Spotted this ad a few days ago, and am just as bewildered about it today as I was when I first saw it:
Is this the Michael Hutchence model? Perhaps Michael and David Carradine weren’t into closet kink, but rather suffered in silence with their secret shame of being cursed with gimp necks? A small part of me would like to think this is so, because I really want another Kick album.
“At ninety-eight we all rotate…”
Spotted this hand scrawled ad in an old comic printed in 1982:
Oh yeah, this guy seems legit.
Mr. Robert Robbins, welcome to the internet. I wonder what you’re up to nowadays. Did you move on to hawking Sea Monkeys and lawn darts, write a best seller, morph into a late night 1-900 spiritual adviser, discover a cure for an uncommon disease, become the manager for the hardest working rock band in Iowa, get married to your high school sweetheart, or perhaps even obtain the American white-picket dream…or are you among the faceless hordes living hand to mouth, day in and day out, surviving alone and unknown in a dank ground floor apartment, just trying to squeak by until the next payday when you can stock up on Top Ramen and perhaps bring down the balance on your out-of-control credit cards?
Call me curious…
Okay, this just struck me as just plain silly. I saw this television commercial last night hawking sunglasses that magically allows one to see the world in “high definition” (that’s right, they kept touting “high definition” vision, I’m guessing like Superman or Burgess Meredith in that Twilight Zone episode, before he dropped his glasses). Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the world already in “high definition”?
Does the real world seem more real while wearing these enchanted sunglasses? And I really dig the “one times magnification” option:
Honestly…do they genuinely consider this a valid selling point? Do I have to pay extra for the “no magnification” magnification option?
Karin and I just had a five minute conversation about the pros and cons of french bread.
I contend that the central part of french bread, the non-crust part, is so good that I could eat a sandwich made of two-inch thick layers of the stuff, sans the crust. Karin is of the mindset that cutting two slices off of a loaf and scooping out a portion from each slice to make a sort of “pita pocket” capable of holding a nugget of tuna goodness would be much more preferable.
And in the middle of this biting discussion, in the back of my mind I’m jokingly thinking to myself, “Have we become so dull and complacent that the banal minutia and intricacies of sandwich making could cause a rift between us?” We could be discussing current world events, how political leaders on both sides of the aisle don’t seem to have our best interests at heart, or even our favorite cult films from the 80′s that begin with the letter “R” (for me it’s Repo Man, Remo Willams, and Real Genius), but instead we’re having an intense disagreement about sandwich bread protocol. Heh…
Oh well, whatever. Nevermind.
Let me leave you with this picture I snapped while we were wandering around town this past weekend. The longer I looked at this poster, the more evil I found it. I think it’s the eyes…
Wandering around an open air mall in the San Diego area this past Saturday, happily working my way through a box of Good & Plenty, I passed a sign outside a tuxedo rental shop that struck me as a bit odd:
If I’m interpreting this sign correctly, the two people at either end are happy couples anxious to make their way to an unforgettable, magical senior prom evening. But the cat in the middle, the one circled in red….what’s his story? The phrase “third wheel” instantly comes to mind. Apparently dateless, did he bribe his way into this particular clique with promises of free booze and pot?
Perhaps he holds absolute power and sway over this small group who, for years afterwards, will harbor deep-seated guilt over having been controlled by this simpleton because he happened to stumble upon them during their most terrible, guilty moment of their young lives. By their reckoning, should their loathsome, twisted secret ever be revealed, their lives as free men and women would surely be forfeit.
And so, when I take a second look at this ad, I no longer see the gleaming faces of youth eager to tackle the challenges of whatever life has to throw at them. Instead, I see the silent cries of the wicked desperate anxious to put this tortuous evening behind them, pack up whatever meager possessions they own before the sun rises very next morning, and silently crawl out of town to take refuge in the world’s deepest, most secret cave. Forever.
Of course, it could be that I’m reading too much into this placard…
