So I'm now going to break the first two Rules I made about my blog:
Rule #1. Never, ever, under any circumstances, mention the Kardashians.
Rule #2. Never, ever, under any circumstances, mention Justin Bieber.
It all started yesterday when I was scrolling the channels and landed on the QVC channel, and there he was, no, not The Bieb: Bob Mackie. Yes, Bob Mackie, who at one time, made beautiful (for the 1960's and 70's) gowns for the likes of Carol Burnett, and later, even Cher (when Bob was obviously on something pretty strong, maybe even illegal.)
On QVC, Bob was selling t-shirts. "And Ladies, It's my very own fun design, sizes small to XXXL!" The t-shirts had pictures of cats on the front. Seriously, cats... cats holding flowers and wearing hats, cats cavorting, cats smiling... cats. Bob himself looked like one of those guys you see at the library in the magazine room, reading a magazine about cats. He had on a shlumpy looking t-shirt, possibly a Member's Only Jacket, and too-long khaki pants, with sneaks. And that boy could hawk cat t-shirts like nobody's business: they were flying off the QVC rack.
It made me wonder: why are we so obsessed with celebrities? (O.K., that's not a new thought: it's just my damn thought tonight, and it was Mackie that set me off.) Why would anyone, ever, in their Right Mind, buy a cat t-shirt just because it was made by Bob Mackie? And why do countless people, probably just as normal as you and I (cue the crazed laughter) watch a show about an entire family of loud-mouth whiners, whose only claim to fame is that they all have big asses? I'm sorry, Kardashians, but what have you-all done that has bettered the world? Why are people transfixed with these clowns? Why do people actually buy clothes that will allow them to have that same Packed-In-A-Sausage-Casing-Look? At least Mackie made something, and there are people out there, I'm thinking in Iowa, with an overwhelming desire to have that cat t-shirt, and damn it, they will buy it tonight, in 5 installments of $7.95 each.
And then there's The Bieb. When I see The Bieb on TV, I have an uncontrollable desire to lunge for the screen, and probably do myself and the screen some harm (flat screens do not hold up well to a lunge, trust me.) I want to slap the smug right off his little Bieb face. But he has legions of fans. Why?
Probably, like they say, because It Takes All Kinds. Because I had not one, but two, Trini Lopez records, back in the Day. And I wear t-shirts with dachshunds on them, purchased from a special dachshund website, based in Iowa: those gals could sell me anything.
And I haven't done much to better the world, either. I'm a pretty darn good whiner, and yes, you might say I do have a bit of a big ass. So maybe that's it: maybe we're obsessed with celebrities because they're just like us, but with way, way better cars, houses, and t-shirts.Yeah, that must be it.
But I still want to slap Bieber. Please. Just once.
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