On a cool November night, a glorious freedom-leading individual raised a bong to his lips at a USC party and proceeded to inhale the silly smoke into his dolphin like lungs. As he exhaled after listening to "Battery" by
Deciding which route to take in disciplining children is surely a tough decision. The closest thing I have to spawn is a gang of pets, and they don't know "sit" from "shut the hell up," so I guess training a little human would be even harder.
Today, it seems two extreme concepts of discipline stand out (usually while I'm shopping at a seedy Kroger location): the pulling-the-kid-by-the-arm-while-yelling-at-and-occasionally-spanking-them-onlooking-shoppers-be-damned or the children-deserve-freedom-and-isn't-he-adorable-shit-momma-needs-a-break. Surely, there's a happy medium between publicly berating your 4-year-old and falling into a dopey gaze as you let the kid scale shelves in aisle 6B. Thankfully, that's where Potty Mouth Soap comes in!
Made locally in Maineville, Ohio, creators of Potty Mouth Soap promise effective use of their product will help "nip the lip." The press release, sent to myself at CityBeat's office, is quite well-written, featuring enough alliteration to make Carrie Bradshaw squeal:
"Sick of the sass? Tired of the talking back?…Potty Mouth Soap is an all-natural, safe way to help discipline your kids. What's more, it's fun and effective." Fun? Just tell that to Ralphie.
It was...soap POISONING!
Not sure if it's effective, but hilariously (?) enough, there is a link to this video on Potty Mouth Soap's homepage:
The release continues:
"It's made with all-natural, non-toxic ingredients including coconut oil, palm oil and purified water. So when your little darling dares to sass you can feel completely safe when placing Potty Mouth Soap at the edge of their mouth. And that yucky taste will help nip the lip that you're so fed up with."
I know what you're thinking. "My kids are the worst when we're in public, but how can I keep a bar of soap in my purse?" Potty Mouth Soap gotchu.
Enter Potty Mouth Spray. This portable "Cinnamint" mouth spray if perfect for Krogering. The website warns, "Don't leave home without it!"
On the "How to Use Potty Mouth Soap" tab are four YouTube videos above the text that's printed on the press release. One would think these would be how-to videos on soaping your kids, or examples of children who need to be soaped. The videos include one of a baby "biting" (but really placing her toothless mouth upon) a dog, the infamous "David After the Dentist" and "Charlie Bit Me."
Now in Auto-Tune form
Now, it kind of seems like the soap method might just teach kids to shove gross things in people's mouths when they say something they don't like, but I'm no parent. I guess I've come across some 9-year-olds who might deserve to get soaped, but a freaking baby? They don't even know how to make words yet! And seriously, no person should ever be accountable for what they say when high, after the dentist or otherwise.
"Gotta teach 'em young," you say? "This is probably better than the belt method." Well, bars and spray are $3-$5 a pop and include a sticker reward chart for positive behavior.
No gold star for you!
Bienvenidos a Miami...
This week CityBeat sent me into the field to cover Art Basel in the beautiful 80-degree Miami, Fla. They opted to spring for the direct first class flight down along with a rented Lamborghini to ride up and down South Beach, but in order to keep my reporting low key I decided to drive my 2000 Toyota Camry from Cincinnati to SOBE in 18 hours straight. I met up with 1/3 of the Publico gang to escort me to all the hippest and kewlest parties in town. Art Basel is basically a million art fairs going on in Miami and the South Beach area. It is the cream of the crop for international art dealers, curators, collectors, movie stars and fashion designers, which also means a clusterfuck of weirdoes. It was as if the most beautiful people in the world mated with all the wacky willies in the world and came to South Beach to give birth to their successful freak offspring. After breaking out of the womb they immediately started to speak as if they are better than the best and harshly judge everyone and everything that intrudes their radius.
Opening night consisted of a group of truck crates that had been converted into art pieces from different galleries around the world and then placed onto the beach to attract the artist like ravers to glow sticks. Accompanied by massive styrofoam art pieces/couches and six-dollar beers made for a good atmosphere. Behind the crates a stage was erected about 100 feet from the Atlantic Ocean on which Yelle preformed some mediocre dance songs. As the crowd stood like statues, Yelle screamed in broken English to "start dancing and not be a poop."
Cincinnati's own Country Club had work at NADA, which was one of the better collections of art at the fair. One of my favorite pieces was a stainless steel ping-pong table complete with a mirror tabletop. The reflective top totally fucks with your mind and you never knew which way the ball was going. After getting some dinner at an amazing brick oven pizza restaurant where the waiter was trying to show off his pocket artwork to the Country Club members it was off to the Deitch Projects Party. Like most of the art galleries in Cincinnati, this one was in a rough neighborhood. The party was in a rented warehouse painted in zigzag black and white stripes and filled with Queer As Folk referenced artwork, sliced up dollar bills and a dance floor complete with dressed up, matching DJs.
After a couple free Grolsch beers and nasty Campari mixed drinks it was time for Karaoke. Yours truly rocked "Wannabe" by the Spice Girls and even got a complement from Le Tigre's JD Samson. Only about seven people got a chance to sing until Cincinnati's own Jimmy Baker broke the sound system due to his rocking rendition of Aerosmith's "Don't Wanna Miss A Thing." Besides the planned art parties, the nightlife in South Beach is rather ridiculous. There were movie stars like Kirsten Dunst and Mary-Kate Olson slutting it up at dive bars and old creepy locals pretending to be Keith Richards. The drink prices were bonkers — two buds and a shot of whiskey was $23, which is almost 1/4 of my per diem from CityBeat. When all else fails and your bank account is empty there is always the sketchy store clerks who sell weed from under the counter and beer after hours to take to the beach and get weird.
At the Aqua Hotel art show there was more free Grolsch and Campari, which I was sick of by then, but when it's free you keep on drinking 'til you don't mind the taste of rancid socks. The art gallery was an old art deco hotel that with each room converted into its own little art space. The colors followed along with the name and there was even a miniature pool in the middle of the garden area complete with half naked hipsters with ironic tattoos.
At Art Damage (I made the front page!) we waited in line for what seemed to be more than an hour to see Panda Bear. We were on "The List" but so was everyone so we all just stood in line and watched people get sent to the back of the line with disgruntled looks on their faces. There was a nice guy with an afro who handed out free ice-cream sandwiches while we waited. Thanks to Nike promos we were forced to listen to the same song being blasted over the outdoor speakers non-stop. After we were hoarded inside like a bunch of badly dressed cattle and given more free drinks, the bands finally started. The Sads lived up to their names, depressing the hell out of everyone and luckily only played for about 20 minutes. No Age made me relive my Punk Rock roots with their fast pace power Indie Rock about fun that made the crowd get nuts and got me a head to head collision with some other Rock dude. During the Panda Bear set we got into a scuffle with a group of young flamboyant hipsters who like to shove to soft music. I escaped with only a scratch and after the grabbing, one of the tall dudes said "Sorry Obama Won" and I asked him what he meant, and as he struggled for words I giggled and kept on grooving.
After the show it was off to the Vogue after party at the ritzy Raleigh Hotel, which offered sexy models, $9 Heinekens and a vacant pool. Within 15 minutes Britni and I were down to our Wal-Mart undergarments and doing cannonballs into the deep end. We were accompanied by a hairy Saudi man who was a bit of a character at first. Once he found out we where from Ohio the look of joy went off his face. I guess if you're not from a big city or somewhere exotic you're not worth talking to. As we were leaving the pool we were denied towels by the staff of the hotel. So we dried off with just about anything we could find, mainly napkins. The hotel attendant glared at me as I wiped my balls with the napkin.
On Saturday we finally got to the big deal Art Basel show at the Miami Beach Convention Center, which had a rock concert feel to it complete with overweight ticket scalpers standing down the street. The $35 cover charge was well worth it for more than four hours of amazing art. One of the most amazing things I saw was a mold of a man's bust that looked completely lifelike. Here are some pictures of some more work. More here from Joe Lamb.
After my mind had been blown by the incredible art and the odd amount of photos being taken non-stop, it was time to head home. It was almost depressing to drive away from the 80-degree weather and the non-stop party lifestyle, but it was time to step back into reality and come back to a winter wonderland Cincinnati. But when I did roll down the I-75 cut in the hill from Kentucky and saw that wonderful skyline it sure felt good to be home.
Since the job market is still decreasing like my chances of getting paid to write this blog and my funds are depleting faster than anticipated, I am forced to find a way to party without paying.
Halloween is tomorrow. You have like 26 hours left to carve a pumpkin, find whatever shade of fishnet stockings best compliment your "sexy" cop/nurse/cat/pirate/witch/mermaid/princess outfit and get your hopes up about how awesome this weekend is going to be!
Trew Quackenbush and Corey Ward of gourmet grilled cheesery Tom + Chee announced Friday that they will be
featured on ABC's Shark Tank in an episode
airing at 9 p.m. May 17.
T + C is no stranger to TV – the grilled cheese mecca has already been featured on The Today Show, Amazing Eats and Man v. Food Nation — but this one’s a little different. Entrepreneurs of all kinds pitch their businesses to a panel of investors in hopes for a potential deal. But they don’t call it Shark Tank for nothing. The “sharks” — a panel of five millionaire/billionaire investor-entrepreneurs including Mark Cuban, Lori Greiner, Barbara Corcoran, Robert Herjavec, Daymond John and Kevin O'Leary — are often brutal in their critiques of people’s business plans and concepts. Participants are much more likely to walk away with a bruised ego than an actual deal. Simply appearing on the show, though, can create a lot of buzz for a business, so perhaps it's worth it to have the creator of FUBU publicly stomp on your dreams.
will be interesting to see what kind of deal the Tom + Chee guys have in mind. Usually on the show, entrepreneurs present a product they need help mass producing, marketing and
getting into retail outlets/e-commerce. Ward and Quackenbush will likely seek funds for additional restaurant locations. T + C currently has five locations in Cincinnati, Newport and Louisville, but
perhaps they are looking to expand nationwide. Whatever the outcome, big ups to
anyone who will voluntarily step to the sharks — and Mark Cuban’s scary
face — on national television.
Here's a taste of the Tank:
This announcement comes on National Grilled Cheese Day, so you should probably celebrate with a deliciously gooey T + C sammy. Today's featured sandwich, naturally, is the Shark Bite: roasted mako shark (yes, actual shark), jalapeño aioli, parmesan garlic chips, diced tomato, gouda and pepper jack cheeses on sourdough bread — available in Cincinnati locations only.
Editor's Note: We here at the CityBeat editorial staff figured it would be an alright idea to allow one of our summer interns, Bobby Goodwin, to leave his post for a couple days and go out on assignment to fulfill his life's dream of attending the Bonnaroo Music Festival, provided he write a highly detailed chronicle of his misadventures in a series of four blogs. So we wished him godspeed, and off he went. Bobby really lets it go off the rails in this, the third installment of what transpired.
It is important to note that despite various website mentions, this is decidedly not “hipster” (except maybe the dancing Jews, that might be some kind of underground art trend). The song is a 2010 hit Pop song by “Hawaiian Elvis” Bruno Mars. A similar performance can be seen on this very popular television show. Nonetheless, it is really damn cute. I dare you to not get misty-eyed.
It might not be everyone’s dream proposal, but it’s such a representative 2012 slice of life: popular music, Glee-esque dancing, technology (Skype, YouTube). Just imagine their first dance as husband and wife…
School lunches usually suck. Although over the years many schools have committed to serving healthier, more substantial meals, the thought of cafeterias conjures up memories of greasy sloppy joes, canned fruit and square pizza. Most kids don’t mind it — who didn’t look forward to grilled cheese day? Kids aren’t concerned with nutritious content. Kids who aren’t Martha Payne, that is. GOOD shared the blog of this 9-year-old Scottish girl who became fed up with her inadequate school lunches. Under the careful supervision of her Dad, Payne created NeverSeconds, a blog of her daily school lunch with ratings (which adorably calculate number of mouthfuls and pieces of hair in every meal). The blog hasn’t even been up for two months and Payne is already getting recognition from the likes of school lunch champion Jamie Oliver. Payne, under the moniker Veg (as in Veritas Ex Gustu, which is Latin for Truth in Tasting), also invites children from around the world to send in photos and analyses of their healthy or sub-par school meals. What a cool little chick.
Anchorman 2 is really coming.
had a pretty busy couple weeks. He launched Facebook in the stock market, updated his relationship status
and married a girl that did not
dump him in The Social Network, honeymooned in Italy and
everyone’s pissed about all of it.
Did anyone else nearly run their car off the road when they hear what sounds like Morgan Freeman’s sweet, heavenly voice on a … library commercial?
According to the Washington Post, the Pole Fitness Association is campaigning for pole dancing to become an Olympic sport. "Nowadays there are very few who are training to perform in a strip club," Anjel Dust, an organizer at the California Pole Dance Championships, told LA Weekly. "It's all about fitness or competitions. There is no longer the stigma. I think pole dancing is being seen more as an art form."
I guess it was only a matter of time. The Shit Girls Say viral phenomenon has sparked hundreds of knock-offs: Shit Black Guys Say, Shit Girls Say to Gay Guys, Shit Nobody Says are among my favorites. Now, we have our own.