More ad analysis

I guess it is kind of my new thing....

I find this Saturn commercial for hybrids mildly off-putting. It seems to equate childbearing with environmental sensitivity. First pairing: wedding ring better than hip-hop bling. Well, OK. Hip-hop music is frequently linked to drugs and violence, fine. Second pairing: olympic cyclist better than steroid-laden body builder. Well, again, OK, steroids are unhealthy for the body like fossil fuels are bad for the environment. Last pairing: kids playing basketball than kids playing video games. Again, childhood obesity is unhealthy and video games are pervasive.

But the second-to-last pairing is the one I find mildly offensive - called "rethink beauty." First shot - two women in their twenties, dressed up, probably models or just women out dancing. Second shot - equally pretty, slender woman in hospital bed with baby. How is dancing unhealthy? There is no sign that these women are shooting up, smoking, anorexic, or even drinking. Maybe Saturn is referring to Paris Hilton and Britney Spears, but they could have then used an image of a generic actress on the red carpet or in a limo. By the same token, how is having a baby progressive? Maybe using cloth diapers or having a midwife or nursing is. But a baby is another tiny carbon footprint. And is giving birth really uncommon or stigmatized? TLC seems to air nothing but touching baby stories.

I think Saturn could have found plenty of other examples without juxtaposing two value-neutral lifestyles as "bad" and "good."

Sexist Language in a Real Estate Ad

It took me several reads to figure out what this line in a house listing meant:

"...This home is not a drive by, stop and see the open great room effect. Wife will be with the family while preparing all the meals..."

Couldn't they just say open floor plan? Is it necessary to conjure up the image of an aproned housewife laboring over three meals a day, enjoying the view of her husband sitting on the couch with the remote? Surprisingly, this house isn't even listed by the Divine Homes realty group.

Even here, such an image is dated. My best Missouri friend's boyfriend cooks all dinners, while my co-worker's husband makes desert every night. Yesterday our campus fire and brimestone streetcorner preacher was railing about the fiery destination of "feminists." To the students' credit, they gather by the dozens to argue with the man. But you can't argue with crazy. You've just got to marginalize them in practice.

Winnie the Pooh

Most personality tests based on the works of A.A. Milne put me squarely in the Eeyore and Owl camps, with a bit of Rabbit thrown in for good measure. But there is a definite Pooh Bear me. The me that reads menus BEFORE it goes to restaurants, so it can enjoy the anticipation; the me that makes pancakes every weekend; the me that becomes distracted in meetings by thinking about food, the way some people might think about lovers. But it's not just the food aspect.

I dislike being uncomfortable generally. If there is something better to be achieved by being uncomfortable temporarily (looking better, earning more), I can grin and bear it, but I've never been able to swallow the idea of deprivation for the sake of deprivation. I don't understand why Thomas More wore a hair shirt, or how some people can just forget about food. My apparent ascetic tendencies result from the fact that I do not want what I don't have. Most people may desire meat and television, but I do not. When I want something, if I can afford it and have done proper research, I will buy it immediately. I see no reason to wait for a holiday.

My lack of asceticism sometimes makes me feel prematurely old or strangely young. I like (and have always liked) eating chocolates with an Agatha Christie novel; walking in the woods; swinging. Raves, drag racing, and spin the bottle just sound...uncomfortable.

Even my social relations are influenced by comfort. I give money to charity because I can't imagine how awful it would be to lack dental care or food. I am friends with people because I derive pleasure from their company, and they seem to enjoy mine.

This may all sound rather self-indulgent. Of course, there's always the incalculable calculus concerning how forgoing chocolate today might increase my lifespan later. Maybe some individuals are constitutionally predisposed to think about higher things than food and warmth and comfortable shoes. Even Christian hedonism recently had its day, although granted the main tenet was that enjoying God was the ultimate indulgence. Despite all the foreboding in the Bible about getting too attached to earthly goods, I have a hard time imagining a God who created chocolates and mystery novels and down comforters just to tempt us to sin.

Asparagus goes to the deep South

I took a trip with two friends and a baby to Hot Springs, Arkansas this weekend. I've been whining about the "south" since I moved. But Missouri is very midwestern compared to Arkansas. The first thing I noticed was the disparity in wealth. Many people lived in rusted out trailers, while next door were million-dollar homes on the lakes (all the lakes in this area are artificially made with dams). This is not the way things are in the upper midwest, but it is in PR. Luckily, our condo was spic and span, and spacious, with a modern exterior and a fireplace.

What first disrupted my noetic structure was the sight of Confederate flags fluttering in the air. They appeared not just on the back of pickups, but also flying above respectable banks and in town squares. My jaw dropped, and I began blithering. My less neurotic and better-traveled companions explained the situation to me. Many southerners' ancestors had died in the Civil War; they saw the flag as a historical symbol (and no, they probably had not read the constitutions of the states of the Confederacy); they had guns. I would probably have continued to ride my Yankee high horse if not for the last point.

My friends did not hold my incredulity against me, but rather found the situation funny. Funny enough to surreptitiously purchase a shot glass embossed with the confederate flag for me in a gift shop. A black man checked them out. "What exactly does that symbol mean?" asked my friend. "I don't know. Ask him (motioning to his white co-worker). He's white." The white man did not know either.

My second big culture shock involved alcohol. There was plenty of it flowing in Hot Springs. Sunday afternoon, I had a glass of wine at a restaurant. My friend found the waiter hot, but is in a relationship. She tried to convince me to ask the hot waiter on a date so she could live vicariously through me. I declined. He was short. I thought it odd, though, that he rang me up for an appetizer instead of a drink.

I found out why when I went to Kroger. I was excited to go to Kroger, since they are sadly absent in Missouri. I found the Arkansas a poor reflection of its Ohio counterpart, though. I grabbed a six pack and headed for the register. As I scanned my beverage, suddenly two store employees swept down and grabbed the alcopop from my grocery bag. "We don't sell ALCOHOL in the state of ARKANSAS on SUNDAY," I was loudly informed. Feeling like a criminal, I slunk out of the store. Of course, I was furious. Not only is the law ridiculous (precisely what theology dictates that it's OK to drink previously bought alcohol and shop for other items on Sundays, but not OK to shop for alcohol on Sunday?), but there was not even a ribbon around the booze section in a tourist town to warn me of my wickedness.

So those were my unfortunate experiences (apart from tripping on a table cloth in an art gallery and nearly shattering a glass sculpture). I did enjoy the historic spa treatment, and the botanical gardens, which were already in bloom. Baby and I hung out while my friends took pictures. I don't like all babies. Or even most babies. But this baby was portable, happy, chubby, cute, and smelled good. He rarely cried except when he would roar like a dinosaur at his toys. In the absence of free weights, it was excellent exercise to toss him in the air.