Thursday, July 21, 2011

To quote Joan Rivers - bitch stole my look!

Okay, so Kim Kardashian is suing Old Navy because a look-alike in their commercials violates her “brand”. On the one hand, what exactly does this say about her “brand” that a person’s appearance is enough to violate it? Is that all you’ve got? It’s not like she can copy what you do, because you don’t actually do anything. Your main talent is getting dressed in the morning, then standing still. You ain’t Martha Stewart, cookie.

On the other hand, America appears to have bought exactly what it is that she’s selling. You can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a magazine or TV that isn’t displaying the Kardashian brand. It’s everywhere. I’m still not sure why. But there she is. Everywhere you look. Even to the extent that somebody gets famous for just looking like somebody who’s famous for doing nothing. And if America is willing to buy nothing, I suppose she’d be silly not to sell it. P.T. Barnum said there’s one born every minute. And Andy Warhol said everyone will get 15 minutes of fame. I think we probably need a recount.

So sue, away, Kim Kardashian. That woman is infringing upon your brand. And that’s your sisters’ job.

Boy, Howdy

So, this week my nephews from Arizona came for a visit. 5, 2 and 7 months. All as different as they can be. Though the two older boys are both showing the family stubborn streak. And allergies.

Given that my first three were nieces, little boys are quite an experience. For instance, I had no idea how hard it was to keep pants on a little boy. The first morning, the middle kid came inching down the stairs rubbing his eyes, and full on rocking the Pooh Bear look. Sponge Bob shirt. No pants. Then stood in the kitchen with no apparent sense of anything missing from the picture, with a “So, what’s up guys?” look on his face. Then we went out in the afternoon to splash in the blow up pool – whappah! Naked time. The oldest has his underpants off before I know what’s going on. Then Number 2 is right in the mix. Skinny dipping it is.

I also learned that for boys, physical caution is not really a factor. Girls will usually eyeball something to figure out if they’re going to get hurt. Boys? Not so much. Popping your brother in the kisser because he stole your toy, and not really putting any work into estimating if he’s strong enough to wrestle you to the ground and keep you there pretty much as long as he wants to. Hearing the words “ice cream” and charging down the stairs, full-tilt boogie, and missing the bottom stair to form a really impressive goose-egg on your forehead just in time for picture day (it took him a little while to forgive the ice cream for that incident). Standing on top of a barstool to see if you can . . . just . . . reach . . . the . . . cheese crack . . . ers, falling off, crying for 5 minutes, then getting right back up there because you still want the cheese crackers and it doesn’t occur to you that you could perhaps ask the adult who is standing right there. Did we not just do this? Remember, reach, fall, crash, ow? Apparently not.

Luckily, the baby is pretty much content with his favorite game – reach up, grab your necklace and pull your cheek down to plant a drooly kiss. I love that game too.

TIME: Quotes of the Day