And, apparently, a very, very Eighties one at that. How could this bizarre kid vid from the Eighties with these heinous retro outfits and the Debbie Gibson-style dancing with almost a million views have escaped my beady little eyes to this point??? How???
Also: aren’t those puppets just all sorts of creepy?
As I was doing my usual stumbling around on the internet, I came across a site that I am very happy to promote on Teeny Manolo.
It is called Global Mamas.
On the main page, they explain their mission:
By purchasing Global Mamas products, you are offering sustainable livelihoods to women and their families living in poverty.
All proceeds go directly to the women and to nonprofit programs that assist them with business development.
Global Mamas is a Fair Trade Manufacturer, which means they met stringent criteria set forth by the Fair Trade Federation, which is based in the United States.
I really like the idea behind this enterprise, and I feel that we here in the US are not offered as many Fair Trade products as other countries, such as Canada. Next to the description of each piece of clothing, there is a link to both the batiker and the seamstress who made it. Think of it as being a bit like your own personal version of Kiva, but getting cute clothes in the bargain as well.
While you may not win a Nobel Prize for Economics, it just might make you feel as good as if you had.
Captions in the comments, carrots in the pockets.
Image stolen from TheRidingCompany, who’ll definitely get some of my many blogging millions when I book a horseback vacation.
And is anyone else wondering why she’s wearing a dress in the barn? Zeez Euros, zay air zo ztyleesh!
Parents who enter their children into beauty pageants have always been a source of confusion for me. Are they trying to live vicariously through their offspring? Do they ever stop to think that the emphasis they are placing on looks (despite the vocal protests that it is really all about learning to speak in public as well as their child’s intense love of dance) will distort their self image? That their child may not remember the valuable lessons of friendly competition, but simply that life is a big contest and the one who looks best wins?
I’m not sure what motivates them to participate in such displays, but it certainly isn’t the chance to wear really pretty dresses. Some of these numbers would be rejected by the Ice Capades for being too flashy. That and the fact that the skaters would never make it more than an inch off the ice due to the weight of the assorted bling.
Apparently the higher you get in competition level, the higher the level of bedazzlement required. I wonder if they hand out sunglasses to the audience at the nationals? Or maybe the whole point is to blind the judges?
I know, I have more questions than answers.
If there was ever a time to say “Ayyyy!” this is it! I’m sure the Manolo will forgive me for stealing his signature cry of disapproval.
Not to imply that the famously beauteous Salma Hayek is a dog. We should all be so dog-like! But the actress might just have a wee failure of perspective problem, from what I’m reading on the blogs lately. It seems that, shocked by the weight gain inevitable with a healthy pregnancy and shocked further by the firm refusal of those pounds to come off within, say, fifteen or twenty minutes of the birth, she has resorted to extreme measures to return to her Hollywood-standard slimness.
From AzCentral:
Salma Hayek is using an “industrial-size” breast pump to lose her baby weight, it has been claimed.
The ‘Frida’ actress is resorting to extreme measures after friends told her breastfeeding is the best way to shed post-pregnancy pounds. Hayek gave birth to her first child, Valentina Paloma, in September.
She’d better be careful with that machine if she doesn’t want to end up with breasts that look like that Jack Russel’s ears! I think, though, they’re a little off-base with their description of the alleged mil
king machine. This blogger has a better understanding of the situation:
From GrowingYourBaby:
I believe the term that this writer is looking for is a ‘hospital grade’ pump (worth sometimes $700-$900). They are usually a decent size, come with more options and have a stronger, more consistent suction.
Of course, if I looked like Salma Hayek I’d just ask for volunteers and do it manually.
The winter doldrums seem to have grabbed hold of almost everyone I know. I wish I could go around to everyone’s house with one of those special sun lamps and cheer them up.
However, seeing as flying is kind of expensive and most of you probably wouldn’t trust me enough to give me your address (I’ve only stalked like, one person in my whole life. OK, maybe three. I swear, only four) I think I shall simply start focusing on all things spring and spring-like. It’s right around the corner, you know!
And even though these Peruvian hand-knit backpacks from Bla Bla could be used at any time of the year, they are so bright and fun! How could they not cheer you up even the tiniest little bit? If you aren’t cheered up by these, then I’m sorry to say that you have a hopeless case of winter blues. You should avoid all human contact until March. Or maybe April.
That man is SUCH a giver! The most hated man in Hollywood takes five to announce the formation of the Perez Hilton Foundation to save premature babies, and shares it with the world through the wonder of Funny or Die.
Which of the two is it, though?
Sure to be a hit with those who’ve tired of last century’s fad, the Bonsai Kitty. Tasteful, as always, Perez.
The lovely and superfantastic Mindy asks:
I’ve been knocking around the Internet over the past week or so, trying to find information about recycling car seats. I found that the two seats left from my older kids were on the cusp of expiration. I registered for a new one, but was stuck wondering if I had to pitch the old ones into a landfill. I would much rather do something less environmentally destructive with them, if possible.
If the car seat doesn’t have a recycling symbol on it, the best directions I received were to strip them of their straps and padding, then chop them up and throw them in the regular trash. (The more destroyed they are, the better, in order to prevent Dumpster divers from reusing an unsafe seat.) Really? There’s nothing better than that, considering the number of car seats which expire or are involved in crashes every year?
Does anyone at Teeny Manolo know anything to do?
An excellent question, Mindy! It practically boggles the mind to think of how many car seats are out there. They are so big and bulky, it seems like it wouldn’t take all that many of them to pile up to the top of a landfill in no time flat. There has to be something that can be done with them, right?
Well, sort of.
Because all child car seats have an expiration date, like those eggs you just bought, the options are fairly limited. It irritates me to think that something that looks perfectly functional is not, but we have to take the word of the manufacturers that over time, the plastics and materials in the car seats degrade. We have Space Shuttles making multiple trips into outer space and back, but can’t seem to make a car seat that works past six years. OK, a little side rant there. Back to the question at hand.
How can we dispose of our expired car seat and still give ourselves the environmental warm fuzzies?
To find out the answer…
When my husband and I first began dating, I was pleasantly surprised to find out that he actually liked going shopping. The man may not know how to fix a car, but he can spend hours at an outlet mall, and I’m not sure that I would trade. And hands off ladies, he’s mine!
So when I had my son, I wasn’t worried. I mean, I figured there was no way the shopping gene could be recessive. It was dominant, dammit, and I was going to be able to cart my little guy around from store to store with no problem.
Up until recently, the Munchkin had me fooled. He would go willingly with me just about anywhere. I don’t know if it was simply the enjoyment of getting out of the house, or the novelty of being in a brightly lit building with lots and lots of stuff.
Well, the novelty wore off. Fast.
Now, I am stuck with having to resort to the lowest form of behavior modification in the motherhood handbook.
You know, bribery.
It has become a game of chicken, which I have begun losing at an alarming rate. I try to start out modestly, proposing the barest of incentives first. But the boy, he is bright. He senses my level of desperation and with a cold calculation that belies his five years on earth, makes his demands.
This small child could make a seasoned trial lawyer break out into a cold sweat. He could force a flea market seller to run away from his stall, weeping in frustration. His Grandma? Never even had a chance.
So if you see me at Target sometime and notice my son lounging in the cart, simultaneously playing his video game, contentedly sipping on some refreshing fruit punch and munching popcorn, look away. Just look away and know that I am a mother who has caved to get that laundry detergent.
But judge ye not harshly. There but for the grace of God go you.
And to my future daughter-in-law, I sincerely apologize. We can cross our fingers and hope that it only skips one generation.
