I suppose this reflects a
Showing posts with label Just overthinking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Just overthinking. Show all posts
August 2, 2011
Looking at the bright side
I suppose this reflects a
April 13, 2011
Deep thought of the month, Number 1*
"Saying something and then repeating it won't necessarily make what you said any more profound. But it will make it rhyme."
- Me
I'm still working on the phrasing, but I wanted to memorialize it here. Because, you know, it's pretty profound. And I'm not sure it would fit on one of my hilarious T-shirts. Which are now available for purchase. In an array of colors and sizes.
* Likely to be Number 1 of 1. But who's keeping track?
- Me
I'm still working on the phrasing, but I wanted to memorialize it here. Because, you know, it's pretty profound. And I'm not sure it would fit on one of my hilarious T-shirts. Which are now available for purchase. In an array of colors and sizes.
* Likely to be Number 1 of 1. But who's keeping track?
February 1, 2011
Why I'm pretty sure Juliette Binoche hates Yugos: A dream illustrated with helpful links
As if you needed further proof that my brain just does not shut down - even when I'm sleeping - I have been having some wacky dreams lately. Often two the same night. I've been visited during the night by celebrities, strangers, and people I grew up with but haven't seen or thought about in 23 years.
Oh sure, there are the common, everyday dreams that everyone has - like the one last week, in which I came off the bench to hit a few clutch baskets for the Bulls in the seventh game of the Eastern Conference finals. But, unlike that one, most are completely unrealistic.
It could be that this new dream activity is related to the new herbal extract pills that I'm taking in an attempt to do something about those migraine headaches I wrote about a few weeks ago. I haven't read the little pamphlet that comes with the supplement to try to figure out what the possible side effects are, but I did look it up on Wikipedia, which is usually a pretty trustworthy source for Medical Information You Can Trust, and there was no mention of side effects, so I'm sure I'm in the clear.
Anyway, last night's dream was another winner.
For some reason, Juliette Binoche, the lovely French actress, was on the Late Show, sitting in the chair next to David Letterman. Like any good guest, she had a story to share with the TV viewing audience.
"We were driving through Europe in a Ford Fiesta," she began, before a man in the studio audience interrupted.
"That's like a Yugo!" the dream audience member shouted.
Juliette-in-my-dream, who I have never known to lose her temper, was not pleased.
"That's it. Fuck you all," she said. And she stormed off the set.
Anyone want to interpret that one?
Oh sure, there are the common, everyday dreams that everyone has - like the one last week, in which I came off the bench to hit a few clutch baskets for the Bulls in the seventh game of the Eastern Conference finals. But, unlike that one, most are completely unrealistic.
It could be that this new dream activity is related to the new herbal extract pills that I'm taking in an attempt to do something about those migraine headaches I wrote about a few weeks ago. I haven't read the little pamphlet that comes with the supplement to try to figure out what the possible side effects are, but I did look it up on Wikipedia, which is usually a pretty trustworthy source for Medical Information You Can Trust, and there was no mention of side effects, so I'm sure I'm in the clear.
Anyway, last night's dream was another winner.
For some reason, Juliette Binoche, the lovely French actress, was on the Late Show, sitting in the chair next to David Letterman. Like any good guest, she had a story to share with the TV viewing audience.
"We were driving through Europe in a Ford Fiesta," she began, before a man in the studio audience interrupted.
"That's like a Yugo!" the dream audience member shouted.
Juliette-in-my-dream, who I have never known to lose her temper, was not pleased.
"That's it. Fuck you all," she said. And she stormed off the set.
Anyone want to interpret that one?
January 14, 2011
My brain on drugs; Or, Seven sequential thoughts on a migraine treatment
1) I get migraine headaches four or five times a month.*
2) As my doctor recently called to tell me, that's far too many, and I should not have migraines so frequently. I'm not sure how that advice is supposed to help me, but I'll give it a few weeks.
3) A few months ago, my thoughtful and amazing wife - who frequently researches potential cures and treatments for migraines - mentioned that she had read an article about Botox being used to prevent migraines.
4) Although I was very appreciative that she had discovered this news, I thought using Botox as a remedy sounded somewhat silly, considering that I didn't need to eliminate crow's feet or frown lines in my brain.
5) I hate injections. I'm sure you don't like them either, but however much you hate them, I hate them more.
6) While poking around online today, I came across an item about the Botox migraine treatment.
7) After reading this article, I was reassured that I have made the right decision in not pursuing Botox as a treatment for my migraine headaches. Mainly because one of the common side effects is, um, headaches.
* Sometimes more. But I don't want it to look like I'm begging for sympathy. Or pills.
2) As my doctor recently called to tell me, that's far too many, and I should not have migraines so frequently. I'm not sure how that advice is supposed to help me, but I'll give it a few weeks.
3) A few months ago, my thoughtful and amazing wife - who frequently researches potential cures and treatments for migraines - mentioned that she had read an article about Botox being used to prevent migraines.
4) Although I was very appreciative that she had discovered this news, I thought using Botox as a remedy sounded somewhat silly, considering that I didn't need to eliminate crow's feet or frown lines in my brain.
5) I hate injections. I'm sure you don't like them either, but however much you hate them, I hate them more.
6) While poking around online today, I came across an item about the Botox migraine treatment.
7) After reading this article, I was reassured that I have made the right decision in not pursuing Botox as a treatment for my migraine headaches. Mainly because one of the common side effects is, um, headaches.
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| [Click to enlarge] |
* Sometimes more. But I don't want it to look like I'm begging for sympathy. Or pills.
April 16, 2010
Fallout
In the past 24 hours, SFTC has logged hits from two people - both of whom, I'm certain, are brilliant and exceedingly good-looking - from Scandinavia.
Now, we here at SFTC don't get too many clicks from nations with offset crosses on their flags - which, I know, is probably a shock to longtime SFTC readers - so this development caught my attention.
I can only assume that this exciting trend is occurring because Finns and Swedes are staying inside more than usual to avoid being overcome by all of that volcanic ash blowing in from Iceland, and they're profoundly starved for entertainment.
Anyway, I really appreciate the hits from overseas, because I know this blog is really out of the way compared with all of the Scandinavian blogs you have to choose from. Just want to say to our friends across the Atlantic: Välkomnande! And mieluinen!
Now, we here at SFTC don't get too many clicks from nations with offset crosses on their flags - which, I know, is probably a shock to longtime SFTC readers - so this development caught my attention.
I can only assume that this exciting trend is occurring because Finns and Swedes are staying inside more than usual to avoid being overcome by all of that volcanic ash blowing in from Iceland, and they're profoundly starved for entertainment.
Anyway, I really appreciate the hits from overseas, because I know this blog is really out of the way compared with all of the Scandinavian blogs you have to choose from. Just want to say to our friends across the Atlantic: Välkomnande! And mieluinen!
January 8, 2010
Endorsement burger
It's not that I actually care that St. John, the women's clothing brand - er, excuse me, luxury knitwear brand - dropped Angelina Jolie as its lead endorser. Truly, I don't. But I did think I'd be able to get a blog post out of it. And, so, I have.
The brilliance is just a click away, on World's Best Burger. (Warning: Unveils my possibly half-baked Tiger-Angelina Endorsement-ending Tryst Theory.)
The brilliance is just a click away, on World's Best Burger. (Warning: Unveils my possibly half-baked Tiger-Angelina Endorsement-ending Tryst Theory.)
January 4, 2010
The price of ice
Whenever my mom is considering a new car, she couldn't care less about whether it has four-wheel drive or traction control or ABS brakes - or, I'd guess, whether it has brakes of any kind. She doesn't care if the engine has four cylinders or six; or whether it comes with dual temperature zones or keyless remote entry.
Pretty much all she wants to know is that whatever car she drives is going to have a button on the air-conditioning panel that lets her see what the outside temperature is.
Which seemed pretty strange to me until last week.
Last week, the world's most fantastic wife and I became homeowners, and aside from the packing*, moving** and unpacking***, we couldn't be more thrilled. It's a great place - an upgrade in almost every way from the apartment we had rented for the past 18 months.
But what I had forgotten about our new apartment until we started unpacking our 694 boxes of kitchen stuff was that the previous owners left behind - for free**** - a refrigerator/freezer with one of those automatic water-and-ice dispensers. And not only that, but you can select ice cubes (more like crescents, actually) or crushed ice! Oh, and if you're getting water - or ice! - at night, the thing lights up, so you can be confident that the water you're dispensing goes right where it's intended. Amazing!
I've never had one of those things before - not growing up and not in any of the other apartments where I've lived. So when we walked in last week and I saw that snazzy thing on the front of our new freezer door? Well, that was the moment I knew: Despite the L.A. price we just paid for the place, it was totally worth it.
Now, if I can just find a contraption to tell me what the temperature outside the apartment is....
* Hated it.
** Really hated it.
*** Impossible to describe how much I hate it.
**** Yes, I'm kidding about the "free" thing.
Pretty much all she wants to know is that whatever car she drives is going to have a button on the air-conditioning panel that lets her see what the outside temperature is.
Which seemed pretty strange to me until last week.
Last week, the world's most fantastic wife and I became homeowners, and aside from the packing*, moving** and unpacking***, we couldn't be more thrilled. It's a great place - an upgrade in almost every way from the apartment we had rented for the past 18 months.
But what I had forgotten about our new apartment until we started unpacking our 694 boxes of kitchen stuff was that the previous owners left behind - for free**** - a refrigerator/freezer with one of those automatic water-and-ice dispensers. And not only that, but you can select ice cubes (more like crescents, actually) or crushed ice! Oh, and if you're getting water - or ice! - at night, the thing lights up, so you can be confident that the water you're dispensing goes right where it's intended. Amazing!
I've never had one of those things before - not growing up and not in any of the other apartments where I've lived. So when we walked in last week and I saw that snazzy thing on the front of our new freezer door? Well, that was the moment I knew: Despite the L.A. price we just paid for the place, it was totally worth it.
Now, if I can just find a contraption to tell me what the temperature outside the apartment is....
* Hated it.
** Really hated it.
*** Impossible to describe how much I hate it.
**** Yes, I'm kidding about the "free" thing.
December 29, 2009
End of the aughts, Part 2
If you were here yesterday, you were wowed, amazed and possibly blown away by Part 1 of my end-of-the-decade wrap-up chat with Daddy Geek Boy. And you're dying to catch the rest of the conversation in Part 2.
Well, this is your lucky day. Because Part 2 - which, as I mentioned, is way more interesting - is now up on Daddy Geek Boy. So check it out. And then take care of one of your 2010 new year's resolutions by signing up on his site to become a DGB follower. (What? That wasn't one of your resolutions? It should be.)
If you weren't here yesterday, you should should stop what you're doing right now and go read Part 1 immediately. Seriously. Failing to do so would be like watching Step Up 2: The Streets without first seeing Step Up.* That is, you really might not understand the sequel.
Well, this is your lucky day. Because Part 2 - which, as I mentioned, is way more interesting - is now up on Daddy Geek Boy. So check it out. And then take care of one of your 2010 new year's resolutions by signing up on his site to become a DGB follower. (What? That wasn't one of your resolutions? It should be.)
If you weren't here yesterday, you should should stop what you're doing right now and go read Part 1 immediately. Seriously. Failing to do so would be like watching Step Up 2: The Streets without first seeing Step Up.* That is, you really might not understand the sequel.
December 28, 2009
End of the aughts: A deep conversation with my (other) favorite blogger
You might have heard that we're rapidly approaching the end of a decade.
To mark this momentous occasion, I decided to... um... blog about it. Which sounds very predictable, but you're in luck, because I decided to blog about it in the form of a witty, snappy and enlightening conversation with Daddy Geek Boy.
We talked music, movies, politics and more. We laughed, we cried. And we did it all on instant messenger, which made it incredibly easy to transpose. I'm nothing if not brutally efficient.
Part 1 follows; you can read the equally amazing conclusion on his site on Tuesday.
DGB: At the end of every year, there are all of these recaps. And since we're at the end of a decade, the pressure to put a fine point on it all is huge. But I've been thinking about what we didn't have 10 years ago.
SFTC: Well, right now, I'm watching the Ravens game on TV, and checking Twitter and email in between our instant messages.
DGB: That's something right there - how much multitasking did you do 10 years ago?
SFTC: A little, I guess, but it's nothing like now when I'm checking Twitter, blogs, email, Facebook and whatever else at work and at home. How about you?
DGB: Yeah, the way I communicate with people is completely different. How are the Ravens doing?
SFTC: Ravens were down 17-0, are still trailing, but now back in the game at 17-14. You mostly don't follow sports, right?
DGB: I don't. Nothing against sports. I really like them. But I feel I don't have the time to really devote to them. I guess I could call myself a Redskins fan, if I kept up with football. But from what I gather, this season it wouldn't really matter.
SFTC: You're right about the Skins. I have to say it's hard for me to imagine doing everything I do now, and then adding two children to the mix, and having time to do anything else - like watching sports - so working parents have my immense admiration.
DGB: If it's a choice of sports over movies, I'm going to have to pick movies. But since we're talking about sports: What events capture the '00s in sports for you?
SFTC: You know, none of my favorite teams won championships, so the most memorable sports events for me were the ones I got to see up close and in person thanks to my job. (Not the same job I have now.) I went as a reporter to the NBA All-Star Game in Houston and the MLB All-Star Game in Detroit. And although I'm not a big NASCAR fan, the coolest experience of all was getting a ride in a stock car that was driven by Rusty Wallace... on the day before the Daytona 500 at the Daytona Speedway. It was unreal.
DGB: OK, you rode in a stock car? Sports fan or not, that's really cool right there. For a lot of my friends, the Red Sox winning the World Series will go down as their favorite moment this decade.
SFTC: Yeah, the Sox win was amazing - I was hoping the Cubs could follow suit in the next few years, but they might never win.
One of the things that I've delved into on SFTC is the too-good-to-be-true political scandals. I know you don't really get into those on DGB, but did you have any, um, favorites of the 2000s?
DGB: The whole Larry Craig thing was the first to jump in my head. For the sheer ridiculousness of it, mixed with a dash of pathetic. How about you?
SFTC: Maybe because I spent so much of my life in Chicago, I got a special thrill out of the Blagojevich incident. Just his arrogance, his complete disregard for the law, the audaciousness of it. I got to see a large part of his rise to prominence and it was amazing how swiftly he just fell apart.
DGB: This has been the decade where I've started to pay attention to politics. But every time I get sucked in, I get turned off just as quickly. It's sad to admit this, but it feeds my pessimistic side.
SFTC: Well, there was a long stretch last year where it was interesting without being terrible. It was nice to be able to follow it and be interested for reasons that weren't negative.
DGB: True. I was never so involved as I was during the election. But I think the same thing - it seems like a never-ending story of greed and corruption and ego and inefficiency, and it's hard to stay tuned in. It's all so contentious and nasty. Though I feel like that's something that's developed over the past handful of years. I feel like as a nation after 9/11 we were told that it wasn't okay to have dissenting opinions.
SFTC: Speaking of which, where were you when you first heard about the 9/11 attacks?
DGB: I was in the gym. Which is crazy to think about now because I've become such a sloth. But I was working out with a trainer, and we watched it go down on the monitors in the gym. We finished the workout, because frankly we didn't know what else to do. I came home and spent the rest of the day crying on the couch with the woman who would become WW™.
SFTC: That seems practical. (The gym part.)
DGB: How about you?
SFTC: A woman who lived in my building in Chicago said something about it to me while I was on the elevator that morning. But she brought it up by asking just, "Did you hear?" I assumed she was talking about Michael Jordan's return to the NBA from his second retirement, because that had been the big news on SportsCenter the night before - that he was about to come back. So I told her that I'd heard about Jordan, and she said, "No, a plane flew into the World Trade Center." Of course at that time, we obviously assumed it was just a bad accident. The Sears Tower is visible from the building where I lived in Chicago, and as I was walking to work that morning, I kept looking up at the Sears Tower and thinking what it would look like for a jet to fly into the top of that building. Then, spent most of the day at work just watching it on TV.
DGB: You know, I flew four days after the attack?
SFTC: You did!?! Why? Where? What did FWW™ think?
DGB: I was living in L.A. and my best friend was getting married that weekend in Philly. There was no way I couldn't be there. I got lucky and when they reopened the airports, I got a seat on a flight. FWW™ was really nervous about it. She said that's what made her realize she loved me. Oddly, I wasn't nervous.
SFTC: Wow. I'm impressed. Were you drinking heavily?
DGB: The odds of something happening again so soon were astronomical. And it really did bring people together. Everybody huddled together in the airport bar and just talked to each other. I was so focused on being there for my friend. That wedding, by the way, was one of the best I've ever been to. It was such a catharsis.
Don't forget: Part 2 - which I promise you'll find way more interesting - is on Daddy Geek Boy tomorrow! We talk Wilco and Harry Potter and reveal how DGB scored a wife-approved absence on Valentine's Day. Don't miss it.
To mark this momentous occasion, I decided to... um... blog about it. Which sounds very predictable, but you're in luck, because I decided to blog about it in the form of a witty, snappy and enlightening conversation with Daddy Geek Boy.
We talked music, movies, politics and more. We laughed, we cried. And we did it all on instant messenger, which made it incredibly easy to transpose. I'm nothing if not brutally efficient.
Part 1 follows; you can read the equally amazing conclusion on his site on Tuesday.
DGB: At the end of every year, there are all of these recaps. And since we're at the end of a decade, the pressure to put a fine point on it all is huge. But I've been thinking about what we didn't have 10 years ago.
SFTC: Well, right now, I'm watching the Ravens game on TV, and checking Twitter and email in between our instant messages.
DGB: That's something right there - how much multitasking did you do 10 years ago?
SFTC: A little, I guess, but it's nothing like now when I'm checking Twitter, blogs, email, Facebook and whatever else at work and at home. How about you?
DGB: Yeah, the way I communicate with people is completely different. How are the Ravens doing?
SFTC: Ravens were down 17-0, are still trailing, but now back in the game at 17-14. You mostly don't follow sports, right?
DGB: I don't. Nothing against sports. I really like them. But I feel I don't have the time to really devote to them. I guess I could call myself a Redskins fan, if I kept up with football. But from what I gather, this season it wouldn't really matter.
SFTC: You're right about the Skins. I have to say it's hard for me to imagine doing everything I do now, and then adding two children to the mix, and having time to do anything else - like watching sports - so working parents have my immense admiration.
DGB: If it's a choice of sports over movies, I'm going to have to pick movies. But since we're talking about sports: What events capture the '00s in sports for you?
SFTC: You know, none of my favorite teams won championships, so the most memorable sports events for me were the ones I got to see up close and in person thanks to my job. (Not the same job I have now.) I went as a reporter to the NBA All-Star Game in Houston and the MLB All-Star Game in Detroit. And although I'm not a big NASCAR fan, the coolest experience of all was getting a ride in a stock car that was driven by Rusty Wallace... on the day before the Daytona 500 at the Daytona Speedway. It was unreal.
DGB: OK, you rode in a stock car? Sports fan or not, that's really cool right there. For a lot of my friends, the Red Sox winning the World Series will go down as their favorite moment this decade.
SFTC: Yeah, the Sox win was amazing - I was hoping the Cubs could follow suit in the next few years, but they might never win.
One of the things that I've delved into on SFTC is the too-good-to-be-true political scandals. I know you don't really get into those on DGB, but did you have any, um, favorites of the 2000s?
DGB: The whole Larry Craig thing was the first to jump in my head. For the sheer ridiculousness of it, mixed with a dash of pathetic. How about you?
SFTC: Maybe because I spent so much of my life in Chicago, I got a special thrill out of the Blagojevich incident. Just his arrogance, his complete disregard for the law, the audaciousness of it. I got to see a large part of his rise to prominence and it was amazing how swiftly he just fell apart.
DGB: This has been the decade where I've started to pay attention to politics. But every time I get sucked in, I get turned off just as quickly. It's sad to admit this, but it feeds my pessimistic side.
SFTC: Well, there was a long stretch last year where it was interesting without being terrible. It was nice to be able to follow it and be interested for reasons that weren't negative.
DGB: True. I was never so involved as I was during the election. But I think the same thing - it seems like a never-ending story of greed and corruption and ego and inefficiency, and it's hard to stay tuned in. It's all so contentious and nasty. Though I feel like that's something that's developed over the past handful of years. I feel like as a nation after 9/11 we were told that it wasn't okay to have dissenting opinions.
SFTC: Speaking of which, where were you when you first heard about the 9/11 attacks?
DGB: I was in the gym. Which is crazy to think about now because I've become such a sloth. But I was working out with a trainer, and we watched it go down on the monitors in the gym. We finished the workout, because frankly we didn't know what else to do. I came home and spent the rest of the day crying on the couch with the woman who would become WW™.
SFTC: That seems practical. (The gym part.)
DGB: How about you?
SFTC: A woman who lived in my building in Chicago said something about it to me while I was on the elevator that morning. But she brought it up by asking just, "Did you hear?" I assumed she was talking about Michael Jordan's return to the NBA from his second retirement, because that had been the big news on SportsCenter the night before - that he was about to come back. So I told her that I'd heard about Jordan, and she said, "No, a plane flew into the World Trade Center." Of course at that time, we obviously assumed it was just a bad accident. The Sears Tower is visible from the building where I lived in Chicago, and as I was walking to work that morning, I kept looking up at the Sears Tower and thinking what it would look like for a jet to fly into the top of that building. Then, spent most of the day at work just watching it on TV.
DGB: You know, I flew four days after the attack?
SFTC: You did!?! Why? Where? What did FWW™ think?
DGB: I was living in L.A. and my best friend was getting married that weekend in Philly. There was no way I couldn't be there. I got lucky and when they reopened the airports, I got a seat on a flight. FWW™ was really nervous about it. She said that's what made her realize she loved me. Oddly, I wasn't nervous.
SFTC: Wow. I'm impressed. Were you drinking heavily?
DGB: The odds of something happening again so soon were astronomical. And it really did bring people together. Everybody huddled together in the airport bar and just talked to each other. I was so focused on being there for my friend. That wedding, by the way, was one of the best I've ever been to. It was such a catharsis.
Don't forget: Part 2 - which I promise you'll find way more interesting - is on Daddy Geek Boy tomorrow! We talk Wilco and Harry Potter and reveal how DGB scored a wife-approved absence on Valentine's Day. Don't miss it.
December 1, 2009
New feature! Say It, Sajak
Welcome to the first installment of a feature that I hope will be a regular part of SFTC for years to come*. I'm calling it Say It, Sajak!
In each exciting webisode, we'll recap something really funny that game show host extraordinaire Pat Sajak said during a recent Wheel of Fortune telecast. Today's quote, for example, was so freaking hilarious when it aired, that the world's most beautiful wife and I nearly spit out our beverages, in tandem, all over the living room floor.**
One metaphysically challenging aspect of this feature is that although I obviously am sitting in front of a computer screen, typing about things Sajak said on the air, you will never get me to admit that I watch Wheel of Fortune, much less that I watch it an average of 3.5 nights a week.
One ground rule for Say It, Sajak: Each entry will be presented without any explanation. Which could possibly mean that the only way you'll agree that it's rip-roaringly funny is that you'll just have to trust me. Oh, and since I'm doing this by memory, the quote might not be totally, 100 percent accurate. Other than that, I think this is going to be an awesome idea.
Today's Say It, Sajak! Quote of the Day is... "Somewhere in Nashville, someone is getting ready to massage chickens!"
See what I mean?
* Upon further reflection, I sort of hope this is the one and only installment.
** This is actually true.
In each exciting webisode, we'll recap something really funny that game show host extraordinaire Pat Sajak said during a recent Wheel of Fortune telecast. Today's quote, for example, was so freaking hilarious when it aired, that the world's most beautiful wife and I nearly spit out our beverages, in tandem, all over the living room floor.**
One metaphysically challenging aspect of this feature is that although I obviously am sitting in front of a computer screen, typing about things Sajak said on the air, you will never get me to admit that I watch Wheel of Fortune, much less that I watch it an average of 3.5 nights a week.
One ground rule for Say It, Sajak: Each entry will be presented without any explanation. Which could possibly mean that the only way you'll agree that it's rip-roaringly funny is that you'll just have to trust me. Oh, and since I'm doing this by memory, the quote might not be totally, 100 percent accurate. Other than that, I think this is going to be an awesome idea.
Today's Say It, Sajak! Quote of the Day is... "Somewhere in Nashville, someone is getting ready to massage chickens!"
See what I mean?
* Upon further reflection, I sort of hope this is the one and only installment.
** This is actually true.
November 18, 2009
Passed tents
I went to bed wearing my earbuds last night - probably not great for my otological health - and a Michael Penn song, Strange Season, came on the iPod. The very first line of the song is: This story is past tense.
Maybe because it was 12:30 a.m., I started fixating on the lyrics, and I decided it would be a pretty great idea to write the homonyms for the last two words, "passed tents," on my left palm.
I thought that phrase would be a great name for... I don't know, something. Perhaps I could use it as the title of my next smooth jazz album or maybe I'd start a retail chain that sells deceased camping equipment. Then, I quickly remembered that I sort of suck at the soprano sax - and, for that matter, I haven't even recorded my first smooth jazz record - and that I have less than no interest in rugged outdoor sports.
So I decided I'd use it as the headline for a blog post. Which worked out great, except that - as you've noticed if you're still reading this - I really didn't have an interesting story to go along with my new clever headline.
Just so this isn't a total waste, I'll post a few photos from last weekend, when the world's best gift-giver, my gorgeous and hilarious wife,* treated me to a weekend in Hermosa Beach for my 74th birthday.**
Please pause and enjoy - I snapped 'em just for you.
* Damn, I'm lucky.
** Or something like that.
Maybe because it was 12:30 a.m., I started fixating on the lyrics, and I decided it would be a pretty great idea to write the homonyms for the last two words, "passed tents," on my left palm.
I thought that phrase would be a great name for... I don't know, something. Perhaps I could use it as the title of my next smooth jazz album or maybe I'd start a retail chain that sells deceased camping equipment. Then, I quickly remembered that I sort of suck at the soprano sax - and, for that matter, I haven't even recorded my first smooth jazz record - and that I have less than no interest in rugged outdoor sports.
So I decided I'd use it as the headline for a blog post. Which worked out great, except that - as you've noticed if you're still reading this - I really didn't have an interesting story to go along with my new clever headline.
Just so this isn't a total waste, I'll post a few photos from last weekend, when the world's best gift-giver, my gorgeous and hilarious wife,* treated me to a weekend in Hermosa Beach for my 74th birthday.**
Please pause and enjoy - I snapped 'em just for you.
* Damn, I'm lucky.
** Or something like that.
August 31, 2009
When you wake up feeling old
(Today's headline courtesy of Wilco.)
You know that scene near the end of Goodfellas when Joe Pesci's character, Tommy DeVito, gets dressed up in his finest suit and tie because he's about to become a made man, and then he walks into the room for the ceremony, but the ceremony never happens because - BANG - Tommy gets shot in the head?
Saturday afternoon I had a similar - if somewhat less bloody - experience. Like Tommy, I never saw it coming.
I'm sitting in a barber's chair at Supercuts, getting the usual SFTC 'do - #3 clippers on the sides and back, scissors on top, sideburns trimmed. Everything's going just fine when my friendly hairstylist casually asks, "Do you use any styling products?"
"Yes," I say. "Pomade."
"Oh. You might want to switch to fiber."
Missing a sterling opportunity to make a joke about already having all the bran I need in my diet, I ask why she thinks I should take such a dramatic step involving my carefully chosen haircare products.
"Your hair is thinning a little on top," she said. "It'll help it look thicker."
[Needle scratches record]
Ouch.
This was especially painful to hear because, throughout my entire haircut-receiving life, I had been told by stylists and barbers that I had such a "thick head of hair." (Which, if you think about it, sounds kind of weird. Maybe it's the "thick head" part.)
I realize they meant it as a compliment, but it was sort of a drag. During my middle school and high school years, I could never wear my hear like the cool kids were wearing theirs. Despite my best efforts, it usually ended up looking... well, a lot like the guy on the right in this picture.
But apparently those days have come to an end. Because now I need to switch to fiber.
Thankfully, I just recently bought two more containers of pomade, which means that my thinning hair will just have to look crappy until approximately the end of the decade.
As I was considering that fact this morning - in what I hope will be my most esoteric thought of the week - I realized that my haircare products have evolved roughly every 10 years. For those of you keeping track (which I figure will be nobody except for Bugs), that evolution has gone something like this:
1980s: Mousse
1990s: Gel
2000s: Pomade
2010s (projected): Fiber
Interesting that the French-sounding products seem to be in vogue every other decade.
Anyway, the whole experience was a huge downer and I was really feeling old. But I had mostly gotten over it by Sunday morning, when I was driving home from the gym. I had the car radio tuned to the oldies station, which usually plays music from before I was born - Beatles, Elvis, The Supremes. But apparently, they've changed that strategy. Because some jackass music director with a twisted sense of humor thought it would be OK for the oldies station to play the vastly unremarkable Naked Eyes song "Promises, Promises." Which was released in 1983, when I was 11.
Thanks, everyone. I think I got the message.
May 27, 2009
Extra pleasure formula
(I wonder what ads Google will pop up here when its magic scanner thingies read today's headline. And now, on with the show.)
My next blog post after this one will be Number 300, and I was thinking about using my 299th entry to announce some kind of big celebratory SFTC contest in which you, the reader, would have the chance to win fabulous gifts and prizes, but that's as far as it got.
Instead, I want to tell you about a new mathematical equation I'm working on. It's going to be a formula that will calculate the likely amount of enjoyment that can be derived from any given dining or entertainment activity.
I'm using variables such as amount of time waiting in line (let's call it Tw), amount of time enjoying the food or activity in question (Ta), impact of weather on the wait time (W)*, cost of the activity ($), and something that I'm calling the X factor (strangely, this will be represented in the formula as Z), which is really just going to be a way for me to fudge the equation if necessary in order to come up with the result I want.
Now, I haven't actually gotten around to plugging in various numbers to see if it will make any sense**, but in my head, the formula looks something like this:
(Tw - Ta) * W
__________ + (3.14 - Z) = ENJOYMENT FACTOR
$
What brings up this sudden dive into advanced mathematics, you ask? The answer: two activities from the past weekend that ranked at opposite ends of the enjoyment scale - and the realization that I waited in line for 35 minutes to do one of them and for no minutes to do the other.
The activity that was worth a wait of more than half an hour? Eating a pair of $2 tacos. You read me right, mamacita: Tacos.
But not just any $2 tacos. These were a Korean short rib taco and a spicy pork taco, hot off the grill from one of the Kogi barbecue trucks. If you live in L.A., you've probably heard about Kogi, which has two vehicles that stop all around town for three hours at a time (you can follow them on a twitter feed), serving up the aforementioned tacos, plus burritos and other specialities like Kobe beef hot dogs. Oh, and if you don't live in L.A., this actually might be a reason to move here.
Waits at the trucks' late-night stops outside of bars have been rumored to be an hour long or more, but based on what I ate Sunday, those line-waiting drunks are actually making very good decisions.
Unlike, say, the people behind Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, which I also, um, experienced this weekend. (Oh, just to tie this back to my Enjoyment formula - no waiting in the ticket line, but 115 minutes of waiting in my seat for it to be over.)
If you haven't heard, the film stars Matthew McConaughey, which I mention only because my favorite movie reviewer, The Regular Guy on WXRT, accurately described his performance this way: He's "the man who has the whitest teeth in the world - my god, they're blinding!"
It wasn't just that GGP is horrifically, abominably awful - which it is. It's how a movie that is nominally a chick flick could be so misogynistic. (All of the "comedy" comes from McConaughey's character learning to use women and his ensuing misadventures - oh and Lacey Chabert's bride-to-be character acting like an insane shrew.) It's like it's a film for women who love men who hate women.
There's something about that formula that doesn't work.
* A long wait could actually work as a positive factor, if it's sunny and 70, which it pretty much always is where I live. I swear I'm not rubbing it in.
** Of course it will make sense.
May 6, 2009
Gonna wash that flu right out of my hands
I'm sure this has been covered elsewhere, but everyone* is clamoring for SFTC updates on swine flu, so I wanted to share the following thoughts:
First, with all of the talk of quarantines and school closings and everything else, it seems like we're supposed to be scared shitless of this unprecedented pandemic. But the experts keep telling us that the way to prevent this horrible, deadly disease is by washing our hands? That makes me a lot less worried: If Softsoap and agua are the keys to prevention, how bad can it be?
Oh, and my workplace has responded to this massive health threat by posting laminated placards with hand-washing instructions above every sink in every bathroom. I don't understand - are there some people who have been doing it wrong? (Now, wait: At what point do you actually dry your hands? Before or after the soap part?)
Second, this magic virus is changing names faster than P. Diddy in a witness protection program. Started as swine flu, of course, but now most everyone now seems like they're on board with the H1N1 moniker. I'm proposing - right here, right now - that the virus take the next step, and adopt as its new name a symbol, kind of like Prince did.
What do you think of this? ۞
* At most, one person.
First, with all of the talk of quarantines and school closings and everything else, it seems like we're supposed to be scared shitless of this unprecedented pandemic. But the experts keep telling us that the way to prevent this horrible, deadly disease is by washing our hands? That makes me a lot less worried: If Softsoap and agua are the keys to prevention, how bad can it be?
Oh, and my workplace has responded to this massive health threat by posting laminated placards with hand-washing instructions above every sink in every bathroom. I don't understand - are there some people who have been doing it wrong? (Now, wait: At what point do you actually dry your hands? Before or after the soap part?)
Second, this magic virus is changing names faster than P. Diddy in a witness protection program. Started as swine flu, of course, but now most everyone now seems like they're on board with the H1N1 moniker. I'm proposing - right here, right now - that the virus take the next step, and adopt as its new name a symbol, kind of like Prince did.
What do you think of this? ۞
* At most, one person.
November 26, 2008
Goin' on a little tryp(tophan)
So I'm back home for Thanksgiving and I've decided that ice-cold temperatures - which, now that my blood is L.A.-thinned, seems to mean anything below 52 - aren't conducive to blogging.
Or maybe I have less time to write since each day I'm here, I eat for approximately 10 of the 16 hours I'm awake.
Other than calorie-loading and freezing my ass off, one of the interesting experiences of the journey so far was being diagnosed with "common migraines." They probably mean common in the sense that it's the same headache every other migraine sufferer gets, but it also works nicely since I get them commonly enough to be really annoying. The good doc said that I'm susceptible to headaches because I have a sensitive brain, a phrase that I repeated to my wife and parents about 1,659 times in the two hours after leaving the hospital.
Which probably gave each of them a pretty distinct headache of their own.
The doctor was fantastic - he spent tons of time with us and answered every question we could think of. But he's a headache specialist whose office is located in a pediatric clinic - i.e., lots of screaming kinds running around and screaming and running and screaming. Kind of like having a tire store located at the intersection of Pothole Blvd. and Broken Glass Way.
Or maybe I have less time to write since each day I'm here, I eat for approximately 10 of the 16 hours I'm awake.
Other than calorie-loading and freezing my ass off, one of the interesting experiences of the journey so far was being diagnosed with "common migraines." They probably mean common in the sense that it's the same headache every other migraine sufferer gets, but it also works nicely since I get them commonly enough to be really annoying. The good doc said that I'm susceptible to headaches because I have a sensitive brain, a phrase that I repeated to my wife and parents about 1,659 times in the two hours after leaving the hospital.
Which probably gave each of them a pretty distinct headache of their own.
The doctor was fantastic - he spent tons of time with us and answered every question we could think of. But he's a headache specialist whose office is located in a pediatric clinic - i.e., lots of screaming kinds running around and screaming and running and screaming. Kind of like having a tire store located at the intersection of Pothole Blvd. and Broken Glass Way.
I may try to post again before we return to more sensible temperatures, but if not - in the spirit of the holiday - thank you again for reading, and I hope you enjoy your Thanksgiving desserts as much as I'm going to enjoy mine.
November 18, 2008
The iPatch
Have I just not been paying attention for the last few decades, or am I right that until 2008, we had mostly gone for years and years without news coverage of pirates?
For weeks, we've been reading one story after another - including today's latest - about pirates doing pirate-y things on the high seas. Aaargh! It seems totally anachronistic, doesn't it? Next thing you know, we're going to read news articles about the new age of blacksmithing. Or a return to glory for telegram operators.
I'm guessing the prevalence of pirates in pop culture has played a major role in their resurgence. So, who you think modern-day buccaneers model themselves after: this guy or this one?
For weeks, we've been reading one story after another - including today's latest - about pirates doing pirate-y things on the high seas. Aaargh! It seems totally anachronistic, doesn't it? Next thing you know, we're going to read news articles about the new age of blacksmithing. Or a return to glory for telegram operators.
I'm guessing the prevalence of pirates in pop culture has played a major role in their resurgence. So, who you think modern-day buccaneers model themselves after: this guy or this one?
October 14, 2008
Anyone need two?
My entrepreneurial career is off to a flying start: I sold one of my t-shirts! (Thank you, GG, thank you.)
The problem is that, by selling them through Zazzle, I don't get any of my commission money until I amass $25 in commissions. To reach that lofty figure, we're talking about another 10 or 11 shirts. By the time that happens, the Cubs might very well have won a playoff game.
Speaking of postseason baseball: If I've learned anything from the last couple of days, it's that I'm not really cut out to be a ticket broker. Yesterday, I got a marketing email from the Dodgers explaining that they were releasing a bunch of tickets for sale for game 5 of the National League Championship Series. Figuring any game of an NLCS is a surefire sell-out, I thought I'd get two tickets and then turn around and sell them for an easy profit.
So I clicked over to the Evil Empire's web site (which you probably know as Ticketmaster.com) and picked up two half-decent seats for tomorrow's game. I got a post up on Craigslist right away and on StubHub as quickly as I could, which wasn't very quickly, for reasons that I won't go into.
And then the Dodgers go and lose game 4, which means that now L.A.'s interest in game 5 - which could end up being the death knell to the Dodgers' season - is slightly less than L.A.'s interest in what transpired during the January 7, 2008, Concord, New Hampshire, city council meeting. (The meeting minutes are here, by the way, in case you're curious.)
So now it's 29 hours until the game starts and no bites yet. And I've got about $200 worth of Dodgers tickets that I'm probably not going to use.
And just as I wrote that paragraph: An e-mail appeared from a Phillies fan in San Diego. Go figure. We may have a taker. I may yet make a few bucks (emphasis on few) on this deal.
While I wait for my new best friend to get back to me about the tickets...
After attending two of the latest playoff games at Dodger Stadium, I have an observation for you. Many say our current economic meltdown, and the unconscionable greed, avarice, stupidity and criminal behavior it exposed, is a sure sign of the end, or at least the accelerating decline, of U.S. society, capitalism and/or America's once-lofty world standing. Until last night, I thought that was probably overstating the depth of our decline.
But if you want living, (mouth-)breathing evidence of the decline of civil America, all you'd have to do is sit in the lower- and medium-priced seats at the ballpark for a few hours and take in the unrelenting gluttony and bad behavior.
I realize I sound like I've never been to a sporting event before (definitely not the case) and like I'm about 80 years old (still a few years away). And Amish. But I swear it just keeps getting worse.
The problem is that, by selling them through Zazzle, I don't get any of my commission money until I amass $25 in commissions. To reach that lofty figure, we're talking about another 10 or 11 shirts. By the time that happens, the Cubs might very well have won a playoff game.
Speaking of postseason baseball: If I've learned anything from the last couple of days, it's that I'm not really cut out to be a ticket broker. Yesterday, I got a marketing email from the Dodgers explaining that they were releasing a bunch of tickets for sale for game 5 of the National League Championship Series. Figuring any game of an NLCS is a surefire sell-out, I thought I'd get two tickets and then turn around and sell them for an easy profit.
So I clicked over to the Evil Empire's web site (which you probably know as Ticketmaster.com) and picked up two half-decent seats for tomorrow's game. I got a post up on Craigslist right away and on StubHub as quickly as I could, which wasn't very quickly, for reasons that I won't go into.
And then the Dodgers go and lose game 4, which means that now L.A.'s interest in game 5 - which could end up being the death knell to the Dodgers' season - is slightly less than L.A.'s interest in what transpired during the January 7, 2008, Concord, New Hampshire, city council meeting. (The meeting minutes are here, by the way, in case you're curious.)
So now it's 29 hours until the game starts and no bites yet. And I've got about $200 worth of Dodgers tickets that I'm probably not going to use.
And just as I wrote that paragraph: An e-mail appeared from a Phillies fan in San Diego. Go figure. We may have a taker. I may yet make a few bucks (emphasis on few) on this deal.
While I wait for my new best friend to get back to me about the tickets...
After attending two of the latest playoff games at Dodger Stadium, I have an observation for you. Many say our current economic meltdown, and the unconscionable greed, avarice, stupidity and criminal behavior it exposed, is a sure sign of the end, or at least the accelerating decline, of U.S. society, capitalism and/or America's once-lofty world standing. Until last night, I thought that was probably overstating the depth of our decline.
But if you want living, (mouth-)breathing evidence of the decline of civil America, all you'd have to do is sit in the lower- and medium-priced seats at the ballpark for a few hours and take in the unrelenting gluttony and bad behavior.
I realize I sound like I've never been to a sporting event before (definitely not the case) and like I'm about 80 years old (still a few years away). And Amish. But I swear it just keeps getting worse.
A couple was sitting in front of us with their son, who must have been about four, and I kept wanting them to get him out of there. Let him watch at home on TV, so every time the Phillies got a hit, he didn't have to hear 18 people yell "Fuck!" at the top of their lungs. Or so he wouldn't have to see wasted assholes harrassing the concession workers when they announced last call for beer sales at the end of the seventh inning.
It's gotten to the point that we count it as a pleasant evening at the stadium when we escape without seeing any fistfights in our seating section. At a playoff game two years ago, there were too many to count, and we finally gave up and left when one guy in our section was so bloodied he had to be taken away in an ambulance. Last night wasn't nearly that bad, but we did get close: At one point, a couple of beligerent twentysomething women almost got into it for no reason other than one of them was drunk and stupid, and as the argument died down, one of them yelled something like, "You're lucky I'm pregnant or I'd kick your ass." Her kid is going to have one awesome mom.
Maybe the guy who's going to buy my tickets for tomorrow (I hope I hope) will get to sit next to her.
It's gotten to the point that we count it as a pleasant evening at the stadium when we escape without seeing any fistfights in our seating section. At a playoff game two years ago, there were too many to count, and we finally gave up and left when one guy in our section was so bloodied he had to be taken away in an ambulance. Last night wasn't nearly that bad, but we did get close: At one point, a couple of beligerent twentysomething women almost got into it for no reason other than one of them was drunk and stupid, and as the argument died down, one of them yelled something like, "You're lucky I'm pregnant or I'd kick your ass." Her kid is going to have one awesome mom.
Maybe the guy who's going to buy my tickets for tomorrow (I hope I hope) will get to sit next to her.
September 26, 2008
Namely
I've always thought it worked out great - maybe a little too great - that there was a dude named Fuller who started a company that sells brushes, since fuller also works pretty nicely as an adjective for brushes. (Reminds me of a favorite recent line from House, M.D., when someone tells the title character, "I've heard of you," and House replies, "Yeah, it's the name. It's also a noun.")
And you've gotta wonder, what the heck else was Rick Wetzel going to do with his life besides start a pretzel company? (He must have made the decision before spaetzel was the major culinary force that it is today.) All of those other Wetzels out there must be kicking themselves for not getting into the flavored rolled-dough business, right?
What does this have to do with anything? Reading this New York Times article about the closure of Detroit's police crime lab - ah, shouldn't be a problem in a city like Detroit - I came across a quote from the city's former police chief, whose name is Ella Bully-Cummings. And I'm thinking that maybe she'd have been wise to just go by Ella Cummings. Hyphenated or not, if your name has "Bully" anywhere in it, maybe you find a line of work other than law enforcement.
And you've gotta wonder, what the heck else was Rick Wetzel going to do with his life besides start a pretzel company? (He must have made the decision before spaetzel was the major culinary force that it is today.) All of those other Wetzels out there must be kicking themselves for not getting into the flavored rolled-dough business, right?
What does this have to do with anything? Reading this New York Times article about the closure of Detroit's police crime lab - ah, shouldn't be a problem in a city like Detroit - I came across a quote from the city's former police chief, whose name is Ella Bully-Cummings. And I'm thinking that maybe she'd have been wise to just go by Ella Cummings. Hyphenated or not, if your name has "Bully" anywhere in it, maybe you find a line of work other than law enforcement.
September 9, 2008
Taxicab confession
One clear lesson that I'll take away from this weekend's travels is that big-city cab drivers hate Barack Obama. I don't want to overgeneralize, but now that I've experienced their clear-eyed arguments in two separate instances, I feel I can mark it down.
In February in Chicago, the dude behind the wheel was ranting about his intimate, personal third-hand knowledge of Obama's use of crack and interest in gay sex. (For proof, he directed us to a YouTube video of some mouth-breather talking about the times he used crack and had gay sex with the senator.)
Last night after our flight back to the left coast, we were treated to some equally well thought-out rhetoric about why nobody in their right mind would vote for Obama. The only good news about the trip was that we live five miles from the airport - so it was a mercifully short drive - and that I had exact change, so we got out of there without having to give the guy a tip. (And I always tip cab drivers - once I even tipped a guy after he picked us up, had to detour to get gas while we waited in the cab, left the meter running anyway, and then had to drop us off at a subway because the traffic was so bad.)
If I understood him correctly, the primary reasons for our driver's virulent anti-Obamaness were that (1) the driver's sister lives in Canada, where she pays 40 percent income tax, (2) Bill Clinton frequently had sex with interns while the terrorists were plotting the 9-11 attacks and (3) "hundreds of thousands" of Muslims live in the U.S. All of which was pretty convincing until the guy started swearing at us.
I generally don't like talking politics even with people I know, let alone borderline insane strangers. So when Obamahater started asking us questions about the election, that little voice was telling me: "Ignore. Tune out. Don't listen. Don't engage. Don't..." But I had just finished reading David Sedaris' "When You Are Engulfed in Flames," which includes a short story about a taxi ride during which Sedaris bitched out the cab driver for his making homophobic comments and bragging about his own, very hetero, sexual conquests. Afterwards, Sedaris wrote, he felt bad about yelling at the guy. So that was stuck in my head - I figured I'd learn from Sedaris' experience. But last night, ignoring the guy definitely would have been the way to go.
(By the way, "When You Are Engulfed" was a riot - many laughs per page. And maybe better to read in the privacy of your own home; apparently, I drew a few stares on the airplane because I was laughing so loud.)
Aside from the taxi politics, the other important knowledge I picked up - and this was thanks, indirectly, to a crossword puzzle in the latest Southwest Airlines in-flight magazine - was this: Tulsa is "a slut" backwards. If I lived there, that would really really bother me. Anyway, if that's not t-shirt worthy...
In February in Chicago, the dude behind the wheel was ranting about his intimate, personal third-hand knowledge of Obama's use of crack and interest in gay sex. (For proof, he directed us to a YouTube video of some mouth-breather talking about the times he used crack and had gay sex with the senator.)
Last night after our flight back to the left coast, we were treated to some equally well thought-out rhetoric about why nobody in their right mind would vote for Obama. The only good news about the trip was that we live five miles from the airport - so it was a mercifully short drive - and that I had exact change, so we got out of there without having to give the guy a tip. (And I always tip cab drivers - once I even tipped a guy after he picked us up, had to detour to get gas while we waited in the cab, left the meter running anyway, and then had to drop us off at a subway because the traffic was so bad.)
If I understood him correctly, the primary reasons for our driver's virulent anti-Obamaness were that (1) the driver's sister lives in Canada, where she pays 40 percent income tax, (2) Bill Clinton frequently had sex with interns while the terrorists were plotting the 9-11 attacks and (3) "hundreds of thousands" of Muslims live in the U.S. All of which was pretty convincing until the guy started swearing at us.
I generally don't like talking politics even with people I know, let alone borderline insane strangers. So when Obamahater started asking us questions about the election, that little voice was telling me: "Ignore. Tune out. Don't listen. Don't engage. Don't..." But I had just finished reading David Sedaris' "When You Are Engulfed in Flames," which includes a short story about a taxi ride during which Sedaris bitched out the cab driver for his making homophobic comments and bragging about his own, very hetero, sexual conquests. Afterwards, Sedaris wrote, he felt bad about yelling at the guy. So that was stuck in my head - I figured I'd learn from Sedaris' experience. But last night, ignoring the guy definitely would have been the way to go.
(By the way, "When You Are Engulfed" was a riot - many laughs per page. And maybe better to read in the privacy of your own home; apparently, I drew a few stares on the airplane because I was laughing so loud.)
Aside from the taxi politics, the other important knowledge I picked up - and this was thanks, indirectly, to a crossword puzzle in the latest Southwest Airlines in-flight magazine - was this: Tulsa is "a slut" backwards. If I lived there, that would really really bother me. Anyway, if that's not t-shirt worthy...
September 4, 2008
Not my type(face) of movie
Is it just me, or does this new flick (warning: audio, but there's a "sound off" button at bottom right) seem like sort of a cheap - and three-month-late - faux imitation knock-off of the Sex and the City movie? Apparently, The Women is a remake of some pre-WWII thrill ride, but whatever. If they wanted to avoid the comparisons, they coulda built the story around three women. Or five. Anyway, I reaaaaally don't care; just asking.
What I do find interesting is that I look at the typeface for the movie title and I think the following: Hmph. I wonder how much the makers of alli (sorry, don't know how to make that long-vowel symbol over the "i") paid the movie's producers to use a font that would be a subliminal cue to think about their weight-loss drug. Cause it looks kinda the same to me.
What I do find interesting is that I look at the typeface for the movie title and I think the following: Hmph. I wonder how much the makers of alli (sorry, don't know how to make that long-vowel symbol over the "i") paid the movie's producers to use a font that would be a subliminal cue to think about their weight-loss drug. Cause it looks kinda the same to me.
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