Monthly Archives: July 2010

Someone is a genius

Maybe this is old hat, but I’ve never seen it done before.  And I will now think of it every time I see a Wet Paint sign.

Fear mongering!

My aunt forwarded an e-mail to me–the subject line said: FW: SAFETY: WATER & EGGS: LADIES, PLEASE, PLEASE READ

I get a lot of forwarded e-mails like this from my aunt, but the ones offering safety tips to women are usually pretty good.  One of the previous ones was about a young woman who was driving and what appeared to be an unmarked police car pulled up behind her and prompted her to pull over by putting a flashing red light on the roof.  Only (and this is how most of these e-mails end) it was a BAD MAN WHO WAS GOING TO TAKE HER IN THE WOODS AND RAPE ‘ER!

This latest subject line threw me for a loop, though.  I saw water and eggs and I assumed it was going to be something related to food safety.  Like, ladies, don’t eat eggs more than twice a week or your uterus will implode!  And, be sure to drink eight ounces of water after having vaginal intercourse or your uterus will implode!  Something like that.

Only it ended up being another RAPE IN THE WOODS warning!!  It warned: Ladies, if you’re driving in your vehicle (rapists like to target women who can drive I guess) and your windshield gets hit by AN EGG, do NOT put on your wipers and try to clean it with wiper fluid.  Because apparently this turns the whole things into a milky, non-transparent mess and you will be forced to pull over where, you guessed it, you’ll be met by a BAD MAN WHO WILL TAKE YOU IN THE WOODS AND RAPE YA’!

Whoa.  Serious stuff.  There was one other warning in the e-mail.  This one was very similar.  It said that if you see a fake baby inside of a car seat but you mistake it for a real baby on the side of the road or maybe it even is a real baby, don’t pull over and check on it because BAD MAN! WOODS! RAPE!

Apparently the baby thing is a problem in the Detroit area.  And it hinted to not only rape, but beatings and death.  So to all my female Detroit readers, consider yourself warned. 

Also, be sure to forward this blog post to 10 people or something bad will happen.  xoxox

Makeshift clothing

I don’t have a lot of pet peeves, but one of them, as I’ve written about before, is when my newspaper has American Apparel advertisements on the back cover.  American Apparel ads, for the most part, feature nearly naked girls.  They’re wearing the brand’s latest leggings or lace unitard and nothing else.  Which is decidedly provocative to look at.  And I usually read the newspaper on the subway, so I don’t feel comfortable contributing to the man across the aisle from me getting excited because of the thing I’m unwittingly holding up for him and all to see.  And I shouldn’t have to contribute to the man across the aisle from me getting excited!  It’s such a helpless feeling.  It makes me feel like a pawn in whatever sick game American Apparel and the man behind the company, Dov Charney, is playing.  Dov Charney, I DON’T WANT TO PLAY:

And I don't think girl in flesh-colored unitard does either.

So this week, when I picked up the latest Village Voice (which has a great feature about nitrous), I decided to be proactive.  Because I turned the newspaper over, and sure enough, there was a girl in some strange white lace panty get-up and nothing else.  It looks like something a 17-year-old girl would be forced to wear on the night of her arranged wedding.  So, I looked at the naked girl.  And I looked at the granny smith apple I’d just bought at 7-11, and I had an ah-ha moment:

It was so satisfying!  It felt like playing paper dolls as a child (which actually wasn’t all that popular when I was young and I never got a chance to do). 

An interesting development happened when I took the newspaper back to the office with me, though.  I left the newspaper on top of a microwave in the break room, newly clothed girl facing up, went about my business, and then forgot to grab the newspaper when I was heading back to my desk.  I kid you not, I got halfway down a hallway before I remembered, then turned back, and when I got back to the break room, not five minutes later, a male coworker of mine had ALREADY REMOVED THE GIRL’S STICKER SHIRT!  And she was naked for the world to see again!  I know it’s silly of me to post the very thing I’m so upset about being forced to hold up on the back of a newspaper, but I think it’s worthwhile to provide a visual of how naked she is:

Quite naked.

So there.  Upon picking up the newspaper again, I gasped, and I said, “Did someone take the apple sticker off of this girl?”  And my coworker said, yeah, sorry, and it was totally just like he was having a conversation and wanted to have something to fiddle with and not like he was trying to undress a two dimensional girl, but you know.  Subconsciously

And I also realize that I’ve devoted a whole post to a company whose ads bother me and in turn created a whole new accidental indirect advertisement for them.  But whatever.  I really liked covering her up with that apple sticker.  That’s all I wanted to say.

Happy ‘4th of July’, indeed!

There’s a tab at the top of my browser that’s a shortcut for adding a new post on this here blog, and I’m happy to announce that this very post is the inaugural post for which I’ve used that shortcut.  Here’s to many more clicks on the shortcut and in turn many more posts.

In the past year or so I’ve realized my intense love for all things “road”.  I love road movies.  Road books.  Songs about the road.  There was a “This American Life” episode that reaired a few weeks ago, #102–entitled “Roadtrip!”  Ira Glass says at the beginning, after listing a slew of road movies and other road-related pieces of culture, “It is hard for an American to just hit the road without some expectations.”  I’ve experienced this.  I was even asked at one point in the trip, “What?  Did you think it would be like a movie?”  Still, I retain idyllic ideas about the road.  It calls to me.  It inspires me.  It even softens me toward cars–because that’s how I picture myself traveling on the road.  In a car.  Even better, though, are road-related things that involve the most inspiring, the most exciting and perfect form of transportation I can think of–the RV. 

The closest I’ve ever come to experiencing an RV was a rundown camper that was attached to the back of my grandfather’s truck when I was a child.  I heard stories about my parents taking it camping when my oldest brother was a newborn.  By the time I was born, though, everyone had stopped using the old camper.  The family had graduated to something much less exciting and mobile–a tent.  In our town there was a RV dealership that intrigued me and mocked me each time we passed it in the minivan to and from a trip to the grocery store or dance class or most frequently, the dump.  I remember the feeling of complete awe when I realized what those two letters stood for–Recreational Vehicle.  Wow.  A vehicle whose sole purpose is recreation.  On camping trips I’d stare longingly at the RVs.  I’d watch them pull up to the station where they unloaded their sewage.  Even that seemed romantic. 

My favorite part about stranger’s RVs, though, was when they had maps decorating the side.  These maps were the coolest idea in the history of everything because the owners of the RV could attach little magnets in the shape of US states to mark where they’d traveled.  Specifically, where they’d traveled in their RV.  It was like the maps inside of tourist destinations that visitors put colorful thumbtacks in to signify wherever they came from.  Oh, the status of being the visitor to put a thumbtack on some far-off locale–Nepal, Portugal, Madagascar.  What are Nepalese/Portuguese/Madagascarean tourists doing at this ice cream stand on Route 28 in Hyannis, Massachusetts?   

I digress.  Point is, I badly want to travel around in a “dusty old RV.”  I want to “ride shotgun from town to town.”  I want a man as my RV companion who hasn’t shaved in days and is starting to smell.  But it won’t matter because we’ve still got half a tank of gas, a bag of chips in between our seats, and we’re singing along with the radio and “staking a claim on the world we found.”  Basically I want something exactly like this Shooter Jennings song, aptly entitled “4th of July”–