Why I can't take the spouse to the supermarket (humor)

The following conversation occurred shortly after leaving a Publix Supermarket the other day, where the spouse and I had gone together to pick up a few things for Memorial Day Weekend. 

As per usual when we go grocery shopping together, I was in charging of bagging while the spouse waited by the register -- and the tabloid magazines -- to pay.

SCENE: The car, pulling away from the Publix

THE SPOUSE: So how long do you think this union between J. Lo and A-Rod will last?

ME: Union? Did they get married?

THE SPOUSE: Well, she's having his baby.

ME: WHAT?! Jennifer Lopez is NOT pregnant. She's like, 50, and has a new show. Where did you hear that?

THE SPOUSE: It's in all the tabloids. And she's 47.

ME: I don't believe it.

THE SPOUSE: Look it up. 

ME (looking it up on my phone): I don't see anything about J. Lo being pregnant. Though she is 47.

THE SPOUSE: See, I told you.

ME: Fine, but she'll be 48 in July. 

THE SPOUSE: Nothing about her being pregnant?

ME: I just see a story about her "romance" with A-Rod. I'll look it up later*. Can we please change the subject?

Of course, I then dreamed -- though it was more of a nightmare -- that I was pregnant with twins. No word regarding who the father was.

*Jennifer Lopez is NOT pregnant -- and neither am I.

And now a word about nude photos and Internet privacy

First, let me say that hacking is vile and there is no defense for or of people who illegally obtain information and cause damage with or to it.

Furthermore, people who save or upload files (including photos) to what they have been led to believe or were told was a "secure cloud" (which is really just someone else's bigger, more powerful, more secure computer) have a right to expect that their files and privacy will be protected.

In other words: What the hackers who stole Jennifer Lawrence, Kate Upton, and other female celebrities nude photos and posted them on a message board did was not only wrong, it was illegal.

All that said, FOR YEARS NOW we have constantly heard about nude photos and videos and sexy texts "getting leaked." And we have heard about supposedly secure sites (belonging to credit card companies, retailers, hospitals, hotels) constantly getting hacked. So ya gotta wonder why anyone, especially celebrities, would trust or believe that their nude photos would be safe on their iPhones and iPads, especially if they had sent those photos to anyone.

Granted, I'm a news junkie (and, okay, write about technology for a living).

So do celebrities not read the news? Did they somehow miss all the stories over the last five or so years (or longer) about their friends' nude photos and videos and sexy texts getting leaked? Did they not read any of the articles about problems with mobile security, or at least hear about it from a friend? Do they not have grandmothers, or mothers, or friends who constantly told them, don't email (or text or tweet) anything you don't want your grandmother to see?

Btw, I'm not saying that people who take nude selfies or who let their boyfriends take nude photos of them are "asking for it." (Though I am constantly surprised when I hear girls and women say they were surprised and hurt that their boyfriend or friend shared that nude photo of them. Really? In this day and age that surprises you?)

Again, I am not in any way condoning what the hackers did, but...

If you are really really concerned about a nude photograph of you possibly showing up someplace you didn't intend it to, the best way to prevent that happening is... don't take a nude selfie or allow your boyfriend to take nude photos of you with his phone or iPad.

For more information on Nudiegate, read this piece titled "A comprehensive, jargon-free guide to the celebrity nude-photo scandal and the shadowy Web sites behind it" from The Washington Post.

The rehabilitation of Tiger Woods?

It's been a little over three years now since Tiger Woods' multiple infidelities were revealed and his reputation was severely damaged, some said irreparably.

And while Tiger did not disappear from the golf scene, the sport that made him a star, televised golf tournaments were probably the only place you would have seen him over the last three years.

But as those of us in PR know, three years is an eternity in our celebrity- and celebrity athlete-obsessed culture. (Heck, few of us can remember last month's celebrity or other scandal, let alone something that happened three years ago. And even if we can remember it, or are reminded, chances are we are apathetic about it at best.)

Now Eldrick "Tiger" Woods is back, in a new Nike Golf ad titled "No Cup Is Safe" with fellow golfer Rory McIlroy -- the current top-ranked golfer in the world who is also considered very likeable. And the video has gone viral.



[I don't know about all of you, but the Nike Golf "No Cup Is Safe" ad totally reminds me of this classic McDonald's spot featuring Larry Bird and Michael Jordan.]

So is one ad, albeit a very amusing one, enough to rehabilitate Tiger's tarnished image? Maybe. Maybe not. But if Tiger starts winning tournaments again, I have no doubt the sponsors will be lining up -- and all will be forgiven.

Do you know my good friend, Tina Fey?

So last night at dinner my mother and stepdad are telling this story about their friend and neighbor "Alec," who was seated next to my mom at a recent dinner party. After politely chatting with a handful of female admirers, he turns to my mother (whom he has known for years) and asks her where she's from. And she says "a suburb of Philadelphia." Alec presses her for the name. She tells him, and Alec says, "I have a good friend from around there, Tina Fey!" (I will let you all guess who "Alec" is.) Only in the Hamptons...

Happy National Chocolate Ice Cream Day!

In case you missed the memo, today is National Chocolate Ice Cream Day, which should make J-THREE-O very happy. (She looooooves chocolate ice cream. Me? I am more of a chocolate chip fan.)

It is also Daniel Boone Day -- the day when American pioneer Daniel Boone "discovered" Kentucky.

But wait, that's not all. Today is also the beginning of Shavuot, the period commemorating God giving the Israelites the Torah on Mount Sinai and the first harvest of the season. And how does one commemorate Shavuot, you ask? By eating at least one dairy meal. (Mmmm... chocolate ice cream.) I kid you not.

So in honor of National-Chocolate-Ice-Cream-Daniel-Boone-Shavuot-Day, I will be eating a big bowl of chocolate ice cream in my coonskin cap watching a replay of various Kentucky Derbies while reading some Old Testament. (The Book of Daniel, perhaps?)

Enjoy!

Dirty Blogging: An homage to the late Patrick Swayze

Alternate title: To Patrick Swayze Thanks for Everything, J-TWO-O

Though, for the record, I only saw a few of Swayze's films. I did not see Dirty Dancing, though I have used the film's signature line to my own ends numerous times. (The latest: Why is Swayze being cremated? Because... no one puts Swayze in a coffin.) I did, however, see Ghost, at least a couple of times (and may have taken a pottery class as a result). And I have now seen this classic SNL clip of Patrick Swayze and Chris Farley as dancers auditioning for a spot at Chippendales a few times.


via videosift.com

From the various tributes I have heard and read, Patrick Swayze, who lost his battle with pancreatic cancer yesterday, seemed like one of the good guys -- and certainly had the time of his life making movies for the big screen and TV and training show horses. Still, 57 is too young to die, no matter who you are.

Adios amigo.

¡Ay Chihuahua! This summer is setting a record for celebrity deaths!

It has gotten to the point that every week I expect to hear that yet another famous person died. And this week did not disappoint (if that is the right term -- hey, it's 6 a.m. and I've been up since around 4).

As you may have already heard or read, this Tuesday a true icon, beloved and recognized by millions, suffered a major stroke and passed away. No, I am not talking about Frank McCourt, the author of Angela's Ashes, who died this past Sunday. I am referring to, of course, Gidget, the feisty 15-year-old chihuahua who was the star of countless Taco Bell ads (even though the chihuahua in the ads was supposedly male) and the movie Legally Blonde 2.

"She made so many people happy," said Sue Chipperton, Gidget's trainer. Si.

Adios amiga.

I liked it better when people's private lives were private

Enough about Sonia Sotomayor (Did we really need to know she spent her first week at Princeton University obsessing over a cricket?)....

Enough about Michael Jackson (Did we really need to know he had so much work done on his nose that he had no nose left? And that's just the tip of the plastic surgery stories!)....

Enough about (soon-to-be-ex?) South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford and his soul baring and his mistress....

Enough about Jon and Kate, the "Real Housewives" (who seem totally fake), Bachelors and Bachelorettes, B-list (and A-list) celebrities, and athletes (though I do kinda feel bad for Jessica Simpson, who was dumped by boyfriend Tony Romo, the Dallas Cowboys quarterback, the night before her birthday - OUCH!).

And enough about Sarah Palin. Period. Really ENOUGH. (Though this Slate article, "Lost in Translation: Why Sarah really quit us," is worth a read.)

You would think from reading and watching the news (and I'm talking mainstream media) that there was little else going on in the world (except for plane crashes, natural disasters, grizzly murders, and men driving around without their pants on).

Sigh.

Pitchman Billy Mays goes Kaboom!

The world has lost another voice (literally) with the death this morning of pitchman extraordinaire Billy Mays, who, like Michael Jackson, was only 50 years old.

No cause of death has (as of this writing) been reported for Billy Mays, who was found dead in his Tampa, FL, home, but Vince the ShamWow guy is being sought for questioning.

Now who will yell at me to buy all sorts of great-sounding but totally useless stuff?! Sigh.

RIP Billy Mays.

UPDATED 8/7/09: According to a recently completed autopsy, OxiClean was not the only white powder Pitchman Billy Mays was sniffin'. While technically Mays died from a heart attack, officials found cocaine in his system, which, they said, contributed to (or brought on) the heart attack. So that's why he was always so hyper and loud....

First Ed. Then Farrah. Now Michael. I feel like part of my childhood just died.

For all of us who grew up or came of age in the 1970s, this was a very sad week, as we lost three icons of that period: Ed McMahon, Farah Fawcett, and Michael Jackson.

Take a walk with me down memory lane, won't you, as we revisit everyone's favorite 1970s sidekick...



An angel*...



and smooth operator (I just love this ad)



... and pop king (pre-plastic surgery, sequined glove, spandex pants, and chimps)...



R.I.P.

*Though she wasn't my favorite; I actually preferred Kate Jackson and Jaclyn Smith and even Cheryl Ladd. I did, however, buy the iconic Farrah poster for a boy I had a crush on, who had a crush on Farrah.

Goodbye, Mr. Roarke. Ricardo Montalban joins Herve Villechaize on that big Fantasy Island in the sky.

I wonder if his casket will be lined with fine Corinthian leather...



In addition to being the spokesman for the Chrysler Cordoba (that's the small Chrysler?! and other Chrysler models), Ricardo Montalban was an omnipresent figure in the late 1970s and early 1980s. He played the mysterious Mr. Roarke on Fantasy Island, a Saturday night staple, along with the Love Boat, on ABC for years. And he played Khan Noonien Singh on the original Star Trek and, more famously, in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.

But I also have fond memories of Mr. Montalban, who, even though he was Mexican, always played someone of some other nationality, in many great old movies, including On an Island with You and Neptune's Daughter, both of which starred Esther Williams.

Sadly, now we must say adios to Senor Montalban. And so I leave you with this song, sung by his co-star of many years on Fantasy Island, Herve Villechaize, which, in this time of war and strife, I think is most appropriate.



Peace.

Forget Caroline Kennedy. I want Nanny Fine for Senator.

Forget Illinois and its Senategate. If you live in the Northeast the real Senate action and oddsmaking is on who will be appointed to replace New York Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton when (if?) she is confirmed as Secretary of State next year. And right now (i.e., as of this morning, if the morning talk shows and cable news shows are any indication) the odds-on favorite for replacing Senator Clinton is Caroline Kennedy, whose chief qualifications appear to be her last name (her uncle Robert held the exact same seat!) and friendship and support of President-Elect Barack Obama.

Not that being a fundraiser and editing several books don't count, but I've given away and raised big bucks for charities and edited over a dozen books and you don't see me jockeying for a Senate seat, even though I have a Master's degree in international relations, follow politics closely, and grew up in and have ties to New York. Though now that I think about it.... (Nah. Not interested. Though I would be very happy to serve the Obama-Biden Administration in some other, paid, way. Hint. Hint. In case anyone from the Transition Team is reading this.)

But Ms. Kennedy (who mysteriously dropped her married name some time in the last few years) is far from being alone in wanting that New York Senate seat. According to New York Senior Senator Chuck Schumer, there are at least 12 individuals vying for the plum post, including New York Attorney General Andrew "Hey, MY father was GOVERNOR of New York!" Cuomo and Fran Drescher, who most of you probably recall as Nanny Fine from "The Nanny," who officially announced her interest in the New York Senate seat on "Larry King Live" last night.

I like Fran Drescher, and loved "The Nanny," but I had to change the channel after just a few minutes as there is only so much of Drescher's signature nasal twang I can take. But think how much she could get done in the Senate with that voice?! The Senators would pass her motions in record time, just to get her to shut up.

Still, if it were between Kennedy, Cuomo, and Drescher, my vote would go to Fran (who in addition to being an actress and comedienne also created a charity called the Cancer Schmancer Movement and is an envoy for the U.S. State Department, advocating on behalf of women's health issues around the world). Hey if Sonny Bono and Gopher (aka Fred Grandy) from the "Love Boat" could be U.S. Congressmen, Fred Thompson (aka Foghorn Leghorn) a U.S. Senator, Arnold Schwarzenegger a Governor, and Ronald Reagan President, why couldn't Nanny Fine become a Senator? Lord knows the Senate could use a little comic relief.

Speaking of which...



UPDATED 1/23/09: Caroline Kennedy has officially withdrawn her name from consideration for the New York Senate seat left vacant by Secretary of State Hillary Clinton. However, despite my best efforts, the new junior Senator from New York will not be Fran Drescher but Rep. Kirsten "I [heart] David Paterson!" Gillibrand. Sorry Fran. Oh, and for all of you who hit this blog looking to find out if Caroline Kennedy was still married to Edwin Schlossberg, she is.

So what's Jennifer Aniston got that I don't got?

Besides a killer body, bodacious ta-tas, fame, fortune, and John Mayer? (Not that I care about John Mayer, at all.)

Even though it has yet to hit newsstands (on December 23), I am already sick of the former Friend's latest GQ cover, where she is shown tying one on -- or only in one tie. And you can bet whoever makes that tie will see sales go through the roof. (Peter Alexander over at MSNBC kept shouting "Where can I get that tie?!" as he was "reporting" on the Aniston cover yesterday, while trying not to drool.)

While I am sure the cover and inside spread will likewise send GQ sales (and male masturbatory activities) through the roof, it is a bane to fortysomething (and even thirtysomething) women everywhere.

We have it tough enough, guys, just trying to get your attention, without you now thinking, "Hey, if Jennifer Aniston looks that hot at 40, why can't you?"

Thanks a lot, Jennifer Aniston.

Ladies, I say we boycott "Marley & Me" this Christmas (even though that little blond lab puppy is really, really cute) -- and all Jennifer Aniston movies, until her boobs start sagging and she has the dignity to show some cellulite, love handles, and a few wrinkles, like the rest of us (who don't have personal trainers and chefs and Hollywood stylists and photographers).

UPDATED 10:05: In somewhat related news, legendary pinup girl Bettie Page has died.

What is it about Anderson Cooper that turns otherwise sane women into panty-throwing, AC-worshipping CNN junkies?

Or put another way, is Anderson Cooper* the Tom Jones of cable news?

But it's not just women who want to throw their panties at the blue-eyed news lothario of CNN. Oh no. Just check out this guy's site, titled "SHAMELESS ANDERSON COOPER WORSHIP 1" (meaning that somewhere out there there are other shameless Anderson Cooper worship websites and blogs).

So what is it about Young Blue Eyes that makes both men and women (including myself and many of my female friends) want to stay up late to watch CNN or play hooky from work whenever he co-hosts "Live with Regis and Kelly" (when Rege is away)? Is it his finely chiseled good looks? The ever-so-gently tussled, prematurely white hair? Those piercing blue eyes? That dimpled smile? His firm grasp on the issues? His enormous... compassion? The way he looks right into the camera as though he's looking right into your soul?

I confess, I didn't always have a thing for Mr. Cooper, quite the opposite in fact. When we were in school together, I thought him a bit of a brat and even annoying. But so many of the kids I attended Dalton with back in the day were like that, the pampered pups of the rich and famous, self-centered, and looking down their often plastic surgeried noses at the bourgeoisie (like me). Although I barely knew Anderson back then, he and his brother, Carter, teased me mercilessly, as did their friends, after I wrote a biography of their mother in fifth grade, for an English or Social Studies assignment, and referred to her as "Gloria," which she had told me to do when I interviewed her. (For the record, while her children were often cruel to me, Mrs. Vanderbilt was always kind to me the few times I saw or spoke to her.)

But I forgive you now, Anderson. (And I was truly dumbstruck and cried when I heard about Carter.)

See, that is the amazing power that Anderson Cooper has! He can make people go from despising him to adoring him!

And on December 11 at 9 p.m. ET/PT -- TiVo/DVR alert! -- (thank you, eldorado59970) Anderson will be once again doing battle (for the planet and for our hearts and eyeballs) on "Planet in Peril: Battle Lines."

UPDATED 6:00 P.M.: Many thanks to my friend, "Barker," for alerting me to this clip. (Don't know how I managed to miss this.)



Swoon. Ain't he dreamy?

So, what makes you want to bake cupcakes for or throw your panties at Anderson Cooper? Let me know...

*Personally, I like the picture on Cooper's CNN page better, but the Wikipedia link has more interesting background/non-CNN-related stuff.

"Bronx Mowgli" and what else NOT to name your child

I get the whole "let's be original! our child needs to stand out from the pack!" mentality, parents of Suri, Sunday, Shiloh, Moses and Apple. But Ever Gabo? Zuma Nesta Rock? And Bronx Mowgli? Give me -- and the poor kid -- a friggin' break! Not that I am saying everyone should name his or her kid something traditional (i.e., English or Biblical -- and let's face it, there are some mighty odd names, at least by today's standards, in the Bible). Just something spellable and pronounceable, that won't give the poor kid a complex.

So herewith I give you "J.'s Rules for What Not to Name Your Child." (Note: The opinions expressed herein are J.'s and are not necessarily shared by her family or friends.)

1. Do not name your child something offensive or obsene (or just downright stupid), like "Shithead" (pronounced "Shuh-TEED") or "Loser" (though Loser turned out to be a winner, while his brother, Winner, turned out to be a loser), both cases mentioned in the book Freakonomics. In New Zealand, authorities have the right to turn down names that are openly offensive or obscene and have already said no to Fish and Chips, Yeah Detroit, Stallion, Twisty Poi, Keenan Got Lucky, Sex Fruit, Fat Boy, Satan, Adolf Hitler, and 4Real. For real. In fact, the parents of "Talula Does the Hula From Hawaii" lost custody of the child, who went by the initial "K" instead, she was so embarrassed by her name.

2. Do not name your child after a borough of the City of New York. (Yeah, I'm talking to you David and Victoria "Posh Spice" Beckham and you, Ashlee with two "e"s and Pete Wenz.)

3. Do not name your child after a beach. (Do you know what kind of sludge washes up onto beaches?)

4. Do not name your child after a beverage, adult or otherwise. (Does the world really need another "Budweiser" or "Zuma"? Though the parents of the latter say they named him after the beach. Though really, is a beach any better? See above.)

5. Do not name your child after a day of the week, unless you are a member of the Addams Family. (Though, okay, Tuesday -- nee Susan -- Weld was pretty cute, though she suffered a nervous breakdown at 9, started drinking heavily at 10, and tried to kill herself at 12. Are you paying attention, Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban?)

6. Do not name your child after your or anyone else's car. (Why? Do you really want to hear some guy say "Oh what a feeling to drive a Toyota" when you know he's not talking about the car? Enough said.)

7. Do not name your child after a menu item, even one from a fancy French restaurant. (Yes, I'm talking 'bout you, parents of all those "Happy Meals." And while I love a good cupcake, I do not suggest naming your child after one.)

8. Do not pick a name you can't spell, and then come up with some weird spelling that no one else can spell or pronounce. (FYI, If you, an adult, can't spell it, what makes you think your kid, his friends, and/or his teachers will?) PC Warning: The only possible exception to this rule is if you know for sure your son is going to grow up to be a professional basketball or football player in the United States. And even then, can't you cut the announcers/commentators some slack? Their job is hard enough as is.

Special note here for my Welsh and Irish/Gaelic readers: This rule does not necessarily apply to you, especially if you reside in Wales or Ireland where I assume you and other people will know how to spell your child's name, even if the rest of us don't.

I am sure if I sat here long enough, I could come up with more rules, but I need to take little Hard Day's Night Two-O shopping for some winter outerwear.

P.S. If you want to have a little fun researching baby names, try the The Baby Name Wizard, where you can "explore name trends letter by letter."

UPDATED 12:08 P.M.: I just came across this blog/web post titled "Baby's Named a Bad, Bad Thing: A Primer on Parent Cruelty," which is also pretty darn funny (and/or scary, depending on your point of view).

UPDATED AGAIN AT 3:55 P.M.: How could I have possibly left off Kal-el Coppola Cage, Moxie CrimeFighter Jillette, or Soleil Moon Frye, who named her children Jagger and Poet? (For more unusual celebrity baby names, click on the link.)

Happy Belated Birthday to Demi Moore

Who turned 46 (46!) on November 11. (Making her much older than I am. Ahem. ; ) While I am not personally a Demi Moore fan, I know at least one of my (male) readers is. So here is a little Demi Candy for you, honey.

For the record, though, I do not believe she was Mrs. Ashton Kutcher yet when this photo was taken (if you catch my drift). ; )

And speaking of Ashton Kutcher, 30, who is not-so-bad-looking himself, per today's Scoop column on MSNBC, Mr. Demi Moore threw his wifey an intimate dinner party for 20 or so friends near where Demi was shooting her latest film.

As Scoop columnist Courtney Hazlett reported:

“They were cuddling and kissing all night,” a witness told Us. And it’s no secret that Kutcher is completely smitten with his wife of three years. “He’s in such awe of her,” a source tells Us. “He’s always telling her how beautiful she is and telling his friends how lucky he is.”

All together now: Aaaaaaw.

Gentleman, please take notice. You want to know the way to a woman's heart, the real one? Remember to tell her how beautiful she is -- and tell your friends how lucky you are. Granted, we are not all Demi Moores. But then again, how many of you are Ashton Kutchers?

UPDATED 11:15 A.M.: Blog reader "Another David S." just sent me this pre-boob job picture of Demi, with the note, "How gorgeous was this woman?"

I think Demi was around 18 at the time. I am with the boys on this one: she was way better looking before all the work. But I may be a bit biased as a lifetime member of the IBTC.