I have often wondered, “What do babies think about all the time? Colors? The discovery of their own hands? Eating?”
Now I know one less thought burning a hole in a baby's brain: “I wish I could poop in something that looks like jeans, instead of pooping into something that is obviously a diaper.” Huggies has introduced Diaper Jeans.
I commend Huggies for bringing jeans to one of the last jean-starved populations in the US. After all, Chihuahuas have been wearing little jeans for years. But I don’t think we should limit babies to these high-waisted Mom diaper jeans. The media is merciless toward those who wear bad jeans. Jessica Simpson and President Obama are both still working to recover their fashion reputations in the wake of particularly bad pairs of jeans. Your baby isn’t the leader of the free world, let alone an MTV reality star, can you imagine the backlash he or she might suffer?
Let’s really have some fun with these jean diapers. Lowering the apparent waistband of the jean diapers and coloring the remaining band of material a flesh tone would enable jean variations to make your baby funnier and more stylish.
Diaper makers could offer:
Plumber Butt Diaper Jeans, where the jeans appear to droop on the baby’s butt, exposing a little bit of drawn on butt crack;
Hip Hop Diaper Jeans, where the jeans sag to the middle of the baby’s butt, exposing the baby’s also imaginary boxers;
Low-Rise Diaper Jeans, where the flesh tone band extends even further down for a more seductive look.
Low-Rise Diaper Jeans would open the door for Tramp Stamp Diaper Jeans, where it would appear that your baby had a lower back tattoo peaking out from above the waistband, something beautiful and meaningful like a butterfly or a sun. Or Exposed Thong Diaper Jeans, where it would appear that your baby’s thong was rising above the waistband of her jeans, or his jeans, depending on how progressive your baby is. Pair this with a little baby crop-top and a mini Ed Hardy Trucker hat, and your baby is ready for MTV’s Jersey Shore.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Who can take a sunrise, sprinkle it in dew, cover it in chocolate and a miracle or two?
The sandwich shop in the lobby of my office building has an amazing candy selection. During a recent mid-afternoon sugar run, I discovered Pretzel M&M’s. An M&M comprised of a pretzel piece inside a chocolate coating inside a candy shell. I was blown away.
What’s next for M&M's? Will they capitalize on the fusion of M&M candies and snack foods and create a Cheetoh M&M? Perhaps they’ll follow food fads and introduce Bacon M&M's to be usurped by Pork Belly M&M's when trend shifts.
They could use their current flavors as building blocks, launching a Chocoholic M&M: a dark chocolate M&M inside a milk chocolate M&M; or a Hope you don't have a peanut allergy M&M: a peanut M&M inside a peanut butter M&M.
Before encountering Pretzel M&M's I truly believed Combos had taken pretzels to the limits of their possibility. Now M&M’s have the potential to take pretzels a step further which brings me to my personal suggestion for the next M&M: a Don't read the ingredients list M&M: a Pizzeria Pretzel Combo inside a Peanut Butter M&M.
What’s next for M&M's? Will they capitalize on the fusion of M&M candies and snack foods and create a Cheetoh M&M? Perhaps they’ll follow food fads and introduce Bacon M&M's to be usurped by Pork Belly M&M's when trend shifts.
They could use their current flavors as building blocks, launching a Chocoholic M&M: a dark chocolate M&M inside a milk chocolate M&M; or a Hope you don't have a peanut allergy M&M: a peanut M&M inside a peanut butter M&M.
Before encountering Pretzel M&M's I truly believed Combos had taken pretzels to the limits of their possibility. Now M&M’s have the potential to take pretzels a step further which brings me to my personal suggestion for the next M&M: a Don't read the ingredients list M&M: a Pizzeria Pretzel Combo inside a Peanut Butter M&M.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Little white [meat] lies
Recently I saw a commercial for Wendy’s boneless chicken wings. The commercial boasts of spicy chipotle chicken wings made from 100% all-white meat chicken breast.
Breast? Did I miss something?
A chicken wing made of chicken breast. If it’s made of breast, how can it be a wing? Unless a chicken wing is to a square what a chicken breast is to a rectangle in the statement: every square is a rectangle, not every rectangle is a square, isn’t a chicken wing necessarily not a chicken breast?
Clearly, belief in the wing-ness of the boneless chicken wing was suspended when the bones disappeared but to build a pitch for a wing based on it’s originating from the breast seems laughable.
Boneless wings are not wings. So what are these boneless, breaded, bite-sized chicken items? They’re chicken nuggets; chicken nuggets for adults.
Adults love chicken nuggets. I don’t understand the need to mask our love of chicken nuggets by renaming them boneless chicken wings. It’s ineffective and it’s unnecessary. There are some things children can and should outgrow: diapers, inability to color within lines, corduroy overalls; a love of chicken nuggets does not have to be one these things.
Breast? Did I miss something?
A chicken wing made of chicken breast. If it’s made of breast, how can it be a wing? Unless a chicken wing is to a square what a chicken breast is to a rectangle in the statement: every square is a rectangle, not every rectangle is a square, isn’t a chicken wing necessarily not a chicken breast?
Clearly, belief in the wing-ness of the boneless chicken wing was suspended when the bones disappeared but to build a pitch for a wing based on it’s originating from the breast seems laughable.
Boneless wings are not wings. So what are these boneless, breaded, bite-sized chicken items? They’re chicken nuggets; chicken nuggets for adults.
Adults love chicken nuggets. I don’t understand the need to mask our love of chicken nuggets by renaming them boneless chicken wings. It’s ineffective and it’s unnecessary. There are some things children can and should outgrow: diapers, inability to color within lines, corduroy overalls; a love of chicken nuggets does not have to be one these things.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
How do you measure, measure a year?
When the cast of Rent sings about measuring a year in love, it’s endearing and heart warming. What better way to reflect upon a year than by recounting all the ways you've given and received and shared love?
When your aunt measures a year in love, namely, whether or not in the last year you've found a person to love you, or at least a person who likes you enough to attend a family function with you, it is less heart warming and more gut checking.
Easter 2009 my aunt declared, for whose benefit I'm still not sure, that the next year was going to be ‘my year.’ Between Easter 2009 and Easter 2010, I was going to meet someone. Until she mentioned it, I didn’t even realize I was in need of ‘a year,’ a year especially different from the previous year(s) I’d had. I was just coasting along thinking that it was perfectly normal to attend Easter parties solo and eat a two-person helping of ham. From a food service perspective, it was like I had a partner.
When Ash Wednesday rolled around this year and other people were thoughtfully considering what to give up during Lent, I was thinking, "Shit, I only have 40 days left in ‘my year.’ Three-hundred and twenty-five days wasted and all I had left was a forty day sprint.
It would be fitting to say that the remaining forty days were a time of fasting and false temptation and that at the end of them, I was delivered from singledom, a perfectly boyfriendable boy coming to my rescue like angels coming down from heaven.
Instead, the remaining forty days passed liked the preceding 325, and to be quite honest, like all the days in all the years preceding ‘my year.’ At the family Easter party I ate a double helping of ham and had an Easter Egg hunt with my two-year-old cousin. If I measure ‘my year’ by my aunt’s standard, it was probably a failure; if I measure it by the cast of Rent’s standard, it was an overall success; if I measure it by my own standard: ham consumption and successful Easter Egg hunts, it was the best year on record.
When your aunt measures a year in love, namely, whether or not in the last year you've found a person to love you, or at least a person who likes you enough to attend a family function with you, it is less heart warming and more gut checking.
Easter 2009 my aunt declared, for whose benefit I'm still not sure, that the next year was going to be ‘my year.’ Between Easter 2009 and Easter 2010, I was going to meet someone. Until she mentioned it, I didn’t even realize I was in need of ‘a year,’ a year especially different from the previous year(s) I’d had. I was just coasting along thinking that it was perfectly normal to attend Easter parties solo and eat a two-person helping of ham. From a food service perspective, it was like I had a partner.
When Ash Wednesday rolled around this year and other people were thoughtfully considering what to give up during Lent, I was thinking, "Shit, I only have 40 days left in ‘my year.’ Three-hundred and twenty-five days wasted and all I had left was a forty day sprint.
It would be fitting to say that the remaining forty days were a time of fasting and false temptation and that at the end of them, I was delivered from singledom, a perfectly boyfriendable boy coming to my rescue like angels coming down from heaven.
Instead, the remaining forty days passed liked the preceding 325, and to be quite honest, like all the days in all the years preceding ‘my year.’ At the family Easter party I ate a double helping of ham and had an Easter Egg hunt with my two-year-old cousin. If I measure ‘my year’ by my aunt’s standard, it was probably a failure; if I measure it by the cast of Rent’s standard, it was an overall success; if I measure it by my own standard: ham consumption and successful Easter Egg hunts, it was the best year on record.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Blood money. Literally.
I’m a regular blood donor. I try to donate about every eight weeks, give or take a time or two when I sleep through my 7:40 am donation appointment. I donate for a number of reasons, chief among them the endless supply jelly beans I’m encouraged to eat afterward.
The latest incentive to fuel my blood donation is the New York Blood Center rewards points program. Every time I donate blood, I earn Red Cell Advantage points, double points during critical need periods. I can then redeem these points for any number of fabulous rewards:
Logitech V220 Cordless Optical Mouse for Notebooks (Dark Silver): 630 Points
Barbie in A Mermaid Tale Merliah Doll & Necklace: 431 points
Mucinex DM Expectorant & Cough Suppressant, Extended-Release Bi-Layer Tablets, 40-Count Box: 513 points
Recently I realized that I can redeem my Red Cell Advantage points for Macy’s gift cards. I’ve been thinking I could use the gift card to buy myself a great new pair of sunglasses. I’m looking forward to having cool new sunglasses and also to when someone comments on my sunglasses.
Other Person: “Oh, nice sunglasses. Are they new?”
Me: “Yeah, they are new. I bought them with my own blood.”
However, with a number of friends and family members getting married in the coming year, I’m thinking maybe it would be wiser to parlay my blood into wedding gifts: Congratulations! I’m 5-pints-worth of blood happy for you!
Additionally, if I donate platelets during the month of May, I can send a dozen roses, vase not included, to my favorite person. So, if you happen to stop by apartment some day in May and spy a dozen pink roses, don’t fool yourself into thinking that I suddenly found a boyfriend who sends me roses out of the blue. Know instead that I used my own blood to send my favorite person a beautiful bouquet, me.
The latest incentive to fuel my blood donation is the New York Blood Center rewards points program. Every time I donate blood, I earn Red Cell Advantage points, double points during critical need periods. I can then redeem these points for any number of fabulous rewards:
Logitech V220 Cordless Optical Mouse for Notebooks (Dark Silver): 630 Points
Barbie in A Mermaid Tale Merliah Doll & Necklace: 431 points
Mucinex DM Expectorant & Cough Suppressant, Extended-Release Bi-Layer Tablets, 40-Count Box: 513 points
Recently I realized that I can redeem my Red Cell Advantage points for Macy’s gift cards. I’ve been thinking I could use the gift card to buy myself a great new pair of sunglasses. I’m looking forward to having cool new sunglasses and also to when someone comments on my sunglasses.
Other Person: “Oh, nice sunglasses. Are they new?”
Me: “Yeah, they are new. I bought them with my own blood.”
However, with a number of friends and family members getting married in the coming year, I’m thinking maybe it would be wiser to parlay my blood into wedding gifts: Congratulations! I’m 5-pints-worth of blood happy for you!
Additionally, if I donate platelets during the month of May, I can send a dozen roses, vase not included, to my favorite person. So, if you happen to stop by apartment some day in May and spy a dozen pink roses, don’t fool yourself into thinking that I suddenly found a boyfriend who sends me roses out of the blue. Know instead that I used my own blood to send my favorite person a beautiful bouquet, me.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Pre-first and first things
“The first thing to say is that you’ve got to start getting up things to say for yourself, if you want to hold your own. And the pre-first thing to say is that you gotta have an own to hold.”
Robert Frost said this as a guest lecturer at Dartmouth College in 1949. Sixty years later, I’m finding it inspiration to get up my own rigmarole.
This is an attempt to hold my own by first trying to figure the own I’m wanting to hold. Working backwards, maybe I’ll figure out some things to say for myself. I'd like to say I'm inspired entirely by Robert Frost and others of his caliber but I'm as likely to quote Teresa Guidice as I am one of the most beloved American poets.
“You see, you’ve got to get up a rigmarole. Don’t be afraid of the word. Get up a rigmarole.”
Here goes.
Robert Frost said this as a guest lecturer at Dartmouth College in 1949. Sixty years later, I’m finding it inspiration to get up my own rigmarole.
This is an attempt to hold my own by first trying to figure the own I’m wanting to hold. Working backwards, maybe I’ll figure out some things to say for myself. I'd like to say I'm inspired entirely by Robert Frost and others of his caliber but I'm as likely to quote Teresa Guidice as I am one of the most beloved American poets.
“You see, you’ve got to get up a rigmarole. Don’t be afraid of the word. Get up a rigmarole.”
Here goes.
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