4/26/2005
Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep...
I don't sleep well. I never have. Once I fall asleep I'm usually fine, but it's trying to shut off my brain to go to sleep that I have trouble with. Am I trying to solve the world's most pressing problems? Nope. My brain is just rattling around like an over-caffeinated 9-year-old with ADD. To wit, I'll offer up a few random and bizarre thoughts I had while trying to fall asleep last night.
1. Is anyone else suddenly afraid of being struck by lighting? On three different occasions this past week, I heard some news story with the phrase, "You're more likely to be struck by lightning than ___________." In theory, that's supposed to make me feel more relaxed about the probability of shark attacks, car jackings, armed robbery, and having my face and genitals tore off by monkeys. (That last fantastic thought is brought to us by this story , titled "Chimp Attack Doesn't Surprise Experts." The article contains the line, "The chimps chewed off most of Davis’ face, tore off his foot and attacked his limbs and genitals.") So, in review, the possibility of having the extremities ripped off my body by crazed primates "doesn't surprise experts," but the good news is I'm more likely to be struck by lightning.
2. I bet using a meat grinder is harder than it looks. I've never tried to use one or anything, but it just seems like it would be hard to push in a steak, crank that little handle, and end up with ground beef. (Look...I never said the things that pop into my head at 2:00 in the morning are all that profound...)
3. Why do we even have the expression, "Don't put anything smaller than your elbow in your ear"? Since when did an elbow become a size standard for anything? And since there's no way to get your own elbow in your own ear, this warning presupposes that there was a huge problem with people randomly trying to stick their elbows into someone else's ears. The whole thing confuses me.
4. It's 2005, and we can't make an ironing board that isn't precariously perched on little spindly stork legs? Of all the things in your home, you would think a burning hot, steaming hunk of iron would be one of those things you'd want a little stability in handling. It's like putting an oven on stilts.
5. If I barricade the door with my dresser, I can escape to the roof through my bedroom window, leap over to the carport, jump to the ground, and safely drive away when the roving gang of Super-Ninjas break into my house to attack me. (Again, I was trying to fall asleep; this is the kind of stuff that guys think about at 2:00 in the morning.)
Looking back over this list, it has become clear that as I try to fall asleep tonight, I will be thinking of the number of a good therapist.
1. Is anyone else suddenly afraid of being struck by lighting? On three different occasions this past week, I heard some news story with the phrase, "You're more likely to be struck by lightning than ___________." In theory, that's supposed to make me feel more relaxed about the probability of shark attacks, car jackings, armed robbery, and having my face and genitals tore off by monkeys. (That last fantastic thought is brought to us by this story , titled "Chimp Attack Doesn't Surprise Experts." The article contains the line, "The chimps chewed off most of Davis’ face, tore off his foot and attacked his limbs and genitals.") So, in review, the possibility of having the extremities ripped off my body by crazed primates "doesn't surprise experts," but the good news is I'm more likely to be struck by lightning.
2. I bet using a meat grinder is harder than it looks. I've never tried to use one or anything, but it just seems like it would be hard to push in a steak, crank that little handle, and end up with ground beef. (Look...I never said the things that pop into my head at 2:00 in the morning are all that profound...)
3. Why do we even have the expression, "Don't put anything smaller than your elbow in your ear"? Since when did an elbow become a size standard for anything? And since there's no way to get your own elbow in your own ear, this warning presupposes that there was a huge problem with people randomly trying to stick their elbows into someone else's ears. The whole thing confuses me.
4. It's 2005, and we can't make an ironing board that isn't precariously perched on little spindly stork legs? Of all the things in your home, you would think a burning hot, steaming hunk of iron would be one of those things you'd want a little stability in handling. It's like putting an oven on stilts.
5. If I barricade the door with my dresser, I can escape to the roof through my bedroom window, leap over to the carport, jump to the ground, and safely drive away when the roving gang of Super-Ninjas break into my house to attack me. (Again, I was trying to fall asleep; this is the kind of stuff that guys think about at 2:00 in the morning.)
Looking back over this list, it has become clear that as I try to fall asleep tonight, I will be thinking of the number of a good therapist.
The "80/20" rule
I just erased a big rant about what's called "The 80/20 Rule." For those of you not familiar with this rule, it basically says, "80% of everything is pure unadulterated drivel."
I erased it because I was getting depressed, and what I was writing was even more bitter sounding than what I usually write. Except that this time there was no wacky, humorous payoff. It was just making me sad.
Last Thursday, some random Entercom Radio suit in Pennsylvania decided that an AM radio station here in Portland, Oregon would go off the air with literally no warning. The entire format changed at 2:00 pm, without so much as a "Dear Listeners, we're changing formats. Go pound sand." It was the only radio station that provided talk radio that wasn't sports or politics. The only radio station I listened to, which had the funniest, smartest, and most unique radio program I've ever heard in my life. But some guy who has never been to Oregon, never talked to the radio listeners here, and doesn't care about something that was uniquely Portland decided to pipe in the same old music and same canned DJ reading the same canned cue cards that every other city in America is forced to listen to. (And to add insult to injury, they replaced it with...wait for it...oldies. Because what we were all clamoring for was to hear "Louie, Louie" or "Wild Thing" again and again...in the spectacular, high-quality aural clarity that AM radio offers.)
And as most of us know (I'm assuming that my dear readers are the 20% of the 80/20 rule who don't like crap), the words "funniest, smartest, and most unique" can only mean one thing: "swift cancellation." You see, why appeal to the smart 20% when you can pander to the 80%?
Let's look at a few examples. "My So-Called Life." "Freaks and Geeks." "Futurama." All gone. And soon (I'm predicting) "Arrested Development." But thankfully we will still have years and years of "According to Jim" and "Yes, Dear." And while most of the world has never heard of the brilliant movie "Waiting for Guffman," they can't seem to get enough of "White Chicks." And for the love of Travolta, do you realize there have been 3 "Look Who's Talking" movies?!
I'm done now. I know nobody reading this cares but me, but if I can't vent here, then I have to vent to my wife, who makes me take time-outs in the "pity-party closet" to do so. Sorry this wasn't funny, but just a sad reminder that with few exceptions ("Lost" found a fan base? I won't get sucked in only to have it cancelled?! There is hope!!!), in the battle between good and crap, crap will always win, and the people with good taste will be stuck with 9 (!) years of "Home Improvement."
I erased it because I was getting depressed, and what I was writing was even more bitter sounding than what I usually write. Except that this time there was no wacky, humorous payoff. It was just making me sad.
Last Thursday, some random Entercom Radio suit in Pennsylvania decided that an AM radio station here in Portland, Oregon would go off the air with literally no warning. The entire format changed at 2:00 pm, without so much as a "Dear Listeners, we're changing formats. Go pound sand." It was the only radio station that provided talk radio that wasn't sports or politics. The only radio station I listened to, which had the funniest, smartest, and most unique radio program I've ever heard in my life. But some guy who has never been to Oregon, never talked to the radio listeners here, and doesn't care about something that was uniquely Portland decided to pipe in the same old music and same canned DJ reading the same canned cue cards that every other city in America is forced to listen to. (And to add insult to injury, they replaced it with...wait for it...oldies. Because what we were all clamoring for was to hear "Louie, Louie" or "Wild Thing" again and again...in the spectacular, high-quality aural clarity that AM radio offers.)
And as most of us know (I'm assuming that my dear readers are the 20% of the 80/20 rule who don't like crap), the words "funniest, smartest, and most unique" can only mean one thing: "swift cancellation." You see, why appeal to the smart 20% when you can pander to the 80%?
Let's look at a few examples. "My So-Called Life." "Freaks and Geeks." "Futurama." All gone. And soon (I'm predicting) "Arrested Development." But thankfully we will still have years and years of "According to Jim" and "Yes, Dear." And while most of the world has never heard of the brilliant movie "Waiting for Guffman," they can't seem to get enough of "White Chicks." And for the love of Travolta, do you realize there have been 3 "Look Who's Talking" movies?!
I'm done now. I know nobody reading this cares but me, but if I can't vent here, then I have to vent to my wife, who makes me take time-outs in the "pity-party closet" to do so. Sorry this wasn't funny, but just a sad reminder that with few exceptions ("Lost" found a fan base? I won't get sucked in only to have it cancelled?! There is hope!!!), in the battle between good and crap, crap will always win, and the people with good taste will be stuck with 9 (!) years of "Home Improvement."
4/16/2005
Apropos of nothing, here is what I'd look like as a South Park character...
4/08/2005
Throw Your Food
I've noticed that whenever you see food advertised, more often than not it's flying through the air. There must be some psychological weakness that we all have that equates airborne food with "Why yes, I must eat Go-Gurt now."
I realized this last night when I was watching TV. There was an ad for granola or muesli or something, and every time they showed the product, it was either being tossed through the air or scattered across a table or raining down from the heavens. But what was strange is that I didn't even think anything of it. It's just something we're all used to seeing. Next time you're in a movie theater, notice that even the ads before the movie ascribe to this marketing device. There's the bucket of popcorn being forcibly thrust up through the mountainous pile of kernels lining the bottom of the screen, sending popcorn flying in every direction. Sour Patch Kids and cookie dough wads are ejected from some off-screen food cannon. And my favorite, the "Coke and Popcorn Collision" ad, where a giant vat of Coke is hurled from one side of the screen, a cauldron of popcorn is flung from the other side, and they meet in the middle to form this churning tsunami of moist, inedible foodstuffs. But for some reason, seeing a still picture of that collision is not only acceptable to us, it seems to make us hungry.
The food collision technique is one that we're familiar with outside of the movie theater. It is also used whenever a snack that consists of a combination of two flavors is advertised. Most often, it's liquid chocolate being poured over some sort of cookie-crisp wafer moving across the TV screen in some unknown trajectory. (Caramel is occasionally involved, although it is usually not poured; caramel may only be drizzled with a quick back-and-forth motion, allowing it to ooze down to full coverage on its own impetus.)
Makers of juice are the most excited about the flying food school of advertising. Rotating slices of lemons, limes, and oranges crash into spinning strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries. All of which are just drenched with water being hosed in from some open firehydrant off stage. I just feel terrible for the poor people involved with such a production. Everyone's sopping wet, people are trying to dig the raspberry seeds out of their teeth all day long, that lady who happens to be a "cutter" is writhing in pain because lemon juice is getting into last night's X-acto knife wounds.
But it must work. After all, Americans eat less celery than they do Pringles, the flyingest of all snack foods advertised today (have you ever seen Pringles at rest?). Maybe that's the secret to solving our rampant obesity problem. We can make signs and everything. "Throw Your Food -- Start With the Vegetables."
I realized this last night when I was watching TV. There was an ad for granola or muesli or something, and every time they showed the product, it was either being tossed through the air or scattered across a table or raining down from the heavens. But what was strange is that I didn't even think anything of it. It's just something we're all used to seeing. Next time you're in a movie theater, notice that even the ads before the movie ascribe to this marketing device. There's the bucket of popcorn being forcibly thrust up through the mountainous pile of kernels lining the bottom of the screen, sending popcorn flying in every direction. Sour Patch Kids and cookie dough wads are ejected from some off-screen food cannon. And my favorite, the "Coke and Popcorn Collision" ad, where a giant vat of Coke is hurled from one side of the screen, a cauldron of popcorn is flung from the other side, and they meet in the middle to form this churning tsunami of moist, inedible foodstuffs. But for some reason, seeing a still picture of that collision is not only acceptable to us, it seems to make us hungry.
The food collision technique is one that we're familiar with outside of the movie theater. It is also used whenever a snack that consists of a combination of two flavors is advertised. Most often, it's liquid chocolate being poured over some sort of cookie-crisp wafer moving across the TV screen in some unknown trajectory. (Caramel is occasionally involved, although it is usually not poured; caramel may only be drizzled with a quick back-and-forth motion, allowing it to ooze down to full coverage on its own impetus.)
Makers of juice are the most excited about the flying food school of advertising. Rotating slices of lemons, limes, and oranges crash into spinning strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries. All of which are just drenched with water being hosed in from some open firehydrant off stage. I just feel terrible for the poor people involved with such a production. Everyone's sopping wet, people are trying to dig the raspberry seeds out of their teeth all day long, that lady who happens to be a "cutter" is writhing in pain because lemon juice is getting into last night's X-acto knife wounds.
But it must work. After all, Americans eat less celery than they do Pringles, the flyingest of all snack foods advertised today (have you ever seen Pringles at rest?). Maybe that's the secret to solving our rampant obesity problem. We can make signs and everything. "Throw Your Food -- Start With the Vegetables."
