Ad Nauseum? Funny.

I am glad that I live in the modern era that we enjoy today.  I get the reap the benefits of other people's innovations and the convenience that they bring.

For example, I now watch television almost exclusively on Netflix (it's eight bucks a month, people, get on board) or off my PVR (expensive hit at first, but I don't know how we lived before).  This means that I no longer watch stuff just to fill time until what I really want to watch is on, and it also means that I view FAR less commercials.  Those commercials that I do watch are usually in fast forward.

When I'm out of town, or not paying attention, or watching a live event that would be ruined if I waited to watch it, I see commercials like in the "olden days".

You know what's a super weird word?  "Olden".

 

Television advertisements seem to all operate on the premise that the average viewer is a complete and utter moron, who has no idea how to accomplish any task of any kind at any time without total guidance and a lot of product purchasing.

I don't know who this poor sap John is, but someone thinks he's pretty stupid.

The people who write commercials also seem to think that we soil ourselves really, really regularly, in all sorts of fairly colourful ways.  For example, this:

 

 That's not what happens.

Or this:

  

Get it?  His tide to go pen leaked.  And made him clean.

 

Or this:

Ever wonder where his hat went?  Yeah, me too.

It all makes me want to act precisely as the people in the ads do- like doorknobs who are saved from their otherwise horrible life by some magical product that solves everything.

I WILL spill beet juice all over myself, wander around a trade show and appear to be a murderer (have you seen that one??  The guy is wearing a butcher apron and the resolve bimbos wash him clean, he claims he's covered in beet juice but I'm pretty sure that they have just concealed important evidence).

I WILL be embarrassed by my heaving, exposed bosom and regain my dignity by wearing a tiny scrap of fabric instead of a properly fitting shirt.

PS. This looks like a set of tiny thong underwear for men.

I WILL wander into a room full of rotting corpses and exclaim that in fact, it DOES smell like a spring breeze!  If I was walking though a field next to a slaughterhouse on a hot day while carrying a bag of untreated manure!

Who would DO this?  Put a strange object up to your nose and inhale deeply...sounds like a recipe for chloroform-induced coma.

There are a lot of claims out there about the power of advertising.  I tend to think that generally speaking, commercials that pander to me like I'm a brainless sack of crap make me AVOID the products they are hawking.  I know that I've seen ads that have made me boycott brands entirely.

I never bought any of this garbage before, but I certainly won't be tempted given the marketing strategies of this particular company.

Anyway, I just think it would be funny if we acted like the consumers in ads do...fighting over dishwasher detergent...yelling at the KFC guy...touching other people's laundry on the street....  But I have to say that my life energy is better spent getting right to the quality programming I have prerecorded for my viewing pleasure.

Moral of this story:

On the right: Abercrombie CEO.  He says ugly people shouldn't wear his clothes.  Fat people neither.

It is truly outstanding that by chance, in the wonderful world of google searching, I managed to sneak in two LOR related memes in a post about television commercials.  Nice one, interwebs.

Gettin' Crafty? Funny.

This episode brought to you by: LAZINESS. I can't be bothered to get up and retrieve my computer, which is as much as twenty steps away (several of them stairs), so I'll take the easy route and type this on my phone. Wait...what?
This will result in you being deprived of many of the more interesting and humorous aspects of this blog- boldface font, different type sizes....stolen images from the Internet...nothing like a little plagiarism to delight the senses, eh?
WELL NOT TODAY, friends. No. Instead, you will be treated to an ill-spelled, oddly punctuated and PICTURELESS entry, riddled with the occasional gratuitous use of CAPS LOCK.

It's a bit funny to say that I'm being lazy in this entry (it's a bit funny...isn't that the point?), since this tiny touch screen typing is really pretty time consuming, but also because I am going to tell you about a rather tedious, but also fun, activity that I participate in with some friends.

We engage in craft night every few weeks. We paint, build and cross-stitch. We drink tea and chit chat. We make many jokes about elderly people, most of them having something to do with how damned hard cross-stitch is on the eyes and fingers and what the HELL are old people thinking???

Craft night is not just enjoyable time spent with good friends. It's also a place ripe with hilarious potential.

I've started to make many of my gifts for people. Given my level of skill in most crafts (beginner, with a side of apathy and a healthy serving of attention deficit), this is already funny. I once painted a picture for a wedding present. It was a real dickhead thing to do- for one, I'm not great at painting. Two, they certainly didn't put "crappy half-ass painting" on their registry. Three, in my head, it was going to be really nice. When it wasn't (big effing surprise), I didn't do the right thing and get them a nice set of towels; I gave it to them anyway. Along with an apologetic safeway gift card.

That, in itself, is only sort of funny. It's more jerky than funny.

What was funny was when that couple came to our wedding, and gave us a gift (which we still have, mind you- one step above my shitty painting, I'm sure) which came with a warning that it has the potential to burn our house to the ground. I think the message was fairly clear...I gave them a terrible painting, and they gave us a paperweight thing that could kill us. I deserved exactly that present- well played.

I'm a little more focused these days and the quality of my handmade "goods" (averages? mediocres?) has improved to the point that I'm not terribly ashamed. But I'm by no means an expert, so there's certainly still the "Handmade by Heather" special touch in all of them, and I don't pass up opportunities to infuse my idea of humour into them, too.

So if, perchance, your birthday approaches, or your second anniversary, or some other worthy event- and I like you enough to A) know about it and B) care, you just might find yourself the proud new owner of a swell cross-stitch bookmark with your face on it.

Isn't that nice?

Moral of this story: If I come to your wedding, and I bring you anything other than an envelope, I apologize...but the crafting bug bit me and the only cure is more shit painting.

Karay-OK? Funny.

I love karaoke.  I don't know if this is some kind of genetic thing, deeply rooted in Asian culture (karaoke- not just for the Japanese!) or if it's more from my father, who used to sing and whistle along with just about every song he blared on the cassette deck back in the 80s and 90s in my formative years.  In any case, I love it, despite my shortcomings in the talent department.

I knew for sure when I saw a dude wearing this tshirt during my latest performance.

I don't think that karaoke is meant to be done spectacularly.  Every time I go, with the exception of when I've been to the private rooms that you share with only your friends, there is some schmo there who has brought his/her (surprisingly, more often his) own CD and sings along with it perfectly.  It's as if this person expects that one day, in this ramshackle crap bar with its sticky floors, uninspired host, peeling wallpaper and dim lighting, a famous agent from some big label will be listening for the next big thing, and they want to be prepared for that moment.  That glorious, glorious moment.

...practice your Journey solo.  Over and over and over.

You know that they sit around and practice.  One does not go to karaoke with one's own CD and not have it rehearsed.

It's not unpleasant, listening to someone who is good at singing whatever song it is they have practiced every night for the last five years.  It's actually pretty decent.  But it's not karaoke.

If I wanted professional music, I would shell out a little more than nothing and go see a concert.  Nope, I came for the cheap booze, the sloppy atmosphere and the amateur entertainment.

And if I'm lucky, to see my little bro spit tequila on a hooker.

The point of karaoke is not to be an expert.  It's to be an enthusiastic no-talent bum.  Now, I'm not saying that all things karaoke are delightful.  It's downright painful to go and watch someone who doesn't know the words.  This is ludicrous, because they come up on the screen in front of you.  So one can only surmise that the poor person is illiterate, which is too bad.  It's something that is afflicting more and more of the adult population, it would seem...a greater number of people every day seem unable to recognize such symbols as the following:

 

 

 

...which is why I feel that I'm really making a difference being a teacher and telling my students that they better respect the signs, and if they don't, I will hunt them down and make them pay.

"I KNOW you know how to count to 13, boy!  Now get the hell outta line!!!"

The greatest moments I've experienced at karaoke involve someone performing a song with such gusto that the entire crowd is on board.  Bob is pretty much a master of this, because of

Bob's rules of karaoke

1. Bob will not perform a song unless he knows it.  At least, thinks he knows it.  

2. Bob will not perform a song unless he thinks it's hilarious.  Which means, it's hilarious.

3. Bob will not perform a song unless he has a dance to accompany said song.  He's a showman, what can I say.

4. Bob will not perform a song alone, but he damn well won't share that microphone with you once he's up there, either.

When we went on the cruise to Alaska, we were two of about two people under the age of 50 on board.  The activities director was about our age and had put together a bunch of stuff that people might have liked to do, had it not interfered with their pill-taking and napping schedule.  So when we saw on the itinerary that there was a pub crawl followed by karaoke in the dance hall, we were signed up immediately.  Us, and about 3 other cruisers, all of whom sipped their drinks and made comments about how refreshing the beverages were, then passed them down to us...who were happy to polish them off.  Drinks on the cruise were not free.

By the time we arrived at karaoke, we may have lost 2 of our pub crawl mates along the way and we were properly drunk.  Bob chose "Play That Funky Music (White Boy)", the sound cut out halfway, we did it acapella.  It probably wasn't as good as I remember it being, but I remember it being AMAZING.

Probably something like this!!!

That's the sort of thing that's supposed to happen at karaoke, my friends.  You go, you drink, you make merry, you cheer when some half-drunk girl stumbles up there and hollers out a cuss-laden version of "I Will Survive" and you all join in on a make-the-words-up-as-you-go rendition of "Bohemian Rhapsody". complete with a hefty helping of this:

So I propose unto thee...as I have done, so many a time while brainstorming ideas for social gatherings...let's go singing.

Moral of this story: Don't feed Tim tequila, unless you have an extra couple hundred bucks for the aftermath.  That shit ain't free!  RUN!!!

Because it might be your last chance.

It's another one where I'm not feeling funny.  And again, if you want to skip it, go ahead.  But I noticed that last time I wrote one where I was feeling introspective rather than hilarious I had more reads than any other entry...so perhaps, as you may have done last time, read on.

 One of my students is no longer going to come to school.

It's because she is afraid of other people there.  Other students.  Kids.

Other kids have made her feel badly about herself.  We, the adults, didn't manage to make it a safe place for her, for one reason or another, and now she isn't coming back.

I don't have a lot of understanding of how this all came to pass.  I don't understand, not because I didn't see people treating her poorly, not because I didn't see her slowly deteriorating, not because there weren't warning signs...but because I don't understand how children can be so cruel to each other.  I don't understand how her light, her brilliance, her spirit did not shine enough for them to see and for them to embrace.

She is a remarkable young person and I don't know what's going to happen to her.

I once told her that she is the one I talk about to my husband and say "She's going to do something important.  She's incredible."

Now she doesn't even want to come to school.

I feel guilty, because I didn't manage to say anything to her that made her want to stay.  I feel guilty because I didn't make school an environment that she felt comfortable in.  I know that it's not "my" fault.  I know that I can't "save" everyone, and it would be ridiculous for me to think that I am SO important in her life that whatever I did would have a big enough impact on her to change her way of thinking.

But I still feel guilty.

I also feel scared.  I have met hundreds of children over the years.  Some make a very lasting impression...usually those who have some sort of trouble, some sort of personal crisis that I become involved with in some way.  I think back on those children and I wonder what has happened to them.  Did they manage to come out of those depths and find themselves at the surface?  Or did they sink into oblivion, forget every reason to keep trying and disappear?  I am scared that this person, this very young girl, is going to disappear and be lost to all of us forever.  Losing any child is a horrible waste. Losing this child is horrifying me.

I don't know how to fix it.  I am not under the impression that it is my responsibility, or my place, or my destiny or anything like that.  But I definitely feel like someone needs to remind this girl that she is important and she is special and she is worth whatever we can give.

I hope I haven't missed my chance to do what I can in her life.  I hope that I can still look her in the eye and tell her that she is better than she feels right now.  I hope that anyone who has the chance to make another person feel like they are worth it- like they are special, like they are wanted, like they are loved- will do it.  Don't miss your chance and find out that the person is gone.  Do it now.  Tell them.