It’s purrfect, really.
Hello Kitty and I are…cough cough…roughly the same age. Animals born in the 70s. Both with white whiskers. And both animated.
Hello Kitty, on the other paw, has her own tv series, theme park, and restaurant. I must have missed the boat on the former. Unless you count my turn as a Ouija board cult killer on Unsolved Mysteries or perky party-goer in MTV’s Apartment 2F.
Speaking of parties, I first remembered meeting Ms. Kitty when we both arrived in New York . One night at Limelight, she was lit(t)erally everywhere: watches, t-shirts, backpacks, hats, folders. Who would have known that she would have been such a trendsetter? Limelight returns as a boutique mall, Limelight Marketplace, this Fall, and I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the stores sells none other than HK herself.
Happy Birthday, Hello Kitty. You’ve clawed a long way, baby.
If you happen to be in LA, check out Hello Kitty’s birthday at “Three Apples,” which runs through Nov.15 at Royal/T. More than 80 pop artists and designers including Amanda Visell, Frank Kozik, Natalia Fabia and Simone Legno will be at the FREE event showcasing their interpretations of the Feline Ms. K. Word on the street is that there’s even a mock-up apartment filled with Hello Kitty items.
I’m a fan of new words…whether they’re new to me or newly made. They give me a cause to celebrate…or procrastinate as the case may be.
Case in point: procrastifacing.
Procrastifacing occurs when you should be working on something more productive yet have somehow managed to refresh your news feed 5 times in 1 minute. Or updated your status. Or searched for a group that you wouldn’t join “live” if it started up a stone’s throw from where you live. Or searched for your ex’s ex “ex” before you. Or the teacher from 5th grade that said she knew you’d go far. Or the teacher you lusted after who knew you wouldn’t amount to much. Or Teach For America. Or American Idol results. Or results from the last thing posted in your news feed. It’s the circle of life – it stalls us all.
Please note that procrastifacing is not to be confused with procrasturbation….last year’s term for the MySpace set.
Next month, the term will just be “proc.” You’ll need the remaining 136 characters 4 ur other tweet brevs.
Who doesn’t love a good time capsule? Not to be confused, of course, with a good-time capsule (Cf: Ecstasy and Viagra)
A time capsule is, in some sense, our projection of what we, ourselves, consider to be nostalgic. What will “others” want to see that we think best represents us? Is it our innovations, our pop culture, and/or our hope at immortality?
Maybe it’s a mix of all three. Here are some time capsules from days past:
- Voyager (communications, peace promoter, time capsule, and object of Star Trek: The Original Motion Pictire, I would argue)
- 1939 World’s Fair Time Capsule
- M*A*S*H Cast Time Capsule
What would today’s time capsule contain? What would best represent our current culture?
- A Twinkie – “food”, glorious “food”…and we may be hungry after the capsule digging
- Hot air – courtesy of Fox News and the Religious Right
- A Twitterific application – because we can say more with less.bit.ly
- A clone of Oprah – that woman knows how to build an empire, and that’s the Gospel truth
- Clone Wars – maybe someone in the future will understand why Lucas ruined the original trilogy.
We’ll return to this list after our Bette Davis movie, currently in progress.
You cut out the bottoms of paper cups to use them to shield bullets on the way to your invisible plane…
You were in a handbell choir…for a year…
Your first full novel read as a child is “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret?”…
You get a body wave only to graduate to a perm (x2) in junior high….
You sit with a tape recorder in front of the tv to record Duckie’s final speech in “Pretty in Pink”…
You repeat said speech in front of the bathroom mirror yet afraid actually to look in the mirror…
You come out(ish) to your Honors English class not ex tempore but via a drafted letter…
Your PE credits in college were social dance and ballroom technique.
Your first professional acting role is a rabbit…that’s velveteen….
You know Chess lyrics and not chess strategy..
Your second day in Tokyo takes you to…Tokyo Disney…
You’re more moved by Jesus’ torso than Mary’s gaze…
You like the doughnut holes more than the doughnuts…
You’re selling “color down there” to the trendy gays and grays in Menhattan
Gone are the days of yore. You wanted to save the world? You grabbed your puppet girlfriend and drove a shard deep down into that crystal. Got rid of the Lord Chamberlain and had light for eons. Universe restored.
Have the actions down pat? Mr. Buchanan doesn’t. You want to restore the universe? You want to get ‘er right? Lock up the male coaches and guidance counselors. They’re paving the way to your son’s nature trail to hell.
Cue Pat, speaking candidly about a heart-felt one-on-one:
“Son, you know, here’s what the Bible says about this, and it’s called an abomination before God so I’ve got to tell you the truth because I love you.”
Personally, I prefer my “I love yous” with either a Hallmark card or a trip to Bavaria.
But like Chris Carter, Pat feels the truth is out there.
And the truth is, Pat is “not at all persuaded that..uh..so-called homosexuals are homosexuals because of…uh…biological problems…there may be a very few, but there are so many that have been made homosexual because of a coach or a guidance counselor or some other male figure who has abused them and they think there is something wrong with their sexuality.”
Biological problems? Really, Pat? A biological problem is being diabetic, or anemic, or perhaps having a mouth that seems to be performing the function of your anus.
Pat’s parting thoughts: “You’ve got to love them to rescue them.”
If Pat Buchanan is my deus ex machina, I’m losing my religion.
That’s me in the corner…That’s me in the spotlight…watching my Dark Crystal.
Does it fall from skies above?
Last weekend, Love Land, China’s first sex amusement park, had its monuments torn from the sky.
CNN reported Tuesday that Love Land, scheduled for an October opening, was demolished after Chinese authorities discovered the park planned a photo gallery on the history of sex, naked human sculptures and giant replicas of genitals.
In essence, no tumescence.
It does get me thinking, however. What if the U. S. had some sex amusement parks? Other than The Rambles in Central Park, what form would these parks take?
My answer: we’re in a recession. Let’s go with what’s already on the ground and just re-imagine.
Close your eyes and picture:
Six Fags: Great Adventure (themed lands where the bears ARE real, Daddy)
S&M Place – more Avenue Q, less Children’s Television Workshop
Bush Gardens – a topiary wonderland
See World – an exhibitionist’s escapade
Dr. Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse – lunch and lecture series…hot plates and hot topics!
Amused, bothered, and bewildered am I…
That’s what it should be called.
Remember that song by White Lion? Now it’s sung by me…and Kirstie Alley.
“Wait, weight, I never had a chance to lose you.
Weight, wait, if only my bulge could show you.”
The road to Wellville is, unfortunately for me, paved with Rice Krispy Squares.
I need a Watcher…Giles, Wesley? Help me slay the evil Ham-pires.
I am Loaf-phelia…get me to a gym-mery….
There’s a skinny boy in me yearning to break free.
There’s a twink hidden in this Twinkie.
Weight, no more waiting.