We will finish our course in sex education tomorrow, but in the meantime two issues of great importance have come to light.
Number One: I was recently introduced to cave-aged Gouda, a cheese both incredibly delicious and ridiculously expensive. It comes in two types, one aged three years, and one aged five years. It's the same cheese, just aged longer and priced even higher in the latter case. Why is it that a cheese that can survive all those years in a cave, and then survive for God knows how long in the grocery store, begins to rot the second I place it in the climate-controlled cave-like environment that is my refrigerator's cheese drawer? If I buy the three-year version, shouldn't I have at least two years before it begins to spoil?
Number Two: What is the show dog world's love of poodles all about? I've been watching Westminster for about 20 years, and pretty much each year at least one poodle is deemed "Best in Group." Because poodles compete in both the non-sporting and toy groups, not one but two poodles can end up fighting it out for Best in Show. Every year, more of the same: the standard poodle wins group, or the miniature poodle takes it. If that doesn't happen Monday night, then the toy poodle takes its group Tuesday. Winning Westminster always comes down to vanquishing the poodle.
What's so great about these poodles? I know, take away the haircut and you have intelligent, gentle, obedient, loyal companions, blah blah blah. What well-trained dog isn't all of the above? Brody has all of those qualities, without the haircut. Brody is a self-respecting Brittany who would not be caught dead with that ridiculous haircut. I know, the poofs are to protect the joints while hunting, or whatever. Most dogs were bred to hunt or herd, yet only poodles are groomed to look like Marie Antoinette. Why do judges keep rewarding this? The show world's embrace of the poodle represents the triumph of grooming, of style over substance. Everyone loved Uno last year because a beagle beat not one but two poodles.
Naturally, a standard poodle won the non-sporting group last night. Brody and I will be watching tonight, cheering on each and every other breed.
Showing posts with label swimsuit competition. Show all posts
Showing posts with label swimsuit competition. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Edited to Add...
8. I can use a teleprompter, too.
Palin did a good job delivering a good speech that some good speechwriter produced for her. Then again, I'm not surprised that an ex-sportscaster read her lines correctly. Expectations for her were so low she was bound to end up impressing, and she definitely succeeded in energizing the faithful gathered in the Twin Cities. She didn't win me over, even though she was wearing separates. I spent most of the speech marveling at how much she looked like Tina Fey, and then feeling sorry for Tina Fey, and then wishing that Tina Fey were still on SNL so I could see Tina Fey impersonating Palin.
I spent just as much time thinking about the set dressing and how it must have been planned as a stark contrast to last week's gathering in Denver. Most noticable was the preponderance of "hand-made" signs, giving a down home, grassroots feel to the orchestrated propoganda. Everything about the set was anti-slick, and meant to stand in contrast to the well–oiled image machine that was the DNC. While Palin spoke a slide show of national monuments played behind her in a continuous loop, the symbolic Greek columns that backed Obama replaced with specific images that signify nothing other than "America". "We're the party of just folks," it all intimated, "Those other guys are all high falutin. We're just a bunch of hockey moms who stayed up all night making signs with Travis Jr.'s finger paints."
One final thought: the child with Down's syndrome felt like a prop, handed off from Cindy McCain to First Dude to youngest daughter. I really hope this stops.
Palin did a good job delivering a good speech that some good speechwriter produced for her. Then again, I'm not surprised that an ex-sportscaster read her lines correctly. Expectations for her were so low she was bound to end up impressing, and she definitely succeeded in energizing the faithful gathered in the Twin Cities. She didn't win me over, even though she was wearing separates. I spent most of the speech marveling at how much she looked like Tina Fey, and then feeling sorry for Tina Fey, and then wishing that Tina Fey were still on SNL so I could see Tina Fey impersonating Palin.
I spent just as much time thinking about the set dressing and how it must have been planned as a stark contrast to last week's gathering in Denver. Most noticable was the preponderance of "hand-made" signs, giving a down home, grassroots feel to the orchestrated propoganda. Everything about the set was anti-slick, and meant to stand in contrast to the well–oiled image machine that was the DNC. While Palin spoke a slide show of national monuments played behind her in a continuous loop, the symbolic Greek columns that backed Obama replaced with specific images that signify nothing other than "America". "We're the party of just folks," it all intimated, "Those other guys are all high falutin. We're just a bunch of hockey moms who stayed up all night making signs with Travis Jr.'s finger paints."
One final thought: the child with Down's syndrome felt like a prop, handed off from Cindy McCain to First Dude to youngest daughter. I really hope this stops.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
The Campaign that Could Have Been
The more I think about McCain's Vice-Presidential pick, the more I'm convinced that a golden opportunity has been wasted. If he had been aware of my utter lack of qualifications I feel certain that he would have made me his running mate. Palin's no heavyweight, but I've got her underweighted. Here, a small synopsis of what I could have brought to the ticket:
1. Never having served as a mayor or governor, I have even less experience than Palin, and in that sense am even more of a Washington outsider. Who better to lead the Senate, or to take over the reigns once Paw-Paw kicks the bucket, than someone whose entire knowledge of foreign policy and national affairs comes from the New York Times?
2. I'm unmarried and childless, and my pets have both been neutered. No tricky pregnancies in my closets! Plus, my dog loves shaking and kissing babies, which is much better on the campaign trail than a surly, knocked-up teenager.
3. I'm not a Republican and I don't even like McCain. What a bold choice I would have made! Who but a bipartisan maverick would choose a random woman from Pennsylvania (a swing state, mind you) who has never voted for a Republican for President as his running mate? Who needs the Republican base? I can bring in a better base because
4. My breasts are bigger than Palin's.
5. I'm currently "between jobs." As such, I understand the economic pain of the American people. Palin already has a job. I also need the generous health insurance Congress provides to itself and to the administration. If elected, one more American will be insured. Adding me to the ticket would therefore demonstrate McCain's dedication to reducing unemployment and expanding healthcare. These items can then be removed from the platform.
6. I'm Jewish, and taller than Joe Lieberman. I also don't have a wife named "Hadassah." I can pass.
7. As a strong, independent woman, the words "pants suit" have never crossed my lips. I'm the post-Hillary woman, not afraid to campaign in separates.
Maybe it's not too late. Read my blog, John McCain, and pick me. I really am the better choice.
1. Never having served as a mayor or governor, I have even less experience than Palin, and in that sense am even more of a Washington outsider. Who better to lead the Senate, or to take over the reigns once Paw-Paw kicks the bucket, than someone whose entire knowledge of foreign policy and national affairs comes from the New York Times?
2. I'm unmarried and childless, and my pets have both been neutered. No tricky pregnancies in my closets! Plus, my dog loves shaking and kissing babies, which is much better on the campaign trail than a surly, knocked-up teenager.
3. I'm not a Republican and I don't even like McCain. What a bold choice I would have made! Who but a bipartisan maverick would choose a random woman from Pennsylvania (a swing state, mind you) who has never voted for a Republican for President as his running mate? Who needs the Republican base? I can bring in a better base because
4. My breasts are bigger than Palin's.
5. I'm currently "between jobs." As such, I understand the economic pain of the American people. Palin already has a job. I also need the generous health insurance Congress provides to itself and to the administration. If elected, one more American will be insured. Adding me to the ticket would therefore demonstrate McCain's dedication to reducing unemployment and expanding healthcare. These items can then be removed from the platform.
6. I'm Jewish, and taller than Joe Lieberman. I also don't have a wife named "Hadassah." I can pass.
7. As a strong, independent woman, the words "pants suit" have never crossed my lips. I'm the post-Hillary woman, not afraid to campaign in separates.
Maybe it's not too late. Read my blog, John McCain, and pick me. I really am the better choice.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Every Day's a Dog Day
It's been a lax week here at Synthetic Culture Worldwide Headquarters Unlimited. I've been strengthening my forearm and wrist for skeeball, improving my fried food tolerance, and watching Brody chase frogs around the swimming pool. How could I possibly have time to post? I'm out of here for a long weekend tomorrow morning, but I'll be back Tuesday with all the news from South Jersey, an even better suntan, and a bathing suit full of sand. Have a good weekend, one and all...
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Career Institute
Cicadas have already arrived. It's mid-July, but summer has begun its slow fade. I've sold my business, and I gave myself the arbitrary deadline of Labor Day to decide what I want to be when I grow up. I get up every morning determined to determine something and then get distracted by the day, by the Times and by the pool, by whatever reading I'm doing, by a warm evening on my porch. I watch dusk come just a little earlier each evening, hear the cicadas, know something has to be decided, sigh, and turn back to the pages of my book.
What will I be when I grow up? All I know is that my friend's pool beckons. Maybe life is just randomness. If I let it go, something will come to me. That's my hope on a morning in the middle of July.
What will I be when I grow up? All I know is that my friend's pool beckons. Maybe life is just randomness. If I let it go, something will come to me. That's my hope on a morning in the middle of July.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Good Teeth, Healthy Coat
It's hard to beat looking at beautiful women, but I would never watch a beauty pageant. This isn't just because they're sexist (although they are sexist), but also because they're dehumanizing, reducing women to body parts and shiny hair. And yet every year I spend two nights watching Westminster, which, let's be honest, is a beauty pageant full of body parts and shiny hair. I understand that which is not human can't be dehumanizing, but there's still something disturbing about the dog show, even if it's hard to beat looking at beautiful dogs.
I know that breeders and participants think of showing as a sport, and I'll admit that a certain amount of fitness is required of both dog and handler in order to look good running around the ring, but it's hard for me to see this as a sport. This isn't field trials or agility; the winner of the dog show isn't the fastest, the strongest, the one with the most stamina. The winner is the prettiest.
The dogs are judged based on their breed standards, and the dog that comes closest to achieving "perfection," meaning the dog that most closely meets the standard, becomes "best." The judging criteria go beyond breed standards, though; each breed also has a grooming standard for the show, and markings are taken into account, not only in that roaning may or may not be acceptable for the breed, but also in that the dog simply needs to have nice markings. Go to a dog show and watch the ring preparations, the amount of time spent on clipping and brushing and covering blemishes and creaming and powdering white coats to make them look their whitest.
Ten years ago, I had a friend who owned probably the worst show dog in the world. By that I mean the dog hated the ring, had acne, and clearly wasn't cut out for the life. Her purchase contract for the dog stated that he had to be shown for two years, though, so she showed him for two years. The average cost per year, in 1997 dollars, was $10,000. Why spend all that money? Well, if the dog becomes a champion you get it all back by breeding.
The dog show is then ultimately about the economics of sex. Winners breed with winners, their offspring sold off at a premium. Male champions spend their retirement having their sperm harvested and frozen, producing an income stream for their owners for years to come. The dog show is a study of eugenics in action.
How would we feel if this was the ultimate result of the Miss America pageant?
I know that breeders and participants think of showing as a sport, and I'll admit that a certain amount of fitness is required of both dog and handler in order to look good running around the ring, but it's hard for me to see this as a sport. This isn't field trials or agility; the winner of the dog show isn't the fastest, the strongest, the one with the most stamina. The winner is the prettiest.
The dogs are judged based on their breed standards, and the dog that comes closest to achieving "perfection," meaning the dog that most closely meets the standard, becomes "best." The judging criteria go beyond breed standards, though; each breed also has a grooming standard for the show, and markings are taken into account, not only in that roaning may or may not be acceptable for the breed, but also in that the dog simply needs to have nice markings. Go to a dog show and watch the ring preparations, the amount of time spent on clipping and brushing and covering blemishes and creaming and powdering white coats to make them look their whitest.
Ten years ago, I had a friend who owned probably the worst show dog in the world. By that I mean the dog hated the ring, had acne, and clearly wasn't cut out for the life. Her purchase contract for the dog stated that he had to be shown for two years, though, so she showed him for two years. The average cost per year, in 1997 dollars, was $10,000. Why spend all that money? Well, if the dog becomes a champion you get it all back by breeding.
The dog show is then ultimately about the economics of sex. Winners breed with winners, their offspring sold off at a premium. Male champions spend their retirement having their sperm harvested and frozen, producing an income stream for their owners for years to come. The dog show is a study of eugenics in action.
How would we feel if this was the ultimate result of the Miss America pageant?
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