Moronic Advertising Tactics

I cannot say just how many of you spend much time watching the advertisements seen during the breaks on your favourite TV shows, but if you've seen the latest Tim Horton's spots on the wheel of donuts, then you know where I'm going with this conversation.

I think the very last, and I mean seriously last thing I'd do, if I could spare the time, is to make a wheel of donuts out of spare materials in my garage. (long, long pause taken here, while shaking my head in disbelief).

Then, just when I thought it was only Tim Hortons who had a chronic habit as of late, depicting their customers as ultimate morons, I see that McDonalds has also jumped on the "let's make our customers look stupid in commercials" bandwagon as well.

Case and point: People talking to their new McDonalds steak wrap like they were going to have a private moment in the bathroom after eating one...and I'm not refering to a bowel movement here. Seriously??? Is that what fast food means to us now...a wierd sexual fantasy or a compultion to build toys to choose which deep fried, honey glazed, caramel stuffed, fat filled sustinence to buy today!!!

I could handle this line of marketing strategy if (and that is a big if), they were actually funny on some level. But they are not.

What I would give to have the power to whack the executives who approved these ads up the side of the head with a 30 year old copy of David Ogilvy on Advertising! Keep up with trends? That would be a YES. Insult your customers' intelligence? That would be a NO.

Ok. The break is over now...you can go back to your regularly scheduled program!

Dirty, Sexy Money

With all the germs, bugs and viruses floating around out there, it’s no surprise our society is in a state of panic. The other day I received an email that made light of where your money goes; “Have you ever wondered if that $5 bill in your pocket was once placed into the butt crack of a stripper?” LOL… NO! But I do now!

I have a girlfriend who once worked at a racetrack. The money was passed under a blue light to check for counterfeit bills, but more than just the bill’s authenticity was revealed. It seems that virtually every bill in circulation has one or all three of the following things on it (in trace amounts of course): cocaine, ejaculate & tape. Tape? What’s up with the tape? Oh, maybe that’s how my $5 bill got stuck to the strippers’ ass!?

So last week I went shopping at SportMart for my son. I bought a few things, paid cash and then had to return one of the items a few days later. Problem #1 was that I had misplaced my receipt. Problem #2 is that I had paid cash so there was no way to track my purchase based on my name or credit card information. Luckily they were able to locate the sale transaction by the date of the sale and the amount of the sale, but it took them 15 minutes to validate the sale so the item could be returned.

So here’s the deal. Money is a pain. It’s dirty, and basically untraceable in the business world without a receipt. I’m beginning to embrace the concept of using my credit and debit cards more readily because I know for a fact that my cards have never seen the crack of a strippers ass before! I could also (if I were a germaphobe), use those trusty little handy wipes to clean my cards after every use.


The other option of course is to go the way of Howard Hughes and Michael Jackson by donning gloves 24/7/365, or launder my money with my load of socks each week. Just what I need around here…another load of laundry!

So when I look at money now, I see all the times it was used to buy drugs, stuck in a strippers butt crack, handed to a hooker after a hand job in the alley, or passed on to me in a business transaction after someone went to the bathroom and neglected to wash their hands afterward. Dirty money? Yes. Sexy?…Not so much!

Waste Not Want Not

Of all the things I love about my home; fantastic view, large sundrenched deck, low mainenance yard, alley access, simple floor plan, quiet street, nice real estate neighbour to my left, stowic unapproachable neighbour to the right…yes it is my little piece of paradise, yet there is always something every woman (or man for that matter) can find flawed about their castle.

For me, and likely every woman out there, I find the lack of closet space my biggest issue. As I stroll through the many images of beautiful homes I’ve had the pleasure of viewing and photographing, I can’t help but admire the walk in closets! Some of these homes have one in every bedroom, and often also sport walk in pantries in the kitchen (ahhhhh).

But I have something special that I affectionately refer to as my walkin floor. Yes, like most teenagers, I have a closet, but alas it is far too full of clothes I just know at some point I will fit into again, and so the clothes that I do actually fit into find their place lovingly on my walkin floor.

Some items are in piles, some items are in neat stacks, some piles consist of collections of mismatched socks that have sadly lost their twins in traumatic laundry accidents, or have been stolen by our beloved labrador for chewing experiments. Either way, it is both interesting and challenging to locate the exact shirt I had intended to wear each morning, usually resulting in a massive dig and restructuring because my walkin floor system is not anywhere near as organized as the walkin closet I dream of having some day.

So as much as I adore my humble abode with stunning open views of the Port Moody inlet, I find that if not for the stunning views and sundrenched deck I would have this sucker up for sale in 10 seconds flat and take the first offer that hit the kitchen table.

As a side note, I recently found 10 of the missing sock twins from the corner of my walkin floor. They are all clean and ready to be reunited with their grieving twins, except for the holes that the dog affectionately adorned them with…which means they can only be worn on Sundays and in certain company. Oh well, waste not a holy sock, want not a walkin closet. A girl can dream, right?

People Are Weird

Ok, so I said it out loud & likely offended a few souls out there, but frankly we are all weird. The question is "how weird is weird to you?". Some of us have huge tolerance levels for weirdness, and others have none at all. I have a huge tolerance and find people whom others would classify weird quite interesting...because they ARE weird. I don't "judge" people anymore because I've been known to be amazingly wrong about my preconceptions. Plus, I'd hate for someone to meet me on a bad day and tell everyone they know that I'm a bitch, when the truth is that I'm a very nice person who enjoys observing weird people, while occassionally having bad days.

Do we judge others too quickly? Yes - and it is a destructive habit! The reason I bring up the subject of weirdness is because I attended the ACDC concert the other night and was surround by the largest crowd of weird people I've ever encountered before. But I mean weird in a good way. These people were huge fans - devoted fans - adoring fans - drunk and/or stoned fans - whom could not have been more excited about the arrival of their favourite band to Vancouver than Premier Gordon Campbell getting away with bringing in the HST. It was like watching roughly 55,000 people milling around the street whom had all just won a large sum of money in the lottery. They were adroned in red flashing horns, ACDC t-shirts, headbands, school boy shorts & ties, tams, wigs, tattoos & wide eyed excitement. They ranged in age from 12 - 70 (similar to the Rolling Stone's concert crowd). Let's face it...to the everyday Joe, these people were pretty much as weird as weird gets, next to Gay Pride Day attendees! And as a side note, watching "normal people" watch "weird people" was equally as entertaining. Damned I wish I had my good camera with me!
Below is a 15 second video clip of the concert. We had floor seats, but if I could do this again I wouldn't pay for a floor seat as it was a waste of money (unless you have no intension of actually "seeing" the band). If you can't understand what they are singing in this clip, don't worry - we couldn't either because the decible levels were unregisterable!


I SAID THE DECIBLE LEVELS WERE UNREGISTERABLE!!! lol.

Ok, so the bottom line here is that you just gotta love people for who they are. If they are weird to you, then so be it. Now if only you knew how weird you are to others...