“That's how I came up with Rudolph the Recycled Reindeer," said Simon Doonan , creative director of Barneys New York… “We've done a green version of the 12 Days of Christmas, which I will happily sing to you and which ends with a Prius in a pear tree.'"
Source: New York Times
Photo credits go to Ross Wilsie...check him out at: Ross Wilsie Photography
REMEMBER when you were a kid and you went to see Santa at the mall?
You sat on his lap, smelt that peculiar scent on his breath (which you would later learn to identify as Jack Daniels), and while nuzzling against his itchy, polyurethane beard, you told him you wanted a remote-control plane, a Tickle-me-Elmo, a Cabbage Patch kid, and your baby sister to disappear for Christmas.
Not the kids of today.
Nowadays when you’re in the mall and you listen in on a kid whispering his/her heart’s desires to Santa it sounds like this: “I want a pony, but a sustainably raised robotic one that runs on beeswax please. I’d also like a new dress (preferably from an organic line based in San Francisco),a Tickle-Me-Emo (NOT Elmo), an autographed Hannah Montana Blackberry Curve, a fair trade Barbie, and a Wii—ok fine I’ll reduce my carbon footprint a bit…a second-hand Wii instead. Thanks Santa, you’re the best!!!1”
I was sitting in a room with a six-year old the other day.
She intently watched me staring at my laptop screen and after a while finally said:
Curious 6-year-old: What are you doing?
Tech Savvy adult: Checking my G-mail.
Curious 6-year-old: Ohhh, your G-mail? Can I use your laptop when you are done?
Tech Savvy adult: What for? This isn’t a toy.
Curious 6-year-old: I need to check my B-mail.
Tech Savvy adult (incredulously laughs): And what is B-mail? You can’t just add a consonant in front of the word mail and think it means something.
Curious 6-year-old: Huh? B-mail is my Barbie mail. I have to check my inbox.
Tech Savvy adult (still incredulous): and WHO emails you on that?
Curious 6-year-old: DUH. Barbie.
Photo credits: Ross Wilsie
Check him out: http://rwilsie.smugmug.com/gallery/1561778
THIS is a conversation between two acquaintances that was overheard while getting coffee this morning:
Lady: Hey, How was your Thanksgiving? Did you go to the game?
Man: We did, did you?
Lady: Yep! We had great seats! (Stirs her coffee)
Man: Really? We did too. (Stirs his coffee a bit more vigorously than her)
Lady: We ended up sitting pretty close to the action. (Smiles)
Man: We happened to be right by the players. It was great. (Smiles back with an air of finality)
Lady: Oh we were too!
Man. Well, I’m talking tunnel close. You know how the players come out of the tunnel? We were right above the tunnel.
Lady: You know their sideline? We sat *right* above there. (Adds Splenda to her coffee).
Man: We were so close that if the players took their helmets off, we would have seen their bald spots. (Adds real sugar to his coffee)
Lady: I mean right ABOVE their sideline. If the players sneezed you could feel some residual germ moisture.
Man: I’m sure if the players coughed on their way out of the tunnel we would have felt something too. Come to think of it, I know I felt a bit of a mist when #25 passed.
Lady: we were so close it was like eyeball to eyeball with the quarterback when he looked back at the crowd.
Man: Well, I could see his face clearly the entire time; these seats were like HD TV.
Lady: When the players are on the field they breathe different air than the fans do because of the elevation. It’s much cleaner air too. We were so close we were breathing player air. It was wonderful….
It continued back and forth like this for a while.
(Okay fine…the last 4 lines might be a bit embellished…but the unnecessarily competitive spirit of the conversation remains pure).
Picture credits: Unknown…(lifted from a football party e-vite).
BLACK Friday is as ugly as its name.
Getting ready for Black Friday is like preparing for a competitive sporting event…except with Black Friday there is a much higher chance of bloodshed occuring.
Here’s the routine: You wake up at 4am, do your shop-till-you-drop stretches, tell yourself “I AM the best” in the bathroom mirror a couple times, put on your woolly socks, your most comfortable tennis shoes with a lot of traction, and then it's go time. The annoying thing is no matter how early you arrive (e.g. 4:40am), there is ALWAYS a line of diehards who got there before you because they started queuing right after Thanksgiving dinner (Sometimes, if you get there early enough, you might catch them still gnawing on a turkey leg or polishing off a foiled piece of pumpkin pie from dinner).
In Black Friday shopping there is no shame and there are no rules…it’s just man against child, woman against grandmother, and toddler against professional shopper between the racks (cue western showdown music please).
One year during a 5am Black Friday stampede for free $10 coupons at Sears, I watched my 8-year-old cousin get trampled by a herd of frenzied, drooling, desperate shoppers. Sadly, I was frozen… I could do nothing but look away as they descended on her frail frame. Finally she emerged from the stampede a bit dizzy, disheveled, and 10 years wiser than the average 8-year-old about the avariciousness of human nature.
It was for the best, I told myself. She needed to know about Black Friday early on in life.
Simply put: Black Friday is a horrible time when crazy werewolf shoppers come out and thoughtlessly sweep all available gifts off the shelves leaving the rest of us with nothing but empty store aisles and broken wishes, noses, and dreams.
Photo credits go to: http://www.cadenhead.org/workbench/gems/doorbuster-trampling.jpg
WHILE Christmas shopping in an overpriced boutique yesterday where everyone was so stuck up that they wiped their runny noses with 100 dollar bills, I found the only affordably priced item in the store, nestled between the diamond encrusted picture frames and the solid gold deck of cards. It was a hilarious book titled: You Know You’re A Writer When…
EXCERPT:
You know you’re a writer when…
You'll never forgive your parents for your happy childhood.
You write your Christmas letter as if it were War and Peace
You know 10 synonyms for the word blue
The doctor tells you that you have terminal cancer and your first thought is: I can use this!
It’s a humorous book perfect for every writer or jokester on your Christmas list.
Get it!
Noble side note: this is not a plug to friends or family; I'll probably have gone back to pick it up by the time you read this. But if you are browsing for me this Christmas, this would be an appreciated gift.
Picture Credit: Amazon
It’s been recently reported that Ashley Olsen and Lance Armstrong have been dating.
Quite an unusual couple don’t you think? This is probably how he asked her out:
Lance: Oh hi, are you Mary-Kate or Ashley?
Ashley: I’m Ashley…you’re Mr. Armstrong right?
Lance: Aww, I prefer Lance. Mr. Armstrong is my dad.
Ashley: Umm…ok Mr. A-I mean Lance. Say, didn’t you like, fight cancer and then go on to win the Tour de France like six times? Very cool. I admire a man who can… peddle…really fast.
Lance: Actually 7 times, but that's okay...you're probably not old enough to know how to count yet. I like your work too. Full House right? I used to catch glimpses of it when my kids were watching. You really stood out on that show. People may talk about Uncle Jesse a lot, but you were the real star. I mean… I think you were…I can’t really tell if it was you or your twin sister. Sorry.
Ashley:Thanks, that’s really sweet (twirls her hair)...it was me.
Lance: My daughter loves you...would you like to have a play date with her sometime?
Ashley: I’d prefer a play date with you…(sucks her thumb nervously)
Lance: oh… really? (laughs awkwardly and adjusts his dentures) I’m too old for you …
Ashley: Did you know I’m 21?
Lance: WHY didn’t you say so before? Would you like to go out for dinner today?
Ashley: Weeeell… I’m definitely feeling a bit of a granduncle vibe from you right now, but that could change. Let’s do it! Do you want to meet up around 11:30 tonight? I’m helping open that new club.
Lance: Ehh, I’m usually in bed, soaked in BenGay around that time. What about 5:30pm?
Ashley: Um… sure. Do you mind picking me up on your bicycle? I’ll ride the handlebars.
Lance: Sounds great! Do you want to go somewhere low key? No press? I don’t want to look like a cradle robber.
Ashley: Sure…let’s go to the Rose bar. I’m sure NO ONE will recognize us or notice what an odd and creepy May-December couple we come across as there. It’s not like it's a swank, high profile place or anything. Cradle robber? Oh Lance, you are so silly! (pops a pacifier in her mouth and with the flick of her delicate, bejeweled wrist instructs her body guard to push her stroller in the direction of her apartment).
Lance: See you later…(cycles away happily).
Illustration credits go to me.
I’d been fitfully battling a massive case of writer’s block for 5 turbulent days when I turned to a writer friend for advice.
She offered some encouragement pointing out that I hadn’t had a dry spell long enough to be entitled to call it writers block.
In her email she included a link to Henry Roth, a writer known for his contribution to Jewish American Literature.
More importantly, Henry Roth is known for his legendary 60 year bout with writer’s block.
(He finally overcame his writer’s block at the age of 73).
60 YEARS? Naturally this made my argumentative nature flare up. Does 60 years of writer’s block really exist?
Isn’t there an expiration date for how long you can have writer’s block? A statute of limitations? Who could verify this fabled writer’s block besides wikipedia? After about 10 years of no inspiration is it writer’s block anymore or simply just your garden variety lack of interest?
Then I chided myself for my doubts. This man was a great Austro-Hungarian hero who suffered the same troublesome plight I was currently experiencing. Who was I to doubt him? I needed to revere him and be inspired by the fact he eventually overcame his struggle.
I had writers block for 5 days, he had it for 21,900 days. Who was I to complain?
THEN I read this excerpt from his wiki page:
“ His massive writer’s block after the publication of Call it Sleep is often attributed to Roth's personal problems, such as depression, political conflicts, or his unwillingness to confront events in his past that haunted him, such as having incestuous relationships with both his sister and cousin, which are written about in the later work.”
Sleeping with your sister AND your cousin?
Obviously writer’s block was the LEAST of this man’s problems.
photo credits: me
Hollywood is currently on strike (a decree by the Writer's Guild of America). Since Hollywood hasn’t gone on strike in almost 20 years this is an intriguing sight to see.
What does a strike in Hollywood look like?
At a Hollywood strike you can throw a red carpet under the picketers and call it a movie premiere because of all the star sightings you’ll see (example: Tina Fey, America Ferrara).
More questions you might have: Does Hollywood even know how to handle a proper strike? Do they understand that they’ll draw no sympathy from the public if they have their makeup girl and hair guy on standby near the picket lines?
Is it unfair to make fun of Hollywood on strike?
You tell me... here are excerpts from a Times article about the strike:
“When the strike captain took a break from his bullhorn, half of the picketing writers at Disney started pecking at their BlackBerries.”
A “Gilmore Girls” writer explaining why their picketing chants aren’t clever:
“Ms. Sherman-Palladino continued, “I was telling my husband” — Daniel Pallidino, her writing partner on … “Gilmore Girls,” and a fellow picketer — “that we need some new and better chants, but he reminded me: ‘No writing. None.’
“Over at Warner Brothers, which is the largest producer of television programs, several of the 50 or so pickets shivered in their red T-shirts and complained about the abnormally chilly morning. (It was about 60 degrees.)”
Things you need to know:
WHY is there a strike?
Writers want a cut from new media money. Simplified version: they want a cut of the profits distributors and studios make when they put shows and movies on cell phones, ipods, the internet, and other new media.
WHY should we care?
The NYT, Huffington Post, and ABC have given us wonderful articles about why we should care. Shows like ‘The Daily Show’ and ‘Letterman’ have already gone off the air due to lack of writers.
WHY do we REALLY care?
Steve Carell is on strike too (Michael…come back…please….seriously…Jim and Pam obviously can’t carry the show with their sickening puppy love romance).
WHY this strike could be AWESOME:
For all the fledging actors and writers out there…this is your moment. There are obviously a lot of temporarily vacant jobs out there. Pack your bag, your unfinished script, your sunglasses, and fly to L.A!
Last quote about the strike:
“Starbucks thinks it might benefit from more people looking for a place to hang out, said a corporate spokeswoman.”
As usual…Starbucks always wins.
Sigh.
Picture credits: http://www.kids-party-paradise.com/
RELAX! Condoleeza isn’t in jail.
On freerice.com you can answer instant vocabulary questions and for every question you answer correctly, the good people at Free Rice will donate 10 grains of rice through the United Nations World Food Program to hungry people in third world countries.
Ten grains sounds insignificant, but so far they’ve donated 589,305,670 grains of rice…and they just started the website one month ago. Here is a link to their “about us” page that breaks it down for all the cynical people—I used to be one of you.
The great thing about this website is a) you feed starving people b) you improve your vocabulary and c) there is no c… it just felt weird ending at b.
*A grammar loving Copy Editor tipped me off about this website (of course). Thanks CK.
Picture credits: ashycook.topcities.com
There is nothing wrong with babies…they can actually look quite fabulous when their mouths are plugged with pacifiers, and they are attired in miniature tuxedos with plaid bowties.
However, a problem that universally faces people who a) don’t currently have babies, b) don’t ever hang around babies, or c) don’t want babies or d) all of the above, is how to act when with a baby. More specifically, what to say to the baby when in a situation where you are expected to speak to it. What does one say to a tiny human being with tufts of hair that has been swimming around in a uterus for 9 months and can’t speak a lick of English or German?
There seems to be one mode of interaction and that is: cooing.
There is always unspoken pressure to coo at a baby. If you say nothing to the baby…it creates an awkward social situation and you look like an antisocial baby-hater. Understandably, you are earnest NOT to give that impression to the mother who is breathlessly waiting for you to coo at her tiny newborn rugrat.
If you start talking to the baby the way you talk to an adult…it seems quite silly. Example: “Hello there! What was it like swimming in amniotic fluid? I hear it’s quite nice during the second trimester? Could you please refrain from drooling on my shoulder? This is real suede, not the knock-off fake suede that Amy Gardner wears to fundraisers…try to avoid that when you grow older.”
The other day a comrade and I went to look at pictures of a friend’s friend’s baby—notice the baby was 2 whole degrees away from us ever knowing him…we didn’t even know the parents of the infant. As we started out to meet our friend I swore to my comrade that I wouldn’t succumb to pressure to coo at a picture of a baby I didn’t even know; she agreed. When we arrived, our friend pulled up the pictures of her friend’s baby and then there was that familiar silence; it was our cue to coo.
My traitor comrade immediately began cooing, when she was done with her dirty deed it was my turn. I resisted cooing by making some small talk about the awkward, crinkled shape of the baby’s head; I felt it was a safe observation to make since the real mother wasn’t around, we were looking at a picture, and the statement was true. The silence after that comment was frosty (side note: apparently that’s the wrong thing to say in a 2nd degree baby picture viewing situation). To fix this gaffe on my part I had to do what I promised I wouldn’t: I cooed. Once, twice, thrice, quadruple times even! It was awful but with every coo I painfully uttered at the picture, our friend felt better; you could see it in her eyes.
Moral of the story: the only real avenue that is open to you when faced with the prospect of a conversation with a baby is to coo and do baby talk.
It sees quite silly going: “Coo, coo! Coo, coo! Does baby want a bwankie? Coo coo!” but it seems to satisfy the mom, even if the baby thinks you are an oversized idiot.
Besides, after lugging around a kicking kid for 9 months (give or take) and letting it blitz out of your womb while people take pictures, it seems like the least we can do is coo if it makes a new mom happy.
photo credits: popular-pics.com
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