I may have invented a term by accident. While watching Shark Tank recently, I noticed the “Queen of QVC,” Lori Greiner, was wearing a dress with a bodice in a rounded contrasting color. Of course it looked great on her, but I realized that the particular piece of the dress on the front created an interesting illusion. Narrow on top and rounded on both sides at the bottom, it looks more like an inverted heart with the point a bit wider, but I commented to those watching with me (before I could stop myself), “She looks like she has chesticles.”
Sorry, Lori. Nobody wants to be remembered as having an upper half which reminds people of the lower half of the opposite gender. But the term is official, and I did it.
Naturally the designer didn’t intend the dress to look like that. Probably the design is meant to draw the eye above the waist. Obviously my mind was elsewhere. Way down elsewhere.
At least I was paying attention to the dress. And Lori looked great in it.
If there were two things you would not think of as being replacements for the news (un) worthy world of politics, it would be a pregnant giraffe and a giant chicken, but that is what happened this week. Thank goodness for a bit of strangeness in the midst of chaos.
April the giraffe at the Animal Adventure Park in Harpursville, New York, is expecting another calf, but either her conception date was off or she is way overdue. The typical giraffe pregnancy lasts 15 months, so she’s going on double the amount of time we human ladies spend with swollen feet and back pain. And look at the legs she stands on every day.
A live feed has been tracking her for some time now, and viewers are anxiously waiting for the first signs that we will witness the miracle of birth. What is a real miracle is that giraffe give birth standing up, so the baby’s welcome to world is a fall, head and front feet first, of several feet to the ground. In the wild, they must stand and start walking quickly or risk being dinner to the predators lurking about.
The feed was removed temporarily after somebody complained about the content being too sexual in nature, but common sense prevailed and it was restored. A problem with the video spurred numerous phone calls to the site; nobody wants to miss the big moment.
And then there is the vieeo of a huge bird emerging from a small coop entrance and puffing out to monstrous proportions to strut about the pen. It was finally identified as a giant Brahma chicken, a huge clucker of a breed created from inter-breeding of similar large fowl. The males weigh in at about 18 pounds. Skeptics claimed the video was of somebody in a costume, but it was confirmed as a real video. The featured chicken is named Merikli and apparently lives on a farm in Kosovo. And undoubtedly the hens love him like some women get hot and steamy over wrestling stars with biceps that could feed a family of ten. But who would really want to serve up this big guy, even though that is the purpose for which he was created?
Believe it or not, instead of thinking about firing up the deep fryer, people have expressed fear of this bird; enough that one could construct a horror movie about it. (Cue ominous-sounding voice-over) “It came from beyond the coop to destroy the earth. More than feathers will fly tonight. Merikli, the Movie, rated R for scenes of rooster violence.”
Yes, it has been a bad week for politics, but a good one to be just a little crazy with animals in the news. They’re a whole lot more interesting than the animals in Washington, like the weasels, snakes and hyenas. I’ll take eight straight hours of April strolling her pen, or meeting up with Merikli in a dark alley, to fifteen more seconds of political fodder, and it looks like lately lots of other people agree with me. If the president wants truth in news, these are it.
McDonald’s has announced that it is moving more toward fresh, rather than frozen, beef patties, fulfilling an idea that first took shape in 2014. This after a test run proved a winner with guests at over 300 locations in Texas and the test expanded to Tulsa, Oklahoma.
That makes sense: the beef can be had practically off the hoof in Texas.
From the abattoir to your table in a matter of hours.
I don’t know how much beef is hoofing around Oklahoma.
This will, of course, cause a clash between those people who want good fresh food and good fast food. The line at the drive-through may slow down a bit if one has to wait for a fresh patty to cook thoroughly, though I can’t imagine how, other than a super hero employee at the cooking station using a laser blaster, a frozen patty would cook more quickly. I don’t time them: I just watch for them to get more gray than pink and stick a thermometer in when necessary.
The folks at “Mickey D’s” will have to come up with some new ideas, but we’ve always loved those arches and embraced the culture. They’re not going anywhere, just upping their game.
There is a big difference between a companion animal, a service animal and a live binky. You may call it a pacifier (the proper term), wubbie, lovey or whatever, but some of the things going on with humans and animals in public is getting a bit out of hand. I’m talking abuse of privilege and downright stupidity when it comes to traveling with an animal.
Of course I have friends for whom a companion animal is comfort in stressful times. This includes our armed service members and victims of trauma and abuse. They are paired with animals who can relieve stress and lessen the psychological effects of flashbacks and other by-products of life after incidents too terrible for any human to experience.I nor anybody else should have a complaint about them.
Service animals see for the blind, hear for the deaf and shore up epileptics or other persons prone to falls who can otherwise lead productive lives.
But some imbeciles out there are trying to play the system. For a few bucks, one can buy a fake testimonial letter and service animal vest for a pet and get away with going just about anywhere with them. We’re not talking about just dogs, either; potbellied pigs, ferrets and other small weasels or rodents also qualify, as do snakes, spiders and heaven knows what else might in future make the cut.
The people doing this are trying to get their pets free flights on airlines, since any type of support animal is accepted in the cabin rather than in with the luggage and traveling pets. Folks also want their animals coming into the department stores and restaurants with them. There is a problem with this; people are allergic to animals, and service animals are trained to not be a hazard in places where cleanliness is a must. Would you want to have to summon a waiter and say, “Waiter, there is a service ferret in my soup?”
This must stop now. No soldier should be refused a seat on a plane because some lady with a chihuahua wearing a fake “service animal” vest got preferential treatment. Some people have no self-restraint or sense of decency and need a well-placed heel of the hand upside the head. Leave your pet at home or pay up, so others don’t pay a larger price for your ignorance.
(Below is an article link which may be helpful if you want to read more):
Recently a customer in a department store managed to get a tee shirt removed from the shelves. It proves that one person can change the world, but sometimes they might not have to.
A retailer called Primark in Great Britain was carrying a shirt featuring an iconic image from the AMC television series “The Walking Dead.” The shirt showed a barbed wire wrapped baseball bat wielded by the antagonistic Negan, played in the series by Jeffrey Dean Morgan; he calls his weapon Lucille. Before he plays Bamm-Bamm with Lucille on the head of a person he doesn’t like, he invokes the old nursery rhyme, “eeny, meeny, miny mo.” It sends shivers down viewers’ (and the good characters’) spines. A customer at the Primark store found it racist because his recollection of the rhyme has the next line referring to catching black persons by the toe, using the dreaded “n” word.
I never heard that one.
Various friends have said they always heard the second line as, “Catch a tiger by the toe,” or piggy. Only one person said they had heard the “n” word used for that rhyme growing up. I’m confused.
Logically, trying to nab somebody on the run by the toe would be a startingly nimble feat (no pun intended), and the rhyme goes on to advise that “If he hollers, let him go,” so no matter what you’d be catching–a tiger, a piggy, or a quick-moving person of any type–it’s strictly catch and release.
Let’s face it: in a crowd of 100, at least one will find something offensive. If the other 99 are not even raising an eyebrow, maybe the problem is with the one. Anyway, the store pulled the shirts, so the next “Walking Dead” shirt will probably undergo a rigorous test of wording and cultural impact before hitting the shelves.
I have never watched the show, and in my life experiences I have seen and come to know discrimination of all kinds (I have been a victim myself), but at least I won’t be one of the customers who has to worry about a message on my tee shirt. I don’t wear them.
But maybe if we all holler, maybe the one with the issue will just let it go.
Posted at 5:56 am by kayewer, on February 26, 2017
Some people like to go to a spa to relax and recharge. For some reason I can’t imagine such a thing for me. Instead I pick favorite things I like to do and they have the same effect as any deep tissue massage. For example, I just came from a performance by the Philly Pops, and though it was teeming with rain outside when the concert was over, I feel all warm and fuzzy and can ignore the squeaking of my wet shoes and my sudden attack of Phyllis Diller hair. I felt like I had gone to church and emerged a changed person. Who needs hot rocks on the back or a seaweed wrap when therapy like this is available?
The Kimmel Center reminded me again of why it is such a glorious spa-I mean music venue–with amazing acoustics and the feeling of a non-denominational house of music worship crossed with a focus on fun performance style and the comforts of soft seats and simple lighting. Compared to my last experience at the good old Academy of Music (I got a seat against a post), I settled right in at the Kimmel and felt at home. Why strip down to a towel and stick my prone face in a donut on a massage table, anyway?
Guest conductor David Charles Abell was fun to watch as he held a friendly conversation with his baton and guided the Pops through some of the best of what they called modern Broadway (all newer productions from the past 37 years). This meant shows like Miss Saigon, Hairspray, Les Miserables and my go-to favorite The Phantom of the Opera. The singers included petite powerhouse Alli Mauzey and TV and film star Rachel York flanking returning guest singer and Broadway-via-Philadelphia local favorite Hugh Panaro. The two men, Abell and Panaro, seem to be brothers by different parents as they both carry grins that span a mile and a bit of pluck in their performance style. They had fun together, and the audience was in on it, not just sitting and being performed for.
Intense musical numbers like Les Miz’ entreaty “Bring Him Home” were like an emotional release and sometimes tear-inducing. There were a few moist eyes in the house. You may be thinking that only new age music would do if I’m referring to a spa treatment, but listening to somebody like Hugh Panaro who knows how to bring a dramatic song to life can be a much better balm than any zen-labeled canned tune treatment. The quiet in the auditorium was palpable during these numbers until the audience erupted the moment the last note was sung. There was fun, too, as Mauzey flirted her way through “Popular” from Wicked and York did a collection of impressions while singing “I Will Always Love You” from the newest Broadway treatment of a movie from The Bodyguard. She was spot-on, especially letting Eartha Kitt give the song a try.
I left the Kimmel feeling so much better, having relaxed and enjoyed a good afternoon of music, and not a drop of emollient was spilled. So spa gift cards are not on my gift list. Give me a good show instead. And if the weather is a bit damp, access to a blow dryer.
Posted at 3:32 am by kayewer, on February 20, 2017
Doesn’t it figure that on one of the most beautiful days we’ve had since last summer I was indoors, and on the worst weather days I’ve had to drive in it to go to work?
The people who drive in bad weather to get to work have it tough, but sometimes I think that driving in good weather is just as tough. Here you are in the beautiful sunshine surrounded by four doors and a loud engine (no matter how quiet they say it is). I guess that is why people ride motorcycles, but to me the ambience is a bit lacking. Try playing classical music with a helmet on your head and bugs squishing on your visor.
I don’t like opening the car windows because I can’t stand the wind making that familiar “whubbita whubbita” noise that grates on the nerves. And trying to drive slower on any major highway to avoid that racket is like being a horse and buggy competing in the Indianapolis 500.
So it was sweater weather, but not to the point of needing air conditioning or of turning down the indoor heat. But for February, why complain?
Posted at 3:12 am by kayewer, on February 12, 2017
Last night I sat sandwiched between rows of like-minded women to see Fifty Shades Darker, the second cinematic attempt to interpret the E.L. James hit erotica book trilogy. I think we in that audience will all agree that the movie reviewers–mostly men–are full of it when it comes to reviewing such a film. They didn’t like it. We seemed to.
The problem with trying to accomplish a good movie with erotica in it, like trying to accomplish anything erotic, is that we try too damn hard to make it what it’s not.
Let’s face it: about ninety percent of us do not have the womanly charms of Dakota Johnson or the hunky mannerisms of Jamie Dornan; we’re lucky if we look decent after an hour in the mirror every morning (after much less than the recommended eight hours of sleep), and they have makeup people and wardrobe people and don’t have an hour commute or a cubicle to work in.
Add to that all the camera angles and the censorship–oh good grief, the censorship–and the crew members hovering overhead and the sets that are lit too hot or cooled down too much, and it’s only romantic when the editing is done. Or in the case of a movie which features BDSM practices toned down for an R rating, it only gets away with not being called pornographic when the editing is done.
Lovemaking can’t be edited. It just happens. It’s awkward and time-consuming and primal and messy. That’s why many movie scenes cut to the future, long after the bumping and grinding is over and forgotten. The reviewers seem to have a problem with lovemaking that’s a tad more spicy. Maybe they’re jealous.
Also, the reviewers appeared to think that the chemistry between the characters wasn’t hot enough. Maybe a mushy relationship would not have made a good movie, or maybe if they were too hot for each other, the filming may have been too pornographic. How tough it must be to be a married couple working on a film together; separating the script from reality takes a true performance from both of them.
The movie is not that bad. It’s not everybody’s idea of a bedroom rendezvous, but it’s what we, as moviegoers in this age, are allowed to have in terms of what the MPAA says. The perfect love movie has yet to be made, but we have enough future Valentine’s Days to work on it. Maybe it will be rated G: after all, love does not require sex, does it?
I predict that we will indeed have more weeks of winter. It may be six, or eight, or ten. We will also have spring, and it won’t necessarily fall in March or April. It may come at the end of this month or hold off until May. We will have some rain, some snow (ugh) and cold and hot and some temperatures in between.
I also predict that every year, folks will trudge to the town of Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania on February 2nd for an excuse to stand around in the cold and watch a guy in formal winter gear harass a groundhog.
Heck, it’s winter. We gotta have something constructive to do.
I wasn’t really sure how to react to the first week of the Trump presidency. I could say a few things jokingly or a lot of things scathingly, or the other way around. It looks like people do have a lot to say, and they’re letting off steam all over the place. Women are marching, anti-abortionists (including men) are marching, protestors are. . .okay, they’re not marching so much as fist fighting and yelling, but you get the picture.
With three years and 51 weeks to go in his stint in the White House, it looks like our new president is trying to cram it all into the first eight days. Slow down, man.
Sometimes when a new person takes over, they go into hyperdrive and do everything at once. People do that when they get an unexpected monetary bonus or an economy sized bargain at the store. The problem is, all the reward, and the joy of it, runs out rather quickly, and you’re back to square one.
What comes to mind is one of the Harry Potter movies in which a new person in a position of power started tacking up new rules, regulations and policies on the walls of Hogwarts to the point of the ridiculous. I think she got abducted by some nasty creatures or something.
The president won’t have to worry about nasty creatures taking him away. We will, however, let him know what we’re thinking. We’d better, whether we voted for him or not. Sometimes it takes a jolt from the joy of the reward to get focused on what matters.
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