It’s been a long time since I’ve written about vaginas.1 But a friend of mine posted this video on Google+2 the other day, and while I certainly haven’t been thinking about it since then (I have so many other things to think about), it crossed my mind again this morning after being thoroughly entertained by Stephen Colbert’s take on those talking vagina commercials.
The following video does not feature a vagina puppet (sorry), but it’s sort of like… like… a historical narrative about the importance of vaginas. I mean, The V, because saying the word “vagina” is so, well, icky. Watch and learn:
So, yeah. That’s spectacular. The V. It is the cradle of life.3 I mean, really not, if you want to be technical, and you may not, but I do — wouldn’t you say it’s more like the gateway to the cradle of life, anatomically speaking? It’s also the center of civilization. Throughout history — the history of the entire world, mind you, because obviously it’s worldwide if guys do fancy martial arts in a bamboo forest and joust — dudes have been fighting (even dying) for it! “One might say it’s the most powerful thing on earth.” That’s pretty exciting for me, you know, because I have one. A vagina. I mean, a v. I guess mine is a lowercase v, because there’s gotta be some difference between the individual v and The V, which is like, the universal collective V.4 I guess. Or not. I don’t really know.5
Anyway, the point is that your v is important, ladies, so keep it clean.6 And taking a shower is not enough. You need Summer’s Eve in order to show your most important orifice some love.7
Because, well, men are dying. Will you not think of the men?
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1. How’s that for an opening line?
2. This is apparently the internet version of Where The Cool Kids Hang Out, at least according to purported cool kids who have accounts, but so far, it’s like Facebook without all the people.
3. Isn’t there a Tomb Raider movie with that name?
4. The conceptual V? The all-powerful V? By the power of Greyskull, the She-Ra of genitalia? Imagine THAT Saturday morning cartoon.
5. This is where pronoun usage gets confusing. Maybe it’s like all vaginas are descended from The Ur-Vagina, I mean, all vs are descended from The Ur-V, which cradle-of-lifed us all into a civilization centered around The V, wherein dudes fight and die for The V. I’m thinking too hard about this. My head is going to explode.
6. Nevermind the fact that your body is exceptionally good at taking care of itself, and if you upset its balance, you’ll get a yeast infection. And really, there’s nothing sexier than an itchy crotch that smells like a bread machine, am I right or am I right?
7. I don’t know about you, but I think it’s possible that there are ways to show a vagina love that have absolutely nothing to do with, as they’re now calling it, feminine wash.
I was driving home the other day, and I was listening to the radio and the Pearl Jam song “Black” came on, and I was sort of listening to it, but mostly I was preoccupied with merging onto a road in the middle of a construction zone and not getting run over by a semi. Priorities. But while I was busy noting how most other drivers really are assholes and won’t move over to let a car into traffic even if they totally could because it’s not like there’s anything in the other lane, I was struck with the thought that the album Ten is nearly 20 years old. Then I felt old for a minute. I never was a super huge Pearl Jam fan, but I have owned three copies of Ten in my life. The very first one I owned was a tape. Holy crap.
I’m not sure what that has to do with anything, but since when has the lack of importance of anything ever stopped me from mentioning it?
While I’m mentioning things, I’d also like to mention that I have a box of old CDs, and I was looking for something in it just now, and I somehow ended up with a splinter underneath one of my fingernails. You know what hurts a lot? Getting a splinter underneath a fingernail. You should avoid having that happen, if you can. Just a tip from me to you.
These days while I’m writing, or at least while I’m working on the book, I like to listen to Neko Case. I like to listen to Neko Case anyway (here’s a useless fact: if, say, I were nerdy enough to try to define my taste in music numerically by compiling an ordered list of musicians based on how many songs by each I happen to own, then Neko Case would be tied for 4th on that list, alongside Beck, which is an interesting pair, I think) but she is somehow especially perfect to listen to while writing. Here’s a question for any writers who may read this — do you have a go-to musician that you like to listen to while you’re working? Does it change depending on what you’re writing?
Anyway, while I’m on the subject of music, which I guess I am, sort of, I’d like to mention how much I hate Nickelback. This isn’t news; I’ve mentioned it before. But I like to reinforce it once in awhile, I guess to point out that yep, still hate them. I mean, really:
You know it’s serious if I became a fan of not listening to Nickelback. Because that’s how you prove that you really care about something. You become a fan of it on Facebook. Clicking on something once, it totally proves devotion.
And let me tell you: I am devoted to not listening to Nickelback. If I hear Nickelback, I’m all, “Can we make that stop? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.” I’m serious. I don’t really get how they’re famous, but then, there are a lot of famous people and I don’t always understand why they’re famous either, so I guess in that respect, Nickelback is in good company. With folks like Kim Kardashian. (Why is Kim Kardashian famous? Please explain.)
Anyway, I know there was that website that I can’t find that proved that all Nickelback songs sound the same by playing two of them simultaneously (it’s on You Tube if you can handle it), and while it’s interesting (with a very limited definition of “interesting”), I think that ultimately, if you’re going to prove that all a band’s songs sound the same, you have to use more than two songs. I mean, bands sound like themselves. And, to me, whether or not all of Nickelback’s songs share the same structure is less important than the fact that all their songs sound like being in Hell.
I’m not trying to start shit with Canada, but seriously, Canada, why do you keep doing this to us? Alanis Morrissette? Celine Dion? Shania Twain? Avril Lavigne? Nickelback? Why? WHY? And Canada, you may try to say, “Hey, chill, what about Rush, eh? We gave you Rush.” And to that I say, “For one thing, one band cannot make up for ‘Man, I Feel Like A Woman,’ because nothing can ever make up for that, OKAY? And second of all, I hate Rush, because that guy’s voice is like fingernails on the chalkboard of my soul, so suck it.” I mostly have no argument with you, Canada, but when it comes to your musical exports, you got some splainin’ to do, is all I’m saying.
Speaking of Facebook, which I was a few paragraphs ago, I also noticed this ad:
First of all, they really should’ve hyphenated “high paying” because don’t people understand about compound adjectives? I mean, really. But also, in light of some of the thoughts I’ve shared with you today, I believe you can understand why I think this ad is hilarious. I can get paid to hear music? Really? And Nickelback is the best example they could think of? I mean, they’d have to pay me, and they’d have to pay me a lot.
Who’s more awesome: George Michael or Justin Timberlake? Please provide evidence/support.
Okay. Let’s break it down.
Round One:
George Michael was in Wham! Justin Timberlake was in *NSync.
Wham! (as a band name) contains punctuation. It’s not Wham. It’s Wham! Wake me up before you go-go! WHAM!
*NSync (as a band name) contains a symbol. In place of punctuation (technically that asterisk should be an apostrophe). It’s not In Sync. It’s *NSync. I have a lot of problems with this as a name. Also it’s not catchy. It’s not the sound that would appear in a cartoon bubble if, say, Batman were to get into a fight with Catwoman because last Christmas he gave her his heart and the very next day she gave it away (WHAM!) which is just a hypothetical, but still, I think it’s important to consider whether or not your band name could appear in a cartoon bubble and make sense.
Winner, Round One: George Michael
Round Two:
George Michael went on to have a solo career. Justin Timberlake went on to have a solo career.
George Michael is responsible for the song “Faith” which really is a perfect little pop ditty. Maybe it makes me dance around my house sometimes. Maybe. Just maybe. Also it starts with “Well I guess it would be nice if I could touch your body” which is a pretty great way to kick off a song. Like, weeeellllll, I guess it would be nice, but whatever. Also, remember this?
I just watched that again and it embarrassed me so much and seriously, good lord, MY HAIR, but still. George Michael inspired me.
Though there are other George Michael songs. There’s “I Want Your Sex” (direct approach!) and “Father Figure” (Who’s your daddy? Creepy.) And “Freedom ’90″ which is also a rather catchy song, though I can’t think of it without also thinking of the David Fincher-directed, supermodel-laden music video, which was sort of a pop culture icon of the time. And I suppose it still is.
Justin Timberlake is responsible for “Rock Your Body” which I don’t think of as a perfect little pop ditty, though interestingly enough, at the wedding of a couple of friends of mine, this song played when the bride and groom walked back down the aisle. Nothing like pledging your eternal devotion to each other and then taking your first stroll as a married couple to the sounds of a beatboxing JT. And then there’s the issue of “Cry Me A River” which is about Britney, and there’s also Gregorian chanting, and I can’t even explain why I like that song, but I got it stuck in my head one day, and you know how if you get a song stuck in your head you can go either way with it — you can either end up liking it or wanting to set it on fire and throw it off a cliff? Somehow getting that song in my head made me like Justin Timberlake. I don’t get it either.
And then there’s the issue of JT’s FutureSex/LoveSounds album, and okay, yes, I do own it, but shut up. I held out for a really long time.
Winner, Round Two: I don’t know. Can this round be a draw? I never made a video of myself lip-synching to a Justin Timberlake song, but then, I’ve never been to a wedding where the couple played a George Michael song when they walked back down the aisle. I can’t decide!
Round Three:
George Michael collaborated with Elton John. Sir Elton John. Justin Timberlake collaborated with Madonna and Timbaland.
Even though I am terrified that Madge could crush my head with one of her arms, um, I don’t even get that “4 Minutes” song. Do you get it?
Liar. You don’t either.
So. Elton John or Madonna?
Winner, Round Three: George Michael
Round Four:
George Michael was once arrested for soliciting sex in a bathroom. Justin Timberlake, as far as I know, has not been arrested.
So, it really depends on how you define winning, right? On one hand, experience. On the other hand, getting arrested is a drag (not that I’ve ever been arrested). If someone has another hand I can borrow for a second, which seems highly inappropriate, considering the present subject matter, soliciting sex in a bathroom is for skeevy closeted politicians, and I am anti-skeeve.
Winner, Round Four: Justin Timberlake
Round Four Point Five: (non-scoring round)
Also there was that one time when George Michael was so high that he passed out in traffic. Except it was more than one time. And come on dude. You can afford a driver.
Again, Justin Timberlake seems good at not getting arrested.
Round Five:
Sunglasses! (I’m reaching at this point.)
George Michael was into aviators back in the day.
Classic.
Justin Timberlake was into cornrows and… um.
Oh holy Jesus.
Winner, Round Five: George Michael
Round Six:
George Michael and Justin Timberlake have both made television appearances.
George Michael was on Eli Stone:
And Justin Timberlake has been on SNL roughly eleventy billion times (really why don’t they make him a cast member?) but this one:
Well. Dance biscuits. Also, Paul Rudd! Have I ever mentioned that I love him?
While it’s pretty cool to be someone’s brain tumor-induced delusion… DANCE BISCUITS. (Also don’t you love how that video says “www.thebeyoncenetwork.com” at the bottom?) Also, you know, Beyonce had the best video OF ALL TIME! So there’s that.
Winner, Round Six: Justin Timberlake
Anyway, looking at the numbers here, considering the fact that Round Two was a tie, it looks like George Michael wins by one point. Very close battle today, but winning is winning, so congratulations to Mr. Too Funky himself, George Michael, for being the awesomest.
So, I’ve been dutifully reading Cosmo and reporting on it for what feels like 100 years now, and I realized something as I was flipping through the current issue for the fourth time to find something to write about: I’m over it. Maybe I’m just grumpy and preoccupied with other things (I’m kind of busy and stressed for the next two weeks), but I can’t say that I feel like there’s anything to write about here. Go figure.
Wait, there’s this:
“Use Your Thong as a Hair Tie There are few things guys like more than long hair, women’s underwear, and sex. So combine all three!
If things are getting hot and heavy, stopping the action to go search for a ponytail holder will kill the mood. So instead, grab — or take off — your underwear. Simply fold the crotch up so that the thong forms an open circle, twist your hair into a low pony or bun, and use your panties like an elastic band to secure your locks.”
My first reaction was to look at the magazine and say “No.” I mean, aside from the fact that I’d rather just deal with my hair getting in the way because that’s what it does — my hair gets in the way, and it doesn’t even matter what I’m doing, and that’s life — than to stop and make a thong ponytail, I spent some time examining a pair of underwear for its potential effectiveness as a hair tie (green ones featuring reindeer with sparkly red noses — they’re obviously for the holiday season) and while indeed it does work, it feels much bulkier than, say, a rubber band. I can’t really deal with anything bulkier than a rubber band, because I like things the way I like them, and I just had a flashback to scrunchies. I am anti-scrunchie. (Scrunchy?) Furthermore, there’s this, more pressing, problem:
Even though it’s entirely different in every possible way, I was immediately reminded of that scene in Raising Arizona where Nicolas Cage is stealing Huggies and the guy just looks at him and says “Boy, you got a panty on your head.” (That may actually be my favorite line in that movie.) The mere thought of this cracks me up, and sexy times and uncontrollable laughter don’t necessarily mix so well, especially if it’s entirely one-sided and potentially involves snorting. I know this much is true.
Anyway, I thought since I didn’t feel like writing about any of the contents of this issue of Cosmo (aside from thong ponytails, that is), I would try something a little different. In this particular issue, even though most of the content failed to inspire me to snark, I kept noticing the ads. So at least there’s that. Here are 10 of them:
1. Calvin Klein Euphoria
Okay, I don’t really have much to say about this one, so way to kick things off with a bang, me. But aside from the fact that this includes samples and the guy version smells way better than the lady version (though neither made me feel euphoric), I know that when I’m experiencing euphoria, it’s like I’m in a giant purple dress and the wind is getting all molest-y with the skirt. It’s exactly like that. Way to go, Calvin Klein ad people.
2. Maybelline vibrating mascara
Okay, for one thing, I don’t want to use mascara with a vibrating wand, because I’m afraid that doing so would involve blood and howling “MY EYES! OH GOD! MY EYES! NOOOOO!” and I just don’t really need that in my life right now. But that tagline, “Now, vibration does what no hand can!” do you think it’s possibly some kind of clever reference to some other activity that can be done with, um, something that vibrates or a hand? Do you?
3. Bebe
Ride that cougar. That’s what she said. Zing!
4. London Fog
Okay, so Gisele Bündchen is naked under that coat. But I don’t know if it’s an angle thing or a retouching thing or what, but there seems to be something wrong with her hip. No? Doesn’t there? I don’t know. It’s weird.
5. Britney Perfume
I know Britney is all circus-themed now and whatnot, but this perfume? It smells like 100 old ladies trapped in an elevator. Not really my fantasy.
6. Dolce & Gabbana
There used to be this D&G perfume that I really liked, but I can’t remember what it was called. Anyway, I don’t have anything to say about this except it’s further proof that Scarlett Johansson never closes her mouth. I know she’s supposedly wicked hot and all or something but to me she looks like she might have a problem with drooling.
7. Tampax Pearl
Okay, before I switched over to the Diva Cup which some people think is horrifying but I find that it is the awesomest thing ever, at least in terms of making my period no big deal instead of something that makes me want to die, and I love that thing, I used Tampax Pearl tampons. They were a’ight. But when my period would start in the middle of the night and I’d wake up and think “Oh fucking hell,” I never really felt like Mother Nature was shining a spotlight in my face.
8. Beckham signature perfume/cologne
I know this is supposed to be a sexy photo of Posh & Becks, but instead it looks like this is happening the second before he goes full vampire on her, even though he’s not sparkly. And I suppose we could talk about sexuality and vampirism if you want, but you don’t want to talk about that and neither do I, so let’s move on.
9. Astroglide
Corn in the vagina!
10. Dolce & Gabbana, again
I just now noticed that this is the second D&G ad I’ve highlighted, which is neither here nor there, really, but when I look at this I sort of worry about Naomi Campbell throwing a phone at me. I know that’s illogical; it’s an ad, and she can’t possibly throw a phone at me from the confines of a printed piece of paper, and yet…. I’m scared. Hold me.
Moments ago, I was reading this article in the Guardian about how when Dan Brown’s new Robert Langdon thriller The Lost Symbol comes out in September it will save the world, or something. So Dan Brown is a superhero. Why does he look so pissed 1 in that photo, then?
Anyway, this sparked a random thought which I will share with you now:
I don’t really get Dan Brown. Like, I get that he writes books that get turned into movies starring Tom Hanks and all, because that’s fairly easy to understand. I read The Da Vinci Code and it blew, like, a lot, but I even get that there are worse books in the world and I suppose if you somehow managed not to figure out the major plot twist by the middle of the book, reading it could be a not completely horrible way to spend an afternoon. Kind of. But what I don’t get is how Dan Brown is a phenomenon. He’s like the Hannah Montana of literature. 2
But I think we all have these things. Pop culture phenomena that other people are so into that we just don’t get. (Or that we get on some level but don’t give a damn about.) Like LOST. Or Joss Whedon. Or American Idol. Or Lady Gaga. (Is it Lady GaGa?) 3 You get the idea.
So here’s my question: what are some of those pop cultural things that people talk about like they’re so great and you don’t get why? And you’re either not interested enough to check them out, or the more people talk to you about them the more determined you become never to find out what the fuss is about just because you’re stubborn, and SHUT UP ALREADY?
I have others, aside from not getting Dan Brown, so to kick things off, I will admit the one that makes people feel sorry for me, like I’m living in a cave of despair: I’ve never watched Buffy. Not one episode. I feel fine.
1. Pissed as in angry, not drunk. Though maybe he’s drunk too. I don’t know what Dan Brown’s drunkface looks like. Maybe he’s all “Oh hell, it’s raining and there are all these people behind me and WHERE ARE MY PANTS?” (Pants as in trousers, not underwear.) Anyway, put some damn pants on, son.
2. Just think about that for a little while.
3. I understand she’s popular and all, but are people really into Lady Gaga/GaGa?
I was in an emergency room yesterday. I took my mom because she essentially tripped over her own feet and landed in a hallway and thought maybe she broke some ribs. (Did I ever tell you about how graceful I am? Now you know who I get it from. Heh.) Turns out that she didn’t break anything, but has some bruised ribs which seems like a good time, if only because of the fact that they give you some painkillers for that and who doesn’t love painkillers? When I was 10, I had my tonsils removed and I turned out to be allergic to the painkiller they gave me (it made me barf, and barfing after a tonsillectomy: good times) so they put me on something else and I took one pill and spent 10 minutes staring at my hand, absolutely fascinated by the fact that whoa, dude, I can, like, move my fingers and I said to my mom, “Mom, I feel kind of funny,” and she replied “That’s because you’re high.” True story. Somehow that was supposed to be making a point about something.
Anyway, I’m glad my mom didn’t break her ribs and will better soon. Yay, mom!
But sitting in an emergency room is like being in Hell. In fact, had emergency rooms existed when Dante Alighieri wrote Inferno, I’m sure at least one of the circles of Hell would’ve been modeled after one, and it would’ve been all, “While Virgil and I were traipsing along through the bowels of Hell meeting up with people who were mean to me back in Florence, we entered a bright white room with a lot of chairs and couple of vending machines, you know, and there was this television stuck on CNN and everybody had to watch Wolf Blitzer. And they all needed stitches. Ha! Serves you right, bastards!”
Provided you’re not the one with the emergency and you’re just there offering support to the person with the emergency, sitting in an emergency room is SO BORING. I took a book with me (Pale Fire — you know, it doesn’t make for good hospital reading) by the time we got through the triage blabbity blah, we went back to this room that was very much similar to a standard doctor’s office room. And sometimes in ERs, they have TVs, but in this one? No. They were piping in music, however. So I got to listen to horrible hospital radio for three hours. (I sent a text to a friend when I got there and said “I’m guessing no less than 3 hours” and you know what? I WAS SO RIGHT. Three hours EXACTLY. This is one of those times I wish I hadn’t been right.) I mostly don’t remember any specific songs, or I don’t know titles anyway, but over the course of my three hours in ER hell, my brain would occasionally jerk itself out of that boredom-induced autopilot it sinks into during such occasions and think, “Wait, is this — yeah, Rob Thomas. Right.” Some other musicians I recognized:
– Del Amitri (Remember them? Are you impressed that I do? Not so much? Okay.)
– Deep Blue Something (“Breakfast at Tiffany’s” a.k.a. “Let’s break up. Wait, though. What about Breakfast at Tiffany’s? Oh yes, I remember that movie and we both thought that it was, you know, kind of alright. Well, I guess that means we have something in common after all. Let’s stay together.” a.k.a. WORST SONG EVER)
– Phil Collins
I understand that it’s just supposed to be background noise to drown out the sounds of people screaming “OH GOD, THERE’S SO MUCH BLOOD! AAAAAAHHHHHH!” (I mean, that’s it, right?) and that’s nice and all, but still. And is this a common practice, emergency room radio? And furthermore, is there someone who compiles these playlists, called something like “Songs guaranteed to make a person numb” or is it like a giant iPod, stuffed full of easy-listening and set on shuffle? Either way, someone has to do something to make it happen. I admit that I’m somewhat fascinated by the whole thing — what kind of job is this, and does the person who does this enjoy it?
Thoughts like these come from the “well I have to entertain myself somehow” part of my brain.
And I suppose it’s dumb, thinking that there’s one person responsible for all the dull emergency room music. It’s kind of like… remember when you used to be able to call a number and be told what time it is? (I know it doesn’t exist around here anywhere anymore, but is that still available in other places?) When I was a kid, I used to call it up and think that there was a real lady on the other end of the phone with a clock, reading the time to me, and I thought that would be a good job. Yep. When I grew up, I wanted to be the Time Lady.
And now that I’ve gotten so entirely far away from my point, whatever it really was, I suppose it’s a good time to stop. Happy Friday and whatnot.
Say you’re on a blind date. 1 You have to find something to talk about, right? There are some universally-accepted topics, that range from the safe and boring (weather, traffic) 2 to the potentially hatred-inducing (religion, politics). 3 In the middle are those other topics, the ones that can turn into conversational goldmines or gateways to deadly silences (movies, television, music, books, hobbies). Just as you may find a connection over your mutual interests in difficult literature and Top Chef, you are equally as likely to find out that one of you thinks Ernest Hemingway wrote Jonathan Livingston Seagull and has never seen The Cowbell Sketch. 4 It’s dangerous, this dating business.
Anyway, it can be difficult, talking about your entertainment preferences, especially if, when people ask you what kind of music you like, you answer “Oh, everything!” I understand that answer. It’s probably a lie, 5 but I understand it. It’s because people judge. And who wants to be judged for listening to Britney Spears while driving? 6
I get it.
Anyway, we all have our types. I’m still not entirely certain how I would define my type, but I know it when I see it. And I think a large part of what constitutes a type is the ability to connect over the types of things that interest us. This isn’t exactly news. But, you know, it makes life easier if you like the same kinds of things, so you don’t end up having to fight over the radio while you’re going places together. 7 Stuff like that.
But while it’s true that it’s possible to learn a lot about others based on what kinds of music, books, TV shows (et cetera) they like, or at the very least, it’s possible to learn what kinds of music, books, TV shows (et cetera) they like, sometimes it can be challenging to talk about these things. “What kinds of movies do I like? Uh, the ones with the people and the talking? I don’t know.” Yeah. Well, I happened to be clicking around Netflix the other day, and I don’t know if this is a relatively new thing or not, but I finally paid attention to the recommendations it was giving me. Now, I know that Netflix always gave me recommendations based on my viewing choices and whether or not I liked these movies, but when did they start with the groupings by genre with the crazy titles? Don’t know what I mean? Here’s a list 8 of the types of movies Netflix thinks I will enjoy:
Critically-acclaimed suspenseful crime movies
Visually-striking cerebral dramas
Witty movies directed by Woody Allen
Quirky independent comedies
Visually-striking exciting dramas
Dark political documentaries
Critically-acclaimed dark movies based on real life
Crime thrillers from the 1950s
Exciting independent dramas
Oh, I know.
Other than the fact that this list reads like the dumbest Mad Libs ever, I feel like Netflix is trying to tell me something. I don’t really know what, but something. Unfortunately I didn’t pay attention to any of the actual movie recommendations, because I was too fascinated with these genre names, but still, this is an entertaining list. Critically-acclaimed dark movies based on real life? What about the cheesy, emotionally-manipulative, based-on-a-true-story movies that usually involve a teacher or a coach who REALLY CARES and everybody overcomes adversity, and this aforementioned adversity overcoming is proved when the team wins the big game or the misfits do a spectacular dance number and somehow your heart grows three sizes even while you resent the fact that the movie is manipulating you? 9 I fall for those every time. Well, not every time, but a lot of the time. Yeah. WHAT ABOUT THOSE? And how about movies where things blow up and Bruce Willis says “yippee ki yay, motherfucker” because I love Die Hard. 10
Anyway, the point is that this genre list? It kind of makes me sound like an asshole. Whether or not I actually am an asshole is entirely debatable. 11 If anyone were to ask me, I’d probably say sometimes yes, sometimes no, and we all have our moments, don’t we?
The point is this: if I happened to be interested in someone and he were to ask me what kind of movies I like and I replied, “Visually-striking cerebral dramas,” his response would tell me everything I needed to know so that I could make a proper judgment of whether or not to date this guy. I can’t share with you what I deem to be the correct reaction in this scenario because that would be telling, but think about it. 12 “Visually-striking cerebral dramas” sounds an awful lot like meaningless pretentious babble that is actually amazingly dumb, does it not? That’s because — let’s face it — it totally is. And the theory that I invented sometime during the course of writing this post is that if you put all other stuff aside — you both like the same books, you share an enjoyment of quoting Omar Little from The Wire, 13 you both really like that one band nobody’s ever heard of, you tend to agree on politics, and so forth — one of the most important things is how a person reacts to you when you are blindingly stupid. 14 And one of the best ways to be blindingly stupid is obviously to say completely meaningless things in an attempt at sounding like you know what you’re talking about. And while I can think of several ways to do that, it’s always nice to have a list to work from, so in short, thanks, Netflix. You’re swell.
________________________________________________________
1. Go on, say it.
2. “Yeah, so it was raining earlier, and now it’s not. How about that?”
3. “I hope you have a fun time realizing how WRONG YOU ARE when you’re BURNING IN HELL. More wine?”
4. No, I’m never getting over that.
5. I have a pretty diverse collection, or at least I think it is, but there are still things that people can play that make me want to shove a knife in my ears. Anything by Shania Twain, for instance. (And is she even still around or did she die or something? I can’t say I keep up with these things.) Speaking of Shania Twain, do you remember the 90s? Or maybe it was the early 00s, when VH1 did this series of concerts called “Divas” that was simultaneously horrible and awesome? And one such show included Shania Twain, Celine Dion, Gloria Estefan, Mariah Carey and Aretha Franklin? And then at the end Mariah Carey tried to out-diva Aretha Franklin and Aretha Franklin was all “Bitch, please” and then proceeded to own her? You probably don’t remember it, and that’s okay, but it just serves as a reminder that I can’t remember important things, but stuff like this sticks in my brain forever.
6. You can judge me all you want. I listen to Britney Spears sometimes while I’m driving. I’m not apologetic about it, either, because oh, Britney Spears is terrible? You don’t say.
7. “I have a plan. Let’s listen to nothing but Radiohead for the entirety of this 10-hour road trip and see if we can reach our destination instead of driving off a cliff. It’ll be awesome!”
8. Does Netflix do this for you as well? What are some of the weird genres it suggests to you?
9. I will watch Remember the Titans every time I find it on cable, even if I only catch it after it’s 3/4 of the way over.
10. Why yes, I do own the box set. My mom got it for me a couple of Christmases ago, because my mom, she knows me so well. Die Hard may actually be my favorite Christmas movie.
11. No, really.
12. Go on, think about it.
13. “You come at the king, you best not miss.” Eternal wisdom, Omar.
14. Feel free to shoot holes in this theory; I only thought it up this morning. But the more I think about it, the more sound it seems to me.
Here are my thoughts on this delightful commercial, provided here with notes on which moment in the commercial I thought them:
0:01 — Hi, Vince.
0:05 — I’m gonna be in a great mood all day because I’m gonna be slapping my troubles away. With the Slap Chop. Aside from the obvious inference that slapping things is a mood elevator (and I think we can go ahead and perceive that euphemistically if we’d like), I’m not sure I can say that I’ve ever thought of un-chopped vegetables as things that are ruining my life.
0:08 — If I slap a potato once, I’ll have big chunks for stew. But if I slap it twice, I can have home fries! You know, call me crazy, but this looks more inconvenient than just using a knife.
0:12 — I will never add a mushroom.
0:13 — The more you do it, the finer it gets. That’s really true about so many things, isn’t it?
0:17 — Granted, cutting up a lot of vegetables to make a salad can be time-consuming.
0:19 — Hello pizza? With a baby carrot, a chunk of celery and a radish? CARROTS DON’T GO ON PIZZA.
0:25 — Boring tuna = boring life. Got it.
0:26 — And now we’re delving into the exciting world of the split-screen. Fancy!
0:30 — For people who eat egg salad (I do not ever, because, um, no) I suppose slapping a mini gherkin would be much easier than using a spoonful of relish.
0:33 — I can add the ham.
0:34 — Actually I do have time to make breakfast, because I’ve never been particularly challenged by pouring cereal into a bowl or opening a container of yogurt. Be that as it may, explain to me how a chopped hard-boiled egg, pickle and green onion, combined with what appears to be less than a third of a piece of paper-thin-sliced ham constitutes breakfast. I understand that people eat all kinds of things for the most important meal of the day, but really? Do you then put that chopped up amalgamation of awfulness on a plate with some toast? Or do you also add the toast and slap that together with the egg/pickle/onion/ham combination to blend everything together into an unrecognizable pulp? And why do I have the song “Smack My Bitch Up” stuck in my head right now? Dammit.
0:36 — I can have an exciting life now.
0:38 –”You’re gonna love my nuts.” Whether that’s euphemistic or literal, he is so wrong.
0:41 — A one-finger application to the nuts, eh?
0:43 — They’re gonna charge a dollar for toppings at the ice cream stores, because ice cream stores are brazen that way. But with this amazing product, you can get your fingered nuts for free.
0:44 — What about fruit?
0:45 — “Put a mango.” That’s not even a complete sentence. And he’s blatantly disregarding the strawberry.
0:49 — “Isn’t that beautiful on your ice cream?” I don’t know but it’s absolutely breathtaking on the countertop there, Vince. I especially appreciate how the strawberry sparkles.
0:53 — It pops open in three easy steps. And then you can clean the hell out of it.
0:57 — You can’t pop open other choppers. He looks angry about this.
0:58 — Over the shoulder and into the sink. I’m impressed.
1:02 — He left the skin on that garlic? What a rebel.
1:06 — Okay. The onion with the skin. It’s already chopped in half, of course, because there’s no way anyone would ever fit a whole onion into that thing. This means two things: one, you already have to use a knife so why bother getting something else dirty, and two, if the onion is chopped in half you can just pull the skin right off of it.
1:10 — Wait, the Slap Chop can guarantee that I won’t cry anymore?
1:14 — Do people really use food processors just to chop onions? Honest question.
1:17 — We’re gonna make America skinny again. Right. Let’s review the food dear Vince has Slap Chopped so far: a potato to make home fries, a carrot and a piece of celery and a radish for salad or pizza (mmhmm), a chunk of tuna mixed with aforementioned carrot/celery/radish mixture to make tuna salad which is something people typically mix with mayonnaise, a hard-boiled egg and a pickle and a piece of green onion to make egg salad which is again something people typically mix with mayonnaise, all that egg salad stuff mixed with ham for the worst breakfast ever, nuts and fruit to go on ice cream, garlic and onions. While none of these things are inherently unhealthy, the suggestions for use aren’t exactly directed toward the wisest choices possible either.
1:21 — And then after that whole bit about making America skinny again, here comes the special offer for the cheese grater. It’s called the Graty.
1:26-1:29 — “Tacos, fettuccine, linguine, martini, bikini.” Oh Vince, you poet. Grated cheese for tacos, sure. Fettuccine and linguine, okay. Martini? Dear lord no. And as for that bikini thing, no matter how I imagine it — a bikini made of cheese, or a bikini full of cheese — it’s just wrong.
1:40 — I feel a special offer coming on.
1:42 — Oh, we’re so close to the special offer! I can only get it within the next 20 minutes (I know, you can’t do this all day). I’m so excited!
1:44 — I CAN GET THE GRATY ABSOLUTELY FREE! Cheese bikinis, here I come! But wait, didn’t you just special offer me the Graty back at 1:21? Allow me to rewind and check. Yes, you said “If you buy the Slap Chop, we’re gonna give you the Graty for cheese.” If you say you’re gonna give it to me, that means it’s a gift. So we’re not really covering any new ground, are we? No.
1:45 — Just pay for processing! What kind of cheapskate are you? Giving me a present and then making me pay for processing. The nerve.
1:46 — Here’s how to order. Punk.
1:54 — A foldable cutting board? Do wonders never cease?
So I went to the Slap Chop website, and aside from the fact that it forced me to do this:
I noticed two things. First, I noticed that if I ordered through the website, I could get two Slap Chops and two Gratys for the price of one! You know, in case I want to do it two-handed. Second, shipping and handling is $7.95, which I’d have to pay twice, you know, because god forbid they put both Slap Chops in one box, so really, instead of paying $19.95, I actually would have to pay something like $35.85, probably plus tax.
Oh. One more thing. The fine print:
The Slap Chop is a manual chopper machine that works when you slap the plunger part. Every slap triggers the 3 blades below to chop and cut the food. [Chop AND cut. Not just chopping, not just cutting.] The more you slap the Slap Chop, the finer the food gets. Today you can get the Slap Chop and Graty for just $19.95 plus $7.95 shipping and handling. [Hallelujah!] But that’s not all! You’ll also get a 2nd Slap Chop and Graty set for FREE, just pay $7.95 to cover the shipping and handling fee! [You're so generous!] The Graty for cheese comes with 2 blades, fine and coarse. Place any kind of cheese in the container, turn and press the black top twister and the cheese comes right out for omelets, salads and pasta. [Don't forget the martinis and the bikinis.] The Slap Chop and the Graty for cheese both come with a 3 year warranty and are both dish washer safe. [That's a relief.]
I just spent about an hour going through a bunch of posts in Google Reader, and there are 98 left. It’s down from over 300 yesterday, but you know, sometimes there is just too much internet. Still, I finally got around to this, and it made me happy. Nothing like a little William Carlos Williams joke to make my day brighter.
And in other literary nerd news, I read about an online Ulysses graphic novel. The purpose is to make Ulysses more accessible and less frightening. The people behind the project say “…it kills us that it has gotten the reputation for being inaccessible to everyone besides the English professors who make their careers teaching the book to future English professors who will make their careers doing the same.” I’ve read Ulysses (well, mostly… I did skim parts), and even now, I have conflicting feelings about it. I think I would’ve enjoyed it more if it hadn’t been so long, because it wasn’t really so terribly difficult. Sure, it took some getting used to, but eventually I fell into its rhythm. I think a person could easily spend a lifetime studying the book; there’s a lot of stuff in there, and I’m sure I didn’t catch it all. In fact, I know that as I read, I’d notice some things, and I’d pretty much say “Ah,” and move on, whereas if I had been studying the book, I’d have noted them more carefully. But I don’t think the book has to be studied — it is possible to read it and follow the main narrative threads and have a worthwhile experience. And besides, how many other books do you know of that get an annual holiday? Anyway, all of that to say, yay, pictures!
I’m going to do some stuff later. Well, mainly just the one thing. I’m going to a graduation open house for this kid, and you guys, I remember when he was born. I remember when his parents got married. I feel old.
In other news, I got an email from Julie last weekend, informing me of the following ad:
She kindly took a photo of it for me, which I have obviously posted above. I posted a small version of the photo, so I don’t know if you can read it all. If you can’t, it says, “IN AN ABSOLUT WORLD TRUE TASTE COMES NATURALLY.” (Har har.) And it also says “ALL ABSOLUT FLAVORS ARE MADE WITH NATURAL INGREDIENTS.” And then the artwork is…. um, ladyparts inferno? (Not to be confused with “Disco Inferno.” Or Dante’s Inferno.) I’ve seen one of these before, but it involved a lemon vagina. Tart! Ahem. Anyway, I fired up the Google and noted that Absolut says this ad series is called “Streams” and nobody ever mentions that they went all Georgia O’Keeffe with things. The ad makes my brain go in so many directions that I’m a bit overwhelmed, so much so that I’m not sure I can write complete sentences about it. My brain is all “VAGINA FRUIT VODKA ORGASM STOP IT NOW I’M NOT KIDDING.” So I’m not about to tempt the impending aneurysm, but out of all the things I think when I see this ad, not a single one of them is “Gosh, I wish I had some vodka right about now.” So, I guess that means you fail, Absolut.
And finally, one of the things I know for sure, since I’ve been going through what feels like approximately ninety million blog posts is that a lot of people are writing about Michael Jackson lately. And though my interest in him waned as I got older, when I was a kid, he was the coolest ever. I would listen to his songs on my little blue record player and I would dance around the house. Probably not well, because I can’t say that dancing has ever been one of my skills, but it didn’t matter because I knew how to have a good time. I had an orange t-shirt that said “THRILLER” in silver sparkly letters, and I wore it ALL THE TIME, so I was obviously awesome. If I had a photo of me in that beloved shirt, I’d share it with you, but alas, I do not. I’ve dug up a few of his songs and listened to them over the past day or so and you know? I still love them. When I first read the news of his passing, I felt like a part of my childhood was gone, but I also know that’s not true: I can still listen to those songs and dance around badly if I want. And I’m sure I will. I guess all that’s left to say is that Michael Jackson didn’t seem to have a very happy life, and he didn’t even really seem to like himself very much, if all that plastic surgery is evidence, but he was a hell of an entertainer, probably one of the greatest pure entertainers of all time, so despite all the squicky things about him that gave us pause, his ability was worth something, and when I was a kid living in the projects, proudly wearing my orange t-shirt that said “THRILLER” in silver sparkly letters, he brought me some joy. I know he brought joy to countless others as well, and I hope that finally, he’s found some peace.
Now seems like a good time to get on with my Saturday. Have a good one, kittens.
Look, I know it’s not news that American Apparel ads are creepy, and looking at them sort of feels uncomfortable, like when you’re at the store late at night buying tampons and Snickers and…oh, let’s say batteries, and the cashier dude, who of course has a 70s pornstache and slightly brown teeth, leers at you while he rings everything up. Maybe he also asks if you like going for rides in sweet vans; he’s got a van and hey, he just put some really nice shag carpet in the back. You know what I mean. But yesterday, Caryn emailed me this:
The file, by the way, is called “creepy zipper nerd.” I mean, that’s what Caryn called it. I figured you should know. I responded that it was like, and I quote, “Velma from Scooby Doo porn.” Well. It is. Zoinks.
The thing is, I’m largely immune to American Apparel ads. I don’t ever really look at them, having learned my lesson about how looking at them makes me feel gross, but then I couldn’t help myself and I ended up looking at this:
Aside from the fact that I thought for a second that I was seeing her pubes before I realized that it was actually a visible swath of what must be a thong bodysuit (comfortable!), I feel incensed. Not about how there seems to be an unnecessary amount of ass cheeks in this ad, or about how her leg positioning makes me think of hieroglyphics — like come and get it, Egyptian style — but about what it’s selling. Scrunchies? IS IT 1992? Just stop it, American Apparel. STOP IT.
Okay, I kid. Sort of. I mean, scrunchies are terrible. Oh sure, I used to wear them all the time, back when I was a braces-wearing pre-teen. I liked to coordinate them with my t-shirts. I’d usually do a low, sideswept ponytail and gigantic bangs. I was so stylish. Let’s not talk about this anymore, because it is making me uncomfortable to mention my pre-teen self in the context of a post about American Apparel ads.
On one hand, I guess the ads are effective, because hey, people talk about them, even if the conversations are something along the lines of:
“So I saw this American Apparel ad and it made me feel like I needed a shower, and speaking of showers, why do the models always look slightly greasy? Is looking like you don’t bathe regularly just one of those hipster douchebag things I don’t understand, or is everybody supposed to look like they just had hot nasty sweaty sex and then put on some tights?”
“Yes.”
But on the other hand, yeah, I really don’t want to see the shag carpeting in anybody’s sweet van, and just give me my change, perv. You know?
