The Proud Father

Pageants. Yes, you’ve heard it all…pageant moms, the drama, the child vanity... I’d almost venture to say the whole gig is a little overplayed in the media. So, I’m not going to waste your time talking about mid-western stage moms or 4-year old spray tans…I’m here to talk about pageant FATHERS.

It was a lovely Wednesday night—Brittany and I were settled in to some post-work television when we stumbled across the infamous Toddlers & Tiaras (A modern day example of parenting at its absolute worst). My fascination for pageant fathers grew quickly as I learned about Weldon (father of 4-year old Jackie) and his pronounced enthusiasm for his daughter’s upcoming pageant. A short description of Weldon--He has an appallingly greasy comb-down and holds a very similar appearance to the man who collects ticket stubs at a Texas rodeo--Not shocking for a man who passionately supports his pre-school daughter’s entry into beauty pageants.

2 words: Stage. Dad. To be honest, I don’t think they get enough credit in the fame world. Luckily for pageant fathers, they don’t get pigeonholed as living vicariously through their daughters (unlike mama dearest). I’m guessing that pageant prize money is really the motivating factor here. But after purchasing the glittery obnoxious outfits, the press-on nails, and the gas to drive the ol' Dodge Ram van cross country…I can't imagine there being any profitable gain (parental pride boost aside).

Weldon-- you keep up that fervent passion and I wish Jackie the best of luck in all of her future pageant endeavors.

Going up.

The topic for today’s blog: Elevator Shoes.

Fortunately (yet unfortunately), not many male celebrities (ahem, Elijah Wood) follow A Fork in the Rhode, so I don’t think I’ll offend too many of our readers.

So let’s get right into it. In my 22 years of living and interacting with other humans, I’ve made quite a keen observation--Short men have a very similar height complex to extremely tall women. Sadly, women beyond a 6’2” stature can do very little to mask their towering appearance. Squatty men, on the other hand, have the grand luxury of wearing…elevator shoes.

In case you’re puzzled, take a quick peek at tallmenshoes.com—“a leading American online store featuring Men’s Height Increase Elevator Shoes.” Mmmkay...so read on and we see that they’ve developed average-looking shoes that have a hidden 2 to 5 inch heel inside… they improve posture..are made of high quality leather..the list of benefits goes on and on…. Now get to the bottom of the paragraph, and things quickly become perplexing…”Elevator shoes are the only and final solution to height increasement.”


FINAL!? Hardly. Allow me to paint a Mona Lisa.

It’s Friday. Darren (at a paltry 5’4”) is prepping for a night out with the boys. After a grueling weight lifting sesh and downing 2 muscle milks, he gels the hair, picks out his slickest Diesel tee and Sevens, and slips on his 4.4 inch Caldens.

Fast forward to 1:30am. Darren is 8 shots deep, and Maureen (at 5’7”) has been really feeling his fohawk and mysterious winks on the dance floor. As 2 am nears, she makes an executive decision to go home with him. Skip to the next morning…Dar wakes up (sans platform loafers)…and well I think the rest of the story speaks for itself. Maureen has been duped and Darren is left feeling self-conscious and insecure once again.

Let’s face it…elevator shoes are the modern day Wonder Bra. Once they come off, reality rears its ugly head.

The Tackiest Place on Earth

I’ll be the first to admit that an uncomfortable amount of time has passed since our last blog. It took me stumbling upon the Sex and the City episode mentioned in Lauren’s last one to remember how long it’s actually been, and that my life has apparently been devoid of humor since January. BUT I figured as a recent college graduate, having acquired an entirely new set of sophisticated views and perspectives, there’s no better time to post than now. Or maybe it just took a trip to Disneyland.

Disneyland is kind of one of those places like airports or water parks where the people watching becomes almost overwhelming by the time you’ve reached the entrance. With a universal title like “The Happiest Place on Earth,” you’re obviously going to attract a wide variety of tourists from all over the US, and often the whole world. Who wouldn’t want the chance to meet Minnie Mouse, eat a four-dollar churro, or purchase ridiculously unnecessary souvenirs that will more than likely be worn for that one day only?

Which brings me to this photo. What appears to be a strawberry blonde, clip-in hairpiece to accompany a lavish child’s princess gown looks more like a hideous prom up-do gone wrong. The worst part is that we all know this purchase followed a solid 10 minutes of begging and cost at least $17. I’m not trying to be a downer, but I was completely floored by the amount of people twice this girl’s age who opt to spend their money on Mad Hatter wigs, princess crowns or weird variations of Mickey Mouse ears with things like Rastafarian dreadlocks of graduation caps.

Whether or not Space Mountain is closed or your favorite character is on break for the day , the $75 entrance fee is worth the sights alone.

Adults with Braces

There is something really pure and amazing about seeing an adult with braces. It’s a sight very similar to seeing a 45 year-old man drinking strawberry Nesquik or an older woman rollerblading with kneepads and a helmet...Simply stated, you really can’t help but love a grown human with braces.

Now it was hard enough as a young teen, facing some of the most socially [and physically] awkward times of your life and having that shiny metal aglow every time you opened your mouth. Getting braces in 7^th grade, when I was mind numbingly skinny and a head taller than the boys was like wearing a magenta pantsuit at a Playboy party. (Just to clear any confusion.. I’ve never personally been to one of Hef’s social get-togethers, nor have I ever had the pleasure of wearing such a professional ensemble)

I do, however, miss the days of going to the orthodontist and color coordinating my bracket bands with the upcoming holidays. Red and green for Christmas, Orange and black for Halloween (although black was always questionable), and, duh, pastels for the Easter Passover. Of course, you always knew when your classmates had made a trip to the ortho..coming in late to class showing off their new colorful chops.

Unfortunately, most adults miss out on this simple luxury. They’re faced with the mundane silver bands that exhibit a certain level of maturity and class. They’re also masters of hiding the fact that they have a big mouth full o’ metal. Tight-lipped smiles and a heightened awareness of upper lip movement involves enough obsessive thought and energy, it would make even Megan Fox feel self-conscious about her image. I tend to have sympathy for braceface adults..but maybe that’s just me. Although it’s a personal choice to begin orthodontics at such an old age, I feel like it’d be a humbling experience that would bring any normal grown-up right back to the days of week-long dating and loitering in front of Edward Cinemas.

Cheers to 2010, straight teeth, and to wearing your retainers! Love ya.

Exhibit 1: Me and my 6th grade boyfriend Dom. I obviously felt really comfortable with the height difference

Exhibit 2: Favorite episode of SATC...Miranda gets braces. Nothing better.

Simple Joys

With the initial plan of venturing to Barnes & Noble last Friday afternoon, Lauren, Ricky and I somehow found ourselves sifting through the endless amounts of inventory at Toy Joy on the corner of Guadalupe and 29th. I guess I've never given the store a chance due to its creepy, carnival-like appearance and random location but I really have to express my utter satisfaction and well, joy while shopping.

It was a serious time travel back to the best days of our lives... when yo-yo'ing was a sport and Glow in the Dark stars were practically a bedroom necessity. Unfortunately, common sense kicked in as I made it closer to the register and put back the several items I was planning on splurging on. Lauren, on the other hand, found the perfect companion to her birthday card for Katie in two miniature, 25 cent plastic babies.

I knew Katie would obviously be pleased with the obscurity of the gift but I wasn't sure exactly what purpose they would serve. With some serious contemplation and trial testing while heating up the glue gun, our two new friends found their way in to our kitchen where Lauren states "washing the dishes will now always be exciting." Name suggestions now being accepted.

I heart Costco.

Recently, while doing some Costco shopping/food sampling with the roommates, I came across this puzzling, yet inconspicuous sight. We were cruising the most sample-saturated area of the store (naturally), when she rolled on up with her beef jerky, toilet paper, and....well, extra large lava lamp. 

Now I understand normal sized lava lamps...trust me, we Johnson girls had our fair share of groovy lamps and blow-up plastic furniture as pre-teens...but really, who needs one this large? Obviously shopping at Costco has gotten to this woman's head. Everything big and everything bulk!  

My real question here though is, was this an unplanned purchase? I'd say about 85% of the items my dad [and Katie] come home with after shopping at Costco are impulsive buys. Power washers, food sealing machines, Tommy Bahama picnic sets, you name it. The wide range in products offered makes it the greatest place on earth.

Enjoy your oversized lamp you loyal Costco member, I'm sure we'll see you around.

Dog Shoes.

Received this e-mail from none other than Katherine Regina Kaufman herself. 

My dear father Craigo and I were grazing the Farmers Market this morning when a herd of 4 shoe wearing poodles strolled by. The obscure sight obviously made me think of you two. 

Enviado desde mi iPhone

Katie

I would say pet apparel should go on the Loathe List..but these little poodle sneakers are toooo good to dislike.

Finally, Vitamin D in a bed!

After an influx of email forwards over the past few days, I felt compelled to blog on a somewhat timely topic, given the time of year: Tanning. If wasn't already apparent that laying in a blinding, UV bulb-surrounded bed was potentially hazardous, then recent findings may surprise you.

According to the first email I received, the International Agency for Research on Cancer announced Wednesday that it had elevated sunbeds to its highest cancer risk category. The risk of melanoma -- the most lethal form of skin cancer -- increases by 75 percent when use of tanning devices starts before the age of 30.

Ok, so I may be sounding a bit like your mother … and before you accuse me of complete hypocrisy, I’ll be the first to admit I have surrendered to the horror of being pale during the wintertime by partaking in this absurdly stupid practice. My issue is more so with the second email that I received, from a local tanning salon in Austin in response to articles like the one above.

"Saying that UV exposure is harmful and should be avoided is as wrong as saying that water causes drowning, and therefore we should avoid water... Further, it is clearer now more than ever that humans NEED regular UV exposure as the only true natural way to make vitamin D. It is called 'The Sunshine Vitamin' for a reason: You produce more vitamin D by getting a tan than you would from drinking 100 glasses of whole milk."

Maybe it's something about the comparison of sunlight to milk that kind of throws me off, but for a leading cause of cancer, the new promotion of "Vitamin D" seems about as believable as the model above.

Farewell to Conformity

As I walked by the trash chute at my apartment today, I found a pleasant surprise lingering by the door. It appears that an unidentified college student (likely male) is taking his first daring step into manhood. I can imagine that letting go of this enchanting, rare photo was a tough moment for him, so I just wanted to offer some public solace. Don’t worry--you can still be a young, rebellious college partier without posters of Animal House and Scarface pinned up on your walls. Good luck out there…I believe in you.

Is this your bag sir?

I have a major love/hate relationship with airport baggage claims. On one side, it involves a lot of waiting around and awkward conversation with fellow passengers. “Is this where our bags are coming out?” But on the flip side, you are sure to see some chaotic and frantic movement between family members and strangers alike. Lucky for my sister and I, we had a fantastic experience at the Kauai baggage claim. Blame it on the bottle of champagne we polished off on our 4 hour flight, but the people-watching at this airport was particularly amazing. After coming to find that Dad had upgraded our Monte Carlo rental car to a H3 Hummer, we were feeling like a cool million and ready to take on another Johnson family vacation.

Now I don’t know what it is about Hawaii, but it’s a place that really seems to attract the older couples that DEFINE the term ‘tourists’. You know them…you know them well. Fanny packs, cameras around the neck, noticeably white walking shoes (style usually taking a backseat to comfort in these cases), khakis, safari hats…the whole package.

Anyways, I’ll let the picture do the talking here, but let’s just say we got the pleasure of seeing this doozy of a couple attempt to get their suitcases off the carousel. As you can see, the man was watching the bags come out LIKE A HAWK...mouth open, eyes fixated, He WAS NOT going to miss his bag. My sister can vouch... as soon at that shining beauty came his way, all hell broke loose. After a failed attempt at catching it, the surrounding people took on the necessary hospitable duties, and were practically in a dog pile to help this kind man get his very heavy luggage off the conveyor belt. It all ended after a proactive father with a small child on his shoulders pulled the bag off. I’m guessing one too many bucket hats packed in there…

Now I could go on about airports for days, but I’ll just leave you with a picture of Cristina, Katie and I dressed up as tacky tourists for a fratty Around the World party freshman year. Wearing oversized button-ups and running shoes to a party filled with sexy Indians and Eskimos really put us in that hot, slutty freshman category, as you probably all know. Cheers to 3 years down.

Skinny jeans. Really skinny jeans.

There is not much commentary that needs to accompany this picture I managed to snap in Hollywood other than a. These are unquestionably the skinniest legs on a man I have ever seen and b. If you did in fact have legs of such a shockingly small circumference, why would you choose black (a naturally slimming color) skinny jeans?

Now that I'm on the topic of jeans, I need to express a little of the culture shock I have experienced since living in LA this summer. I have to say that though it was not easy, I had just begun to adjust to the commonality of boys in Wranglers (see photo below) since my move to Austin, Texas in 2006. This alone probably deserves its own blog post, but I'll save that for a rainy day. Very quickly, I want to pose the question of how a place roughly 1,300 miles from another can yield such a different style of pant?

Lastly, being a frequenter of this style of jean myself, I was a bit startled a few weeks back when discovering that a condition known as "tingling thigh syndrome" exists. CNN claims this nerve condition can happen when constant pressure — in this case, from the skin-tight denim — cuts off the lateral femoral cutaneous nerve, causing a numb, tingling or burning sensation along the thigh. http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/30870617/

Maybe Wranglers aren't so bad after all...

*Side-note- This photo was taken the morning after one of my roommates sleepovers sophomore year. How the jeans resulted in this position is an unsolved mystery,

Slow it down buddy!

Eating contests, in general, tend to really freak me out. Perhaps it was the milk chugging contest on the Real World Road Rules Challenge I saw as a preteen that really turned me away from such activities. The thought of ingesting 25 hotdogs to prove personal worth is a little far-fetched and puzzling, but maybe that's just me.  The world record to date is 59 franks in 12 minutes, which is held by Joey Chestnutt of San Jose. This astounding feat was accomplished at the Southwest Regional Hot Dog Eating Championship in 2007. Who knew that competitive eating contests had such esteemed titles? Southwest Regional? Does this mean only residents of the southwest region can participate? I never knew of such exclusivity.

Another question, at what point do you decide that you will begin training to win hot dog eating contests? Is it like running a marathon? Slowly working up from 20 to 30 to 40 dogs as the big day nears?  I guarantee Joey is an all-star at playing Chubby Bunny, [which is an event that will most definitely be included in me and my roommates' summer field day games.]

Side note: If you're in Austin this summer..get excited. We're talking potato sack races, egg on a spoon,and 3-legged races. With booze.