Political parties are at war, the government remains at a standstill and lawmakers are spending as much time badmouthing the loyal opposition as they are holding fundraisers for 2014. In the midst of this toxic climate, there’s a call for the Washington Redskins to dump their name in the name of racial sensitivity. Barbs are flying. The media is having – well, a ball. This appears to be much ado about nothing, which perfectly describes contemporary Washington D.C. For that reason, I would like to propose this new name for the football team: The Washington Whiners. Fits, don’t you think?
Despite annual pleas to my son David about his sweet habit of sending flowers for Mother’s Day (how many times can you say, “Seriously, a card will do”?), he remains a creature of habit. Consequently, a fresh bouquet of colorful tulips lands on my doorstep each May like swallows returning to Capistrano. I love the flowers, but they’re powerful cat magnets, so after I water and arrange them in a vase, they move to a closet. I visit them daily — as faithful as a Lourdes pilgrim. A week later, they move from the closet to the garbage. So sad.
What does it say about our society that we have a non-profit group called The National Organization of Parents of Murdered Children? POMC is a unique group that transects geography, race, age and socio-economics, offering emotional support and services to parents and other family members following the single most horrific event any mom or dad could imagine happening to their child. POMC hosts a huge annual convention and relies on mental health professionals, lawyers, medical and religious experts for guidance. Local chapters are springing up, but this is one exclusive club that all parents would prefer never to join. http://www.pomc.com/index.html
Of course it was the adorable puppy that caught my attention when I began researching the components of the sexy new ad campaign currently being run by Kraft Foods’ salad dressing division. These creative folks are onto something big. Tease, not mundane tomatoes. Who wouldn’t rather see a guy tossing greens rather than a lone bowl of salad on a magazine page? Kraft’s campaign is interactive. You can send notes – with photos of this yummy dude — to friends using this Get Me Zesty website link: http://www.getmezesty.com/choose.html. Six Zestygrams are available, including a birthday card. My birthday is December 12th.
Texas politicians don’t have to drink the Kool-Aid. The water will suffice. Consider Texas Rep. Louis Gohmert. During a Congressional abortion rights hearing, he told a witness that she should have carried her 10-week pregnancy to term even though her fetus’s brain didn’t and would never function. Kinda like his brain. Other members of the all-male panel agreed. They’re not from Texas, but they’ve drunk the water, too. My favorite? Georgia State Representative Terry England. England equated women with farm animals, commenting that it’s just as heartbreaking to deliver a dead pig as a human. His viewpoint boggles rational minds.
That’s the message I discovered while cleaning out my Spam; yet another person trying to sell me sex aides without having completed a course in the English language. Like the Got Milk? campaign, this marketer likely has a helpful product to sell me, but how can I take his or her word that my erect will be improved if I don’t trust his message? Everything is about messaging today. Get your point across and selling an idea or product is easy. I’d like to sell “Learn English” tutorials to folks selling sex aides. I believe I could make a fortune.
I’m suffering withdrawal symptoms following the conclusion of the Jodi Arias trial. She stabbed Travis Alexander 29 times, slit his throat and put a bullet in his head, but the jury deadlocked on the penalty, leaving her “free” to sell her autographed drawings on eBay, pitch her bogus “Survivor” t-shirt line and post daily tweets via a surrogate. Sheriff Joe Arpaio (above) finally pulled the media plug, but the psychopathette won’t be denied additional attention before the penalty-phase retrial in mid-July. Marketers could learn a thing or two about self-promotion from Jodi before her 15-minutes of fame ends.
Love her or hate her, even her enemies call Hillary Clinton indefatigable, but it’s her resiliency and tenacity that I admire most. Consequently, Bill Maher’s recent comments on her recent travails say it all: “Republicans trying to turn the Benghazi attacks into a scandal that taints Hillary Clinton’s chances at a 2016 presidential run must realize that scandals don’t weaken [her], they only make her stronger. Travelgate, Rose Law Firm, Whitewater, Vince Foster, Monica Lewinsky … Hillary Clinton eats scandals for breakfast. If the Republicans keep this up she’ll not only be President, she’ll appoint Bill to the Supreme Court.”
When crash diets and fasting had no effect on our weight, my father and I discovered speed. A jar of amphetamines the size of an oatmeal box sat beside the coffee canister in our kitchen. It took just one pill to get us racing at warp speed. We avoided food; smoked like proverbial chimneys. Sleep? F’getaboutit. Watching Don Draper on Sunday’s “Mad Men” took me back to those days and the ton of weight we lost. Yes, we got skinny. But, at what price? Nobody knew the dangers of amphetamines back then. I’m lucky to have survived that era unscathed.
When I’m feeling particularly self-destructive, the portion of my personality that’s devoid of discipline hits the supermarket and extracts a box of Breyer’s ice cream from the freezer case. I have no more control over the purchase than did Dr. Strangelove, whose arm perpetually broke into a Nazi salute on its own. Polish off a half-gallon solo? No sweat – which is why I’m grateful the company stopped using half-gallon containers. Their reasons were probably fiscal, but who cares? The 1.5-quart size still spells trouble, but thanks to the reduced package size, I have fewer post-binge stomachaches these days.