reasonable creature

I am really scared about what's going to happen on the Weeds season finale tonight. I feel like the only way they can get out of this is if the DEA dude gets killed in a gun battle with U-Turn. But that seems like a longshot. Also I want Zooey Deschanel off the show, she is too annoying. And I'm very bothered by how they have made Kevin Nealon seem the teensiest bit sexy. That is seriously wrong.

UPDATE: OMG! (Ineffective spoiler alert) They killed Peter!! OMG!

Is it just me, or is the idea of Andy Dick doing a guest spot on Martha's TV show a little too wonderful?

Here at RC HQ, we can't stop looking at this (NYP via Gawker).

The stem-cell research ad battle in Missouri: almost as much fun as a vice president shooting some guy in the face. First there was Rush Limbaugh calling Michael J. Fox too Parky in his ad supporting the pro-stem-cell candidate. Then came the response ad featuring movie-Jesus Jim Caviezel speaking Aramaic (why, exactly, is he still speaking in a way-dead language? I mean, he knows he's only movie-Jesus and not Jesus-Jesus, right?) along with testimonials from a couple of St. Louis athletes, including pitcher Jeff Suppan, scheduled to start in tonight's World Series game--but oh yeah, the game was rained out, suggesting that a higher power may indeed be weighing in on this issue.

But let's focus for a moment on the other star of that ad: Patricia Heaton. I blogged about her a couple years back here. Then she was starring in creepy telemovies and honorarily chairing the group "Feminists for Life." Now she's attacking the scientists who actually have a chance at saving real lives. Also she seems to think that in the not-too-distant future Earth will be overrun by marauding clone-monsters who will force poor women to donate eggs to them. Or something like that.

Sometimes, even the Creature doesn't know what to say.

Case in point: The plush urine and feces advertised recently on Baby Chic 101. "Meet Pee & Poo, Escapees from the bathroom!"

Pee&Poo – the #1 and #2 cuddly toys, sweeping the globe. Loved by children and adults alike.
The dazzling duo from Sweden helps stop the drama of potty training in a disarming and fun way. See also our range of signature gear for kids, plus a little something for you.

The website homepage shows the two--a drop of pee and a pile of poo, with mouths that are disturbingly reminiscent of one orifice in particular--at the end of a brown and yellow rainbow. In addition to the little critters themselves, you can buy P&P-themed t-shirts, underwear, and temporary tattoos, for baby or adult.

Maybe it all makes more sense in Swedish?

It's happened, and all too soon: Not yet 15 months old, baby has started to make fun of me.

Here's how it goes. I've been coughing a lot (last vestiges of l'affair du phlegm), and each time I have a bout of it, she looks at me, and then coughs in imitation. And then she laughs, and laughs.

This is what passes for humor among the veggie-puffs set, I suppose.

So there were many things I wanted to blog about during my period of phlegm-itude, but my head was always too foggy to actually type out a post. Most of these gems will now be lost to history, but there's at least one thing I feel I must bring to the attention of RC readers. I'm sure by now you have read about Times writer Alex Kuczynski's addiction to plastic surgery, chronicled in her new book, Beauty Junkies. (You can follow Gawker's fervent obsession with her here.) And I'm sure you too have been wondering how she came to be this way. One possible answer was tucked into a "critical shopper" column in last week's Thursday Styles, Kuczynski's review of the Madison Avenue Oilily shop:

In the third grade, I had a teacher named Mrs. Francomono. She was always complaining of poor circulation and fussing that her legs were unbearably hot. While she read to us, sitting on a plastic inflatable doughnut, the girls were allowed to take clean paintbrushes and stroke Mrs. Francomono’s lower legs, encased in cruelly tight support hose, with cool water.

To this day, when I hear someone reading from a book, I remember the odd sensation of stroking cold water on nylon support stockings, as scratchy as sharkskin, with a soft paintbrush.

Okay, let's say it together: Ewwwwwww! No wonder poor Alex wants to stave off old age as long as possible. And perhaps we can, therefore, forgive her for not at all understanding the genius of Oilily, a Dutch women's and children's clothing company. (Weirdly, she complains about the prices--isn't that a no-no in the Styles section?) I suppose I'm a little sensitive because if I had the cash I'd be dressing baby primarily in their stuff, but I think this, too, may be Alex's cry for help. If the anhedonia is so acute that you can't even enjoy Oilily's Bjorkian technicolor sherpa stylings, well, let's face it: even the best eye-tuck isn't going to make you happy.

Yep, Creature is back. Shout out to husband for his excellent guest blogging.

I have a review in this weekend's Washington Post here.

And all that knitting on the sofa? I finished my first ever sweater (for baby) last night and she is wearing it right now. Which means I've fulfilled all my hopes and dreams for motherhood, and it's not even 11 a.m.

While creature normally tries to avoid politics-blogging, it's hard to ignore that big elections are just 3 weeks away -- and it's no less true for being a cliche that these elections will help determine what kind of world baby grows up in. Anyway, with that in mind, and by way of monitoring the opposition, we came upon an article in which the National ("Why don't you get William F. Buckley to kill the spider?") Review asked a set of Republican luminaries what the Republicans need to do to pull the game out of fire.

Providing what is doubtless meant to be advice to help regain the soccer/security/mortgage Mom vote, Lisa Schiffren provides the appropriate analogy --

As a parent I’ve learned that sometimes punishing a child who deserves it will cost me more than it will teach her. That’s a judgment call. Passionately exhort your constituents to exercise such judgment.

So: the party that promised us that the grown-ups would be in charge is more like the baby who likes to eat Daddy's DVD equipment. But rather than dwell on this logic, we ask instead whether Lisa Schiffren is fit to be dispensing sensible mom prescriptions in the first place. Through the miracle of the Internet, cast your mind back to George Bush's "flight" onto an aircraft carrier in May 2003, with that Mission Accomplished banner, and to the gushing scribe who wrote --

I had the most astonishing thought last Thursday. After a long day of hauling the kids to playdates and ballet, I turned on the news. And there was the president, landing on the deck of the USS Abraham Lincoln, stepping out of a fighter jet in that amazing uniform, looking--how to put it?--really hot. Also presidential, of course. Not to mention credible as commander in chief. But mostly "hot," as in virile, sexy and powerful ...I decided to run a reality check among the soccer moms I spend my days with. At my daughter's East Side school, my friend Emily, a mother of two and probably a liberal, examined the picture of the president in his fly-boy gear that I just happened to have in my purse. She looked carefully, grinned and said, "He's a hottie. No doubt about it. Really a hottie. Why haven't I noticed this before? He looks so much better than Michael Douglas in that movie we saw," comparing the tired, indifferent megastar of "The American President" to the totally present leader of the free world.

And it goes on like that. And who would this gushing scribe be? Why none other than the one who watched her "hottie" turn into a bold little boy, Lisa Schiffren!

[as creature continues to recover from the baby-vectored cold, this post again written by husband of creature]

Baby's fan club at the local Whole Foods is growing to a cast of thousands, but she carefully manages her interactions. In particular, whether or not she rewards an entreaty with her beaming smile depends on what else is going at the time -- specifically whether she's working on a bottle. If she is, then the suitor gets a sideways glance which translates as "It's interesting that you've come to see me, but can't talk, drinking." If the visitor persists, then they do get a smile, but it's that smile constructed around the top of the bottle which remains the prime target. Of course, once the bottle is gone, it gets tossed to one side and she's ready to surf the crowd.

[this post written by husband of creature, like yesterday, as creature does battle with the Forces of Phlegm]

Baby is very excited with her latest acquisition: a hand-me-down plastic kitchenette. One of its accessories is a vertically-mounted plastic phone above the "sink." In an interesting commentary on how baby sees the grown-up world, her version of cooking is a plausible shifting of plastic food items around the plastic stove, while her version of being on the phone is a bizarre and loud bleating into the phone that makes no sense at all but leaves her extremely happy once it's over.

[posted by husband of creature, due to creature being indisposed with a cold--i.e., lying on the sofa knitting and watching her beloved Colbert]

Baby climbed all the way to the top of the stairs today, unaided (but with husband spotting and me cheering her on). Which means, I suppose, that she can no longer be referred to here as "baby." But "toddler" is too awkward. I will have to think more about this.

I'm watching The Daily Show right now and all I can think about is how David Cross currently has facial hair that makes his chin look like a hairy little butt. I know he's just a comedian, but shouldn't he at least have a part-time stylist?

I can't decide which is weirder: Turning 36 or marking the one-year anniversary of being "asked to take a buyout." Thoughts?

I almost can't believe this, but if it's for real, it is such a sweet catch. Those people are CRA-ZEE!

Gawker brings us the starting entry in what promises to be a sweet new series: "The Unethicist," answering the same queries as Randy Cohen does, but, well, differently.