I like to keep my thumb on the pulse of pop-culture. I always have. I adore People magazine, though I am too cheap to spring for a subscription. I read movie reviews and watch movies (only in theaters because I am allergic to being interrupted while watching a movie . . . and my life at home is one big interruption after the next). I admit to a fascination with reality television (it’s okay, you can confess that you watch “Gene Simmons Family Jewels” and “The Real World”–I won’t sneer because I watch them, too).
But I cannot abide the following:
1. Kimora. While I do watch her show (while working late at night), I would never consider buying any of her clothing line (Baby Phat, in particular) because I find her so annoying, so self-consumed and so unable to spell. (I can’t stand “cute” spellings and slang spellings of words. Yes, I’m talking about you, Ludacris.) Seriously, when I’m in my favorite store (Marshall’s!) looking for bargains on the clearance racks, I recoil from anything that has a Baby Phat label. I am a Baby Phat snob and it’s all Kimora’s fault. Which brings me to . . .
2. Sean John Puff Daddy P. Diddy Diddy Combs. The problem I have with Sean John Puff Daddy P. Diddy Diddy Combs is his smug attitude, his pompous, insolent demeanor and his misplaced self-confidence. Oh, that and the fact that he failed Marriage 101 and is not married to any of his four children’s mothers. (Nice touch, cheating on your girlfried with whom you have twin babies.) I cannot tolerate him . . . not his music, not his reality shows, not his behavior, not the expression on his face, certainly not his music or his music videos, vodka, or perfume. And, when I find a piece of his clothing line in Marshall’s, I reject it, no matter how much it has been marked down. I would not want the Sean John clothing label on any of my children. I don’t want to give one penny to Sean Jean Puff Daddy P. Diddy Diddy Combs. Ever.
3. Joel and Victoria Olsteen. My dislike for them is irrational, perhaps, and unwarranted, but I cannot stand the fake smiles plastered on their faces. I want him to cut off his mullet. I want her to stop speaking in platitudes and cliches. I am a Yankee, I admit it, and even their accents irritate me. (But not your accent. No. I love your accent.) Why must these sorts of people be on television when I find them so dreadful?
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And that concludes this week’s edition of The Annoyed and Judgmental. (Yes, that’s me. Annoyed and judgmental.)