Thursday, November 30, 2006

Don't lie...

Thanks, Marybird, for giving me such an interesting and productive way to spend about 7 minutes. I didn't lie, but there were definitely some questions I could have gone both ways on.

Try it for yourself. I had to follow my dignosis by reading the Sinner Guide.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

You're not making me feel fresh

A couple of weeks ago, I had a rental car and decided to venture to the Natick Mall. I like the Natick Mall. They're getting a Nordstrom and Neiman's, but right now, I'm just happy they have a Delia's. I don't care if I'm almost 30. They have some neat 'n' cheap stuff, particularly these tanks and ribbed tops that fit unbelievably well. Granted, I'm not going to buy a little baby tee that proclaims "I got the hook-up", but whatever. Delia's is cool.

As I'm casing the Natick Mall, I see some new store called
Aerie. Because it's directly next to an American Eagle, I quickly figured out its obviously part of their gimmick. One of my oldest friends works for American Eagle and occasionally, I will buy the random garment (Like this killer navy sundress I wear whenever I want to poorly execute the bad girl persona and follow it with vapid pouting and/or sobbing into a flask, a la Marissa Cooper) from this chop shop they call a retail chain. I've never gotten into AE, mainly because it feels like they're still ripping off the whole Abercrombie thing from the mid-90s. They're still doing Dawson's Creek in a Degrassi: The Next Generation world.

I guess AE wants to get in on some of the
Victoria's Secret Pink or Gap Body action. I didn't go into the store, but it definitely was Pink for The-N set. Personally, I think its a bit late to cash in on the too-cute-in-cotton loungewear trend, but honestly, I never thought American Eagle would still be in every shopping mall across the country after 2000.

I don't find Aerie annoying because its part of American Eagle. I find it annoying because their in-house ad department should really re-think the branding. It's not so much Aerie is a bad name — it does incorporate the parent brand, but it's not very good when you see the entire logo.

Look at it. You know what I'm thinking, right? It's a feminine hygeine product. When I first saw the storefront, I even got that quasi-uncomfortable feeling previously triggered only by douche commercials featuring fresh 'n' clean women swathed in white linen skipping stones along the shore (Just FEEL the depth of this metaphor!). Aerie suggests being free and clean and air-dried. There's the little birdie, all liberated and happy, flying wherever she may without having to worry about not feeling fresh.

I don't want to buy loungewear or lingerie from a store mirroring the brand identity of
Always and Playtex. In fact, if I'm trying for the whole "playful & cute" seduction vibe, the last thing I want to think of is butterflies, beaches, and Judy Blume.

(Judy Blume had to have been on
Stayfree's payroll because she built her entire career on writing about teenage girls anxiously awaiting the arrival of their first period. A first period became the literal climax / turning point of her novels. The woman turned menstration into plot structure!)

Ok, Aerie. I know you really don't care if I won't shop your store. And even if you didn't use that sanitary napkin font, I probaby still wouldn't shop there. Even if panties and tampons are all "intimates" in some capacity, I just don't want to associate my boyshorts with douche everytime I need to run into a mall.

Monday, November 20, 2006

Kill the cheerleader. And McDreamy. And McSteamy.

I would typically tell anyone, when voicing such an opinion, not to watch it or not to pay attention. And I, myself, have tried to do this, yet there seems to be no escaping it.

I have a lot of distrust for things that a ridiculous amount of people seem to agree upon. I thought Meet The Parents sucked. I won't see Braveheart or My Big Fat Greek Wedding. I have never, nor will I ever read The Da Vinci Code. I will not play Sudoku.

Nothing, however, seems to annoy me as much as this phenomenon does in regards to network television. I don't know anyone who watches Survivor, or, for that matter, many people who any watch shows on CBS (I think the last time I watched something on CBS was the mid-80s when Kate & Allie was on). Wait. I did try CSI a few times, but could never get into it — mainly because when I'm watching television, I don't want the reason for some horrific accident to be bad brakes. No. You watch fictional television to see horrific crimes and motives.

However, the popularity of CSI has never irked me as much as the new breed of nicknames or catchphrases that seem to be everywhere I turn.

Let's start with Heroes. Of all the networks, I probably Tivo NBC shows more than any other because I love my Law & Order(s) and enjoy The Office, Studio 60, and My Name is Earl. I never want to see another commercial for this show. NBC also owns the Sci-Fi channel, of which I religiously watch Battlestar Galactica and some other random programs when the time is right (but never Stargate). Sci-Fi reairs Heroes throughout the week, so they also feature several ads for the show.

I don't even watch much television, yet, there are just some things one cannot escape.

I swear that I cannot avoid these ads, even with the Tivo. This stupid catchphrase they've come up with — Save the cheerleader. Save the world. Seriously. I cannot take it anymore. I was in high school once and cheerleaders only wore their uniforms on game days. I get that they're trying for the whole pesudo-superhero vibe and all, but girlfriend is not wearing the skirt and spankies 7 days a week. Every time I have seen an ad for this show, she's wearing the damned uniform. To my knowledge, she doesn't even throw on an (equally annoying) Juicy Couture sweat ensemble when she gets home.

Would somebody PLEASE kill the cheerleader? Really. At this point, I don't even care if the world is completely screwed because I'll never have to hear that inane voice whispering this inane catchphrase ever again. I like a lot of sci-fi shows. I like twists and turns and all that good stuff, but come on! Save the cheerleader, save the world? It's apparent you tried too hard for the "quirky catchphrase". And you've killed it. It's gone beyond Is that your final answer territory.

Although I have several friends who tell me I would enjoy Grey's Anatomy, I won't do that, either. As much of a huge fan I am of Sandra Oh, I still won't do Grey's Anatomy. I've been told I would really like the character of Grey, that I would even identify with her. Perhaps I would, but I'm not going to now because I'm so eff-ing sick of hearing about this "McDreamy" and this "McSteamy".

Sure, women come up with nicknames for those whom they get involved with. I have several. Perhaps I am biased, but they are much more clever than "McDreamy". Hey, I've never had anything against Patrick Demsey and I'm happy his career has been revitalized and he's gained sex symbol status. He seems like a nice guy. But I'm not ever going to refer to him as "McDreamy".

This would be easier to avoid than Heroes, considering I do not watch much on ABC. I don't even know if they reference these names in the ads. All I know is that I can't buy a soda or pack of cigarettes without "McSteamy" or "McDreamy" staring at me from near the register. I hop on a various webpages and there seems to always be something about these "McSteamy" and "McDreamy" people. Enough already. Between terms like McMansions and McChow, don't we have enough Mc-euphanisms in popular culture?

Are "McDreamy" and "McSteamy" the fast-food equivilent of hot men? Is that what you're trying to tell me? I just don't know and I really don't care.

Hmmm. I've just come up with a moral dillema: Would I save the cheerleader if she took out McSteamy and McDreamy? Or just stopped the use of their ridiculous nicknames?

I'm going to have to think about this one for awhile.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

The Weekend of Little People

Okay. I didn't really suggest this little excursion to New Haven, CT. I just showed the picture I found in some free magazine absconded from the store of ill repute near my apartment to a friend and he took it from there.

Meet the "Little Sisters", two little person strippers named, respectively, Little Lacey and Little Pixie. The Little Sisters were headlining some random club called "The Catwalk Cabaret" in the bowels of New Haven this past weekend.

Anyway, around 10pm on Saturday night, I found myself in the back of a Volvo and travelling to see this tiny duo on stage. I was curious as to see what sort of pole work they might do, or if they really built their act on being "midgets".

It's a good thing we didn't arrive at the Cabaret until 1am, because this appeared to be the first time the Little Sisters took the stage (I was told they would be performing shows from 11pm until 5am). This was one of those BYOB places and we had no alcohol. I had consumed some red wine before I left my apartment, followed by a decent White Russian at this diner/gourmet truck stop somewhere along the way.

The crowd at the Cabaret was bored and unenthusiastic, sans for one middle-aged man who was most likely a regular. The stage was not impressive, with one pole in the middle. The dancers seemed to spend their time in the back, sometimes just leaning over the rail of what may have been the "VIP" section (it was reminiscent of a backyard deck).

Judging from their press pack, my group expected that Pixie, the blonde was going to be more the dishy attraction. Not so. Perhaps it was like that when they first started their act, but it was apparent Lacey was now the star performer. Maybe it was because Pixie was broken.

When they both got on state, Lacey went front and center to the pole and began dancing in some two-piece ensemble (none of the gals at this place wore those obnoxious polyester gowns). Little Pixie went straight to the back. She seemed to have put on weight since those pictures were taken, or perhaps her stomach was distended because she was incredibly inebriated. She was also wearing white, K-Swiss-like sneakers.

Lacey did her thing. She was entertaining, especially when compared to the club's regular line-up. I didn't know what they were doing most of the time. I guess you really don't have to do any sort of dancing in these places anymore. All you have to do is show certain things to your audience. And that's about it. Not even much mixing up, or flipping sides. Nope. None of that.

Meanwhile, I wasn't quite sure what Pixie was doing near the VIP area, but the large bouncer ended up walking her off the stage. At first I thought she was upset. Perhaps those "VIPs" made fun of her. However, I soon realized that Pixie was broken. Little Sis was wasted beyond belief.

Lacey remained on stage. She never went nude, but she finished her act wearing a g-string which housed a Solo cup in the crotch area. You could win a free picture if you successfully landed a dollar bill in the cup. After launching about 20 ones, Middle-Aged-Regular-Man finally figured out the best way to achieve the feat would be to ball up the bill and then toss.

She didn't even appear next to her sister for the photo opportunities. That's right, folks, for $20, you can have your own Polaroid. I went over there when the DJ said it was the "last chance". There was no line, only Lacey hanging out with a club employee wielding a Polaroid camera. I had already wasted $20 to get in this place, but I felt bad there was no line so I ponied up another $20 to get my picture taken with Lacey.

I wanted to ask about Pixie. But I didn't. It just didn't seem right.

My two friends then got their picture with Lacey. As photographers, they obviously have higher standards then most people, but anyone would have been disappointed when finding, as the Polaroid developed, that Lacey's eyes were closed. They asked if they could have another and she obliged. She even let them keep both and did not charge extra.

(In case you were wondering, she signed the pics, too. I will be scanning and posting mine on this blog soon.)

When we were finished, Middle-Aged-Regular-Man had come over, his hands trembling as he held the prized picture of the "Little Sisters" in his hand. He ponied up another twenty for something more personal.

We tried watching a few more of the dancers, but it was obviously getting late. It's not so much that I enjoy these types of places. I think I enjoy them less since taking up pole dancing since it always disappoints me that these women don't ever actually dance. The crowd wasn't even fun to watch. You would think two little strippers would have commanded a big, boisterous group. Not so. When the DJ named the winner of a raffle for a free private dance with one of the dancers, he called about 30 numbers in rapid succession before someone finally got up.

We left and drove back to Boston, stopping only at a TA truck stop off Ruby Road. The same TA where I was imprisoned for an hour 2 years ago when the driver of the charter bus I was on accidently hit a car and tried to outrun the cops to no avail. For some reason, I love truck stops. I love looking at all the random items available for sale, whether Vanillaromas or die-cast big rigs. The music and DVD selections are always a pleasure to look through, too. As a thank you for driving, I bought my friend a tape of trucker stand-up poetry done by some guy named "Thunder Britches" (she only has a tape deck). This kept the 3 of us awake for most of the way home. We also learned what "crackerheads" (still not sure about this one, but I think its just a word for a jackass trucker) and "lot lizards" (they're hookers that wait in the truck stops for drivers to pull up for the night) were, and that cops and dispatchers are not well liked in the trucker community.

I'm trying not to dwell on the money I spent, perhaps $60 after food and beverage, because I could think of much better ways to spend $60. I thought about calling the Catwalk and demanding half my entry fee back since we really only got one Little Sister for the price of two.

Although I'll always remember the experience, I was thankful to crawl into my bed.

Friday, November 03, 2006

Just random

I don't feel like outfitting my MySpace page with all of this crap, so...I thought, why not put it on here? I've been lackadaisical in my postings for some time now. Don't know about the accuracy of these things, but I was bored...

You Are 76% Democrat

You have a good deal of donkey running through your blood, and you're proud to be liberal.
You don't fit every Democrat stereotype, but you definitely belong in the Democrat party.

You Are 12% Republican

If you have anything in common with the Republican party, it's by sheer chance.
You're a staunch liberal, and nothing is going to change that!

Your Stripper Song Is

Master and Servant by depose Mode

"There's a new game
We like to play you see
A game with added reality
You treat me like a dog
Get me down on my knees"

Yawn, dancing is so boring without a little spice.

Your English Skills:

Grammar: 100%
Punctuation: 80%
Spelling: 80%
Vocabulary: 80%

Your Inner European is Russian!

Mysterious and exotic.
You've got a great balance of danger and allure.
Who's Your Inner European?

Your Geek Profile:

Academic seeking: Highest
Movie Geekiness: Highest
Music Geekiness: Highest
Geekiness in Love: Moderate
General Geekiness: Moderate
Internet Geekiness: Moderate
SciFi Geekiness: Moderate
Fashion Geekiness: Low
Gamer Geekiness: Low