There’s a tunnel in the subway system that goes between 7th and 8th Avenues at Times Square and I have to walk it all the time. It’s hot down there and there’s a lot of people handing out religious pamphlets. And all along the wall of the tunnel are advertisements. I don’t understand why really, but the same ads get repeated lots of times. If you walk through the tunnel right now you see this advertisement about 10 times–
And y0u also see this advertisement an equal number of times–
And it’s hard because there’s nothing else to look at in the tunnel really, so you sort have no choice but to look at the ads for “The American” and American Apparel. And then I got to thinking that by placing so many of these ads next to each other, a sort of dialogue on American-ness has been created. The Clooney ad puts it right out there: “George Clooney is ‘The American'”. In other words, when you look at this ad, he is the representation of all things American and man. And then you look at the American Apparel ad and it’s this young woman and when you look there, she acts as a representation of all things American and woman.
I don’t have the energy to make a conclusion about all this right now except to say, there’s a buttload of advertisements in New York. And sometimes it bums me out. Because you can’t avoid it! And advertising people are paid to put ideas into our head about how we spend our money and I think they even put ideas into our head about other things–like what it means to be an American. And what it means to be a man or a woman. Or they play into what they think we think it means to be an American, etc.
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
I’m pretty sure they’re capable of killing all these women with little effort:
I particularly enjoy the woman who turns to see the rhino about to attack an unsuspecting neighborhood and simply smiles as though she’s seen an old friend and continues on her way. That’d be my reaction, too.
I’m eating a terribly bruised banana. It’s way too easy to abuse bananas. I swear. You leave them alone for five minutes and they’re barely edible. Just like children.
It’s a beautiful, mild day in New York City, but I’ve spend the majority of it in this dang’ed cubicle. And wouldn’t you know it, during my 15 minute break, I go outside to catch the last of the day’s sunlight, and a guy soliciting my nonexistent money for a perfectly deserving organization sits down beside me. Don’t you know, “Matthias” from “Greenpeace”, that I just gave a dollar to that drug addict on the subway the other night? And he said, “Wow, a real American dollar bill! I haven’t seen one of these in ages!” And you expect me to also help do something to protect the environment and promote peace? … I guess that’s reasonable enough.
I went grocery shopping for the first time in weeks the other day and I saw this baffling thing on the shelf:
Who at Pepperidge Farm decided the word “pumpernickel” needed to be shortened to “pump”? And who backed that idea up enough for it to end up on that poor loaf of bread? It’s nothing short of tragic, especially in light of the word’s fascinating and bizarre origins I just found on Dictionary.com: Pumpernickel orig., an opprobrious name for anyone considered disagreeable, equiv. to pumper(n) to break wind + Nickel hypocoristic from of Nikolaus Nicholas (cf. nickel); presumably applied to the bread from its effect on the digestive system .
There’s something pornographic about that phrase, “Dark Pump,” right? I know it’s not just me.
Thanks iLike.com for clarifying that. And thanks Lynyrd Skynyrd for these lyrics:
Oh, take your time. Don’t live too fast.
Troubles will come and they will pass.
Go find a woman–you’ll find love.
And don’t forget, son, there is someone up above.
And be a simple kind of man.
Be something you love and understand.
Baby, be a simple kind of man.
Oh, won’t you do this for me, son, if you can?
Forget your lust for the rich man’s gold.
All that you need is in your soul.
And you can do this, oh baby, if you try.
All that I want for you, my son, is to be satisfied.
This song was on my mind today. Mostly because I submitted a two week’s notice for one of my jobs. It felt impulsive and liberating. But really I’ve been thinking about doing it for awhile. I’m only there one day a week for one thing. It doesn’t pay all that well. And it doesn’t challenge or stimulate me in the slightest. (A cubicle is involved.)
So, out with the old, in with the new. Which, is this economy, doesn’t mean much. But fuck it. All I need is in my soul.