Snow White

Well, that's nice.



It's good to see that even in this economy, the mastermind behind Raven Red still has a job.

On the downside, he may have let his medical insurance slip, because his delusion seems to have escalated. Whereas before I thought he might just have made a simple factual error about ravens, here he is not even pretending to get it right. Snow is white, he is saying to us, yes, I know that. However, I can turn it red through sheer force of will.

Or is he Jedi mind-tricking us? This nail polish is white. Yeah, like that's going to work. This nail polish is white. Some of us have more will-power than a generic cyberthug checking for illicit robots. This nail polish is white.

Anyway, I forgot what I was talking about. But nice nail polish. Lovely shade of white.

Asphalt

I've heard of streets paved with gold, but please tell me where the asphalt roads look like this:


(photo courtesy of Scrangie)

The Magic Sparkle Cupcake Kingdom? Did a bus full of fairy princesses get T-boned by a troll driving his Hummer (I know what you are thinking, environmentalists, but don't worry--it's powered by wishes) to the Bridge-Dwellers Tenement Union? They try frantically to swerve out of the way, but Peter Pan is hovering outside talking on his cell 'phone. In a tragic Icarian flip-flop, he is just too low for safety. He smashes against the windshield, his body desecrated by a last futile effort of the wipers before the blinded bus smashes into Timmy, the Talking Tree. Tinkerbell floats on in a solitary haze. Tears and fairy dust drift slowly to the ground and settle upon the asphalt.

Big Daddy

Wow, creepy.


(Spotting and photograph courtesy of Suzanna)

Is anybody surprised that "Big Daddy" comes from the same company that brought us "Under 18"?

Not only does this name really give me the heebie-jeebies, but it also seems like a blatant color mismatch. This hideous bright orange is neither particularly manly (as befitting a Big Daddy) nor is it stereotypically little-girly (as befitting his doting daughter).

In fact, I can think of only two reasons for "Big Daddy" to be this shade:

1) You are trying to get your Big Daddy to "discipline" you for choosing such a horrible nail polish.

2) You are hoping to use your nails as hazard signals to flag down the car behind you and beg them to release you from your plaited-kneesock manacles before your body turns up in a ditch clad in a plaid skirt and pigtail ribbons.

If the former, good luck! You have earned it.

If the latter, I recommend bringing along some nail polish remover along in a hollow tooth. You're going to need it to take off your nail polish when the cops pull Big Daddy over for yelling obscene propositions at that school bus. Otherwise they might just decide anyone with such bad taste in polish deserves what she gets.

Charlie Dickens

When I saw that Butter London had all kinds of fun colors without the "Big Three" nail polish carcinogens, I had great expectations. Now, I know these are hard times, and fourteen dollars is a lot to spend on a bottle of nail polish. But when I saw that they were giving away free nail polish for Earth Day, I was hooked. I've been stuck in my bleak house studying so much that I feel like Oliver Twist, and this was a chance for welcome escapism. I started browsing the list over and over, pondering which I would pick. Someone asked me if I was at least going to get a Stupid Nail Polish Names entry out of it, and I said that none of the names struck me as that bad. Luckily, our mutual friend responded, "Look, chuzzlewit, this isn't an old curiosity shop. This is a national American corporation! These names are pretentious and obnoxious."


Yes, ladies and gentleman, it's true. These names might seem full of quaint English charm. But this is a tall tale of two cities. They slap all their nail polish with insufferably British names, but do you know where this company is based? Seattle. And last time I checked, Seattlites weren't always going on about snogging chimney sweeps over crumpets. Sorry, Butter London, you're not David Copperfield; you can't wave your wand and magically change your nationality and time period. Not only are you not on a nickname basis with "Charlie Dickens," I would be very surprised if anyone who works at your company ever got past "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."

Anyway, at least the colors are pretty. If you've been saving your nicklebys lately, you could go for one. Just polish your monocle first.

Frugalista; Look Rich, Be Cheap

I'm sorry? You want to name your EIGHTEEN DOLLAR nail polish "Frugalista"?


Who writes the names for this company--Bill Gates? If this counts as frugal for you, Bill, I've got some other great deals you might want to look into. For instance, I will let you finish my bag of jelly beans for a mere twenty dollars. And the shirt off my back can be yours for a mere C-note. Actually, I know you're a fan of this blog. And I'll tell you what. You can hire me as your personal columnist, to write about whatever you want, for the outrageous bargain of four million dollars a year. Let me know.

Honestly, I love this color, but this is just a ridiculous price for some glitter soaked in chemicals. If you feel like spending eighteen dollars today, here are some things you could get instead. You could purchase two and two thirds tuning keys for your autoharp (autoharp not included). You could send a child in India to school for a year. You could disguise yourself as a hipster and wreak havoc on unsuspecting boys in girls' pants. Or you could buy the album AND the buttons of the new supergroup involving some guys from Cheap Trick, Fountains of Wayne, the guitarist from Smashing Pumpkins/A Perfect Circle, and one of the Hansen Brothers. And you would still have enough money left over for a coathanger to puncture your eardrums!

And while we're at it, Rescue Beauty Lounge: spending eighteen bucks to put THIS on your nails will make you Look Rich and Be Cheap?


Sorry, honey. As the immortal Willy Wonka would say: strike that, reverse it.

Meet Balls

I've tried about seventy different prescriptions of rose-colored glasses to look at this one. No matter how strong they are (and in this latest pair, Stalin looks like the pancake bunny), this name still grosses me out.


Meet Balls?

I mean, is the goal to look like you just dipped your fingers in squishy globules of ground up cow flesh?

Or...is it a tantalizing promise of your social life to come?

Either way, let me reiterate: eww.

Tennis Corset

Not only is this an awful name for a nail polish, but it is also one of the worst ideas for a piece of clothing I have ever heard (with the possible exception of foot-binding marathon shoes). Tennis is a game in which participants are expected to run around the court quickly. A corset is a device that inhibits you from breathing and will make you pass out if you try to run or bend over. It does not seem like a (game, set, or) match made in heaven. Maybe if you are so figure-conscious that you cannot leave the house without your corset even to exercise, public sports are not for you. It's OK; they invented Wii Tennis for a reason.

Also, the elitism of tennis combined with the Victorianism of corsets makes me suspicious of the kind of people who would wear this.

"Lady Thistlethorpe! What a pleasure to see you again! You are looking delightfully frail and delicate today."

Lady Thistlethorpe, with great effort, manages to breathe deeply enough through her tennis corset to raise her racket in greeting.

"Oh, Sir Caddington, you do know how to flatter a woman. Have you had any luck engaging a new upstairs parlor maid for Stuffybritches Manor?"

The tennis ball passes seven inches from Lady Thistlethorpe's gracefully outstretched arm and sails into Sir Caddington's monocle, cracking it in half.

"Alas, no. We thought we had found one at last, but she turned out to be a dirty papist. Caught her with those grubby little fingers on a rosary."

The ball speeds at Lady Thistlethorpe. She takes one step toward it on her tennis high heels, totters, and crashes to the ground. Sir Caddington nods his head approvingly.

"Damned fine woman, I've always said. Jeeves! Smelling salts!"