Due to the current age of my firstborn, I have suddenly found myself immersed in the colorful, Hensonian world of ‘Sesame Street’ for the first time in two decades. And, just like 20 years ago, I am mesmerized and delighted with the show on a level that cannot be described. Of course, these days, my awe is perched on a different level entirely.

The most remarkable thing about ‘Sesame Street’ is that the show bases itself around simple absurdist quasi-dramas amongst an intra-species cast of characters and has found success in this humble formula for almost four freaking decades. (That’s right; there are kids who were watching the show’s first season 38 years ago who are now going through their mid-life crises and perking up for retirement.) While the show has taken a few occasions over the years to acknowledge major life experiences (Luis and Maria’s Wedding, Gordon and Susan having baby Miles, the ballsy move of tackling death when Mr. Hooper passed away…) the show primarily focuses on basic discussions and conflicts usually requiring basic skills of deduction from audience members and/or the more childlike of characters (usually Elmo, Zoe, and the ever-annoying Telly.)

To say that ‘Sesame Street’ is among the ranks of any other children’s shows that have come and gone during its run is not only ludicrous, but is pretty ignorant and unbelievably disrespectful to the work of Jim Henson in general. Unlike such traditional children’s shows like ‘Mister Rogers’, ‘Captain Kangaroo’, and ‘Howdy Doody‘, ‘Sesame Street’ shook up the industry by taking a more interactive style to education and entertainment and thus, more successfully integrated itself into a long-term staple within the American childhood experience. And I’m not even going to begin to delve into the revolutionary effects Muppeteering had on the world of puppetry, both creatively and as an industry. (Seriously, folks, I could prattle about the genius of Henson for weeks if given a chance.) So yeah, comparing the “Street” to shows like “Yo Gabba Gabba” or “Barney” not only belittles the genius simplicity of such an effective educational technique, but refuses to acknowledge the incredible creative revolution that is realized within the show’s very existence. 

Or, to simplify, calling “Sesame Street” just a children’s television show is directly equivalent to shrugging off  The Beatles as just another pop culture trend. Gah-ross.

So yeah, there’s all that to think about during my daily excursions to ‘Sesame Street‘. And then there’s the cultural aspects of the legendary show to take into consideration. Over the years, the show has literally hosted over a thousand celebrity guest stars who don’t take any time to boast about their celebrity statuses to the oblivious children at home but who, instead, take a moment to perform in relative obscurity and really enjoy themselves. Just in the last week, I’ve watched Neil Patrick Harris discuss the word “curly”, Jenny McCarthy discuss the word “insects”, Jonah Hill talk about the magic of having a moustache, and the sexy sexy sexy Mike Rowe host an episode of “Dirty Jobs” right from Oscar’s trashcan. (This, of course, only added to his unrelenting, undeniable ruggedly-handsome sexiness. I believe this move was a shoutout to all the housewives who were watching. So, see? The Children’s Television Workshop is watching out for us, too.)

Regardless of the glitzy celebrity status of the show, millions upon millions of children across the globe tune in to watch “Sesame Street” every day. In fact, the show is so widely broadcast that additional characters have been integrated into other countries’ broadcasts to incorporate aspects of foreign cultures. For example, the South African broadcast of the “Street” routinely supplements sketches with a character named Kami, who is HIV-positive and educates children about this rampant disease and encourages acceptance of those who are infected. (Although she garnered massive protests from the shielded, xenophobic fearmongering stay-at-homers in America, she has been received with tremendous appreciation and critical acclaim for her success in reaching out to her international audiences. She even did a PSA with President Bill Clinton to discuss her disease with the children of America. Pretty cool.)

Now, naturally, the show isn’t all sunny days and weather-thwarting singing. Frankly, I think it’s an abomination that Kevin Clash has taken it upon himself to monopolize the last third of every single show with a segment called “Elmo’s World.” So, not only are we guaranteed at least 20 minutes of high-pitched incessant giggling from what used to be a sideline character, but, if Elmo is integrated into the daily plot of the episode, then we can look forward to a whole hour with this single 3-and-a-half-year-old character who really isn’t any more notable than any other character. And yeah, okay, I get that Tickle Me Elmo was a massive phenomenon that one Christmas where people were beating the everloving piss out of each other to get this vibrating plush doll, but you know what? That was 15 YEARS AGO. The youngest sect of kids who were privy to this consumerist event are now graduated from high school and classifying themselves as voting, smoking, porn-reading adults. So, I think it’s safe to say that they’re no longer a target audience. And if anyone’s been paying attention, it’s just common knowledge that Elmo marketing hasn’t seen nearly the amount of attention or success that it did in the mid-90’s. And still, because of this “Elmo’s World” noise (which my daughter happens to love) the show has sidelined dozens of classic, dynamic characters, including the incomparable Grover, who is imperative to the educational benefits of teaching humility. Cookie Monster is now just a passing nutritional spokesmonster (SACRILEGE!), Bert and Ernie are reduced to claymation figures who appear eeeevery so often, and nobody hears from Super Grover, Herry, Barkley, the Two-Headed Monster, Frazzle, or Reporter Kermit anymore. For shame. 

But, if I’ve learned anything in my years visiting the street, it’s that the show continues through the good and the bad. Perhaps the crap Elmo’s World years are just retribution for giving us a few years of a young-and-not-yet-famous Savion Glover to play with before he went off to making Broadway history. 

Still, though, there are a few visible cracks in the pavement that tend to tug at my heartstrings in every episode. I remember watching Maria and Luis fall in love, get married and have their daughter Gabrielle. Now they are two weathered actors whose lines and general fatigue seep through the genuine excitement they still bring to every performance. Seeing the actress who plays Gina as Steve Buscemi’s girlfriend on “The Sopranos” a few years ago and seeing the actor who’s portrayed Gordon as a tiny, voiceless character for four minutes on “Sex and the City” broke my heart in more ways than one. First, of course, because the illusion of these characters I’d watched since I was a child was finally, ultimately snatched away from me at the tender age of 23. Secondly because the budgetary cuts were forcing actors on the most beloved show on television to seek other work. These glaring realities were something I always assumed I was safe from through the ongoing magic of television and any Henson subreality. 

I don’t know; maybe that was “Sesame Street”s ultimate objective. The nurturing of children during their most formative years and then gently setting them afloat in the world with the harsh face of reality? 

Whatever the case, I will continue to watch, attentively, and create these same realities for my daughter where monsters are friends and one’s greatest problem lies in discovering the location of the Letter of the Day. It feels like the alliance I made with the late Jim Henson has now become a winking comraderie, in which I am responsible for continuing his great vision to generations after him. This is a duty I’m more than elated to carry out, no matter how foolish such an idealized reality may seem to my adult eyes.

~ We still have the mattress my inlaws slept on last weekend inflated in the guest room. Every day, for about 30 minutes, Chloe climbs to the middle of it and I sit on an office chair, lean back, and plunge my feet into the corner of the mattress in rapid succession, thus bouncing her all over the mattress. There are two perks to this activity. Not only is this is the hardest she’s ever laughed in her entire short life, but it also provides me 30 minutes of intensive cardio that focuses on my glutes and abs. Score! I’ll be sure to post a video as soon as I can get Greg to hold one steady while I bounce Chloe around. The mattress is slowly starting to outrank RockBand2 as the Best Wedding Gift Evar. (I would say the NIN tickets, but Greg didn’t actually get one of those, so it kinda doesn’t count.) 

~ Although I’ve mentioned my libidinal (libidinous? Which is right here?) return in depth (6, by the way. 6 times since last Saturday. Muahahahaha! [insert thuunderbolts here]), I should mention that I’m mostly awash in gushing, mushy love these days (which I’ve also mentioned.) This is the part that I’m starting to worry may begin to annoy my husband after a while, but I can’t imagine a man getting tired of having his laundry enthusiastically washed, his dinner excitedly made for him, and a woman who eagerly watches a rerun of Star Trek: The Next Generation every night before bed. This seems like a fair trade for hours of talk about our “feeeelings” and a daily barrage of kisses, general groping, and gushing, shameless [sometimes extremely dirty] text messages. 

I don’t know, I still feel like this is the first time since we were first dating that I’ve been mentally or physically able to pour into Greg the love and affection that I feel he deserves, especially in the aftermath of our intensive last two years. Additionally, I’m only going to be a newlywed once; I should really embrace this era and emotional high as long as it lasts. 

~ It is time to start writing again. Sure, I’ve returned to a daily blogrun, but it’s time to jump back into the saddle and start producing marketable essays and short stories. I even have an open gig as a food critic with a local golf website that I’ve been neglecting as of late that I really need to start giving my attention to again. It’s great to have a little income, but also it moves me back into the routine of writing in a more formal genre. So, starting this weekend, I’m going back to allotting at least an hour every day to tidying my portfolio, writing from the prompts given by the magazines in which I’ve been previously published, and exploring the various premises for short stories I’ve begun. Although I’m not going to be producing mass amounts of material up front, I think that gradually reintroducing a daily writing routine will be good for me given that I’m just emerging from a massive mental slump. Baby steps. Who knows? Maybe after a month I’ll even be getting up at 5 am again to work on Morning Pages. But, um… that sounds a bit ambitious right now. Baaaaby steps. 

Anyway, start watching for more self-explorative Intensive Pronoia Experiments in the near future as these have formerly provided me with great new mental avenues and introspective experiences. And getting out of my usual over-analytical blog blathering might be a much-needed change. At least for you guys, I’m sure. 

~ In shameless, mindless pop culture commentary news:

I like that both of the Muppets’ saxophone players have rhyming names. Zoot, of course, is the sax player for Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem, better known as the house band on The Muppet Show. And Hoot is the resident sax player on Sesame Street who seems to have an endless contract even though he’s only featured about once every two years or so. Zoot and Hoot? Cute.

I’m terribly embarrassed that me and another brilliant young woman recently engaged in an artistically critical discussion pertaining to the possible motivations for Hannah Montana’s new, shorter wig. Ultimately we concluded that Disney is slowly allowing Miley to emerge as the predominant character in the show (and in their marketing) by making her more visually appealing as Hannah becomes a sidelined character. This is a great setup for the upcoming Hannah Montana movie in which Miley has to choose between her life as a normal teenager or her secret life as an international superstar. ANYWAY, at the end of this conversation she was at least able to justify her interest in and knowledge of Hannah Montana with the fact that she has an 8 year-old daughter. I, on the other hand, have absolutely no excuse. 

Really? We’re now calling The Rock by his real name? After he’s made tons of movies and other performances under his wrestling alias and will probably always be referred to as The Rock years after he’s made the switch to Dwayne Johnson. I’m sorry, but I’m just not buying it. 

It’s absolutely none of our businesses whatsoever, but it still hurts my heart that Rihanna and Chris Brown are reuniting. Not that I’m condoning any sort of abusive relationship, but it would be slightly more understandable if she was a poor, cloistered woman who had no other financial or emotional support than the husband who keeps her in violent captivity. Somehow, this seems a little more justifiable an explanation for a woman tolerating abuse. However, the fact that Rihanna is a massive celebrity with literally millions of men willing to take over the role as her lover and hundreds of million dollars in the bank doesn’t necessarily make her less susceptible to going back to a man who publicly humiliates her and beats her almost beyond recognition. I guess love is blind to personality or lifestyle, which I really should have learned from Ike and Tina or Bobby and Whitney. Ah well. We can surmise all we’d like but really, the only power any of us have over this situation is to pray for her wellbeing. Still, though, I don’t think it’s terribly out of line for me to feel pangs of sympathy for her. On another note altogether, it does piss me off that this is the only time the mass media takes to focus on domestic violence although it happens every single day to thousands of women (and men) across the nation (and let’s not even get into the abuse women suffer across the globe.) It only reinforces the sick idea that other women’s struggles with violence are somehow unworthy of a fight or attention unless they are beautiful or famous. Sometimes I really loathe America’s obsession with celebrity more actively than my general quiet disdain. 

Not that we’re constantly planted in front of the televison or anything, but when we’re not winding down our night with Star Trek: TNG, we always tune in for The Office. In doing so, we’ve found ourselves sitting around for the following episode of 30 Rock and, I’m not gonna lie, that show is far far funnier and brilliantly written than I’d ever supposed, even with my knowledge of the extensive talents of the beautiful, illustrious Tina Fey. And, even though I’d always supposed that he had more in him than the writers of SNL would allow, Tracy Morgan is really emerging into his own on this show and it’s a real delight to watch. Plus, Kenneth is one of the greatest characters ever created for television. Seriously, he’s more adorable than words could possibly express and I just wanna put him in my pocket and give him little treats all day long. Little guy. 

God, I hope Amy Poehler’s new show tanks. I freaking loathe that woman, mostly for her ongoing arrogance that overpowers any character that she may have taken on in the last 10 years. I actually kinda liked her back in her Upright Citizen’s Brigade days, but since she got a little attention on SNL, she’s just turned into a female version of Jimmy Fallon, sans the redundant giggling into the camera during everysingleeffingsketch. (And let’s not even get me started on Fallon’s new night show. Gah-ross.) The same friend who engaged in my aforementioned Hannah Montana banter stands by her convictions that every character Poehler took on at SNL was brilliantly implemented because it required her to overact with a sense of extraordinary self-promotion, but that sounds absolutely ludicrous to me. If anything, SNL has had a history of placing genius in the many characters that allow subtle, laid-back acting to dominate the sketches. Even the coked-out Chris Farley managed to overact with an inherent sense of humility and genuine commitment to each character, something Poehler seems completely incapable of understanding, let alone executing.

:::  Le Siiiiigh ::::

~ The sharp stench of baby poo has permeated my house from across the room. It is time for me to stop rambling, now. Such is the undeniable glamour of my daily life.

~ On the plus side, I’ve lost 15 lbs, which puts me where I was in high school. To most people, this would be wildly exciting news but, because I was always about 15-25 lbs overweight in my teenage years, this is just mediocre news to me. However, this still means I’m 1/3 of the way to my goal and I’m still making gradual progress, which is always motivating and exciting. My clothes are starting to get increasingly baggy, too. 

~ To take a break from my relentlessly whirring mind and neuroses, Greg and I have started indulging in completely mindless, asinine television. While ordinarily I would be appalled at myself for doing it (much less for admitting it publicly), we’ve somehow become devoted American Idol watchers for this season and have found it to be an amazing weekly bonding experience. It comes on in the middle of our busy week, on nights when we are home together, and we delight in clearing our minds and laughing at the pathetic drama that unfolds. It’s fun and although neither of us are actually invested in the contestants or the outcome, we both get excited to sit down together and ridicule everything about the show from the singers to the judges to that obnoxious host. It’s also been incredibly helpful in clearing my mind and lifting my spirits. On evenings that we sit and watch this painfully trite reality show, I smile more, I worry less and I feel lighter in general. I don’t care that it’s a waste of time, it’s helping me a lot and for that I’m grateful. 

~ I hate that Michael Phelps had to issue a public apology for hitting a bong at a college party. Being one of those people who can’t accomplish anything when she dabbled in weed-smokery (seriously, I once took a two-hour shower and didn’t realize it until I ran out of shampoo from washing my hair repeatedly), I think the man deserves an extra medal for being able to experiment with performance-hindering drugs and still kick everyone’s ass at the Olympics. 

But truthfully, everyone needs to just leave the boy alone. So he went to a party in his early twenties and did some silly social drug and got a little drunk. Who hasn’t? It’s not like he’s getting killing people in DUIs and carrying cocaine with him through airports. Give the man a break. 

However, between the Phelps incident and ‘Borat‘, the kids at USC are reeeeally making South Carolina look great. Thanks a lot for helping us break down stereotypes, guys. Hooray for the future. 

~ The only animated movie that Chloe has been mesmerized by so far is ‘Aladdin‘. Despite all the other movies we’ve tried on her, that was the one she sat still for the whole way through. 

~ I’m running into a lot of speedbumps with this sugar scrub project. So far, things have been on hold for a while. I hope to start changing this early next week. 

~ Two kids that I went to middle school with are getting married in a few weeks. This makes me happy because, shortly after I moved away from the small town where we were in school together, they left the area as well and hadn’t spoken in some 10 years until they “ran into” each other on Facebook and started talking over emails and then on the phone. They traveled back and forth from Nashville to somewhereinTexas for a while and fell madly in love and dammit, if that’s not the cutest, most estrogen-inducing modern-day reunion/love story you’ve ever heard then I quit.

~ While they’re on sale for 75%, I’m thinking about purchasing some amazing designer jeans in the size I’m working toward so that, when I finally reach my goal, I’ll have an inexpensive reward waiting for me. This being said, if my body type doesn’t work with the jean-style/cut/fit that I bought then I’ll have wasted $20 for nothing.  Hmmmm.

In my ever-present existentialist ponderings, I’ve started becoming ashamed of my inherent need for self-expression. Who the hell am I to write all my thoughts publicly, hoping someone will read them? How arrogant can one person possibly be? It’s narcissism at it’s finest and frankly, it’s pretty sickening to me. 

And then I took a look at our society as a whole and I realized that it seems EVERYONE is too busy trying to showcase themselves to pay any attention to the expressions of anyone else. Facebook and MySpace and Twitter are bad enough (all of which I subscribe to, by the way), but even outside the realm of cyberspace, people are constantly trying to express to you everysinglething about their entire being by wearing it on their sleeves constantly. There’s no mystery anymore. 

For example, what is the deal with people trying to express their entire lifestyle on their back windshield? I’m not just talking about the tree-huggers with cars covered in Coexist, Obama ‘08, and other stickers of general tree-huggery, either. Even suburbanites are jumping on the bandwagon these days by putting little caricatures of their wholeentirefamily (even the dog!) just above a magnet of what school they attend next to a sticker of what church they frequent just below a sticker of their political leaning right above three or four trendy ribbon magnets that show that they support the troops and hate autism and countless other icons of their social relevance. It’s like they’ve created traffic-friendly MySpace pages for each other while they’re waiting in line to pick up their kids. Does this actually work for social networking? Does one soccer mom look at the Dodge Caravan in front of her and note that she has the same USC Class of ‘84 sticker as the mom in front of her and think, “Goodness! I should go introduce myself!” Is my refusal to partake in this sort of public ridiculousness going to hinder my relationships with other mothers when Chloe starts school or are there still people out there who want to get to know each other the old-fashioned way?

And I really do “get” where all this is coming from. For centuries, children were told to be “seen and not heard” and to obey their elders and conform and all that propaganda. So, it’s understandable that when we were finally given permission to finally express ourselves, we went a little nuts with it (hence, the Hippie-Counterculture-through-Punk-Rock Eras… Sorry, I just relate the best with music in social contexts.) We were no longer being forced to be a “Silent Generation” like that of the 1950’s, but were given voices, politically, artistically, and socially.

But this great movement of freedom of expression is a history that the youth of America simply can’t remember. I’d venture to say that the youngest people who remember these sort of mainstream revolutions were those who graduated high school in the early 90’s (”Gen X” as they’re reluctantly referred to) and were an active part of both rap and grunge music being forced into the mainstream (among other things.)

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying that there aren’t revolutionaries and great artists, politicians, and thinkers that exist today. Of course there are revolutions and great happenings still going on - just look at our new president. What I AM saying is that this need to express everything about ourselves loudly, publicly, and vehemently in hopes of being “unique” is more than just a little outdated. It’s not shaking people to the core anymore and moving society that people “are just being themselves”. It’s not launching the times forward when someone tries to express themselves to stand out from the crowd. If anything, it’s even more stereotypical and boring to hear young people sitting around obsessing over the image they create of themselves. I mean, yes, fitting into a “goth” or “emo” or “prep” label has always been juvenile and outdated to anyone older than 16, but now it seems like everyone is so busy trying to “redefine” things that we all end up looking like the same exact scrambling, narcissistic, rebel-wannabes that we hate about those participants of adolescent pigeonholes.

I personally used to roll my eyes at the self-prognosed “Goth” kids in high school stating, “Yeah yeah, you’re an ‘individual’ just like eeeeverybody else in your little group.” Slowly I’ve realized I’m sitting in the pot, too. Except this time there are no walls of one singular academic building holding us all in. It’s all of us, running around grappling for Truth and having to show every second of it to the world/cyberspace in hopes that this will finally validate ourselves, our ideas, our mistakes, our attire, ourselves… Not even considering that this constant self-exposure may be making us even more stereotypical and identical. That, in always “speaking our minds” and blogging our feelings and always showing off our lives and deeper selves [shamelessly] to the public, we’re still desperately clinging on to these rigid ideals that most of us were trying to escape in the first place. We are just calling it by a different name which doesn’t redefine ourselves, but only redefines what it means to “conform”. Suddenly, the unabashed thoughts and unrelenting “expression” of us as a generation becomes pretentious, meaningless blathering as we flood the market with our own “unique” personality traits and we become as predictable, boring, and irrelevant as Madonna’s changing identity.

Kinda makes me want to disappear into obscurity forever, really.

~ Chloe is walking all over the house these days which is more exciting than I can possibly describe. She also LOVES dancing to any form of music available (musical toys, commercials, etc.) but nothing makes her shake her little behind quite like Michael Jackson’s “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’” which we listen to gleefully at least 20 times a day. She likes the rest of MJ’s “Thriller” album [which I have on vinyl!] just okay, but when the “Mama-Se Mama-Sah, Mama Coo-Sahs” start, she starts clapping and shrieking like she knows she’s the happiest baby on the planet.

Also, she’s talking up a storm. Her best words are still “Mamamama” and “Dadadada” (respectively), but she’s also learned that ducks (”Dahs!”) say “Quack!” (”Kek! Kek! Kek!”) and that Benny (”Bee!”) is a cat (”Kah!”) and that my mother is “Granny” (”Gaan! Gaan!”) It’s all terribly exhilerating. She also babbles pretty much incessantly (”GoGah! Woodleweedlewoodle! Deedledoodle! Gaaahhdaaahh…Loodleloodleloodle” She’s getting to expert level on glottal sounds and we feel she may be a champion yodeler by the age of 3), but my mother says she only does this when I’m around and, when she’s left in the company of strangers, she’s mostly just silent and smiley.

~ On a whim, I ordered the “Ocean’s Twelve” soundtrack for supercheap at Amazon.com. Say what you will about the overzealously shameless “Oceans” movie franchise, I honestly think the soundtrack might be one of the most underrated compilations ever created. Seriously, tres cool.

~ My free trial week at WeightWatchers.com is over and, even though I totally screwed up the program for two days in a row, I still managed to weigh in 6 lbs. less than I did last week. Holy crap. That’s the kind of progress I can work with. (And yes, I’m shelling out enough dough for a three-month run.)

~ This morning I woke up at 7 a.m., fed the baby, got her ready for travel, slapped on some eye makeup, got together all my legal documents and excitedly hopped in my car to drive 20 minutes to the county seat and finally register for my small business license. Turns out today is the same national holiday they’ve celebrated on the Monday of every birthday week since I was born…

Hunh… Go figure.

~ I don’t know why I get all shaky and nervous when I submit fiction works to the 10-12 contests I enter annually, but I uber-courageously [insert eyeroll here] kicked off 2009 with my first two submissions last week. Suffice to say I was so anxious, I nearly dragged my keyboard under the desk to hide out when I hit the “Submit” button. Why can’t they award prizes for bravery, no matter how awful the fiction attempts may be?

~ Because I’m using WordPress format on this blog, I have the privilege of tracking who comes to read my scribblings here and I’m always amused at what sort of ridiculous searches bring readers to the site. Aside from Googling my name, it seems there are a ton of people searching for the keywords “Marilyn Monroe’s Chanel ad” (duh), “naked women” (also, duh), and, mostly, “naked feminists”…

…Wait, what?! There’s a market for that!?! Well, looks like I’ll have to go looking for photos of the days when Gloria Steinem was working undercover as a Playboy Bunny. We may be able to sell ads here with the sort of traffic that’ll garner.

(Mrs. Steinem, if, by some slim chance, you’re somehow lost on the Web and reading this, I’m kidding, of course. Although, for the record, I think your tirade against Playboy and Hefner in the 1970’s was a bit ridiculous and insulted the free will and intelligence of women more than it supported our protection. This being said, I still respect your work and appreciate that you’ve grown a sense of humor and a willingness to marry in your older age. From a next-generation neo-feminist, thank you for your efforts, angrily executed though they may have been.)

~ I’m so excited about the inauguration tomorrow I can’t even stand it. If the permeating excitement of November 5th wasn’t intoxicating enough, I have a feeling that tomorrow will be one giant global party and I’m looking forward to riding the worldwide energy all day. For my 26th birthday, I think I’m getting some patriotism for a change.

During my gradual weight-loss, I like to refer to sexy imagery to propel me forward as i imagine myself one day perhaps mimicking the poses of Great Beauties on film (for an audience of one.) Laugh if you’d like, but it’s a lot easier to push myself another five minutes if I am envisioning myself looking as amazing as Carmen Electra in a pair of jeans.

It’s no secret that I’m into pinup art like that of Alberto Vargas, Gil Elvgren, and the still-working Jodi Rose, but I have a few posters that stick out in my mind as being the epitome of sultry. I don’t mean internet wallpapers (those are a dime a dozen) or Playboy layouts… I mean real, pinup-style posters, like that famous Jenny McCarthy POTY one that sold out all over the globe.

So here are my personal nominations for Sexiest Poster Photographs Ever. Feel free to add your own.

No, I don’t think the woman could act worth a damn. Yes, I think she was the prefabbed, fun-to-look-at-yet-untalented Britney Spears of her time. But she just looks so sensual and sultry here, it’s hard not to be turned on while looking at this image. I just want to put on some French lingerie and writhe around on some satin sheets. Yum.

Say what you will about the wacky Icelander, I love her music to bits and wish I was just a few steps off-camera, wearing my own leaf and giggling about whatever it is that has her smiling in this poster.

Sorry I couldn’t find a better image of this poster. I remember seeing this when it first came out in 1997 and not caring how much it was airbrushed. It somehow looks powerful, confident, and submissive all at once. I likes.

That one is also tied with

I just love that she looks like she’s sitting up in bed, asking you to get her a glass of water while you’re up. Pretty please?

*I know I didn’t include “Tennis Girl” because I just cannot find tennis sexy, no matter how nice the ass hanging out of a miniskirt may be. Sorry.

Dear McDonald’s Marketing Team:

Stop it. You’re making total asses of yourself. Seriously.

No, hear me out. Apparently, in order to try to market to the younger crowd, you’ve started using the ridiculous phrase “Nuggnuts” to denote someone who’s obsessed with your small chunks of processed chicken parts. This would ordinarily be cute and effective if not for the glaring fact that 90% of the people watching these ads are giggling with the knowledge that you, as a team, have no idea what a “nug” actually is in everyday American vernacular.

Because you weren’t smart enough to check UrbanDictionary.com or ask one of your college-aged nephews or nieces before you launched a campaign with a new phrase to check for secondary meanings of the term “nug”, allow me to cut your search in half.

—–
Nug n.

1. A high quality bud of marijuana.
2. The Dank.
3. See: ganja.

Gayle packed her last nug into the bowl and smoked it on the way to work.
—–

So, yeah… and then with the image of those as nuts… (look up “nuts” on your own, friends. I’m trying to keep some standards in my public writing…) Needless to say, it’s easy to see why literally millions of American consumers are laughing at you every time your ignorantly hilarious commercials air.

There’s a way you can save this, you know. You can act like you meant for all of this to be a big play on words and have a bunch of nug-confusion ads in response to this campaign so you don’t look completely idiotic. I don’t know, maybe a girl proposing a Nugg wedding cake (as per one of your ads) and her groom imagining a giant cake made of what appears to be made of um… superfresh, bundled oregano, until she corrects him by asking whether the icing should be barbecue or honey mustard.

Look, I’m not in advertising, I just know from experience you should ask around before you try out a “new” catchphrase. Just ask the guys who make Bone Suckin’ Barbecue Sauce.

Best,
Castallare

I once laughed right out loud at a young man who proudly, unflinchingly told me that Kevin Smith’s film ‘Dogma’ revived his faith in God and Catholicism. Seemed to me that finding creedance in a film that featured Chris Rock and Salma Hayek battling a demon made of poo with one of George Carlin’s golf clubs signified a lack of understanding in belief in the first place. I mean, with that mentality, then I could claim that Showtime’s ‘Dead Like Me’ changed my beliefs on the afterlife and Raiders of the Lost Ark made me believe that the Ark of the Covenant was out there melting people’s faces. For that matter, why doesn’t everyone who watches ‘Grey’s Anatomy’ believe that women doctors are all stupid and horny? Where does one draw the line between fake, idealistic misrepresentations of life for the sake of entertainment and real, life-inspired art? It was scary to think that somehow Jay and Silent Bob (not to mention Ben Affleck… ergh) were out there changing people’s entire bases of spiritual awareness. Gross.

However, every morning when I wake up, I sit Chloe in her high chair and turn on the television to keep her sated while I make her breakfast. Because the only things on so early in the morning are ‘Squawk Box’ and reruns of ‘Saved by the Bell’, I’ve started turning the channel to DiscoveryHD, where we watch ‘Sunrise Earth’, a beautiful, silent observance of the sun rising on various parts of the world. It’s a majestic representation of the globe rousing itself and I find our daily viewing to be rejuvenating and invigorating, often bringing me and Chloe a sense of peace and excited optimism about the day ahead. Some mornings, I put on an old copy of ‘Baraka’ to meditate and read my cards along with while soft music and various images of the world calmly roll before me. Chloe claps and giggles along with her favorite scenes and somehow knows to be silent and reverent during the solemn parts of the film and I love the awareness and bright energy so many conflicting images brings to our daily consciousness. It’s a powerful film in that every time we watch it, we have a different daily experience. Sometimes I sit and watch with tears rolling down my cheeks, sometimes I pick Chloe up and we dance with the whirling dervishes in Turkey, and sometimes I keep my eyes closed and let the music wind itself around me as I absorb the energies of the day and my immediate environment. It’s turned into a ritual that’s amazingly grounding, humbling, and challenging. It’s a perfect addition to my morning meditation, really.

After doing this for about two months, I realized how hypocritical it seemed for me to criticize someone else’s resonance with a film when I incorporated mine into my daily meditational practices. Okay, sure, I think it’s a little stupid, but who am I to judge what resonates with others in a way that changes their lives? I’m sure a lot of people would think it’s ridiculous that I keep a shiny ball bearing in my pocket some days to remind me of the final scene in The Who’s ‘Tommy’ and to repeat “Love, reign over me” to myself in my darkest moments. I’m sure I’d garner a surplus of rolled eyes at the notion that I meditate on writing prompts from a crazy purple book written by a nutty San Franciscan astrologer. Hell, my mom laughed right out loud at the dinner table when my sister and I were talking about my newfound excitement and shocking results with reading Tarot cards; I’d be willing to bet she’d publicly ridicule the idea that putting on my vinyl LPs and singing along loudly with the Gorillaz’ gospel song “Demon Days” or The Who’s “Listening to You” is among my favorite worship practices. These are things that raise my vibrations, that bring me energy and reverence.

I’m never worshipping the artists, but I feel like these are the songs, images, films and readings that bring me the closest to Divinity; how is that any different than singing a hymn someone else wrote in their most inspired moments? I don’t see the difference.

I’m sorry. I’m not generally an advocate for the Lifetime network anyway, but when I was feeding Chloe with Golden Girls reruns playing the background the other day, I happened upon the fact that they must think we’re all stupid.

Not because of the totally stereotypically vapid reruns (that I love), the heavily demographically-schemed original programming (that I tolerate), the formula-friendly original movies (that are atrocious,) or any other feminist-friendly issue with their network, though.

But because they apparently really think we’re not going to notice that this new Heather Locklear movie (‘Flirting with Forty’) is just ‘How Stella Got Her Groove Back’ with white people. And I’m sorry to get all soapboxy this early in the weekend, but NOBODY is going to make a steamier sex scene than Angela Bassett and Taye Diggs. Nobody. Not ever. Never in the history of cinema or the world or in any realm of any universe or dimension…

…ahem…

Don’t insult my intelligence, Lifetime. You may have sucked in most women with your overcompensating reruns and Carson Kressley making women love their own naked bodies, but you’re not going to pull the wool over our eyes on this one. Not happening.

Look, I’m going to tell you right now I’m not one of those people who watches YouTube religiously. In fact, I’ve probably been on it only enough to know the basics and, even then, I’m still pretty behind on the crazes. So, I won’t be posting a number of ridiculous videos and abusing the vast power having one’s own domain entails. However, I’m madly madly in love with a certain Harvard grad who performs brilliantly along with Beyonce in “Single Ladies”

Observe.

And if somehow, you weren’t able to smile from such performance brilliance, then I want you to leave this site and never ever return. I mean that.

Read: I WANT TO PUT HEEM IN MY POCKEEEET!