Goody Two Shoes

I get why they use portmanteau words in advertising. You take two words that describe your product, slap ‘em together and you’ve got a new word and your new name. As in, they’re fruity! They’re high in fiber! They’re FrootieTooties! Oooo. Just makes me want to buy a box.

But I never, NEVER get the two words right. Even if they use a bigger letter in the middle to show where the word break is, if there is any chance of breaking it down at the wrong place, I’ll go right for it.

I read this product as Runt One. Shoes for short people? Trainers that actually make you lose muscle mass? I’m tired of being big and tough. I’m looking for a shoe that will turn me into the runt of the litter. Didn’t matter that the font changes at the T. I’m thinking this is a product line that is going to be endorsed by David Spade.

And, by the way, I’m not buying these toner shoes. Not just not purchasing. I’m not buying the concept. No, I’m not going to believe that shoes will magically give me a butt you could bounce a quarter off of. In fact, I’m pretty sure that six months from now there will be a law firm commercial that says “Were you injured by toning shoes? You can still join the class action law suit. Just call 1-800-RICKETS.”

To-Marrow, To-Marrow, I love ya, To-Marrow

It was just one of those weekends where you look around and think, why don’t I always get this much accomplished? I got my place tidied up in a way I probably haven’t seen it in at least 6 months. Maybe even a year. Laundry, donation clothes, mail shredding, cleaned the kitchen floor (man did it need it). I weeded by parents front flower beds (though they are getting to be more of a mostly pretty bushes and only spring flowers beds). I tried out a new recipe for a pickled purple hull pea salad from over on the Homesick Texan blog (tasty as heck).

And I got registered for the National Bone Marrow Registry (www.marrow.org). A friend and I’d been meaning to do it for awhile. Luckily, there was a registration drive this weekend. Or semi-luckily. Of course the first listing sent me to an abandoned nightclub in downtown. On the wrong day. Just the kind of crackerjack organization that I’ve come to expect from Dallas charities. But by the time we got to a computer, we found there was another drive the next day.

We met a really interesting guy who was a marrow recipient himself, and who helped up us fill out the paperwork. The cheek swabs only took about 2 minutes. The paperwork about 5. And here’s something interesting I found out – 80% of all marrow donors end up donating through an IV, rather than the older procedure where they tap your hip bone. I wonder how many more people would be interested in signing up if they knew that little factoid. Because, everyone I talked to beforehand said they would consider donating if it weren’t for the post-procedure pain they have heard of. Personally, I’d be willing to donate either way, if I was a match. A little pain isn’t a lot to go through to save someone’s life. It’s not like throwing yourself on a grenade. Now that would hurt. And it would ruin your shirt.

But after talking to our registry counselor, we found out that the National Bone Marrow Program runs on a pretty low budget. They concentrate more on doing the work than raising money. Which is kind of refreshing to hear. But of course, that also means they don’t get the PR that a Susan G. Komen or American Heart Association would. So, even if you don’t want to donate marrow and are looking for a worthy cause to donate time or money to, consider NBMP. You can be very sure they would be very appreciative of either.

All it takes is one guy to make everybody look bad

http://www.cnn.com/2010/US/07/30/afghanistan.wikileaks/index.html?hpt=T1

You know, I’m not sure about this whole WikiLeaks thing. I believe in freedom of information and transparency. The people have a right to know. But I’m struggling with them not being very transparent themselves about their fact-checking. Turns out there can be a pretty fine line between raving paranoiac and crusading whistle blower.

What I do know is that this dude would get way more respect if he got himself a decent haircut. I stand on my record as a supporter of the silver fox brigade. But this guy’s $2 hack job is just not cutting it. So to speak. Really, how do you expect people to listen to you when you look like the villain in a Harry Potter movie? And not “the” villain. Just “a” villain. Some random flunky who gets backhanded by the real villain because he brought eye of newt instead of eye of toad.

Seriously. Have some pride, man. Walk into any barber shop and ask for the Anderson Cooper.

The Magic Trick

A clip Washington Gardener sent me (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OYpwAtnywTk)about how to look pretty got me thinking. The girl referred to herself as “butt ugly” (which I hope she was joking about; she was actually a pretty, if not stunning, girl next door type; I hope she was just making a point and is not running around with horribly damaged self-esteem). And she uses all the makeup tricks, fried blond hair, ho gear and dancing/mating rituals that you’d see in any bar in America on a Friday night. Your basic club chick. And one that most red-blooded frat boys would call “hot.”

And that’s the point really. Humans have certain triggers on what we find attractive: big eyes, full lips, clear skin. And with a minimum of effort, those can all be faked. Eyeliner, lipstick, and foundation. And it really depends on how willing you are to apply any or all of those 3 that will effect how far you fake will fool people. A fairly average girl who is willing to use a trowel to apply her makeup can actually conform to the ideal closer than a much prettier girl sans makeup.

There’s your key word: conform. Because pretty isn’t about an aesthetic any more. It’s a test to see how willing you are to conform to a social standard. You have what you’re given. But you can make up miles in the attractiveness race by applying all the millions of little helpers the cosmetics industry has given us. And the most willing among us will go a step farther than that and have permanent surgical enhancement, rather than a swipe of lip gloss. And as all those “Stars Without Makeup” spreads in the tabs have shown us, even the genetically blessed will resort to enhancement to make sure they’ve hit all those little triggers. Yes, Angelina Jolie is gorgeous. But when was the last time you saw her on a red carpet without eyeliner? Maybe never.

And let’s face it, if makeup was really about expressing yourself, you’d see a lot more people walking around with purple swirls or little rainbows painted on their faces. It’s not a coincidence that no matter what the current color trend, eyebrow shape or application invention, it always boils down to pretty much the same thing: big eyes, full lips, clear skin.

I’m not railing against the standard. I’m not even railing against the cosmetics. If you weren’t beautiful, and you feel you need to be, fake it until you make it. I’m not much for conformity, but more power to ya. What I am once again surprisingly surprised at how easy humans are too fool. And how happily willing we are to be fooled.

It's a crazy idea . . . but it just might work!

I’ve been thinking I’m going to start calling myself Lucky. I know it’s kind of pretentious to give yourself a nickname (see any cast member on the Jersey Shore for evidence). And given that a lightning strike took out my TV, my cable box and my fake fireplace, and possibly a ceiling fan (the jury is still out on that one), and I’m 41 years old and still haven’t gotten my life figured out yet, “lucky” may not exactly be the right word.

But I have a friend who knew a woman who referred to herself as “Pretty Helen.” How’s that for ballsy? As in, “I said to myself, “Pretty Helen” . . .” Bananas? Possibly. But I don’t even know this woman, and I think of her as Pretty Helen, so obviously it worked.

I don’t know, I could use a little karmic change. Something to put that positive vibe out there. See it, be it. How many people do I know that seem to fall in to manure and come out smelling like a rose, just because they think that’s what should happen. And also, I’ve been totally obsessed with lucky charms lately. Show me anything with a 4-leaf clover, horseshoe, wish bone, or anything remotely lucky on it, and I’m buying it. Do I really need an 8th green t-shirt? No. But it’s got a shamrock on it!

Now, I’m not really sure how one goes about giving oneself a nickname. Other than walking around saying things like “I said to myself, Lucky . . . I call myself, Lucky.” Which is, yeah, bananas. Maybe join a sports team so that I can get “LUCKY” on the back of my shirt. Too bad I didn’t think of this before I started ushering at the Performing Arts Center. I coulda scored a name tag and thousands of strangers who would think that really was my name.