No, this isn’t about that interminable “reality” “star.” Anybody who makes me use quotation marks that flagrantly doesn’t deserve a post!

No, this is to announce the latest in what seems an endless stream of poorly-thought-out doll choices: Heidi Klum Barbie. It was sadly inevitable.

Now, remember, we were all in favour of the Angela Merkel Barbie, even wishing it would go into regular production instead of remaining some kind of tantalizing “hahaha, as IF we’d give you a role model” prototype. Instead, it must be said that we can’t really get behind this:

Although we can think of a lot of frat boys who’d like to try.

Huh: If this were in the Bible Belt, you’d think people would welcome it as good news!

Unfortunately, they are coming for your library privileges.

Seven year old Dominick Philip took part in a promotional photo session for the local newspaper, promoting the Nazareth Library, where he is known to be something of a regular. Sadly, it turns out that Dominick is an illegal alien intellect, hailing from nearby Tatamy, presumably home of wisdom-thieving Inkbacks who come over the county line in the dark of night, seeking to steal the 2 weeks of My Friend Flicka and The Hardy Boys which should rightfully belong only to those of Nazarene residency and status. When the heinous rights-theft was discovered, his library card was naturally revoked!

A library employee checked Dominick’s address after seeing his photo in the paper, then called and left a message on the family’s answering machine with the news, Melissa Philip says.

“As a parent, it just makes you upset,” she says, noting that it’s outrageous someone took time to research her son. “It’s a little over the top.”

What would Jesus borrow?

And here’s our quote of the day, from Paul Drielsma in the NYT, via Kottke:

Scour the parenting forums on the Internet and you’ll find the common lament that “DH” (darling husband) expects a medal whenever he “babysits” junior for a few hours. I have little sympathy for DH in these cases, but maybe a step in the right direction would be to stop using language that suggests hired help — to stop referring to DH’s job in the same terms as somebody who could legitimately stick his hand out at the end of his shift and demand a tip. DH isn’t babysitting, he’s parenting, and just changing that one word changes, for me at least, all sorts of connotations.

Perhaps a few learning aids would help?

What’s happenin’, dudes and dudettes? We’ve got a dy-no-mite winner of our groovy Friday Caption Contest, and that’s no jive.

Frontier Former Editor Says:
June 28th, 2009 at 8:50 am

The founding meeting of Celebrity Families With Children Having Gender Identity Issues . . .

Congratulations and imaginary swag to Frontier Former Editor. And now, for the presentation of some suitably swinging swag. Give a feverish welcome to the groovaliciousPUMA Cell Meio in oh-so-fashionable orange.

I dunno if you’ve been following the heartwarming(ish) saga of Harvey Kindlon, a boy with a fascination for celebrity and a soon-to-be-deleted Facebook account. But you are about to become acquainted with the closest thing the celebrity gossip blogosphere has to classic tragedy, with bonus Hollywood happy ending tacked tackily on.

Here is Harvey, doing his thing a few days ago:

That image would speak for itself, if in fact Harvey were a normal, enthralled 11-year Megan Fox fan. In fact, he’s a semi-regular celebrity hound of generic ilk, who sadly doesn’t really give a rat’s patootie about the Brunette du Jour except that she is indeed du Jour. But someone at Kodak saw this heart-wrenching picture and decided to mend the heart that had been so clearly broken; they offered a $5000 reward for information leading to the identification of the Boy with the Yellow Rose. Like a newfangled detective force of the internets, they got their fan.

Surprisingly, he’s not Texan at all:

Tell us about what happened that night.
We’d heard she was in London for the premiere, so we decided to head down there. I picked up the rose on the way.

And when she came by and didn’t take your flower, did you feel rejected?
I felt rejected. But I couldn’t really tell if she’d done it on purpose. There were so many cameras around. She was moving really fast. Afterwards we ran through the hotel, but she didn’t stop. I dropped the rose on the ground and went home.

Have you accepted her apology?
I actually haven’t heard anything that she’s said.

So do you want to go into the entertainment industry when you’re done with school?
I really love to sing and dance and act. I’m trying to get into a stage school in London, but it’s really hard to get an audition.

I bet you’ll get an audition now, now that everyone knows who you are.
I hope so.

Harvey, buddy, please. I’m not sure I know of a single comedy, drama or musical that requires a tragic pubescent rose-thrower. Although if there was, even Simon Cowell would have to give it to you.

Behold the “Vibram Five Fingers,” a shoe that is to ninja feet what the abominable Croc is to honest, old-fashioned Dutch boy footwear, what the Hummer is to men who have impressive or even just adequate reproductive tackle: in other words, what we have here is yet another example of a voracious consumer class taking a good thing (like bare feet) and spoiling it for the rest of us. Which is, face it, what the middle class seems to spend most of its time doing.

Digression: have you noticed that, no matter who they are, people in the Europe and North America invariably both claim to be middle class (“Oh, we’re just plain Windsors now”) and hate the middle class? It’s true. Self-hatred or branding exercise? But I digress…

We were discussing the world’s ugliest footwear; at this point, the fug is Adult-Only, and we can only pray these things go the way of the (also fugly, but the poor things couldn’t help it) dodo before they come out with a children’s line.

They have a “Classic Edition” as if giving this thing a respectable name could somehow make up for the eye-searing loathesomeness. And they have an even more hideous version which I shall not show you, for those who think their feet just don’t look enough like those of an alien who is wading in a Norwegian Fjord while getting a pedicure from a drunk Cher impersonator.

Not that I’m opinionated about these things.

You know what to do and where to do it.

Yesterday Glinda pointed out an expensive shoe gimmick aimed squarely at nostalgic parents, which was destined to fail with children, its purported market. Today, I’d like to point out an expensive experience gimmick aimed squarely at nostalgic parents, which is destined to fail with children, its purported market.

The Eloise Overnight:

The Live Like Eloise Slumber Party Package accommodates six guests and includes a suite, a copy of The Eloise Guide to Life, Eloise DVDs, Eloise postcards, Eloise snacks, rollaway beds, and a trophy party for elementary schoolers, or, the hotel hopes, a “girls night” for adult women. It starts at $3,595.

The regular Live Like Eloise Package-no party-starts at $895 per night, and is intended for families. It includes the night in a Deluxe Rose Suite, with the promise of an upgrade; a copy of Eloise; a Super Duper Sundae with whipped cream and sprinkles; and Eloise postcards with complimentary postage.

How about this instead for the hardcore Eloise fan who still wants to make her kid happy: get the kid a book, yourself a kilt with suspenders, and listen to Gawker’s advice:

…the kid is like, just give me a fucking iPhone, you wastrels.