Childhood Trauma, Aisle 1...

So lookee what I received via e-mail today: An invitation to "Meet Bearemy from the Build-A-Bear Workshop!" So this is Bearemy:

Dudes, Bearemy looks freakemy.

Coincidence that "Bearemy" rhymes with "Enemy"? I think not.

Bring the kids? I think not...Unless childhood trauma and bear-related distress are on the agenda. Build-A-Bear is already traumatizing the little childrens with their sad, floppy un-stuffed bear skins...and now this...C-O-N-spiracy, I tell you.

And why do I feel an immediate dislike, nearing Barney-the-Purple-Annoying-Dinosaur levels, for this mascot? There's something about this beanie-sportin', kangaroo-lookin' bear that makes me wanna kick it in its gender-neutral unmentionables and snap, "Put on some pants!"

By the by, I am in no way influenced by Stephen Colbert's anti-bear agenda. Bearemy = Enemy, nuff' said.

Conwoocious is Back, Baby!

Egads, has it been nearly six months since I last posted here?! My bad.

Couple of reasons for the Conwoocious silence: Procrastination and TV.

I had a TV-related epiphany when I attended a brief talk by an author who said, roughly along these lines, "I wrote this book while working full-time, tending to the poor, composing an opera, giving birth and raising quintuplets, and curing cancer of the ass. I don't own a TV and am thus, quite productive."

Bloody hell! Bloody bee-yotch! I hate superior people like that. And of course, in the deep dark, cynical and snarky recesses of my heart, secretly yearn to be one. So I will take baby steps in that direction. The first? Saying buh-bye to TV.

I am happy to say that I have not watched TV in the last 30 days. Yep, yay me. I have, however, web-streamed some TV episodes and watched downloaded media judiciously in the last month. But I must reiterate, I have not watched TV in the last 30 days. Needless to say, Conwoocious has not found a cure for any ass-related diseases yet.

But baby steps. I must wean myself from the obsessive chasing of every new episode of nearly every show on TV. The fact that I completely missed the fall premiere orgasma, and am not too upset about it, is progress, my friends. I used to map out the premiere season with a meticulous Excel spreadsheet, you know. Now? Nuthin'. So I am making headway. And -- dare I say it? -- I may indeed eventually write a book, or an opera, or cure some disease related to the posterior...the operative point is that Conwoocious is back!

Mime that Maim

Is it time to freshen up your “kill me now” mime for spring?

Don’t know what a “kill me now” mime is? It’s quite prevalent in workplace environments. You know the drill. Something stressful, frustrating, or downright stupid happens. You and your workmate cronies badmouth the idiot who caused the situation, er, discuss ways to resolve the matter as expediently and efficiently as possible. In the course of the discussion, you, or one of your cronies, roll your eyes, make a face, and instead of saying “kill me now”, you mime it.

Are you a “finger across the throat”? This gesture is quite elegant, easy and doesn’t require complicated hand formations. (Some people are still getting used to their opposable thumbs, thank you very much.) However, this gesture has been used in different contexts. It could mean “Cut! Stop!” Or, it could be used as a short hand gesture for impending trouble. For example, if you are the idiot who caused the “kill me now” avalanche, and are gearing up to meet with your irate boss, a workmate may use the finger across the throat to indicate that you are “in trouble”.

Or perhaps you are a classic “gun to the head”. This is probably the most popular and recognizable. Index and middle finger extended to simulate the barrel of the gun, thumb up to simulate the gun’s hammer. Plus you get the effect of a cocked hammer if you wiggle your thumb. Complex stuff, definitely not for amateurs.

Or are you a “necktie as noose”? This gesture, of course, is limited to the men, though some plucky ladies have put their scarves and bow tie blouses to creative use. You pull your tie up, tilt your head to the side, and, if you are especially adept at multi-tasking, let your tongue loll out. Stunning.

Perhaps you are an “eye jab”? This gesture only requires a closed fist. You are miming the action of grasping a pointy item in your closed fist and jabbing it into your eye. Wonderful. I like this one the best because it lets you change up the implement you use to jab your eye. Today it might be the UniBall soft grip gel pen you swiped from a coworker. Tomorrow, a letter opener. The next time it could be a spork. (Sidebar: Sporks rule. They are versatile, elegant, and cute. I heart sporks.) This gesture is all-inclusive and allows your imagination to run wild.

As in wardrobe, makeup, and hairstyle, it is very important to not fall into a rut in the “kill me now” mime department. I hope you have been inspired to try a different mime at your next smack talk/conflict resolution conference. Be confident, daring, fresh and grisly.

Let's See if It Bakes...

I’m studying Sweden this week in my Western Europe travel class, and of all the wonderful things that should have stuck, like the cool Ice Hotel in the north, smorgasbords, the midnight sun, etc, all that I really retained is the tidbit that Volvo, which manufactures cars in Sweden, means "I roll" in Latin.

How random. But then I started thinking…my advertising muse began doing her thing…I see a new ad campaign...and it revolves around the tagline, “This is how I Volvo."

Guys, we can give Volvo a personality! Let’s Queer Eye its image from "safe, but boring", to "safe, fun, and quirky". Give the metaphorical charcoal suit a pink shirt and flamboyant tie, if you will.

So let’s put this in the oven and see if it bakes: Tinted black Volvo SUV blasting bass-heavy hip-hop. (How about that incessant earworm of a Flo-Rida song? Apple Bottom jeans…Low, low, low…) The car is stopped at a red light. Camera pans into the interior. We spy an unbelievably cuddly puppy and a couple of unbelievably cute kids wearing earphones asleep in the backseat, while their unbelievably young, gorgeous, and yuppie parents are bobbing their heads to the music. Tagline: "This is how I roll. This is how I Volvo."

Genius? Nah. But I like it. So I claim all creative ownership and copyrights and dibs and whatnot. As Daffy Duck would say, "Mine, mine, mine!" And if the commercial gets made, we'll know that it not only baked...but was stolen from the windowsill while it was cooling.

A Free Pass: Music Edition

Before my iPod, Minnie, died, er, went away to the gadget farm to roam and charge free among the apple and lemon trees (By the way, if you’ve recently upgraded, and are looking to unload an iPod, drop me a line…), if you had audited its contents, you would have found “Stars are Blind”, from the illustrious, heirhead ingénue chanteuse, Paris Hilton.

Yes, Paris Hilton. [Defiantly] So what? [Sullenly] What of it?

Oh hell, I know what of it. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have that track hidden in my Guilty Fluffy Playlist, which I have filed under the pseudonym “Audio-Books-Wealth of Nations”. I KNOW that listening to P.Hil is not cool…and that any of her merchandise, her pink, plastic, disposable merchandise, is cringe worthy. Girlfriend can’t sing. Girlfriend has a weak, thin voice begging for some fried chicken wings, gravy, and biscuits.

I KNOW this, intellectually, and was completely prepared to loathe her album…until I came across “Stars Are Blind”. It was a moment of weakness. A particularly cold, gray, rainy day, too much angst on my iPod, on the news…a part of me was drawn to the light, tinkly reggae beat, the undeniably catchy hook, and the premise of a fluffy fantasy land where only sand, surf, sun, and skin reigned.

But I’m making excuses. I like what I like, and dammit, I like this song. Yes, the lyrics are inane. Yes, she barely hits that high note near the end (“Let’s see what looove can dooo”), razor thin voice cracking dangerously close to the jugular. What can I say? It’s catchy. It’s mindless. It got me at a time when what I needed was light, inconsequential, feel-good fluff, and even when I run across it now, I still smile at the memory of that fluffy feeling. Perhaps mixed in with that fluffy, feel-goodness is a hint of “Oh, that Paris” indulgence…a hint of arch, knowing, superiority…the reminder that someone out there is more messed up and clueless than me.

So that concludes my appeal for a “Free Pass” in my music library. Please don’t reject my membership application for Kool and Snarky International. You know, we all need a free pass sometime. And yeah, even Paris.

The New TV Hearthrobs

The advent of Tivo (oh blessed magical box) has certainly enhanced our lives (we can watch that many more shows, and more efficiently, with no rewinding of VHS tapes and checking of schedules. And we get a cool peanut-shaped remote, to boot.) However, commercial watching has suffered, due to the fact that Tivo makes skipping commercials so much easier. Commercials, you scoff? Why the heck would we want to watch commercials?

My dear friends…there are two spokes models, heartthrobs, really, who light the commercial scene on fire. Advancing at triple-Tivo-speed past their commercials is a travesty! You would miss their wide, soulful eyes, their velvety, sensual voices, their charming European accents…I am talking, of course, of the sexiness that is the Geico Gecko and the Nasonex Bee.

The Geico Gecko (GG) has a sleek, lithely green body that can easily dance the Thriller dance, if he so chooses. (But why abase himself like those other lizards? He doesn’t need a Super Bowl spot, Naomi Campbell or Sobe Life Water to make him cool and sexay.) His huge eyes are endless pools of deep, gentle wisdom. His delicate hands and feet show his artistic sensitivity; his quirky smile hints at a wicked sense of humor. And his accent…what is it about a British cockney accent?! Plus he can dance the Robot! A truly well-rounded Gecko. Swoon. And I’ll take ten of whatever you’re selling. Which happens to be car insurance.

Then we have the fiery, passionate Nasonex Bee (NB), voiced by Antonio Banderas, who is nearly as attractive as the Bee, but lacks the (pardon the puns) sting and buzz. Nasonex Bee’s smooth Spanish accent, coupled with his wistful, watery eyes, crooked white smile, authoritatively stern eyebrows, and graceful, yet manly flitting, is the stuff of romance novel covers and legend. Yes, I will follow you to the garden; Yes, I will follow you into the woods. Yes, I will spray the stuff up my nose even though I don’t have allergies…anything for you Nason. Will you bee mine?

Mini Rant

What’s the perfect way to mock one as one exits from a stuffy, crowded, motion-sickness-inducing, “Oh the humanity…what’s that smell…I think I’m gonna toss my cookies” public transit ride?

Why, by papering the subway station with glossy, seductive “If you had me, you wouldn’t have just had to experience hell on rails” automobile advertisements, of course!

Imagine this: A woozy, vomit suppressing me riding the up escalator from the lower platform in the subway station, studiously trying to avoid looking at the huge “Juicy” emblazoned arse of the person in front of me, while simultaneously shifting subtly sideways so my own not-so-taut (but NOT Juicy emblazoned, mind you) arse isn’t in the face of the person behind me. Hey, stopping the escalator arse-face chain starts with you. Every time you are on an up escalator, by just maneuvering your body 90 degrees to the right, you can help make a person’s day Juicy arse-face free. Think about it. Do your part. Pay it forward…er, backward.

But I digress.

As I neared the top station level, what unfolds is a subway station completely dominated by glossy, aggressively gorgeous images of Mini Coopers. That abominably cute little car! It’s smiling at me, teasing me, flirting with me, begging me to adopt it…a “Zig” tagline for the classic Mini (my favorite), a “Zag” tagline for the Mini convertible (adorable, but not practical in the windy, hair conscious Bay Area)…then my eyes fall on a third billboard, showcasing the newest Mini, the Mini Clubman, under the tagline “Zug”. Zug. Is that short for ZUGLY? Holy schmokes what did they do?! This, this, this, Cooper has….an arse. A hugely disproportionate arse. All it needs is “Juicy” emblazoned on it.

What the hell were they thinking? They made the Mini Clubman longer and taller, and then added two doors to the rear, effectively turning it into a deformed station wagon. It’s like an adorable scamp of a child named Mini grew into an awkward, gangly, acne-addled, adolescent named Clubman. And Clubman has headgear. And a Juicy arse. Junk in the trunk, indeed. Blech. Maybe public transit ain’t so bad after all.

Coffee Love

January 5, 2008

I referenced my coffee addiction yesterday, so for today’s 200 words, I thought I’d wax poetic about my favorite thing to drink in the whole world.

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Ahhhh, coffee. The rich, delicious, life-giving elixir that I love and worship. I have so many ways of enjoying you. I can squeeze the life out of you using a French press. I can tamp you into a tight little disk and torture you through my espresso machine. I can boil you on the stove with an Italian espresso pot that magically defies gravity by pulling the water upwards through you and landing into the top bowl as wonder-brew. I can filter you through a manual drip, and watch you drip, like liquid gold, into the waiting, loving, carafe.

You smell so good! Pungent, strong, aromatic. Your scent speaks of character and power and personality.

Sometimes it breaks my heart to add milk to you. It seems blasphemous, sullying your dark, pure beauty. But I must confess, I do not possess the strength to consume you unadulterated. I must lighten you ever so-slightly with a dash of milk.

But you still maintain your character, even lightened. You take the swirls of cream with dignity and grace, incorporating them into your own golden crema, welcoming and loving them. When I drink you, life is good and all’s right with the world.

Snark and Soup

January 4, 2008

I need to write something snarky…I will write about the first thing that annoyed me today. Wait. I can’t write about the alarm clock. That won’t fly. Ok, I will write about the first thing that annoyed me after I had my first cup of coffee…because EVERYTHING annoys me before my first cuppa. So after that first sip, I turn on the boob tube, and guess who appears….

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My Food Network nemesis, Bobby Masa lovin’, arrogant ‘tude sportin’, and grill fetishin’ Flay. Grrr. Soup is the theme today…He just spent hours making chicken stock, and is now slicing and deep-frying fresh tortillas. Soup made the old school way, with time and wholesome ingredients. I can respect that. Plus deep-frying rocks. Wait a sec, did he just break out the can opener? He’s using canned hominy! And he’s shredding a store-bought rotisserie chicken. Dude! If you take the time to make your own stock, and fry your own goddamn tortilla chips, then roast your own bloody chicken and cook your own damn hominy. We’re at war, pick a side. Either go all-out cooked from scratch, or not. Sandra Lee, you too. “Semi-Homemade” my arse. But I forgive you because of your Cocktail Time segments, over-the-top themes, wacky tablescapes and hand-made placecards and favors. Gotta love an obsessive Type A. But back to the Flayster…who goes on to, and I quote, “Plate the soup.” No he didn’t! But yes he did. Stacking and garnishing away. I’m surprised he didn’t use a ring mold and squeeze bottle. Dahm you, Flay. Ruining a perfectly good bowl, er plate, of soup with frou-frou.

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Akita Adventures, Part 2

January 3, 2008

I miss my doggie Jacky…so I will continue the Jacky the Super Akita story for today…we’ll see how long it takes before I start bawling, then trolling the web for Akita adoption sites.

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A hint of lavender and a touch of summer rain. Mommy has tried cleaning again. She must have run amok with that evil blue spray bottle of yucky girly smells. Jacky tried to locate Pandie’s scent amongst the floral aroma, and found it. He followed it, majestic, fluffy, curly, white-tipped tail wagging furiously, to the laundry room, where he was assailed with more scents. It’s the blue powdery stuff that made me sick when I licked the side of the industrial-sized bucket, and the warm sheets that the Evil Poofy Giggling Bear whores on the Magic Box that Mommy loves almost as much as me.

Pandie? Are you here? You’re not playing with that Evil Poofy Giggling Dryer Sheet Whoring Bear are you? I hate that bear. I want to rip him to shreds. He’d probably giggle the whole time. Grrrr.

Jacky’s noble head suddenly flicked in the direction of the laundry basket. Pandie! Is that you? Jacky dashed over to the basket, and tipped it over. Jeans, jeans, jeans. I like Mommy’s jeans. She lets me slobber all over them. Ohhh, Pandie!! Jacky pulled Pandie out, and Pandie squeaked a greeting. Hello Pandie! I missed you, too.

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Akita Adventures, Part 1

January 2, 2008

I have writer’s block. This is hard. What the heck was I thinking? 200 words a day. Heck, I think I will just type “Blech” over and over until the word count reaches 200. Capital idea! Dammit, I can’t start cheating as of day two. Cheating is reserved for Day 10. Okay, here goes. I will try my hand at fiction today:

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Jacky, the Beautiful and Smart and Modest and Noble Akita, awoke early this morning because his Deranged Human Mommy (DHM) needed to get to work early. After his daily dose of overzealous puppy kisses, ear smooshing and scratching, and hugs, DHM fixed Jacky a breakfast of beef stew and rice. She freshened his water bowl, and then, coffee in hand, raptly watched Jacky dine, “awwing” as she admired his beautiful, minky ears that twitched with every bite. Aside from the “awwing” the only other sounds filling the kitchen were Jacky’s eating, and the occasional click of his nails against the kitchen floor as he shifted eating positions. DHM finished her coffee, and after yet another round of puppy adoration, bade him goodbye.

Alone at last! Jacky thought, I love Mummy, but she is a little too clingy. And I think she has a weird fetish for my ears. Jacky lapped at his water bowl languidly, splashing drops of water on the kitchen floor. Sated, he padded over to his favorite spot by the sofa. Where is Squeaky Pandie? he thought. I could have sworn I had flung him here last night. He sniffed the carpet. Paaaaandie! He began to whimper.

New Year, New Thing

January 1, 2008

So I’m starting this new thing. It’s an experiment to help get my creative juices flowing. It’s called Conwoocious Say in Two hundred Words or Less. I'm going to try to write one snippet a day, that is (usually) 200 words or less in length. That’s it. I can write anything, and it can be about anything, just as long Microsoft Word (Tools Menu, then Word Count…hey, I strive to edutain) says it is 200 words or less. Here’s today’s entry:

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So I’m starting this new thing…just kidding. New Year’s Day. A day of hope, happiness, and hangovers. New Year’s Resolutions. Broken promises. Wait a sec. That’s just cynical. I think it’s wonderful to resolve to make changes, however small, as long as those changes are for the better. What are my 2008 resolutions? Aside from writing 200 words a day, I resolve to do or try a new thing every day. Even if it’s something as mundane as trying a new sweetener in my coffee, as long as it’s something I’ve never done or tried before, it counts. Today’s is easy: Aside from having peach bellinis for breakfast (the peach contributes to my daily fruit allowance…as does eating Fruit Loops, and chewing Juicy Fruit), I’m starting a new blog containing writing snippets of 200 words or less. As a kid, aside from Ultimate World Dictator, ala The Brain from Pinky and the Brain, I wanted to be a writer. Unlike other writers, I didn’t write prolifically, yet when I did, I loooved it. After hating it for the first page or 200 words or so. Hence my determination to write every day, starting with 200 words or less.

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