Last week I asked about home made costumes versus store bought, and the majority came out for home made, but that didn’t necessarily mean you actually do a home made costume. This year’s costume for the Munchkin was a mix of a couple of store bought items, along with some home made/crafty aspects.

This week, I just have to talk a bit about politics. But don’t worry, I’m not going to ask who you are voting for.

In my state, we have lots of initiatives on the ballot, one of which I am very much against. Imagine my shock (although maybe I really shouldn’t have been) when we came to the house of one of the Munchkin’s buddies to pick them up to go trick-or-treating. There on the lawn was a sign advocating the very initiative I have a problem with. And of course, I didn’t rip it down, or even make any mention of it. I don’t think I ever will, either. They are nice people, and I’m not sure I would tell the Munchkin he can no longer hang out with his friend simply because of the parent’s political views.

So, my question today is:

It is with sadness that I recall a time when I was not yet a blogger full-grown, but was a blogger in larval form, cocooned in skidoo suits and footie pjs against that great day still in the future when the industry I was fated to dominate (work with me here, okay?) would be born. Sad those days were, indeed, not so much because of the lack of blogs (but kinda) but rather because of the presence of vast herds of easily-influenced, lowbrow trend sheep: back then, we called them white trash.

Remember those divine triple avatars of conflicted feminism, the Angels of Charlie? (ZOMG, I am channeling the Olo of the Man!) Somewhere towards the death throes of that show, perhaps the definitive television program of adolescent 70′s femininity (Mary Tyler Moore was just too damn chipper, and she didn’t get to toss her hair and yell “Freeze!” like wicked-cool Kate Jackson or, come to think of it, Angie Dickinson) they leapt the ferocious, fanged fish as badly as Fonzie. Verily, they pulled a Cousin Oliver! They started subbing in any old wannabe and trying to pass them off as Angels.

Remember “Tiffany?” The year after she appeared on the show (“replacing” Kate Jackson, oh please, as if anyone could!) Tiffany was the most popular girl’s name in the United States. Whatever the merits of the no-doubt-charming-and-intelligent little girls in question, it’s hard to go through life with a name that forever marks your parents as appallingly tacky, unoriginal people who get their best ideas off dying sexploitation tv.

I had hoped that this trend would vanish along with dashikis for white guys and nylon bodysuits for girls (the 70′s Chastity Belt). I was wrong.

They are with us even now.

Jayden, my friends, is a sweet-looking, apparently quiet and happy little boy. Britney’s youngest child, he and his brother have been photographed relentlessly since birth, as if they were some kind of miracle pandas: sometimes demonstrating gravity to Mommy and the ‘razzi, sometimes enjoying fine dining en famille, sometimes roving free within the confines of the moving convertible, sometimes playing with Mommy’s lighter and Marlboros. Oh, life is a carnival for the Federtots, constantly in the spotlight.

I wish to make it clear that I have nothing whatsoever against Jayden personally. I’m sure he’s a fine young man. I even have nothing against Britney, who is, after all, called Britney, and who could hardly be expected to name her offspring after the more popular 4th Century BC philosophers. I wish only to complain about the tens of thousands of people who have named their sons Jayden, after someone they have never met, who was saddled with a hickster name at birth he’ll probably hate his whole life (still better than Kal-El I guess) and who hadn’t even mastered bowel control when this sad-sack immortality by proxy was foisted upon him.

Last year, Jayden became the 18th most popular baby name in the United States of America. #2 in New York (which tells you something about New Yorkers that I did not know).

Have you ever had this problem (well, not you, your munchkin): you go to school, obediently stow your lunchbox in your cubby, get schooled all morning and then, just when you’ve worked up a ferocious appetite doing your quadratic equation colouring exercises, you find someone has eaten your lunch?

Literally.

This sweet little invention will put paid to that, as well as give your pride and joy the (always useful) reputation as a badass. Plastic sandwich bags, pre-printed with mold.

by Sherwood Forlee, via NagOnTheLake

Sadly, not yet available at your local grocery store. Meanwhile, you can make authentic moldy lunchbags from the instructions in Sandwich Bag Science!

With apologies to the recently deceased Mr. Blackwell.

10. Pam Anderson
I’m guessing not one person would be surprised that you have a sex tape.

9. Tilda Swinton
Way to so not rock the androgynous look, Tilda.

8. Posh
A rare glimpse of the elusive White English Furback its native habitat.

7. Katie Holmes
There is no universe, even an alternate one, where that particular red and that particular magenta go together. Top off the outfit with unevenly pegged jeans, and Katie just earned herself a spot on the list.

6. Madonna
Yet again, Madonna somehow manages to make Mr. T look like a wimp.

5. Maggie Gyllenhall
With an outfit like this (spoiler alert for the five of you who haven’t seen The Dark Knight yet) I can totally understand why she didn’t get rescued.

To see the Top Five

(more…)

1. Assure your little one that they are the sun, and everyone else, including you, are merely insignificant planets that revolve around them.

2. Give them everything they want as soon as they want it.

3. Let them win every game they ever play against you.

4. Excuse their misbehavior.

5. Never follow through with a threatened consequence.

6. Provide them with no structure.

7. Be a bad example and expect them not to follow it.

8. Allow them to hit you.

9. Be their “friend,” not their parent.

10. Be quick to anger, slow to show affection.

Now, it’s your turn! Fire away at will!

Hey, it’s rough out there. As wise bloggers have noted, nobody can pretend that the good old days of innocence and cheap birthday parties are still with us; it’s a whole new world order. Tougher. Meaner. Scarier.

Cryptozoologier.

And birthday party activities are adapting. No longer the sweet, innocent romps of yore, they’ve become cutthroat arenas of parental rivalry and physical danger. Forget that old standard pin the tail on the donkey, unless you use dartguns, laser tag body armour, and a cowboy-maiming, possibly firebreathing donkey recently forcibly retired from the rodeo circuit.

But some touchstones of the Twentieth Century have adapted to our new times and survive, finding new adaptations and applications. Behold the best of these:

Stolen from Newscoma
It’s hard out there for a chimp. Don’t go unarmed.

The bookies here at Teeny Manolo are currently taking bets as to how long Angelina Jolie’s tattoo series is going to get.

Each line is the latitude and longitude of where her children were born.

In the same vein as Little Gordon Ramsay, we now present a tiny tinpot tyrant whose subsequent showbusiness career will never allow him as much unfettered scenery-chewing as he has here been afforded at the tender age of, what, eight? Barring William Shatner biopics, of course.