The Freedom to be Stupid, and then Dead

I was listening to Tom Sullivan the other day for some reason I can't quite explain, even to myself.  Tom Sullivan is one of those bags of rocks who have nationally syndicated talk radio shows.   There are about 1500 of them, by my own rough count.

Anyway Tom- who is not very bright, even when compared to his fellow right wing yakkers, decided to go on a little rant about how he always buckles his seat belts, and thinks it's stupid that some people don't buckle their seat belts.  Because Sullivan must interject a level of Libertarianism into every show, he went on to argue that there should not be any LAWS concerning the buckling of seat belts- "if people don't want to buckle up, they shouldn't have to- if they get hurt, they have only themselves to blame," blah blah blah.

Of course, if you buckle up and you hit a car carrying someone who ISN'T buckled up, maybe that other guy suffers massive injuries which could have been avoided but will now cost an insurance company millions- the bill for which will be passed on to that company's other customers.   And if wearing a seat belt is NOT the law, every insurance company in the country will jack up the rates in preparation for the inflated medical bills incurred by the morons who insist on refusing to wear them.  Same goes with driving a motorcycle with a helmet.   Which Tom Sullivan is also against requiring by law.

All the anti-seat belts, anti-helmet, anti-nutrition labels, anti-High Fructose Corn Syrup hyper-masculine wannabees always come back to something they call the "Nanny State."  They think that whenever the government requires us to do things wear helmets, buckle up, stop at red lights, drive less than 95 on the turnpike, etc.  it's treating us like an overprotective, tax-sucking parent, depriving us of our God-given right to die in our choice of many, many stupid ways.   Same goes for Evil Overbearing Regulations which prevent the Most Productive from creating jobs by requiring Union-Mandated Luxuries like fire escapes,  minimum wages, and machines NOT made entirely out of whirling razor blades.  Damn Unions.

All this being sad, I think the world would be better off- and quite a bit smarter- if we just let dopey gasbags like Tom Sullivan drive as fast as they want to with no seat belts, while holding a beer in one hand and texting with the other.  If we could just be assured that they would only smash into each other, I'd sign on to that deal in a heartbeat.

Apparently, this commercial is about baseball caps

I have a few questions for the guy with the sad mustache and the sadder devotion to a perennially bad baseball team- better questions than the ones he's being asked by his boyfriend errrrr....I mean, Former Close Friend Who Has Become an Insufferable A-Hole Since His Team Broke It's Own Curse. *

1.  Would you give up sitting in a dusty, dank bar in the middle of a day nursing a beer while your team was playing on a television set you aren't even watching?  I mean, check out the bright windows- clearly the Cubs are playing one of their traditional day games (and suffering one of their even more traditional losses) as these guys mutter at each other.

2.  Would you experiment with showing emotion- any emotion at all- while talking about the team you care about so much?  The deadpan responses the Cubs fan gives are, I believe, supposed to be funny.  I think they are pretty darned close to depressing.

3.  Would you stop pretending that THIS- sitting in a dank bar, exchanging "pleasantries" with an idiot whose team you are supposed to despise- is somehow a productive, reasonable way for an adult to spend a sunny afternoon?

4.  If the Cubs won the World Series, would you spend the rest of your life rubbing it in my face, reminding me of all the afternoons I wasted sticking knives into your soul, reminding you of all the things you promised to do if The Unimaginable finally happened?  Or are you willing to admit that the following summer would find you right back here, in your favorite wooden chair, nursing a beer with a morose, lost look on your face, as you realize that the Cubbies winning the Whole Thing didn't make your life any more worth living than it was when they sucked (which was pretty much every other year, except 2003.)

*Full disclosure: I'm a life-long Red Sox fan.   I never promised God or anyone else that I would exchange my fingers for sausages or shave my mustache (never had any) or any of the other stupid things the stoned White Sox fan comes up with in this ad.   And I never thought that my life would Suddenly Become Amazing if my beloved Boston could just once have an October that did not end in heartache.  I just thought I'd be very, very happy for a short while, and then everything would go back to normal.  And that's what exactly what did happen.   Because I'm a realistic adult whose life does not rise and fall on the fortunes of nine millionaires playing a game.

2007 was very cool, too.

Another It's Amazing You Are Still Alive late night tv ad

I have to admit, this is a tough commercial to snark on.  You see, I have lost many, many friends to tragic Looking for Soap accidents.  Whenever I get a chance, I warn people to please, PLEASE make sure they've got plenty of soap (four or five bars, just to play it safe) before stepping into the shower.  And if they forget and realize that they don't have any soap, please DON'T be a hero-- just chalk it up to bad luck, turn off the water, dry the entire shower floor carefully, and take your time (10-15 minutes ought to do it) stepping out of the shower.  There will be other opportunities to wash yourself in the future, and take it from me- those things are death traps.

In fact, my long, heartbreaking experience with Lack of Soap incidents (why, oh WHY don't they look?  It haunts me) has made me kind of an evangelist on the issue, constantly reminding people that sponge baths are a perfectly acceptable alternative to traditional, death-inviting showering.   And if they MUST risk everything by doing it the old fashioned way, at least invite a friend over and keep the bathroom door unlocked, so they can come in and perform a rescue when the inevitable accident takes place.  I tell them they'll thank me, but like most people who refuse to see danger until it's too late, they just look at me strange and stop inviting me to their parties.  Or answering the phone when I call. 

This device, at least, gives me a little hope that I won't be spending more than a few days in the next year attending the funerals of old friends who simply could not remember to check for that damn bar of soap before turning on the water.  This wonderful gadget, which ought to be listed right up there with the smallpox vaccine as inventions which dramatically increase life spans of people smart enough to use them, holds up to SEVEN bars of soap and comes in two colors.  And it's so easy to use- even people too dumb to remember that soap does not last forever can probably manage to install and operate one of these things.   I'm going to get all my friends one, and stock them with the maximum seven bars before handing them over.   That should be worth at least a couple of months of peace of mind- and what a relief it will be to finally get a decent night's sleep, not worrying that one of my close acquaintances isn't moments away from falling to her death in the bathroom because she didn't check the soap dish first.*

Here's the odd thing, though- no Special Offer attached to this particular item.  No second SoapAway Absolutely Free of Charge Just Pay Extra Shipping and Handling.  Kind of odd, because it breaks the Late Night TV Commercial rule.  Shows you how seriously the manufacturer takes the product, clearly.  This is something you MUST have, and should NOT be equated in any way to Eagle Eyes Sunglasses or Magic Diamond Non-Stick Frying Pans.  SoapAway, after all, is the only thing standing between you and a slow, agonizing death on your bathroom floor.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to take a shower- and since I don't have one of these things yet, that means I have to start calling my friends to see if anyone is willing to come over and sit in my living room listening for a thump and a scream.  Wish me luck.

*Yeah, I have male friends, but I don't think of them in the shower, thanks anyway. 

Even Geico seems embarrassed in this one

On the next step of his "epic journey" (their words) across America, the Geico Gekko finds himself being honored in a "parade for the veterans" (a parade for the veterans which seems to be taking place in Anytown, USA circa 1966, by the way.) 

The Gekko seems genuinely uncertain at the idea of horning in on a parade for people who actually went off and fought and risked their lives for their country.  Well, we can hardly blame him, can we?  On the one hand, we've got what looks like surviving members of Tom Brokaw's Greatest Generation, men who as boys left their moms and dads, picked up guns, and went off to save the world from Fascism.  On the other hand, we've got a cartoon lizard with an Australian accent.

And yet- the Gekko IS being honored in this parade, which is of course staged by Geico.  It's not a REAL parade, it's a mirage invented by an insurance company and using old men and about thirty extras as props to sell that insurance.   The "veterans" (wouldn't it be awful if they were REAL veterans, asked to "star" in this ad?) are just part of the joke, the mask used to justify a blatant attempt to link a FUCKING CAR INSURANCE COMPANY to Patriotism.

All this is supposed to be funny, somehow.  Can someone explain how to me?  Is it the In Your Face attitude of Geico in exploiting the soft spot most of us have for our fellow countrymen who were willing to risk everything?  Is it the huge, blatantly obtrusive Gekko float, which dwarfs the actual human beings who AREN'T in the business of selling us something?  Help me out here, please.

If all Mormon girls are as cute as this Mom, maybe I should look into converting

There are a dozen or more of these Mormons Are Really Cool Just Like You Think People who share Your Religion Are ads out there, most of them conveniently located on a YouTube channel nobody ever looks at, but some of which actually make their way on to regular television to compete with My Life Is My Phone commercials.  I can't help but think that their sudden appearance just might have something to do with a certain right-of-center political personality aiming for the White House this autumn.

No, not the President.  The other right-of-center guy- the one who is a Republican.  Wait, that doesn't work either....I mean, the white guy. 


All of these commercials have the same theme- a Daddy and his Child are having an awesome time together playing some game which requires use of the imagination and not an X-Box and also requires that they be in the same room at the same time- so far, so good. They are sword fighting or fighting space aliens or exploring new worlds or whatever.  Ultimately they are interrupted by Mom, who wants to let them know that dinner is ready, or that they risk waking up the baby- but unlike in pretty much every other commercial for stuff that has nothing to do with being a Mormon, Mom is not upset or irritated at their play (for one thing, she's too busy feeding the baby or cooking the food, which is all mommies are supposed to be doing when they aren't producing the next generation.)

I think that the message here is supposed to be "Mormons are Normal."  Except if it is, these ads are all total fails.  Hey, Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints- if you want to present Mormons as being Just Like The Rest of Us, here's what you do:

Show dad doing something really stupid while ignoring his kids which are, after all, Mommy's responsibility.

Show kids talking and texting and watching videos on tiny screens.  While rolling their eyes at their parents (that is, when they deign to acknowledge their existence at all.)

Show Mommy- well, actually, you've got Mommy down pretty good here.  Maybe tone down the Delighted to be a Mommy Look just a bit.  Have her sneer something hurtful at Daddy.  That would be a bit more realistic.  Otherwise, you are doing fine.

And good luck with the whole Romney thing, too.  Because my opinion of Political Parties matches up with my opinion of Organized Religions- they serve as security blankets for some, a way to break people into tribes and give them a reason to hate each other for others.  The parties are just a little younger than most, that's all.

I Have a Better Idea, FIOS

Instead of this guy casually issuing orders to his private team of movers- "adjust the flat screen tv just a smidge"-- as he settles into his vast, bright new palace with it's 20-foot ceilings, only to suddenly decide that he doesn't want to live there after all because it's not a "FIOS building," I have a few suggestions.

Unfortunately, I know kids who read this blog, and all my suggestions involve shoving foreign objects into spaces where foreign objects really shouldn't go.  Accompanied by pain.  Lots and lots of pain.

They also involve a lot of swearing and calling this person names I really don't want them picking up from me, or anyone else.  After all, they are good young ladies who should remain that way, and should not be corrupted by their evil-minded history teacher.

So I'm afraid that this time, I'm going to have to keep all the mental imagery where it originated- in my head.  I'm not going to describe the movers turning that flat-screen tv into a hula hoop over the privileged, noxious little jackass.  Nor am I going to share my fantasy of where that remote ends up (hint: to turn the channel, he'll have to get inventive with his diet.)   Nope, not going to do it.  Because some people I really like and respect read this blog.

So my detailed description of how this guy gets beaten into a bloody pulp by the furniture movers, with the remains being left to the dogs, and then has his non-FIOS castle burned to the ground to complete the Viking funeral for this sorry waste of skin is going to have to stay in my own imagination.  I'll leave you guys to use your own.  Sorry I couldn't be more help- but with this particular commercial, you probably didn't need any, anyway.

Fiber One, Husband Zero

Let me see if I get this straight.

Husband is standing in the middle of his driveway in his bathrobe, cradling a box of cereal in one arm and using the other to eat a bowl of said cereal.

Weird Colonial Indian Guy With British Accent strolls by and engages him in conversation about how the cereal eater's wife doesn't believe that the cereal, called FIBER ONE, has fiber in it, even though it's called FIBER ONE and has this big label which says 33% DAILY ALLOWANCE OF FIBER on the box.

Somehow the guy is going to get in trouble because there's the Wife, standing behind him with a nasty look on his face.  Can I assume she's angry because her husband is standing in the driveway in his bathrobe eating his cereal instead of doing it at the kitchen table like a normal person who is not driven out of his home by his wife's refusal to accept that a cereal that comes in a box which has the word FIBER all over it?

(Anyone here know the impact of fat idiots eating cereal in their bathrobes in the driveway on the suburban housing market, by the way?  I can tell you I wouldn't purchase a home in this neighborhood.)

Can someone explain to me what happened here?  Did this guy and his wife have an argument over the fiber content of the cereal which caused him to flee the house?  Did he get so insulted at Wife's attitude that he decided to take his box of cereal and seek comfort and affirmation from the guy he saw stocking the cereal at the local Giant Food?  Did hubby take advantage of Wife's momentary absence from the kitchen to snatch a few precious moments of peace in the driveway?  What?