Tuesday, March 27, 2007
So there it was in the Sunday paper: Ralph Lupin--doctor, philanthropist, and chairman of the Vieux Carre Commission--called New Orleans' Sanitation Director Veronica White "a bitch".
Was it kind? No. Did it demonstrate Dr. Lupin's media savvy? No. Was it called for? Well, I wasn't there, but based on every other interaction I've had with those people, yes, it was most definitely called for. If you've ever tunnelled through the warren of offices in America's ugliest city hall and felt like Josef K, you know what I'm sayin'.
Of course, now Rainbow PUSH New Orleans--Jesse Jackson's local PC militia--is complaining that the comment was sexist and that Dr. Lupin ought to be removed as chair of the VCC. And yeah, I guess I think an apology is in order, but come on. "Appalling?" I've gotten into arguments with meter maids that have ended in much, much worse.
I suppose that in the future Dr. Lupin should stick to gender-neutral insults like "asshole", "fuckface", and my preferred slur of the moment "fucktard" (though that last one does potentially insult the mentally handicapped, especially the ones who can't fuck). And as long as Reverend JJ & Co. are around, Ralph might wanna hurl his four-letters at white folks, since Jesse doesn't seem to care what happens to them.
Monday, March 26, 2007
So there's this commercial. It's about Hidden Valley Ranch salad dressing. Allegedly. But it's so sad and weird and the salad dressing seems so inconsequential that I'm convinced the commercial is actually about something else. I should say we're convinced, because Jonno and I have extensive debates on the matter. "The matter" being the narrative of the commercial: the story of the people who consume salad dressing.
There are at least two versions of this commercial--one with a guy, one with a girl. But apart from the genitals, they're basically the same: Guy/girl sits in an apartment full of moving boxes. He/she is eating salad. He/she squirts some salad dressing upon said salad. Then the visions begin. The gloomy background fades out to reveal a bright, sunny meadow, and the guy/girl is at a table with his/her family. They're all eating salad. They don't interact, they just eat salad. Then the moment passes and we're back in the dingy apartment and the guy/girl is smiling at the memory of the imaginary salad he/she just shared with his/her imaginary family. The end.
To pass the time, Jonno and I write internal monologues for the guy and girl. We tap into their streams of consciousness. We hope in vain that one of these is the true story of the commercial, because they are far funnier and more interesting than mere salad dressing. In fact, they make the commercials bearable:
HIDDEN VALLEY GUY/GIRL: "They deserved it. They totally deserved it.... Dad used to be so cool, but lately, he'd gotten all high and mighty. Mom wasn't any better, sneaking into my room at night and trying to touch my no-fly zone. And Betty. Jesus! Betty...with her dolls and her frilly dresses and her Down Syndrome.... I warned them all, didn't I? Well, now who's a lazy slob? Now who's a failure? Now who's carved into teeny tiny pieces and packed in dry ice in these handy-sized moving boxes? WHO!?!? ...Hey! What's this bone doing in my salad? Oh, right...."
HIDDEN VALLEY GUY: "Gee, I wish the Hidden Valley Death Squad hadn't slaughtered my family. But then, I suppose mom shouldn't have blabbed so much about finding the Hidden Valley in the first place. And posting the ranch's location on her MySpace page probably wasn't such a good idea, either. Lucky for me, I was nailing a prostitute here in the attic at the time.... Hey, I wonder if this salad dressing I found in grandma's hope chest is still good..."
HIDDEN VALLEY GIRL: "Like omigod! Vinnie totally said this shit was gonna be, like, killer and stuff, but omigod! O! MI! GOD! This shit is, like, 100% pure! Like, freakin-a pure! ...Like, check out the colors! Awesome! I can totally see the music! I am the lizard queen, fer sure! ...Oh, wait! Now it's gone. Now it's just salad! Just radicchio and butterleaf and arugula... Bummer...."
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
This appeared in the Times-Pic last Sunday:
Four pumps ran without vibration or pulsation during tests Saturday at the 17th Street Canal, leading an Army Corps of Engineers official to declare enough pumps will be functioning on all three New Orleans outfall canals when the 2007 hurricane season begins June 1....
Times-Picayune
Great story, right? Happy, happy. Joy, and, quite possibly, joy.
But if only Ms. Grissett had sleuthed a bit more. Yo, check it:
The Army Corps of Engineers, rushing to meet President Bush's promise to protect New Orleans by the start of the 2006 hurricane season, installed defective flood-control pumps last year despite warnings from its own expert that the equipment would fail during a storm, according to documents obtained by The Associated Press.
The 2006 hurricane season turned out to be mild, and the new pumps were never pressed into action. But the Corps and the politically connected manufacturer of the equipment are still struggling to get the 34 heavy-duty pumps working properly....
New York Times
Of course, both stories reach similar conclusions: the pumps are being fixed, and everything should be fine by June 1. And of course, I'm not a journalist, so I don't know everything that the Times-Pic reporter went through to get her story. But still, given everything that the AP dug up, it seems like Ms. Grissett--who's presumably a local and presumably has an interest in the city's well-being--overlooked an awwwwwful lotta junk, n'est-ce pas?
Now, I understand not wanting to scare people. I understand wanting to focus on the positive and to put folks at ease (especially when said folks are your subscription base). But I tend to draw the line at willful blindness. What happened to those ginormous nads Mr. Phelps & Co. grew in Katrina's wake?
Thursday, March 08, 2007
LET THEM EAT RICIN CAKES
A running account of last night's adventure in reality television
7:15 (Richard returns home after a gym session that was less workout and more old-home-week gab-fest. Jonno glances briefly toward the door as Richard enters, then swivels back to the television.)
Jonno: (Pouting slightly) You missed it.
Richard: Missed what?
(Jonno scowls. Richard follows his gaze to the tv and sees a be-headscarfed Tyra Banks serving up sass, ghetto-style. Richard has inadvertently broken his promise to watch the new cycle of America's Next Top Model with his boyfriend.)
Richard: Sorry, I thought it was at 8:00.
Jonno: It’s at 7:00.
Richard: I know, but I thought--
Jonno: It’s always at 7:00.
(One hour forty-five minutes and some "I'm sorry, why don't I order-out for dinner" Lebanese food later, the erroneously named Top Design begins.)
9:00 Oh Lisa. At least you get to be first in the credits. Which is kind of appropriate, since you were the first one booted off the show. Which is fine because you totally sucked.
9:01 Jonno: Ugh, I hate this show.
9:02 Todd Oldham will just die if he doesn’t get that recipe. Todd Oldham will just die if he doesn’t get that recipe. Todd Oldham will just die if he doesn’t get that recipe....
9:03 What the hell is Todd (aka Mahogany) going on about now? “Aesthetics holds hands with functionality”? And then what? They fuck like bunnies, have a child out of wedlock, and beat the crap out of each other?
9:04 Matt, honey? I mean, honey.... You're not fooling anyone. You know what I mean.
9:05 Jonno: (To blonde-whore "client") Ooh. You married for money, didn’t you, bitch?
Richard: Design for the dog! He’s the only one who should live!
9:06 "Make it work", Carisa? Is Tim Gunn paying you for that cross-marketing?
9:07 Does Todd Oldham have a beard? Or pores? Is it possible that he's just a lesbian with goiter?
9:08 How, exactly, does a 23-year-old like Michael/Michelle claim to have that much design experience? He’s still got teen acne. Atrocious.
9:10 I didn’t think it was possible, but there are worse people than the contestants: this lispy, whiny family. They’re like that bitch who played Little Mary in The Women, but without her redeeming qualities. (I'm sure there were some.) They should take a long trip to the country with Squeaky Fromme.
9:12 What the hell is Cachet, and where do their models get all that Oxycontin?
9:13 “I Melt With You” by Nouvelle Vague: if I hear it one more time, I’ll stop the nearest bus. Then I’ll ride it to the airport, fly to New York or Paris or wherever those jet-setting bossa nova bitches live, and I'll knife them all.
9:15 I’ve grown completely immune to product placement. I think it happened months ago, during the whole “Macy’s Accessory Wall” debacle.
9:16 Is there anyone on this show who’s not gay? Or a fat girl wanting to be gay? (I’m looking at you, Carisa.) Every time someone opens his mouth, purses fall out. Honest-to-god: purses.
9:17 OMG, the contestants talking to one another. No one’s crying. They’re acting like adults. This can’t last. Dear goddess, it can’t last!
9:18 Ryan, the reason you’re the jack of all trades in this episode is because you suck. You can't design, you can't decorate, and I seriously doubt that you dress yourself in the morning. I suspect that you may be the lone straight man on the show. I hope so anyway, 'cause I don't want you on my team.
9:20 Why are all the contestants rushing around like gerbils on a Habitrail®? Are they speed freaks, too? Fabulous!
9:21 So Bravo is bringing back the gym show with the annoying dykelady? She looks like Monchichi. A muff-munching monkey. I'd sling poo at her, if I had the chance.
9:22 Again with the Nouvelle Vague. Where’s that bus schedule?
9:25 Why, exactly does Lending Tree sponsor Top Design? What demographic are they shooting for? Annoying design school grads? Fags? Annoying design school fags? The girls who (platonically) love them?
9:27 Ryan, this whole nonconformist, stick-it-to-whitey thing? It’s gotta go. Now. You wanna join the Awful Family on their camping trip with Miss Fromme?
9:32 Todd, have you considered sending home more than one contestant? Say, six? Just cut to the chase, babycakes.
9:35 Omigod, that room/garage is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. It looks like the Partridge Family bus exploded, the flames were extinguished, and the hideous shards were lovingly stored in cheap-ass see-through plastic bins from the sad, sad, bargain aisle of Wal-Mart. I mean, you had a team of six, plus carpenters, and that’s the best you could do?
9:36 Does Todd Oldham get a dollar every time someone says the word “Acadia”?
9:37 Jonathan Adler, how the hell do you get you Windsor knots so big?
9:38 Kelly Wearstler, how the hell do you get your hair so big? Or why, for that matter? Are you dating Eminem? For such a WASPy girl, you sure love workin' the hoochiemama thing.
9:40 Finally, some grandstanding drama! Unfortunately, it comes from Michael, who’s got no room to brag about his work. His designs so far have looked like something Barbara Bush might’ve done for a Wednesday night class at the Y.
9:41 Jonno: Who is that queen in the Glade Scented Oil Candle commercial? The one sipping coffee with his pinky out?
Richard: I know, right? He’s all excited and shit, like he finally gets to spend a weekend away from the Mac counter, so he’s heading to the mall for some retail therapy with his two gal-pals.
Jonno: Well, at least they're pitching to the right demographic, even if no one else is.
9:42 Bus! (What’s this annoying commercial advertising anyway? I can never remember. Oh, right: the Acadia.)
9:44 Dear Guest Judge: guys with nose jobs look really weird.
9:45 Ryan, the apology isn’t going to save your ass. You suck. You will die designing the underside of a bridge on I-10. Watch out for Hobo Willy--he’s packing a shiv.
9:47 Margaret, do that thing with your head again! That RCA Victrola dog thing, like you’re listening and you really CARE what people have to say! It’s totally cute and 51% believable.
9:48 Jonathan Adler. In bed. Picture it.... Or don’t. Actually, don’t. Just imagine the shoe prints those topsiders must leave on the ceiling.
9:49 Meshuganah? Jonathan! Your peyot are showing!
9:50 Kelly? Margaret? Fighting over Ryan? Picture that love triangle. Now file it away with the image of Jonathan's topsiders.
9:51 Judges, why are you ragging on fatgirl? Give the girl a break! She's fat!
9:52 And so it begins: the not-so-endless rounds of “You can stay.” Can't the writers just draw a new catchphrase out of a hat?
9:53 Shear Genius? What,is Bravo worried about losing homo viewers now that Queer Eye’s been cancelled?
9:54 STOP THAT BUS!
9:55 Andy Cohen, who are you, anyway? And why do your eyes look crossed? Oh, never mind. Ouch.... Sorry to bring it up.
9:56 "Obsessed with curtains"? I thought Todd's thing about aesthetics and holding hands was the gayest thing I'd heard, but it only gets better.
9:57 And the "Goodbye" goes to...Ryan! Amen! ....Wait: "fight the power"? "Uptight"? "Transcendental"? "Socio-political rants the other designers weren’t ready for"? Omigod Ryan, you’re so fired. Oh, wait: you are fired. Hooray. See you under the bridge.
9:59 Goil gets to "feel up Jan Brady" next week? Oh, "like Jan Brady". Still, I’m in.
10:00 Okay, come to papa, Jon Stewart. Come to your goyische papa....
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Dear New York City:
Who let the nerds out? Who, dammit?!?
Somebody must've. How else to explain this dork-centric piece of fashion/style fluff claiming that a little gold body paint has become positively outrageous in modern-day Manhattan. That derivative photography (so derivative, perhaps, that the New York Times declined to show it) has become interesting. That PR-naive dorks who brag about getting comp dinners at Aspen have become newsworthy. And not only that (a) people care about "gorgeous" Candis Cayne again (who knew?), but also that (b) she has to be explained to anyone old enough to hail a cab. Jesus, Mary, and Josephine Baker....
I mean, okay: maybe, just maybe all the implicit eye-popping in the article comes from the admittedly prudish Times, in deference to their suburban readers. And maybe, just maybe the poor schmuck was drunk when he made that sad, desperate comment about John Waters and Hedi Slimane. But still, you add up second rate art + clueless artist + even more clueless hangers-on + Candis, and what do you get? You see what I'm sayin'.
And by the way, I'm not tryin' to imply that New Orleans is, like, hipper than you guys or anything. But, c'mon: get those people off the streets and off the pages of the Times before people start confusing you with Columbus, Ohio. (Don't get your panties in a wad, Columbus: we love you just the way you are.)
xo / Rico
