Corporate interests often establish advocacy groups with names intended to mislead the casual observer into thinking the group’s goals are the opposite of what they actually are–so a coal-mining lobby might set up Concerned Citizens for the Environment or something similarly bogus.

I propose that actual do-gooder organizations should adopt this tactic in reverse. The Rainforest Action Network should rename itself the Tropical Hardwood Exploitation Board, get haircuts and suits, rent a mailbox on K Street, and go on doing what they always do. People will see press releases coming from these guys, think “Gosh, if the Tropical Hardwood Exploitation Board of all people thinks it’s a bad idea to do this, it must be really awful.”

Now that there’s an all reality show, all the time network, they are no doubt casting about for programming concepts. The makeover show, which has had its most notable success in Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, is a popular sub-genre, what with Trading Spaces and many others of that ilk. Also popular are the “hideous challenge” type shows, where participants wind up eating cockroaches and that sort of thing.

I propose a blending of these two types: a professional decorator is required to make over a home using nothing but materials bought at Hobby Lobby, Lillian Vernon, or equivalent. Kitsch is not allowed as a theme.

The makeover shows seem to be based on A) an “intervention” by well-meaning friends, followed by B) generous servings of smugness by the rescuing decorator, and finally C) the intervenee admitting the error of his/her past ways. In this show, the tables would be turned: the decorator’s friends would stage an intervention on him, saying “Alphonse, you’ve become too smug, and too reliant upon $6000 wall coverings.” Being forced to work with schlocky material would take Alphonse down a peg or two, which is gold, I tell you, television gold. Imagine Alphonse’s horror as he minces through aisles of synthetic plants, tchatchkes that mix farmhouse and patriotic themes, pre-decoupaged gewgaws, etc, afraid to touch anything. I don’t expect the decorators will embrace a new design ethic as a result, though.

Hell, I’d watch it.

I know that this blog’s loyal readership includes many of the movers and shakers in the rag trade, who reverently respect my sartorial pronouncements–a subject on which, as those of you who know me will attest, I am eminently qualified to expound.

A conversation with Gwen and my sister Lissy got me thinking. Lissy recently stood up at a wedding, and was obliged to buy a plaid pink taffeta shmatte. Friends of Gwen are going to be standing up in several weddings each this year, with outlays for similar aesthetic crimes. Bridesmaid dresses are a stale joke. Most seem designed to make the bride look that much better by comparison. Bridal gowns are worn once, for obvious symbolic reasons. Bridesmaid dresses are also worn once, because they’re too ugly to wear any more.

Although it’ll sell less product, the fashion industry could do itself and women all over the country a favor by coming up with a standard bridesmaid’s dress design. Men have tuxedos; women should have the equivalent. Something black and simple that looks reasonably good on most women. Brides wanting to inject color into the ceremony could have the bridesmaids wear a certain kind of ribbon in their hair, corsage, or the like.

Just something that travelling has forced me to re-learn. I haven’t used a modem regularly since 1997. I’m accustomed to an Internet connection being like water. It’s not the same.

At Chango’s, if you want just water to drink, that’s just what you’ll get.

A trip to Fiesta is always entertaining. There’s just so much weird stuff there. On our most recent expedition, Gwen and I noticed a large display of various luck candles. Some with images of saints, some with images of Pancho Villa or other unidentifiable secular figures, but most explicitly promising some kind of specific effect, like JOB. I noticed one that read
ALLEGED SPELL BREAK
Leaving aside snarky observations of the ambiguous reference–is it the spell that is alleged, or the breaking of it–you’ve got to laugh at the legalistic ass-covering implied by that weasel-word. Seriously: is someone going to burn the candle and then sue the maker because whatever spell it was supposed to break had not been broken? I guess stranger things have happened.

When we got to the checkout line, we were behind a couple of young women buying some of these candles (along with various good-luck oils), apparently in earnest.

A fun pastime is inventing goofy names for bands–one of my favorite creations is “Jackal Overpass.”

Lately, Gwen and I have taken to coming up with silly names for drugs. A new competitor for Viagra? Rigiditrex, perhaps. Yesterday I saw an ad for some drug to relieve menstrual constipation. I can’t remember the actual name of the product, but we had a field day with that. My favorite: Period Colon Dash.

Spotted last night: the Michael Graves George Foreman Grilling Machine

Results of the 2003 Bulwer-Lytton fiction contest are in.

There’s been a spell of hoaxes making the rounds on the Net lately.

Michael Savage, a right-wing tele-blowhard lost his job after a call-in prankster gave him just enough rope to hang himself. This story got a lot of play in Blogistan.

There was Baby Ink, the website for a toddler-tattoo parlor. Done with a completely straight face, it was revealed as a hoax.

There is the amazing robot cop spec video (bah, annoying redirects: click on “Neil’s domain,” then “reel pt 3”) that some people took seriously. This is not a hoax per se–this simply reveals the credulity of some people.

Now there’s Hunting for Bambi, which purports to be a, ahh, service that allows men with some serious issues to paintball-hunt naked women. Although there’s actually a legitimate news story (and video) on this, it appears to be a hoax.

The thing these hoaxes have in common is outrage, in both senses of the word: they are outrageous (incredible), and they are outrages (atrocious). They get us into a sputtering fit for a moment, until someone pins down that they are, in fact, false.

Of course, when hoaxes appear elsewhere in the public arena, the revelation of falsity provokes even greater outrage.