Ultratart: It's Got Bite

PS, Conde Nast

I KNOW that Vogue is all about super-high-end fashion, while Glamour is generally more reasonable, but in an article about "reasonably priced party frocks" (in which, mind you, author Marina Rust claims her editor told her meant "under a thousand"), I still find it a bit hilarious that the cheapest dress they could drag up was $366.

The bottom line is that people don't read Vogue for frugal finds, of course, and $366 IS totally cheap compared to the usual Vogue pieces  -- which is why I find it kind of embarrassing when they try to pretend they care. Tell me I HAVE TO spend three months' worth of rent on a cocktail dress AND LIKE IT and I'll feel much more comfortable.

Dear Conde Nast

Are you telling me there's no way for you to work it so that I only get ONE copy of your stupid supplement Movies Rock? Because I have gotten seven of them so far (literally: Vogue, Glamour, Allure, The New Yorker, Lucky, Domino, Bon Appetit. Wow. I get a lot of magazines. Damn. That's not even counting the tabloids).

PS: Say hi to Anna for me. What with the wide array of your fine publications I am currently receiving, I feel like I may have inadvertently paid for her latte (skim!) this morning.

Love,

J

Try The Produce Section!

I recently had a conversation with a single friend about the assorted advice people give about where to Meet People and how said advice is generally always terrible, and how that's basically because no one really knows what they're talking about when it comes to The Magic of Love and generally people just fall into these things (which is one of the reasons, maybe, that it's called "falling in love"). (Although I DID once meet someone in the supermarket [not by the melons, though, by the magazines], that didn't work out once I realized he lived in a motel. [I was young and picky then.])

Where did you meet YOUR sweet baboo? Or what's the weirdest place you met someone you ended up dating?

Only, as they say, In LA

Thursday, driving home from my hair appointment, I saw the most delightful thing: one of the men striking in front of FOX had brought his dog to the picket lines. And the dog was wearing a little red WGA strike tee. Tailored to fit him.

That man is using his downtime for the good. I'm going to drive by next week and see if he's trained the dog to hold a picket sign. Maybe, "Throw Us a Bone, AMPTP!" or "I Bark For Residuals!"

United Hollywood has a picture of a dog in a Doggie Strike Tee from the same day, but I am pretty sure it's a different dog. Which means there are two of them -- at least! -- which pleases me greatly. It's nice to see that people's spirits are still high. Here's hoping that the presence of cute dogs in tee shirts somehow helps negotiations along to a quick and satisfactory conclusion. I mean, seriously --what am I supposed to do on rainy Sunday evenings when they run out of new episodes of Ghost Whisperer?

No, Seriously, Shut It

Currently, there are several ads running on the telly which lead me to involuntarily tell the TV to SHUT UP, like I have no self control over what comes out of my mouth. There's Be Brave Not Beige, of course, which is terrible. And any time Dr. Phil tries to tell me what I'm doing wrong, romantically, I want him to SHUT UP OH MY GOD, DR. PHIL. You don't know anything about my "GUY Q." I HATE THE WORDS "GUY Q." Stick to scolding bad parents, Phil. This goes, in fact, for almost all online dating service commercials, which seem to be universally annoying and smug, save for the fairly entertaining Chemistry.com ones. I also, apparently, really hate most jewelry commercials, despite (a) loving jewelry and (b) being a TOTAL SAP who cries at Whirlpool ads where old married people exchange meaningful glances over their dishwasher. But seriously, have you seen the one where the dude gets out of bed in the middle of the night to put a necklace around his sleeping wife's neck? If that were to happen to me, I guarantee I would roll over, not waking up, and we'd have to spend twenty minutes the next morning looking for my diamonds at the foot of the bed. And, of course, everyone hates the infamous I LOVE THIS MAN DeBeers commercial.

Although I must admit, I do cry at the DeBeers ad where the man asks the woman to marry him all over again (of course) and she says yes, and then it is revealed that all the people on the steps of the Met or the library or whatever, hiding their faces behind magazines and whatnot, are their friends and family.  Which commercials throw you into a murderous rage?

Ding!

You know you've been spending a lot of time writing celebrity-oriented pieces when you actually wonder why Word is dinging "Brangelina" as being misspelled.

So, to fight the brain-atrophy, I've been playing this during my procrastination time (thanks to the kind folks at Snarkfest). Wow. It turns out that I am really bad at geography. And I can't even blame that on the Jolie-Pitts.