Pajama Pundits

I guess we pissed 'em off somehow.

The Kitchen Faerie hasn't really cooked a meal in a week, or cleaned up the mess from the resulting snacking on leftovers and fast food forays.

The Laundry Faerie has done just enough to keep our bodies decently covered and to keep the back door accessible in case of fire.

The only creature making a daily appearance around here is the Wicked Witch of Clutter.

Image used with permission

monDi.eu

What style fireplace would these look good on?

Ann Althouse links this morning to a Robin Givhan article in the LA Times on the Dove advertising campaign featuring "real" women's bodies.

There's no real disagreement here with the conclusion:

It's healthy to occasionally pull back the curtain and remind readers of what most of them already know. Fashion is not truth. That has always been the operating principle of the business. Fashion is extravagance and incongruity, elegance and rebellion. It is envy and exclusivity. All of that may have been epitomized by Richard Avedon's 1955 image of the lithe model Dovima posing in a Christian Dior gown in front of a line of elephants.

All it takes to verify that fashion and reality have a limited relationship is an occasional visit to Manolo's Shoe Blog.

It is reassuring to occasionally see the machinations of the magician. It's nice to be presented with a female physique that is a little more accessible. And it is good to see the beauty fantasy broadened to include attributes such as strength and endurance. But no one wants to feel as though they've stumbled into the ladies locker room or caught their neighbors in their skivvies.

Given the news stories I’ve read about unauthorized photos of everyday people in just such situations showing up on porn sites, I wouldn’t go so far as to say no one wants that.

And just to prove that reality according to Dove may very well be inspiring, just take a look at their portrayal of Real Beauty:

Not exactly disheartening, are they?

However, if Nike listens to Givhan,

Perhaps Nike's next ad blitz should include a chubby lady with wobbly thighs. Her arms could be raised in victory as she wheezes across the one-mile marker.

I'll be there auditioning for that spot.

Our bathroom remodeling project is a quagmire. It has become so obvious that it can no longer be ignored. Initially, it was an astounding success. The evil bastard plumbing had been in place for over 30 years, slowly choking off the clean water supply, diverting it to the floor, while allowing the critical waste removal system to degenerate.

That's gone now. But the rebuilding is more difficult than we imagined. So many decisions to be coordinated and financed. I insist there be no improvised plumbing devices (IPD) while my husband insists they have their uses. I want the flooring with the 25 year guarantee so we won't have to do this over again in 10. But that's harder to install, says my husband.

Agreeing on the installation of a cabinet?. Well, let's just say that negotiations have been extended for at least a week.

Outside influences with their own agendas are also intruding. His pickup protested the diversion of cash and attention from it to the plumbing by imploding the steering column. The Air Conditioner (this is the South, Air Conditioner is properly capitalized) displayed its ability to adversely affect our lives by freezing up its fan motor.

Not only that, I demand the woman's right to have access to a bathroom on demand be respected here. The stability of our marriage and our property value is being eroded by protesters outside the door of the one functioning bathroom.

"How much longer are you going to be in there?"

"What are you doing in there?"

In case there are any sexists out there thinking women spend too much time in the bathroom, I'm the one standing outside the bathroom door with crossed legs demanding answers. I have absolute oral authority.

Last night, in my dream, Christiane Amanpour was outside our house giving a report of the situation by satellite phone, explaining in detail the lack of facilities here. Inexplicably, she was shivering and her hair was blowing in a nonexistent breeze. Other reporters were calling from their well-plumbed rooms at the Holiday Inn, secure in their ability to flush the truth without actually witnessing it.

On TV, Neil Cavuto and Brenda Buttner were talking about plumbing futures and the rising demand for plumbing in China. They showed appallingly graphic images of lines outside women's restrooms.

There was a knock at the back door. It was Kofi Annan. He was offering a deal. UN Chamber Pots. 50% kickback to him. He was mumbling something about fearing he'd end up without a pot to piss because Claudia Rosett just won't quit.

KBR called, offering a professional crapper prefab unit for $500,000. No bid contract, of course. I explained we only needed a one-holer and could get one for a $1000.

Then I woke up. I had to go to the bathroom. Too many blogs right before bedtime.

ADDENDUM: Maybe I got the title wrong. It should be This is my brain on blogs.

How many believable, competent, "just right for the job" presidential candidates does it take to change a lightbulb?

It's going to be a dark four years, isn't it?

There's more here.

I'm not an architect and I haven't even stayed at Holiday Inn Express recently, but does this building say "Screw You" or... what?

Most buildings I see remind me of everyday items in our tool using age. They are extraordinary examples of the ordinary. They are not only large, but inspiring. That they inspire me to reflect on the mundane is not their fault.

On Stemmons Freeway just northwest of downtown Dallas, are several buildings that have always made me chuckle.

On the left is the Wyndham Anatole (used to be Loews Anatole). The cluster of three buildings has always reminded me of Chinese food carry out containers.

Near the middle, to the right of the white building is the Renaissance Hotel (another Wyndham, I think). Whenever I see it, I think of a deodorant container.

On the far left is Dallas' World Trade Center building, part of the Dallas Market Center complex. I realized when my youngest daughter and I were driving through Dallas recently that you may have to be of a certain age to understand what this one reminds me of. It's one of those nifty little collapsable cups that I remember my mother carrying in her purse.

My favorite building in Dallas is still Emerald City... er, the Hyatt Regency Hotel complex.

You can see more photos and read a little history of Dallas at Dallas Sky, including Dallas Skycrapers We Never Saw.

From Varifrank. And the answer is Hell NO!

How incredibly annoying to read that. Let's keep East Texas clean and promote it as the land of the illiterate while we're at it.

It's not like they didn't have a better hook to use. There's R.I.D. - Report Illegal Dumping. Surely a good copywriter could do something with that.

Then there's the phone number. If you're going to denigrate your target audience you might as well make them laugh. And you wouldn't even have to hire a good copywriter. A contest on that one would have talented (and not so talented) amateurs submitting hundreds of better slogans than "Keep East Texas Purddy!"

~Phone rings~

Youngest daughter on other end...

"Mom, are you at your computer? We're at a restaurant, would you look up something for us? This is really bothering us..."

"Sure, what is it?" I ask, as I sit down to fire up the browser.

"Who wrote Hungarian Rhapsody?" she asks.

"Rachmaninoff." I answer, confidently. No need to Google that.

"No, no... that's what your perfect son-in-law thinks." [So, what more proof do you want? Your husband and your mother, both couldn't be wrong could they?] "It starts with an "S", the composer's name, but I can't think of it right now."

"Shostakovich?" I ask.

"Yes! that's it!" I hear her convey this info to her husband, as confident in Shostakovich as I am in Rachmaninoff.

By that time, this Google page is staring at me.

According to Allstate.com, the most desired retirement activity for Baby Boomers is travel. Ah... yes, I'd like to see the French West Indies,

explore the architecture in Russia,

return to Scotland where the rainbows are bigger than any I've ever seen before,

...however, my darling husband has decided that he is going to raise chickens.

The upside to this is that these birds are Red Wing Sex Links. Don't ask me what that means, I have no clue. But I figure it should get a Google hit or two... however disappointed the visitors may be. Perhaps I'll do a philosophical post or two about chickenshit, since I now understand a lot better just how meaningful that term is.

In the Future, Everyone Will Be Hitler For 15 Minutes.

Back in the 80's, in a discussion of my management style, I was called a Hitler. Those who personally know me will not be surprised that I was 'fashionable' long before it was fashionable. Or, something like that.

If a plan to tax Rude, Crude, and Socially Unacceptable behavior is to be workable, there should be a simple test to determine who should be taxed and who might qualify as exempt.

I propose this form: Application for Waiver of Rude, Crude, and Socially Unacceptable Status.

The simple part is that everyone is taxable, until the waiver is applied for, and their status as Socially Acceptable has been formally approved.

And I don't think it matters what company or organization it is. Nobody here but us bartered chickens.

With friends like these...

(via Volokh)

BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE: Huffington is Full of Crap

A Spelling for Spammers Seminar is what I've got in mind, with a supplemental session on grammar (extra enrollment $$, of course). Special advanced coursework opportunities called Technical Writing for Spammers available only for graduates of the first two. (Heaven help me if there's a typo in this post.)

The always astute Ann Althouse has brought it to my attention that the Pledge of Allegiance is, perhaps, not inclusive enough. While she dreams of the perfectly engaged class as the curative mechanism, Joe Gandelperson suggests a more practical solution - redesigning the flag itself to be more diverse.

So, I did just that:

Remember that you must be nurturing and not hurt my fragile self-esteem, thus disparaging remarks about my artistic ability or vision would not be PC.

Don't you think that blends and harmonizes better with the Personal Belief System Occasional Recognition?

Week 94 of the Bonfire is up at Am I A Pundit Now... gay penguins wearing birkenstocks in 4-wheel drive wheelchairs while studying marine biology, safe sex, moronic government regs and spending, Fidel's hot bod, and flying headless insects. At least that's what I got out of it.

Amazon is informative in so many ways. Scroll down this page to the "Customers who viewed this book also viewed" section.

Sean Gleeson spots a glaring mathematical error (or is it really that glaring?) in a Mazzio's Pizza promotion. And then, in the comments, I discover that there may not really be 844,739 Ways to Eat A Hamburger at Waffle House.

I'm devastated.