking of entertainment, I also don't appreciate paying $89 for a movie ticket and then being forced to watch commercials before the movie starts. Let's try paying Reese Witherspoon a little less, instead.

Speaking of irritating: now those things in the drugstore that they mount to the shelves to dole out coupons come with tiny monitors that talk to you while you're trying to buy some damn shampoo. Like, SHUT. UP. First of all, no. Secondly, sometimes I like to listen to the sweet sounds of Mr. Michael MacDonald or Ambrosia as I wander the aisles, OK? So I don't need some tiny woman squawking at me from a tiny monitor and telling me to buy lotion. I'll decide when I need lotion, thanks. I don't need you inflaming my touch of Aspberger's in the meantime. Maybe that's what the lotion is for.

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'.

TV Review: Ma's Road House

When I saw Ma from TruTV's "Ma's Road House" on "The Soup", I was, to loosely quote Biz Markie, very enthused. Here was Ma, trash-talkin', cantankerous old lady who reminded me of my own dearly departed grandmother, perhaps best known for her habit of dropping cigarette ashes on the carpet and grinding them in with her slipper, claiming it somehow "conditioned" the rug. Observe "Ma" in action:

"Happy wedding day." Gold, pure gold!

Eagerly, I programmed the DVR and awaited more of Ma's eloquence and grace, certain that hours of amusement awaited.

WRONG. This show sucks. I'm aware that at this stage in the game, all reality shows are fake: but I like my reality shows to disguise that fact with a little more panache than "Ma's Road House" does. Which is to say, not at all. The episode I saw featured some stupid story line about the health inspector showing up to shut down said Road House for various violations including but not limited to Ma smoking in the kitchen and bikini clad waitresses swimming with STDs serving food, or something. It ended with the "health inspector" (read: boom operator for the show) getting drunk at a Road House sponsored Bikini and Prison Tattoo contest and then forgiving the violations after a day of wild debauchery. RIGHT. Basically, the producers were like, "How can we cram as many fake boobs and dudes with ZZ Top beards as possible into 22 minutes?"

In between, the gospel according to Ma is showcased. Turns out what's funny in 5 seconds on "The Soup" becomes painful to watch any longer than that. By the end of it, I felt like reporting Ma to Child Protective Services for being a wad to both her son and granddaughter - except that the former is like 50 and the latter, 20, so CPS doesn't want any of that mess. But basically, instead of being endearingly frank, Ma's just an abusive a-hole. How she made it this long without getting shanked, I don't know. I kind of felt like doing it myself, by the end of the episode.

I've learned my lesson here. From now on, the only "Road House" I'll be frequenting is on Spike TV and is run by The Swayze with a little help from Sam Elliott and his mustache, along with that blind dude who plays the guitar behind chicken wire.

Nothin' But Their Jeans.

People need to stop doing stupid stuff to their kids in the name of fashion. Your kid does not exist as your opportunity to show the world how cool you think you are, OK?

Case in point - the skinny jeans for toddlers phenom that someone recently clued me in to. Where do I even start with this? First of all, what? This whole "jeggings" (jeans + leggings = jeggings) thing has been done. Except in the late '80s and early '90s, they were acid washed and called "stretch jeans" and if they were formal, they included zippers and little denim bows at the ankle. They took awhile to pull on, and were the preferred costume of those who aspired to be groupies for Britny Fox. But at no time were they made in size 2T, as they are today.

What is the point of putting your kid in these, other than to announce to the world that you're a tool who likes to torture toddlers? These things are a pain in the rear to put on a full-sized human, so forget about wrestling with a kid with limited motor skills and who is sporting an apple bottom courtesy of Huggies. I'm glad your vegan baby has a slim physique, but we don't need to see it swaddled in spandex.

Newsflash: your kid is a kid, not a short adult. So dress the kid as a kid, why don't you? Your baby does not dig the Arcade Fire, so stop trying to hook up the baby jeggings ("bajegs"?) with your hipster onesie. It's annoying. There's plenty of time for your child to WANT to wear dumb clothes and have a stupid haircut - he doesn't need you giving him a mohawk at age 2. DO YOU HEAR ME, GWEN STEFANI?

Let the freakin' kid be a kid. She's going to be judged as being cool or uncool by her looks soon enough: why accelerate the process?

TV Review: Locked Up Abroad

When you see something affiliated with National Geographic, you know it's going to be both classy and educational. There might even be nudity involved, but it will be strictly legit and cultural-like.

Well, there's no nudity in National Geographic Channel's "Locked Up Abroad", but it's plenty educational. And the message is, "Don't be an idiot and smuggle drugs across international borders unless you want your ass thrown in a Thai prison for 30 years."

The show's webpage claims that those "Locked Up Abroad" were just looking for a good time in a foreign land when BAM! they land in a Mexican jail. But every episode I've ever seen goes like this:

1. Some dope goes to Columbia (or other nation renown for drug production). Initially, times are good with partying, ethnic food and cultural music shown in a montage of wacky camera angles as an actor in a bad wig reenacts what went down.

2. Some guys offer the dumbass a ton of money to smuggle massive amounts of cocaine (or heroin) to another country. "Just cover up these 10 lb. bricks of heroin in your suitcase with a towel - no one will ever know it's there."

3. The idiot thinks this is a foolproof plan. Didn't he ever see that "Brokedown Palace" mess? Should have asked himself WWCDD (what would Claire Danes do?) and done the opposite.

4. On the way to the airport, or in the airport itself, the drug mule has the opportunity to abort the mission and chooses not to.

5. Just when he thinks he's gotten away with it after making it through airport security, some guy in a uniform confronts him and DAMN! you get that sinking feeling he must have had when he realized it was all over.

They're spending some coin on this show, because they actually shoot it in the country where the guy is now locked up (abroad). The reenactments are interspersed with video of the perp/victim against a black backdrop, telling his story. Then, towards the end, the camera pans back and you see the backdrop is some old sheet draped across a couple of bunk beds over a latrine and they're shooting it in the guy's jail cell while 14 of his cellmates hang around. Holy moly.

It's all pretty formulaic, so why is it so compelling? Because we've all had that "Oh, crap" moment when we've done something stupid. Except it usually doesn't result in us languishing in a Thai prison for the rest of our lives.