Holiday Cheer & Commercials

I love Christmas so much.  Am such a dork, really.  I love decorating the tree, putting up lights, non-mall-parking-lot-shopping, trying to get other people to bake cookies for me, TNT's all-day marathon of A Christmas Story, and of course, presents.  And then two days later, birthday presents!

And then it's all over for me, for a whole year. Boo.  Poor, poor Christmas baby.

So in the spirit of over-compensation, I milk the entire month of December for all it's worth. So who am I to complain about holiday commercialism?

A girl with a blog and a deep-rooted need to complain, that's who.

There are certain holiday commercials that show up every freaking year and They Must Be Destroyed.  They're the "you-know-it's-Christmas-when..." in the worst possible way.  Like, I kinda look forward to the Staples Back-To-School commercial with the dad prancing around the store to "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" (now that the back-to-school season no longer applies to me, anyway).  And I accept the inevitable increase in ads for electric razors and lottery tickets (seriously? people give those? lame!). 

But then there's the Body Fantasies ads.  These commercials get heavy rotation every December (in fact I'm not sure I've ever seen them anytime else), and they are So Bad.  There are at least three of them, one for the ladies and two for the men. Or vice versa.  I can't really tell who the hell would watch these and think that drugstore-level fruity-smelling body sprays are the perfect holiday gift. The one for the ladies' spray is going for a sensitive-yet-highly-sexual-earth-mother thing. Gentle water imagery, flowers and implied vaginas, typical crap. PSA to Men: Women don't want this stuff. Go to Bath & Body Works, The Body Shop or Sephora. Spend money, get laid.

Then there are two for the Bod Men (Man?) spin-off product. "Nice Bod!  Great Bod!  I want your Bod!" a female groans over strictly homoerotic footage of shirtless sweaty men playing basketball or shirtless sweaty men playing guitars.  Thumping techno manly beats.  Nice Bod?  Seriously, even with the recent 80s revival, that phrase is NOT making a comeback.  Neither is the totally gnarly crimped hair the girl groupie is sporting in the men-playing-guitars variation.

So while the Body Fantasies ads are going for cool and failing miserably, the cha-cha-cha-Chia Pet ads are camp and know they're camp, but I'm still sick of them. Everyone knows that Chia pets are like, the worst gift ever to anyone outside of dissaffected high school students who are looking for a super-cheap gift but want one that at least has some irony or kitsch-factor to it. 

The Chia herb garden is kinda cool, but lately I can't watch the commercial without thinking that the ad was filmed so long ago, the kindly Grandma in it is probably dead.  And the kids in the basic Chia Pet ad are really homely trolls in sherbert-colored sweaters.  And doesn't it seem like every year they try to hype the same "new" design--the Chia Head or the Chia Tweety Bird?  (Oh, I stand corrected. This year's new design is the Scooby-Doo head, hot on the heels of the moderately successful blockbuster of 2002.)

I guess Chia Pet still doesn't land the lucrative movie tie-in deals. Though I'm surprised they didn't get The Cat in the Hat...they're whoring Dr. Suess out to any cheap product that sat still this year. Mops, cereal, Burger King ornaments, Oreos, enemas, you name it.

The last commercials that must go away are the Lexus commercials.  You know the ones--strictly nuclear yet properly multicultural rich people surprise each other with bow-topped luxury cars.  Oh, consumerism!  Debt!  Extended financing!  You shouldn't have!  I always lose it when the parents give one to their daughter. That's just so wrong. And yet I wonder, if I did decide to buy Jason a Lexus this year, would the dealership really give me a big red bow?  Cuz that's a good deal right there. 

If anybody doesn't know what to get me, just put the big red bow on a big box of money.  Two days later, repeat.

I'm Not A Survivor, But I Play One On TV

Ok, everybody MUST go read Television Without Pity's recaplet of last night's episode of Survivor, which was like, the best thing EVER.  The full recap should be a hoot, since the recaplet includes the best sentence ever written about Burton. "He is seriously the tooliest tool that ever tooled."  My god, that's literary genius.

I won't even attempt to describe Burton after that.  Jon?  Hate him with every fiber of my being, which makes me hate him even more because he's not worth spending that kind of emotional energy on.  My only hope is that after his 15 minutes as Johnny Fairplay/Rotten/Fuckface are up, he'll never get laid again because the entire female population has seen just how repulsive he really is.

Lil?  A self-righteous pipsqueak. I want her to go away.

Darrah?  No personality to speak of, and an annoying voice to boot.  But three immunity wins in a row?  Damn, don't mess with tiny Southern morticians, y'all.

Sandra?  Loved her at first, then not so much. Started out the ep on a low point by threatening to sabotage the camp in a babyish tantrum hissyfit.  But how could you not root for the girl who gave us the classic Jon-sound-bite: "He's an ass" and was the only contestant who seemed to realize that the Dead Granny Fairplay story was bogus?  Plus, I think she's pretty.

So in summary: Boo Burton, go away Lil, tentative golf claps for Darrah and Sandra, and Jon is the douchiest douche that ever douched.

The Morning After the Morning After

Alcohol and I made up last night, even though I tried to hold a grudge.  The free wine had me at hello.

I really behaved quite well at the company holiday party, except for one burst of giddiness at the end when I moved my nametag from my jacket to my ass. (Seemed to be where all the drunk men of the company were looking anyway, so it made sense at the time.) 

Anyway, good times.  Hangover-free this morning, ready to edit the best dang financial newsletter ever and be the perfect pretty picture of professionalism and poise. 

Do you think five chocolate-covered expresso beans is too many for breakfast?  I swear I can feel my eyeballs vibrating.

Amalah Rocks, Sort Of

Before we begin—a question: Alcohol, old friend, why so cruel? Good god.  I am death on toast today.

And now for today’s scintillating topic: the CDs currently in the six-disc changer in my car.

Disc One: Barenaked Ladies. Everything to Everyone. BNL has become one of the bands that I’ll buy anything from.  Bought this one without hearing a single song on it, and it’s exactly what I expected. Silly, poppy, catchy. Probably not going to attract a lot of new fans, since the single (Another Postcard) is a very odd song about mail-stalking with monkey stationary. Huh. But current BNL fans will think this album’s just peachy. I guess I’m a BNL fan, though, ‘cuz I lurrvve it.  Days in the rotation: About 3 weeks.

Disc Two:  Sarah McLachlan. Afterglow.  No surprise here…chick music.  Sarah vanished after the Lilith Fair for awhile and then came back with a very pretty album. Soothing, lyrical, slow. Makes Jason want to puncture his eardrums with his car keys. Oh well. Your wife/girlfriend/sensitive metrosexual will love it.Days in the rotation: Hasn’t left the car in a month, spent about half that time getting heavy play.

Disc Three:  Eminem. The Eminem Show.  Ok, here’s where things get a little strange.  But I love this album. It’s brilliant, disturbing and completely foul. Blah-blah-blah-social-responsibility-cakes.  I bought it after seeing the DVD extras on 8 Mile where Em really engages in a rap battle with random extras and just totally spanks them. After loving this album so much, however, I went out and bought The Marshall Mathers LP, cuz I am one badass white grrl.  But that’s the album with the song about Em killing his wife…and no matter how open-minded and cool and “I get the metaphor/irony/symbolism” I try to be about Eminem, that song is Seriously Fucked Up.  Whoa.  So that CD is currently in the glove compartment or under the back seat somewhere. Days in the rotation:  Has made regular appearances since April; also a road trip essential.

Disc Four: Dave Matthews. Some Devil.  Solo album. Mostly acoustic.  Harkens back to Under the Table and Dreaming days, without all the drugs. With the exception of one or two terribly self-indulgent wailing ballads, a very pretty, relaxing album.  Well, relaxing if non-stop death and social injustice imagery doesn’t bug you.  Days in the rotation: About a month and a half. Took awhile to warm up to, then became a regular addition. The perfect album for the post-Eminem slot, whether because it’s starting to warp your fragile little mind or because your passenger Doesn’t Approve of That Sort of Music and you need to switch to something inoffensive FAST.

Disc Five: The White Stripes. Elephant. All hype about The Stripes aside, there are albums that are just totally perfect, and you know they’re perfect from the very first time you hear them. Sgt. Pepper’s, Rumours, Dark Side of the Moon, Nevermind. Add Elephant to that list. Trust me…as soon as Seven Nation Army starts (baa da dum dum dum daa daaa…) you’ll be hooked. Days in the rotation: The CD o’ my summer. Been skipping it recently, but still gets played about once a week.

Disc Six: Michael Jackson. Number Ones. A moral dilemma in the record store. Did he or didn’t he?  No idea. Crazy? Yes, probably.  Creepy? Yes, now.  Genius?  Yes, then. Should we or shouldn’t we?  We did, and I’m glad for the most part. Or at least for the first few tracks. I’m not sure what chart Sony was using, since they weren’t all Number Ones, and a couple hits are missing. Newer stuff?  Yeah, not so much. Days in the rotation: About 12. First 7 or 8 tracks will get played, then generally gets skipped.

Other CDs that are currently in the car but not in the changer (in addition to the aforementioned Marshall Mathers LP) include: Beyonce’s solo album (meh), Foo Fighters (rock on), Audioslave (Jason’s), Queens of the Stone Age (also Jason’s), Ben Folds (keep rocking the suburbs, Ben), and very likely my old Barenaked Ladies’ Gordon CD, but probably not in the right case anymore. (It’s been missing for months.)

Company Christmas party today.  Free booze, and I want no part of it. You hurt me, alcohol. You hurt me deep.  You're dead to me now.  And you're going to stay dead to me for at least another 24 hours or until my body fully rehydrates, whichever comes first.

Go Speedracer Go

A new record...in the car at 9:20 a.m., in the office parking garage by 9:42 a.m.  Still embarrassingly late, but not too shabby when you consider that I:

a) Didn't get my ass out of bed until well after 8.
b) Thought, for some unknown reason, that I had enough time to sit and stare at our pretty, pretty new Christmas tree for awhile.
c) Had to change clothes twice because of stain and/or spillage issues.
d) Really, really need a haircut so the whole hair process is taking a lot longer than usual.

So a 35-40 minute commute was slashed to astonishing 22 minutes, and I wasn't even close to being the Most Insane Driver out there.  Probably in the Top 10, but definitely not the Top 5.

Anyway. Work, I must now do. But shout-out to the WRX for just totally rocking my morning.

Call it a station wagon and I will cut you.

Blizzard News and Google Whoring

First and foremost, let me just apologize to the person who was Googling for news on blizzard of december 7, 2003 and ended up here with my smart-ass self.

Second and secondmost, let me just say how rocktastic Typepad is that it shows me useless stats like that.

But now that I know who my audience really is, let me give y'all some news about the blizzard of December 7, 2003, though I have no idea in what world you could call the snow we got on December 7, 2003 a blizzard.  That's news to me.

There's still snow on the ground out there and it's freaking freezing, but overall we seem to have weathered the storm quite well.  We started Christmas shopping in earnest yesterday and let me issue a warning: Some of you people will be really lucky if you actually get your presents from me, because they are all so totally awesome I might keep them.

I'll probably go shopping again today so quick, leave me a comment about what you want.  If you're going shopping, why don't you click here?

Blizzard. December 7, 2003. News. Buy Amalah nice gifts.

An Open Letter to the Asshat Drivers of the DC Area

Re: Today's Wintry Mix Commute, a Few Suggestions:

1) Two hands on the wheel, one foot on the gas pedal.

Stop riding the brake for one cotton-pickin' minute.  Put the cell phones, french fries, lipsticks, vibrators and what-have-you DOWN and PAY ATTENTION.  Rinse, repeat, wipe hands on pants.

2) Slamming on the brakes in slippery conditions doesn't help you; it doesn't help me.  You know who it helps?  Auto collision repair shops.  Quit it.

3) Turn your effing lights on!  Are you retarded?

4) If you are driving on the Beltway at 5:30 p.m. on a Friday, I'm guessing this is not the first time you've driven this route.  In fact, I'm willing to bet this is your regular commute.  Trust me, the Dept. of Transportation did NOT choose this day to repaint all the lines or redirect River Road into a nearby gaping chasm.  You know where you're going, so freaking drive already.

5) Everytime you change lanes for no reason, God kills a kitten.

6) Just because it's snowing does NOT give you license to drive 25 MPH in the left lane, especially in some misguided, self-righteous crusade to get everyone else to slow down.

On the other hand, just because you have a big honkin' SUV does NOT crown you the Invincible Overlord of Nature who can be an aggressive asshat and drive 90 MPH on the backroads.  I'm confident we can find a middle ground in the spirit of togetherness and brotherhood and whatnot.

7) Anyone who buys a Hummer should be automatically drafted for military service in Iraq.  Christ.

Thank you for your time.  Drive safe.

Sweet blessed death

Gah. 

Snow, sleet, slippery, slushy mess out there.

And some kind of horrific coldish flu thing descended on me last night. 

The biggest symptoms are apparently adjective overuse and hyperbole.

Yet I here I am, at work, diligently editing another fascinating investment newsletter. (Since my boss is probably my first and only fan of this blog, though, he knows that's a load of crap. What up, Viper! I'll get back to work after I'm done whining, promise.)

Except for the fact that everyone out there decided to drive 25 MPH in the left lane this morning, the drive in was fine. Husband v.1.1 was so kind as to let me drive the AWD Subaru WRX today, even though it was his turn, and he drove to work in the Ford Fishtail Car of Death. Love him!

Oh one more funny story...we had Recognition Day at work, which is our monthly corporate spirit lovefest. Part of the festivities include trivia questions that only two people in the company ever get right. This month, though, they decided to cater to the common, stupid employee and ask questions about holiday movies and specials.

Here's how brilliant I am: I knew that the 2001 Hanukkah movie was Eight Crazy Nights and starred Adam Sandler, AND was able to shout it out before anyone else. As I got up to collect my prize ($5 Panera gift card, ka-ching), my very Jewish friend TZ defended the Gentile's Hanukkah movie knowledge by shouting out "She's half Jewish!"

She cracks me up. Shout out to TZ!

Ok, I'm going to do work now, drink some tea, and then moan pathetically until Viper tells me I can go home.

mooooooooooaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

Wha?

So I'm staring at my monitor, trying to think of something amusing and witty to write about, when I look outside and realize it's snowing.  I'm totally shocked because this is exactly what the weatherpeople predicted.  When does that ever happen?

Last night Fox 5 News (Slogan: Your News Source for Muckraking, Sensation Journalism and Bart's People) started in with the typical snow-forecast-shock-and-awe promo campaign. Clips from the big blizzard last year, stock footage of people shoveling sidewalks, a couple closeups of tires spinning in snow...you know, the usual schtick.

So of course, I predicted we would not see a flake. Made a big preachy, harpy deal about it too. Big 'ole whatEVER to these southern folk...I'm from PA y'all!  We saw snowstorms every day starting after Labor Day and school never closed cuz we walked uphill both ways in flip-flops and all that.

A "wintry mix" was predicted for tonight, so people were rushing around getting milk and bottled water during lunch today and I was just pissed off because Safeway was sold out of this month's InStyle mag. It's a necessity people!  It's the Ultimate Gift Guide issue!

But now here I am, watching honest-to-God snow fall from the bloomin' sky and sticking to the ever-loving ground.

Well I'll be danged, as we say here in the South.

Come On In, We've Got Pandas

Tourists and Washington, DC share that odd, semi-symbiotic relationship that all cities have with their tourists.  Tourists are mostly annoying.  They travel in big, sidewalk-monopolizing groups.  They either walk veeeerrry slooowly or do that dreaded stop-start-stop walk as they exclaim over the History and Culture of everything.  They almost always box in an extremely irritated businessperson on a cell phone who just wants to get past this group of matching T-shirts so they can then insult them to the person on the other end of the line.  “Effing tourists,”  they’ll say.  “Goddamned bus tours.”

But they will wait until the tourists are safely out of earshot—we in Our Nation’s Capital are generally polite to their faces.  Call us Southern-Fried New Yorkers.  We’ll slow down when asked where you can get a decent meal around here, knowing full well that’s code for where’s-the-nearest-Pizza-Hut.  Most of the time I’ll oblige, though I did once send a family to Michel Richard’s Citronelle after the father specifically requested “nothing foreign or hoity-toity.”

Like I said, mostly annoying.

Tourists are the reason there was an actual movement (with petitions and everything) to get metro to post WALK LEFT STAND RIGHT signs on the escalators.  Commuters use Metro to escape Road Rage, as Escalator Rage has fewer fatalities, but there was a growing tourist problem.

If there’s anything worse than big groups of tourists on the sidewalks, it’s big groups of tourists on the escalator at Woodley Park-Zoo/Adams Morgan, all zoo-funky and blocking the entire escalator as they compare panda merchandise and complain that they threw their farecard away because how would anyone know they needed to keep it?

Meanwhile, a pack of Washingtonians seethe behind them in murderous rage, thinking about their bus/expired parking meter/Senate Ethics Committee Meeting that awaits them beyond the escalator.  Occasionally someone will try to make a point by excusemeexcusemeecxcuseme pushing through.  The crowd will part for a second and then step right back in your way, commenting that People Here Sure Are In A Hurry.

But we aren’t in such a hurry that we didn’t notice when the tourists went away.  In spite of living life under Code Orange and walking in a zig-zag pattern to avoid sniper fire, we still noticed.  Everyone took Metro because they were afraid to get gas or because the anti-war protestors had shut down the Key Bridge again, and we all walked left and stood right and it wasn’t worth it.  The newspapers had charts of the fallout zones if a hypothetical dirty bomb or nuke hypothetically hit the non-hypothetical White House. 

The Pentagon was page 10 news after the World Trade Center, but even New Yorkers were scared to come visit.  You could get a dinner reservation anywhere.  SARS didn’t appear in Washington but everyone assumed it was just a matter of time and stayed away.  We felt snubbed. 

The pandas need to mate and have babies, fast.  Should we change our license plate slogan from Taxation Without Representation to Life in the No-Fly Zone?  I tried to tell my friends that the city was safer than the ‘burbs—we had fewer trees for the sniper to hide behind.  A friend expressed regret that her child’s DC school trip got canceled because how many more chances would the children have to see the monuments before they got bombed?

It was all absurd.  I went downtown and visited museums as part of my patriotic duty.  I stood left on the Metro escalator and no one even asked me to move.

Come back tourists; we love you.

If anyone wants to visit DC this spring, I will personally take you to see the cherry blossoms. The sniper is toast, the last few anthrax scares have been false alarms, and I can take you to a kick-ass sushi place.