Reader, thank the Maker for the sanity of Kate Harding, who writes for Salon's Broadsheet. Today she jumps into the fray of labioplasty, an increasingly popular cosmetic surgery to change the appearance of the labia, i.e. teenage porn star. A recent British study came out against the practice. In shocking news, plastic surgeons disagreed with their findings. Harding writes:
"Unsurprisingly, Douglas McGeorge, past president of the the British Association of Aesthetic Plastic Surgeons, told the BBC he thinks the concern is "over the top. Essentially this is just about removing a bit of loose flesh, leaving behind an elegant-looking labia with minimum scarring." Oh, well if that's all it is! I mean, obviously, if you want to be taken seriously at a job interview or get a decent table at a hot restaurant, you can't just show up with inelegant-looking labia."
Bwahhahahahaha! Love her! You can catch the whole article here.
Oh, and in case you were wondering, there isn't one female body part that's just fine as is. Just so we're on the same page.
What it is, reader! The relentless march of the holiday season has begun. Thanks to genius marketing, we no longer have a series of discrete celebrations but rather one long holiday that begins after Labor Day, HalloThankChristYears, the purpose of which is to buy all manner of shit.
After going out for Chinese with some friends this Hallo, we decamped to a nearby bar to watch the World Series (obvs I was not driving this agenda), Lucita's. Lucita's wasn't a "dive" bar populated by white urban hipsters but was just sort of seedy. Tended by a platoon of ladies costumed at various stops along the sexy continuum: nurse, cat etc, there was a surfeit of cleavage.
Shortly after we arrived, two men dressed as cops came in. Except they were really cops, as it turned out. They posted themselves directly in front of the entrance, such that you would not be able to enter or exit without their physically moving out of the way. Odd. At the same time, we also noticed a steady stream of men going up a half flight of stairs at the back of the bar, then returning a few minutes later.
It did not take an especially fertile imagination to conclude we had stumbled onto a police-protected sex ring. The cops were essentially bouncers--your tax dollars at work! I was semi-outraged.
Might those busty bartenders have been B girls, who receive a cut of drink sales that they entice men to buy with their wiles and wares? Additional sleuthing yielded this review of the bar. The writer, a bit of a sexist ass, did seem to pick up that something was amiss in Lucita's but neglected to notice the sex work happening all around him. Perhaps it was just the timing of his visit. If at some point the SFPD gets interested, since hey, they can't seem to solve any homicides, tell them you read all about it on Professional Critic.
File under: Late to the Party but Sure Am Glad I Made It: Cashmere. Reader, why did it take me thirty eight years of life to start wearing cashmere? Soft, light and delightfully warm, cashmere is indeed God's gift to woolens. If you feel so inclined to buy your favorite blogger a HalloThankChristYear present, do consider this one from Restoration Hardware.
Hi future robe!
The first minute of this episode of 30 Rock still makes me howl:
The suck known as Trauma has been canceled. Not surprising. Here's a taste of Trauma:
Celebrity chef/rake Anthony Bourdain has some choice words for Bay Area foodie extraordinaire Alice Waters: "annoys the living shit out of me." For the icing on the cake, calls her "Pol Pot in a muumuu." Although Bourdain's machismo chef shtick can be a bit much at times, this comment made me laugh out loud. Possibly the only thing more irritating than Bourdain's swaggering is Waters' rarefied preciousness.
However, to her credit Waters has put her considerable influence behind improving school nutrition with her Edible Schoolyard project. I can't seem to find anything Bourdain has done to advocate or promote the quality of food in this country. School lunches may not be sexy but they'll do a hell of a lot more to address the epidemics of obesity and diabetes in this country than Bourdain eating organ meats with a local. But! Bourdain never pretended to be a social reformer. He's an entertainer and entertains he does.
Reader, an irksome fact of life at Chez Professional Critic is my ongoing inability to adequately capture Josephine's cuteness on film. Her brother Gus, while not as adorable in reality, is ridiculously photogenic:
Strikes a pose
even mid nail-chomp.
If this was a season of America's Next Top Model, Gus would be the average-looking girl whose pictures knock your socks off. He is fierce, brings it, works it AND owns it.
Josephine would be the real-life stunner the judges reluctantly boot off after the fourth episode when they realize she simply cannot smile with her eyes.
Camera brings out deeply suspicious nature.
But I keep trying. The other day as Jo lolled on the bed in the glowing late afternoon sun I grabbed the camera. I got this:
Demented
And this
Stoned
And then, this:
Saint Josephine!
I love that she's bathed in this beatific glow, surrounded by thousands of points of colored light. Makes up for the fact that you can't quite see her precious little face, almost.
What it is reader! I keep forgetting to blog and instead watch lots of television on Hulu, which is a good indicator of just how exciting life is at the moment.
Here's a summary of the madcap adventures of Professional Critic:
1. I tried to employ The Secret to find a new jacket. I have been envisioning a deep teal blue trench coat, lined with some kind of animal print, I think leopard but maybe zebra. It's fitted but not belted, or maybe half belted in the back, and doesn't have all the weird faux military epaulets like your dad's 1975 London Fog. The fabric has a very light sheen. It makes me look mysteriously hip or hiply mysterious. Do you feel me, reader? I saw the jacket so clearly that actually buying it seemed a mere technicality. This was The Secret, was it not? So I sallied forth to manifest my jacket but much to my surprise, I was unable to do so, leaving The Gap, Nordstrom Rack and two of my very favorite independent clothing stores near my house empty-handed. I was so genuinely puzzled that I actually asked the clerk at one store, "where are your teal blue trench coats?" She must have been as confused by my question as I was by the store's woeful lack of teal trench coats, as she pointed to the black and gray coats, declining to make further eye contact.
2. Turns out, I may not be able to control retail fashion inventory with my thoughts, after all. Major buzz-kill Barbara Ehrenreich's new book Bright-Sided is a critique of the idea near and dear to the legions of Oprah that you can control the universe with your thoughts. Here she is, spreading her negativity to Jon Stewart on The Daily Show:
3. Speaking of Negative Nellies, I saw Michael Moore's new movie, Capitalism: A Love Story. It's full of inflammatory statistics presented out of context, heart-string-tugging stories out of the heartland, portraits of corporate greed and working class heroism, and the usual dose of Moore political theater, i.e. wrapping the Wall Street Bull in yellow crime scene tape. Good stuff. But one aspect of corporate shennanigans absolutely floored me: dead peasant insurance. These are life insurance policies a corporation takes out on employees and collects upon their death, whether or not they're still employed by the company. This is not the CEOs being insured, but the rank and file, like door greeters at Wal-Mart. THIS IS LEGAL? HELP ME, RHONDA! You can read about this ultra-repulsive, needs-to-be-outlawed practice here and here
4. I started using my sewing machine and made two new pillows for my couch. Crafty!
What it is, reader! This weekend I headed to Point Lobos with Teacher. Point Lobos is a place of magic and wonder and one of my favorite-est places ever.
But first we went to a winery, Chateau Julien. Only one of the wines we tasted did we actually like, Black Nova. Tastings.com said this about Black Nova:
"Deep garnet violet color. Lovely aromas of toffee, cedar, honeycomb, and blueberry cobbler a la mode follow through on a smooth, supple entry to a fruity-yet-dry medium-full body with excellent depth and highly polished oak beautifully supporting the fruit. Finishes with a long, creamy, nutty fade. Very sensual and enticing. Pair with filet mignon."
Can I get an eye roll? Despite this dopey description, Black Nova was fantastically yummy and if you find yourself with $55 burning a hole in your pocket, this would be an excellent way to spend it.
Next, we went to Garland Ranch Regional Park, which we found with the help of trusty iphone. Nestled in Carmel Valley, it was a perfectly gorgeous place to hike:
Then we shopped. Nothing scenic but I did find a pair of $12 jeans, which is sort of exciting.
The next morning we fell into the black hole called The Rachel Zoe Project. Please click on this link--the picture of her tells you exactly what you need to know about Rachel Zoe. If you've never seen this, let me free associate to draw a picture: drama, bag lady, the gays, vacuous, train wreck, beard.
On to Point Lobos. The weather was overcast, but that didn't dampen the amazing experience this place always offers. As usual, the park was teeming with wildlife: harbor seals, sea lions, sea otters, spouting whales, herons, cormorants and tide pools packed with awesomeness, including these vibrant purple sea urchins
and this orange sea star, which I learned is the correct term for starfish. Who knew?
From the small scale to the large, Point Lobos is amazing:
