A real winner named James Moss from Staten Island got a little annoyed with his little 9-year-old son Wednesday and devised a wee bit of punishment: he held the boy's hands over his stove's burner for two minutes, then forced the kid to get naked, smacked him in the face, hit him with a spatula, dragged him across the store and shoved him into his oven. All the while threatening to burn him alive.
First of all, if this guy is employed, the employer better get rid of him. People tend not to patronize businesses that employ MONSTERS.
Secondly, Monster Moss is now sitting in Riker's Island, of Law & Order fame. Hopefully, he is not so much sitting as bending over and being well, hospitable, to the lonely lads on the cellblock.
Now, the kid was rummaging through his dad's wallet, and if he stole money from him, he was wrong. However, there are many other ways of dealing with kids in this situation. I don't think that forcing him into an oven is a rational or even sane option.
Mr. Moss is right up there with another evil parent, Lynne Middlebrooks Geter of Meriwether County, Georgia, who forced her 11-year-old son to kill his pet hamster with a hammer because she was mad about a bad grade the kid had received.
You know - this kind of person really ups the argument for post-natal abortion (theirs, not their kids').
Friday, May 14, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Bathroom Reading (if you are trying to vomit): Jill Zarin's Book of Stereotypes
I truly believe that when Secrets of a Jewish Mother was pitched, it was with the idea that the content would be clever and funny. It really wasn't. This book was banal and trite, and fairly chock full of ridiculous "witticisms" about how you can cheat your husband, outsmart your social colleagues, and generally feel smug and self-satisfied by repeating a pseudo-funny mantra or two to yourself.
The book is the by-product of the dubious fame garnered by Jill Zarin, a social climber one step away from her roots in the wholesale houses of less glamorous boroughs of the Big Apple who is one of the hausfraus on The Real Housewives of New York City, a very horrific show on Bravo which is tantamount to spray cheese: really lacking in value but interesting to watch.
Jill Zarin's name appears front and center at the bottom of the book cover, where Jill stands in all her middle-aged, air-brushed glory with her mother and her sister (the mother's name and the sister's name are teeny-tiny compared to Jill's, because this is all part of Jill's desperate attempt to make herself relevant). The book allegedly shares with readers all of the touching and heart-warming advice that has made Jill's family so successful and happy in their lives.
Among these include the advice to only marry a rich man even if you don't love him, marry a man who loves you more than you love him so that you'll always have the upper hand, and steal money out of your husband's pants when he is asleep.
I want to add that perhaps this snarky tone might have been less grating had Jill Zarin not negatively reinforced every piece of advice in the book with her odd rants and self-indulgent histrionics on the TV show that made it possible for someone like her to have a book in the first place.
Jill believes that reviewers are reviewing the TV show and not the book: I disagree with that assessment. This is an advice book, ostensibly written by someone whose life is so well-managed that the rest of us should take heed of her wisdom, experience and insight. Because of this, Jill's behavior is directly linked to the value of the book.
I have to point out that a lot of people don't buy Tiger Woods' products anymore, either.
THE REVIEW? Even without her bad actions, Jill's book is flat and smug, poorly written and carelessly edited -- this was clearly a project aimed at a speedy release to ensure that the Penguin Group cashed in on what surely will only be 15 minutes of reader interest.
The book is the by-product of the dubious fame garnered by Jill Zarin, a social climber one step away from her roots in the wholesale houses of less glamorous boroughs of the Big Apple who is one of the hausfraus on The Real Housewives of New York City, a very horrific show on Bravo which is tantamount to spray cheese: really lacking in value but interesting to watch.
Jill Zarin's name appears front and center at the bottom of the book cover, where Jill stands in all her middle-aged, air-brushed glory with her mother and her sister (the mother's name and the sister's name are teeny-tiny compared to Jill's, because this is all part of Jill's desperate attempt to make herself relevant). The book allegedly shares with readers all of the touching and heart-warming advice that has made Jill's family so successful and happy in their lives.
Among these include the advice to only marry a rich man even if you don't love him, marry a man who loves you more than you love him so that you'll always have the upper hand, and steal money out of your husband's pants when he is asleep.
I want to add that perhaps this snarky tone might have been less grating had Jill Zarin not negatively reinforced every piece of advice in the book with her odd rants and self-indulgent histrionics on the TV show that made it possible for someone like her to have a book in the first place.
Jill believes that reviewers are reviewing the TV show and not the book: I disagree with that assessment. This is an advice book, ostensibly written by someone whose life is so well-managed that the rest of us should take heed of her wisdom, experience and insight. Because of this, Jill's behavior is directly linked to the value of the book.
I have to point out that a lot of people don't buy Tiger Woods' products anymore, either.
THE REVIEW? Even without her bad actions, Jill's book is flat and smug, poorly written and carelessly edited -- this was clearly a project aimed at a speedy release to ensure that the Penguin Group cashed in on what surely will only be 15 minutes of reader interest.
Monday, May 10, 2010
E*Trade Baby Slams Lindsay Lohan - And Who Cares?
Apparently Lindsay Lohan is suing E-Trade because of its Superbowl ad in which the Main E*Trade Baby is cheating on his baby girlfriend, and the girlfriend asks about "Lindsay, that milkaholic."
Lindsay Lohan automatically assumed they were talking about her, and now she's suing.
Which is so stupid. Lohan has been seen drinking a lot, but Lindsay is a very common name.
Chill, bi-otch.
Lindsay Lohan automatically assumed they were talking about her, and now she's suing.
Which is so stupid. Lohan has been seen drinking a lot, but Lindsay is a very common name.
Chill, bi-otch.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
CSI Is So Stupid!
I have to say that my husband and I watch some pretty stupid TV shows. We have been fans (well, we watch it if it's on) of the Law & Order franchise, largely because it is so easy to watch after 9 p.m. -- no brains required, because the pontificating writers tell us exactly what to think. It has gotten to the point where we watch it for the time required and say, nonstop, this is really the worst one ever.
I also have to admit to a slight Goren crush. Goren was the guy from the Law & Order: Criminal Intent show, which we used to call Law & Order: Smart Guy. He had the advantage of having been good-looking and knowing about lots of cool subjects. He was also flawed, which appealed to that side of me which also used to think that Luke Skywalker was cuter than Han Solo. As if! But I could save him.
I was very sad about the way they killed off the two characters, Goren and Eames -- he got fired for being ethical but not rule-following in the face of Big American Government and she quit after she realized she was just a pawn in The Man's deal with the devil (or The Man). Politically, it was a flawed ending, and theatrically, it was a silly one. Perhaps the reason I hate it the most is that the super slimy and squirmy Jeff Goldblum replaced the Goren character -- introduced because of his relationship as the former partner of the super-Mike Brady-looking Capt. Danny Ross, the chief of D's. (detectives). Some interchangeable Law & Order chick replaced Eames, but I can't tell her from any of the other chicks on any of the Law & Order series.
Okay -- back to the point. The worst show on TV -- CSI. CSI Original (which in in Vegas) is annoying because of that black guy who looks like he should have played Data on Star Trek (not as cool as Mace Windu but not as lame as the Professor on Gilligan's Island) and that gap-toothed chick who thought she was all that when the show first started and then had to leave because someone disagreed and then came back because the guy who played the evil husband in Cousins quit the show.
CSI: New York is annoying because it is so pontificating and grey. Not gray, mind you, but grey. Like a one-hour version of Sleepy Hollow without the plot.
The worst of the worst? CSI: Miami. Oh, the agony of it. But it is SOOOOoooooo entertaining!
The whole thing looks like a British Petroleum green commercial. I want, when I see this show, to go to Vietnam and recycle. Half-naked babes in gold-ringed bikinis wander through, sucking in their tummies for the camera, and guys in striped shirts open at the neck with Porsches and Ferraris look intent on par-tay-ing. They women are all pathetic Bambis and the guys are all neanderthals -- unless, of course, they are in CSI.
The music -- it's like being in a 1980s music video before video got interesting.
Horatio flips his glasses and makes weighty, threatening one-liners. The Hispanic-looking guy struts and the weenie-who-got-promoted-to-vaguely-cute-guy channels Don Johnson. The women all wear white suits and 5-inch heels, and their hair swings wantonly above the crime scenes as they gather DNA evidence.
And all I can think is: were all the freakin' detectives busy? Was there not a single police officer available to check out the crime scene? Really?
This last week's episode was so God-awful, it was actually hilarious. The blond chick, the one who speaks with the baby voice that Dr. Laura says is often due to being tampered with by grown men as a child, runs wildly into a fire to save a kid (who looks to be about 30). The next we see her, she is wearing a white suit and no one pays attention to her.
Because she's a GHOST!
And she can talk to the fire-ravaged kid, who is also a ghost!
In the most blatant of all crap script ripoffs, she is the GHOST WHISPERER.
It ends up that she is alive, which really disappointed me.
The Miami team all drives Hummers (which is kind of funny in itself, but also outrageous from a taxpayer POV) and none of them wear protective gear and none of them wait for Actual Police Officers to arrive on the scene. They all run shirtless and bulletproofvestless onto crimes in progress and dangerous Other Crime Scenes, and they sweat and talk and drip long hairs into their murder victims. Where are the protective suits (which obviously are not as sexy but which will save taxpayers billions in mistrials)?
And no -- it doesn't happen that way. They don't find a fingerprint on a tire tread and figure it out from there -- because that's not how it works.
I also have to admit to a slight Goren crush. Goren was the guy from the Law & Order: Criminal Intent show, which we used to call Law & Order: Smart Guy. He had the advantage of having been good-looking and knowing about lots of cool subjects. He was also flawed, which appealed to that side of me which also used to think that Luke Skywalker was cuter than Han Solo. As if! But I could save him.
I was very sad about the way they killed off the two characters, Goren and Eames -- he got fired for being ethical but not rule-following in the face of Big American Government and she quit after she realized she was just a pawn in The Man's deal with the devil (or The Man). Politically, it was a flawed ending, and theatrically, it was a silly one. Perhaps the reason I hate it the most is that the super slimy and squirmy Jeff Goldblum replaced the Goren character -- introduced because of his relationship as the former partner of the super-Mike Brady-looking Capt. Danny Ross, the chief of D's. (detectives). Some interchangeable Law & Order chick replaced Eames, but I can't tell her from any of the other chicks on any of the Law & Order series.
Okay -- back to the point. The worst show on TV -- CSI. CSI Original (which in in Vegas) is annoying because of that black guy who looks like he should have played Data on Star Trek (not as cool as Mace Windu but not as lame as the Professor on Gilligan's Island) and that gap-toothed chick who thought she was all that when the show first started and then had to leave because someone disagreed and then came back because the guy who played the evil husband in Cousins quit the show.
CSI: New York is annoying because it is so pontificating and grey. Not gray, mind you, but grey. Like a one-hour version of Sleepy Hollow without the plot.
The worst of the worst? CSI: Miami. Oh, the agony of it. But it is SOOOOoooooo entertaining!
The whole thing looks like a British Petroleum green commercial. I want, when I see this show, to go to Vietnam and recycle. Half-naked babes in gold-ringed bikinis wander through, sucking in their tummies for the camera, and guys in striped shirts open at the neck with Porsches and Ferraris look intent on par-tay-ing. They women are all pathetic Bambis and the guys are all neanderthals -- unless, of course, they are in CSI.
The music -- it's like being in a 1980s music video before video got interesting.
Horatio flips his glasses and makes weighty, threatening one-liners. The Hispanic-looking guy struts and the weenie-who-got-promoted-to-vaguely-cute-guy channels Don Johnson. The women all wear white suits and 5-inch heels, and their hair swings wantonly above the crime scenes as they gather DNA evidence.
And all I can think is: were all the freakin' detectives busy? Was there not a single police officer available to check out the crime scene? Really?
This last week's episode was so God-awful, it was actually hilarious. The blond chick, the one who speaks with the baby voice that Dr. Laura says is often due to being tampered with by grown men as a child, runs wildly into a fire to save a kid (who looks to be about 30). The next we see her, she is wearing a white suit and no one pays attention to her.
Because she's a GHOST!
And she can talk to the fire-ravaged kid, who is also a ghost!
In the most blatant of all crap script ripoffs, she is the GHOST WHISPERER.
It ends up that she is alive, which really disappointed me.
The Miami team all drives Hummers (which is kind of funny in itself, but also outrageous from a taxpayer POV) and none of them wear protective gear and none of them wait for Actual Police Officers to arrive on the scene. They all run shirtless and bulletproofvestless onto crimes in progress and dangerous Other Crime Scenes, and they sweat and talk and drip long hairs into their murder victims. Where are the protective suits (which obviously are not as sexy but which will save taxpayers billions in mistrials)?
And no -- it doesn't happen that way. They don't find a fingerprint on a tire tread and figure it out from there -- because that's not how it works.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Real Housewives of New York -- Horrified Fascination
I like to think I am not a person who watches reality TV shows. Yet, I am a person who watches reality TV shows. I love to watch Project Runway, Top Chef, and the like. I also like to watch Flipping Out, because I think Jeff is a hoot. I even enjoy watching Toddlers & Tiaras, though for the train wreck factor -- these people live in trailers and shacks, yet they are paying thousands of dollars on gaudy dresses and flippers (fake teeth) and putting their child in completely inappropriate positions (pageant moms, I hate to tell you -- your daughters are not emulating ladies, they are emulating tacky people).
But Real Housewives -- oh, God, that is a seriously sick franchise. The Atlanta ladies I don't watch -- I simply am not interested in any of these characters and their graspy, inarticulate lives are more uncomfortable than they are entertaining to watch. The Orange County ladies are just spoiled and silly and adolescent, and the New Jersey ladies are tacky in that way that clothes in the Bloomingdale's catalogue are tacky -- it's redolent of a certain kind of Jersey mall feeling that I remember from the 1980s and 1990s but which I don't want to revisit.
But New York! Oh, bless their hearts -- they just don't know...
This show is the perfect illustration for the old adage that money can't buy class. These social climbing, ridiculous women make me want to squirm. Their pettiness, their pretensiousness -- it's all just twee.
The laughable Countess with her pretend show of manners and her utter lack of manners or anything interesting to say -- it's like she had too many white wines at lunch over the course of time and got pickled.. Polite people don't tell their friends how to behave! Especially when the Countess seems to believe that the rules of good taste and good manners apply to everyone but her. Oh, WAH -- so you're divorced. It doesn't sound as if you've been interested in anything but your ex-husband's title for quite a long time, so it can't be that big a surprise that all of a sudden he's dumped you. And no -- you aren't the Countess anymore.
So go find something else to rest your laurels on -- like maybe an accomplishment. And quit it with the accent: where are you from? The Midwest? So stop it with the 1930s movie school matron accent, already!
Ramona -- yikes. Get those eyes under control and get on some kind of medication that will slow you down. You can't just say what you want and expect people to accept it! And no, dear -- what you're doing is not making you look neutral. I just fast forward through you.
Bethenny -- quit being a victim! You've done amazing things! So what if Jill has to have an enemy? Let her be your enemy -- it really doesn't matter at all. She's no one you'll want to know in a few years.
Kelly -- are you really this dumb? Bra: would be good. Hemline: should be shorter. I think you could be a poster girl -- the poster girl for why drugs can be bad for you.
Jill -- what a train wreck you are. Tacky? Oh my God. You talk about other people's modeling abilities and throw in your own dress size for good measure? How transparent! Why didn't you just ask if you could model? I am certain that Alex would have let you model if she had known it would shut that big wide mouth of yours about the trashiness of her event! And this thing with Bethenny? Be happy for her success and shut up about your victimization. You were traveling and enjoying the summer, not sitting by your husband's bedside holding his hand and reading the Torah. So she didn't call? She made a mistake -- and she's what? 25 years younger than you? Any good Jewish mother would forgive and forget -- and not let the Countess fuel the fire and interfere in your friendships. I guess now that Luanne doesn't have a good steady source of income she needs to isolate you to ensure her place in your small, insignificant sliver of New York society (by society, I mean ability to get a table at some restaurants).
Stop it with the hair extensions. You are mutton dressed as lamb. And your apartment! Who lets their walker decorate their houses? Ewwww....
Alex -- who knew -- you with your dotty husband -- you are the only one that anyone can relate to...
But Real Housewives -- oh, God, that is a seriously sick franchise. The Atlanta ladies I don't watch -- I simply am not interested in any of these characters and their graspy, inarticulate lives are more uncomfortable than they are entertaining to watch. The Orange County ladies are just spoiled and silly and adolescent, and the New Jersey ladies are tacky in that way that clothes in the Bloomingdale's catalogue are tacky -- it's redolent of a certain kind of Jersey mall feeling that I remember from the 1980s and 1990s but which I don't want to revisit.
But New York! Oh, bless their hearts -- they just don't know...
This show is the perfect illustration for the old adage that money can't buy class. These social climbing, ridiculous women make me want to squirm. Their pettiness, their pretensiousness -- it's all just twee.
The laughable Countess with her pretend show of manners and her utter lack of manners or anything interesting to say -- it's like she had too many white wines at lunch over the course of time and got pickled.. Polite people don't tell their friends how to behave! Especially when the Countess seems to believe that the rules of good taste and good manners apply to everyone but her. Oh, WAH -- so you're divorced. It doesn't sound as if you've been interested in anything but your ex-husband's title for quite a long time, so it can't be that big a surprise that all of a sudden he's dumped you. And no -- you aren't the Countess anymore.
So go find something else to rest your laurels on -- like maybe an accomplishment. And quit it with the accent: where are you from? The Midwest? So stop it with the 1930s movie school matron accent, already!
Ramona -- yikes. Get those eyes under control and get on some kind of medication that will slow you down. You can't just say what you want and expect people to accept it! And no, dear -- what you're doing is not making you look neutral. I just fast forward through you.
Bethenny -- quit being a victim! You've done amazing things! So what if Jill has to have an enemy? Let her be your enemy -- it really doesn't matter at all. She's no one you'll want to know in a few years.
Kelly -- are you really this dumb? Bra: would be good. Hemline: should be shorter. I think you could be a poster girl -- the poster girl for why drugs can be bad for you.
Jill -- what a train wreck you are. Tacky? Oh my God. You talk about other people's modeling abilities and throw in your own dress size for good measure? How transparent! Why didn't you just ask if you could model? I am certain that Alex would have let you model if she had known it would shut that big wide mouth of yours about the trashiness of her event! And this thing with Bethenny? Be happy for her success and shut up about your victimization. You were traveling and enjoying the summer, not sitting by your husband's bedside holding his hand and reading the Torah. So she didn't call? She made a mistake -- and she's what? 25 years younger than you? Any good Jewish mother would forgive and forget -- and not let the Countess fuel the fire and interfere in your friendships. I guess now that Luanne doesn't have a good steady source of income she needs to isolate you to ensure her place in your small, insignificant sliver of New York society (by society, I mean ability to get a table at some restaurants).
Stop it with the hair extensions. You are mutton dressed as lamb. And your apartment! Who lets their walker decorate their houses? Ewwww....
Alex -- who knew -- you with your dotty husband -- you are the only one that anyone can relate to...
Monday, April 19, 2010
British Woman Gets Migraine with Bonus Chinese Accent
Ancient Chinese Secret!
From FOX News:
Any migraine sufferer will tell you that the headache pain can be unbearable. After suffering a migraine so intense it changed her voice, a 35-year-old British woman is describing the pain with a Chinese accent.
Sarah Colwill commonly suffers from migraines, but when an extreme headache caused her to call an ambulance last month, (she) woke up in the hospital with an accent sounding more like someone who grew up in China rather than England, the Daily Mail reported.
Her new Chinese accent has made her voice unrecognizable to family and friends.
“I have had my friends hanging up on me because they think I'm a hoax caller,” she said. “I speak in a much higher tone now, my voice is all squeaky.”
Colwill was diagnosed with Foreign Accent Syndrome, a rare condition that damages a part of the brain that controls speech and word configuration. She is currently undergoing speech therapy, but doctors are unsure her natural voice will ever return.
Really? Foriegn Accent Syndrome? This is an actual condition?
Now, I have a friend who gets a little drunk and starts to speak with an English accent. By the way, just to indicate that this is not a cross-cultural issue, my friend is not Chinese.
Who gets sued for this?
From FOX News:
Any migraine sufferer will tell you that the headache pain can be unbearable. After suffering a migraine so intense it changed her voice, a 35-year-old British woman is describing the pain with a Chinese accent.
Sarah Colwill commonly suffers from migraines, but when an extreme headache caused her to call an ambulance last month, (she) woke up in the hospital with an accent sounding more like someone who grew up in China rather than England, the Daily Mail reported.
Her new Chinese accent has made her voice unrecognizable to family and friends.
“I have had my friends hanging up on me because they think I'm a hoax caller,” she said. “I speak in a much higher tone now, my voice is all squeaky.”
Colwill was diagnosed with Foreign Accent Syndrome, a rare condition that damages a part of the brain that controls speech and word configuration. She is currently undergoing speech therapy, but doctors are unsure her natural voice will ever return.
Really? Foriegn Accent Syndrome? This is an actual condition?
Now, I have a friend who gets a little drunk and starts to speak with an English accent. By the way, just to indicate that this is not a cross-cultural issue, my friend is not Chinese.
Who gets sued for this?
Monday, April 12, 2010
Tiger Woods - What's the Issue?
I was listening to a talk show host rant and rant about how he and some of his friends had hoped that Tiger Woods would lose the Masters. The idea is that because Tiger is such a miserable human being, he should lose in whatever he does, and that will be justice.
I have to say, my thoughts are a little different. I don't really care if Tiger wins the Masters. He plays golf; it's what he does to make his living, and apparently, he's not so bad at it.
As an aside, I must also point out that I live in a house of golfers (not me) and I have never been a Tiger Woods fan. There has always been, in my eyes, a smarminess and a smugness to Tiger that has been unattractive at best, off-putting at worst -- I just thought he was kind of a dick.
And I have never once in my life called anyone a dick until this moment. It's just that I prefer to write with the utmost precision, and "dick" is the best word in any language to describe Tiger Woods. Think about it.
So, Tiger has his problems now and everyone knows that he is, in fact, a dick. And still, I don't really care whether or not he wins the Masters.
The thing that I will say: I will never buy a piece of merchandise with Tiger Woods' name on it. Not a pair of shoes, a golf ball, or a Slurpee. I have kids, and Tiger Woods is simply not the guy I want them to emulate. He can win the Masters as much as he wants, or can. In his lifetime, however, I don't see him reaching the heights of his earlier career in golf, and why would I pay to honor the name of some has-been sex addict who also happens to be a liar and a philanderer and who had so little regard for his own children? Why would I pay anything into the coffers of a guy who would treat his kids so badly?
Nike can continue its sponsorship of Tiger. That's fine. Stupid people may buy some Tiger socks -- but never again, I'll bet, for what they once paid.
And that's a big shame for Nike, which, as a corporation with shareholders, should be ashamed of itself. How foolish of Nike to put all of its golf eggs in Tiger's very unreliable basket.
I have to say, my thoughts are a little different. I don't really care if Tiger wins the Masters. He plays golf; it's what he does to make his living, and apparently, he's not so bad at it.
As an aside, I must also point out that I live in a house of golfers (not me) and I have never been a Tiger Woods fan. There has always been, in my eyes, a smarminess and a smugness to Tiger that has been unattractive at best, off-putting at worst -- I just thought he was kind of a dick.
And I have never once in my life called anyone a dick until this moment. It's just that I prefer to write with the utmost precision, and "dick" is the best word in any language to describe Tiger Woods. Think about it.
So, Tiger has his problems now and everyone knows that he is, in fact, a dick. And still, I don't really care whether or not he wins the Masters.
The thing that I will say: I will never buy a piece of merchandise with Tiger Woods' name on it. Not a pair of shoes, a golf ball, or a Slurpee. I have kids, and Tiger Woods is simply not the guy I want them to emulate. He can win the Masters as much as he wants, or can. In his lifetime, however, I don't see him reaching the heights of his earlier career in golf, and why would I pay to honor the name of some has-been sex addict who also happens to be a liar and a philanderer and who had so little regard for his own children? Why would I pay anything into the coffers of a guy who would treat his kids so badly?
Nike can continue its sponsorship of Tiger. That's fine. Stupid people may buy some Tiger socks -- but never again, I'll bet, for what they once paid.
And that's a big shame for Nike, which, as a corporation with shareholders, should be ashamed of itself. How foolish of Nike to put all of its golf eggs in Tiger's very unreliable basket.
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