Wednesday, 11 March 2009

Screw you, Flanders, er, Combs

Anyone who knows me knows that my television viewing tastes are fairly traditional. I will always stop for The Simpsons. Always. No question. Full stop. Then it's a tie between Friends and Seinfeld reruns, sprinkled with a near-guaranteed Jeopardy! viewing, a now sporadic stopover at 60 Minutes (I miss Mike Wallace) and what is becoming a slavish devotion to all things Food Network related. It sounds like a lot of TV watching, but I assure you it's not. Most of my time is occupied with online "research," which really means surfing the internet for weird news stories and shoe sales.

But I have a soft spot for Ellen Degeneres. Not that I watch her show religiously by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, I don't even know when it's on. But I've always liked her brand of humour and frankly, what with her straight-leg jeans, sharp blazers and skinny ties, she's kinda becoming a real style icon for me. So when I got on the treadmill yesterday for a tortuous 33-minute uphill run, I turned her on to distract me from "the burn." Sadly, her guest yesterday was Sean PuffyDiddyDaddy Combs. (Does anyone else think he's taking his moniker cues from Ned Flanders?) I have a lot of issues with S.P.D.D.C., which stem first and foremost from his sampling of a Led Zeppelin riff in one of this "songs." Is nothing sacred?! But it doesn't stop there: I believe S.P.D.D.C. to be part of what I have termed The Problem With America. He, along with the likes of Paris Hilton, Nicole Richie and every cast of every reality television series, perpetuate the idea that with no talent, no education, no ethics and no regard for the law you can become rich and famous. Nay, you can become a STAR. And with waning parental guidance and increased exposure to crime, this is the last message kids these days need to receive. But that's only part I.

Part II: Ellen asked S.P.D.D.C. if he was condoning Chris Brown's actions by hosting him and Rihanna over the weekend, thus abetting their reunion. After defending his actions by saying he was merely opening his house to his friends and being supportive (fair enough, I guess), he asked everyone to pray for them. For starters, I'm not the praying kind, but when I do feel the need to communicate with everyone's favourite upstairs neighbour, I choose to ask for things like: "please feed the starving children in Africa" or "watch over my family and friends" or "help me to remember the eBay auction for that vintage Chanel bag ends in 3d 22m." In other words, shit that matters to me. If I'm gonna be praying for Chris Brown and Rihanna, I sure hope someone else is praying for me that I find a suitable therapist and meds that work, fast. Also, I really wish Mr. Bought My Way Out Of Weapons Charges And Don't You Dare Make Eye Contact With Me! And Where's My Servant With My Dish Of Peeled Grapes And Umbrella Because Damn, This Sun Is Getting Hot, Dawg would stop invoking the name of God. Because seriously, dude, God's running out of proverbial cheeks to turn, and there's talk that Gandhi, Mother Teresa and Louis Pasteur are gonna stage a protest if you get in up there.

Part III: Velour track suits do not a fashion label make. That goes for you too, Juicy Couture.