While conversing with Jackie about what sort of costume one wears to a movie like Wolverine (ie, the movie I’ve been talking about for almost a year), I noted that Morgan should really be appreciative of the sacrifice I’m making by waiting until next Friday to see it, so that I can attend her birthday. The sacrifice, people. And just as I was about to blog about this (since no one but the Internet cares about my irrelevent rant), I had an epiphany—my blog’s tagline should really be, “Pop Effect: A blog about Wolverine, a baby named Morgan, and the ways in which they affect my life—and each others’.” I think I can safely say that I’ve effectively cornered the market in mutant hero/baby relations. And, apparently, there’s more to say about the subject than anyone might logically assume.

According to the Vogue Book of Etiquette (1948, Simon & Schuster), this is the polite and proper way to use the word “dog”:

DOG should not be used instead of “hound,” meaning one of the pack of hounds. “Dog” is correct in speaking of sporting dogs, such as retrievers and pointers, which hunt separately and not in packs. The only correct use of the word “dog” in connection with hounds is in making a sex differentiation: “The dogs are in this kennel, the bitches on the other side.”

From now on, Pop Effect shall adhere to this usage—and this usage only. Thank you, Ryan, for the exceedingly useful gift.

Ugh, guys. I went and joined Twitter. What was I thinking? I was so adamantly opposed, but PopPhoto.com set up an account to publicize the site (which is the home of American Photo and Popular Photography), so I joined to demonstrate my support for the cause. And two seconds later, I felt like a sellout. But truth be told, it’s an extremely useful tool for media outlets. And me not joining out of ideological spite is just as foolish as magazine editors who refuse to blog. So, my twitter will be work-related ish. I’m going to post links to highlights from the magazine in the hopes that I will trick people into visiting our site. It will also be mildly entertaining*, but of course work-appropriate because it’s under my actual name. You can check it out here.

*which of course means I’ll be dishing on my favorite shirtless mutant/actor/singer/dancer

From the Department of “No Shit, Sherlock”: The New York Times reported that the bad economy and constant threat of joblessness (and the resulting homelessness?) is stressing people out. To read about what you already know, click here!

In related news, Pop Effect has found evidence that articles like this make me want to punch The New York Times in the metaphorical face. The results of these findings are still being confirmed by My Guns.

Side note: when I did a google image search for “stress”, it gave me the above picture. But it’s the opposite of stress because it makes me so happy.

This is not a joke. It’s not even an exaggeration. Last night I dreamt of Marc Jacobs–designed cookware. Could this be an amazing idea for the Marc Jacobs brand? Or, a sign that I have a brain tumor? You decide.

I was just thinking the other day, “Wow, I haven’t blogged about Harold, Kumar, or Harold and Kumar go to White Castle in, like, forever.” So luckily it turns out something big happened a few days ago that remedies this problem. Harold cut his hair! JK/Psych. With the real story, here’s “Ali”:

Okay guys, as you’ve probably heard by now Kal Penn—better known as Kumar, or even better known as the most gorgeous man to ever eat a vegetarian Crave Case at White Castle [ed note: if Bridget got the sex change operation she's been vying for, she could rival him; she would make an attractive vegetarian she-male]—just got a job in the White House. This is fantastic for several reasons:

First, it means that Obama is pretty cool. How many of our presidents do you think actually saw Harold and Kumar go to White Castle?  Actually I take that back, I could see GWB being all over that stupid, stoner humor.  But I bet Bush didn’t get the racial undertones, while Obama totally understood where Roldy and Kumar were coming from.

Secondly, Kumar’s hire further diversifies politics. First it was a black president, then it was a handful of Chinese American cabinet appointments, and now it’s an Indian American becoming associate director in the White House office of public liaison! Has any other Administration looked this much like a Benetton ad?

Thirdly, this means that Kumar will be living in Washington, D.C. It means that I could potentially run into him at a bar and we could fall in love and get married.  Or else I could get him drunk, “forget” a condom and entrap him. Either way, we end up together 4ever!

Maybe in Ali’s next blog, she could explain what an “associate director in the White House office of public liaison” does. If it has anything to do with deciphering the symptoms of a seemingly complex and unexplainable illness within just an hour, then I totally get why Obama hired him. Also, another note to Ali: I hear pinholes are pretty effective.

Last night I went to Picholine, a swanky French restaurant up by the Metropolitan Opera. It’s one of those old-timey, Central Park West deals where the clientele are either on their way to the opera or they’re just out for a Tuesday dinner because it’s a “neighborhood” place. Which makes me laugh. Picholine is very close to Tavern on the Green.

Anyway, my friend Fiona had a gift card she got for filling out a survey, and though it was for a substantial amount, we knew we’d only be able to sit at the tables near the bar and get cheese and wine. And even then, we’d have to each put in an extra $20. Which was fine; it was an ideal way to be extravagant without actually spending much.

What made it truly awesome though was that, upon our arrival, Fiona realized she knew the fromager. He worked at Picholine’s sister restaurant, Artisanal, when she took her book club out for a meal. Fiona and the fromager (an ideal movie title) had bonded over cheese and wine—so much so that Fiona wrote him a thank you note later. And he remembered! So he personally selected 6 cheeses for us and suggested two wines each. We were in heaven.

But when we were getting ready to leave, out came a tasting sample of this weird (but delicious) sorbet/foam, then a chocolate molten torte with dulce de leche ice cream and earl grey marshmallow cream, and two glasses of port (which I’ve discovered, since France, I quite like). So after all this very personal attention at a fancy restaurant, you can imagine how excited we were to pay with a gift card. I half expected them to say it was a fake. But it worked, and we left a good tip. Especially when we realized the fromager was there for one night only. It was a special night.

Wait, this was a genuine blog post. Do such things exist? Weird.