Category Archives: seriously?

Oh, Thom Browne

If I could link to it directly, I’d post a picture from Thom Browne’s NY Fashion Week runway show. It’s a picture of a guy in a suit with an ill-fitting jacket. I think he’s supposed to be an elf because he’s wearing a hat that hangs almost to his ankle and has a pompom on the end.

Since I can only link to the main page of a huge Washington Post photo gallery and you grow old & die trying to find the picture, let’s just move along….

Instead of hunting through all those photos, go watch the Sigur Ros scored video on Thom Browne’s website, wherein a bunch of guys who, from the looks on their faces, must be in deep despair over a particularly painful form of gastric distress.

They seem to be wandering the woods and catching fresh-water octopi because they have such bad hair they can no longer be seen in public. Then they bury their friend, who one assumes died of embarrassment when he realized he’d been captured on film wearing what he’s wearing whatever it is he’s wearing.

Or maybe his haircut killed him. It’s hard to tell. I bet they wish they had the other guy’s elf hat.

The original video link is dead. Here’s the youtube link:

"The good news for Mozart and his mates is that male iguanas have two penises."

I was going to post about the [tag]iguana [/tag]with the problem erection, but then I got distracted by this headline: “Huge python makes a meal of 11 Malaysian guard dogs.” Disturbing, yes, but I still find the little wiggly [tag]snakes[/tag] that hide under the newspaper in the morning much more disturbing. At least it’s hard to miss the giant snakes, no surprises there.

And yet, even the little snakes hiding under the paperbag are less disturbing than the Israeli spa allegedly using snakes to massage people. No, no, no, a thousand times no.

Suddenly, the prehistoric shark monster seems slightly lower on the ick-meter, doesn’t it?

The world is a wonderous and exciting place.

*everybody sing* Martha loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so

Husband tells me this isn’t in the Bible. I tell Husband he clearly has the wrong translation. If he doesn’t want to sing along, well, that’s just his problem.

Martha loves me, this I know
For the Bible tells me so.
Excellent recipes to her belong
We are weak, but she is strong.
Yes, Martha loves me.
Yes, Martha loves me.

I do have a small problem, though. It’s hasn’t been as easy as just accepting Martha in my heart as The One True Savior Who Shall Lead Us Out of Darkness Along the Path of Righteousness. I need to acquire something. Specifically, a baby. I need a baby. By tomorrow. You see, tomorrow they’re re-running the episode where one of Martha’s guests is this fantastically insane woman Isabelle Ortley, who makes costumes for babies. Turkey costumes. And lobsters costumes. Even an apple pie costume.

Image: Isabelle Ortley's turkey-baby costume, as seen in MakeZine.

Image: Isabelle Ortley’s turkey-baby costume, as seen in MakeZine.

These aren’t your standard onesie zip-up type baby costumes that your little pooper rolls around the floor in while everyone oohs and ahhs and snaps photos. These bad boys are on platters. With garnishes. You can put them in the middle of your dining room table as a centerpiece, we’re told!

Really.

Video: Martha Stewart Show – Adorable Infant Food Costumes, Part 1.

Is this a great country or what?

Seriously. Here’s the Baby as Roast Turkey pattern so you can make your own at home. Oh, awesome, here’s the website with pictures of all of the other costumes, too. [2011 update: dead links]

Maybe instead of finding a baby and making a costume, I’ll just tivo the episode instead and periodically marvel at it’s nuttiness. That’s a whole lot easier.

What led me out of the wilderness and enabled me to find The One True Religion? One word: contrariness. There’s no sport in hating Martha, so you might as well get a bottle of Old Crow and learn to love her.

I was going to say more but I got distracted reading this EW.com interview with Joss Whedon about the upcoming Buffy season 8 comic books and totally lost my train of thought.

Update: Here’s a youtube clip of the Martha episode in question, in case the other link doesn’t work for you:

Here’s a 2011 post at MakeZine about Isabelle Ortley’s baby costuming: Baby Food: The Halloween Genius. I’ve posted the photo from the article, which appears to be one of the original publicity shots Ortley was using in 2006, in case these links also disappear in the future.

Words fail me

It’s a rare and special day (or in this case week) when I can’t find words to adequately describe something, but the extraordinary creepiness of huggable (cremain) urns is just one of those products that stops me short. (Thanks for the link go to Matt, although I’m not sure “thanks” is the right word…)

If it was a pet-specific product, I’d just shudder and move on, but if you actually visit the site and look at children clutching the alleged cremains of their dead siblings, the yuck factor just goes right through the roof. I actually emailed a contact in the funerary industry (because I do, in fact, have one of the weirdest rolodexes ever) and they confirmed that this is an actual product. Whether the testimonials are real, I have no idea. Nor, I think, do I want to know. Ewww. I know one person does not a good sample make, but, really, would you spend a lot of time devoted to thinking about this? I didn’t think so.

I find these things so disturbing that I left this post in the draft file for days because I just kept thinking I’d find words to describe the yuckiness, but, well, there just aren’t enough of them.

(Two more days later)…I realized I still hadn’t posted this, but in the meantime I’ve spent (wasted) more time contemplating these things. The more I thought about it, the more I thought that it must be a Southern company, because if you think about it it’s a pretty Southern product.

And as creepy as those testimonials are, when you get right down to it, is this product any tackier than the dolphin urn from Costco, which they helpfully explain can be used for either cremains or other keepsake items?

In a Southern household, that elderly relative everyone has who’s been announcing she’s on death’s door for approximately, oh, her entire life, would use this bad boy as a candy dish. She’d wait until you took one of the A and W rootbeer flavored hard candies she’d offered from the dish, then she’d tell you that someday said dish was going to house her earthly remains. And that could just be any day now. Not that I know anyone like that.

But I digress.

I was kind of surprised to find the company is located in California rather than, say, Georgia or Florida, but I guess you can insert your own California-themed joke here. I know that California is known for it’s wackiness, but I doubt very much it can hold a candle to the South in terms of death-obsessiveness.

The truly excellent Southern columnist Celia Rivenark had an essay titled “Where Were You When Stringbean Passed? A real Southerner would know the answer to that question” that began:

Southerners are preoccupied with death. As far back as I can remember, new of the recently dead was the number-one topic at any get-together. I have friends who can spend a solid forty-five minutes eulogizing a fifth cousin twice removed (don’t ask me removed from what) without coming up for air.

(This appeared in “We’re Just Like You, Only Prettier” – a truly hilarious collection of essays. I hear that “Bless Your Heart, Tramp”, her first book, is equally funny. Oh, and Stringbean was a character on Heehaw, or so I’m told).

These thoughts really are somewhat tenuously connected, as Matt and I are no doubt (some degree of) cousins (some degree) removed, although his brother and I never did get around to sitting down and figuring it out. And that, in itself, is very Southern.

Won't you be…my neighbor?

Thanks to soon-to-be-former-neighbor delraysteve I’ve discovered that you can get Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster ipod skins.

Speaking of buying things…

You aren’t in the market for a house, are you? The delrays have a truly lovely house they’d like to sell to you.

Damn you, Mr. Rogers, now I can’t get that stupid song out of my head. Eh, as far as kid’s songs go I guess I don’t have it so bad. And hey, at least it’s not the mildy creepy Everybody’s Fancy song. Who thought that was a good idea?