adfreak.com

Coulda been worse?

The text at top right reads: “The tsunami killed 100 times more people than 9/11. The planet is brutally powerful. Respect it. Preserve it.” (Click here for a larger version.)

David Gianatasio at adfreak.com says of this award-winning World Wildlife Fund ad: “Unfortunately, respect is the main thing lacking here. Exploiting one tragedy to try to prevent another is just stupid and self-defeating, and will always backfire.”

I agree. But what are your thoughts? With the eighth anniversary of 9/11 only a week away, is it still too soon to reference the tragedy in order to get us behind a pretty unrelated cause? Or do we need this level of shock value in order to really think about big, important issues? Holler in the comments.

[UPDATE, Wednesday, 8 a.m.]: Thanks for the updates, commenters. Looks like the WWF had nothing to do with this poster, and condemns the Brazilian ad agency that used the organization’s logo without their permission. Here’s the statement:

“WWF strongly condemns this offensive and tasteless ad and did not authorize its production or publication. It is our understanding that it was a concept offered by an outside advertising agency in Brazil. The concept was summarily rejected by WWF and should never have seen the light of day. It is an unauthorized use of our logo and we are aggressively pursuing action to have it removed from websites where it is being currently featured. We strongly condemn the messages and the images portrayed in this ad. On behalf of WWF, here in the US and around the world, we can promise you this ad does not in any way reflect the thoughts and feelings of the people of our organization.”

Getting your kicks all grimy in Philadelphia is not that challenging — 15  minutes on the street should do it. But if your time is far too precious, you can pick up a pair of genuine Italian leather sneakers pre-dirtied for your convenience. In industry parlance, this look is referred to as “faux distressed,” which sounds more like an attention-whoring emo teen.

The angsty sneaks are stocked by Center City’s Head Start Shoes (126 S. 17th St., 215-567-3247), which specializes in seriously up-market leather footwear. The friendly Head Start salesgirls wouldn’t share any info on the starry, grubby lace-ups, claiming that the Italian maker that private-labeled the shoes for them was “too exclusive” to give up. A 10-second Google search turned up some hyperventilating sneakerhead posts about Golden Goose Deluxe Brand, whose trademark “Francy” high-tops and “Star” low-rises bear a suspicious resemblance to Head Start’s wares.

So, fortified by the knowledge that your “look” is approved by footwear-obsessed bloggers and Italians too snooty to host anything more than a splash page on their Web site, support the economy and spend the rent on some faux crusty kicks.

I’m sure this will come back to bite me in the ass (like the time I let “Artic Ocean” slip in a headline when I worked for a VA daily, or the time my title was spelled “copy cheif” — oof), but it has to be said: Philadelphia Weekly, read your cover lines!

Maybe it’s the font — which, as my colleague Holly Otterbein points out, makes everything look like a C. Or maybe it’s the subject matter (everyone was too high to notice the typo?). Or maybe the folks at PW are stretched just as thin as we are — look, I understand. Shit happens. Copy editors can’t catch everything.

But come on. Bisuits? Really?

I guess I’m not surprised that the British, who’re OK with rugby welts and snaggleteeth and green eggs and ham, would chase each other down the steepest hill in England for an 8-pound hunk of cheese. (If it were a triple-creme I would probably be right there with them.)

boston.com

wtf, england

According to boston.com’s “The Big Picture” blog, the annual event draws a huge crowd and ends in lots of broken bones. But also pride! In winning a wheel of Double Glouster Cheese! Sez the site:

Last Monday, May 25th, the annual Cooper’s Hill Cheese-Rolling and Wake was held near Gloucester, England. In a tradition that dates back at least 200 years, possibly much longer, groups of fearless competitors chase an 8 pound (3.5 kg) round of Double Gloucester Cheese down an extremely steep and uneven hill, with a 1:1 gradient in some parts. Thousands of spectators gather to watch the five downhill and four uphill races, and to celebrate the winners and console the losers afterward. Injuries such as broken bones and concussions are commonplace, but the event continues to grow in popularity. The winner of each race is awarded the delicious round of cheese they were chasing.

Click the link for more photos, and in the meantime, why doesn’t Philly do anything this dangerous/fun? Is there a human pretzel contest we don’t know about? A Rocky ironman or something?

A Jersey-dwelling friend of mine posted this “Guido Beach” mockumentary on Facebook this morning, proclaiming that she’s planning on actively avoiding the Shore this summer. Personally, we think we’re still willing to deal with a bit of chatchery in exchange for Mack & Manco and some much-needed vitamin D. But barely, especially when we’re reminded that these people actually exist.

Also, is it possible to fracture one’s thigh?

Damnit, UO. Now I can’t buy your cute frocks.

Courtesy urbanoutfitters.com

In days past, Urban Outfitter’s catalogs were somewhat classy. Yes, almost every picture was of a half-stoned girl in an extremely elegant dress emerging out of the woods. But they were usually covered up and naturally pretty, and the graphic artists decorated the page with ink drawings of bird, trees and flowers. It was wonderfully whimsical, really.

All of that went to hell in the spring 2009 catalog. Philly-based UO have ditched their respectable advertising strategy and replaced it with American Apparel’s. Which it to say, they’re making porn now. The new catalog is full of side-boobs, side-bums and maybe even a little side-vagina. Yes, you read the last bit right. UO is so committed to emulating American Apparel that they’ve one-upped their rivals and invented a new way of showing someone’s privates without, ‘ya know, showing them completely. Also, all of the models look 15 years old, and their despondent expressions make them appear stoned — on H, not on weed.

This sucks, because I have to boycott you now, UO. I stopped walking into American Apparel because I felt like a perv, and now you’ve went and done the same thing. Good riddance, side boobs.

Washington Post

NEWFLASH: Ozark fetus farm Michelle Duggar gave birth to her 18th child, Jordyn-Grace Makiya Duggar, yesterday.

As part of our ongoing commitment to community service (a condition of our parole), The Clog happily provides you with the answers to the most common questions about the Duggar clan.

Q: How do Jim Bob (seriously? “Jim Bob”?) and Michelle Duggar plan to afford college tuition for all 18 children?

A: Not a problem! Well, at least not for their female offspring. The Duggars have adamantly maintained that their daughters will not be permitted to attend college. Instead, the girls are home-schooled (their curriculum seems to feature a healthy dose of cooking and cleaning). This lack of formal education might be a blessing in disguise, since even the most remedial math course might lead the Duggar girls (AKA “The Virgin Suicides”) to figure out that their mother has been pregnant for 11 of her 42 years.

Q: This is some sort of creepy religious thing, isn’t it?

A: Creepy and then some. The Duggars are adherents of the “Quiverfull” movement (not to be confused with “The Quivering Brethren” from the awesome movie Cold Comfort Farm), which is characterized by a strong antagonism toward the use of birth control and a strange, litterbox-like smell.

(more…)

In chesticular news, couriermail.com.au reported yesterday that a large shipment of promotional inflatable boobs were lost at sea. Hot off the presses:

More than 130,000 inflatable breasts have been lost at sea en route to Australia.
 
Men’s magazine Ralph was planning to include the boobs as a free gift with its January issue.

The cargo is worth about $200,000, which is another blow for publisher ACP’s parent company PBL, which is already in $4.3 billion of debt.

A spokeswoman for Ralph said the container left docks in Beijing two weeks ago but turned up empty in Sydney this week. The magazine has put out an alert to shipping authorities to see if they have the container, but if they don’t turn up in the next  48 hours it will be too late for the next issue, she said.

Ralph editor Santi Pintado urged anyone who has any information to contact the magazine.

“Unless Somali pirates have stolen them its difficult to explain where they are,” Pintado said. “If anyone finds any washed up on a beach, please let us know.”

Happy hump day. 

Raani Starnes has a blog called “Homeschooling Hints” She also has her scratchy burlap panties in a twist over “Gay-friendly” high schools:

“With any luck, some radical will blow up the gay school. No, I’m not condoning vigilantism–I’m merely saying that it would be poetic justice.”

Yeah Raani, most biblical scholars agree that’s how Jesus would’ved handled the situation.

And now a word of advice to Raani’s kids…RUN!!!

Thanks to 2000 Years of Deception for spotting this.

Have you seen me?

Jesse over at McFearsome (the blog’s second post ever) got back from SXSW to discover his apartment’d been burglarized and his TV, Xbox 360 and laptop had been stolen. When the Philadelphia Police didn’t seem particularly interested, he started playing detective, rounding up security photos from a pawn shop the culprit apparently hit, and eventually getting a phone call from a guy claiming to have done the stealing, offering to sell the stuff back to him.

He allegedly gave his Xbox profile name, which led to a YouTube profile that might be the thief’s, and, thanks to Digg, an army of netizens helping in the hunt.

Ah, citizen crime fighting — the future of law enforcement? 

 

 

 

Young, yet appropriate.

Yappy dog outfitters Little Lily have released their latest Red Carpet Collection, and I have to admit, Anne Hathaway’s little red Mahalo works pretty well on four legs. Inspired by celebrity Oscar get-ups, the collection also includes George Clooney’s tux, Jennifer Garner’s black strapless Oscar de la Renta and Jessica Alba’s hotmess of a Grecian plum thing. If your pup weighs in at under 40 pounds (and you have an extra $120) you’re in luck.

 

I showed up two hours early to the second annual Midnight Madness event at IKEA in South Philly. The same party was being thrown at the Conshohocken location, although probably on a smaller scale. Co-hosted by nonprofits Campus Philly and Philly Car Share, this party was almost exactly how I remember college parties: I didn’t know anybody, I snooped through bookshelves and hid out in the bathroom, people came in groups and were reluctant to talk to me, and I got mocked by some smartass Penn kids. (And now I’m going to blog about them. Take that!)

But Midnight Madness had some advantages over my college social experiences. Since this party’s goal was winning customers, not sleeping with freshmen, Midnight Madness already won some points with me. Then they lost said points because there was no wet bar. IKEA’s PR person for Philly, Jennifer Braxton, was one of the better party hosts I’ve ever met, and most of the things she told me in the pre-party interview happened. I overestimated undergraduate laziness- — it turns out kids will come down to South Philly if you promise them free food. She anticipated 2,000, or double last year’s turnout.

I kept a running tally of ways in which Midnight Madness was better or worse than any other party I’ve attended. The results might … well, no, they won’t surprise you.

Better:

• They had mimes, who I kept trying to interview. Their hands and faces were painted green, and they wore green Philly Car Share jumpsuits made from that thin material they make children’s Halloween costumes out of. I don’t know if this is a point in their favor or not; all I know is, I saw things in outline I haven’t seen since Cirque de Soleil was in town.
• The woman hosting karaoke sang “Before He Cheats” better than Carrie Underwood. Plus, I love spite songs. They make me want to buy easy-to-assemble furniture and smash it over my cheating boyfriend’s head.
• The feeling that the party was being hosted in a warehouse where a lot of classy Swedish families lived, and we were all just milling around until they came home and found we had drank all their porridge.
• Free T-shirts. No one does that at parties, except family reunions.
• Free food up to $5.99. This means I could have had six cinnamon buns for free if I were still a student.
• There were prizes, but since this didn’t benefit me directly I ignored them. I guess this would be a good thing for whichever college student won, but since I wasn’t eligible to win, I took a bold journalistic stance and refused to cover the stupid scavenger hunt, Wheel of Fortunato, etc. Maybe next time they’ll think before they have contests where Eileen Talone is too old to participate.

Worse:

• Getting lied to by some good-looking smarm factories from Penn and Drexel. One Zack Morse doppelganger (accompanied by twins who looked like Freddie Prinze Jr.) made me promise that I’d write that “Big Phil came through and did it like Big Phil do.” I wrote it, guy. But I’m also going to tell everyone that you said you were part of a neo-soul dance troupe, and I wasted all this time online trying to be a good journalist and research the facts, and there was no such band. You’ll pay; you and the Prinze Jr.s and even your short friend who looked like Jennifer Love Hewitt. You will all pay for giving me multiple throwbacks to the late nineties. Jerks.
• no booze.
• no half-hearted fights. No fights at all.
• I got the sense they were trying to sell something.
• A lot of the girls were cuter than me. And a lot of the boys looked like nerds.
• The people that were paid to be there were not all smiley and scantily clad like the Sparks, Marlboro, etc girls that show up at concerts and bars and make you feel like for one second you have a friend. The IKEA staff is nice enough, but they are not here to give you malt drinks that look like Crush or let you look at their cleavage. Boo.

Remember when they’d turn the lights on at the end of a school dance, and everyone looked ashamed and confused in the light, and really, really sweaty? Being at a well-lit, supervised, dry party reminded me what a party really is: a dark, scheduled escape from reality where people get lifted and try to touch each other. It wasn’t the overt consumerism of the party that killed it, but rather the absence of permission to act like an ass. Sorry, IKEA, but if you don’t regret it the next day, it probably wasn’t a party.

This is, quite simply, gross. I have to agree with the author that "Philly Taco" strikes me as more of a burrito.

Props to Riff. 

So Drew Lazor and I share a door, which means we also share many intimate thoughts… like, "What is the meaning of life?" "Is there really a God?" "How the hell did Paris Hilton get out of jail after serving three days of her three-week sentence?"

While we’re sure that it was a simple matter of you can’t keep a light that bright under a bushel basket for three whole weeks so they simply let her walk for the good of all humanity, we’d prefer to believe that Paris masterminded some kinda Escape From Alcatraz-style prison break.

Presenting: The Bad Idea Factory’s top seven ways Paris really got out:

1. Cake with a file in it
2. File with a cake in it
3. Envelope with Nicole Richie in it
4. Bible with a gun carved out
5. During conjugal visit, Tinkerbell poops out key 
6. Louis Vuitton grappling hook
7. Toothbrush knife