Digital Whatnot is Stressing Me Out

I'm only sorta back.

But maybe I'll stick with the blog now that I've consolidated it on Skimmer with a bunch of other services. Seeing it in the feed reminded me that it was out here.

Today I finally hacked back into my iTunes account after much ado with customer service.

Next up: Figuring out what do with my iTunes. The collected works of Bon Jovi tend to suffice.

Curating my digital life is stressing me out when I'm not giggling at the angst. Total bollocks it is.

It took 15 minutes to hack back into my blog

Granted it was kinda abandoned. But still!

Google and stuff.

Jeeze.

Lost Friend, Lost Icon

I just saw a frightening Michelin tire ad called Lost Friend. Check it out on the Michelin site.

I usually don't pick on advertising ... glass houses ... we've all been there ... it can happen to anyone ... you weren't there man. I know.

But seriously. Walk with me here. Michelin Man, our beloved venerable icon, driving in the rain, dramatic music. Then he stops in his pick up. Cue something reminiscent of Shane or Lassie Come Home. Then a Michelin dog shows up and is reunited with Michelin Man. This surreal tender moment is explained ... sort of ... with "Few relationships in life are more important than the one between you and your tires. Rugged, long lasting Michelin truck tires. Michelin. A better way forward."

They had the coup d'grace of advertising effectiveness with pretty babies and the line "So much is riding on your tires." What the hell is "A better way forward"? When did that happen? And while dogs rival babies for viewer interest, a Michelin dawg is just silly.

And the Michelin Man, once an icon, is starting to look a little silly. A little like ... um ... the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man. And to do that to the Michelin Man is just wrong. Total bullshit. He's been goofily animated, robbed of a wonderful campaign and forced to try to drum up interest in his exploits with a totally random digital dawg.


For the love of all that's sacred in American culture, someone please send identity body guards to protect Poppin' Fresh, also known as the Pillsbury Doughboy. I fear that there's an all out attack on round, puffy white icons afoot. Someone might decide to put the Doughboy on Atkins and give him a friend to play against ... maybe a "crumb" character or a talking stick of butter. Oh, the horror!

I know it's just advertising. But I haven't felt this lost and forlorn since they decided to put Tony the Tiger on steroids. May the Michelin Man survive this crisis ... so much is riding on his ... oh, nevermind.

Bullshit Tickets in the Most Dangerous City in America

As you've probably heard, earlier this week St. Louis was named the most dangerous city in America. Yeah. So shut up all y'all "I'm from Brooklyn" and "I'm from L.A." and "I'm from Detroit" hard ass motherfuckers. I'm from St. Louis. How do you like that shit? Anyway.

So we made the list because we have crime. Violent crime. In the city. I live in the city, granted the south side, not the infamous Grand Theft Auto: North Lou. But you'd think with all this crime in the city the cops would be focused on dealing with it.

Ain't it a bitch that I've managed to get three parking tickets parking in front of my own damned house this week. Now I don't park on the street regularly. I've got a situation with some tree debris in the back I won't get into right now. But suffice it to say I've been parking out front.

Who knew that you had to park in the same direction as all the other fucking cars? Who knew it was the first Tuesday of the month and they drive east and clean the street between 8 and 10 a.m. Who knew that they'd drive the other direction two days later on the first Thursday of the month and charge you $10 for having the temerity to be there even though it's clear that three things remain true:

1. The fucking street ain't been cleaned
2. The on-it-like-a-motherfucker traffic cops could be redeployed to go after arch criminals instead of harrassing my tax paying, home owning, clueless parking ass
3. For the $50 they've got me for this week, they better clean this street or I'm gonna have to BITCH about it

And just so you know that this is an issue in the city BIG TIME: I got a ticket once for not parking close enough to the fucking curb when I went into the bread co. to get a sandwich. Fuckers.

I'm a bit bitter. They've got parking under control, but for some reason we're number one in violent bullshit ... they want to argue the math, but I'm telling you there are cops issueing tickets that could be chasing down thugs. mmm-hmmm. That's all I'm saying. When we drop to number 8 on that list they can get on those tickets like they're on them now.

Pink Dyson

Look at it! It's a pink Dyson! I got one yesterday at Target and I'm still giddy about it. Let me rewind. Um, where to start. OK. I have an issue with finishing the floors in my house ... I'll get through the kitchen and the woods on the first floor and loose motivation for the second floor carpets ... and stairs! Oy! I've been considering a maid (or is it nicer to say cleaning person?) for some time, but I have issues with that.

Maids gossip. Maids see things. Maids are for people who would leave things for a maid to clean up. But maids are also for busy people. Maids need nice, regular clients. But maids might not like dogs. Those kind of issues. Anyway, I digress.

So to take vacuuming from a chore to a delight, I went looking for a pink Dyson -- OVER A YEAR AGO. Figured it wasn't to be because they were only available in Europe. Same deal across the pond: Limited Edition Breast Cancer Awareness. But what with the shipping and the weird electrical plug, I just waited.

Skip to yesterday. Shark turns to the vacuums as we're looking for a side table and says, "Hey look, it's a pink Dyson." I almost fainted. I had the full experience with it at point of sale, read the box, looked at the display, noted the charitable donation and lovely pink ribbon ... and hoisted that piece of engineered sculpture into my cart.

When I got it home, it was like bringing home a Mac. Even the box is designed well. It took a bit of reading to know how not to fuck it up ... it's a Dyson ... not your average Dirt Devil (which will now be relegated to the third floor closet in my sister's lair). Anyway, once I got it snapped together and finished adoring it ... ADORABLE IT IS! ... I took it up to try it out on some intense dust and Sweetie fur.

Omigod! It picked up an embarrassing amount of dust. The Dirt Devil was run about those floors last week. You'd think never from the canister of my new Dyson. And it chomped down dog fur without losing suction or becoming hopelessly clogged. Brilliant!

I'm so glad I waited for a pink one. Now I'm over the desire for a maid for at least a year. I've decided to make cleaning an event, 50's style. I'm going to get two outfits to clean in: a pink negligee for night cleaning and a pink June Cleaver dress for day cleaning. It's ON y'all.

My purchase glee is one thing. But breast cancer is another. Shop for pink stuff this month to support the foundation. I recommend the Dyson or the Kitchen Aid stuff. Tres fabulous. In the spirit of awareness, feel your tits or the tits of someone you love once a month. If you're as old as me, start getting the mam-sandwich (a.k.a. mammogram). And pass the awareness on.

Grande Free Trade Bold Roasted Happiness in a Cup

Those of you who know me well know about my recurring Starbuck's fantasy. I want to be a barista. I want to work in the Third Place. I want to be a partner with green apron privileges. I want to arrange the cookies and make a Grande Mocha and a Venti Soy Latte and an Iced Green Tea Latte and ... well, you get the idea. I want to learn about coffee and share the knowledge and joy with poor working stiffs who only get to come in for a few minutes. I want to listen to jazz all day long. And read the New York Times. And get a free pound of coffee every month. I want to be a barista. I am oh-so-close to moonlighting there to see if I can live the dream. But Shark-Fu pointed out that it's not the same on the inside. It's not the same as ordering your drink, smelling the air, taking a moment. She said it's hell, with assholes coming in griping about their order and acting like entitled little shits. I wonder if it is. I might just do it ... go get a job-for-fun and learn how to make espresso. Then I'm gonna try bartending. I could do it. I can do anything.

Today I had a venti black coffee and a fruit slice cookie and it made my fucking day. I'm going to keep going there until I get to see the wizard and learn his secrets. See ya at Starbuck's.

Bugs in a Bed

I'm so looking forward to Snakes on a Plane. Bring it!

But I've got another possible plot for y'all: Bugs in a Bed. If you haven't heard, bed bugs are back. I associate these nasty things with New York. And damned if I didn't see a happy bed bug at a Hilton in Westchester last week. It was sitting (sleeping?) there on the tan part of the red/tan bedspread, just so in a circle of warm light cascading from the bedside table. I jumped back in horror and then leaned in to make sure it wasn't travel-weary hallucinations at 2 a.m. Round. Reddish brown. On a bed. Fuck! (couldn't get the camera phone to work, or I'd post it) They were great about giving me a new room and NY is infested, so I don't blame Paris' folks. But that thing was nasty ... Bugs in a Bed should be the sequel to Snakes on a Plane.

sssssssssss.....

What Happened With the Gas Company ...

The Gas Co. is installing the new meter reading technology on my block pretty much now. I have to call the number on the door hanger and make an appointment for them to come out and do it. And then we wait. It'll take a full post-install billing cycle to see if my problems are gone for good when it comes to accurate bills.