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.

False advertising?

I drove by a Charter Communications truck the other day with the logo:

"Charter brings your home to life."

Seriously? So our homes were dead before Charter started piping in Vh1 and the Home Shopping Network? I would posit that Charter is in fact hazardous to biological life. I'm only a slave to their internet service, but I know it tempts me to ignore life-giving basics like sleep and exercise, and instead sit inert before a screen. Charter is about as life-affirming as Krispy Kreme. A more truthful motto might be:

"Your attention will inadvertently be drawn to anything bright, loud, and moving."


But I doubt that would sell many subscriptions.

Reasons to hate me

Statement of Purpose

Lately I've traded in politics for driving tips, but with the impending Collapse of Civilization, I feel the need to leave a record of "I told you so." I also like posting inflammatory ideas that I probably actually believe on my blog.

Opening Dialog

Me: I feel sorry for Obama - I read the transcript of what his pastor said, and I actually agreed with most of it. It's dumb that the prisons are filled with people there on drug offenses.
Co-worker 1: I don't approve of drugs.
Me: Well, alcohol is a legal drug (I think: OMG get yourself a D.A.R.E. shirt and visit the state pen).
Co-worker 2: I'm a Hillary man myself, but it doesn't surprise me that you're an Obama supporter.
Me: Well, I don't actually support Obama because he doesn't talk in specifics.
Co-worker 2: That surprises me, since you're so young (I think: so my age makes me stupid?)
Co-worker 1: I'm a yellow dog, which means I'll vote for the democratic candidate no matter what (I think: so dogs are stupid?)
Me: I've never voted for either major party in a presidential election.
Co-worker 2: So it's your fault George Bush is president?
Me: I couldn't really vote for Kerry - I hate labor unions (stunned silence).

Discussion of Dialog

Yes, folks, I am a maverick, given to independent thought. You can read what Billy Kristol has to say about the sermons of Obama's pastor here. You know, I don't think most people really disagree or would be outraged about his pastor's beliefs on prison reform, racism, and American imperialism. Obama's pastor believes our government's actions are inhumane and anti-biblical. Obama is campaigning on a platform of change. What's so inconsistent about that?

What gets under people's skin is the statement "God damn America." When people say "God bless America" or put it on their bumper sticker, they are not praying. They mean God should bless America because they believe it is a godly nation. It's a political statement. Wright did not believe he was calling down lightening on his own head. He was saying that, given our national actions, God would be just in damning the nation. Conservatives sometimes accuse one of being "ungrateful" to the "fatherland" if you vehemently disagree with the course of the nation. Well, thank you very much, Mussolini, but that sounds rather Roman to me.

Pastors are often skilled rhetoricians. Anyone who has studied rhetoric recognizes that Wright is using antithesis to make a point. It would have been less effective to contrast "God bless America" with "God is not pleased with the actions of our politicians." To bless is the opposite of to damn. Wright intended the statement to be shocking.

He might not have seen that several years down the road, a member of his congregation would be judged by his words. How many of us have attended churches where the pastor says things like God hates sinners, or Women should submit to men, or God bless the public schools and the teachers there doing your work? We may not fully agree with these statements, but we may still attend the church.

At any rate, the widespread knowledge that Obama attends United Trinity Church should put to rest the facile notion that he is Muslim. Unless Americans are too ignorant to know that Muslims consider the Trinity to be a heresy. That's right I said AMERICANS are IGNORANT. Take a look at our rankings compared to other developed nations.

Major Digression: Why I Am Not a Democrat

I just spent four paragraphs defending Obama. Now I'm going to say why I'm not a Democrat: because I think people should have to deal with the shit they get themselves into and stop whining about it. Like jobs. People love to say now that "my job doesn't really define me." Well, to some extent it does. I'm a librarian because I'm a know-it-all. Leeann's in politics because she's an optimist. Brianna's a barista because she's kind of stylish and social. My mom takes care of old people because she's compassionate and my dad takes care of buildings because he's handy. Some of us may want to do other things some day, but we've chosen temporary jobs that we don't hate.

If people go through their entire lives putting together widgets in a factory and hating it, then that is their stupidity and lack of initiative, and they shouldn't get paid $40 an hour because their lives suck. Maybe they shouldn't have gotten their girlfriend pregnant; maybe they should have gone to community college; maybe they shouldn't have gotten into credit card debt. In America today, it's polite to talk about anything except your job. You can bring up procreation and bodily functions and be "edgy" or "relaxed," but if you want to talk about work, you're a snob.

Labor unions generally consist of unskilled workers. Medieval guilds consisted of skilled workers who understood each other and cared about each other because they understood the value of the work they did. Some of my best conversations are with other librarians and academics because, having the same job, we have at least some of the same values.

Many of the societal problems liberals blame on conservatives are caused by the intervention of big government. The production of corn and soybeans (including GMOs) is subsidized by the government, hurting the small farmer and consumers, and helping large, unethical factory farm corporations like Monsanto. Our healthcare mess is exacerbated by the large amount of money paid out -- thanks to a Robin Hood mentality, -- to a certain privileged section of society in Medicaid and Medicare, and cronyism between pharmaceutical companies and politicians. The government allows pharmaceutical companies to patent things they have not even created - like the gene that causes breast cancer.

Conclusion

I was thinking about the Unabomber today. Not sure why. Maybe I was wondering about his prediction that civilization would collapse in 40 - 100 years. Of all serial killers, I probably understand him the best (hey, we're both Michigan alumni!). I mean, I wouldn't kill anyone (except George Bush and Donald Rumsfeld), but I can TOTALLY see myself putting on some pressure to get a manifesto published in the New York Times.

Julio Update

Julio went back to Ohio with Mother. He seems to be enjoying his sun porch and larger living spaces.

Back here in Misery, we are experiencing record levels of precipitation, and dude, if it keeps raining, the levy's gonna break.

Stuff White People (aka hipsters) Like

Micah posted a link to this blog in Facebook. What is really being described here is not white person behavior, but hipster behavior, and the author has it pegged. Hipsters take the environment, nutrition, and diversity seriously; everything else must be ironic.

There was much "advanced white person behavior" going on in Ann Arbor, among people of all skin colors: buying expensive sandwiches, shopping at Whole Foods, raising multilingual children, owning MACs, and pretty much everything else (I'm not going to link because I'm lazy). When I was a nanny, I was told I must use re-usable grocery bags.

I must admit to exhibiting quite a bit of white person behavior myself, such as threatening to move to Canada. I share the hipster love of national broadcasting organizations - such as NPR and BBC. I am a devout fan of Car Talk and All Songs Considered. I even went to an NPR winetasting fundraiser. NPR boosts my ego. Since it is broadcast by the University, which it pretty much the only kulturträger in this corner of the state, it frequently mentions donors I know or events with which I am involved. Yes, in New York City I might be nobody, but here I am part of the NPR inner-circle. My love of NPR troubles me. I hate the State, yet I listen to the U.S. equivalent of Pravda.

Indeed, satire can cause one to become self-aware, but not necessarily to change. Loving NPR may exhibit may not be thoroughly consistent behavior, but what's the alternative? Listening to Rush Limbaugh or the Top 40 stations? I'd rather be a socialist snob than stupid. The same applies to shopping at Target instead of Walmart. It may be a deception in some ways, but it is a deception I enjoy. The merchandise is more pleasingly arranged, it's not as crowded, and it doesn't smell like cow shit.

I spent part of the day walking around Petco with an ironic cherry sucker in my mouth. I bought Julio a harness and a feather on a stick. He is so obese that his fat cells have begun to take over his liver and pancreatic cells, and he ended up at the clinic with a kitty IV in his arm. I think I will have to start dragging his fat ass up and down the alley, because he does not like playing. I also thought about buying him a mouse (2.29 for a spotted one!) and putting it in one of those plastic balls, and letting him chase it around the house, but that seems like the pet equivalent of a Final Solution. Any suggestions for getting him off his sizable stomach?

Wikiphilia

I love Wikipedia.

I usually get to students after professors have warned that they will flunk if they cite Wikipedia. I take a less drastic perspective and often use Wikipedia as an example: Wikipedia can serve as a starting place to gather terms, just like Britannica or WorldBook, I note. You know that anyone can write a Wikipedia article, but do you have any better of an idea of who is publishing this website? I ask. Remember that some Wikipedia articles are footnoted, and it's perfectly acceptable to use the links, I remind. When professors give students bad assignments (as new reference supervisor person, I've created a folder called "Bad Ass."), I go to Wikipedia to check for pseudonyms, wrong dates, and suggested sources.

Wikipedia serves to give me prurient background information on celebrities, and gives a quick summary of recent events or television series that I've not bothered to keep up with. It even helps me remember my Latin heritage. I found a (grammatically flawed) article about the infamous Puerto Rican criminal Tony Bicicleta, about whom mother used to warn us. Wikipedia also confirms that the chupacabra was originally a PUERTO RICAN creature, and that other Latin countries stole him (this is confirmed by the Encyclopedia of Cryptozoology - a fascinating read if you ever get the chance). There's even a somewhat-inaccurate article about my tiny hometown, Naguabo. I think I even know Elsa "La Loca."

Wikipedia is my friend, professionally and personally. It's ill-repute allows me to use it as an example for questioning the trust we should place in any source, and its ability to record everything authenticates and satisfies my most trivial interests.

Multitasking Makes Me Happy

Seriously. That is why I like computers. They are very fast. I can listen to music, play scrabble, check my email, and read the news all at the same time. When I am engaged my feet wiggle.

Bad Luck, cont.

Emma doesn't think I'm cursed. I disagree. Monday, an ice storm hit. The Powers That Be decided to shut the university down as the sleet began coming down and coating the roads. Reason would have dictated that we not come in at all, as the satellite images had clearly shown the storm moving our way for days. As it was, several thousand employees hit the iced road at the exact same time that morning.

I tried to order pizza for dinner, but all locations refused to deliver. I realized the situation was serious. Sleet continued to fall and freeze throughout the night. A wind struck up, and I lay in bed listening to branches fall around and on top of me. At midnight, there was a dramatic flash and boom as we lost power.

When I awoke, the house was in the fifties. Although I had no power, I had hot water, and I was able to make myself a lukewarm cup of coffee with my french press. A neighbor knocked on my door to inform me that there were utility lines down over my car, tangled in branches.

As the morning wore on, those who had four wheel drive left for warming stations or friends' houses. The neighborhood was eerily quiet, like the aftermath of a nuclear holocaust. I discovered it was colder in the house than in my freezer. This amused me. I put my soy meat in a duty free bag I had gotten in Puerto Rico, and stuck it out my back door.

I slipped across the alley (literally) to visit my neighbors, who are in their 80s. They had several dozen candles burning on their coffee table, and it did indeed keep their house warmer than mine. Mrs. D said that her grandson had tried to take them home, but that she "didn't see why we should go to their house, since they don't have power, either." As I was leaving, their smoke alarm went off. Mr. D spoke up from under his blanket: "Well, I guess smoke rises." I took their alarm down for them.

Back in my own house, it began to get very cold. I huddled under the comforter with the cats and listened to my iPod. My friend A. called to tell me that the U was closed. She also said she would send our friend S. to pick me up if it got too cold. I called the fire department (the utility company wasn't answering) and they said electricity would not be restored that night. My desire for comfort won out over my desire to be self-sufficient, and I called S. to come rescue me. She sent her husband in his jeep, and I spent a lovely warm evening at their house.

Wednesday morning, we picked up A., who couldn't get her car out of the driveway. She gave us the very bad news that the Powers That Be had decided the library needed to be open, although the rest of the U was closed. To add insult to injury, we didn't need to be open for library services, but so that the computer lab that we house could be available. So we went to work in very bad spirits.

By Wednesday night, my power was half on. My car was still under cables, which A. suggested lifting with a rubber spatula. S. and I decided that this was a plan that might work better in theory than in practice.

Most of my outlets appear to be not working, some are giving a low charge, and 2 are working well. Luckily, whatever controls my heat is working. I believe this is because one of the three wires in the bundle is split. Every man I have mentioned the matter to has his own theory, and is quite certain it is accurate, whether or not he has seen the situation with his own eyes. It's rather like when Av.'s father told me from a thousand miles away that Av. didn't have strep throat, although I had examined his throat myself. We know what happens when a woman opens the hood of her car. I guess male over-confidence may have served a purpose several million years ago.

Thursday morning I decided it was nonsense that I couldn't use my car, and I discussed the cable lying atop it with a firefighter, a cable television agent, and my landlord. The consensus was that the wire was a cable wire and not an electric wire. So I moved it. And I'm still here. After the grueling task of scrapping 2 inches of solid ice off my car, I sprinkled kitty litter on the driveway. Navigating that successfully, I put the car in neutral and slid slowly down the ice in the alley.

Today my main challenge is having only two working outlets. I've relocated my microwave and my computer. Really, I can get along fine without everything else.

So I've beaten the Lent Curse thus far. Stay tuned for whatever fortuna next decides to throw my way.

Me and Lent

I'm going through an anti-superstition stage, ignoring Ash Wednesday, Lent, and the Religious Calendar in general (I did vote, which is probably the most empty ritual of all). I don't really feel like giving anything up for Lent. I like chocolate, and I've already given up meat for my own good reasons.

Yesterday it seemed that universe was punishing me for my negligence. I went to a doctor's appointment at 8:15, only to be told that it was for next Tuesday. The stoplights weren't working, and it was sleeting. I left a classroom to make a phone call when no one showed up, and five minutes later when I came back someone else was teaching my entire class. The power went off in the afternoon, and my evening class was interrupted by a tornado warning.

All of these events were entirely out of my control. Everybody has unlucky days, but because of the timing, it felt as though I were being punished. Perversely, this has only made me the more determined NOT to give anything up for Lent. I also intend to walk under ladders this week. Bad luck has to max out at some point.

Company

Brianna is gone :-( We reconnected on many levels and formed new connections: coffee presses, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and kittens. Our differences were also highlighted. Shopping in antique malls was amusing, because inevitably if I went "ooohhhh" she went "ewwwww," and vis versa. The first night, we stayed at a faux-British inn called "The Cheshire." Little doormen in red coats opened the doors for us. I found this disconcerting. Brianna said this was "as it should be."

Driving home from St. Louis after dropping her off, I noticed an SUV driving next to me. I looked over to see what the problem was, and the (ugly) man in the vehicle waved at me with THAT LEERING LOOK. All young women know of what I am speaking. I conjured up the most hateful face I could and mouthed the most awful obscenity I could think of. Yes, it was THAT word. I use it quite alot when I am driving, along with "moron." I then sped up to 80 and switched 3 lanes. To my surprise, the man looked quite CHAGRINED. Did he expect me to blow him a kiss or something?

A Fine Romance?

On the drive home today, the Papa John's Pizza Trivia Question was "72% of people prefer a romantic partner to one who does all of these." The answer was "chores." So I was RIGHT. At least 72% of people are COMPLETELY INCOMPREHENSIBLE. Or at least will sacrifice tangible benefits for things that I find puke-worthy. We're talking flowers and diamonds and "honey" and "darling" and little kissy noises, right? Forgive my inner 7-year-old, but EWWWW.


I really don't like romantic anything: romantic gestures, romantic music, nationalism, the French Revolution, Napoleon, or romantic heroes. Give me rationalism and J.S. Bach any day. And people who do chores. People who do chores are awesome.




Don't worry, Mazzini, I still love you. Despite the coffee grounds all over our sink, you DID make me laugh, which is so much more important than roses.

While we're on the topic of romance, I'm surprised at how many women still wear diamonds. Not only are they boring, colorless, and common, but they also come from fairly dubious origins, no matter what your political persuasion. DeBeers and the African governments aren't terrribly upstanding from the perspective of socialism OR capitalism.