Archive for July 2012
Happy birthday, Susan Flannery. Just between you and me, Brooke Logan is a slut . . .
Happy birthday, Delta Burke. People may not remember this now, but you were the Charlie Sheen of the early nineties. What a trailblazer!
Just a moment ago I was shopping for some purple suede lederhosen online when I stumbled across this fascinating portrait by an artist named Matt Borruso. Apparently, Borruso is intrigued by images of ugly children.
I remember pictures of wide-eyed children like this hanging on the bedroom walls of kids everywhere during the sixties and seventies. Back then I thought that they were sort of creepy, just as I believed those idealized portraits of Jesus were creepy, and much in the same way that I think “Toddlers and Tiaras” is creepy today. Hyper-idealization of anything can be disturbing. What makes Borruso’s work so delightful is that he has flipped the concept entirely, combining undesirable characteristics in a manner that hones the creepiness until its razor-sharp. Seeing the little Teuton imp in the portrait above makes you wonder what you would do if you saw that little face staring back at you every day. It cuts you right to the soul.
So that got me thinking about how much I’d like to own an original Matt Borruso painting. It also made me wonder if there was a support group for the parents of ugly children. Because I’m a giver — and because just yesterday I was complaining about feeling uninspired lately — I’ve decided to dedicate my valuable time and the awesome power of my celebrity status to a new charitable venture.
Parents of Ugly Children, or POUCH as I call it, will be be my new focus. I will work tirelessly to create an organization that dedicates itself to eradicating the stigma that infects the parents of ugly children like the plague. You know which plague I mean, right? The one spread by rat bites that makes you look like the kid in the painting.
I suppose I’ll need a mission statement. I can get to that later. In the meantime, I’d like to set up POUCH as a registered charity so that I can accept donations. I’ve also decided that I’d like a nice Matt Borruso portrait to hang on the wall of the POUCH office. I won’t be able to issue tax receipts for a while, but that shouldn’t matter. Please give generously. Think of the children, the ugly, ugly children . . .
Happy birthday, Anna Selezneva. I read that you were discovered in a McDonald’s. What is it about fast food places? I can barely make it through a slab cake at Dairy Queen without everyone ogling me . . .
I don’t know what’s been going on with me lately, but I just haven’t had a lot of drive to do much of anything. My astrologer tells me that with Saturn recently making a conjunction with my ascendant, that I’d feel as if someone had thrown a wet blanket over me. Nevertheless, I don’t feel pessimistic — just uninspired. I also feel like I have to work a little harder to “make my own luck,” as the saying goes. Fate isn’t going to throw me a bone, so I’m going to have to make sure that I grab that bone myself. I need to grab my bone!
Anyway, just as I was feeling as nothing was going my way, I saw a commercial announcing that “Big Brother Canada” is about to start casting. As you already know, I would make a terrific reality show star. Although I’d prefer to be on “Dancing with the Stars,” they neglected to cast me in their upcoming “All-Stars” season. But I would settle for an appearance on “Big Brother.”
I believe that I would either be the first person out or the last one standing if I was cast on the show. My fellow housemates would either be jealous of my incomprehensible gorgeousness or eager to worship at my altar. In either case, I’m going to audition. I suppose I could get the Chenbot’s endorsement, too, since we’re astrological twins. But first I should write her.
Online casting for “Big Brother Canada” begins in August followed by a cross-country search this fall. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to lose fifteen pounds and have my teeth whitened . . .
Happy birthday, Lori Loughlin. I didn’t watch “Full House,” but I’m sure that you were better than Bob Saget and the Olsen twins combined. Don’t ask me how I came to that conclusion . . .