Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Off Season Post 44: BOO! DP Returns . . . Finally

Well Hello, (What’s left of you) Readers!  With all of the rife speculation as to the cause of my extended off-season absence I’m back to tickle your fancy a bit.   And (say it with me) we all know how I love a tickled fancy.  It’s good to be typing thoughts as they spontaneously emerge from my brain as opposed to piece mealing them from law books or cutting and pasting them from old documents.  For what it’s worth, I’ve missed all of you more than you know. 

“Knock off the self-indulgent horsesh*t, DP,” is what you’re all thinking.  “Get to the point.” 

Unfortunately, this is the point.  Over the past month or so, I’ve compiled a list of random thoughts on various Bachelor and non-Bachelor subjects.  Like lava inside a dormant Vesuvius, they’ve reached the boiling point.  Feel free to skip around.  These are in no particular order of importance.  For the astute ones in the bunch, this should provide an interesting opportunity for psychoanalysis.  Please do me a favor and let me know if I’m currently at risk for anything, would you?  Now let’s get to it. 

“Yoga” Pants

As most of you are aware, I am a man of many contradictions.  However, my desire to list my many inconsistencies here would violate my love of brevity (see what I did there?).  My therapist once diagnosed me as passive/aggressive.  That really pissed me off so I refused to pay her bill for six months.  I’ll be here all week.   

by Jim Benton

Poe humor aside, that’s neither here nor there (and no, I don’t have a therapist but if I did she’d be hot and crazy like all therapists except “Dr.” Phil).  What I really want to talk about right now is the trend sprouting wings in various specialty food stores across the Austin (and I assume the national) area.  The trend, of course, to which I’m referring, is the tendency of every MILF to parade around the aforementioned grocery establishments in yoga pants. 

Look, as much as I appreciate the gratuitous, voluntary exhibition of the taut female frame the trend is as puzzling to me as plastic dress shoes, Ed Hardy anything, or those silly (and overpriced) Hunter rain boots made popular because that Royal Bore, Princess Kate…err…Katherine, excuse me, went to some rugby match in a muddy field.  England, appropriately enough, stays muddy year round.  Austin, does not.  Frankly, I prefer her yachting attire.  Google it.  This is a family oriented blog.     

Are all of these women actually coming from or headed to a yoga class?  The last time I checked eye make up and hairspray don’t fare well in 105 degree heat with 95% humidity.  In Texas we  don’t call that Bikram Yoga, by the way.  We call it August.  I digress.   

I suppose we could toy around with the permutations but I think I’m in the clear with the assumption that the vast majority of the MILF population has no intention of doing the downward facing dog on any given day . . .  at least not in yoga class anyway.  Annnyyhoooo . . .  

Perhaps we should just call this trend what it is and just call it a day.  I’d like to move to rename them to Grocery Shopping Pants, Spray Tanning Pants, or Heading to the Wine Bar After My Massage to Meet Other Women in the Same Outfit after Their Massage to Bitch About my Kids Pants.  Then, and only then, would I claim to have a true understanding of the trend.  

Note to Yoga Pant Milves (the plural form of Milf):  Just because it's on Pinterest doesn't mean you have to do it.  Sigh, yoga pants in the grocery store are so un-Pinteresting. 

Incidentally, as long as we’re talking about the grocery store I’d like to mention that I am staunchly opposed to using that filthy plastic thing you’re supposed to place between your groceries and the old lady with the checkbook’s groceries standing ahead of you in line.  As far as I’m concerned if the guy rings up my stuff without the old lady objecting she should have to pay for all of it.  Ya snooze, ya looze.  Next subject. 

Miley Cyrus

My first reaction to that ridiculous VMA performance and all of the subsequent hoopla was “who cares?”  Unfortunately, what was clearly a rhetorical question was nonetheless enthusiastically (and repeatedly) answered by every media outlet in the world. 

What do Socrates' students think about Miley?
Look, I get it.  She’s mad at her dad.  Fine.   Then again, the only difference between her and any other 19 year old, over-indulged, clueless, brat is that she happens to have 10 million Twitter followers and a prime time spot on the VMA “awards” show.  I was shocked that she didn’t trip on the silver spoon that fell out of her mouth as she panted wildly like Pavlov’s dog in heat.  Let’s not pretend that she intended to “express herself as an artist” or whatever nonsense came out of her mouth after she finally decided to put her tongue back in it.  Props to her PR folks for manufacturing that little stunt.  It worked. 


Oh, and as far as the parental objections I was forced to weed through on line regarding Miley’s status as a “role model” for young girls everywhere, I have one word:  Please. I suppose the troubling thing about her cooter shaking is that there is an entire generation parked squarely behind her like Robin Thicke’s middle-aged junk with the same self-important theory of entitlement as she has.  However, it’s not Miley’s job to raise those girls. 

Granted, her little dance number probably put a temporary wrench in the parental machinery but if your child is pushed over the edge by anything Miley Cyrus has to say then it’s time to reevaluate your approach.  She’s an idiot and even a teen aged admirer can learn that if the message is delivered correctly (and probably repeatedly). 

Good luck to all of you with teen aged girls.  Oh, and be aware that something like the VMA’s will happen again.  Madonna made jillions doing it and someone will make a jillion more after Miley’s done too.  For what it’s worth, I actually like that Wrecking Ball song.  Sure, it’s overproduced pop garbage but she has a decent voice and the lyrics actually make sense.  Try and say that about anything else in the Top 40.      

To be fair to Miley, if this was my dad, I’d probably pant a lot and run around naked too.  His haircut is arguably more offensive than anything she did on stage that night.  Certainly his “music” fits that bill by a few horse lengths.  The Uber-Mullett provides a formidable shield against his two worst enemies:  good taste and subtlety.   

Don't tell my hair, my achy breaky hair...

As for her co-performer, Robin Thicke, I’m really at a loss.  Look, Tom Jones made middle-age look sexy AND ridiculous but he had (and still has) an incredible voice. Thicke can't sing any better than his dad can act.  I saw Tom Jones in Vegas years ago and the audience was filled with fifty-something housewives and secretaries screaming like a pack of banshees when he gyrated his artificial hips.  We should all be so lucky at 50. 

Even his Best Of album (albeit gag-inducing by today’s standards) garnered him rave reviews; if for nothing else, his penchant for tanning.  I assume the body oil on his upper torso is a spill over from the oil he had to place on his lower body in order to fit into those pants.  Perhaps Yoga Pants would have been a better choice? 

As far as I’m concerned I’m not certain that Robin Thicke, Alan Thicke, and Simon Cowell are not the same person.  Someone let me know when you have a picture of all three of them in the same room.  Oh, and forward me your pictures of Peter Parker and Spiderman as well. 

That was absolutely awful . . .


Speaking of trendy things that I pray will vanish, The Urban Dictionary defines "Twerking" as “the rhythmic gyrating of the lower fleshy extremities in a lascivious manner with the intent to elicit sexual arousal or laughter in ones intended audience.” 

Grammatical errors aside, I find it contradictory (there’s that word again) that the intent required by the Twerker (I assume that’s the correct nomenclature.  I was going to go with ‘idiot’ but I thought that would be too broad) is EITHER sexual arousal OR laughter.  That’s like saying that the purpose of delivering a punch in the nose is to elicit either abject pain or a soothing sinus clearing.  It’s tantamount to hurling a Neti Pot at your friend’s face. 

Also, what is the objective measure of a successful Twerking session?

(Session?  Again, I’m at a loss as I lack the proper vocabulary for this and a cosmological discussion about the Omega Point Theory). 

After all, one is only required to have the intent to amuse or arouse the audience.  Is the Twerkee (the recipient of the Twerk) required to respond in any way?  Presumably, the yardstick of a successful Twerk is either energetic laughter or, well, a stiff yardstick.  Like the Robot, The Safety Dance, the Moonwalk, the Macarena, and Gangham Style, this too shall pass. 

Sean and Catherine

Good Lord.  We’re a solid three months away from Juan Pablo’s season and Sean Lowe and Catherine What’s-Her-Name are still in the news.  Apparently, Sean is going through with the big day.  He’s a “born again virgin” she’s . . . well, she’s apparently waiting for the big night before unleashing the Big Bang and I’m certain that Kensington and Smith are on their last pre-wedding fitting for whatever pretentious outfits they’ll be sporting from Pottery Barn Kids when they serve as ring bearers for Sean and Catherine’s Christian/Agnostic wedding. 

Yup, you read that correctly.   Apparently, she’s not sold on Christianity.  Look, judgment aside, that’s a bigger deal than they realize; especially since Sean categorizes himself as a strong Christian.  My guess is that the fam damily is not thrilled about it either.  I doubt there’ll be any mini-Buda statues gracing the front of Kensington's mini-mansion anytime soon.  Apparently, Catherine is “exploring” Sean’s faith and hopes to “be a believer.”  Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt, shall we? 

By the way, I’m not into spoilers and even when I get a supposed one via email I never check it out.  However, it has been widely reported that ole Juan Pablo has blown the big Bachelor secret by being seen with a certain contestant sucking face on a Miami beach lately.  I won’t ruin it, but be careful if you Google it. 

Frankly, I don’t care either way.  I just hope they give the guy a line on some of the English idioms he’ll be trying to tackle this season.  The last thing he needs is to enter this season with short, flaccid diction.  Granted, there are pills for that little problem now, but I’m sure he’d rather not have to worry about premature conjugation.  Alright, enough with the innuendo.  He’s either going to hit a home run or strike out swinging.  Let’s also give him the benefit of the doubt, shall we?    

In the meantime, enjoy this picture of our future Bachelor going all Zero Dark Thirty with the scarf. 

Yo estoy en fuego.

It’s good to be back.  Happy Halloween.  That reminds me.  It’s time for my seasonal Halloween joke.  Here goes.

How do you get a witch pregnant?

Pregnant witch

Another Pregnant Witch

You f*ck her. 

You’re welcome.  Enjoy dressing up as a naughty whatever.  Happy Halloween, folks.  Enjoy yourselves.  It’s good to be back.  In the meantime, if you need me I’ll be Twerking my Omega Point in my yoga pants. 


Saturday, October 26, 2013

Yes, DP is Still Here.

Hello, Readers.  It's been way too long.  I suppose it's alright to admit that my own case of Writer's Block is somewhat responsible for my absence; however, it would be more accurate to blame plain ole life too.  

At any rate, I'm certain that I miss you more than you miss me.  I'm committed to getting a new post off the ground this coming week.  I look forward to hearing from every single one of you when I do.  

Thanks, as always, for your patience, patronage, and support.