Crass Commercialism
[ 1 Comment ] Posted on 08.30.04 in politics, television
I’m sick and tired of it all. Note that this is not some melodramatic wane of teenage angst that is so common in blogging these days. What I’m upset about is being pummeled constantly for about a month every two years with political ads – on television, on the radio, and in print. It’s almost too much to bear. Tomorrow is the Republican Primary, where GOP candidates will be weeded out to make for probable Republican victory in November.
I don’t consider myself to be a Republican, but if I were, this guy would be my choice for Senate.
All the other commercials say pretty much the same thing:
“I am a conservative. President Bush likes me. I hate the terrorists. Don’t you? You don’t? Then you must be a terrorist. Here, you can absolve yourself by putting one of these nifty ‘God Bless America’ bumper stickers on your fender.”
But this fellow, he knows how to appeal to me aesthetically: Lawyers dropping into an endless watery abyss, his two major opponents in M&M form bouncing onto the screen, and a well made-up face to boot. (Listen closely when his opponents come onscreen and you can hear a squishy, bouncy noise. Brilliant!)
In closing, this Web site would like to officially support Doug Gallagher for one of Florida’s Senate seats in the Republican Primary election tomorrow. Now won’t that be print worthy on future ads?
Unlisted Numbers
[ 3 Comments ] Posted on 08.27.04 in IB, food, girls, high school, random
And now, I present to the masses a list of unrelated thoughts to compensate for my week of debloggification:
1. Sometimes I forget to turn the knob before walking through doors. I understand that without such a crucial action, the whole process is doomed; I just have other things on my mind when walking through doors. I can only assume it’s because I like to think about what I will do when I get to the other side of the door and force the inner monologue of actually getting out to the back burner of my mind.
2. Frozen pizza is better than hot pizza. I think that when I’m old and living in a Miamian condominium, I’ll just order an extra large pie and refrigerate it for lunch every day of the ensuing week. Then I can save my money for more important things, like my senior’s coffee at McDonald’s for 65 cents.
3. I should probably start my Higher Level History paper comparing and contrasting the Mexican Independence Movement and the Haitian Revolution. Or perhaps I could hire a Mexican to write it for me. Either that or a Haitian. If they cooperated, I’d have an outstandingly accurate paper – what better primary source than an immigrant who’s Great Grandpappy Randolfo actually participated in the bloodshed? Either way, it has to be in Burton’s hand in a little over two weeks.
4. Whoever decided to paint the school while classes are in session should be severely punished. I’ve seen many a damsel in distress with paint on her because of unmarked wet paint. It’s like a severely misapplied case of the Scarlet Letter. Except it’s paint, not scarlet. And more of a blob of blue than a letter. And to receive this letter, you don’t have to be as kinky. On second thought, it’s nothing like the Scarlet Letter.
5. I met these two girls in the courtyard during lunch the other day. From afar, I spotted one of them accidentally drop some spare change. So I sprung into action and dashed the forty feet to their midst and dove to pick up the coins for them, as they had their hands full and were wearing garb that would not be flattering to bend over in. I retrieved the three coins and gave them to one of the young ladies saying, “Here’s your sixty cents,” and ran away again, out of sight. That’s the last I’ve seen of them.
6. Potato turbate would be more appetizing if they changed the name. No one wants to eat turbate.
Radio Rant
[ 2 Comments ] Posted on 08.19.04 in complaints, music
For the past three years, I have been a loyal listener to 107.3 FM, casting aside all the talk radio and low quality Mexican fiesta hour on AM radio along with the newer styles of the 9X.X stations and the deep, philosophical reasoning on the 8X.X waves. It used to be 107.3: The Bay. Back when The Bay was in business, they promised to name every song and artist of the greatest hits of the 60s, 70s, and 80s, never mind the fact that their repetitive playlists sometimes gave me a desire to switch it on over to WDUV, The Dove, if only for a mere change of tune. But I stuck with my good friends at 107.3 because on rare occasions, I would hear something totally new to me that I really, truly liked.
But the first of this year, as I woke up from a night of blissful slumber following my annual revelry with Dick Clark, I turned on the radio to something I did not recognize: 107.3 The Eagle.
The Eagle!? How? Why? 107.3 has had many names in the past, from the Coast to the Bay. But never something so influenced by the trendy patriotism that has enveloped our country in the past few years. But it’s okay – different name, same music. I can deal with that. Alas, I was mistaken.
There are now only two radio personalities, Nick Van Cleve, who works the morning shift, and John Moore, who takes care of the ride home from 3:00-7:00. This leaves sixteen hours of abandoned radio, time when there is not a soul around to tell me what song I just heard and who sang it to me; time when not a soul is around to play disc jockey, leaving all the grease work to a computer that randomly selects the song.
I’m sorry, HAL, but you are a sucky DJ. Within a 24 hour time frame, it is quite possible that you hear the same song at least twice, if not three times. And for some reason, the AI in the studio has an Elton John fetish. Don’t get me wrong, I like Elton John’s music as much as the next guy. But when I’m driving to the store and I’m pelted with the same old wails of “Tiny Dancer,” the broken-record sounding “Bennie and the Jets,” and Elton’s homoerotic recollections of the “Crocodile Rock,” I become utterly disappointed in the musical variety down on the end of the radio dial.
So, after three years of loyal listening, The Bay and I have gone our separate ways. We were just too incompatible, one of us wanting to pursue his professional career, and the other wanting to live in the past, when four vinyl albums and plenty of drugs would keep the crowd unaware of the fact that the same music is filling their ears and draining their souls. So to you, 107.3, I say, “Adieu, adieu; parting is such sweet sorrow.”