Kerri Kanelos

In their years-long quest to piss off every female on the planet, Burger King has unveiled a new incredibly offensive advertisement for their burger shots–mini hamburgers that come in packs of two or six. 

Unfortunately, after an hour of internet research, I figured out that these burger shots are currently only available in select markets like Providence and Denver so not many people know about the burgers or the ads yet.  I cannot find a video clip anywhere, but if you visit this website you can see screen shots of the stupidity.  On a related note, as I was searching the web for “burger shots” I found out that the phrase is a derogatory term for photos of female genitalia and/or the act of punching a woman in the vaginal area.   Way to go, Burger King.  You might want to rethink the name before unveiling these globally. 

Anyway, here’s the lowdown on the ad:  Two average guys are sitting on a bench, one eating a large BK burger and one who cracks open a package of two small burger shots.  Immediately, a beautiful woman (with cleavage aplenty!) appears and starts cooing over the burgers.  As the camera pans back and forth between the man and woman, more women keep popping up until he’s surrounded by seven women who are very excited about his burgers.  At first, I thought the ad was poking fun at the played out scenario of women fawning over men with babies because one of the women exclaims “ooo! Look at the little burgers.”  But there’s a ton of sexual innuendo too that makes the ad even more creepy and stupid.  Besides the cleavage, many of the women are borderline moaning in this ad and some reach out to touch the guy’s lap.  Another woman says “I just wanna squeeze them” as the average Joe holds his pair of burgers proudly in the air.  As this ad plays over and over on TV, I’m beginning to think of this guy’s burger shots as little beefy testicles…shudder. 

 I will post a link to the video, if it ever makes it online.

Back in high school, it was a friend who first introduced me to American politics.  She was a die hard Democrat at the time and often spent her Sunday mornings closely watching Meet the Press.  She also enjoyed watching hours of C-Span and memorizing films such as The American President and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.  She wanted to attend college to learn about screenwriting so she could pen important political films like Saving Private Ryan, Primary Colors or Legally Blonde. 

Sometime around her 16^th birthday, my family and I took a vacation to Cape Cod and in a gift shop I found stuffed elephants and donkeys dressed in patriotic outfits.  What a perfect birthday present!  The only problem was that I had no idea which animal represented which political party.  I asked my parents—they didn’t have a clue.  So I purchased both, thinking that one would make a nice gift and the other could be used for target practice. 

After feeling embarrassed about my political naiveté, I decided to smarten up and pay attention.  I started gauging my personal beliefs and matching them to the appropriate candidates and political action groups.  At the end of high school and in college, I registered for political science classes.  Although my friend introduced me to Meet the Press in 1997, I didn’t start watching it myself until the lead up to the 2000 presidential election.  I spent many nights in college watching election coverage on MSNBC where Meet the Press’s moderator, Tim Russert, was a regular talking head.  The 2000 election was my first chance to vote and I really enjoyed Tim’s enthusiasm about politics.  No matter how late at night he was on television, he always seemed giddy and happy to be doing his job.  I’ve been a die hard Russert fan for 8 years.   

Given my personal journey in caring about politics, I am completely heartbroken about the death of Tim Russert.  I was skimming my Google Feed Reader on Friday afternoon and saw a post from Perez Hilton (oh, the shame!) about his death; at first, I didn’t believe it.  A visit to CNN and MSNBC confirmed his death.  What a loss for this country and our media. 

Watching Meet the Press had become a Sunday morning ritual in my house.  While eating cereal in our pajamas, my partner and I would talk to the television as if we were watching a basketball game.  “Yeah McCain, what do you think about that weapons report?!”  “Ohhhh, Tim’s going to bring up her speech in Iowa!  Snap!” 

When I first started watching Meet the Press, I often found myself frustrated because I couldn’t figure out Tim Russert’s political agenda.  Was he a conservative Catholic?  Liberal Democrat?  Socialist?  One week he would call President Bush to the carpet (Go Tim!), only to be equally critical of a Democrat on the next show.  It took me several months to figure out that his political ambiguity was a gift to all viewers because it meant that he was sticking to the ethical code for journalists.  Although I love op-ed pieces in the newspaper and personal opinions in blogs, it was refreshing to watch a professional journalist ask important questions without showing a personal bias. 

If you did not catch today’s Meet the Press tribute to Tim Russert, please check it out here.  The whole show was very moving and I learned a lot about the man behind the moderator.  Rest in peace, Tim. 

I made the mistake of turning on the TV Tuesday night and catching a glimpse at one of the most soulless reality/game shows ever created–Fox’s The Moment of Truth.  For those unfamiliar with the format, thank your lucky stars as I try to recap. 

Contestants are put through lie detector testing prior to being on the show.  They are asked all sorts of awful and intruding questions, about secret desires, family hardships, true feelings about awkward situations, etc.  The contestant is then interrogated on stage in front of an audience and a few of the contestant’s closest friends and family.  The whole purpose of the show is to humiliate the contestant as they respond to questions for money.  The higher the stakes, the tougher the questions.  The host, Mark L. Wahlberg (from the equally intelligent show Temptation Island), adds more drama by constanly evaluating the seriousness of the questions and telling the contestant that they can walk away at any time with the money that they have already earned.   

The lovely episode that I caught on Tuesday included questions such as “As a waitress at Hooters, did you ever have sex with a customer?”  YES.  “Were you ever hospitalized for an eating disorder?”  YES.  The contestant also crushed the soul of her best friend, who was live on stage, when asked “Do you think your best friend will ever be a professional musician?”  The answer was NO.  The audience gasped collectively as the camera zoomed into a shot of the best friend’s face.  I turned it off before they reached the $25,000 round.�

I had a very snarky tale about Sex and the City (which I have mistakenly called Sex IN the City for years) which has somehow vanished.  Drat!

Represenative Joseph Almeida (D-Providence) has proposed a 25% tax on food, drinks, and admission fees for Rhode Island adult entertainment establishments. 

Besides raising funds to help plug the state’s growing fiscal gap, the bill would also set aside some of the tax revenue to prosecute child pornographers and to treat sex offenders.  While those are great causes that need more funding, I completely disagree with imposing such an exclusive tax on adult entertainment.  I also think that the bill makes an offensive and inaccurate correlation–that adult entertainment is somehow responsible for pedophilia and child pornography.  Understandably the ACLU argues that if the bill is passed, it will be deemed unconstitutional. 

To make matters worse, the Providence Journal reported on two moments of exteme immaturity on the part of the legislators.  First, there were giggles when “…House Finance Chairman Steven Costantino glanced at, blushed, and then said of the anatomically-explicit legislation: ‘There are parts [of this bill] I am afraid to read on television.’”  Are you ready for the explicit, scary words?  They include: genitals, the pubic region, a buttock, female breast, and (gasp!) areola.  These are the people we trust to run out state?  People who are embarassed to use anatomically correct words? 

Also, “…in one of the lighter moments during the hearing, Costantino asked Almeida if he had a sense of how much, if anything, the clubs were charging now as admission fees and Almeida shot back: ‘Why are you asking me? What are you trying to say?’”  Haha, it’s so funny when lawmakers insinuate that other lawmakers frequent strip clubs!  Ugh. 

After the hearing, it was decided to hold onto the bill for further study.  Please contact your local represenatives and tell them to reject this bill and/or grow up.

I have an awful addiction to reality television, which is usually kept under control because I don’t have cable and I’m often not home to watch TV.  But FOX’s Hell’s Kitchen has caught my attention again this season.  Every Tuesday night, I watch Chef Gordon Ramsay yell, throw food, and insult a dwindling number of aspiring chefs who all desperately want a job at one of Ramsay’s famous restaurants.  I know that these shows are completely scripted (so I’m not sure who to blame–the “aspiring chef” or the producers), but there was a particularly vile character on the show this season.

Jason Underwood, a sous chef from Las Vegas, was the third chef kicked out of Hell’s Kitchen.  Althought he completely botched his tasks night after night, Jason found the time to serve up boat loads of misogyny along the way.  His rants were completely ridiculous, unprovoked, and provided nothing of substance in terms of entertainment.  He was like a broken record, repeating boring, stereotypical anti-female schtick over and over again. 

When he is chastized for not memorizing the dessert menu, his excuse is:  “I hate desserts.  They’re tedious.  Women can make desserts.  They’re not my thing.” 

During a competition between the two teams (men vs. women), Jason is sure that the men will win because Hell’s Kitchen is a cooking competition, not a housekeeping contest. 

When kicked off the show, he had this lovely response: “You know, the last girls that got put up on the block, they start crying.  Well maybe if I would have cried like some pansy, some chick, maybe I’d be back upstairs chilling right now.  But I can’t do that.  I’m a man.”

If you see this man on the street, please let him know how you feel about his antics.  I don’t care if he was told to act that way or not; there is not a big enough paycheck in this world to risk ruining your reputation for life.

It is never a good idea to bring your hyperactive brother, who has no book/magazine/computer to occupy his time, along with you to a coffeeshop.  I have been here for over two hours and have accomplished nothing. 

As an added bonus, I can’t understand anything he’s saying because I can’t see his lips.  He may be doling out great advice, like Mr. Wilson, but I can’t hear any of it.

Check out my latest published work!

Review of Dangerous Knowledge

I am currently sitting on a damp porch at a bed and breakfast in Provincetown, MA, nearing the end of my 24 hour self-imposed retreat.  Now that class is finished for the semester, I need to rededicate myself to my writing and other lifestyle things that get brushed aside when school is in session.  I have approximately four months before next semester, so there’s a lot of time for accomplishment. 

I decided to splurge on this getaway so I could make some space in my head, set some goals, and rejuvenate after a long stretch of stressfulness.  I had a chance to go shopping, take a bubble bath, read a book in the parlor, and spend a big chunk of time working on me.  This place is so beautiful and fit my purpose exactly.  I don’t think I’ll ever stay at a different bed and breakfast when I visit this town again.  As a sign of fate, the room I reserved (the Quan Yin) is named after the Buddhist goddess for loving kindness–a practice that many people have told me to take up.  Despite the Londonesque weather, this journey has been perfect. 

All that being said, there will be some major changes coming to this site–mostly good, I hope.  I had the opportunity to sketch out a new color scheme, blog tag line, and theme that will be created when Dan doesn’t have 1,000 things on his place.  Hopefully by July 1st.

Starting now, I will be posting at least every Wednesday and Saturday.  Wednesday entries will be miscellaneous while Saturday posts will be called “Burst Your Bubble”–happenings in media and/or pop culture that make me cringe.

 I’m off to breakfast, but expect a post on Wednesday!

Months ago, I mailed out a query letter to Ms. Magazine about a topic I am dying to publish–the ridiculousness of the fake teen diary Go Ask Alice and other cautionary tales “edited” by Mormon therapist Beatrice Sparks.  I previously sent a similar query to Bitch Magazine but never heard back from anyone. 

Through journalism classes, writing magazines, and conversations with fellow writers, I’ve learned to fear rejection letters like the plague.  I’ve been told that rejections can be harsh, mean-spirited, and capable of killing one’s self-esteem. 

With all of this in mind, I almost passed out on the spot the other day when I looked into my mailbox–there sat the stuffed, self-addressed stamped envelope I mailed to Ms. back in October.  I held my breath, opened the package, and (among all of the paperwork I had mailed in) sat this:

My first rejection letter.  The note at the bottom of the page reads: “This was a compelling query but we ultimately felt that Go Ask Alice is a bit too dated.  We’d be interested to hear similar cultural queries on more recent/emerging phenomena.” 

Despite receiving my first rejection letter, I feel great!  How is that possible, you ask?  Someone at Ms. took the time to handwrite a critique of my query so I have a better idea about how to present my ideas in a different way, in hopes of finally getting it published.  And nothing in the letter was mean or soul crushing.