A Conversation

"So, here's my problem... she spanks me during sex."
Me: Do you not like it?
"Um, no, not really."
Me: Why?
"Well, it kinda hurts. ... And it makes me feel like a child being punished, which is a terrible feeling to have during sex. And, well, I feel little out of control, to be honest."
Me: And that's a bad thing?
"Well, yeah. I almost [employs air quotes] lose it. ... How do I tell her to stop?"
Me: Tell her what you just told me. Tell her you don't like it.
"But I think she likes it."
Me: So? If she likes you at all, she'll stop doing something that makes you so uncomfortable.
"..."
Me: ...
"But I like spanking her."
Me: Does she like you spanking her?
"I don't know. I never really thought about it. She moans when I spank her, but I moan when she spanks me because it hurts."
Me: Did you ever ask her if you could spank her?
"I just assumed it was cool."
Me: Why?
"Well, you know, girls like that sort of thing."
Me: You mean those feelings of pain and being demeaned and made to feel like a child and being out of control...girls like that better than guys?
"I didn't say that."
Me: You said it makes you feel that way. Why would it be different for a girl?
"Because girls are used to it."
Me: ... Keep digging your own grave here.

A Fair is a Veritable Smorgasbord, orgasbord: Part 1

(This was supposed to be posted when the fair actually happened, but not only am I a terrible blogger, I'm now gainfully employed. So that takes up a lot of my valuable time. I'm posting it anyway because [believe it or not] I put a lot of work into it. New Year's resolution: be a better blogger.)

A lot can be learned from E.B. White's children's classic Charlotte's Web. The wonder of friendship. Everyone is special and contributes something to their society. The beauty and cruelty of nature. And the gluttonous wonder that is the State Fair. Whenever the fair rolls around my mind immediately goes to the fair scenes in Charlotte's Web, particularly the scenes from the animated movie where Templeton fantasizes about the food he will eat and when he actually runs around collecting, ingesting, and gleefully rolling around in scraps from the fair. For me, this encompasses the fair: it's trashy, it's flashy, and sorta bad for you, but there are these little crumbs of joy (and sometimes bewilderment) to be found. It's a smorgasbord of sensory overload that can leave you feeling elated or sick to your stomach. Or both.

It's fair time once again, and for some reason I agreed to go not once, but twice. There's a lot that I like about the fair, and some things that I don't. And even with the things that I enjoy, I recognize how strange or downright wrong they can be outside of the context of the fair. Because it really is this ephemeral experience, and the things that make up "The Fair Experience" make total sense in context, and yet somehow still don't. For example: Anything deep fried. It's perfectly acceptable to eat, and to want to eat deep fried things at the fair. It's almost a given. And yet it's still considered absurd, and we know it's not healthy to eat deep fried candy bars, but it's just this one time a year, so it's okay. And despite the fact that it's the same rides and same vendors in the same places, the experience is always a little different. So, here are my two days at the fair.

Saturday I went with Luann and the Count. As soon as we walked through the gates things got weird. From a distance I could see that there was this guy handing things out to people, and not liking to make eye contact with people who are handing things out, I turned my head as we walked by, pretending to be interested in renting a Rascal. Awkward crisis averted, I then heard the guy say, "FREE HARLEQUIN NOVEL! GET YOUR FREE HARLEQUIN NOVEL!" Um, what was that? Free Harlequin novel, you say? There's no way that is for real. They are handing out free harlequin novels at the fair? What is this, Christmas? But it was real.
Based off the cover (and blurb on the back) I think it's about a woman who falls in love with a cowboy. The only thing that could make this better if it was called A Fair to Remember and was about a woman that had an affair with a carnie or a side-show freak. But I'm not even sure what the title is. I think it's Crime Scene at Cardwell Ranch, which sounds like a cowboy-fied Nancy Drew. Who ever okay'ed this cover is crazy, because why would you make the title so difficult to see? Forget it, Jake; it's free harlequin romance and mystery town.

Anyway, we continued walking and first stop was the food. A steak sandwich for the Count, ribbon fries for myself, and a giant turkey leg for the ever classy Luann. She ate it like an ANIMAL. A classy animal. But what really amused me was that while we were waiting in line to get her leg, I happened to look over and see a can of Faygo orange soda sitting on the edge of the grill. Talk about an Easter egg for the juggalo fans! In my mind, one of the guys working the grill was either a juggalo, a fan of Faygo, from Michigan, or D all of the above. What are the ODDS?

We decided that we'd go in search of the livestock next, but on the way we got sidetracked by more food. Deep fried Reese's cups for me; deep fried 3 Muskateer's for the Count. The Count's was pretty good as it was nice and melty. Mine on the other hand was meh. Too much dough; not enough Reese's. So I ate the peanut butter out of the middle LIKE AN ANIMAL.

We took yet another pit-stop and decided to pay a dollar to see Big Willie, the 3 foot wide, 13 foot long gator. The signs out front said "ALIVE" and truthfully it wasn't false advertising because he was once alive.
The pennies thrown into the cage make me laugh. "Here lies Big Willie. He was once the king of the swamp, and now he is a wishing well. RIP, Big Willie." Honestly, I don't know what we expected. And even though this isn't what I expected, I'm not really disappointed because it's so stupid and ridiculous. They even had ambiance in the form of little gnomes or something carved into cypress knees along with snake skins and a tarantula specimen. It's like we're in the BAYOU! or the EVERGLADES! I can almost feel oppressive heat and itching mosquito bites.

Anyway, we found the animals soon after that. Feeding them was one of the highlights of the fair. I could feed animals as long as they would let me. The Count made a crack about how a carrot diet might affect their digestion, but I figure they will at least have good eyesight. And they have so many great animals! Goats, capybaras, kangaroos, cows, buffaloes, camels, (when I went last year with the Professor and Waldorf I politely asked a camel if I could touch their hump. They seemed cool with it, and their hump was so soft and lovely.) And the alpacas! Oh, do I love an alpaca. With their fuzzy looking fur and tufts of hair on their heads. Best. Ever. I was truly giddy, as evidenced by my blurry animal photos.
After leaving the petting zoo we stumbled across this:

The Michael sightings have begun. When I first saw this I thought I was hallucinating, because What. The. Fuck. Even that polar bear behind him is like, "what is this, I don't even..." Can you just imagine the thought process of the people that decided to make this? "I know, let's make Michael dolls! The Michael fans will be all over it. Everybody loved This Is It. And it's been a year, so it's time! It won't be creepy at all. Great idea. Likes this." After realizing that this was in fact real and not a product of my deep-fried, dark and weird mind it started to make sense in a way. Of course this exists. How can it not? This is Michael filtered through endless lenses of pop culture, and we all saw that Michael had become a cartoonish figure. He had become a persona, the epitome of fame itself. He was materialistic consumption in the form of hit singles. He wasn't Michael Jackson, a person, he was Michael Jackson: the King of Pop. In a way, this is more Michael Jackson than the real Michael Jackson ever was.

And now for something completely different: arts and crafts!
You know, I'm starting to think the fair is the ultimate celebration of pop culture. Yes, that is a gourd painted to look like a snork. A SNORK! I'm always amazed when people remember The Snorks, because they were like an aquatic, low-budget Smurfs. But that gourd really does make a perfect snork, not to mention the amazing yarn hair.

I'm not sure if that's a shark eating fish, or a shark making chum, but either way it's pretty awesome.

There was so much other stuff in addition to the gourds. Lawn gnomes, sock monkeys, felted turkeys, fudge, a Lego stormtrooper and T-Rex...pretty much anything you could imagine was there. Soon after that we decided to watch the fireworks and leave. But I'd be back the next day...

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

Sexy Chewbacca Halloween costume:


Remember that scene in Mean Girls where Lindsay Lohan's character Cady was talking about how Halloween was just an excuse for girls to dress slutty and how we all laughed, but then started to notice it was true? This just proves that you can make anything slutty for your sexy/slutty Halloween costume needs. And not to be a nerd, but that fur looks nothing like Chewbacca's. In fact, none of this looks anything like Chewbacca. I mean Chewie carried a bowcaster, not a gun! I'm not sure what makes this "sexy" other than her boobs and the fact that you can almost see her fur bikini underneath her fur skirt. Honestly, it'd be waaay sexier just to go full-on Chewbacca. He was of noble linage! And smart and sophisticated and loyal! And a techie! And this costume is one big fail that does not do him justice. Now excuse me while I go bitch about how George Lucas ruined Star Wars.

Suggestion fail

Earlier today I went over to youtube and watched the video for La Roux's "Bulletproof." After it ended, youtube popped this up and suggested I watch Miley Cyrus sorta-not-really pole dance at the Teen Choice awards. Youtube needs to get some advice from bing on how to advertise/get page views, because if I'm into La Roux (and I'm really into La Roux--if you haven't listened or watched "Bulletproof" go do it now) I don't want to watch some old news "scandal" on Miley. More La Roux, please!

Opinion Overload: The New Survey Culture

"Campus Dining Survey." "Campus Parking Survey." "Public Transportation Survey." "Campus Technology Survey." These were the first four emails in my campus email inbox this morning. While I was looking at them, I got a phone call from the Honda dealership; they wanted me to complete a brief survey about my most recent experience in their service department. My answer: It was two years ago; I don't remember. In another email inbox, I had a survey from a Toyota dealership asking my father about his satisfaction in the Toyota brand. How this ended up in my email is completely beyond me. I've never owned a Toyota and the last time I went to a Toyota dealership was when I was car shopping in 2001.

I gave up on work and headed to Wal-Mart where, upon being handed my receipt, I was invited to complete yet another survey about my shopping experience for a chance to win a $1000 Wal-Mart gift card.

Back at home with groceries put away and the dog walked, I sit back down to my computer and open my campus email again. I have ANOTHER survey request about my satisfaction and usage habits of a textbook the department writes and prints and REQUIRES us to use. My personal email has a survey about parking in my apartment complex, which I find amusing since it's the fourth one this year and nothing has changed. (The complex, 2 years old now, built less than one parking space per apartment when some apartments have four cars to them. Somehow, our answering of surveys is supposed to direct them in how to resolve the problem, which I suggested that next time they don't be so ridiculously stupid. Perhaps it is unproductive responses like that that have caused them to send four surveys in one year about the same problem).

This has been going on for the last three or four years. I have been, and assume most of us have been, bombarded with survey requests from corporations, schools, retailers, and banks. Surveys on campus functions and infrastructure, textbook usage, shopping experiences, transportation habits, customer service, loan processes, marketing, money...dare I go on? No, I don't dare.

At first I felt flattered, naively of course, that they would seek my opinion. I would answer them thoughtfully. But with the glut of surveys that I am bombarded with now, I want to scream! None of my carefully answered surveys has made the lines at Wal-Mart any shorter, the staff more knowledgeable, or the produce more edible. My responses to Food Lion's surveys have in no way encouraged them to move the cluttered displays that transform their aisles into obstacle courses for people in mobility chairs or pushing a cart-- which is pretty much everybody. They haven't made the services at the bank any less expensive (when did I start paying them to use my money instead of them pay me?!) And they haven't encouraged the department for which I work to let me not use a textbook that I think is pretty much useless and an embarrassment to us. I don't ever eat on campus so I can't answer those surveys and aren't even sure why I get them since they aren't relevant, though I'm tempted to fill them in with random answers in order to skew their data. But all the time it has taken me to answer these surveys hasn't been rewarded with better services, more parking spaces, more widespread public transportation, or better books. I haven't gotten a damn thing from them but a lot of lost time I can never get back.

To make matters worse, these surveys, if they do allow you to put in a comment of your own at some point, limit it to a specific number of characters or only let you comment on things that you care nothing about. The questions are poorly formed and closed. These surveys don't seek information, knowledge. They only seek to make you feel important.

Once upon a time, way back in the 90s and before, surveys were used sparingly to collect quantitative data, to gauge quantitative trends. Now it's all qualitative questions they're asking and I'm not sure that surveys can actually work like that. I mean, how do you compile and reduce qualitative information to numbers? Maybe I didn't pay enough attention in statistics class.

On a personal level, surveys cause me a significant amount of anxiety. For example, I answered a mental health survey a few weeks ago and it asked me: "Did you have trouble thinking or concentrating?" Well, I always have trouble thinking or concentrating. It's hard to focus on work when there's drama at home or I have a head cold. What constitutes "trouble"? And if I answer "yes" to that question, does that somehow indict me? Make me a suspect in some sort of mental health crime? A Quality of Life Questionnaire wanted me to answer sixteen questions about my perception of my satisfaction with life quality by rating them on a scale of one (very poor) to five (very good) and I begin to panic because their is no objective definition provided for what is "very bad" or "very good." And sometimes I couldn't decide if it was average or above average...they didn't offer a 3.5 option on the scale. There's no room for indecision, self-reflection, or personal opinion. Your opinion is reduced into categories that are deemed most efficient for processing with no real engagement. It's on par with answering the monthly quiz questions about my sex life in Cosmopolitan magazine.

And then the surveys try not to be intrusive. "It will only take you ten minutes," they claim. But ten minutes or no, I still am not getting anything out of this at all. I have to pay for their time and services, but they don't have to pay for mine? And then if I delete their message, they send me a follow up email or automated phone message (American Express being notorious for this): "You still haven't answered our survey. Please complete the survey at your earliest convenience." I begin to feel badgered and guilty, judged inadequate by an email or phone survey.

To make matters worse, in the era of survey overload, people will answer surveys all day long for the mere hint of something free but will not answer the US Census, regarded by several of my neighbors with great suspicion. When they see a representative coming to their door, they hide in their apartment. But they'll answer surveys for Wal-Mart all day long. I don't get it.

I've decided I won't answer any more surveys. I'm done with them forever. I've even taken to filling out "other" on all necessary government, employment, and educational forms that ask about race, ethnicity, gender, marital status, and the like if I deem it's an option. If it's not, since they don't recognize sex other than male or female, I simply refuse to answer and leave it blank. It shouldn't be relevant anyway. I'm pretty sure this won't do any good, but it makes me feel a little better about it.

Dancing with the Garbage Monsters

Some choice quotes from Bristol Palin and her dance partner on Dancing with the Stars:

-"I'm a public advocate for teen pregnancy prevention."
Um...no. What the hell does that even mean? And is that what we're calling the MTV show Teen Mom now? A PSA starring public advocates for teen pregnancy prevention? No. Bristol and the Teen Moms are young woman who made choices that lead to consequences, and those choices/consequences are now being played out on TV as Monday and Tuesday night entertainment. They aren't just "normal girls," as Bristol says later, they have been made into reality TV stars. They are the "bad girls" who made bad choices and should be looked down upon, but really it's okay because they agreed to be filmed for TV, and therefore they get paid to talk about these choices and given opportunities other young, single mothers don't have. Teen pregnancy has become almost fetishized, which makes sense considering our totally messed up views on sex and sexuality and how all this is ultimately played out in our pop culture. We are so, so preoccupied with teens having sex and babies, aren't we? How funny since we tell them not to do those exact things...hmm...

-"This is the most frightening thing I've ever done in my life."
Yeah, those shimmy moves look like they could kill you. Or pull a muscle. I get it, you're being hyperbolic. But still--BARF.

-"She's only in the public eye because of her mom."
Okay, so then remind me again why she's a "star" on this show? Oh right, she's a "public advocate for teen pregnancy prevention." Because her mother is an abstinence-only-crazy-hate monster who was once a VP candidate. Totally makes sense.

-[When told she'll be dancing the cha-cha to Tom Jones "Momma Told Me Not to Come"] "It's like mine and Levi's relationship! Momma told me not to do it, but I did it anyway."
Yes, Bristol. You and every other teenager. I guess in that way you were a normal teen. And thanks for mentioning Levi again. Because I had totally forgotten about his Playgirl pics and the fame-whoriness of all this. (I had not forgotten about his Playgirl pics or the fame-whoriness of all this since it's constantly being brought up all the time.)

-"If I can do half of what Mark has taught me, bring some sexy to the cha-cha, and don't embarrass my mom, I'll be thrilled."
Whoops. Too late on that last one. (But seriously, I found that statement to be really sad.)

So Bristol dances to "Momma Told Me Not to Come" in a fitted, conservative looking gray dress that's supposed to make her look like her mother, which she then rips off to reveal a sexier, shorter red dress. "Oh, won't it be so cute and cheeky if you wear a conservative outfit (that's still fitted and sexy in that generically boring 'sexy secretary' way) and then you rip it off to reveal a sexier red dress and shimmy and gyrate to a song about momma telling you not to come? Don't get pregnant, guys!" And as much as I'm rolling my eyes at Bristol how ridiculous it is that she's considered a star for having a famous mom and for having a baby as a teen, the actual dance scene basically presents the conflicting messages a lot of young women hear. Women and girls are told to be "nice" girls, to wear the conservative but still sexy outfits, to not be sexual beings, but to be sexual objects. And then they are judged, and as long as they don't stray outside of the accepted norm, they are deemed acceptable women.

I've got nothing against Bristol Palin as a person as she seems nice enough, but I do have a problem with her public persona. And I find it increasingly boring to constantly hear about why she's considered relevant. Yes, she had a baby as a teenager. But can we move past that? Why are we still so fixated on it? Surely there's more to Bristol than her mother and her baby and baby-daddy. But apparently not. That's all women are, isn't it? We're nothing until we put out and get knocked up. And once that all goes away we're back to being nothing, our only value coming from what we are to others, and in how well we conform to the norm.

If you can't say anything nice...

Was over on videogum and saw this at the bottom of a post on Katy Perry being inarticulate in an interview. I assume it's because one of the tags was "Functionally Retarded Robots from Space," but I like to pretend that bing is a robot search engine that hates doing it's search engine job, so to amuse it's self it suggests what we're all thinking. And for some reason I imagine the bing robot search engine looks like Alf. That is one snarky robot search engine. Oh, bing!

The New Frankenstein

A couple weekends ago, Statler drags me out to The Cheesecake Factory at Southpoint Mall in Durham (not literally, of course, I'm being dramatic). In the hour and fifteen minutes we waited for a table, I got the opportunity to inspect the place pretty closely.

I've only been to one location of The Cheesecake Factory before and that was in Georgetown, Washington, D.C.. We went only for cheesecake, which I do not remember as being very good or very bad so that must mean it was the usual chain restaurant fare that is just tasty and timely enough for the customer to think they're happy, pay, and leave without actually being a memorable experience. I don't remember the location as standing out to me in any distinct way, granted this was ten years ago before I really thought about anything outside my own inner angst, but it blended in with all the other historic storefronts of houses and mom and pop stores that had morphed into Gaps and Banana Republics while somehow still floating under the guise of historic preservation.

Anyway, back to The Cheesecake Factory in Durham, which at first struck me as a horrific but grew on me as a garish, mockable delight. First, let me explain that Southpoint mall at Durham is apparently one of those malls designed to look like a city street, because for whatever reason suburbanites are seen as wanting a city shopping experience without having to leave the suburbs and actually visit a city (maybe city street shopping is more "authentic" or maybe it's the idea of being outdoors while not actually having to be in nature?). But the whole effect of these neighborhood malls is somewhat farcical in that they purport to be separate buildings, unique, individual, authentic, special, and unto themselves, but, as a consumer, I just end up feeling patronized. I guess I'm not supposed to notice the shoddy construction that is present in all buildings, the moldings that overlap much too far onto the adjacent buildings, the bricks that are all aligned or sometimes too perfectly staggared, a plastic lamp post painted to look like iron but really only looking like poorly painted plastic the closer you get to it, and the fact that this is in no way a city street. Ah, the simulacrum.

The Cheesecake Factory was made up red brick with a cafe style outcropping carefully surrounded by a metal (supposedly ironwork) rail common in American cafes where people want the experience of sitting outside and eating on the "street" without actually being part of that street (such careful distinctions must be made). The building had art deco windows and doors but the doors were surrounded by roman "columns" and the columns, in turn, were surrounded by Aegean tile. Inside, it was an absolute clusterfuck. There were large Egyptian columns with supposedly Egyptian faces painted on them that were carefully balanced to be not so exotic that I feel transported to somewhere else but odd enough that I couldn't help but notice them. There were Sistine Chapel style murals painted into the ceiling over plastic wicker chairs and floral print chintz booths that should only be found in diners or large, inexpensive chain hotel bars (personal opinion, of course). And to top off that dimly lit, charmingly uncomfortable ambiance was the nondescript music playing so loudly that Statler and I had to shout across the table at each other to be heard; and when the waitress told us the specials, I didn't have the heart to tell her that I hadn't heard a word she'd said.

The survey of the interior was finished off by our being handed menus that were spiral bound, glossy paged notebooks. The appetizer list alone was two pages long! The menu covered everything from Thai lettuce wraps, to quesadillas, to pasta in wine sauce. There was so much on it and so many different kinds of items on it, it was impossible to determine what might be their specialty. Well, of course their specialty is cheesecake, but why stop there! The place is the best evidence I've yet seen that supports my suspicion of an American cultural and culinary identity crisis.

My food was good. Not great. There was, in typical American fashion, about three meals worth of food on a single plate. Everything was so odd and also so nondescript at the same time; it was carefully crafted to be forgettable and overpriced-- a carefully contrived balance of getting top dollar for a meal and an experience that was "okay." I do think, though, that it was all worth it. The Cheesecake Factory had managed to capture a sort of abominable, frightening charm...somewhat like Frankenstein. I mean, I sort of rooted for Frankenstein, ya know? It wasn't his fault, really. More Victor Frankenstein, the creator, that was truly the monster.

So who creates places like The Cheesecake Factory? And more importantly, why do we go? Well, the first question goes back to the mall itself and beyond-- it's the same ubiquitous "they" that we use to refer to the masterminds behind government, business, marketing and other conspiracies.

The problem is that "they" is apt. It's not one person or one group: it's architects, interior designers, chefs, culinary experts, document designers, scientists studying why people make the choices they do, market researchers, advertisers, menu designers. On their own, they create the space. Together, through the long chain, the space takes on a life of its own. It becomes not the object of design being labeled and molded. Instead, it blurs the space between subject and object, the space begins to label those that create it, those that detest it, those that find solace in it, and those that have never been. Instead of telling it what sort of place it should be, the space begins to tell us what sort of consumers we should be, what foods we should like, what music creates dinner ambiance, where to walk, what food is popular, what design schemes are popular, how to sit, when to leave.

But it's an inanimate object you say? Yes and no. In the postmodern breakdown of signs is it really possible to believe still that the object has no power, only the subject? We create the space. Us. The consumers. Yet it defines us as much as we define it. I speak places like The Cheesecake Factory while it speaks me. I am now someone who eats at The Cheesecake Factory. This defines me as a middle-class professional with some spare money to blow (at least on that day), who likes options, who never eats alone so the menu choices have to be broad in order for us to all agree to go to one place and find something we want while usually suffering from a decision-making phobia at the same time, where the music is loud enough that we don't have to have a meaningful conversation with one another if we don't want to, and the seating uncomfortable enough that we don't feel obligated to linger in each others' company. We are the Dr. Frankensteins and the Frankenstein monster and the villagers running in terror.

While the sign over the door reads "The Cheesecake Factory," there is an underlying subtext that says "Welcome to the paradox of hypermodernity."

Mysteries of the Sphynx

What's that cat thinking? How does it feel? Cranky? Delighted? Giddy? Sleepy? Is it hungry? Bloated? Maybe it's high on catnip. Maybe it's plotting an escape. Or thinking of a sweater to knit. Or maybe they're just taking it all in.


Ikea released 100 cats in one of their stores to film a commercial. I took this screen grab from the footage. The commercial is pretty visually interesting, and for some reason this was my favorite scene. There's something really dreamy and whimsical about that sphynx in front of all those bare, starry-like light bulbs. I could look at that cat looking at those bulbs all day. Check out the commercial: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vCB7RqGS684

DVR ate the video star

The VMAs came on tonight, (duh) and while I was watching, I kept thinking about how hilariously bad they are and how Luann and I had talked about watching together, but she ended up going out of town. She did, however, record it. Which got me thinking--remember back before DVR, in the dinosaur days of VHS, how if you wanted to watch a TV show but you were going to be out, or if some other show was on at the same time, you had to record it using your VCR? And then DVDs and DVRs came along and VHS became extinct, like all outdated technology eventually does. This got me wondering if VCRs and VHS nostalgia will start popping up everywhere. Kinda like how cassette tapes or records or SLR cameras are all over clothes and jewelry and other goods. Can't you see little VHS tape rings and pouches all over the place?

Maybe VHS tapes are just too boring looking, or maybe they just aren't outdated enough, or don't inspire that same sort of nostalgic feeling that cassette tapes do. But just like I made mixed tapes (by recording songs off the radio, naturally), I made mixed VHS tapes of shows and movies that I loved. Need some old, grainy, poorly spliced together Fraggle Rock episodes featuring the HBO opening credits? Or maybe a compilation of Christmas movies including a Muppet Family Christmas, The Christmas Toy, Rudolph the Rednose Reindeer, Frosty, and a California Raisins Claymation Christmas special complete with the commercials? I've got 'em. Of course you can find that stuff on youtube, unless they've been taken down due to copyright. But there still is something sort of quaint about VHS itself that would seem to lend itself to that sort of nostalgic consumption.

If you do an Etsy search for VHS, there are some upcycled goods and art for sale, and some of them are pretty cool. So who knows, maybe we will see more VHS themed goods in the future. Or maybe VHS will go the way of Betamax and A-track tapes. Maybe we will laugh at them like we do the VMAs, how they once seemed so cool and relevant, and now seem so lame and pointless. Maybe some things are better left in the past.

This chicken's favorite movie is Labyrinth

see more Celeb Look-A-Likes

More like this chicken looks like Bowie. I'm pretty sure this chicken has spandex pants on.

(Coolest chicken EVER.)

I love that this exists

Saw this at the library Friday...
I mean really, what's not to love? It's by R.L. Stine (because of course it is), the title is Calling All Creeps!, and as the cover depicts, it's about a kid that gets prank called by raptors.

Apparently it was creep day, because I also found this shoved in the back of another book:

In case you can't read that, these are the lyrics to "Zombie Dance Party." And the lyrics are:

Hear that sound, it's getting close,
A thousand shuffling feet?
The walking dead have come to town
For a Zombie Dance Party!

All we need are brains, sweet brains
And we're coming after yours.
You can try to run, that's half the fun
Of the Zombie Dance Party!

We're not very fast, or very smart
Be [Typo?] we've got a big head start.

So look out world, it's time to eat,
You call 'em "brains"--we call it "meat"!

It's a Zombie Dance Party!
A Zombie Dance Party!

It's a little "Thriller" mixed with The Cramps "Zombie Dance," but for kids! Never has the threat of death by zombie sounded so fun and festive. What's really funny about this is that I just watched my new favorite movie, Zombieland, on Tuesday. The only thing that would've made that movie better was if this song was included.

(By the way: does anyone else wonder why he didn't do sorta a pen name and go by "R.L. Stein?" Like Frankenstein? But how random is it that his name IS Stine, and he is "The Stephen King of children's literature?" Hmm...)

Pack-Rat Arts and Crafts

Several years ago I got a subscription to Entertainment Weekly. When I moved out of my parents house I never bothered to change the address, so mom would just pile them up on my nightstand. Whenever I came home I'd throw the stack in a bag, thinking I'd get around to reading them. I never really did. Old habits really do die hard because I still let them pile up. Recently I was skimming through one from like, July (I mean, seriously--JULY? In the world of pop-culture and the internet, that is OLD. Like, I might as well be reading newspapers from 1923 on microfilm at the library.) and saw a review of mine and Luann's favorite guilty pleasure, Pretty Little Liars. Accompanying the review was a picture of Shay Mitchell, who plays Emily, who just so happens to be Luann's favorite. The picture was the perfect bookmark size, so I cut, glued it on a note card and adorned it.


I might have gotten a little overzealous with the glitter, (you can kind of see that the marker smeared a bit) but I wanted it to look like a collage that a teenager would make; covered in stickers and glitter and made with love on a boring afternoon.

The other side has a lyric from the theme song. The sticker in the right hand corner is a TV that says "TURN ME ON" underneath. (Totally unrelated, but for some reason that made me think of that Goldfrapp song "Oh La La." Probably because one of the lyrics is "turn me on.") Anyway, Luann seemed to like it, so MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!

Late Night Rants

As sent to the Professor via facebook message:

So I'm just flipping through the channels, looking for something dumb to watch before bed and "On the Road with Austin and Santino" caught my eye. Background: Austin and Santino are fashion designers that where once on Project Runway and now have their own show where they go to different towns and make a lucky someone a dress or whatever. This week they are making a wedding dress for a woman that had to have a quickie wedding before her boyfriend got shipped to Iraq, so now they are "going to have the wedding they never got to have."

Now, I know I'm not a wedding person, and a wedding might really mean something to this couple, and that's great. It's wonderful they have the time and resources to have not one, but two weddings. Especially considering the men making this woman's wedding dress are gay and therefore don't have the option to get married once, let alone twice. They might not even care; for all I know Austin and Santino aren't wedding people either. But it's just really bugging me! She said, "I just never thought I'd get to have my dream wedding" when she's already MARRIED. Why isn't being married to the person you love enough? I just...ugh. Whatever. I don't even know why I let it get to me.

Not to mention that Austin and Santino look like her little gay fairy godmothers, making sure Cinderella gets to the heteronormative ball.

You can tell it's a fine quality item because of the iron-ons and puffy paint

Me and my friend, who we will call "Luann," are into this new show on abcfamily called "Pretty Little Liars." We decided to get together the other night to watch it and somehow came up with the idea to make Twilight t-shirts after. (I think we're planning on wearing them to the movie? Maybe? Don't judge us.) They are pretty amazing. And by amazing, I mean dumb and hilarious. Here's mine:

The brown blob is a werewolf and it says (WEREWOLF) under it in puffy paint. The white circle is a vampire and says (VAMPIRE) under it. (Just in case you couldn't tell from the picture.) I thought the clarification via parentheses might be needed despite the fact that my graphic art skills are so (not) amazing. I feel like it added a little something else, you know? And I'm not sure if you can see it, but the fangs are done in glitter puffy paint. I came up with the idea based on Eclipse, cause *SPOILER ALERT* it's basically about a big werewolf/vampire fight. Hence the "vs." But apparently, and I say this based on my extensive reading of the Twilight Saga and the Sookie Stackhouse/True Blood novels, werewolves and vampires don't get along. I mean, I get it. They both can't be top supernatural being. Gotta have some drama. But can we just talk about my werewolf for a minute? I mean, what is that? A beard that has swallowed a cat? One of the little ghosties from Pacman that fell in a vat of mutation juice along with something vaguely resembling a cat? I suppose it's a bit teen wolf, so that's cool.

Here's the front of Luann's:



The front says "Little Brown CO." for the Twilight book publisher. Pretty creative, no? And yes, the spacing and letters are all sorts of crooked, but it's still amazing! Luann had to go out and buy an iron to do this. An iron! And it is not as easy as it looks. Here's the back:

She has little rhinestone ballet slippers on the sleeve, since Bella took ballet lessons. And the "S WA N" is for Bella's last name, duh. She was going for a jersey look, and I think we can all agree that, MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. By the way, that decal is a peace sign in the shape of a heart. And it took her like 20 years to iron that crap on there. Luann was gonna do a number instead, but the heart is waaay better. Obviously. She also got chocolate on it. We have no idea how. But that's the risk you take when you decide to do an arts and crafts project.

So they're pretty snazzy, right? Totally classy and well-made. I'm sure you'll be seeing these at your local HOTTOPIC in no time. Until then, we're taking orders. Because we're broke and (technically) unemployed and need money as well as something to do. How many can I put you down for?

Elephant Trifle

A couple of years ago I started to develop an interest in plants and gardening. Well, maybe not so much gardening as just going to the nursery or Lowe's buying flowers to put in pots, but still. My mom and grandma are both big into gardening, so I guess helping them plant bulbs and water flowers and stuff rubbed off on me. So anyway, a couple of years ago I came home to my apartment to find a geranium on my front porch. Attached was a notice to renew my lease and "plant" myself at the apartment complex. It was a nice little surprise, and I'd always had a soft spot for geraniums because they just seemed so warm and fuzzy and I loved their dirty, earthy smell. I resigned my lease and ended up having that geranium for a good year; I re-potted it, named it, watered and pruned it, took it inside for the winter, discovered it had caterpillars (no wonder the leaves were all holey and I kept finding little green wormy things on the floor), and eventually had to let it go. But that was it, I was a plant person. There's just something so enjoyable and satisfying about playing in the dirt and watching things grow. And if there's one thing I'm a sucker for, it's those kitschy, kawaii-esque grow kits you can get for like, 2-5 bucks at the drugstore, and the pot is in the shape of a mushroom or rain boot or a chia pet or whatever. Usually they don't grow anything, but I still like to try them out. Because I like dumb, cheap stuff.

About a month ago I was at Lowe's getting gifts for mother's day and I saw one such grow kit in the shape of an elephant. It was called a "Munakuppi Grass Grow Kit." Fun fact: according to wiki, munakuppi is Finnish for "egg cup." The selling point on the box was that you could cut the grass or "hair" into any style you wanted. I had to get it, mainly because it was the goofiest looking elephant I'd ever seen.

Just look at him! The wonky painted eyes that make it seem like he's looking off to the side, the tusks that are more like a mustache than tusks, the pink sneakers with real ties--I couldn't resist. The following Monday I opened up the package pulled out a pack of seeds and this disc-like chunk of dirt. I'm not sure how to describe the dirt, other than to say it was like space dirt, or a giant, brown colored tums antacid. The instructions said to pour warm water over the dirt-disc and loosen it with a fork, but I didn't have to do since it expanded and grew to at least 4 times it's original size on it's own. So weird! Science experiment, ya'll! After it was done growing and re-hydrating from a dirt disc into a dirt lump batter, I spooned about 3/4 of it into the elephant and placed the little grass seeds on top.
Then I spooned the remainder of the dirt on top of the seeds. It was kinda like making a layer cake/trifle, only with dirt and seeds. I was baking a plant, basically. So I put him outside to finish baking. The instructions said it should only take a week.

A few days later I went to check the soil moisture and found little shoots of grass! It was pretty exciting.
I was hopeful he'd have a head full of grass in no time. That Sunday I went to check and found this:
What a good looking elephant! With such thick grass-hair! It's safe to say I was pretty excited. All-in-all it was a pretty fun little project. And after the grass is done for, I think I'll use him as a pencil holder or bud vase--you know, re-purpose!

By the way: I named him Snuffy. Because there's something about those wonky eyes that's reminiscent of Snuffleupagus, no?

And Now For Something Completely Different...

A friend recently asked me if I wanted to get together for lunch and to check out the new H&M that had just opened up. H&M is a bit of a joke amongst the balcony members--Wally went to Prague and all her traveling companion wanted to do was go H&M. Prague is Czech for H&M after all! Having never been to H&M, my knowledge was limited to a vague memory that it is Swedish, that Madonna designed a collection for them, and that apparently there are a lot of them in Prague. I HAD to experience it for myself, and happily went along with my friend to embark on a journey into the belly of the beast.

Walking up to the store, it seemed benign enough. Once we crossed the alarmed threshold, we looked at each other with fear in our eyes. This store was big. Egregiously huge. And so white. White flooring, white racks, white lights...it was almost blinding. I was having flashbacks to Forever 21, a store so big and so packed with garish garments it's enough to make anyone have a panic attack. But we quickly realized the store was divided into 3 sections: Women's, Men's, and Baby Hipsters. Whew! It also helped that we had cocktails at lunch, and I was a little...day buzzed, and therefore slightly numbed from the stimulus overload. We separated and began to peruse the racks.

I found myself wondering if perhaps we had entered some sort of time warp, as everything had a 80's/early 90's vibe to it. Think leggings, shirts screen printed with images of an 80's era Minnie Mouse and stills from the movie Flashdance, as well as ditsy floral patterns, acid wash, and plaid, plaid and more plaid at every turn. There were also quite a bit of Hello Kitty screen printed tees. Oh, Hello Kitty. As a kid I liked her and her motley crew. Anthropomorphic critters--what's not to love when you're 7 and in need of stickers or lip gloss? But now I fear Miss Kitty is a sellout. She's EVERYWHERE. On toasters in Bed Bath and Beyond. On a headband at Hot Topic. On a crappy tee at H&M. Oh Kitty, how I miss the days when I only saw you at random Hallmarks or the Sanrio store...wait, ARE THOSE JEGGINGS?!

Yes. We encountered the elusive Jeggings, the half-jean, half-legging hybrid of wonder. The pant of the fashionista in need of comfort, thereby rejecting the cumbersome skinny jean with it's buttons and zippers and rivets. If I hadn't seen them with my own blurry eyes in it's natural habitat I wouldn't have believed it! I'm still not sure I believe it. I think they might have been a crappy-well vodka-lemon drop induced hallucination. Like Bigfoot or pink elephants. THEY HAD AN ELASTIC WAISTBAND! Amazing.

After the Jeggings spotting, we threw our pelts of plaid over our shoulders and weaved a path through the crowd towards the dressing room. As we approached, a teenager and her mother were standing in the way of the line, involved in a heated discussion. It was a classic mother-daughter standoff: daughter was set on buying a dress her mother disapproved of. The daughter, all teen angsty and indignant hissed, "Whatever, MOM. You're you and you're not me, and you don't wear the clothes I wear! I'll buy it with my own money!" My 14 year old self sympathized while my adult self chuckled.

Once the daughter left to pay for her dress, we queued up with other adults, teens, tweens, and moms waiting for a dressing room. It was there that we experienced the "ugly American shopper," who likes to snark on those already admitted to the inner sanctum. In front of us were two girlfriends, one dressed in a strapless dress with a bikini top on underneath, the other in a pair of yellow gym shorts. Bikini top took notice of a woman coming out of the dressing room in a snug fitting shirt dress. "Uh, does she even know how tight that is? It's cute though...I want it! Hold my spot!" she croaked to her friend. Upon returning to the line, bikini top noted that the dress was a size smaller than she'd wear because, "I want it to be like, tight. It'll look good that way."

A couple came up behind us. "You need a haircut" said the boyfriend. "Ugh, I know," replied his mate. A middle aged mother walked out of the dressing room, carrying a itty-bitty bikini bottom. "Oh. My. God" said boyfriend. "I know. Like she could even get a leg in there. I think some things should DEFINITELY only come in certain sizes" replied girlfriend. A few minutes later, he mother walked back to the dressing room, bigger bikini bottom in hand.

Eventually some dressing rooms freed up and we began to try on our clothes. Oh, the clothes. They all came with those little hanger ribbons sewn into the seams. You know the ones--those little loops of fabric or plastic that are meant to keep a blouse or dress on a hanger, but just end up being itchy and wiggling their way out of the top until you break down and cut them out with scissors. Each and every piece of clothing had these loops wrapped around the hanger multiple times, requiring one to untwist them and serving to slow down the process. Once I had finally freed the clothes from their hangers and tried them on, I noticed that they would occasionally fit true to size, but more often than not it would be too big or too small. It was almost as if we had stumbled into a clothing wonderland, where small was large and large was small and nothing made sense anymore. That being said, I did end up buying a floral top and a dress. In plaid.

We found ourselves walking back towards the alarmed border of the store relatively unscathed. As we tumbled out into the dimmed mall lighting, wares in hand, I thought to myself that wasn't so bad. H&M: a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.

Owl Be Plum-Tickled if You'd Bee Mine

Valentine's Day. According to Wiki, Valentine's Day is a holiday celebrating love and affection between intimate companions that dates back to the days of Chaucer and has since evolved into the commercialized, cliched holiday that we all know and love/loathe. The popular thought seems to be that if you're single, you should just crawl under a rock, as you are an unloveable gollum of a human being. But if you're in a relationship, then you should be praised and showered with rose petals and fed ambrosia while the gollums are jealous of you and your amazingness. It's totally stupid and it seems like the holiday only exists to make you want to puke.

There's a lot to dislike about Valentine's Day. As Brian Moylan said over on Gawker.com: "To get all English major-y for a second, it is a despicable propagation of the hetero-normative monogamy fallacy that plagues the world, telling everyone that they have a 'soul mate' and one special person to complete them and anyone who isn't in such a relationship is a worthless piece of shit who doesn't deserve to be loved and probably dresses bad and needs more time in the gym." AMEN. I keep hearing a commercial on the radio for an "adult store" where the woman asks the man how they are going to celebrate. The man, in stereotypical fashion, is totally confused! Celebrate? HUH? Lucky for him the woman is also a stereotype and in a threatening tone responds with, "I KNOW you didn't forget about Valentine's Day! CANDLELIGHT DINNER! FULL BODY MASSAGES! INTIMATE GIFTS!?" Way to take the fun out of those gifts, female stereotype! Because obviously only shrill and uptight women like those things. (Can we stop with the idea that Valentine's Day is the only day people want to, and actually have sex? I get it's a holiday "for lovers," but ENOUGH.) And speaking of the gifts...oh God, the awful, useless gifts that people use to show how much they care! Pajamagrams. Jewelry from a chain jewelry store. Bath sets. You get the idea. I had on the news on the other day and I'm pretty sure I heard them say that after Christmas, Valentine's Day comes in second for money spent on gifts. (This is crazy you guys! The Beatles were wrong: apparently you can buy me love!) Want to show me you love me on Valentine's Day? Don't get me some crap I could buy myself or won't use, like some fug diamond necklace or some lotion and body wash in a nauseating scent. Or some pajamas in the wrong size and style. I'm totally fine with some nice flowers. Or something handmade. Even if it's pancakes and bacon for breakfast. (I LOVE pancakes and bacon! Maybe pancakes and bacon will be my Valentine!) Or the Fraggle Rock Complete Series on DVD. Or nothing more than a simple "I love you." Whatever! Just don't buy me a gift that screams, "I feel totally obligated to buy you something for this made up holiday." Real (Hallmark) talk guys: Love is an amazing thing, and if you are lucky enough to have found love, you should nurture and cherish it. But the great thing is that love comes in various forms, and one form of love isn't greater than the other. So here's my thought: instead of crawling under a rock or acting like you're in a rom-com, why not simply ignore Valentine's Day or just embrace the cheesiness. Me? I embrace the cheese.

As a kid, I liked Valentine's Day. The young crafter in me liked cutting out construction paper hearts and covering them in glitter and paper doilies. I also liked making a Valentine's Box and buying/getting My Little Pony or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle themed Valentines. You know; fun kid stuff. My family would give each other little gifts--one year I received The Baby-Sitters Club #9: The Ghost at Dawn's House. That was a good Valentine, family! As a teenager, I longed for a romantic Valentine and made myself totally miserable looking for validation through having a boyfriend. The closest I came to having a romantic Valentine was in high school when we drew names and my crush drew me and got me some candy. (Aww.) As an adult, I like going out and getting drunk with my friends and eating conversation hearts and Reese's peanut butter hearts. You know; fun adult stuff. Seriously, I've got some great memories from nights that just happened to be on Valentine's. On these nights I went out with my friends had fun, simply enjoying the moment and spending time with people I loved and cared about. And yeah, I still do the occasional Valentine's craft and I like buying cards and candy for everyone. I like vintage valentines, especially really cheesey ones that say something like, "I'd be plum-tickled if you'd be my valentine!" along with a picture of two anthropomorphic plums. Or one with an owl that says, "Owl always love you!" And of course the old stand-by "Bee Mine!" with a picture of a bumble-bee buzzing around. Puns and play on words are totally acceptable on Valentine's Day, and I love that. It just goes to show how silly the whole affair really is.

Listen, can we all just agree that Valentine's Day has no bearing on who you are whatsoever? It's not worth it to feel inadequate or to use up energy hating it (which is just as cliched as Valentine's Day itself), and it's also not worth it to get so wrapped up in it. If your single, be single! Love thyself! If you're in a relationship, be in a relationship! Love one another! It's like Liz Lemon said on episode 13 season 4 of 30 Rock while hallucinating after a root canal: "I know that I don't need anyone, but I do want to be loved. We all do. And if it didn't work out between us, it's just because I'm not finished becoming me yet. But I will find love someday!" And at the end of the day, it's just another day. Why not work against the hetero-normative and gender stereotypes that Valentine's Day reinforces? I'll admit that might be a little naive and futile, but as long as we continue to spend millions of dollars on V-day gifts, I'd assume it's not going anywhere. So it's worth a shot, right? In the meantime...Happy Anna Howard Shaw Day, everyone!

Bringin' Home the Bacon

Believe it or not, I've been to college. And since I've done gone and got myself some education, people will ask me the standard (and never not annoying) post-grad small talk, like if I've got a job and what I'm doing now. Usually I'll regale them with tales about how when I'm not applying for jobs or volunteering or whatever, I watch re-runs of Everybody Hates Chris while playing Farmville and reading the internets. But I'll occasionally disclose that I'm considering going back to school to get a degree in library science. Usually this is met with an "Oh, that's nice," but there are times where I'll get an interesting response from men in which they say, "Oh, that's hot!" To semi-paraphrase Bones: I don't wanna be a sexy librarian! Look, it's fine to find someones career attractive, it's fine to want to be desired and it's fine to have fantasies about a naughty nurse or a slutty schoolteacher, but I find it a bit insulting to superimpose the fantasy onto the reality. It's like everyday is Halloween in some people's minds and every (hot) woman is half nekid for their viewing pleasure.

When someone responds with "that's hot," it's as if myself and my career goals are being reduced down to sex appeal. Can I not have a career without it being "sexy?" Just because I identify as female does not mean that every single thing I do or say or think falls into either "sexy" or "not sexy." And it makes me feel that as a woman, I'm not a real person with real needs, desires and goals--and that's on top of feeling like I'm being belittled and patronized. (Silly lady with your lofty dreams! You just let the menfolk bring home the bacon. And make sure that while you're cooking it you do it in an apron and nothing else. But don't eat any! Can't have you rollin' outta that apron!) And I'm left feeling like someone doesn't care about me as a person, but as an object that fits a narrow-minded view of sexuality to be offered up for consumption, and I should be satisfied by that. Because that would mean I've done my job as a woman, DUH. In a world where women are told to be both a madonna and a whore, is it so much to ask that I don't have to feel the need to be either? To simply be my own self, for myself?

Dammit, I'll bring home my own bacon and fry it and eat it too!

Pink: It's like red, but not quite

Have you heard of "My New Pink Button"? It's this dye for your lips. No, not those lips, your OTHER lips. Yup, that's right! It's like lipstick for your labia! You've been waiting all your life for a product like this, I know.

For the low price of 29.95 you can have your own jar of "My New Pink Button," the temporary dye that can "restore the youthful pink color back to your labia." Are you a Marilyn? An Audrey? What about a Bettie or a Ginger? Just apply and for 48-72 hours you can have that "fresh" look! And not to worry, "My New Pink Button" is FDA approved and can be used on nipples and penises!

Okay, but seriously--WHUT??!

Now I've heard that labia can change color. And sometimes the change is due to a more serious condition, in which case you should really talk to your doctor. But really? Are we all supposed to go walking around looking like we're in a state of constant arousal? (Don't answer that.) I'm not understanding this product at all. Pink labia=fresh, youthful labia? If your labia isn't bright pink, does that mean you won't be sexually satisfied? And I have so many questions! Will the color transfer? (Because don't we all have enough stains in our drawers?) Does it have a smell/taste? (Crossing fingers for bacon!)

Here's the thing: this feels like yet another product that only adds to the ignorance of what a real woman's body looks like, not to mention it perpetuates the shame and inadequacy some women feel about their sexual organs not being the "ideal." (And can I just say, I am so tired of women being reduced to, and having their worth tied to their sexual organs!) I know one of the selling points is that you can use it on dicks, but the product is marketed towards women, and the truth is women are told on a daily basis that they should fit some ridiculous ideal of what a woman is. Products like this, while they might mean well, aren't necessarily helping.

Look, we're all supposedly adults here. And as adults, I would think we would realize that genitals come in various shapes, sizes, colors, hairiness, and sometimes even scents, and all are perfectly NORMAL. As long as there are no problems, there is no reason anyone should be made to feel inadequate or "not so fresh" because of a slight variation. It's like snowflakes: no two are exactly alike.

Love is a Pap Smear

Okay, so I've been ranting about these stupid pap smear commercials (along with the mammogram commercials and prostate commercials) for a couple of weeks now. But every time I see one, and I just did, I get annoyed all over again.

"Wanna do something special for your woman this Christmas? Schedule her pap smear."

Wanna show me that you really care, go get the damn pap smear for me. Lie down on your back, naked, under a paper robe, with your feet in the air and legs spread eagle while a couple of people pry your insides apart with a cold, metal or plastic instrument and jab around inside you with a giant q-tip for awhile. That would show me love!

And seriously, I am not YOUR woman. I am not anyone's woman but my own.

Nor do I need Jack Black's "Boob-saver 5000."

As thrilled as I am that men are being encouraged to get involved in women's lives, I would be much more thrilled if their involvement didn't revolve around making sure my sexual parts remained in working order for their enjoyment because I'm "your woman" or because everyone loves boobs. Why not ask them to get more involved in childcare or household chores or reproductive rights or social, civil, and economic rights or the prevention of domestic violence?

I have to admit that CBS, the network that airs the pap smear commercials, is an equal opportunity advertiser and also has commercials that recommend women make prostate exam appointments for the men in their lives.   Oddly enough, both pap smear and prostate exam ads have a Christian and a Jewish version, which I find strange since I thought that health exams are a rather secular thing. 

I don't suppose you can make a commercial without it offending or excluding someone.  And while I admire the mission CBS seems to be on, the commercials are a bit like watching a car wreck on the highway.  That and I can't help but think a pap smear would be one hell of an item to try and re-gift.