Seriously. Pop Culture References.....Ur Doing It Rong

So John McCain's campaign first thought THIS would be a good idea to really reach out to the youngsters. Yep, have his daughter go to lunch with Heidi from the MTV show The Hills. Clearly, no keystrokes need to be devoted to why this was not a very wise move. And why this was a pretty good display of how far off the pulse of young people the McCain campaign is.

Ok, McCain is Down With the Kids, Take Two:

How about this?

Surely there's someone at McCain HQ with a "bad idea" button that they can hit when these kind of ads come down the propaganda pipeline, right? I get where they were trying to go with this. Obama is a media darling and so McCain wants to expose him as being an empty shell of a candidate who is as capable of running a country as Britney Spears is of singing without ProTools or Paris Hilton is of doing anything other than remembering to take her Valtrex. A couple of big problems with positing the theory that Obama is akin to Paris/Britney et al.

1. Obviously, it's an exaggerated comparison meant ideally to raise the hackles of people like me who are exhausted by the constant coverage that vapid and untalented celebrities receive these days. One problem. That's assuming that people like me are also stupid enough not to be able to differentiate between a junior senator from Illinois who graduated from Columbia University then went on to Harvard Law School and graduated at the top of his class and currently is one of the few US senators to have a 100% approval rating from Planned Parenthood and a socialite whose career highlights include a night-vision sex tape titled One Night in Paris and Repo! The Genetic Opera. I can keep the two straight. I know the difference between someone whose name I know because they have done something worthwhile (Thomas Edison, Pasteur, Nelson Mandela, James May) and people whose names I know because they have won prize money from a reality show for eating dead animal's private parts or made out with Bret Michaels. It's a bit offensive to young people that you would think you can paint "celebrities" with such a broad brush and we will all just agree that yes, famous people are bad. If that was the case, you'd be Ron Paul's running mate.

2. Let's take the really pessimistic view of this. Let's assume that lots of Americans that will see this are dumb. Like boot-in-their-ass, they-knocked-down-them-towers dumb. So assuming that, your ad is presumably supposed to prey on their hatred of these hoighty toighty Hollywood types with their glitzy cars and fancy houses with them electric gates and cement ponds, right? Ignoring the fact that Britney Spears hails from Kentwood, Louisiana and is known for driving with an infant on her lap with an open bag of Cheetos in her free hand and justified these actions with a simple "I'm country, y'all", I suppose. The good news for you is that anyone who still thinks that Britney Spears or Paris Hilton or any of their ilk are role models are almost certainly not concerned with checking their voter registration status. I highly doubt that the outrage you are trying to stir amongst those blue collar folk over Obama's celebrity is going to make much of an impact on them when they are probably a little more worried about the free falling economy. Back when they could still fill up the two tanks on their trucks, I could see them getting really hacked off about some useless pop princess showing her baby maker to the world and losing her kids and somehow stretching that concept of celebrity to tarnish your opponent when they seem to be popular with the kids. But right now, I can't see this being a really topical issue.

3. Then of course there's the issue of how current your targets actually are. A simple google search of the phrase "top celebrity searches" does, in fact, yield Paris Hilton, Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan as the top three celebrities. Of 2007. So if this ad were running last year, you would be correct to assume that this ad would be on point and timely. But unfortunately, you look like you got some of your interns to dig up some old People magazines from the doctor's office.

The bottom line is that all of this looks desperate on the part of your campaign. It's like a newly divorced 60 year old man showing up at a nightclub in a leased Italian sports car wearing a crooked toupee, streaky self-tanner, an Ed Hardy satin jacket and asking "What it do?" to anyone unfortunate enough to cross through his line of sight. I'd offer you tips on how to try to appeal to young people less heavy-handedly but I'm afraid you'd just call me a "cunt" in front of a bunch of people like you did that one time to your wife. Actually, one of the things us young people love is when old people swear at totally inappropriate times.

There, the first one's free.

My Friday Approximation of JK Livin'

(Matteo also says "MAD PROPS!" to whomever's wireless connection my laptop is stealing out here by the pool and therefore allowing me to post this. Moshanda Maliki)

I woke up this morning puking. It was not because I decided to check out the newly renovated Dubliner last night. And yes, I did have an Irish Car Bomb. It was probably more to do with the fact that I love a good deal and therefore most of my meat purchases are of the mark-down variety. So I woke up on time for work. But on time and sick as a dog. My boss is out of town and I called him explaining my pukey situation. I told him I could work from home and asked him if he was cool with it. Luckily, he was.

So I got some work done. Then I decided to clean my embarrassingly untidy apartment. Bags of trash that I figured would eventually cry "uncle" and walk themselves to the dumpster got taken out. Dishes that were soaking for the better part of July were finally washed and dried. Then I went to the grocery store and bought meat that wasn't on the precipice of its' untimely demise. Then I watched a Jeopardy that wasn't Tivo'd. Then I did some more work. IM my poor friend Aaron to tell him of my plans for the day which basically entail: pool, floating in the pool, cool drinks, working from home, maybe napping later. He probably hates me. He should.

And then I decided to take my laptop out to the pool where I write to you now. While I was at the grocery store, I invested a wise $5 in an orange pool floaty with a built-in cup holder. So I made myself a nice refreshing summertime beverage, put on my swimsuit (I got a two piece with sailboats on it at Target on clearance that looks like something a six year old would wear because my taste in swimsuits has not evolved since 1987) and floated in the pool for an hour slathered in Hawaiian Tropic while sipping on my icy drink. Basically, if you would have told me when I was 6 years old back in Georgia that one day I would get paid to do exactly what I was doing 11 summers ago I probably would have said "ohhhh mahhhhh gawwwwwwwwddddddd" because I had a really thick Southern drawl back then.

I realized my legs were getting a little pink so I got out of the water for a little while and sat at the table with the big umbrella and typed out the start of a new column that I just got offered.

Got back on my floaty chariot and realized that, other than the fact that I inexplicably have the song "Holy Diver" stuck in my head on an unstoppable loop, today has been remarkably awesome. Remembered that my mom gave me free passes to the DMA and tonight is the Late Night series. Wonder if Ronnie James Dio would go with me if he were in town. Wonder what "you can see his stripes but you know he's clean" means.

Back is starting to get pink now so I get back under umbrella to check email, read Jezebel, burn some DVDs for friends and pet stray cats who live around the pool. One I call Acid Test and the other one is a regular around the pool I named Crack Fox when I first moved in. In case you are wondering where he got his name...

Dear Owner or Driver of a 2003 Black Nissan Pickup Truck,

(Read some about it on Frontburner)

Apparently you were running from the cops sometime after the bars closed this morning. Now that's not a very smart thing to do. That's obvious. I don't really care about your motivation or anything. Here's what I care about. It looks like the forward momentum of your truck was halted by the world-famous stopping power of the Dubliner's front walls and windows. And in this perfect storm of truck plus building, you managed to come to a complete stop roughly in the precise location of the table at which I have celebrated many birthdays and also watch most Cowboys games each Sunday. Therefore, pardon my language, you are a dick.

That was the table that we watched every Cowboys game from last season. It's the table we clung to and screamed as we watched the TWO 50+ yard field goals in the Bills game last season. It's the table we were sitting at when we watched the Mavs/Spurs 2006 playoff games. It's the table where we have sat when my friend Sean has put many a shot of Jameson on our tabs without our permission. I spent my most recent birthday at that table this past year when I showed up dressed as post-conservertorship Britney Spears. But within the warm embrace of that table, I felt alright about the fact that I was wearing a dress that by definition was really just a shirt. I loved that table. So to see it reduced to kindling makes me very sad and makes me feel, once again, pantsless.

To the lovely owners of the Dubliner who have been so kind to me over the years: please bring back the table. I love that table. I would birth babies on that table if I knew anything about birthing babies.

To my Cowboys watching friends: we shall overcome. Even if we have to (as Philip suggested) watch it from on top of the wrecked remains of the Nissan that caused the chaos. It could be kind of like tailgating.

To anyone thinking of evading arrest: please aim for Plusssssh or Lyte or Blyng or husch or whatever Urban Mojito Experience Lounge you can somehow line up in your sights between your iPhone and your SatNav. You messed up my table and for that, I blame every Cowboys fumble on you for the entire regular season. I hope you can live with yourself.