Another Red Carpet . . .

Hi You!
Another red carpet night, Oscars.  This a la animal get-up from a few years back is still my favorite:

Do you remember this?  Isn't that Bjork?

Meanwhile in the USA, panic alerts are flashing for certain USA shopping malls.  Malls?  Really?  I just don't get the idiocy of these small "t" terrorists.  I hate to even type the word.    Fearful of popping up in a security screening of internet chat.

Cold in the nation, even sweeping down to area code 305!  Come, warmth . . . come soon.

Leaving you now to contemplate the swan dress.

Kisses -
The J

Recruitment, political party style . . .

Hi you!

This day's latest slaughter of brothers and sisters by ISIS leaves me weak.  What planet am I on?  The sea runs red with blood . . .

Meanwhile in our USA, something from Buzzfeed caught my attention.  Armando Perez, A.K.A. Pitbull (my fandom is adolescent-like crystal clear in this blog) is being recruited by the Republicans!

Ah, Armando . . .
  But as quoted in that Buzzy piece, he is not so easily signed on to political gang membership:

"I’m not here to be part of any political party,” Pitbull said in a statement. “I’m here to bring political parties to my party because they can’t, they won’t they never will, stop the Pitbull party, Dale!”

Dale indeed, darling.

I am thinking La Casa Blanca for Pitbull himself.  At least, the Party party would go on, refusing to bow to sadistic, pleasure hating a-holes who slaughter by the sea for Sunday fun.   Can't touch this/us?

The split-mind continues, considering all that, and I shall carry on:  Composition classes to enjoy manana and the weird escapism of Downton Abbey tonight. 

Yes, carry on.
Kisses & DALE -
Joyce

Post-Super Bowl Fabulosity . . .

Dear you --

The Patriots WON WON WON the Bowl a la Super!!!!

A record-breaking viewing crowd and a freaky game with unexpected events (e.g. - football bouncing into fallen receiver's hands and fame-making interception by humble youngster who was working at Popeye's five minutes ago) made the NFL championship show the best ever.  And my Brady/Patriot bias has nothing (well, maybe something) to do with my assessment.

But there is more!  The advertising.  Yawn, yawn, yawn in response to the pathos of puppies and paternity. What I loved is/was the Reebok sell:




Be more human indeed.  My idealized self loves to identify with these types, and the televised ad Super Bowl night was just . . . killer good.  I have to use the word inspirational, exhausted though it be.  But the backlash is coming already:  claims this appeals to vanity, the ME ME ME obsession.  Really?  Isn't it refreshing to see a celebration of the flesh instead of the latest techno gadget or the crap sold on Home Shopping Network?  And even if most serious play-types can't afford the actual Reebok product, doesn't this ad acknowledge they exist and are "just doing it" (sorry, competitor Nike) too?

But I need to add another human-type to this Reebok demographic, one that is often criticized by fitness freaks and Puritans:
The Sporty-Lite Human!  She smokes and enjoys reading in the bathtub just as much as she likes her workouts.  Aren't both forms of delicious indulgence required if she (okay, I do mean I) REALLY wants to "be more human"?

One last interesting confession.  On YouTube, the Reebok ad is linked to a quiz that calculates . . . "humanness".    I took the quiz.  My confession?  When asked if I had to choose between being a genius or being astonishingly good looking, I chose the latter.

Have a truly human day :)

Yours in Mutual Narcissism,
Joyce

Super Bowl Sunday --- nail biting plus beer . . .

Halftime, Dear You!

With all the serious events on planet earth, millions of American peeps and I are all peppy over the game.  I am simultaneously on Twitter, posting random reactions to #PatiotsNation or something hash-taggy like that.

Seriously, I want Brady and company to take this one.  Give Tom another ring!

Meanwhile, rain falls in north Florida all day.  I complete my taxes and get fined for not paying for health insurance.   Really?  My precarious work situation is tough enough without being penalized for not cooperating with health insurance monoliths.

But why worry about reality?  Miss K. Perry is about to perform at halftime and I can distract myself with bread and circuses . . . putting the Romans to shame.

Offering a hopeful prediction:  Patriots will win this one . . . Wilson's last minute miracles won't happen this night. Or so I say.  OMG!  Just looked at the television.  K. is riding on this vile looking, giant, mechanical tiger.  And now there are dancing robots . . . Truly, we are a demented nation :)

Kisses and Go Patriots!

Your Joyce