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You may have seen the dust-up over Redbook’s creative Photoshopping of Faith Hill. It should come as no surprise that the magazine/fashion machine does what it can do present its stars as flawless. It seems that celebrities can never be too perfect for public consumption.
Which is why this site is so interesting. Click the “portfolio” button and marvel at the before and after shots (mouse over the picture). Kelly Clarkson loses her entire jawline, Julia Stiles loses an arm muscle, and everyone’s complexion takes on an eerie, inhuman glow.
It goes without saying that you shouldn’t always believe everything you see in print. But it’s always nice to be reminded that even people we’ve been conditioned to think of as looking perfect are, in fact, quite human, down to their veins and eyebags and stray hairs.
[Via the indispensable Women’s Health News]
Elvis Week is wrapping up (finally! I was teetering on the brink of Elvis overload), but no annual Elvis remembrance is complete without waxing romantic about Elvis the Lover and the women (other than Priscilla, of course) who loved him.
Of course, there’s Elvis’ first girlfriend, Betty McMahan (I’d love to link to the Blue Suede News item the CA printed on Thursday, but I can’t find it by searching CA.com OR goElvis.com, which is a bit frustrating).
And there was Linda Thompson, the former beauty queen who had slumber parties upstairs at Graceland.
Then there are the women featured in this story, including June Juanico, who still keeps a ring Elvis gave her on a necklace that she wears every day. And, she says, she has a box of ladies’ underwear — the ones thrown at Elvis while he was performing — stashed away for keepsakes.
“I hated it and just put ‘em in boxes. Anyway, they’re in a drawer,” she says.
Any idea what a collection like that would fetch on eBay? I’m half afraid to do the research to find out.
Speaking of cooling off, today Slate features a fabulous homage to that Southern summer standby: Sweet tea.
Drinking sweet tea is one of the oldest and most exceptional Southern traditions. As Dolly Parton’s character in Steel Magnolias puts it, it’s the “house wine of the South”—a clear, orange-to-red tinted tea brewed from six or seven Lipton or Luzianne tea bags, poured hot onto a cup or more of sugar or a pool of simple syrup, and then diluted into a gallon pitcher in the fridge. It’s served over a mound of ice in a huge glass—so cold that you can watch your napkin drown in a puddle of condensation.
Mmmm, that’ll cure what ails ya.
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I can’t speak for anyone else, obviously, but I have to go with no.
VH1 has decided to give Erik Von Markovik — aka Mystery, supposedly the world’s best pick-up artist — his own reality show in which he coaches hapless, lonely men to seduce attractive women, thus boosting the men’s self-confidence and ability to interact socially with women.
Or something like that. Frankly, it seems to me like Mystery — a former magician who now travels the globe giving expensive seminars on how to get beautiful women into bed — just gets away with being a giant, insulting jerk while babbling on and on about spirituality and psychology from beneath his enormous furry hat. It seems silly and not worth much contemplation.
And yet, Mystery has created a career out of helping “average frustrated chumps” use his techniques to land “hot babes.” He even played a major role in the creation of super-stud “Style,” the alter-ego of author Neil Strauss, who wrote The Game about his pick-up experiences. It seems that more and more men are relying on Mystery’s techniques — including the “neg,” which amounts more or less to a backhanded compliment — to try and seduce women.
Daddyblogger RJA over at Urf! is talking about embarking on a multi-family vacation, and its potential to bring a family and friends together … or tear them horribly and hilariously apart.
At the end of the week we will all either be closer and more of a family or we will not be speaking to each other. There’s just no way to tell.
…
There will be plenty to keep the kids entertained: building sand castles, surfing, burying each other in the sand, swimming, screaming, crying, jumping, laughing, sleeping?, watching a different TV, drinking juice boxes, asking questions, complaining, searching for the last kid they buried in the sand, playing games, watching Le Tour, counting stars, gambling. As for the parents, well, it will be a week of sitting. Sitting and staring at the water.
Ah, that reminds me of the time my family (me, my mom, my dad, my sister, my four-month-old brother, my aunt, my uncle, and my cousin) packed up and headed to Disney World in Florida on Christmas Day (incidentally my birthday, so it was the best present ever) in 1987 (I turned six that day). I remember the long car ride, and playing with the few new Christmas toys I was allowed to bring along. I remember passing by tourist traps and the enormous parking lot at Disney World. I remember the little blue shorts with white piping I wore every day (because they were the only pair of shorts I’d managed to pack). I remember the somewhat seedy motel we stayed in, and the absolute mind-boggling size and scope of Disney World. I remember being terrified on Space Mountain, and wanting to go on Pirates of the Caribbean again and again. And, even as a kid, all those horrible dolls in It’s a Small World After All terrified me. Those are the kind of memories imprint in a six-year-old’s head pretty easily.
What about you? Got any family roadtrips coming up, or memories that still burn bright in your head?
