Tag Archives: Chris Christie

Pickers, Pumps and Pride. (And the lack thereof.)

20 Jan

christian louboutin pump

Surely people know that if they show up for a live televised event they may end up actually appearing on TV, right?

And I’m not just talking about the folks who show up for “The Antiques Roadshow” wearing Tommy Bahama shirts and Capri pants.  Together.  With Teva sandals.  (Because they obviously don’t care about the cameras.)

Oh, PBS, there are times when I’d rather watch “Joe Bonamassa: Live At Royal Albert Hall” again than suffer through the fashion wreck that is The Roadshow.  It was hard enough watching host Mark Wahlberg receive hair transplants only to have him return as Mark Wahlberg, host of “The Antiques Roadshow” (albeit hairier).

(Question: why do the appraisers feel obligated to tell people what might have been “if these pieces were in perfect condition” or “if you had the original box” as it is of little consolation to hear that your toy appears to have been “well-played with” when your cousin down the street received the same Tonka truck for Christmas and is now the proud owner of a time-share in Key West?  Here’s a tip: let’s have the toy appraiser dress like the furniture guy, the furniture guy stop getting so damn excited about Cabriole legs and the jeweler surrender his pinky ring.


Moving on to “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives”.  Is it possible that the host is convinced that the flavor of stringy meats improves by yelling?  Why else would he yell so much?  And, my stars, the amount of stringy meat that man eats is a lot.  Maybe he’s yelling because he’s about to have a coronary event.

“I’m Guy Fieri and my face is as red as my Camaro!”

Have a salad and chill out, Buddy.  While it is true that I’ve never had salad that tasted “off the hook,” I’ve also never worn sunglasses around the back of my neck or worn flip-flops into a commercial kitchen.  So there’s that.

Less yelling and a little more attention to wardrobe please.  (PS: your hair is as fried as the food you eat.  Less yelling and some conditioner too.)

Now “American Pickers” has completely ruined the word “bundle” for me.  A bundle implies comfort, warmth, and snuggles.  Jesus was wrapped in a bundle for Christ’s sake.  Those guys are as authentic and sincere as Chris Christie at a salad bar. (A salad bar located in the basement of a LGBTQ Unitarian Universalist Church just past the GWB, that is.)  To The Pickers, “bundling” is a way to pay less for more stuff.  It’s the opposite of commerce and I’m not even sure it’s a real verb.  You don’t see me down at the Food King haggling with the manager to lower the price on my Oreos, wine coolers and Vogue magazine just because I’m purchasing all three.  (And really I’m only there for the wine coolers.  The other items are to make me appear less pathetic.)

So the Little Picker, the guy shaped like a poundcake, now his method is to downplay the value of an item by losing the part of his brain that is responsible for vocabulary.  “How much you want for this dusty thing here?” he asks, while pointing at a vintage neon jukebox.  “It’s old and what are those dirty, round things there inside it?  Records?  How much do you have to have to let something like that go?” he’ll ask while the Angular Picker keeps uttering random numbers while touching different items like some sort of weird Lumosity game.

Here’s what I would tell Little Picker: “Zero.  I don’t have to have anything for the jukebox because I don’t have to let it go.  I let you in here because a lady from your office wouldn’t stop calling me.  I’ll tell you what I do have to say though: wear a clean, unripped t-shirt when you call on people.  You’re on television for crying out loud, Little Picker.”

Finally why, oh why, do people on “House Hunters” think that it’s okay to lie on the seller’s bed with their shoes on?  And sit in someone’s bathtub with their shoes on?  And stand in a stranger’s shower stall with their shoes on?

When did we become such a shoe-loving nation and why wasn’t I consulted?

I have shoes (and coordinating bags) for all occasions including, but not limited to: television appearances, readings, open mics, television appearances, Christian Louboutin store openings, television appearances and television appearances.

And now that you know what not to wear on television, I’m sure you’re ready for television too.

(Did I mention that I am available for television appearances?)

Why I will never vote for James Sacket

5 Nov

It’s that time of the decade again.  And while I sort of know what the DA does, I’m not even sure if we are due to pick a new one.  What I (and possibly Oprah Winfrey) know for sure is that I (and probably Ms. Winfrey, definitely Gayle) would never elect a politician who gives matches to children.

And when I say “gives matches to children,” I am not using some political expression like “pork barrel” or “bridge to nowhere” that is strictly a euphemism for political gain.  (Besides, what could “pork barrel” mean other than “Chris Christie Eats Here?”)

What I mean, literally, is that circa 2006, while The Boy was briefly* left home alone (at age 8 or so), Schoharie DA candidate James Sacket left a book of matches (along with other election year swag) hanging from the front doorknob.  Obviously, The Boy was too scared to answer the door (good to know all those “Stranger Danger” drills worked.  Also if we ever get separated in the grocery store keep making left turns until you reach a corner and stay there.)

*The word “briefly” has been added at the request of Spouse who, back then, had concerns about leaving The Boy all-by- himself-alone for even the tiniest of moments.  Now that The Boy is 14, Spouse disappears for hours at a time “buying parts.”  (Read “When this whole world starts getting me down” (March 21, 2012) to learn how that worked out.)

Yes James Sacket, who, as quoted from the back of the matchbook, is “professional, reliable, impartial, organized and responsible” left a pencil and matches for our child.  I ask you: what is a pencil if not kindling with an eraser on top?

If anyone behaved “responsibly” here it was The Boy.  Not only did he not use the matches to burn down the house, he also refused to acknowledge weirdos knocking on the door.  (Good to know that all that Jehovah’s Witness training paid off too.)

Then again, it’s also possible that The Boy was listening to the rock and roll at such a loud volume, he didn’t even hear the crime-fighting, flame-making lawyer at the door and I have, instead, given him way too much credit (along with future hearing loss issues).

In any case, this November 6, do the right thing and vote.

Just leave the pyrotechnics at home.

James Sacket.  Flame we can believe in.

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