They're Hot, Then They're Cold (Sesame Street)

So yesterday I was browsing my favorite news source, The Week, and ran across this cute video of Katy Perry singing "Hot and Cold" with Elmo. I thought it was so cute, bubbly and fun that I emailed it to my husband and told him that our daughter was going to love it. I couldn't wait for the new season of Sesame Street to start next week.

Then less than four hours after I sent the link and my excited endorsement to my husband, the excrement hit the fan. Apparently, some parents were outraged (outraged!) at Katy's low cut top.

Honestly, I never noticed her top. All I saw was her running around trying to get Elmo to play dress-up with her. And I guarantee you, when my daughter watches the video (saved to my YouTube favorites -- assuming, of course, it hasn't been pulled down yet), she won't see what Katy is wearing, nor will she register it subliminally. ALL she will see is Elmo. That is all any kid will see.

I'll be the first to admit, I'm not the least bit prudish. There are many instances in which I think American moms get their panties in a bunch when they just need to chill. I think we are raising a generation of sheltered pansies. That's just me. I know people disagree with me. That's fine. They're entitled.

I understand why Sesame Street pulled it. PBS is a public station that depends on donations for its survival. It needs to support of the Mini-Van Majority. I get it. I totally get it.

But I still don't get why the video bothered people in the first place. Well... Until I read a lot of comments and saw that many of the women who called and emailed to complain about Katy Perry's attire admitted they didn't even watch the video. Classic. Typical.

And don't even get me started on the hypocrisy of lambasting Katy Perry for her attire when none of these parents are complaining about the fact that Sesame Street is still running the segments with Kobi Bryant (rapist... allegedly) and Brenden Fraiser (wife beater... allegedly) and John Mayer (a-hole... Confirmed). Apparently, what's good for the goose is not good for the gander.

Whatever.

The interesting thing is, tonight I also found out that Sesame Street is doing a True Blood spoof this season. Since my FB query was too long for the status bar, I paste it here for your consideration:

Trying again...

So is this okay?:

http://www.advocate.com/News/Daily_News/2010/09/23/Sesame_Street_Spoofs_True_Blood/

Trying to figure out where the line is. I don't know many preschoolers who watch True Blood. And, you know, Sooki dresses a little hookie.

I love True Blood, but it's not exactly Sesame Street fodder. I have no problem with it, but I also didn't have any problem with the fun Katy Perry video.

Are the same parents who got their panties in a bunch over cleavage going to make angry calls before this airs? Or is it okay cuz they're puppets?

Just curious. Thoughts?





Posted from my iPhone, so please forgive any ducking typos.
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H&M, Why Hath Thou Foresaken Me?

Um...... BOO!!!!!!
 
Seriously?!
 
One of the few things I miss about living in NYC is having an H&M at my disposal. I am an H&M junkie -- at least I am when I'm in a city that actually has one. When Pop Culture Dad and I were dating, we went to Paris. Despite all the fabulous shopping at my disposal, what made me the most excited? Finding a ginormous H&M in the middle of the shopping district. When we got married in the fabulous Las Vegas, I actually put on the pre-wedding schedule I drew up for my family and attendants "Shopping at H&M."  Yes. I'm that bad.
 
I have never understood why there is no H&M in Houston, the fourth largest city in the United States. In fact, of the ten largest cities in the United States, there is an H&M in every location except the three Texas cities (4. Houston, 7. San Antonio, 9. Dallas).  I really don't understand this, especially when you consider that St. Louis (#52) has not one, but three H&M stores. Seriously, they do -- St. Louis, Des Peres, and Chesterfield [it's all St. Louis metro area]. I can get my H&M fix when we visit Pop Culture Dad's parents, but that happens once maybe twice a year. That's really not enough to prevent my H&M withdrawal shakes.
 
Quite honestly, I am perplexed at their marketing model. "[W]e think Texas is a really important market, but...". For realz??? I'm sad. :(
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Dear People.com:

Dear People.com:

Kat Von D and Jesse James are disgusting. No one wants to see them making out. No one. No one even wants to think about them making out. So can you please explain to me why you have not one but two features today about them kissing? Seriously?! I hate you.
 
"Love,"
Me
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Where Are The Fashion Police When You Need Them?

Okay, maybe this isn't a fashion police issue. It's more like the story of someone who lacks basic fashion sense and plain common sense.

Pop Culture Dad is a loving husband and a caring father; but he, like many men, is clueless when it comes to basic, everyday things that normal, functioning adults should know to get through the day. This cluelessness often extends to the care of our daughter.

Pop Culture Toddler attends Montessori school during the day while PCD and I tend to our day jobs. We have an alternating schedule for picking her up in the evenings, but since PCD is the boss (at work, anyway) and needs to be at work often before PCT and I are even awake, and my job is generally über-flexible with arrival times, I am almost always the one who drops her off in the morning. In fact, in the 10 months she has attended this school, he has dropped her off a total of three times. I'm not complaining; this is just a fact.

The first time he dropped her off, PCD's cluelessness led him to overlook one minor detail: everyone needs to brush their hair in the morning, and this is especially important for little girls -- even more important for little girls with curly hair that tends to get tangled if it is not brushed or combed. Although PCD later tried to play it off (as he always does) as he didn't know how to do her hair, it was obvious from his initial reaction that it never occurred to him to do her hair at all. This is pretty much our actual phone conversation:

PCD: I got her to school okay! She was in a really good mood. I put her in the outfit you left hanging on her closet door. I assume that's why it was there?

Me: Yup! So what did you do with her hair?

PCD: Her hair?

Me: Yeah, her hair. Did you just brush it and leave it down, or did you attempt to do something with it?

[silence]

Me: Hello?

PCD: I just got her dressed and dropped her off at school....

Me: [sigh]

PCD: Well.... I don't know how to do all that fancy stuff with her hair! What am I supposed to do? You're going to have to teach me one weekend.

Me: Fancy? You mean a ponytail? You could have just brushed it, ya know...


Of course, it went on from there with PCD getting more defensive by the minute. Fortunately, that day, PCT's teachers took pity on her, and she came home well-coifed.

The second time he dropped her off, I believe it was brushing her teeth that he forgot. He remembered to brush his own, but seems to have forgotten that she has teeth, too -- not many, but she's got some.

They say the third time is the charm. Well, it was certainly something.

Yesterday, I had to be at the office early, which meant PCD had to take PCT to school. In order to prevent social embarrassment help him out, I took every necessary precaution: I picked out her outfit, down to the shoes; I put her shirt on, so that I could do her hair before I left; I gave her breakfast; I packed her school bag; and I told PCD not once but twice where to find the pants that matched her outfit (lying on the bed next to her shoes, in plain sight), so he wouldn't take liberties and pick something that clashed with her flowery purple shirt. I'd done everything. Or so I thought.

When I picked up Pop Culture Toddler from school yesterday, she was wearing the backup outfit I keep in her backpack. Naturally, I assumed she had a potty accident requiring a costume change. Usually, the school only changes her pants, but I figured her teacher didn't want her tie-dye backup pants to clash with her flowered shirt. Good call, teachers!

Later that night, when I looked in the backpack to fish out the soiled clothes, only the shirt was there. I made a mental note to ask them in the morning for her dirty panties and pants. When PCT and I went upstairs to go to bed, I noticed her purple pants I'd laid out that morning were still lying on the bed. "Great," I thought, "He went rogue and picked out his own outfit. Doesn't he know not many things in her closet match PCT's shirt?". So I went back downstairs. This was the exchange:

Me: Hey, honey? What pants did you send PCT to school in?

PCD: Pants? None. She was wearing that dress.

Me: [laughing] Nooooo. She had on a shirt. Remember, I told you to put her pants on after she went potty, and I put them on the bed for you?

PCD: What do you mean it wasn't a dress? It looked like a dress.

Me: Honey! It doesn't even cover her panties.

PCD: Yes it does! It totally looks like a dress.

Me: [pulling the shirt out of PCT's backpack and holding it up to her]. See? Goes to her waist.

PCD: Oh.... Well... [and then the random excuses started]


Yes, my darling, loving husband sent our adorable one-year old to school in just her shirt, panties and sandals.

Thankfully, the teachers at my daughter's school recognized this error and corrected it. Also, thankfully, they know that Mommy isn't the one who dropped her off half-dressed (nor am I the one who drops her off with bedhead or stinky breath). I think I'm going to be very generous with the teacher presents this year.

I'm cringing thinking about what's going to happen next weekend when I'm out of town and Pop Culture Dad has to play single parent for the weekend. I hope this week's embarrassment sticks with him long enough to turn him into Mrs. Doubtfire, at least temporarily.

It has given me a new perspective on life, though: no matter how horrible my day was, at least I have my pants.


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I Guess I’m Not Cool Anymore

I’m not stupid. I know my days of being a young, hot, hip club bunny were long behind me well before I became a mom. I’m totally okay with that. People who have professional jobs and certain appearances to maintain generally should not be club bunnies – esp. not in their 30s or beyond. I am also okay with not being young. Age is what you make it. You can let the number define you, or you can define (and defy) the number. That all being said, I sure wouldn’t mind being hot and hip again.
There are constant reminders that I am no longer cool and cute. For one, I don’t get carded anymore and I no longer end up with freebies at stores or generally get a “pass".”  The guys and gals who flirt with me – on the rare occasion anyone flirts with me anymore – tend to be my parents’ age or just otherwise unacceptable. Of course, I’m married, I don’t need anyone flirting with me; but it’s always nice to know you’ve still got it, KWIM? I don’t have it. Not anymore.

So I‘m not young, and I’m not hot, but I thought I had at least some semblance of cool. Apparently I don’t. I still listen to the radio, and I know what’s cool and current in music even though I don’t necessarily like it. [Sorry, totally don’t get the Bieber or Ke$ha thing]. I have been generally good about not expressing my old fuddy duddy opinions to the youngsters. And even though I’m no longer a club bunny, I guarantee you I can dance circles around most kids (and adults) these days [just too bad no one wants to see my butt shaking anymore].

I’m a gadget geek, so I keep up with all the latest technology. I don’t use phrases like “The Twitter.” Pop Culture Dad and I watch movies [though, usually on Netflix, because there’s generally nothing out that I like enough to pay a babysitter for]. I’m up on all the latest television. I am generally not a bad dresser, particularly since I make a good salary and can actually buy my own clothes – a luxury I did not have as a teen or early-20 something.

So given all of these things, I thought I hadn’t quite reached the stage where younger adults rolls their eyes and banish me to the “old” category. But this is how I know I’m old and uncool: Facebook.

I know, it shouldn’t bother me that my little cousin – who I used to babysit, the one who now babysits my own child, the one who once adored me more than anything and couldn’t wait to see me — rejected my friend request. But it does. Especially when I see her “mutual friends” list and it includes a whole host of other family members, some of whom are only a couple years younger than me. And, of course, it bothers me that her brother, who at one point had accepted my friend request deleted me [even though, quite honestly, I had his account blocked from my feed, cuz the kid posted annoying statuses 300 times a day].

I also know how uncool and old I am when I find myself highly annoyed by the statuses of the youngins who did friend me [you know… the ones who haven’t deleted me yet]. I am generally free-thinking and loose; but the older I get, the lower my tolerance gets. I get tired that some people under the age of 25 talk in “txt” speak. I’m sick of reading rap lyrics passed off as independent thoughts [even when I like the song]. I’m tired of hearing never-married chippies with too many kids at home, who are being raised by their parents rather than them anyway, bitch and moan about men not taking care of their kids [uh… you aren’t either!] or sobbing over the latest guy to dump them [um… how about focus on your kids first before you plan on making more]. Yup, I’m now that old lady on my cyber porch yelling at these kids to get off my lawn.
The other day, a high school friend marveled at the fact that my dad, who once shunned computers, had commented on my Facebook status, and then she wondered, “What are all these old people doing on Facebook?? Tell your parents to get off Facebook!”. It now occurs to me, however, we are those old people, too.

Apparently, aspects of Facebook are like the modeling industry: even though you’re not old, generally, you are too old for some things. It’s like the bouncer in Knocked Up said, “I didn’t mean you’re too old for this earth. You’re too old for this club.” I’m not saying I’m too old for Facebook (or that anyone is), but I guess I’m just too old to be “friends” with certain people.
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