Please note that I hope to not offend anyone with this blog.
OK, call me old fashioned or whatever you like, but when it come to Christmas I like tradition. I like a live tree, an oven roasted turkey, gifts that are wrapped not bagged, and traditional carols. My very favorite Christmas song is Oh, Holy Night - which when properly sung can easily move me to tears. And if sung perfectly, I am completely reduced to a sobbing, sniffling public spectacle.
But on occasion one must do something at the request of a friend that is out of one’s own personal comfort zone. This was the case in my life recently when I agreed to visit a friend’s church to hear her sing in the choir during their Christmas concert.
I was fully aware that the church she attends has contemporary services. Not that there is anything wrong with that. In fact, when it comes to religion I am pretty much a “whatever floats your boat” kind of girl. But on a purely personal level, I prefer traditional worship services.
However she is a friend and I wanted to be supportive, so I agreed to go. And I was prepared for the concert to be a little different. At least I thought I was prepared.
When I arrived an overly friendly girl at the door handed me a program. On the cover was a photo of a young girl who appeared to be screaming into a microphone. I am not exaggerating here. Her nose was all wrinkled up, her eyes squeezed shut, and her mouth wide open. Her expression reminded me of Janis Joplin. The words above the photo read, “It’s Time to Rock the House!”
I began to wonder just what I had gotten myself into.
The concert started with a candlelight processional to a song called Let There Be Light. I know that was the title because this song was longer than the album version of Hey Jude and repeated the same lyrics over and over. 'Let there be light, let there be light, let there be light,…….'
I was seriously temped to get up and locate the light switch.
I squirmed in my seat and looked at those around me. And bless their hearts, they were singing along. (Like I would have been if they had been singing Hey Jude.) I told myself to stop being overly critical and to try to enjoy the evening.
But seriously, it was not going to happen.
They had one performance that was very much like Christmas at the Grand Ole Opry. Toe tapping, knee slapping, where’s my fiddle stuff. Followed by another that could easily be compared to Christmas in Vegas with a bad Elvis impersonator.
I was longing to hear something traditional but was ready to settle for something familiar. And I was already checking my watch. Twenty minutes had gone by. Only twenty minutes.
And that is when the interpretive dancer took the stage. Followed by a jazzed up version of Little Drummer boy which included a stomp style group performance complete with garbage can drumming and lids as cymbals. I am really squirming by that point. Little Drummer Boy is a children’s song. Where are the children?
I repeat my mantra - and add a new spin. Stop being overly critical. Try to enjoy the evening. At least they are not singing “Oh Holy Night” and ruining that for me.
Up next was another dance performance with a group of girls dancing to Jingle Bells. All I could think of was SNL’s Sweeny Sisters. “Bells? Bells! Bells! Clang, clang went the trolley, ding, ding, ding went the bells…” I bit a hole in my lip to keep from laughing.
More mantra. Stop. Enjoy. At least….
Then it happened. The unthinkable. The indescribable. The unforgivable.
Two groups of girls entered from opposite sides of the stage. Dressed all in black. Doing a slinky, slow, aggressive, suggestive walk that looked like choreography straight out of West Side Story. Snapping their fingers in time to the music I couldn’t recognize. They starting this mournful humming which sounded like a funeral dirge. Then one girl began to sing…
“Oh, holy night, the stars are brightly shining…..”
I made myself a couple promises right then and there.
1. Next year, I will “have a previously scheduled engagement that I can‘t gracefully get out of” on the night of the Christmas concert at my friend’s church.
2. That I will go to a traditional Christmas service this Sunday and overwrite the sector of my mental hard-drive which contains the file labeled “It’s Time to Rock the House!”
And I will end by saying that I hope you are celebrating the holidays in the way you find most meaningful!
Saturday, May 8, 2010
OTC Euphemisms and Lies
As part of getting ready for surgery I was required to do a couple of unpleasant things … with a couple of products of a medical nature … which are available over the counter.
And in the process, I mastered the art of decoding the clever marketing phrases used on the packaging of such items.
Now that I am so blessed as to be the keeper of such valuable and carefully guarded secret knowledge, I feel compelled to spread those secrets far and wide so that you, my friends, will not be deceived by the Madison Avenue medical OTC product marketing geniuses.
Let me give you a comprehensive review of frequently used phrases, which seem pretty reassuring but are nothing more than a poorly disguised collection of euphemisms and lies.
SAFE - The actual meaning of this word, in the context of OTC products, is that you will not die. You will feel like you are going to die. You might even feel bad enough that you will momentarily want to die. But don't bother updating your last will and testament, because you will not die.
GENTLE - This words translates to go get a hat and hold onto that sucker, because this is really going to work. As in work you over. Remember Mohammad Ali in the Rumble in the Jungle? First the medication will be like Ali and you will be like George Foreman. Remember how Ali pummeled Foreman nine times in the first round? Well, get ready for a pummeling, my friend. OK, ready to change roles now? Good! Because next you get to be Ali. But don't go getting all happy on me because it is not a good thing. Remember the "rope-a-dope" in later rounds, when Ali retreated to the ropes, allowing Foreman to throw punches until he used up all of his energy? Yes, that will be you. The best you can do is cover up and hope to outlast this opponent.
EFFECTIVE - This is not so much an outright lie as an understatement of fact. Think "gentle" was bad? As we say here in the South, you ain't seen nothing yet. When you see this word, fall on your knees and thank God almighty that they didn't need to give you the prescription strength version of the same medication. In the immortal words of Bette Davis, "Fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy night!"
SOFT - This is an outright lie. Do not believe this word. I have felt soft. I am a big fan of soft. I love my cashmere sweaters and my high thread count sheets. I know soft. Puppies are soft. But the medical product marketing guys apparently define soft as being not made of diamond. Which means granite, steel, iron, titanium, and a variety of carbide substances all qualify as soft.
FLEXIBLE - Really? Double jointed people are flexible. Those tiny little girls on the Chinese Olympic gymnastics team were flexible. But this term, as it applies to a specific feature of a medical product I hope you never are required to use, is more like the flexible nature of a pine tree trunk in a hurricane. You will be sincerely hoping this thing doesn't break off before it reaches its destination and performs its assigned duty.
COMFORTIP - I know. First, just the sound of this word scares the crap out of you, doesn't it? Well, it should. And trust me on this, it would be so much easier if it did! Second, this is not a real word. It is a word that those evil, lying, marketing super villains made up to convince you that it isn't going to be all that bad. Well, I hate to tell you, but it is going to be all that bad. The "comfortip" is only slightly less sharp than a 10 penny nail. A 10 penny nail being driven in by a sledgehammer. A sledgehammer being wielded by a 350 pound corn fed lumberjack. You know, a real, live jive, red plaid flannel shirt wearing, Brawny paper towel selling, Paul Bunyan kind of guy. With an attitude.
In conclusion, let the buyer beware. As in be very wary….no, wait…….be downright skeptical when reading the reassuring words used on the packaging of over the counter medical products. In fact, don't believe them at all. Because the Madison Avenue marketing guys keep a fire extinguisher handy at all times to extinguish their pants, which are continuously exploding in flames. I promise you, they could all easily pass the admission exams for hell.
And my best advice for all of you, because I do love you so, is to eat your vegetables, exercise on a regular basis, and don't drink or smoke or whatever to excess. Seriously, do your best to stay healthy. Because I don't want you beautiful people to endure the safe, gentle, effective, and/or the soft, flexible, comfortip experience(s) first hand.
And in the process, I mastered the art of decoding the clever marketing phrases used on the packaging of such items.
Now that I am so blessed as to be the keeper of such valuable and carefully guarded secret knowledge, I feel compelled to spread those secrets far and wide so that you, my friends, will not be deceived by the Madison Avenue medical OTC product marketing geniuses.
Let me give you a comprehensive review of frequently used phrases, which seem pretty reassuring but are nothing more than a poorly disguised collection of euphemisms and lies.
SAFE - The actual meaning of this word, in the context of OTC products, is that you will not die. You will feel like you are going to die. You might even feel bad enough that you will momentarily want to die. But don't bother updating your last will and testament, because you will not die.
GENTLE - This words translates to go get a hat and hold onto that sucker, because this is really going to work. As in work you over. Remember Mohammad Ali in the Rumble in the Jungle? First the medication will be like Ali and you will be like George Foreman. Remember how Ali pummeled Foreman nine times in the first round? Well, get ready for a pummeling, my friend. OK, ready to change roles now? Good! Because next you get to be Ali. But don't go getting all happy on me because it is not a good thing. Remember the "rope-a-dope" in later rounds, when Ali retreated to the ropes, allowing Foreman to throw punches until he used up all of his energy? Yes, that will be you. The best you can do is cover up and hope to outlast this opponent.
EFFECTIVE - This is not so much an outright lie as an understatement of fact. Think "gentle" was bad? As we say here in the South, you ain't seen nothing yet. When you see this word, fall on your knees and thank God almighty that they didn't need to give you the prescription strength version of the same medication. In the immortal words of Bette Davis, "Fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy night!"
SOFT - This is an outright lie. Do not believe this word. I have felt soft. I am a big fan of soft. I love my cashmere sweaters and my high thread count sheets. I know soft. Puppies are soft. But the medical product marketing guys apparently define soft as being not made of diamond. Which means granite, steel, iron, titanium, and a variety of carbide substances all qualify as soft.
FLEXIBLE - Really? Double jointed people are flexible. Those tiny little girls on the Chinese Olympic gymnastics team were flexible. But this term, as it applies to a specific feature of a medical product I hope you never are required to use, is more like the flexible nature of a pine tree trunk in a hurricane. You will be sincerely hoping this thing doesn't break off before it reaches its destination and performs its assigned duty.
COMFORTIP - I know. First, just the sound of this word scares the crap out of you, doesn't it? Well, it should. And trust me on this, it would be so much easier if it did! Second, this is not a real word. It is a word that those evil, lying, marketing super villains made up to convince you that it isn't going to be all that bad. Well, I hate to tell you, but it is going to be all that bad. The "comfortip" is only slightly less sharp than a 10 penny nail. A 10 penny nail being driven in by a sledgehammer. A sledgehammer being wielded by a 350 pound corn fed lumberjack. You know, a real, live jive, red plaid flannel shirt wearing, Brawny paper towel selling, Paul Bunyan kind of guy. With an attitude.
In conclusion, let the buyer beware. As in be very wary….no, wait…….be downright skeptical when reading the reassuring words used on the packaging of over the counter medical products. In fact, don't believe them at all. Because the Madison Avenue marketing guys keep a fire extinguisher handy at all times to extinguish their pants, which are continuously exploding in flames. I promise you, they could all easily pass the admission exams for hell.
And my best advice for all of you, because I do love you so, is to eat your vegetables, exercise on a regular basis, and don't drink or smoke or whatever to excess. Seriously, do your best to stay healthy. Because I don't want you beautiful people to endure the safe, gentle, effective, and/or the soft, flexible, comfortip experience(s) first hand.
Being a Girl
Rogers and Hammerstein wrote the song “I Enjoy Being a Girl” for the musical Flower Drum Song back in 1959. And while the role of women has changed greatly since then, I think most of us among the female of the species still feel that way. Most of the time.
Then there are the other times when we wonder just why it has to be so much trouble being a girl. Times like when you want to wear that “special something” for an event.
You want to look your best. Or to quote the song, “I adore being dressed in something frilly…”
So you search the closet for just the right thing to wear - mixing and matching pieces looking for the perfect combination. It has to be …. sexy, yet subtle ….. modern, but classic ….. both trendy and tasteful.
After hours of searching, you manage to put together an ensemble that fits all of the requirements …. and fits your body in its current state du jour. (You girls know what I am talking about here, don’t you? What fits perfectly one day may not fit so well the next.)
You check the outfit carefully and realize that your crisp white blouse, which is so perfect for this occasion, is neither crisp nor white in its current condition. You think …..”I love this blouse! Why haven’t I worn this lately?”
So off it goes to the washing machine, set to the gentle cycle of course, because a girl must take the very best of care when dealing with her wardrobe. Since you just did laundry yesterday, you are running a load of one item so you are overcome with guilt at the environmental damage you are doing. Yet, you do it anyway because you “enjoy being a girl” and that enjoyment comes at a cost.
Next, the now brilliant white blouse goes in the dryer in the hopes that it will emerge crisp and ready to wear to your special event. But when you open the dryer door a sight that strikes fear in the heart of every woman awaits you.
Yes, the white blouse needs….horror of horrors….IRONING!!!
Can somebody please tell me why the best makers, the top designers, the people we count on to help us look our very best, are seemingly unaware of the “permanent press” process that lesser manufacturers automatically include with every item of clothing?
You try to reassure yourself, “OK, no need to panic. You remember how to do this.” You set up the ironing board, wipe the dust off the iron, fill it with water, wait for it to heat up.
You carefully lay out the beloved blouse, admiring the excellent tailoring. Yes, the cut is perfect and the attention paid to detailing is amazing. This is a great blouse. Again you wonder, “Why haven’t I worn this blouse more often?”
You begin ironing. In spite of being slightly annoyed, you sing to yourself, ”I enjoy being a girl…”
But, damn. The curved seams won’t fit on the straight board. You turn and adjust and work the fabric to make it fit. You stretch the fabric, holding it in place just so, and reach for the small wrinkled areas …. and burn the crap out of your fingers in the process.
Now you remember why you haven’t worn this beautiful blouse in such a long time. Because it is a major league pain in the ass, that’s why!
Yet, you carry on. Because now you are committed. And determined. After all, your mother ironed everything, didn’t she? You tell yourself that you are not one to give up on anything so simple. You will not be defeated by this piece of clothing!
You work it, moving the fabric and the iron this way and that. You try the “zen method” of becoming one with the iron. No, that doesn’t work. So you try becoming one with the fabric. Nope, that doesn’t work either. So you resort to repeating the mantra. “I enjoy being a girl…”
Finally you finish the arduous task of ironing the beautiful blouse. Thinking you have won the battle, you hold it up to admire your work and see the ironed in wrinkle on one sleeve.
You glance at the clock. Your eyes go back to the blouse, and the iron, but your mind wonders. The image of the lighter in the kitchen drawer crosses your mind. This thought occurs: “This fabric may not be permanent press but I am willing to bet it is flammable.”
In the end, you realize there is no time to set fire to the beautiful blouse and call the fire department, even though a visit from a few hunky firemen might be an amusing distraction at this point. Instead you iron out that last wrinkle and put on the blouse. You finish dressing, do your hair and makeup, and head out the door looking wonderful.
You arrive at your event and head straight for the wine table. “Yes, I would love a glass of red!” You are looking good, feeling great, and totally ready to have a wonderful time.
Then some dude, who probably spent all of 10 minutes putting on this black slacks and long sleeve dress shirt, bumps you from behind. And it happens….
Nothing looks worse on a crisp white blouse than red wine. But all you can do is smile, accept his apology, and try to be graceful about it. Because you “enjoy being a girl.”
And next time you will try to remember to order the white instead.
Then there are the other times when we wonder just why it has to be so much trouble being a girl. Times like when you want to wear that “special something” for an event.
You want to look your best. Or to quote the song, “I adore being dressed in something frilly…”
So you search the closet for just the right thing to wear - mixing and matching pieces looking for the perfect combination. It has to be …. sexy, yet subtle ….. modern, but classic ….. both trendy and tasteful.
After hours of searching, you manage to put together an ensemble that fits all of the requirements …. and fits your body in its current state du jour. (You girls know what I am talking about here, don’t you? What fits perfectly one day may not fit so well the next.)
You check the outfit carefully and realize that your crisp white blouse, which is so perfect for this occasion, is neither crisp nor white in its current condition. You think …..”I love this blouse! Why haven’t I worn this lately?”
So off it goes to the washing machine, set to the gentle cycle of course, because a girl must take the very best of care when dealing with her wardrobe. Since you just did laundry yesterday, you are running a load of one item so you are overcome with guilt at the environmental damage you are doing. Yet, you do it anyway because you “enjoy being a girl” and that enjoyment comes at a cost.
Next, the now brilliant white blouse goes in the dryer in the hopes that it will emerge crisp and ready to wear to your special event. But when you open the dryer door a sight that strikes fear in the heart of every woman awaits you.
Yes, the white blouse needs….horror of horrors….IRONING!!!
Can somebody please tell me why the best makers, the top designers, the people we count on to help us look our very best, are seemingly unaware of the “permanent press” process that lesser manufacturers automatically include with every item of clothing?
You try to reassure yourself, “OK, no need to panic. You remember how to do this.” You set up the ironing board, wipe the dust off the iron, fill it with water, wait for it to heat up.
You carefully lay out the beloved blouse, admiring the excellent tailoring. Yes, the cut is perfect and the attention paid to detailing is amazing. This is a great blouse. Again you wonder, “Why haven’t I worn this blouse more often?”
You begin ironing. In spite of being slightly annoyed, you sing to yourself, ”I enjoy being a girl…”
But, damn. The curved seams won’t fit on the straight board. You turn and adjust and work the fabric to make it fit. You stretch the fabric, holding it in place just so, and reach for the small wrinkled areas …. and burn the crap out of your fingers in the process.
Now you remember why you haven’t worn this beautiful blouse in such a long time. Because it is a major league pain in the ass, that’s why!
Yet, you carry on. Because now you are committed. And determined. After all, your mother ironed everything, didn’t she? You tell yourself that you are not one to give up on anything so simple. You will not be defeated by this piece of clothing!
You work it, moving the fabric and the iron this way and that. You try the “zen method” of becoming one with the iron. No, that doesn’t work. So you try becoming one with the fabric. Nope, that doesn’t work either. So you resort to repeating the mantra. “I enjoy being a girl…”
Finally you finish the arduous task of ironing the beautiful blouse. Thinking you have won the battle, you hold it up to admire your work and see the ironed in wrinkle on one sleeve.
You glance at the clock. Your eyes go back to the blouse, and the iron, but your mind wonders. The image of the lighter in the kitchen drawer crosses your mind. This thought occurs: “This fabric may not be permanent press but I am willing to bet it is flammable.”
In the end, you realize there is no time to set fire to the beautiful blouse and call the fire department, even though a visit from a few hunky firemen might be an amusing distraction at this point. Instead you iron out that last wrinkle and put on the blouse. You finish dressing, do your hair and makeup, and head out the door looking wonderful.
You arrive at your event and head straight for the wine table. “Yes, I would love a glass of red!” You are looking good, feeling great, and totally ready to have a wonderful time.
Then some dude, who probably spent all of 10 minutes putting on this black slacks and long sleeve dress shirt, bumps you from behind. And it happens….
Nothing looks worse on a crisp white blouse than red wine. But all you can do is smile, accept his apology, and try to be graceful about it. Because you “enjoy being a girl.”
And next time you will try to remember to order the white instead.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
BAJs
I think by now we all know that I do love to shop. In fact, I think maybe I have a bit of an addiction to the act of shopping. I will plan out of town vacations so that I just happen to cross paths with the best consignment stores in whatever city I am visiting. Seriously, I can give you the names of great stores for bargain hunting throughout the entire sunshine state! There is something just a little strange about that – maybe.
But there is one kind of shopping I no longer enjoy, and that is grocery shopping. I used to look forward to it back in the day - when I was younger and didn’t care so much about what I was eating. I remember well the many times I began my grocery shopping by grabbing two boxes of Nilla Wafers from the shelf – one to save for later and one to open immediately and eat while I shopped. My theory, which seemed sound at the time, was that eating while shopping prevented impulse buying caused by being hungry. Makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? Oh, come on. I was young and foolish, so just go with it!
Now that I am more mature (which sounds so much more acceptable than older) I do care about what I eat – because I want to stay away from those medical guys with the scalpels. So, I make an effort (as opposed to every effort, which would be way too much trouble) to avoid overly processed and unhealthy foods. I carefully read the labels and try to avoid foods with tons of cholesterol or sugars or trans fats. And while I am pleased with my efforts to make better choices, all of this makes the previously simple and enjoyable act of grocery shopping seem more like final exams in chemistry class!
The other thing I hate about grocery shopping is that you can’t wear what you buy. But then again, I suppose in a sense you can – if you are prone to buying the wrong things. But no one ever says, “Hey, that Blue Bell Rocky Road ice cream really looks great on your ass!” We women always worry about how we look from behind, don’t we? We shop for jeans by looking at the backside first to make sure they qualify as BAJs. (This is an acronym for butt action jeans, which are jeans that fit really well and have some special detailing on the back pockets.)
Maybe someone should market some BAJs with food labels on the back pockets for those of us who have a weakness for certain sweets!
For ice cream lovers like me - Blue Bell Bottom Jeans! Or Ben and Jerry’s Boot Cut Jeans?
If your preference for sweets tends to be more towards cookies, then the Nabisco Nilla Wafer Wide Leg Jeans might be a better choice for you.
If you are more of a Keebler fan, how about some Danish Wedding Cookie denims?
Have a weakness for those highly addictive peanut butter cups on the candy aisle? Then you need a pair of Reece’s Relaxed Fit Jeans, don’t you?
For those who prefer dehydrated and artificially colored marshmallows for breakfast, what about some Lucky Charms Low Rise Jeans?
Heck, Lucky brand jeans already uses the clover as their logo anyway so all they would need to do is add the pink hearts, orange stars, and yellow moons. And the little label on the inside of the fly, which currently reads “LUCKY YOU” could be modified to add the phrase “THESE STILL FIT!”
But there is one kind of shopping I no longer enjoy, and that is grocery shopping. I used to look forward to it back in the day - when I was younger and didn’t care so much about what I was eating. I remember well the many times I began my grocery shopping by grabbing two boxes of Nilla Wafers from the shelf – one to save for later and one to open immediately and eat while I shopped. My theory, which seemed sound at the time, was that eating while shopping prevented impulse buying caused by being hungry. Makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? Oh, come on. I was young and foolish, so just go with it!
Now that I am more mature (which sounds so much more acceptable than older) I do care about what I eat – because I want to stay away from those medical guys with the scalpels. So, I make an effort (as opposed to every effort, which would be way too much trouble) to avoid overly processed and unhealthy foods. I carefully read the labels and try to avoid foods with tons of cholesterol or sugars or trans fats. And while I am pleased with my efforts to make better choices, all of this makes the previously simple and enjoyable act of grocery shopping seem more like final exams in chemistry class!
The other thing I hate about grocery shopping is that you can’t wear what you buy. But then again, I suppose in a sense you can – if you are prone to buying the wrong things. But no one ever says, “Hey, that Blue Bell Rocky Road ice cream really looks great on your ass!” We women always worry about how we look from behind, don’t we? We shop for jeans by looking at the backside first to make sure they qualify as BAJs. (This is an acronym for butt action jeans, which are jeans that fit really well and have some special detailing on the back pockets.)
Maybe someone should market some BAJs with food labels on the back pockets for those of us who have a weakness for certain sweets!
For ice cream lovers like me - Blue Bell Bottom Jeans! Or Ben and Jerry’s Boot Cut Jeans?
If your preference for sweets tends to be more towards cookies, then the Nabisco Nilla Wafer Wide Leg Jeans might be a better choice for you.
If you are more of a Keebler fan, how about some Danish Wedding Cookie denims?
Have a weakness for those highly addictive peanut butter cups on the candy aisle? Then you need a pair of Reece’s Relaxed Fit Jeans, don’t you?
For those who prefer dehydrated and artificially colored marshmallows for breakfast, what about some Lucky Charms Low Rise Jeans?
Heck, Lucky brand jeans already uses the clover as their logo anyway so all they would need to do is add the pink hearts, orange stars, and yellow moons. And the little label on the inside of the fly, which currently reads “LUCKY YOU” could be modified to add the phrase “THESE STILL FIT!”
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