What's in a Name?

johnnycake: noun - a baked cornmeal flatbread.

Johnny Cupcakes: proper noun - a store that once broke my heart.

About a month ago, my good friend Lisa and I were shopping on Newbury Street in Boston. We were fat and happy following a delicious lunch, but I was, as always, looking to become even fatter and happier with a little help from some baked goods.

We had just finished looking at handbags when we were drawn to an off-street-level shop by a force stronger than any martian tractor beam. There, in the window of a handsome brick building, was a giantline drawing of a cupcake with the word "fresh" dancing above it. Saliva moistened my mouth and my heart pumped faster than the beat of a Lady GaGa song at the thought of the sugar and sweet, spongy cakethat would be mine in just a few moments.

I had been to other upscale bakeries specializing in cupcakes, Sprinkles in Beverly Hills and Magnolia in New York City, and was over the moon that we stumbled on their Boston cousin. What would I choose? Red velvet? Chocolate coconut? Good old vanilla with chocolate frosting?

As Lisa and I climbed the steps towards our indulgence, we asked eachother, "How could these be calorie-free?" as another sign advertised. We found our answer when we entered Johnny Cupcakes.

It's not a bakery at all, but rather, a t-shirt store, with a signature logo replacing the skull in the familiar skull and crossbones design with the silhouette of a cupcake. Shirts are displayed in ovens, with their colorful fronts stylizing Pez dispensers, or bearing the slogan "always fresh-baked." That mayappeal to those who enjoy marijuana recreationally, but I don't, so wouldn't want a shirt that could be interpreted as such.

More garments show panda bears eating cupcakes. Now, I like pandas,and I like cupcakes, but I wanted to wrap my mouth around a glob of frosting, not a limited-edition shirt.

We sweet-tooth shoppers were terribly disappointed when we figured out the meaning of the calorie-free signs. Everyone else in the store seemed to know what was up, snatching Boston Red Sox-inspired cupcake shirts and holding them to their thin, never-eaten-a-cupcake bodies to check for size. I later learned Johnny Cupcakes is equally popular in other big cities, too, using fun events like grilled cheese parties to drive youthful consumers to the boutique shops.

The company website does indicate that if I were in the store on a weekend, and had bought a high-quality, made in the USA shirt, I would have gotten a real home-baked cupcake. The founder (whose name, I presume, is Johnny) also writes on his site that several colleges have invited him to lecture on effective branding and marketing. Still stung by not being able to satiate my craving for cream cheese frosting that day, I am quite sure I would skip that lecture.

I'm glad this company seems to be thriving. Too many stores along Newbury Street have closed. But I'm stubborn. I wouldn't buy a cupcake from a store called "World's Best T-Shirts," so I don't expect to buy a t-shirt from Johnny Cupcakes.

- Jacktastic

A Star Is Born?

Nadya Suleman is like cigarette butts outside a strip bar: disgusting and everywhere. She’s on NBC’s Today Show in the morning, followed by Doctor Phil, and Entertainment Tonight later on. Taped portions of those appearances are then re-played ad nauseum on other syndicated shows and cable TV. If you’ve been in a coma, and don’t know who she is, you’re lucky. She is the “octomom,” the California woman who gave birth to octuplets by caesarean section in January.

At first blush, Suleman’s story seemed like it would have a miracle happy ending – her babies all survived, and we could have imagined her getting gifts from companies and individuals all over the country to help her with this unenviable challenge. But it quickly nose-dived, and the octomom was wrapped in the fat, dripping tentacles of scandal.It was discovered that the 33 year old already had six kids at home, and many people were outraged, believing the single woman’s in vitro fertilization treatments and the births they produced would only burden taxpayers funding Suleman’s public assistance. The fury even drew death threats, yet the octomom keeps up her rigorous schedule of television interviews.

Her demeanor is, not surprisingly, very strange in these interviews. She looks like a déclassé Angelina Jolie, but claims she’s not interested in being a celebrity. Yet Suleman makes herself a celebrity by appearing on entertainment show after entertainment show, presumably for money. Her constant mantra is that she needs a new home to raise her litter. She reportedly hasn’t responded to a pornographer’s offer of a $1 million payday to have sex on camera, though that would certainly go a long way towards buying a house and diapers times eight.

Since the octomom has become a (supposedly reluctant) pop culture fixture overnight, I think pop culture is where we can find solutions to some of her problems.

• Apu and Manjula Nahasapeemapetilon of The Simpsons are octoparents, too. Manjula was inadvertantly dosed with extra fertility drugs and produced eight kids. Our friends at Wikipedia tell me their names are Uma, Nabendu, Poonam, Priya, Sandeep, Sashi, Gheet, and Anoop. (Incidentally, the last of that list is my favorite, because American Idol had a contestant named Anoop this season whom I really liked.) But to care for this brood, Apu came up with a handy vest containing eight baby bottles to feed them all, as a mother pug would suckle her puppies. Perhaps Nadya Suleman could contact Springfield’s newsman extraordinaire Kent Brockman for her next interview, and meet Apu at his Kwik-E-Mart to pick up a bottle vest of her own.

• Otto Octavius, aka “Dr. Octopus” is one of Spiderman’s arch-nemeses. His four mind-controlled mechanical arms became fused to his body in a freak laboratory accident involving his radioactive research. The transformation spawned a turn towards criminality, with “Doc Oc” using his arms to pry open bank vaults and squash meddling police officers. I suggest Nadya Suleman contact The Daily Bugle, the newspaper edited by Peter Parker/Spiderman’s boss, J. Jonah Jameson. Perhaps an interview with them could attract the attention of Doc Oc, whose own arms, in concert with his metal pincers, could change one Suleman kid while feeding another a cookie.

• The Octodog is what you get when you use a “Frankfurter Converter,” a simple kitchen product available online. This $16.95 device slices the lower half of a hot dog, making it into an octopus (see above). The octodog clearly is meant to encourage kids to play with their food, and is just so silly, the plastic cutters have been featured in magazines and on TV, including Rachael Ray. Even though Nadya Suleman claims to not know much about the world of celebrities, I suspect she may be drawn to something that’s gotten so much press. The Frankfurter Converter would certainly be a help to an octomom, with so many mouths to feed.

I hope the octomom does okay for herself and her kids. After all, they didn’t ask to be born to such a person in such strange circumstances. I’m eager for her star to fade, I just hope it doesn’t happen because someone else becomes a duodecimom (12 kids). I don’t think there’s enough room on Apu’s vest for that many baby bottles.

- Jacktastic

Heather Gray is My New Black

With me, there is no debating some of the typical hot-button issues of our time. I believe a woman's right to terminate a pregnancy must be upheld, same-sex couples should be allowed to declare their love through marriage, and that leaders of American businesses should take a cue from the CEO of Japan Airlines, who, in a widely-publicized move, cut his own pay to less than some of his employees' salaries in order to help guide his company out of turbulent financial times.

But one of the issues I am most conflicted about is sweatpants.

I've always sort of felt that people who wear sweatpants are slobs. Often, they are the only option for the morbidly obese. College kids wear them, too -- usually (I theorize) because they're never quite sure if it's day or night, so staying in pajama-like clothing seems like a safe move. Based on what I've seen at malls, grocery stores, and county fairs, sweatpants also seem part and parcel with stains, messy hair, and Looney Tunes character t-shirts. My friend who teaches fourth grade even equates sweatpants with children who mess their pants at school, because the school nurse has extra sweatpants on hand to give the stinky kid something to wear the rest of the day.

It turns out, my criticism of sweatpants actually genetic.

My grandmother is a spry and sharp almost-91. Millie isn't necessarily a glamorous woman, but she's always cared very much about her looks. In fact, she was the first person I ever knew who had cosmetic surgery. (Don't worry, I don't have a collagen-injected granny, it was a minor facelift... like one-trillionth the severity of a Joan Rivers procedure.) Since she doesn't leave home too much in the winter anymore, my mom suggested she just get some sweatpants that will help her stay warm and cozy in her house on winter days when ice makes even going to the mailbox treacherous for an old lady.

Mille's response was almost immediate: "Sweatpants make you look like you've given up on life." Instead, she gets up every day and puts on slacks. (Her word, not mine.) Some of them are flannel-lined, which boosts the coziness factor, but all of them are pants she'd feel confident in and dressed-up enough to wear if she knew she were meeting one of her favorite people in the world: her local TV news weatherman.

My dear friend Elissa feels similarly about sweatpants. Her mom, who rarely drinks, was really sleepy after having a beer, and didn't feel like changing out of her lounge pants before going out to dinner. Elissa was incensed: "You can't wear sweatpants! This is a nice restaurant!!" Her mom was recalcitrant. "These aren't sweatpants," she argued. "They're St. John!" That may be a high-end line of ladies' clothes, but Elissa wasn't buying it. Grey heather with fleecey lining plus elastic waste multiplied by drawstring equals inappropriate for wearing in public.

I have spent years making fun of this garment and its wearers, even convincing myself that those polyester workout pants (you know, the ones with those little holes that you can't see through but your leg hairs poke through?) were so much more sophisticated and acceptible for public, because they send the message, "I'm obviously just on my way to/from working out." So boy was I surprised when I actually asked for sweatpants for Christmas.

My pre-boyfriend (that's what I will call him until we are no longer separated by 1,000 miles and schedule complications) wears what, for a lack of a better phrase, I will call fancy sweatpants. They are solid-color and fitted, with a little boot cut to them. They're like heavier yoga pants, and DJ wears them to sleep in and lounge in... occasionally (much to my chagrin, at first) sporting them out to the grocery store, too.

They seemed comfy, and he is tall, slender, and muscular enough to make them look like couture. I asked him for a pair, he dutifully delivered, and I love them. They're American Apparel, so I feel like I'm wearing a trendy brand (key to my warming up to the concept of sweatpants), and the slim fit makes them look tailored, not slovenly. I wear them around the house, and even have GASP! worn them outside, over shorts on my way to/from the gym. I even considered -- briefly -- wearing them to the grocery store for a quick errand, but my longheld beliefs kicked in and I threw jeans on instead.

I guess I finally realized why people (and I mean people who aren't morbidly obese, headed into surgery, hung over, or kids who had bowel accidents at school) wear these things. They are like staying in bed while on your feet; and who doesn't love staying in bed? They're comfy and warm, and wash well, too. When my mom saw me folding my new sweatpants, she even offered to iron them, saying, "Well, you don't want people to think you're a slob, do you?" No, I don't. But I refused the offer, as I decided that I don't care if people chuckle at me in wrinkly sweatpants: I like them, I'm comfortable in them, and that's all that matters.

I may even buy a second pair. Just don't tell my grandma. I don't want her thinking I've given up on life.

- Jacktastic

Go Shia LeBeouf Yourself

Like millions of other people, I really liked the 2007 movie Transformers. I mean, really liked it. Aside from rekindling my childhood fantasies of my mom's Oldsmobile turning into a butt-kicking ultimate fighter, it also left me more aware of how much I like things that are also other things.

Especially words.

I love "transformer words:" nouns that can be adjectives, verbs that double as adverbs, etc. Of course, this is more evidence of the casualization of our language, (see how casual it's gotten? I just made "casualization" a word!) but transformer words are everywhere. They're simply here to stay.

Here are some examples:

- Brand Names: You use a Xerox (proper noun) copier to xerox (verb) xeroxes (noun).

- Swears: We all need to pass solid waste by taking a $#it (noun). But $#itting (verb) doesn't just refer to fecal matter, as we've all been caught outside in $#itty (adjective) weather. Living in a rural state, I've even heard people refer to their buddies as "a good $#it" (noun), in what seems to me as a $#itty compliment.

- Everyday Words & Word Components: You jack (verb) up your car to fix your tire, and if you can do that with just your muscles, then you, ma'am, are jacked (adjective). But there are also jackhammers, jack-in-the-boxes, and jackrabbits, (all nouns) and those of us in long-distance relationships sometimes need to employ the verb version of the word jack to satisfy our adult needs. Of course, I chose this word to highlight because my name is Jack (proper noun).

How do I know it's natural that verbs, nouns, adjectives and all those other parts of speech should intermingle? Because the local news always tells me so. Imagine your favorite newscaster reading the following script:

“…a hair-raising story of unconditional love today in Toledo. It seems a mother chihuahua has adopted a baby squirrel whose mother had an unfortunate meeting with a concrete mixer. {chuckling} I guess you could say the fur was really flying there, huh, Connie? {more chuckling}”

If chihuahuas can adopt squirrels, then you can use Google (proper noun) to google (verb) up factoids on actor Shia LeBeouf or whatever else you may want to know. I am certain that googled (adjective) information would include teasers for Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen.

A particularly uncreative user of transformer words was on the most recent season of Project Runway. This aspiring fashion designer was named Blayne, wore California surfer clothes, and was prematurely wrinkled due to years of artificial tanning. He added the suffix –licious to any word to make it into an adjective. “Leathericious,” “neonlicious,” and “tanning bedlicious” were the kind of terms he’d spit out almost every minute. He’d even transform an adjective into an adjective, as I recall. I bet he’d call himself “handsomelicious.” Don’t be Blayne.

Instead, here are some suggestions for how you can be more playful with language in 2009:

- Next time you're at the bakery in need of a soft-centered doughy bit of love to get you through a $#it-filled day at work, ask the girl behind the counter to "cookie you."

- If you attend a wonderful party where delicious food was served with a hearty side of dazzling conversation, describe it as a "total Lisa party," substituting the name (proper noun) of your friend who throws great get-togethers whom you'd like to properly adjectivize.

- After you were the life of that party, leaving the entire guest list laughing, admiring, and appreciating your place on the planet, leave and quietly say to yourself, "I totally Nathaned that $#it!" (Again, substituting the name of someone you adore for their charm and wit, or just use Nathan. He has ample supplies of both those nouns and more.)

If you don't like these ideas, or think communicating in this way is silly or downright unintelligent, I hope a Prius transforms into a giant ninja and gives you a wedgie.

- Jacktastic

Rudolph the Gray-Haired Reindeer

Remember those old Andy Williams TV Christmas specials? I can't say I do, as they're really relics of the late 60s and early 70s, and I am only 28. But I do remember the album covers of Andy Williams records from that era, complete with tacky theme sweaters. Pat Boone had a similar unfortunate holiday style -- his was the trademark white buck shoes.

My dad used to play those Pat Boone and Andy Williams records twice a year -- the day we set up our Christmas tree, and on the holiday itself. Even though we had several CD players, it was records he'd play on those days. Apparently to him, a sound that was old and scratchy, like Andy's sweaters themselves, was evocative of the season.

I've been thinking about old Christmas music these days, because our local adult top-40 radio station has gone to its all-Christmas music format. It struck me as peculiar that in the lead-up to Christmas, when kids ask Santa for Wiis, iPods, or other newfangled technological toys, this Christmas music is all really, really old.

ASCAP (American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers) says its most-performed Christmas song is Winter Wonderland, followed closely by Christmas Song (the one with the chestnuts roasting on an open fire) and Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. All of these songs were popular when my parents were my age.

So why aren't there new Christmas songs? I asked the morning radio DJ team that has to play this music non-stop for the next month, and the sweet-as-a-sugarplum female co-host chirped, "When you hear Burl Ives doing Holly Jolly Christmas, it just takes you right back to that time when you were watching Rudolph on TV, and eating cookies and milk."

She's certainly onto something. There is something comfortable and cozy about these songs. They're also so simplistic, they're easy to remember. If our national anthem was as singable as Jingle Bells, more Americans would certainly know the lyrics.

A where-is-he-now? performer named Billy Gilman and talk show loudmouth (she'd admit it, I'm sure) Rosie O'Donnell released a song a few years back called I'm Gonna Email Santa. Anyone able to hum that one?

Christmas music may last because it's handed down from adults. Before Christmas in schools became un-pc, teachers would encourage kids to recite holiday music. And the same traditions play out at home: A grandmother listens to Deck the Halls with her grandson, as dad sneaks extra rum into his egg nog, and mom strings popcorn and cranberries, privately wishing she had married that other high school suitor instead. This is music that bridges generations. Case in point -- my grandmother and I have never listened to Rihanna's Umbrella together, but we certainly have listened to Winter Wonderland.

The male half of that morning radio team pointed out "There is new Christmas music, performed by new stars, but they're recording old songs." The Kimberley Locke and Clay Aiken version of Silver Bells is a good example of that, but as their former taskmaster Randy "Dawg" Jackson would complain, "They really don't make it their own."

But those DJs believe the updates of old songs "help make new Christmas memories for today's kids and teenagers." Maybe one day, Kimberley Locke and Clay Aiken will seem as old to me as Brenda Lee now does. But their songs will surely still be familiar, as newer pop stars will also take part in this tradition of re-making old music.

Until then, I'm just glad Rihanna doesn't wear tacky Christmas sweaters and white buck shoes.

-- Jacktastic