Justin Bieber vs. Prince William's Hair

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After several weeks away from this blog, I want to thank Justin Bieber for making my return to "Susan Says..." so easy. In fact, I am not even here. This post is writing itself, whistling happily as it works while I have toast with hummus in the kitchen with Buzzy.
Oh, Biebs, you pitiful, talentless, over-promoted little pimple on the ass of the entertainment industry. Your inane comments about Price William's thinning hair have renewed my energy, restored my enthusiasm and, best of all, leave me no choice but to rip you to shreds. After months of leaving you alone, I am freed by your own stupidity.
Ironic, no?
The Biebs, it appears, thinks that the increasingly hairless heir to the British throne should enhance his appearance with the use of the available wonder drugs in the war on baldness. “I don’t know why he doesn’t just get those things, those products. You just take Propecia and your hair grows back. Have you not got it over here?” are his exact words, spoken to the British press.

Oh yeah, I got it.

Me, too.

Has no one told this kid that Prince William will eventually replace his missing hair with a crown? I'm not talking about the cardboard one from Burger King that you like to wear, Justin. I'm talking about a real, freakin' crown. Not to mention, men no longer need hair in order to look good. It's all in the attitude .... just ask Bruce Willis, Michael Jordan, Sean Connery or Jason Stratham.

Me, three.

It is not news that men are as strung out over their appearance and body image as women are. Over the years they've struggled with horrifying toupes, worn uncomfortable lifts in their shoes and even corsets under suit jackets. More recently,  they've endured calf implants so they can make a statement ("Look how crazy I am--I had calf implants!!" is typically the statement) at the beach. Lately, however, as armies of unapologetic and freshly waxed and moisturized metrosexuals stride into the spotlight, the quest for male beauty has become public and unabashed. 
For Justin to spout off about Prince William's hair loss is not only gleefully moronic but also extremely rude. Did the interviewer suddenly ask him specifically about his feelings regarding the dominant balding gene that runs through the bloodlines of the royal family like the Amazon courses through the jungles of Brazil?
Who brings such a thing up? I hope his parents are embarrassed. I would be.
I doubt the prince would bring up the fact that the Biebster's testicles have not yet properly descended or that, with his current hairstyle, he strongly resembles Eddie Munster.

And yes, the prince is clearly losing his hair and has been for years. It hasn't affected his good looks or lessened the number of young ladies who would love to share his royal chambers. While his younger brother Hairy Harry seems to have been spared the pain of follicular challenges and will definitely enjoy a glamorous life, he is still only the second fiddle...and always will be.

I got the hair, bitches.

Hopefully the bright future ahead of Prince William will bring him much opportunity to maintain the patina on the monarchy as well as do good around the world...even if Kate does put on her make-up using not a mirror but, instead, the high polish of her husband's head.
Either way, they have it made.
The Biebs, who has not demonstrated a growth spurt in recent months, sings awful songs to little girls who will forget him soon after the next teen phenom surfaces. Prince William has the lovely Kate, a rich grandma and a date with history.
And, when Kate was recently interviewed by the BBC she was asked about her feelings regarding William's approaching baldness. Her response, "Who cares about his hair, silly! He has a huge penis. That's why I married him!"*
"I mean, seriously, have you seen that thing?"

*Okay, okay. So she didn't really say that.

It's National Relaxation Day!

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Today is National Relaxation Day!
I think this should be more than an asterisk on the calendar, don't you?
Why not embrace such a good idea and observe it properly?
First and foremost, National Relaxation Day should be a day off.

Add it to school, bank and post office holidays. Stores, which to my sadness never close anymore to observe anything at all, can sponsor sales if they so choose but mostly let's make it a day where people can sleep late, avoid a commute or have breakfast out with the family.
That's a start.
All news networks, cable and otherwise, should go off the air for 24 hours. Instead of the bad and scary, I suggest images of bunnies and unicorns. Exchange footage of suffering and struggle for lion cubs or a field of sunflowers as their cheerful faces bob in peaceful unison when touched by a passing breeze.
Some channels might air hour upon hour of the ancient "Father Knows Best" or "The Donna Reed Show" because despite the fleeting and superficial anxiety of "Princess" not getting the shoes she wants for the party or an equally bland misunderstanding that causes charming conflict between siblings and spouses, all loose ends are tied up quickly and, after approximately 22 minutes not counting commercials, everyone is beaming again.
All professional sports should be cancelled for the day, most especially any activity by the New York Mets.
In addition to no mail (bills, obnoxious mailers from every imbecile running for anything within 300 miles that make me fret about how many trees were felled in the name of this stupidity, as well as glossy catalogs from whose pages I desire everything but can afford nothing) and no TV news, there should be people stationed every mile on public roads -- both urban and rural  -- handing out freshly made S'mores. And corn dogs.

How can one be stressed when eating a S'more? It's impossible. The same goes for a corn dog--holding the stick, navigating the golden crunch of the fried coating, locating the saltiness of the hot dog within....pure relaxation, spicy brown mustard or not.
I advocate that get-togethers, such as those encouraged on Memorial or Labor Day be discouraged. First, because there is simply too much work involved but also because such days commemorate the stressful: Memorial Day means summer is coming and one may not feel ready for public exposure of the spider veins and cellulite that accompany a warm weather wardrobe while Labor Day heralds summer's demise and the inevitability of falling on the ice in your driveway.
So, no parties...people should just drift home -- tummies full, lips greasy -- and recline. Cool damp washcloths can then be applied to foreheads before  fading off for the most celebrated method of observing National Relaxation Day---a nap.

I wish you all a relaxing day



 "Princess" is in the upper left.

Who's Calling?

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Today while slicing up the last delicious cantalope of the year, the phone rang. Seth, who recently went out for a haircut is expecting an important call so I reflexively pivoted to face the phone, dropping my knife which fell, blade side down -- of course -- on my bare instep, slicing it open.


Still determined to answer the phone, I got close enough to read the caller ID which had a number I didn't recognize so I picked up the receiver.

But first I tripped on Buzzy who was winding around my legs.



Despite the chaos, I chirp a pleasant "Hello?" only to hear the low rumble of what we all recognize as a room full of desperate (I am not without pity) telemarketers. I mange to be polite as I inform my caller, who has asked for Seth, that while he isn't home, I would be pleased to take a message.

"No, thankyou," says she. This is just a courtesy call." She clicked off before I could shriek, now aware that I am standing in my own blood, "Well, I don't find it courteous at all!!!


On that note, here is a post from the ancient days of this blog, written immediately after Election Day, 2010, that is very appropriate in view of phone calls such as these as well as the barrage of political calls, polls and surveys that many of us have ben receiving in preparation for the approaching election...



Recent Scenario: After tidying my home, starting a load of laundry and vigorously petting the cats, I sit--with the lunch I’ve prepared--by the window to soak up some sunlight and relax for a few minutes. Cat Numero Uno curls up across my knees. Numero Dos settles by my side while I balance my veggie burger on the arm of the sofa, placing my iced tea on the window sill. I note, with fleeting concern, that I’ve forgotten to locate the portable phone. Then the phone rings.

Since it could be one of the boys needing advice (Can I wear this shirt with these pants? How much do I tip at a buffet? What is the meaning of life?), I pull myself to my feet, dispersing the cats—one of whom knocks my veggie burger to the floor.

The sound of shattering crockery alarms the other cat who leaps to the ceiling, up-ending the iced tea which then soaks my newspaper.


I stagger to the phone, my lips already forming the pearls of wisdom I will dispense, but, upon lifting the receiver, hear only, “Hi, this is Linda McMahon….” Or, “This is—insert the name of one of a dozen candidates who’ve been bombarding my home recently with obnoxious recorded messages. Or it’s their wife, child, left ass-cheek, pet or transsexual lover who wants, in additional recorded messages, to tell me why their daddy, mommy, wife, husband, etc. is the perfect choice for the job.

Unfortunately, there’s no one at the other end at whom to howl obscenities. So, I shriek them into the unresponsive receiver, impressing none but the cats (who’ve heard it all before) with my dazzling, yet disappointingly unmarketable, natural ability to string naughty words into extremely complex sentences.

Don’t these politicians see that this harassment isn’t an effective way to commandeer votes or rally a constituency? At least, not in my opinion, it isn’t. I’ve long treasured the privilege of voting but was so disgusted with these calls (plus the relentless negative ads on television combined with a scarcity of decent choices) that, this year, I considered getting a pedicure instead of casting a ballot.

Not to mention, I miss the old voting machines. I don’t trust the new ones. How could it not matter whether we insert our ballots face up or down? I think the new machines might actually be shredders. Right, Bridgeport?

I read that Linda McMahon’s campaign made 400,000 phone calls during the weeks preceding the election. I seriously think she made them all to my house. When I heard the staggering amount she spent (45 million American dollars) on her campaign, I had to lie down with a cool rag across my face and a bag of peanut M&Ms by my side.


The election is over but I’m still receiving calls. Now, mostly, from gutter installers, chimney cleaners and dozens of charities and organizations who think nothing of calling on a Sunday morning at 8:30 or a Friday evening after nine. I struggle to keep my head from exploding as I respond politely. After all, these are people trying to earn a living.

If my hormone levels are in flux or I’ve been rudely awakened, I’ve been known to behave less cordially. Afterward, I worry that, with the click of a mouse, a caller seeking revenge and possessing computer skills could skew my credit rating or place me on the no-fly list, so I try to control my ire. It does seem, however, that since I signed up with the “Do Not Call” registry I’ve been receiving more calls instead of fewer. Perhaps, I accidentally added myself to the “Please—I beg you!!—Call Me” list in a moment of delirium.

So, if any telemarketers, candidates, or pollsters are listening, I don’t want to hear why you’re right for the job, change my cable company or donate money. I want my phone time reserved for chatting with family and friends, ordering pizza or directing the confused driver of the Publishers Clearing House Prize Patrol van to my door. Other than that, consider me unlisted.

If he calls, I'll talk to him.

Dreams, Debates and Dancing with the Stars

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Last night I dreamed....
...that they ran out of spray tan on Dancing wit the Stars and chose, instead, to cover all the dancers with orange buttercream...and no one noticed the difference. This required only a quick trip to a local 7-11 since -- as we approach Halloween -- orange buttercream is sold by the vat.
Last night I dreamed...

What is wrong with this woman?

 ...that Susan Boyle had been released from the Scottish prison where she is doing serious time for improper body hair maintenance and stood like a cigar store Indian next to Donny Osmond during a live performance on Dancing with the Stars. That is, until she opened her mouth...then she sang like an alligator had his teeth clamped onto her ass.

It IS a viable dance move, I tell you.

Terribly off key, apparently dazed and/or about to commit a murder, Donny Osmond held her hand for dear life as she scared every small child in America allowed to stay up late enough to watch Kirste Allie hoist up one boob in what she's decided is a viable dance move while Maks twirls around her.

Only a matter of time...

Last night I dreamed...
 ...that Peta Murgatroid finally put her hand down Gilles Marini's pants because that's the only place she hasn't groped him while just standing around waiting for scores.

Her hand, of course, came away covered in buttercream because he may, actually, be the most orange of the bunch. And speaking of mistakes, why does he wear eye liner every week? He is starting to look like this:

What?

Val

Last night I dreamt that my ex-husband Maksim Chmerkovsky, for the third consecutive week, has begun to look more like a muscular woman in drag than the irrepressible hunk and a half he's been for several years now.

I also dreamt that his brother, Val, is suddenly starting to looking almost as good as the strangely effeminate Maks used to look.

Moments before the attack.

I also dreamt that Derek Hough was sucked into his dressing room mirror as a result of spending way too much time staring into it and Mark Ballas was fired and took a job teaching the mambo in a combination nudist colony/homeless shelter somewhere in Hollywood. 
Later in that very dream, Cheryl Burke (who appears to have recently had her nose slightly pared down near the tip) and Katrina Smirnoff beat the crap out of newcomer and last year's winner, Peta, just for, well, existing.
Then my things morphed and shifted and....
Last night I dreamed...
 ...that there were two men in dark suits pirouetting around each other on a small stage. It may have been a continuation of my DWTS dream since they got very close to one another at one point but never seemed to touch. In the dream, it appeared they were being led in some sort of verbal competition by a strange looking man named Candy who had a head full of unfortunate hair extensions and wore an ill-fitting suit jacket that may have stolen from Rush Limbaugh's dressing room.

Crazy hair, bad jacket.

There was a lot of brow-furrowing and a few sneers while several very nervous people stood up and appeared to ask questions.  By this time, I finally went into some deep, dreamless sleep but not before two tall women in very expensive designer dresses came out and kissed the two men in dark suits.
I awoke, refreshed, this morning.

I do not wear eyeliner. I am just naturally beautiful.

Vote For Me!

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During the past severalmonths I'm sure you’ve all been reminded, in one format or another, to notforget to get out and vote. There are billboards to prompt us, t-shirts, bumperstickers and buttons to encourage us. 

Many of us even look forward to anelection worker pressing an adhesive sticker to our fleece lapel after we castour ballot that says, "I voted!" 

After all, the privilege to electour governing officials is the hallmark of democracy, is it not?


An informed voter.

I, too, have encouraged othersto go and cast their ballots....but only, however, if I’ve made absolutelycertain they agree with me. Why wouldI remind you to vote if you're voting againstmy candidate of choice. What am I, crazy?
 If I find you’ll besupporting another, I might suggest that you sleep late, try that in-homechemical peel you ordered from QVC or begin the herbal cleanse you bought lastmonth. Surely other voters will take care of it for you…relax.
But, in any case, by thetime you’re reading this, the election will soon be over.  

My favorite campaign of all time.

While it’s Iikely that armies of lawyers will be pouting and stamping their little feet in some of the so-called battlegroundstates, the actual campaigning -- and by that I mean robo-calls, mud slingingand blatant lying -- is behind us. And, of course, unless the election wastruly too close to call, some of us are happy and the rest of us are not.

"Do as I say, bitches!"

SusanSays..." did not endorse a candidate this year but not because she had noopinion. 

In fact, "Susan Says..." has an opinion on everything andwill be happy to share all of them with you next time we meet in the produceaisle, but I also wish I had run forpresident. In fact, I’ve wanted to be president of this great nation since Iwas just a tiny little megalomaniac, ruling her Barbies with an iron hand, backin Brooklyn, New York.

Why are they so stingy with the purples?

Like any candidate, Iwould have made certain promises (for ex. free Hershey's Kisses for all, ahigher percentage of purple Skittles in the fun size bags, a TV channel thatruns nothing but Cash Cab 24 hours a day and, of course, the permanent exile ofthe entire Kardashian clan...including Bruce Jenner), but I like to think Iwould be a fair and loving leader of the free world.
My sons, both of whomheard me shriek "What makes you think this is a democracy???WELL, IT’S NOT!!!!" countless times during their childhood, mightdisagree but how hard can it be? 

Sharing, listening, kindness, honesty,open-mindedness, consensus-taking, frugality and surrounding yourself withpeople who are well-versed in the things you aren't is pretty much it, no?
Hmmmm. Now that I lookback on that deceptively simple list, I realize it must not be all that easy. Ifit were, why else hasn't a president in recent memory been able to combine allthose characteristics to be the great leader we’ve needed?

A full beard, really?

Not to mention, acandidate must be telegenic, as well. Ever since Richard Nixon grew a fullbeard and sweated through it during his 1960 debate with John Kennedy, it iscommon knowledge that a candidate must, to some degree, look the part. Thecharisma factor also counts but is less easy to define. 

Unsuccessfully trying to kill him with her eyes.

Bill Clinton’s personalcharisma, according to everyone but Hillary, is legendary. And yet, to bring upRichard Nixon once more, it’s possible to win with neither looks nor charisma.
It really shouldn’t besuch a mystery. Our next president, whoever he is, must be willing to persevere,make sacrifices, compromise, think clearly, project strength, help shape abright future and lead us toward it.  

Whoever you turn out to be, Mr. President, I’m sure I’m not the only onewho wishes you the very best. Now about those Hershey Kisses……….

Cadillac to Dial Back CTS Production as Brand-New ATS is Stealing Sales

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If you build the right product, customers will come. The thing is, some of them may come from places you don't want them to. The Cadillac ATS compact sports saloon is still young but after its launch in September, sales of its slightly bigger sibling, the CTS, dipped a mighty 40 percent in October.

According to data from Edmunds, that’s no coincidence. The ATS might be intended as a direct BMW 3-Series rival yet the CTS is also one of the most cross-shopped models amongst its potential buyers.

The good news for the brand, apart of course from the recent Motor Trend comparison test outcome, is that the Munich's saloon is also on that list.

It’s not a rare phenomenon for two models of the same brand to encroach on each other's space, but it’s still one that all manufacturers do their best to avoid. That’s because they don’t want buyers choosing between two of their products; they want to win over other manufacturers’ customers.

Cadillac U.S. sales chief Chase Hawkins told Automotive News that the company won’t be stockpiling CTS inventory and then be forced to apply huge discounts, as it had done in the past to its great loss.

“We’ve planned for ATS to take some CTS customers out of the market who we otherwise would have seen”, said Hawkins. “We definitely are going to be producing fewer CTSs next year to create some of that space for ATS.”

Cutting back on the older model’s production rate is a short-term measure. Cadillac hopes that the problem will be solved when the two cars put some more distance between them. This will happen towards the end of 2013, when the next-generation CTS, which will be larger and pricier than today’s car moving up to BMW 5-Series territory, will hit the dealerships.

By Andrew Tsaousis

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U Spy: Porsche's New 2013 Cayman Coupe and Macan SUV Filmed in Stuttgart

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While you can occasionally stumble on a 2013 Cayman at an airport warehouse in the U.S., there's no question that the best locations to spot a future Porsche model are the Nürburgring race track and the automaker's home city of Stuttgart in Germany.

CarScoop reader Toldi has made an art of capturing upcoming Porsche models on film and this time, he was able to scoop two prototypes, the 2013 Cayman coupe and the all-new Macan mid-size luxury crossover.

The first video gives us a clear view of the interior of the new, second generation Cayman, which unsurprisingly, shares the same dashboard with the latest Boxster roadster that went on sale earlier this year.

The new Cayman will make its world premiere at next week's LA Auto Show before it reaches showrooms the following year.

Porsche's second effort in the SUV segment, the Macan, will share its architecture with the Audi Q5, while gaining unique sheetmetal and interior designs. It will be the first Porsche model since the 924/944/968 series to offer a four-cylinder powerplant, though, this option is expected to be available later on in its life.

Thanks to Toldi for the video!

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