As Nana used to say: "Kids are Kids"

Charles Krauthammer says what I wanted to say the other day about Christmas and such, only he’s more coherent. That’s why he’s a professional columnist and I’m a weirdo who writes about buying comic books.

So last night I was at the National Cathedral’s annual National Cathedral School/St. Alban’s School Lessons and Carols service, in which every musical act at said schools gets to perform, so it should more accurately be called “One Part Lessons to Three Parts Carols”.

Tuition for the schools runs about $25,000 per year, which might lead one to think that the students come from DC’s better families. But apparently, money still doesn’t buy taste or class, or the ability to ensure that your children look like proper young ladies and gentlemen. Yet, WITHOUT exception;

EVERY young man had mussed-up hair, and looked as if he’d just come from snorting something in the boys’ restroom, and;

EVERY young woman under the age of 21 looked like a…well, Mother Rubble would say Street Walker, but I’ll just be straight with you and say they look like whores. They all had teased-up hair and caked-on make-up, and the tightest clothes imaginable, with the obligatory roll of fat poking out between their tops and skirts. And they all have permanent Paris Hilton-face, you know, the pouty look that girls make when they’re posing for the cover of a porno movie.

WHO is continuing to tell girls that this is a good look? I demand to know! I would have thought the fad would have burned itself out by now, or that girls of good sense would have asserted themselves, girls like Miss K at my office, who is young and drop-dead gorgeous (she’s a former model! ) and comes from California, and yet she wears her pants up around her waist as they should be worn, and wears little to no make-up, and if she has a love handle she keeps it to herself, and she has to practically BEAT the men off! Is this what the sexual revolution brought us, the freedom for rich children to look like trash?

Well, I’m done. I’m going shopping on my lunch hour, and then I’m all finished and ready to greet Mother Rubble’s arrival on Moday!