Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Blog Casserole: The Hilarious, The Weird, And The Tiny

It's time for another Blog Casserole, folks!
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I've done Blog Casserole a couple of times in the past; it's really just random things that are going around in my brainbox, yet aren't connected in any way.
It's like a good shepherd's pie: made up of the left-overs, and never the same twice (except the mashed potatoes. I am extremely picky about mashed potatoes, stemming from an incident involving tonsil removal and antibiotics. That, and I just really love mashed potatoes)!
Before we really go anywhere with this, I need to point out a really music nerdy date.
Today, July 6th, marks the fifty-fourth anniversary of the Woolton Garden Fete where The Quarrymen played.
Does this mean nothing to you?
Then you don't know the story!
Little Johnny Lennon and his skiffle group banged about on an outdoor stage...
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...where a chubbly little lad called Paul was just so happened to be.
It also happens that the little Paul lad played a killer rendition of Twenty Flight Rock, and the basis for The Beatles was born.
My favorite part of the story has always been the actual Quarrymen performance. John, in his fashion, didn't have any idea of what words to sing; he could play it, but didn't know the words (why do you think Yoko was usually on stage with him after they were married? She had the lyrics!). So, he would just make words up. According to Paul, the Lennon impromptu version of the Del-Vikings hit Come Go With Me was "come go with me to the penitentiary". I always think of that when I hear the song.

WHAT HAS BEEN HEARD CANNOT BE UNHEARD!

We now take you back to your regularly scheduled blog post.

The Hilarious
I have to admit, I kind of like that advertisements key into what you look for. It's a pretty genius idea, and, if you're like me, you get really neat stuff. I'm always getting ads for Las Vegas, ModCloth, Beatles related stuff, even the SarahPAC (they call it the TEA Party, I call it New Federalism. Whatever).
That's why this one was really weird.
There I was, just minding my own business, when an advertisement similar to this one appeared on my screen...
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I laughed then, and I'm laughin' now. I'm not sure if it's the fact that the lass in the photo (you know, the one on the right) is cougerin' it up, or that this is probably taped on some teeny bopper's wall.

Naturally, I went to investigate, and was met with an entire website full of the metaphorical stench of Kidz Bop and grape jelly (hey, don't knock grape jelly, I had some for lunch today; technically they were grape preserves, but whatever).
I giggled at the Fan Exclusive, which... well, here's what it has to say:

Are you Justin's number one fan? Take the SOMEDAY experience one step further with the Fan Exclusive Eau de Parfum. The iconic bottle comes with a limited-edition, removable, jeweled charm from Justin–so you can bring the experience with you wherever you go.

Before we go any further, don't you think it's a bit odd to think that a bottle full of Justin Bieber perfume could be classified as "iconic"?
You want iconic?
I'll give you iconic, asshat.
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At our house, we call it The Hoff. In person, it's just a lot of screaming. Really, I've seen this bass get bigger applause than the song it just played. And yes, I realize that the bass pictured isn't actually THE Hofner (if you didn't see it, this one is a righty, and Paulie is a lefty), it got my point across.

The charm says "I Love You", supposedly in Bieber's own script. Oh, how I laughed!
Come to find out that the proceeds go to charity.
Does that mean I'm not still going to laugh about it?
Hell no!

What surprised me most, though, was how ruddy much the stuff costs! Thirty-five bucks for the cheapest bottle of perfume? For a nine year old?
"Hang on a minute, you hypocritical looser," I thought to myself, "you were wearing perfume to kindergarten!"
Oh, yeah, there was that.
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I am feeling unnecessarily old; I couldn't find the bottle I remembered on Google Images, so I had to dig through my old stuff to find it for the photograph. Then, I couldn't get the focus right, so I had to put my glasses on. It's official, I'm a proverbial senior citizen.

"That was different!" I answered myself, "You were trying to garner attention from *insert male name here, which has been excluded for anonymity purposes*."
"Well, why wouldn't it work for some other little girls, then?"
"Mums don't like to spend thirty-five bucks during a recession. Besides, that perfume did get you attention, just from the wrong little boy. How easily we forget!"

I guess the moral of the story is to be careful about your perfume choices. And that I'm ancient, don't forget that one!
I kid you not, I started looking up information for this portion of the post, and my computer isn't working properly now. I. Kid. You. Not.


The Weird
We can't be the only household to get the Collections Etc. catalog. Obviously not. I mean, I don't know what their average buyer is looking for, but I would bet it isn't either of these two strange offerings.

They call this gem the "Bound Gnome Lawn Sculpture Carried By Squirrels". How original.
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Um, can I ask the really obvious question?
What the hell would squirrels want with a garden gnome?
Are they going to carry him off to be their personal slave? "Hey, Mr. Gnome-Guy, do the ironing!" "Hey, Gnome-Man-Man, isn't it about time you cleaned the windows?"
Perhaps it's something more sinister. It sounds like Over The Hedge meets the Saw films. Seriously. What is this?

Here's another for ya ('cause really, none of us has anything better to do that this), the aptly titled "Set of 3 Duck Family". These people come up with the best names.
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Is it just me, or are these just rocks with twisted metal inserted in the right places? I mean, I'm all for art and everything (and, let's be honest, I don't understand a lot of art), but this is surely considered extremely abstract. Extremely.
Hell, the longer you look, the more these start to resemble potatoes.
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Am I alone on this one?
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Reginald Kitty is not amused.


The Tiny
I have a bone to pick with Bettie Page Clothes.
I know, I know. We've been good friends in the past. I've bought a few frocks from them, and love each of them. Hell, if I could find some of their older designs, I'd get them. They give you every benefit of real vintage, without worrying about a sixty year old dress coming undone as you wear it (when I wear real vintage, that is always a concern. That, or that I'll spill something on it, but my clumsiness is neither here nor there). Knowing we'd be going to Vegas for Paulie, I went online and did some preliminary research. I mean, if I'm going to Vegas, I'm going to Bettie Page; if I'm going to Bettie Page, odds are really high that I'm coming back with a dress.
Well, that used to be the case, anyway.
Picture the scene: we're walking around in the Planet Hollywood, in the area where it still looks like the old Aladdin. In the distance, the familiar logo draws me in to see what little gems I can find. I had my eye on something in particular, but you never know what's going to be on a sale rack. After perusing, I find what I'm looking for; a replica of an actual Elvgren pin-up dress. Not only was it my beloved circle cut, but with it's red and white candy stripe, buttons down the front, and wide collar, I was sold before I had seen it in person. I was already looking for shoes for this dress (Ballet flats? Mary Jane heels? Special vintage look? So many decisions).
I picked out an extra small, and meandered back to the fitting rooms.
Imagine my surprise when I'd gotten into the damn thing, and it fit me like a feed sack. I mean, we all have about a five pound range to play around with, but I am by no means at the low end of mine.
Filled with confusion, I double checked to make sure I got the right size. I even tried on another one, just to make sure it wasn't that particular dress. I even went to a different Bettie Page, for heaven's sake. It was at the second one that they told me they had changed their sizing.
Here's the thing.
In case you never knew, I'm an incredibly tiny individual. Like, I stopped growing at about age fourteen (and I was a tiny fourteen year old to boot). If you look at photographs of our first trip to Vegas in 2006, and compared them to the ones taken just two weeks ago, the only difference you would see is the length of my hair. Really.
Well, all 5' 2", 100 pounds of me was swallowed up by each dress I tried on.
Isn't it bad enough that I have to shop in the kid sections? Or that I have to have everything tailored? Bettie Page was the one place I could actually get things to fit me. And I can't be the only one, 'cause the old extra smalls used to sell like hotcakes. I often couldn't get a dress I wanted because they simply didn't have the size. Where are the other small, vintage-loving weirdos going to go?
The way I see it, if I have to get Bettie Page dresses hemmed up, I would rather broaden my selection by getting real vintage; any size, color, make, or model.
For example, I'd take any of these...

I'm a vintage size eight, but if we're going to be altering anyway...

I tried to think of a song that incorporated each element of the post, but "tiny" kept throwing me off. Take "hilarious" and "weird", though.

I'm not kidding, my computer still isn't working.

Is It A Subscription Box, Or Something More Sinister? (It's A Subscription Box. Maybe.)