In 2003, shortly after I graduated from college (for the first time), I was hired to work at a theatre in southern Utah called Tuacahn. I was hired to be a mud person in the production of The Wizard of Oz, and as third half-naked priest from the left in The King and I. Because I’m so very Asian.
It’s a beautiful outdoor amphitheater that seats over 2,000 people. Being set in the southwest, Tuacahn plays up its cowboy old-west heritage. In order to help turn this massive theatre in the middle of nowhere into more of a destination experience, they also offer a chuck wagon dinner each night, where folks who have bought their tickets to see the show can get a meal and enjoy the scenery. One of my other jobs at Tuacahn was to perform in the little Preshow performance that took place on a small stage up in the plaza outside the theatre during the chuck wagon dinner.
The show was extremely hokey, and not a whole lot of fun to do (which could sum up about 80% of my career as a performer, if I’m being honest), and so, after about a month of doing the show, I decided that I wanted to make a Christopher Guest-style mocumentary about the whole preshow experience. Of course, I didn’t have any filmmaking resources, so I bought a small consumer DV camera, and pirated a copy of Adobe Premiere, (which I had never used before in my life) and I started interviewing the cast of the Preshow each night after the Preshow performance, but before the main stage show started.
It wasn’t long before word got around, and folks were clambering to take part. You know how it is with performers. As soon as they get a whiff of attention, they start cycling around overhead like vultures over so much carrion. I was interviewing costumers, stage managers, and friends who were in town to watch the show as audience members. About two weeks before the end of the summer season, during which I would be leaving Tuacahn to drive to Tennessee to work at the Black Bear Jamboree, I took the hours and hours of footage, cut it all together in about three days of work, fitting it in before or after the show.
My biggest challenge is that I had only interviewed the 40 people in the casts. I hadn’t really asked a lot of leading questions, nor had I staged most of what happened. Everyone there knew it wasn’t serious, and they fed me with a lot of great material, but there just wasn’t a unifying thread to the whole thing. I cut together most of what I needed, shot a bit of B-Roll, and asked the "assistant director" who did a lot of the interviewing to do a bit of voiceover work. I was then able to craft a rough story out of the footage I had.
I wasn’t perfect. I didn’t have good audio equipment, so the audio is noisy. It wasn’t a controlled set, so people were always walking into the frame. I wasn’t familiar with the editing software, and there are a couple of continuity errors or incorrect B-Roll, but when it was done, I was pretty proud of it. More surprisingly, someone (not me) convinced the theater management to let us show the finished product during the closing night cast party.
I was one of the proudest moments of my life. There were probably 100 folks at this party who watched it, and the film got a standing ovation at the end. I decided then and there that I wanted to be a filmmaker. And like all of my big, life-changing decisions, I stuck with it for the 20 minutes it took me to drive from the theatre back to the hotel I was staying in for the night. But I’ve always looked back on this little project with fondness. It’s not perfect. It’s full of inside jokes that most folks wouldn’t get. But it was something I accomplished that was well-received. And as an artist, that’s always a great thing.
I decided it was time to put the thing up on the interwebs for posterity. I still have a DVD master of the thing, but the source tapes and files have long since disappeared over the years. I just wanted to make sure that, if I ever had my house burn down, that I wouldn’t forever lose this thing. So, I am proud to present, Preshow: The Mocumentary.
So, as many of you probably know, just recently, a group of popular singers got together to remake the old Michael Jackson & Lionel Richie song "We Are the World" in an effort to raise money for Haiti…a laudable goal. However, the resulting product was…well…judge for yourself.
First, for reference sake, the original:
Then, by comparison, the remake. (You’ll have to fast forward to about 1:30 to get into the actual video and past the telemarketing)
Wow. Just wow.
Both casts had groups of people who could actually sing well, and some who couldn’t. (Bob Dylan? Really?) But at least the ones who couldn’t sing were actually talented musicians and songwriters. But the balance between the two is way off.
Let’s look at the list of really talented singers…whether or not you like their work, you can’t deny that they can really sing:
Old Cast:
Lionel Richie Stevie Wonder Kenny Rogers James Ingram Billy Joel Dionne Warwick Michael Jackson Kenny Loggins Steve Perry Huey Lewis Cyndi Lauper Ray Charles
New Cast:
Celine Dion Jennifer Hudson Pink Josh Groban Jamie Foxx Usher Adam Levine (Maroon 5)…kinda
I was going to list the really bad singers, from each one, but I realized that I don’t know 80% of the bad singers from the newer version.
But to really tell the quality of the productions apart, look at what happens when everyone is singing. 1984′s Quincy Jones was able to wrangle a room full of egos into singing together, blending, and not trampling all over the song. 2010′s Quincy Jones is apparently too old and enfeebled to wrangle a room full of far-less-talented, but far larger egos into any sort of cohesive unit. It’s like everyone in the room decided that they were going to sing a solo, dammit, even if it didn’t fit, stepped on someone else, or just plain sounded bad.
And then look at the folks in the chorus of the new version who didn’t get to sing solos: Brandy, Natalie Cole, Harry Connick Jr., India Arie, Gladys Knight, Katharine McPhee, Jordin Sparks, Robin Thicke, Rob Thomas, Ann, Brian, and Nancy Wilson.
Also, the 1985 version didn’t need autotune. Can someone please explain to me why, in the name of all that’s good and holy, they let Lil’ Wayne and T-Pain "sing?" If you can’t sing without autotune, then don’t sing. Don’t even come to the studio. It was just painful. And what’s with that moron, Wyclef Jean, who doesn’t even try to sing, but just scream-yodels the sustain of every single note. Or was that Akon? I can’t tell. (I didn’t mind the "rap" in the middle of the new version, but the rest of it…disaster.)
25 years later, and I was able to watch the original version of this song and recognize almost every single one of the performers, despite the fact that the original was recorded when I was only seven years old. I didn’t know who most of these people were then. But nearly every single one of them went on to have long, successful careers. Many of them still have decent careers…those who aren’t dead, anyway. Many could easily be considered musical legends. I don’t even know who 2/3rds of the performers are in the new version, but I’m fairly certain that Miley Cyrus, Julio Iglacias, Lil-Wayne, or Nicole Scherizingeramalamadingdong McTrashyPants from the Pussycat Dolls won’t still be performing 20 years from now the next time they remake this song.
Musically, there’s just no comparison. It’s amazing. 25 years of absolutely stunning development in studio technology, and instead of getting better, we’ve just flushed an entire generation of musical talent down the drain thanks to Autotune.
Hey 2010 cast of "We Are the World," I appreciate your intent, I really do. But that craptastic version of a not-particularly-great song to begin with isn’t going to get me to open up my wallet for Haiti. I think I’ll just go and download Jennifer Hudson’s performance from the telethon instead. At least girlfriend actually knows how to sing.
So, remember when I moved into my new apartment three weeks ago? (Man, it seems like about a year ago). Well, things are all put away, wired, hung (mostly) and set up correctly in the apartment now. So, I decided that, rather than using my Overly Expensive Camera™ to take pictures which I would then have to sort through, develop, and edit before uploading and captioning, I would use said Overly Expensive Camera™ to take a video which I could narrate and then post. Plus, I wanted to experiment with the video portion of my camera a bit. (It actually makes me want to film another mockumentary like the one I did when I was at Tuacahn in the summer of 2003 that is perhaps one of the most brilliant things I’ve ever done artistically in my life even if I say so myself.
Anyway, below is my short virtual tour of the new apartment. Please excuse some of the minor clutter and remember, I am a single man who lives alone. When company comes, I don’t leave the toilet seat up. I swear.
In November 2003, Shawn, Emily, and I had Thanksgiving dinner at my apartment in Sevierville, Tennessee. Shawn and I had gone shopping a couple of nights before, I had done most of the cooking, and we ate ourselves sick. We had to have our dinner before Thanksgiving, since we had to perform shows all day on Thanksgiving day proper. In mid-meal, there was a knock on the door, and I got to learn, first hand, what Brown could do for me. It was the UPS man with a box for me. (I’m really fighting the urge to put a tasteless joke about a big package from the UPS man…and I’m failing.) Anyway, inside this large package (ahem) was a little invention that changed my life forever. The ever-blessed TiVo Series 2.
Since that day, I have never been without a TiVo in my life…except for that truly painful four months after I left hell Tennessee where I lived at home with my mom in Michigan. It wasn’t the living with my mom that was painful, it’s that a) my parents to this day still don’t have a DVR, and b) my mother is incapable of correctly channel surfing when commercials are on. She’s like a little kid who sees a bright shiny–she just flips to another channel and gets engrossed until a commercial comes on on that channel, then she’ll flip to a third channel, etc. The woman has never watched an entire television show from beginning to end in her whole adult life. It’s enough to drive me up the wall. (HI MOM!)
Anyway, since that wonderful day 6 1/2 (!) years ago when I waltzed from the world of the commercial watchers into the much more sophisticated and urbane world of the television time shifters, I nearly never watch commercials. If I can’t generate that satisfying little "bloop, bloop, bloop" sound and fast forward though 5 minutes of mind-meltingly stupid television advertising, then as far as I’m concerned, I’d rather not watch TV at all.
Every great once in a while, though, I run out of things to watch on my TiVo. It doesn’t happen that often, but with the truly abysmal quality of most of the primetime television on this season, I will often find myself flipping the channel to Food Network or HGTV and just letting it play in the background while I cook, eat, or pack up my life for the 5,000th time into boxes and prepare to move once again not that I’m bitter.
It was during one of these times of television background noise that a certain commercial was brought to my attention. And, my fellow Americans, It. Was. NOT. Okay.
Perhaps you have seen this commercial. It contains a couple of little animated bears hocking Charmin toilet paper. They’ve, apparently, been in a whole series of commercials, and they look like this:
Cute, right? Except in this particular commercial, a mother bear catches her young cub looking through a telescope at the ass of another bear who is sitting up in a tree and who, apparently , has toilet paper remnants stuck to said ass. There are many, many things wrong with this commercial. First, a voyeuristic child is using a telescope to spy on an adult going to the bathroom. And apparently, is getting so up close and personal that he can notice mini TP dingleberries in the adult’s butt hair. Secondly, the kid’s mother is RIGHT THERE. Wake up, mama bear! I don’t know about you, but if I had a kid who was so fascinated with watching the bathroom habits of the neighbors with a telescope, I’d have that kid in front of either a psychotherapist or priest so fast it would make his head spin. But no, you just sit there and think it’s cute. "Ah look honey. Little cubby’s got a sick fascination with the neighbor’s toilet time. Better call Dr. Freud!"
Apparently, this is not the only commercial where Charmin thinks it’s okay to go probing (ahem) through the annals (AHEM) of toilet paper posterior problems. Thanks to YouTube, I have since seen a mother chasing her cub (who, by the way, has the most annoying giggle ever recorded) around the forest with a dustpan and broom to remove "leftover pieces of toilet paper." Call me kooky, but somehow, I think that a hand broom and a dustpan aren’t really the best tools to take care of the problem of left over toilet paper.
And then there’s the commercial that spawned this screen capture, which I found by typing in the words "Charmin Bears":
Yikes. I don’t exactly know what’s going on in this picture, I’m pretty sure this is probably how most gay porn films start. "Hey coach, do I look like I have any extra toilet paper on my butt?"
Here’s my question, though: Is this really a problem? I mean, let’s be honest here. I’ve got a very screwed up digestive system. I visit the bathroom more times a day than anyone I know. I can manage to go through a truly heroic amount of toilet paper in a week. I’ve never had problems with leftover toilet paper sticking where it doesn’t belong. And I don’t use Charmin. I use Cottonelle. Exclusively. And I have for a long time. And I got to thinking: who, exactly, are these commercials trying to reach. What’s the intended audience? I’m set in my toilet paper ways. And I’m certainly not being swayed into switching by watching animated ursine fetishists.
Then there’s this:
Seriously, Charmin? SERIOUSLY? I’m sorry, but I’ve been using dry toilet paper for nearly 30 years now. I’m not going to start buying what are, in essence, baby wipes, even if the moron you’ve got doing your product demo is so mentally challenged he can’t get toothpaste off his hand with toilet tissue. For experimentation’s sake, I was able to get it off my hand in a single swipe, and my skin didn’t even taste like toothpaste afterwards. What’s your problem, dimwit?
All of this contemplation about toilet paper got my mind going. First, I needed to gather some information. Then, I needed to parse and mull on said information. Then I needed to take a good long look at why the subject of toilet paper preferences fascinates me so deeply and investigate the myriad of other things I could have spent my mental currency on that would have made a positive difference to the world or my personal life. But instead, I wrote a quick post in the middle last week to get some information about toilet paper. And I learned some interesting things:
When it comes to toilet paper, there are generally two kinds of people: Those who have a single brand that they stand behind with a religious furvor, and those who buy whatever happens to be cheapest.
Those people who buy specific toilet papers only because they’re cheap are horrible, horrible people, and we can no longer be friends.
Surprisingly, Angel Soft seems to be the most popular brand. I don’t get it. Compared to Cottonelle or the TP of the creepy bears, Angel soft just doesn’t compare.
One ply toilet paper is universally loathed, and the only people who think it is appropriate to buy, even despite it’s very low cost, are the people responsible for purchasing supplies for companies who obviously don’t give a rat’s ass (no pun intended) about the physical well-being of their employees. In fact, my employer, whose name rhymes with Nicroloft, buys toilet paper that is simultaneously so thin that you can see your own fingerprints through it and so roughly processed that it will give you splinters. I’m sorry, but if I wanted to rub wood pulp across my sphincter, I’d go outside, pull down my pants, and rub my butt up against a pine tree. For someone who has to go to the restroom as often as I do, (warning: overshare ahead) I have actually had the toilet paper at work make me bleed. Now, when someone says, "that really chaps my ass," I know first hand what they means.
Toilet paper should always be hung with the leading squares coming up over the top of the roll. ALWAYS. If you do it any other way you’re wrong. If you ever come into my house and turn the toilet paper over so it’s coming out of the bottom of the roll, you’re forever uninvited from my house. Overhand only.
And finally, for the service of those readers who mentioned this in their comments, I would like to provide you a few rules about toilet paper etiquette which you must follow, at the risk of having your toilet paper privileges taken away forever.
If you finish a roll of toilet paper, it is your responsibility to replace the roll of toilet paper. Failure to do so means that there will be no place in heaven for you in the next life. Fail to replace the roll and go to Hell. It’s that simple.
Replacing the roll means taking off the old paper tube, and replacing the roll completely on the dispenser. It does not mean setting it on the counter. It does not mean placing it on the floor. It, under no circumstance, means simply placing it on top of the empty tube which your lazy rear end left in the dispenser. Failure to fully replace the empty roll will result in severe beatings.
Please, for the love of all things good an holy, PLEASE leave at least one extra roll in the bathroom at all times. Do NOT keep all your extra toilet paper out in the hallway closet. Because if I run out TP in your house, and there’s not an extra roll in the bathroom, I will walk out of your bathroom with my pants around my ankles doing that bent-knee wide stance waddle so as not to cause any smearing. Then I will waddle into your living room, sit down, and start dragging my butt across the carpet like a dog with worms. You have been warned.
Now you know.
So, what did my mental foray into the world of toilet tissue teach me? First, that toilet tissue is very personal, and that the way I do it is right, and the way everyone else does it is wrong unless they do it just like me. That being cheap when it comes to toilet paper will only end in heartache. That it’s really hard to find a decent way to refer to your own anus as a "Brown-Eyed Susan" without making it sound forced. That the Charmin bears are freaky, and more than a little creepy, and most of all…
Food. That was the theme for this Christmas. Food out the Wazoo. On a related note, what’s the heck is a wazoo?
(According to mindlesscrap.com, it’s from the 1960 and is an offshoot of the saying "up the kazoo." Once again, I owe my allegiance to Google Bing.)
This Christmas was probably one of the favorites that I’ve had in the last several years. It was far too short, but it was extremely enjoyable.
I left Seattle on Wednesday morning at the butt-crack of dawn (as was mentioned in a previous blog post.) I waltzed through the security checkpoint (not literally…although that does make for a very interesting mental image). I really love airports. I actually like getting to the airport early so I can walk around the whole airport people watching and window shopping. There’s just something so energetic and entertaining about the airport. And I never cease to be amazed by the things people try to sell there. Because, really, the airport is where I’m going to do my Christmas shopping, buy new luggage, or even consider throwing away my money at Brookstone. But it certainly makes for entertaining times. My terminal was in a different building than the check-in facility, so I had to take the underground train to the other terminal building. This also entertained me. Apparently, going to the airport for me is the adult equivalent to riding that stupid little horse thingy outside the grocery store for a quarter. I couldn’t find a dispensory for my mandatory Airport Cinnabon Ablution, so instead I opted for a bacon, egg, and cheese croissant and orange juice.
Anyway, the flight left early, arrived in Salt Lake 25 minutes early, and then spent 30 minutes sitting on the tarmac waiting for the plane in our gate to get out of the way. So, in essence, I got there on time. The new luggage performed well, and we were off to Syracuse. I spent time with the family, tried Steak-Ums for the first time (meh) and took a nap…the start to a very nice day.
That night, I drove down to Salt Lake and had a very greasy (yet very yummy) dinner with my friend Jessica, who got me both of my jobs at Microsoft. We ate at Crown Burger in Salt Lake, which is a local burger joint/chain. I got the Pastrami Burger, Fries, and the Pineapple Shake. It was excellent. Then, despite neither of us being appropriately attired, we headed over to Temple Square to see the Christmas lights. It was, as my Grandfather says, "Colder than a well-digger’s ass in January." But the lights were beautiful as always, and the company was excellent. I even got to christen my new Camera.
Thursday (Christmas Eve) dawned even colder than the night before. We lounged around the house in the morning, then left at about 12:30 to head down to Daybreak, to my sister’s house. On the way to her house, we pass one of the few things that I actually miss about Utah: a restaurant called Kneaders. It’s another local chain, and they have one of the best sandwiches I’ve even eaten in my life, the Turkey Bacon Avocado. Roasted and hand-pulled turkey with bacon, lettuce, onions, tomatoes (which I remove because raw tomatoes are foul) and avocado on a freshly baked focaccia bread covered with Asiago cheese made at the store. Since I pass by the place on the way to my sister’s house, it has become tradition for us to stop and get this thing of beauty every time we come (image stolen from the Kneader’s Website, ergo the misspelling of "avocado"):
One of our family traditions is that we always spent Christmas day in our own house with the family. There were occasions where grandparents came and did Christmas with us, but we never did Christmas at someone else’s house. My sis has held firm to that tradition as well (way to go!) and so they always do Christmas morning at their own house with my adorable little niece. So, we did our gift exchange on Christmas eve at her house, and she made us an excellent dinner of a really good homemade chicken noodle soup. I ate myself sick. I received the Blu-Ray of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and some yummy chocolate, and I got both Matt/Megan and the Parentals the same gifts: HD Webcams and a copy of my Audiobook The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. I also got my niece a Sit and Spin, which I always loved when I was a little kid. She’s got some special needs, so she’ll need help with it for a while, but she did seem to have a very good time. And the adults got to laugh ourselves sick from spinning her around and then making her try to walk. Below is a video. (Warning: Your head may explode from cuteness.)
This was really the first year I felt that Aubrey really had an idea what was going on, and she loved opening her presents. And, hoo boy, did she get excited about being encouraged to rip up paper!
That little girl is just so cute it’s lethal. And then, despite having a house full of good-looking people (both my sister and her husband look like they could be in print ads), they also got the second-cutest puppy in the world a few months ago, and she’s just a fun, lovable little bundle of energy.
It was adorable watching Aubrey give Stella big hugs and watching Stella lick Aubrey’s face. Those two are going to be friends for a long time. And why, might you ask is Stella the 2nd cutest puppy in the world? Well, I think it’s obvious that the first-cutest puppy in the world was, of course, my puppy, and I happened to find a few pictures of him on my parent’s computer that my dad took just days after I got him.
Stella, you’re cute, but you just can’t compare. After the presents, food, puppies, and general holiday merriment, we drove home, had some Key Lime tarts, and rounded out the evening watching the re-broadcast of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir’s annual Christmas Concert from two years ago, with the King Singers.
Christmas Day was wonderful. Mom, Dad, and I all emerged from our bedrooms at about 8AM (which is sleeping in for all of us) and opened presents. I got a blender, a heated blanket, the Blu-Ray of Pixar’s Up, a flash diffuser and remote trigger for my camera, a Kohl’s gift card, some really wonderfully plaid fleece pajama bottoms (that I’m wearing right now), and a case and some screen protectors for my Droid (DROOOOOID!). The award-winning present for the year, though, was the Elmer Fudd had that my mom got for my dad:
And in case you didn’t know what sexy looks like, here’s mom modeling the hat in her finest couture:
Unfortunately, shortly after taking this picture, one of the little loops on the hat broke and we had to return it–and the store didn’t have any replacements. But at least we have our memories. Then we had our traditional breakfast of Pillsbury Orange Rolls and Eggs, except we kicked
up the eggs a notch by turning them into a scramble with potatoes, peppers, onions, and sausage. I, of course, ate myself sick.
Later in the afternoon, Megan, Matt, and Aubrey came to visit. We all hopped in the car and drove over to the house of my dad’s Twin Brother™ and family, and I got to meet up with cousins I haven’t seen in years and years. We were a little concerned, because Aubrey doesn’t do particularly well with large groups of noisy strangers, and as you can imagine, we can get pretty loud when we get together. Aunt and Uncle had a full house as all of their kids and grandkids were together for the holiday. Nevertheless, Aubrey did really well, and we had a nice time visiting.
Christmas night, it was my turn to do the cooking. We had, as is tradition, Beef Tenderloin (also known as Fillet Mignon) with a peppercorn sauce, funeral potatoes, frog eye salad, rolls, green been casserole (spew!), and for dessert, the oft-mentioned and consumed Molten Chocolate Cake with, if you can believe it, Fleur de Sel Caramel Ice Cream. My sainted mother found the last three pints of the stuff in her local grocery store a few months ago, and saved it for me! (Best. Christmas. Ever!) We all ate ourselves sick.
Boxing day in our family is about one thing: After Christmas Deals. My mother, who has a sick wrapping paper fetish, usually goes out and buys about 700 rolls of wrapping paper, despite having mountains of paper already…including some of the ugliest wrapping paper known to mankind which she refuses to throw away despite the pleadings of her eldest son who obviously has much better taste in wrapping paper than she does. I had some Kohl’s cash to use up, so I got some replacement toothbrush heads for my electric toothbrush, some photo ornaments for my tree next year, and the cards I will be sending out next Christmas. We also stopped by *shudder* Wal-Mart, and fought the throngs for mom to agonize over which thoroughly unnecessary wrapping paper she wanted to get. (I tease, but despite the butt-ugliness of some of her wrapping paper, it’s nice to have the options when I am wrapping presents at home.)
Then I went out to breakfast with my cousin, Austin, who is my age and with whom I was very close growing up, and his wife, Anna. We went to the Star Cafe, a little dive in Layton that makes really good breakfasts. I had an omelet with bacon, peppers, onions, and cheese. It came with two scones. What people call scones in Utah aren’t the same thing as scones everywhere else. In most places, a scone is little more than a sweet biscuit. In Utah, a scone is like an elephant ear, but thicker. It’s deep fried dough, and it’s really, really good. Put a little bit of honey butter on one of these things, and you’ll think that you’ve died and gone to cholesterol heaven. As is often the case, I ate myself sick.
We visited for the rest of the afternoon, then mom, dad, and I spent the rest of the evening watching Up and enjoying each other’s company. We finished up the extra steaks from Christmas night, and I polished off a pint of Ice Cream. Then it was beddy-bye time. The next morning I was back on the plane to Seattle. I went grocery shopping, picked up the dog from the boarders, gave him a bath because he stank to high heaven, then had a wonderful dinner of Boeuf Bourguignon (don’t worry, I had to look up the spelling) followed by amazing candied apples and poached pears with homemade whipped cream at a neighbor’s holiday gathering. Then I went home, curled up with my heated blanked and my dog, and slept the sleep of the truly and fully content.
It was a wonderful holiday season full of friends, family, food, fun, and frippery. (I don’t even know what frippery is, I just needed another ‘f" word that wasn’t a swear, and I remembered this one from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.) I couldn’t have asked for a more enjoyable, peaceful, and relaxing time. I did make one decision during this blissful five days that I may regret–a decision that may cause me to look back upon this holiday season with fear and trepidation. But you’ll just have to wait to hear about that tomorrow.
Until then, I hope you and yours had a wonderful holiday season, and I hope you have an excellent new year.
Remember me? I’m the slightly mental guy who tends to spill his deepest feelings to a bunch of strangers who probably wish he’d just keep them all to himself and attempt to be pithy instead on this here new-fangled blog thing?
Yeah, I don’t remember me either. So, I wouldn’t feel too bad about that.
Anyway, I haven’t forgotten the blog, I promise. I’ve been distracted by life work, audiobooks, and video games. (Why does that sound like a movie or song title to me?) But we launched our Zune on Xbox service this morning at 2AM, so hopefully, things will slow down for me on the work front a little bit. I’ve set aside most of the audiobook stuff until December to take a little breather, and I’m just about finished with playing Ratchet and Clank: A Crack in Time through for the second time, so I should be back to my regular blogging self. I’ve got plenty of material. Plus, we just entered rainy, gray (grey?), nasty wrist-slitting weather, so you’ll get to hear my long and torturous posts about how I feel as though I’m trapped, and how my life has been an epic disappointment for the last fifteen years, and how I really need a change in my life, all peppered with an epic rant or two.
(I really am a barrel of laughs during the winter months up here. But hopefully this year will be better. At least I don’t have to spend the whole time studying Financial Management.)
I’m a sucker for a good commercial. If there’s one that really funny, I’ll actually stop my Tivo fast forwarding to watch it.
But there’s a trend going around in commercials at the moment that I just don’t understand. Why, in the name of all that’s good and holy, would you actively go out of your way to annoy the hell out of your potential customers by making commercials so shrill, annoying, repetitive, and stupid as the ones below? Really? Really!? With all of the brilliantly creative, talented, funny people out there, the best way that you can advertise your wares is with these horrendous abortions of advertising so atrocious that they could be used as a means of interrogating prisoners in Guantanamo? Waterboarding my fanny. Just play “Mini Sirloin Burgers” on a never-ending loop, and you’ll have Bin Laden in captivity within an hour.
There are three commercials which are currently airing in this new genre of ads. The instant I hear the first few strains of the commercials I actually turn off my TV entirely. I hate these commercials so much that they are actually causing me to stop turn off my TV in disgust and find something else to do. Networks are LOSING viewers because they’re allowing their advertisers to run such aurally offensive claptrap. If you haven’t had the epic misfortunate of seeing these commercials, I’ve provided clips of them below. I would advise, however, against watching or listening to them before you go to bed, or you’ll be up all night with the "music” stuck in your head…or at least I was. I can’t even type the phrase of the jingle without getting the song stuck in my head, and I’ve got a busy day at work tomorrow.
There was one other commercials that I wanted to include, but couldn’t find. That’s the Fiber One cereal commercial where the Indian guy keeps interrupting the woman in the aisle holding the box of the cereal. You know that people hate being interrupted, right? That’s generally considered exceptionally annoying, not to mention really bad manners. If someone started doing that me in the grocery store, I’d punch him in the face. Even considering that I’m a big wuss and very non-confrontational. I’d still totally do it. Right in the face. And if there wasn’t blood, I’d keep doing it until there was. Lots and lots of blood. Interrupt me every time I tried to open my mouth to speak. AND THAT’S THE WAY YOU WANT TO TELL ME YOU’VE GOT A WORTHWHILE PRODUCT? Now look what you made me do? Do you think I like hitting Indian people? Huh? Do You? But you were just asking for it.
What’s wrong with you people? Honestly.
In my opinion, the commercial that really started this trend of mind-killing annoyance was the Quizno’s Sponge Monkeys commercials that started airing back in 2003. I actually remember when they aired, because Shawn Perucca and Dustin Pierce used to run around the backstage area of Hell The Black Bear Jamboree in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee screaming “They’ve got a Pepper Bar” every 30 seconds. No wonder I’m not friends with them anymore. Yeesh.
So, advertisers of America, here’s the deal. All three of the above commercials are advertising establishments and/or products that I actually like. In fact, I’ve been to/purchased all three at least once in the last month. HOWEVER, as long as these commercials continue to play on the air, you will no longer have my business. I did this same thing with Quiznos when they were airing their terrible commercials. I’m not even going to type the names of the other offending companies, because I don’t want them to get any possible Google benefit from these 30-seconds auditory diatribes. I’m not going to let you assault my in my own home, and then pay you my hard-earned money for doing so. You get NONE of my money until the torture stops.
So, please, hurry up and kill off these commercials. I want me a Spicy Chicken Sandwich and some Churros.
So for those of you who have strong feelings one way or the other about Twilight or Buffy the Vampire Slayers, particularly those people who complain so vociferously that Bella is a weak protagonist, take a gander at this brilliantly edited mashup:
Since that day, I have never been without a TiVo in my life…except for that truly painful four months after I left 
![[charmin+bears.png]](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_p1OBNr1Hz14/SfkkD1tbRLI/AAAAAAAAAPA/g70TSljeK6A/s1600/charmin%2Bbears.png)
Recent Comments