It’s that time of year again: when a 7 a.m. romp to your local mall (or Best Buy) can yield visions of carefully made up and deliberately dressed individuals ready to claw out your eyes for the chance at a Black Friday discount, when you’re bound to consume an average of three dessert servings a day as a result of inopportune planning and a sudden abundance of family dinners, when you’ll be forced to relive a repetitive round robin of the same how’s-school-any-career-plans-are-you-dating-anyone conversation with every single one of your relatives. Yes, it’s holiday season and beyond the useless gifts or even more useless mass produced greeting cards you’re sure to accumulate, it seems hazy as to what exactly we should be thankful for.
And just like that, another blonde sweetheart and her broody brunette counterpart have decided to part ways. Sure they may have been associated in the public media with adjectives such as “shallow” or “ridiculous,” but they were in love! And now that beautiful union has dissipated. It just wasn’t meant to be, considering the somewhat creepy father-in-law and the complete lack of talent that characterized both participants in this couple-no-more. Who am I referring to? Obviously Kimberly Stewart, daughter of raspy-quality Rod Stewart and Talan Torriero, son of crappy-quality Laguna Beach, the pair of Paris Hilton lackeys who have recently called off their engagement. Who else could I possibly mean?
Only a season of slightly alcoholic drinks and continuous food comas can justify historical “WTF?” theatrical successes such as the drippy tale of star-crossed love via icebergs and foggy backseat windows known as the Titanic, or the desert island one man show known as Cast Away ,with supporting cast in the form of Wilson the volleyball and Tom Hanks’ flowing, ungroomed, grungy locks. Luckily, this year proves no exception to the rule. With a drab, Pixar-less 3D Disney feature in the form of Chicken Little reigning supreme at the box office, the Billboard pop charts had to take this competition of retardation to the next level by producing its very own weekend champion in the form of Kenny Chesney (that’s the ex-Mr. Renee Zellweger for those of you who remain country music challenged). With challengers in the form of Zathura and Fiddy’s Get Rich or Die Tryin” Soundtrack coming in at close seconds, respectively, this phenomenon just defies all semblance of logic. Think Vera Bradley bags (Why yes that IS a quilt stolen from the set of Little House on the Prairie that I have decided to fashion into a tote!).
Sometimes I’m in the mood for an ironic t-shirt and sometimes I’m in the mood for burning one. A recent trip to Abercrombie and Fitch, or as I like to call it: traveling on a poorly-lit space voyage to the planet of techno music, aside from pressuring me to speed up my shopping movements with a beat that could be heard three stores away, also presented me with a new line of bitch-tastically “cute” fashion statements. Freshly tart zingers in the form of “I make you look fat” or “Blondes are adored, brunettes are ignored” were emblazoned across the chest of these fitted, girly t-shirts with the shameless daring that could only be possessed by a retailer notorious for its risque catalogue shoots and episodes of racial sensitivity amnesia. The fact of the matter is that I can’t possibly imagine anyone wearing these t-shirts without automatically getting bludgeoned to death with rotten vegetables. I mean seriously, how obnoxious do you have to be? Drunk Ashlee Simpson at McDonald’s status?
Although the holiday season has just begun, you can rest assured, dear readers, that its effect will last at least several months while you wade through tinsel remnants and fallen pine needles and tread through dredded lines to return various stocking stuffer mistakes. Still, the bright decorations and bell jingle-heavy music now stuck on repeat will surely pave the way for ideas such as “giving” or “care” or “charity” to sneak their way into your Cornell ravaged heart. Whatever the holiday season brings, remember one thing: say no to Vera Bradley.
Archived article by Tracy Zhang
Arts and Entertainment Editor