Hot (mess?)

Only Heidi Klum can look hot all the time.

Regardless of Heidi's activity--walking the runway, buying clothes, mowing the lawn--she always looks great. I am certain that when she wakes up in the morning, she looks good enough to be shot for the cover of any fashion magazine. When Heidi is pregnant (and that seems to be constantly), she somehow looks even more beautiful. Amazing.

However, the rest of us have to deal with the fact that we will not look hot every day. Hotness requires more than good genes--it also means good hair, skin, and body, stylistically cohesive clothing choices, and proper carriage and attitude. It is something that must be pursued daily--one day's achievements or failings have no bearing on the next.

I want to clarify something before you think I am as shallow as a Hills cast member. When I say "hot," I do not mean beautiful. Beauty is something intrinsic to all things that God has created because they reflect His beauty. Hotness is a quality created by the human fashion industry and culture. All people are beautiful and infinitely valuable--however, not all people are hot.

As an alternative to hotness, we have the hot mess. Urban dictionary defines hot mess as a situation "When one's thoughts or appearance are in a state of disarray but they maintain an undeniable attractiveness." The concept of the hot mess has been popularized by pop personalities like Christian Siriano on Project Runway. It is the opposite extreme on the hotness spectrum. Instead of being perfectly put together, a hot mess retains the magnetism despite his or her chaotic appearance or behavior.

To illustrate this concept, let me share my daily routine from past summer. Every day, I rolled out of bed, put on my matching sweatpants and sweatshirt, added a pair of chic black glasses and drove to the swimming. I ate my breakfast of blueberries and oatmeal with Diet Coke and got the cash boxes ready for the day. My sleep and caffeine-deprived brain buzzed at a low frequency and my poor early morning motor control caused me to knock things over a lot. I was a mess--the attention to detail and appearance made me a hot mess.

Later, after teaching a water aerobics class, I headed home and showered. I put in contacts, added high end cologne and moisturizers, spiked my hair, put on a nice, short swimsuit suit and grabbed my Hospers Swimming Pool zip-up hoodie and aviators. With my spinach and hard-boiled egg salad and iced coffee in my bag, I headed back to work. By the time I arrived at the pool, my brain was high functioning, and I quickly took control of the situation. Hotness achieved.

One star who regularly demonstrates the hot/hot mess paradox is Britney Spears. Britney is consistently hot in her music videos. She looks great, wears the right clothes, and has an appeal rivaled by few. However, in her personal life, Britney is such a hot mess. She pulls up to the KFC drive-through in her perfect SUV and perfect clothing and then gets a tub of chicken to stuff her perfect face. She shaves her head. She attacks paparazzi with designer umbrellas. Hot mess!

Hot is better than hot mess, but hot mess shows that you are at least trying. It is better to shoot for hot and stumble into hot mess than to only achieve the mundane.

Always be hot or a hot mess--never anything in between.

Long live her Madgesty

Madonna is the ultimate amortal.

Time magazine originated the word "amortal," defining it as someone without visible mortality and labeling Madonna as someone who exemplifies the concept. Madonna has shown incredible resilience throughout her career and probably will still be producing music from the nursing home. As a side note, I wish that there actually were a nursing home for old celebrities. I would pay a decent amount to take a tour of that.

Despite Madonna's fame, I had never heard more than one or two of her songs before watching the Glee, "The Power of Madonna," episode on Hulu. I vaguely remember being morally outraged as a child when I heard about Madonna kissing Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera at the VMAs, and I rocked out to her 2008 hit, "4 Minutes," featuring Justin Timberlake. Other than rumors of her relationships with A-Rod and 23-year-old Brazilian model Jesus Luz, Madonna has been completely off my pop radar.

However, "The Power of Madonna" changed all that. I became obsessed before the episode even premiered due to the teaser Sue Sylvester remake of Madonna's iconic "Vogue" music video. I watched that video a few times a day until the episode came out. I loved seeing Kurt and Mercedes collaboration and thought Jane Lynch looked eerily like Madonna. The glamour and high fashion of the video completely dazzled my senses.

When the full episode became available on Hulu, I enthusiastically watched it. I enjoyed the episode as a whole, and had several favorite moments. The Cheerios' performance of "4 Minutes" with Kurt and Mercedes on vocals tops my list and was an example of sensory overload at its best. With the marching band playing, Cheerios dancing, and two divas belting notes, that song alone could have been the episode's show-stopper.

Another highlight was the "Like a Prayer" finale. My roommate informed me that the lyrics to that song are actually kind of sketchy, but I am going to ignore that for now and pretend it is about praying. It opens with Rachel (of course) and then continues with solos from Finn, Kurt, and Mercedes. I think that Mercedes is becoming my favorite singer on Glee. She consistently brings down the house with her big voice. When she sings, "Let the choir sing!" the curtain opens and a huge African choir steps forward and joins the glee club. Where does Mr. Schue find all of these people, and how does he compensate them?

The only unsavory part of this episode would have to be the "love" scene. While Rachel, Emma, and Finn all contemplate losing their virginities to Rachel, Schue, and Santana respectively, they stare in the bathroom mirror and fantasize about it. This scene would have been far less awkward if the six characters had not been singing "Like a Virgin" the whole time they were acting it out. No spoilers from me today about who lost their V-card and who kept it.

I think that Madonna was both shrewd and brilliant to let this episode happen. She gave Glee access to ALL of her music, and the show took full advantage of that playing her music in the background of the show in between vocal performances. This episode revitalizes Madonna's career and connects her with a young generation raised on Britney and addicted to Gaga. The Glee "Power of Madonna" compilation album was number one in the charts this week, even topping the unbeatable Justin Bieber.

Madonna has captured another fan. Maybe she is a vampire.

Let the fur fly

I never thought PETA and I would agree on anything.

Ideologically, I fall between a libertarian and a conservative. I grew up in northwest Iowa, hunting rabbits and squirrels with my dad, and eating a heavy diet of beef, pork, and chicken. During high school, I was one of those people who would have said, "PETA--oh you mean, People for the Eating of Tasty Animals!?"

However, many recent influences have made me sensitive to issues concerning the fur trade. One of these influences is my dear friend Denise. Denise is a sometimes vegan who passionately cares for animal welfare. She does not oppose meat in general, but just thinks that animals should be treated properly.

A PETA commercial featuring the voices of rockstar Pink as an alligator and English comedian Ricky Gervais as a rabbit also did a lot to change the way I think. In the commercial, a stylish couple walks into a fancy hall with an alligator-skin purse and a rabbit-fur coat. Just then, an alligator missing most of its skin and a rabbit missing its fur accost them, demanding their skin/fur. The part that really got me was when the woman says, "Hey, I paid a lot for this [purse]," and alligator responds, saying, "Well, actually, I paid a lot more."

Now, I know that animals cannot speak and do not have minds or souls like people. Furthermore, I know that God gave man dominion over creation. However, when God put man over creation, it was in the position of a steward instead of a conqueror. I highly doubt that God wanted Adam to kill a bunch of dinosaurs to make dinosaur clutches and shoes for Eve. God Himself did not even use animal fur until after the Fall, and those fur garments are marks of the fall, not the glamorous life of paradise.

While animals do not have the same sentience as people, they can feel pain and suffer. Remember in the book Where the Red Fern Grows when the dog Old Dan dies and then Little Ann dies of grief-induced starvation just a few days later? Tortured animals scream and abandoned dogs whimper. How heartless to cause any creature unnecessary pain.

The fur trade causes unnecessary pain on an epic scale. No one needs fur. Human beings have advanced to a point where we can easily create beautiful synthetic fur. Furthermore, we no longer ride around in buggies or trek through frozen fields, and thus do not need the added protection. Is it is really fashionable to wear parts of a dead thing on your body? That is a little too Hannibal Lector for me.

I am not going to argue against hunting or fishing--in fact, I want to affirm them as part of man's stewardship. However, hunters need to eat what they kill. This is also the only acceptable situation were animal fur should be used. Hunters should be more like the legendary Native Americans who used every part of the buffalo. I do not know if that actually happened, but it is a nice story.

While I do think that PETA is insane, they have some good things to say. Don't let their crazy get in the way of you listening.

The gods must be crazy

I cannot decide if I would rather be Apollo or Poseidon.

I spend my summers outside, soaking up the sun, so part of me would love to drive the chariot of the sun around the earth each day. My tan would be amazing. However, I also love water and think living underwater, riding hippocampi, and controlling hurricanes and earthquakes could be the best thing ever.

While I have always been interested in the Greek gods and mythology, Rick Riordan's book series, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, has recently rekindled my interest. My friends Jeremy and AJ told me about them over Christmas break, and after making a little trip to Barnes and Noble, I quickly fell in love with series.

The Lightning Thief tells the story of Perseus Jackson, a Manhattan sixth grader who struggles with dyslexia, ADHD, and getting kicked out of school. After his math teacher turns into a Fury and tries to kill him, and the Minotaur attacks him, his mother, and his disabled friend Grover, he realizes something strange is going on in his life.

Grover brings him to Camp Half Blood on Long Island where Percy realizes that Grover is a satyr, his Latin teacher is the heroic centaur Chiron, the Greek gods are real and have followed the shift of Western Civilization to the United States, and Percy's mysterious absent father is the sea god Poseidon. Percy, Grover, and their new friend (and possible love interest) Annabelle, daughter of Athena, set out on a quest to retrieve Zeus's stolen lightning bolt from the Underworld, running into the Furies, Medusa, the Lotus Eaters, and Echidna along the way.

I know that was filled with spoilers, but please deal with it. There are four more books in this series which contribute to one large story arc, and I have only scratched the surface of the thrilling plot. You do not need to know anything about Greek mythology to enjoy them, but knowing the back stories of characters and being able to predict plot points gave me extra satisfaction when reading. My favorite parts were the various interactions with the gods, who, unlike the God I worship, can be as petty and selfish as the mortals they rule.

When I saw that 20th Century Fox was making a film based on the first book, I was apprehensive. After all, films like The Two Towers and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe have burned me with inaccuracies, leaving me wary of book-to-movie adaptations. I went to see the movie, Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief, on a Sunday afternoon at the Guthrie Theatre with my friend Melinda.

The film was the worst book-to-movie adaptation I have ever seen. Its many fallacies included making Percy seventeen instead of twelve, combining characters and love interests, portraying Persephone as a sexy devil's mistress, and making Grover a womanizing player. The most grievous change, however, was making the villain a stupid demigod instead of the fallen titan of time, Kronos. Because of this change, no logical sequel can be made to the film. I wonder if the film company realized the movie would tank half way through production and decided to cut their losses by simplifying the plot.

There were two parts of the film that I really enjoyed. The Medusa scene remained fairly true to the book and added an intensity to the movie. Uma Thurman played the gorgon as a fierce and beautiful woman who just happened to have snakes growing out of her head and the ability to turn people to stone. I also loved the Lotus Casino scene where Percy, Annabelle, and Grover ate the intoxicating lotus flowers and broke it down to Lady Gaga's "Poker Face" and Ke$ha's "Tik Tok." So good.

In conclusion, read the books and skip the movie. But you knew that already.

Snuggle up

I sleep wrapped in a snuggie every night.

It took me a while to fall under this trend's power. My family and I used to make fun of the people in the commercial. They looked so ridiculous sitting around on plush couches in backwards monk robes, reading books and being pleasant with one another. The snuggie's ridiculous appearance kept us from seeing its true wonder.

I did not know I needed a snuggie until after I bought one. On Black Friday 2009, I forced my mom and sister to get up early and go shopping in the wee hours of the morning. When we got to Menard's, a store that I have hated as long as I can remember, I spotted an off-brand snuggie called a Cuddlee. As an avid bargain shopper, I could not pass up the six dollar price tag. After all, snuggies usually retail at about fifteen dollars.

That night, as I shared a pull-out couch with my little brother, I put my arms through the holes and wrapped the snuggie around my body. I instantly felt secure and safe. Even more importantly, when I went to grab my glass of water, my arms did not get cold. Up until that moment, I had never realized how annoying cold arms can be. A marketable invention either fills an existing need or makes people think that they have a need, and the snuggie does the latter beautifully.

Since then, I have slept wrapped in my snuggie almost every night. While I used to scoff, now I embrace, and the snuggie embraces me. The snuggie has become a pop culture phenomenon and has been mocked by many comedians. It even got a mention on a hilarious SNL skit parody of the Today Show with Hoda and Kathie Lee. I believe that all of those comedians secretly sleep with snuggies.

The snuggie was also one of the most popular Christmas gifts this past year. The Snuggie company has diversified its product by creating snuggies for children and dogs. While I own the classic navy blue, the snug also comes in burgundy, green, pink, and animal print.

There are even more uses for the snuggie than what the commercials show. If you turn it around backwards and add a belt, it is a shepherd's costume for a Christmas nativity scene. I recently had someone stand behind me and put their hand through to create the humorous illusion of hands out of my control. That same night, I also put it on backwards and had two people under that snuggie behind me, and we raced through the house screaming and pretending it was a Chinese dragon in a Chinese New Year Parade. We have fun.

If you still are wary about the snuggie, I'll let you try on mine. Just make sure you give it back.

Frankenheidi

Heidi Montag and I have been through a lot together.

My infatuation with Heidi began during the summer of 2006 when I attended Neuroscience Camp and spent my evenings watching MTV with some of the other campers. The first season of the Hills premiered that week, we each picked a favorite girl. I chose Heidi--I have always been a sucker for blondes and women with German names. Despite Heidi being a bit careless and shallow, I found her funny and charming. After camp, Heidi and I parted ways, and my Hills-obsessed sister was the only person keeping me informed about Heidi's life.

During my junior year of college, I succumbed to the twitter fad and started following Heidi. Heidi liked to retweet a lot, and one day I tweeted that she was retweeting too much. To my surprised, Heidi responded with a "sorry...lol XO" and at my request, she started following me. The next day, her husband Spencer Pratt also began following me on twitter.

Although I have not directly interacted with Heidi since, I have seen her life unfold in the headlines. As she climbed the fame ladder and started feuding with Al Roker, I hoped that she might remain sweet and safe. While I did disapprove of her posing for Playboy, I consoled myself with the fact that she did not do any nude shots. My crush was intact.

Heidi's first big blunder came with the launch of her career as a "pop star." From her embarrassing "Higher" home music video to her heavily synthesized album, "Superficial," Heidi has been a disaster. In all fairness, some of her tracks are catchy and comparable to Britney's recent tunes, and her video for "Overdosin" is memorable and funny. However, the Pratts spent almost $2 million of their own money making the album and only sold 658 copies in the first week after release. Confession time: I felt bad for Heidi, and I am one of those 658 people.

I could have forgiven Heidi's musical failings, but her outrageous plastic surgery brought me to my senses. Earlier this year, Heidi went under the knife and had ten procedures done at once, almost dying on the table due to too much Demerol. Heidi got a brow-lift, a chin reduction and went from a C-cup to a triple D-cup. The photo at the top of this post nicely illustrates the change. Heidi used to look like a stuning 23-year-old woman full of potential--now she is a cold Barbie with absurdly large breasts. Although she is technically more aesthetically beautiful than most supermodels, I struggle to see her beauty.

Now, as Heidi continues to develop her fashion line, pursue her music career, transition from Christianity to new-age beliefs, and explore the world of film, I have decided not to accompany her. Yes, the likes of Perez Hilton and Chelsea Handler will continue to inform me of her latest stunts, but she will no longer receive my blind support. Heidi needs everyone to ignore her for a while so that realizes extreme plastic surgery is not the path to stardom.

I am sorry Heidi, but this is goodbye.

The death of fashion

Crocs are the first sign of the fashion apocalypse.

Now, I am usually a fairly relaxed critic when it comes to clothing choices. I believe that people should wear clothing that is comfortable, flattering, and reflective of how they want to be perceived. After watching seven seasons of Project Runway and countless episodes of What Not to Wear while on the treadmill during high school gym class (yes, each treadmill had its own television screen), I have developed a strong sense of what is permissible and what is a train wreck. Despite those show's aggressive points of view, I think I still tend to err on the side of leniency when it comes to fashion choices.

However, when it comes to plastic footwear, someone needs to put their foot down. If ever allowed, plastic shoes should only exist as flip flops and preferably only been worn to the beach. The horrendous croc, a diseased love child of the shoe and rubber boot, is the essence of tackiness and only appropriate to be worn when cleaning fecal matter out of a pig sty. I only know a few people who have actually cleaned up pig crap, and none of them wore crocs to do it.

What I find even more disturbing is the company Jibbitz, which creates "decorative attachments for the holes in Crocs sandals." You cannot make a mule a stallion by giving it an attractive saddle. Wikipedia has also informed me that the Crocs company produces a line called the "Fuzz Collection" with woolly liners permanently attached inside the holes in the Crocs that enable year-round use. Unacceptable. Adding cloth above, between, and below the parts of a bikini does not make it a gown fit for ball.

In one episode of the fashion-centric show Ugly Betty, style icon Wilhelmina Slater demeans herself by indulging in crocs. Her shallow, yet wise, assistant Marc quickly take initiative and throws away all of Willy's crocs. This action comes from love--both love for the person and love for aesthetics. If you have a loved one who owns these monstrosities, you need to go right now and help that individual by throwing the crocs away. In the case that this makes you feel guilty, simply go to Old Navy and buy them a couple of pairs of flips--they are plastic and only two for five dollars. The crocs need to be dumped.

After all, it is the right thing to do.

Lady Lauper

Donald Trump has made my life better.

While that statement borders on the absurd, I plan to back it up. A few weeks ago, I stumbled upon the Celebrity Apprentice with my roommate, and we watched the first episode together at 1 AM. Since I was not even aware that the Apprentice was still even on television, I began watching with low expectations.

Despite my low opinion of the show, I soon found myself fascinated by one of the "celebrities" on the show. I put "celebrities" in quotes because I had only heard of two of the competitors before watching, and one of them was the disgraced former governor of Illinois, Rod Blagojevich.

Never fear--old Blago wasn't the one who caught my interest. The charmingly bizarre Cyndi Lauper grabbed my attention and still has not let it go. I have been aware of "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" since my junior prom, but I never put much thought into the singer behind the music. Now I'm thinking about that singer a lot and singing "True Colors" in the shower.

Cyndi's greatness goes beyond musical talent. She is a style icon and lives in her own quirkly universe Her "True Colors" video showcases crazy hair and costumes which play with color, shape, and texture. Despite her styling, Cyndi still comes across as real and genuine, as a real woman who knows herself and is confident in the life she lives.

Cyndi reminds me of my other favorite pop star, the Fame Monster herself, Lady Gaga. Much of what Gaga has done reminds me of Cyndi's old music videos. Lady Gaga herself has said that Cyndi is a lot of her inspiration and that is evident. The two New York girls recently joined forces to raise awareness of HIV and AIDS in women.

In contrast with the laid-back and carefree Cyndi of "Girls Just Want to Have Fun", Lady Gaga's style vibrates at a much higher fashion plain. Gaga brings an intensity with her pop--even in her more relaxed songs, like "Paparazzi," there is a drive that Cyndi never displayed. I do not think that Cyndi ever set out to be famous--Gaga has carefully planned her rise to the top and will leave a powerful legacy that may outshine the great Cyndi.

Lauper may "just want to have fun", but Gaga just wants to be famous.

Caffeine vampire

My caffeine dependency is out of control.

On days like today, when I am really tired, caffeine is the only thing standing between me and unconsciousness. This morning I decided to go to breakfast before the 9:30 AM chapel service. I ignored the disapproving glares of my peers as I filled a glass with Diet Pepsi and another with Vanilla Cream Coffee. My eyes fought to stay open during chapel so I bought an Americano on my way to Latin American Civ at 10:05.

Despite the shot of espresso and two sugars coursing through my blood stream, I still found myself falling asleep every during LA Civ. In hopes of raising my level of alterness, I drank another Diet Pepsi with my lunch. I felt tempted to buy a Starbucks Double Shot this afternoon, but 1:30 PM is too early for shots.

Because of my caffeine addiction, I am highly sympathetic to the plight of the vampire. Like a vampire, I am constantly thinking about how to next get my drink. I cannot fall asleep at night, so I stay up too late and feel nauseous and grouchy at the bright light of morning. When the caffeine hits the receptors in my brain, the clouds are driven away and the shines for a brief moment, transporting me to a higher plain of consciousness. What power.

This past Easter break I decided to see how long I could go without caffeine. To my dismay, I discovered that I am only able to stay awake for about 3-4 hours at a time without caffeine. I literally had to take a nap every 3-4 hours or suffer a major headaches. I think I need rehab. Or a year to sleep.

Starbucks, you own me. You have made me a caffeine vampire.

Never be old

Botox cannot solve the world's problems.

Having watched a few seasons of Nip/Tuck, I am fully aware of that. We are aging rapidly--fine lines turn to wrinkles, dark hair turns grey, and the world fades before our eyes. Time marches forward, dragging its hapless victims along as they scream, scream, scream and desperately apply moisturizer.

I don't want to age. In an ideal world, a vampire would come bite me, and I could go sparkle and find my Bella and live in Twilight land until Jesus Christ returns to take me home. I've mostly given up on this vampire idea--I'm pretty sure that real vampires are just creepy people who drink their friends' blood and call it supernatural.

Although I have resigned myself to the idea of aging and am even a little excited for those bus tours the elderly take, I will not submit to the idea of being old. Being old is the antithesis of everything I want to be. Old means tired, worn-out, and stuck in a rut. I want each day to be a fresh experience, filled with new faces, new friends, new food, new clothes, new challenges, and new cups of coffee.

If Dante is right about Hell, (and sometimes I think he might be) I would be stuck with Sisyphus, pushing the same old boulder up the hill and having it roll back on me for eternity. I cannot bear spending the rest of my life stuck beneath the clouds of the mundane and never again feeling the warm sun of ingenuity.

The truly old people are those who sit quietly in their rooms on Saturday night, who are satisfied with the three people they know, who cannot dream of anything past their nose, who have no curiosity for the unknown, who are afraid to take a stand or stick their necks out for what they believe. Quite frankly, "old people" dull me, and I would rather vomit than pass an hour trapped with them in their cage of blah.

Aging is inevitable. Never be old.