It's a G Thang

Sure, she advocates drinking toxic quantities of castor oil and stands like a goofy school girl while showin' off her duds, but I think I just might be starting to respect Gwyneth Paltrow. 

HuffPo just announced that the Divine Ms G is going to be opening a gym. Part of the post shows video of her working out with her trainer. There's our girl, sweating up a storm with no make-up on. She even allows herself to be filmed doing the borderline-degrading "dog peeing on a fire hydrant" move to tone up her skinny ass. 

You know that scene when the Grinch feels his heart growing inside his chest as he hears the Who's singing? That's exactly how I felt about Gwyneth when I saw her being all human-like. 

I want more human celebrities. And I want them to do it like Gwyneth - voluntarily, not just because some paparazzi caught them at the beach or at the A & P on a bad day. 

Voluntarily human celebrities. 

How revolutionary is that?

Total Grinch

Bernard Madoff sucks.

Read the story:

"Wiesel Foundation Loses Nearly Everything in Madoff Scheme"

Yes, Virginia, That is a Santa Claus!

We're all familiar with the sparkly sweaters of the season - how some find them adorable, others atrocious. Rather than dwell on that dark side of holiday-themed garb, I choose to discuss how it can, on occasion, be done well.

A key term in this discussion is gonna be the word subtle. Consider it your own personal mantra as you find yourself poised at the checkout counter with a hunk of calender couture in one hand and your Visa card in the other.

There is a gent I know who has definitely not been been chanting subtle, subtle, subtle to himself as he picks out his ties in the AM. His sins against haberdashery run the gamut from Eisenhower-era holly jolly atrocities to an oversized, disembodied head of the Grinch sneering out at you. I include him here as a cautionary tale. The holidays don't mean that one can just simply flout the rules of quality neckwear. Those rules are exceedingly rigid and remain in effect 365 days a year. They are, you realize, there to protect us all.

On to accentuating the positive ...

Here is a counter-example, a how-it's-done going out to those for whom questions remain. 

Note the small scale of the pattern. You need to be within at least five feet of the wearer before you even realize Santa's on that tie. If you can identify the mammal on any tie from beyond the five-foot "safe zone", that sucker's just too big. Ditch it immediately.

The colors are not obnoxious in their Christmasy-ness. Its color is more akin to strings of cranberries on the tree than to Rudolph's glowing schnoz. You could practically wear it on a televised debate, yes? 

And did you notice that it is confident enough to forgo green completely? Yes! By going with blue instead of green, it's an easy match to a blue dress shirt - something every man looks good in and already has in the bullpen. If that tie were red and green, it would wind up paired with the dreaded white dress shirt - the one that makes even the most-distinguished of men look as if they're about to ask if you'd like some freshly-ground pepper on your salad. Not a pretty picture now, is it?

The last feature I'd like to touch on here is its sheen. It's the eggshell finish, not the high-gloss. Shiny is not subtle. Shiny is cheap. Save the tinsel for the tree, gentlemen. That's where it goes.

They're Frosty. And They're Trees

Lest anyone start to think me a bit of a Grinch, I feel the need to talk about a holiday season consumer good whose siren song I am drawn to year after year: The Kemp's Frosty Tree.

For those new to this product, it is a mint-flavored ice cream novelty shaped like a Christmas tree. It is not, technically, a Christmatized product in that it isn't a dolled-up-for-the-holidays version of an everyday item; it's more a once-a-year goodie. But, since it just wouldn't be Christmas without it (for me), it's on the blog. Deal with it.

My memories of Frosty Trees go back as far as I can remember. They were a holiday staple at our house, and their appearance at the grocery store signaled the official start of the Christmas season much more than the Macy's parade ever could. "The Frosty Trees! The Frosty Trees!" was followed by wild clapping from my seat in the grocery cart on an annual basis. Still is, actually, only I'm the one pushing the cart now. 

They made snowmen (Still do!) and Santas too (Haven't seen them in years!), but I was always unflinchingly loyal to those minty little trees of goodness.

As an adult, I realize that it is the power to elicit fond childhood memories rather than the actual taste of the ice cream that continues to draw me to them. (I doubt that seeing liquid soap in a bottle with a snowman on it conjures up any such memories for anyone, and that's why I find those truly Chrismatized products worthy of a bit of ridicule.)

Frosty Trees are not made from Kemp's most premium ice cream, they have a distinct artificial taste, and the packaging renders them incapable of ever really freezing up solid, so there's always a panicked I better eat this fast before it turns into a pile of green mush factor when eating one. They're too small to make a truly satisfying grown-up dessert, and they're messy - leaving dark green stains on your fingertips, face, and tongue. (You can never sneak one of these suckers and lie about it. The evidence is pretty, well, evident.) 

But I love them just the same. 

Christmas is all about traditions.

And I'm pickin' this one as mine.

See the selection of Kemp's Family Novelties. 

(I mostly just included the link because I adore their use of the somewhat prissy, archaic term "Family Novelties" and was looking for an excuse to use it. So there.)