This post is like getting an email where the content is in the subject line and reading the body can only be a let down, and for that I apologize. Also, Bones has aired all of their pre-strike episodes, so rest assured that my recent Bonesmania will soon end. But from the bowels of my Tivo I just had to bring you this one gem.
Brief background: Bones' dad reappeared after lots of years on the lam, having undergone plastic surgery to make him resemble his old self less and Ryan O'Neal more, only to be promptly arrested by Booth, throwing Bones and Booth's relationship into turmoil and necessitating the drafting of John Francis Daley as tweener psychologist Dr. Lance Sweets to help them work through the emotional detritus. (Sidebar: Daley plays the same role that Stephen Fry played last season, which leads me to believe he might turn out to be the apprentice Gormagon people eater, who Fry is clearly too old to play. Eek!) Also recently arrested was Russ, Bones' brother. Touchingly, Booth was able to get Russ's sentence reduced to 30 days by doing absolutely nothing, but Bones was very grateful. After doing nothing though, Booth felt the need to impart some wisdom to his future Bones-in-law. So he said:
"Keep your nose clean, kid. Clean nose clean heart."
Now, this is obviously some kind of misguided attempt at a Friday Night Lights homage, whose "clear eyes full hearts can't lose" pre-game chant is so cheesy I have to eat it with crackers, risking 4th quarter cramps, but it works for the show. I need not tell you "clean nose clean heart" does not work, for this or any show. While the former conjures images of hopeful, misty-eyed teens with hearts bursting; the latter makes me want to wipe SNOT off of my HEART.
I fear that Bones' viewership is not large enough for the level of widespread mocking this phrase deserves, so I charge you, loyal readers. Go forth and bring the Word to the People! Who's got Stossel's email?
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Friday, November 30, 2007
Bones Follow Up Potpourri Style
I know, I am SERIOUSLY shamefully late with this post. You know the story. We all lost our jobs, blah blah blah, I only had dial-up at home, turning my light-hoofed prancing into the glacial clodding of a narcoleptic Clydesdale. But I have remedied the situation and returned to bring you the long-awaited, admittedly worse for the wear version of Bones Halloween Extravaganza.
Due to lapse in memory and my inability to find a theme to my ramblings, this post will be presented potpourri style. Did you know that potpourri means "rotten pot"? I always thought it's translation would be more poetic, like say "bountiful satchel" or "jubilant miscellany" (I just wanted to use that word. LOVE it.) But no. Rotten pot. I wonder if Alex Trebek knows. I'm emailing Jane for one of her boyfriend's Trebekistan appendices. (Potpourri is a Jeopardy category, no? Or am I thinking of Potent Potables?) Anywho, on to rotten scrap #1:
1. Bones' boobs. It's not like I didn't go into this episode fully aware that it would showcase Bones' goods. But sweet lord. I haven't seen so much - spatially AND temporally - of a character's boobs on network TV... ever. The only comparison I can think of is when Bennie goes to the ball in Circle of Friends and looks unintentionally brazen in her made-for-the-average-booblessly-chaste-Celtic-Woman gown. It was like Bones' costume just squashed her boobs against her like two giant, colorful tongue depressors. I could see her underboob, people. And it was like the ONE character trait they thought they'd stick to in the whole episode was to have her flounce along like a nerd who doesn't walk like a lady. You can imagine the comic boobal vectors that result from the combination of unstable boobs + flouncing. Accidental sluttiness only works on fat Irishwomen, FOX. Not on SCIENTISTS. Scientists are able to calculate VARIABLES.
2. Everyone else's boobs. Bones is dressed as Wonder Woman. So maybe Angela and Cam have more workplace-appropriate costumes to even things out. Plus then your lead character gets to be the hottest, and you get the irony that the most sciency nerd is the hottest, which is about as complex and subtle as TV irony gets. No. Angela is Bob Mackey-era Cher WITH headdress and Cam is Catwoman. It was like watching the Vegas stage production of Dr. G: Medical Examiner.
3. Bones' sudden pop culture awareness. Again, absolutely no irony regarding the famously pop culture retarded Bones' choice of a pop culture icon as a Halloween costume. In fact, the other squints refer to it as "the same costume she wears every year." From the previews it seems like Bones repels a bullet with her Wonder Woman bracelet whilst adorably oblivious to the significance of such. Oh no. She mentions that the bracelets aren't made of AMAZONIUM, then later spins like Wonder Woman trying to teleport! In a later episode she confesses an embarrassing high school prank in which the SMURFETTE figurine she wanted was replaced with BRAINY SMURF! HelLO, am I the only one who respects the sanctity of Bones' character?! Clearly SOMEONE (I'm looking at you, Josh Berman) has tired of Bones, the empirical scientist who lacks human and cultural identifiers. So lets fast track her into someone completely generic using the cheapest, most one-dimensional means: TELEVISION REFERENCES. SACRILEGE!!!! NOT TO MENTION THAT BONES WOULD NEVER WANT SMURFETTE.
4. Incessant couple-fying. Clearly the constant carrot-dangling of romance is the reason I got into this show; got into ANY show really. So it is a sad day when even I have had too much. This episode ends with Bones and Booth sitting in the Jeffersonian after thwarting the killer EMT guy who kills kids with FEAR. Booth has been SHOT, but they're just hangin'. Can't end the show without some completely manufactured sexual tension! So Bones practically works up a sweat comparing their crime shenanigans to a date. Really guys? Then there's a clunky mention of how Booth looks like Clark Kent in his squint costume, don't even get me started on how Bones would know who the FUCK Clark Kent is, and the episode becomes Spaceballs. Oh you're a superhero and I'm a superhero. We should fuck. Now I can marry that hotshot bad boy instead of Prince Valium.
Lame. Friend of blog Sean (Happy Birthday!) investigated a fire on the set of Bones during the filming of this episode, and I submit it was caused by the spontaneous combustion of scripts due to INFLAMMATORY SUCKINESS. Potpourri indeed.
Due to lapse in memory and my inability to find a theme to my ramblings, this post will be presented potpourri style. Did you know that potpourri means "rotten pot"? I always thought it's translation would be more poetic, like say "bountiful satchel" or "jubilant miscellany" (I just wanted to use that word. LOVE it.) But no. Rotten pot. I wonder if Alex Trebek knows. I'm emailing Jane for one of her boyfriend's Trebekistan appendices. (Potpourri is a Jeopardy category, no? Or am I thinking of Potent Potables?) Anywho, on to rotten scrap #1:
1. Bones' boobs. It's not like I didn't go into this episode fully aware that it would showcase Bones' goods. But sweet lord. I haven't seen so much - spatially AND temporally - of a character's boobs on network TV... ever. The only comparison I can think of is when Bennie goes to the ball in Circle of Friends and looks unintentionally brazen in her made-for-the-average-booblessly-chaste-Celtic-Woman gown. It was like Bones' costume just squashed her boobs against her like two giant, colorful tongue depressors. I could see her underboob, people. And it was like the ONE character trait they thought they'd stick to in the whole episode was to have her flounce along like a nerd who doesn't walk like a lady. You can imagine the comic boobal vectors that result from the combination of unstable boobs + flouncing. Accidental sluttiness only works on fat Irishwomen, FOX. Not on SCIENTISTS. Scientists are able to calculate VARIABLES.
2. Everyone else's boobs. Bones is dressed as Wonder Woman. So maybe Angela and Cam have more workplace-appropriate costumes to even things out. Plus then your lead character gets to be the hottest, and you get the irony that the most sciency nerd is the hottest, which is about as complex and subtle as TV irony gets. No. Angela is Bob Mackey-era Cher WITH headdress and Cam is Catwoman. It was like watching the Vegas stage production of Dr. G: Medical Examiner.
3. Bones' sudden pop culture awareness. Again, absolutely no irony regarding the famously pop culture retarded Bones' choice of a pop culture icon as a Halloween costume. In fact, the other squints refer to it as "the same costume she wears every year." From the previews it seems like Bones repels a bullet with her Wonder Woman bracelet whilst adorably oblivious to the significance of such. Oh no. She mentions that the bracelets aren't made of AMAZONIUM, then later spins like Wonder Woman trying to teleport! In a later episode she confesses an embarrassing high school prank in which the SMURFETTE figurine she wanted was replaced with BRAINY SMURF! HelLO, am I the only one who respects the sanctity of Bones' character?! Clearly SOMEONE (I'm looking at you, Josh Berman) has tired of Bones, the empirical scientist who lacks human and cultural identifiers. So lets fast track her into someone completely generic using the cheapest, most one-dimensional means: TELEVISION REFERENCES. SACRILEGE!!!! NOT TO MENTION THAT BONES WOULD NEVER WANT SMURFETTE.
4. Incessant couple-fying. Clearly the constant carrot-dangling of romance is the reason I got into this show; got into ANY show really. So it is a sad day when even I have had too much. This episode ends with Bones and Booth sitting in the Jeffersonian after thwarting the killer EMT guy who kills kids with FEAR. Booth has been SHOT, but they're just hangin'. Can't end the show without some completely manufactured sexual tension! So Bones practically works up a sweat comparing their crime shenanigans to a date. Really guys? Then there's a clunky mention of how Booth looks like Clark Kent in his squint costume, don't even get me started on how Bones would know who the FUCK Clark Kent is, and the episode becomes Spaceballs. Oh you're a superhero and I'm a superhero. We should fuck. Now I can marry that hotshot bad boy instead of Prince Valium.
Lame. Friend of blog Sean (Happy Birthday!) investigated a fire on the set of Bones during the filming of this episode, and I submit it was caused by the spontaneous combustion of scripts due to INFLAMMATORY SUCKINESS. Potpourri indeed.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Bones is a Hero and Booth is a Nerd?! WHAT?!!!
I know, I know. Bones did an episode on pony play, and despite the equine connection, Prancers failed to investigate. Then, John Francis Daley guest starred as Doogie-like psychologist (BUT BRRRRAH BONES HATES PSYCHOLOGY BAHHHHH) Dr. Lance Sweets. (Yes, gone are the days of over-descriptive, blatantly phallic names on Bones. End of an era, very sad.) But it was in a conscious Bones-out to make this week's post just that more dramatic. Tune in tomorrow (Or Thursday, whatevs. I can't conjure the Prance on demand.) for ULTRA HALLOWEEN FIRE ON THE SET FLAMING OVERUSE OF PARENTHESES WONDER WOMAN ROLE REVERSAL EXTRAVAGANZA POST!!!! If you read one post all year, it should be THIS ONE.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Checking in with Norm and Cherry
I think this could become a regular post, as my parents are regularly hilarious and lord knows I need to break up the Bones monotony (Bonotony, teehee). You know that Norm was recently diagnosed as diabetic, and it turns out, much to his chagrin, to be the variety wherein you must eat LESS sugar, not more. Accordingly Norm's sausage and egg McMuffin intake has been cut in half, and double cheeseburgers are now being consumed sans bun. The most encouraging sign of reform is the purchase of a bicycle "specifically designed for seniors." I am told it has 2 wheels and is not stationary, so I'm having trouble picturing these design adjustments. My further interrogation of Cherry revealled only that the seat makes Norm's privates numb, so I have abandoned that line of inquiry. (A special split seat has been ordered.)
While Norm is well on his way to normal blood glucose levels, Cherry's health has taken an alarming and abrupt turn. My first hint to this situation was a text I received: "Recovering well from surgery. Love you." Now Cherry, that fiendish devil, was fully aware of the manipulative nature of her wording. Oh yes, do not ye doubt that. When I called she answered, "Well I think you've set a new family record. I must be getting good at guilt trips in my old age." Harrumph. Alas, the surgery was real. Cherry had to have the toenail of her right big toe removed while she watched eagerly (Cherry has quite a penchant for the morbid, as discussed previously, see "Is Bones my Mom?") Trauma to the nail caused it to grow at an unnatural angle, i.e. down. Norm likes to joke that Cherry needs steel toed house slippers, so as you might guess, the specific trauma throughout the years of stubbing is hard to pinpoint. Ironically, Cherry's side of the family has been plagued by toe difficulties. Her father lost 4 toes in Korea. He would afterwards be known to us as Grandpa Six Toes. I kid you not.
Cherry's podiatric problems have kept her from her most ardent pastime, watering things with the hose. She loves buying plants, watering them, letting storms knock them over, then watching them die still in their pots in the driveway. Norm and I find endless joy in this, but the neighbors are less than pleased. Our neighbors are Paul and Peggy, and their 2 grown daughters, Paula and Penny. Yes. I really have so much to say about Paul and Peggy, or "Terrible Peggy" as Cherry calls her. In the interest of brevity however, I'll just say that Paul once fired a shotgun at/near my brother Eric who, drunk and in his underwear, was attempting to woo young Paula. Paul collects trucker hats in absolute earnestness. He was a truck driver, mainly for Pillsbury (Sidebar: when googling Pillsbury for spelling, it was discovered that the website tagline is: Everything you wanted to know about the Doughboy but were afraid to ask!) before campaigning for school board. Peggy, to use Cherry's description, is "one of those women who's just dying to tell you about her hysterectomy." Last I saw Terrible Peggy she was out in her yard 2 days after goiter surgery (Yes. YES.) CLEANING HER ROCKS. I was in the pool with Norm, and as if keeping his huge mass afloat wasn't strain enough, her rock cleaning shenanigans nearly sent him under. (Peggy recommends darker colored rocks for your gardens, people. They show dirt less.) Paul and Peggy, aghast at Cherry's watering techniques and their effects, called the health department on my woebegone parents for fostering the West Nile virus. Since then, relations that survived gunplay have been severely strained.
Now a new torment threatens the neighborhood: moles. Paul and Peggy, in a twist of Judeo-Christian irony, are the worst afflicted. Their strategy, admittedly, is to drive their moles onto Norm and Cherry's property. The nerve! Cherry is unfazed. She looks at the fearsome steel moletrap Paul and Peggy are using, and sees its true potential. She will call PETA and report this inhumane trap and have a measure of revenge for her West Nile shame! She will regain her neighborhood cred! This from the woman who purchased a "frog gig," which for the unacquainted is a trident for spearing frogs, and sent her husband out with such and a flashlight for stunning them, in order to slaughter the frogs brought about by her own rampant watering and West Nile-infested mosquito rearing! Updates to follow.
While Norm is well on his way to normal blood glucose levels, Cherry's health has taken an alarming and abrupt turn. My first hint to this situation was a text I received: "Recovering well from surgery. Love you." Now Cherry, that fiendish devil, was fully aware of the manipulative nature of her wording. Oh yes, do not ye doubt that. When I called she answered, "Well I think you've set a new family record. I must be getting good at guilt trips in my old age." Harrumph. Alas, the surgery was real. Cherry had to have the toenail of her right big toe removed while she watched eagerly (Cherry has quite a penchant for the morbid, as discussed previously, see "Is Bones my Mom?") Trauma to the nail caused it to grow at an unnatural angle, i.e. down. Norm likes to joke that Cherry needs steel toed house slippers, so as you might guess, the specific trauma throughout the years of stubbing is hard to pinpoint. Ironically, Cherry's side of the family has been plagued by toe difficulties. Her father lost 4 toes in Korea. He would afterwards be known to us as Grandpa Six Toes. I kid you not.
Cherry's podiatric problems have kept her from her most ardent pastime, watering things with the hose. She loves buying plants, watering them, letting storms knock them over, then watching them die still in their pots in the driveway. Norm and I find endless joy in this, but the neighbors are less than pleased. Our neighbors are Paul and Peggy, and their 2 grown daughters, Paula and Penny. Yes. I really have so much to say about Paul and Peggy, or "Terrible Peggy" as Cherry calls her. In the interest of brevity however, I'll just say that Paul once fired a shotgun at/near my brother Eric who, drunk and in his underwear, was attempting to woo young Paula. Paul collects trucker hats in absolute earnestness. He was a truck driver, mainly for Pillsbury (Sidebar: when googling Pillsbury for spelling, it was discovered that the website tagline is: Everything you wanted to know about the Doughboy but were afraid to ask!) before campaigning for school board. Peggy, to use Cherry's description, is "one of those women who's just dying to tell you about her hysterectomy." Last I saw Terrible Peggy she was out in her yard 2 days after goiter surgery (Yes. YES.) CLEANING HER ROCKS. I was in the pool with Norm, and as if keeping his huge mass afloat wasn't strain enough, her rock cleaning shenanigans nearly sent him under. (Peggy recommends darker colored rocks for your gardens, people. They show dirt less.) Paul and Peggy, aghast at Cherry's watering techniques and their effects, called the health department on my woebegone parents for fostering the West Nile virus. Since then, relations that survived gunplay have been severely strained.
Now a new torment threatens the neighborhood: moles. Paul and Peggy, in a twist of Judeo-Christian irony, are the worst afflicted. Their strategy, admittedly, is to drive their moles onto Norm and Cherry's property. The nerve! Cherry is unfazed. She looks at the fearsome steel moletrap Paul and Peggy are using, and sees its true potential. She will call PETA and report this inhumane trap and have a measure of revenge for her West Nile shame! She will regain her neighborhood cred! This from the woman who purchased a "frog gig," which for the unacquainted is a trident for spearing frogs, and sent her husband out with such and a flashlight for stunning them, in order to slaughter the frogs brought about by her own rampant watering and West Nile-infested mosquito rearing! Updates to follow.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Friday, September 28, 2007
Babies taste like Fish: the new were there Statues at the Nightclub?
I was so excited to find that my last post was NOT about Bones, so I can post about the season premiere without worry that I'll have to post a spin off blog entitled Prancers Investigates Bones (inevitable). (I just noticed, while re-reading my posts and musing about my brilliance, that I made this same joke in the last Bones-related post. Anyone else who noticed gets a cookie in appreciation of your careful attentiveness.)
Let me just say first that Bones + Vanished is weird as shit. Already. Don't worry, I'm not going to get into it. Suffice it to say that there is now a tech who's been to Iraq and dismissed for reasons unknown, a mysterious ship's captain husband from a tribal marriage that must be anulled, an abandoned bank vault containing the silver-plated bone edition of Wheel of Fortune, an Illuminati conspiracy involving a virtuoso violinist and the head of the Secret Service, and a crazy baby eater. That's one episode folks.
An ex of mine always wanted to write a movie called The Crazy Baby Eater. He thought it was funny to state that a person who eats babies is also crazy - independent of the baby-eating. He also wrote a short called The Planet of the Robots and of the Zombies. Clearly redundancy is a theme for him. Anyway, this crazy baby eater was brought in because some suspicious scrapes on the bones (the bones) indicated to Bones (the person) that the killer/eater must have a diamond stud in his tooth. Of course since this is Fox, the crazy cannibal who has a diamond stud in his tooth is played by an attractive 19-year-old white dude. They give him what looks like a toilet paper dowel made of pink wax for him to bite into, explaining to him that his stud gave him away and this will allow them to compare his bite to the bones (the bones). At this point CBE gets to explain his motives to us, to make us understand why oh why he would do such a thing. And it would be great if said explanation included some clue to the massive Bermanian conspiracy ahead of us, since so far the episode has been like fast forwarding through an Is It Real? marathon on the History Channel, and since this character will later die naked via antique knife in his holding cell. Instead:
"It doesn't taste like chicken or pork like people say. It's more like beef. The faces are sweeter. The younger the better. Except babies. Babies taste like fish."
Then CBE takes this giant bite out of the wax while glaring intensely into the camera in extreme close-up. I mean, I can see how a writer-producer could get seduced by the poignancy of a statement like that. How it could LURE him away from banal alternatives like character or plot development. That's like a poem. I'm going to go write it up on the Elliot Smith wall as soon as I post this. PS, the kid is 19! How many babies has he really eaten? And does anyone believe that babies taste like fish? FISH? They aren't even mammals! And they're all muscle. How much muscle tone do you think the average baby has? Bones should KNOW this! We all know soft tissue is not her specialty, but COME ON. She knows all about dolphins, so you'd think she'd have an opinion. Nope. Even Bones is mesmerized by this youthful, bestudded cannibal and his meaty hubris. And we know when Bones abandons science it's time to go back to the nightclub and look for statues, because the WORLD has gone to HELL.
Let me just say first that Bones + Vanished is weird as shit. Already. Don't worry, I'm not going to get into it. Suffice it to say that there is now a tech who's been to Iraq and dismissed for reasons unknown, a mysterious ship's captain husband from a tribal marriage that must be anulled, an abandoned bank vault containing the silver-plated bone edition of Wheel of Fortune, an Illuminati conspiracy involving a virtuoso violinist and the head of the Secret Service, and a crazy baby eater. That's one episode folks.
An ex of mine always wanted to write a movie called The Crazy Baby Eater. He thought it was funny to state that a person who eats babies is also crazy - independent of the baby-eating. He also wrote a short called The Planet of the Robots and of the Zombies. Clearly redundancy is a theme for him. Anyway, this crazy baby eater was brought in because some suspicious scrapes on the bones (the bones) indicated to Bones (the person) that the killer/eater must have a diamond stud in his tooth. Of course since this is Fox, the crazy cannibal who has a diamond stud in his tooth is played by an attractive 19-year-old white dude. They give him what looks like a toilet paper dowel made of pink wax for him to bite into, explaining to him that his stud gave him away and this will allow them to compare his bite to the bones (the bones). At this point CBE gets to explain his motives to us, to make us understand why oh why he would do such a thing. And it would be great if said explanation included some clue to the massive Bermanian conspiracy ahead of us, since so far the episode has been like fast forwarding through an Is It Real? marathon on the History Channel, and since this character will later die naked via antique knife in his holding cell. Instead:
"It doesn't taste like chicken or pork like people say. It's more like beef. The faces are sweeter. The younger the better. Except babies. Babies taste like fish."
Then CBE takes this giant bite out of the wax while glaring intensely into the camera in extreme close-up. I mean, I can see how a writer-producer could get seduced by the poignancy of a statement like that. How it could LURE him away from banal alternatives like character or plot development. That's like a poem. I'm going to go write it up on the Elliot Smith wall as soon as I post this. PS, the kid is 19! How many babies has he really eaten? And does anyone believe that babies taste like fish? FISH? They aren't even mammals! And they're all muscle. How much muscle tone do you think the average baby has? Bones should KNOW this! We all know soft tissue is not her specialty, but COME ON. She knows all about dolphins, so you'd think she'd have an opinion. Nope. Even Bones is mesmerized by this youthful, bestudded cannibal and his meaty hubris. And we know when Bones abandons science it's time to go back to the nightclub and look for statues, because the WORLD has gone to HELL.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Pantyhose, BBQ Chips, and Other Ways of Living in the Past
I'm reading this book (recommended by Reb Velvet) about the creation of the Oxford English Dictionary. I know, I am SOOOO smart! So what if I learned of the OED's existence when Christopher gave it to Rory as a present on Gilmore Girls. It uses this device where a word is defined OED-style at the beginning of each chapter. So sad that books need devices now too. You don't find that noise in The Golden Bowl. Anyway, now I really want to look up "pantyhose" in the OED. It's deal is thoroughly representing the history of a word from its first usage on. I just want to know what psychopath (and such is possible, see book) came up with "pantyhose." It sounds like panties with some sort of drainage system for what one can only imagine. If you think about it, "hose" is an entirely inappropriate word to describe both the form and use of pantyhose. It's like when my Temporary Building Manager Specializing in Move-In, Z. Mason Frisby, spent an afternoon of my life describing the device for securing DirecTV cables to the wall to myself and a bewildered DirecTV tech as "condoms." Now Cherry loves using something for purposes other than those intended, such as Crisco as a nighttime leg moisturizer, but I think even she would balk at the use of a condom as a cable tie. A condom is a fitting (heehee) description of the article we know as hose, however. Hmm...
I don't like pantyhose. They're for adults. I will wear them when the varicose veins overtake my legs as they are now beginning to do. (Actually, they aren't varicose veins but what Cherry calls "spider veins." They don't have dimension. I wanted to look up the actual name but I'm scared to death of pictures of varicose veins and don't dare Wikipedia them. This fear stems from a terrifying description in Mi Vida Loca, one of the insane gang memoirs Glen made me read.) I don't understand how one wears them with open toe shoes. I mean, nearly all shoes are open toe. Don't we have the technology to dispense with the toe seam? If those R&D ninnies at Victoria's Secret (I'm picturing the cast of Veronica's Closet) can make a bra without a seam PATENT PENDING, then the pantyhose people can do it too.
My brother has been waiting years for similar technology. As a kid (now) he hated the seams in his socks touching his toes. He would only wear tube socks, then he would pull the toe of the sock up over the top of his foot to his ankle. Then he would quickly slip on his Air Jordans to hold the sock device in place, thus insuring nary a pinky toe touched a seam. I know, it is a miracle I don't walk on all fours.
When Cherry saw me dressed for my high school reunion, she was mesmerized by the shade of my pantyhose - WHICH I WASN'T WEARING. I took this as a compliment, even though I'm sure it just means that my legs are so pale that my own mother doesn't recognize them as a color existing in nature. BUT that also means I don't have to wear pantyhose, right? It feels like a lie. A really bad lie that no one believes because skin doesn't have a weave to it. And then there are the colors that aren't even pretending to be skin, and what's the point of that?
I refused to eat BBQ potato chips for years because I feel chip flavors should recreate baked potato toppings. If you don't put it on a baked potato, why in the world would you want to eat it on a chip? I was soooo wrong. BBQ chips, please accept my humblest apologies, you are DELICIOUS. BUT my hypothesis was flawed from the beginning - reason cannot be applied to snacking. Decorum, I believe, DEMANDS that we apply it to hosiery.
So if anyone asks, I'm not wearing hose because they are a LIE. Or, LIE and say I am wearing hose. They are called LEG CONDOMS, and they are in a new shade called INTEGRITY.
I don't like pantyhose. They're for adults. I will wear them when the varicose veins overtake my legs as they are now beginning to do. (Actually, they aren't varicose veins but what Cherry calls "spider veins." They don't have dimension. I wanted to look up the actual name but I'm scared to death of pictures of varicose veins and don't dare Wikipedia them. This fear stems from a terrifying description in Mi Vida Loca, one of the insane gang memoirs Glen made me read.) I don't understand how one wears them with open toe shoes. I mean, nearly all shoes are open toe. Don't we have the technology to dispense with the toe seam? If those R&D ninnies at Victoria's Secret (I'm picturing the cast of Veronica's Closet) can make a bra without a seam PATENT PENDING, then the pantyhose people can do it too.
My brother has been waiting years for similar technology. As a kid (now) he hated the seams in his socks touching his toes. He would only wear tube socks, then he would pull the toe of the sock up over the top of his foot to his ankle. Then he would quickly slip on his Air Jordans to hold the sock device in place, thus insuring nary a pinky toe touched a seam. I know, it is a miracle I don't walk on all fours.
When Cherry saw me dressed for my high school reunion, she was mesmerized by the shade of my pantyhose - WHICH I WASN'T WEARING. I took this as a compliment, even though I'm sure it just means that my legs are so pale that my own mother doesn't recognize them as a color existing in nature. BUT that also means I don't have to wear pantyhose, right? It feels like a lie. A really bad lie that no one believes because skin doesn't have a weave to it. And then there are the colors that aren't even pretending to be skin, and what's the point of that?
I refused to eat BBQ potato chips for years because I feel chip flavors should recreate baked potato toppings. If you don't put it on a baked potato, why in the world would you want to eat it on a chip? I was soooo wrong. BBQ chips, please accept my humblest apologies, you are DELICIOUS. BUT my hypothesis was flawed from the beginning - reason cannot be applied to snacking. Decorum, I believe, DEMANDS that we apply it to hosiery.
So if anyone asks, I'm not wearing hose because they are a LIE. Or, LIE and say I am wearing hose. They are called LEG CONDOMS, and they are in a new shade called INTEGRITY.
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