PunkKittyDiddy

I'd Hate To See How They'd Promote Hemorrhoid Cream.....

Continuing with the theme of rampant consumerism and how the marketing cabals try to cajole people into buying things for the most idiotic reasons and via the most idiotic methods...........

Have you seen this commercial for Edge shaving gel?  It features a bunch of miniaturized models in hot pants engaging in assorted salacious scenarios all over some guy's unshaven mug - finally, the soft porn remake of Fantastic Voyage (in case you were waiting for that).  First they are having a girl-on-whisker soap party amidst the stubble, while using these leaf blower contraptions to squirt hot white foam everywhere........ 

Yeah, yeah.  I pretty much get that part.   

But the next scene?  The smooth-shavin' sirens strap on jet packs and proceed to rocket up the guy's nose. 

I understand the whole male fantasy of giving 'em free reign on the outside, but....... I beg you to study the expression on the face of the girl who is leading the charge up the sinus passage.  The wheel's spinning, but the hamster's dead.  Do you really want to grant these dingledwarves the same kind of cranial access that is normally the exclusive domain of brain surgeons? 

Apparently the answer for some fellows is a resounding YES!  In searching for a still photo to accompany this posting, I came across a message board where one fellow was actually looking for the contact info for a specific girl from this proboscis-probing posse....

The mind boggles.  Especially if you have some babe armed with one large leaf blower and no clue stumbling around in there.

Racy Shoes for Fast Women

Everyone knows that huge brand names sometimes get greedy and attempt to affix their logos upon everything under the sun, including goods that are incompatible with the general vibe of the brand name in question.  Case in point:  R.W. and I were browsing through a shoe store yesterday and made the most unfortunate discovery that NASCAR now designs and sells ladies shoes.

Mind you, these shoes don't have rad hot rod designs on them, or make a cool "Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmm!" sound when you walk, or help you run any faster. 

Maybe a pit crew jumps on you every time you complete a mile?

Otherwise - huh??!?!?!?!  What's the appeal of a woman's shoe that is neither attractive nor inexpensive? 

Now Playing On Channel 2.........

  

Come on in!  I'm sorry I didn't hear the doorbell ring....I was just out back tending to my garden of blooming movie delights. 

Do take a gander - my hydrangea of horror has produced a lovely blossom by way of The Orphanage (produced by Guillermo del Toro, and it shows).  I try to prune prudently, but inevitably a few wayward weeds sprout up here and there........such was the case with the virulent British comedy of manners, Death at a Funeral (best to nip those in the bud -  I personally find that pruning shears work best, unless of course you are fortunate enough to have a full-time crop duster on staff................).

And thus spring has sprung!  Pop on by and enjoy the bouquet of cinematic delights and duds now growing in the Film Floozy's backyard.

Maybe the Fonz Had Some Sort of Passive-Aggressive Grudge Against the Cunninghams and their Bourgeois Sense of Entitlement?

There is a kind of interesting story on Yahoo today which provides a brief history of the "thumbs up" sign.   Turns out it used to carry a far more negative connotation in ancient Rome, when the gesture meant "get him out of here" and was used to indicate that a gladiator ought to be thrown to the lions. 

Admittedly I myself have been to known to use the thumbs up gesture copiously, if somewhat indiscriminately.  At least it's nice to now have the option of infusing this otherwise benign and mundane hand gesture with a little subversive sarcasm if the occasion calls for it.  So with a mere flick of my thumb, I can either be saying, "Cool, man!" or "You're so lame, I wish I had the option of chucking your useless carcass to some pointy-toothed predator!" - with the latter being conveyed in a much classier manner than if one were to merely deploy the highly overexposed and utterly predictable middle finger.

Good to know.

Adventures in Netflixing: "P.S. I Love You"

If you will kindly direct your attention to the flight attendant standing at the front of this posting, she will now point out the location of the nearest secondary blog affiliated with this site.  In the event that you are bored with all this hooey about nothing in particular, please click on the link in front of you, and you will be redirected to my blog that is specifically about movies. 

Our in-flight entertainment this evening is the passable chick flick, "P.S. I Love You."  Gerard Butler is in it.  Please check your grasp on reality at the gate or shove it into an overhead compartment, since if you like to watch chick flicks, your grasp on reality has probably long since been whittled down to a nub anyway and will fit easily into a small compact space.  You may then proceed to turn to the person seated next to you, imagine he's Gerard Butler, and strap him firmly over your mouth.  Resume thinking normally before realizing that the real Gerard Butler is probably nowhere near as sensitive and sweet as he's portrayed in this film.  That's why they make chick flicks, dummy. 

Thank you for taking this flight of fancy with the Film Floozy, and have a pleasant journey.

Road-Rage Elmo Rides Again

Over the weekend I finally had the opportunity to re-connect in person with beloved pal I.S.. We had fallen out of touch for two years or so, right around the time I was stumbling headfirst with gobsmacked ill-preparedness into new parenthood.  Turns out I.S. (well, I guess it's I.C. now) was awfully busy herself during our friendship's hiatus, as she found herself falling madly in love, getting married, and giving birth to a delicious little dollop of a baby boy, who is now nearly five months old.

Since reuniting, we've mostly been exclaiming, "Whoaaaa, dude, we're, like, uh....moms now!" to each other over and over again.  (Picture Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure meets Baby Mama.)  It's pretty awesome to now be able to share new motherhood with an old friend.  Plus this doubles the number of close mom friends who sit inside my inner circle - yes, that number has skyrocketed overnight, from one, to a whopping TWO.

What's particularly funny is that back in our footloose and fancy-free days, when I.S.C. and I were just a couple of single gals cavorting around the city, whenever we'd have an encounter with one of L.A.'s famously awful drivers (which was often, because they are legion), we would amuse ourselves by channeling Road-Rage Elmo.  We considered ourselves to be the height of hilarity, ironically juxtaposing the Red One's bubbly and boisterous babbling with an R-rated eruption of verbal filth.  We were trend-spotting, nightlife-living bachelorettes, after all.  We worked at a movie studio.  We were edgy.  We blithely mocked the sanctity of Sesame Street, and the furry muppet nincompoops who trod its hallowed streets. 

Who's laughing now? 

Elmo, of course.  His spiteful cackle has long since numbed my eardrums and become a recurring background noise in the soundtrack of my new life.  While I.S.C.'s son is just small enough to evade the Red One's calculating grasp, at least for the time being, it's only a matter of time before Elmo completes his circle of revenge and ensconces himself in the S./C. household too.

I'm telling you now, my friend, it's a rough road once Elmo makes you his bitch.  Though we probably had it coming.

Adventures in Netflixing: "Atonement"

   Oh, gentle reader, please do partake of the latest review at my summer blog in the Hamptons - Adventures in Netflixing:  "Atonement," a story of a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her, but not really..............

It's a grand sweeping epic in which the red herring is served up finely minced inside crustless finger sandwiches during tea time on the south lawn.  It was pretty good, I guess.

Her Juicebox Runneth Over

Z. has not yet learned how to say, "I'm thirsty," and so instead she makes this really weird gargling/warbling sound that goes something like, "Bbbblubbalubbablubbbaglug!" when she wishes to inform me that she has reached a state of parchedness.

I decided I am going to try this approach next time I am dining out and wish for a waiter or busboy to refill my beverage.  No polite display of verbal excess such as, "Excuse me, sir......?" - not anymore!  Just,  "Bbbblubbalubbablubbbaglug!"  Although maybe it's only cute when you have smeared Spaghettios all over your face and you're not quite 2.  We'll see.

Without wandering outside the general confines of the subject of adventures in tipsy-cupping, I've taught Z. to let out a prolonged, "Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!" after taking a sip of any type of liquid refreshment.  I can't imagine this will actually come back to bite me in the backside later or prove annoying after prolonged exposure to the habit.

Now Playing on Channel 2......

So, I've just launched a second, more topically focused blog as part of the grand experiment I was blathering on about earlier.  This blog will be all movies, all the time, but in an "antithesis to the serious film critic" kind of way.  I have christened it, Cinematic Sass from a Film-Lovin' Floozy, and it's a film-focused flophouse where my movie reviews and other flick-related flibbertigibbetry will hereforth prop up their feet and crack open a cold one.

I've just reviewed the DVD, "Hitman," starring Timothy Olyphant.  Mosey on over if you're starved for amusement.  And I'll let you know here whenever there's new stuff over there, so you don't develop whiplash trying to keep up.

Of course, I'll continue to expound upon everything else under the sun on this side of the fence.

More soon!  Over and out. 

"Die Religion ist das Opium des Volkes, aber die Wii is auch gut." - Karl Marx

A mysterious little gadget has taken up residence in our living room.  It is an inanimate and benign presence, at least conceptually, for it consists of nothing more than some wiring and maybe a microchip or something encased in plastic.  On a more intangible level, it's a soul-sucking, time-killing vortex of nothingness.....a black festering chasm of ambition-decimating apathy, disguised as a harmless, leisure-related consumer product.

Yes, we finally got a Wii.  (So the Wii is hardly a hot new commodity at this point.  According to the diffusion of innovations theory as applies to product acceptance within the marketing biz, our household falls firmly into the category of, "laggards.")

And the arrival of this Wii is just darn terrific, because there weren't already enough other distractions to trip up a struggling writer who really ought to be finishing a screenplay or novel or article.

During my more lucid moments, when not locked in the addictive throes of slack-jawed gaming infatuation, I fully recognize that no good can come from spending hours shooting at virtual tin cans, or drag-racing virtual cars, or loitering around a virtual pool table.  It doesn't even count as life experience.  It's simply a fat, honkin' pile of hours lost forever - hours that might have otherwise been productive ones. 

It's fun, though.