I said a LAMP, not some regurgitated swamp thing

When one goes shopping for things to fill one's abode, what exactly should one be looking for?

I'm sure as hell convinced that it's not this monstrosity. While browsing online at various stores' websites, I stumbled - quite literally because I would not have simply sauntered in - upon a place selling lamps.

"Mmmm, I could do with a nice floor lamp," I thought to myself. "Not a big one, mind you. A nice sized one. Wooden. Preferably chocolate in coloring." And so the search began. Tulip-shaped lamps. Thick-based steel lamps. Cloth lamps. And then ... this lamp. This, this THING that looks like it was dragged kicking and screaming from some Georgian swamp. Who on earth would consciously want to place this hideaous thing in their home, much less their lounge?

Honestly, there's simply no accounting for poor taste.

Thankfully, I managed to find what I was looking for. Beautifully finished chocolate wood with a beige cloth shade. Perfect height. Imperfect price. $300 for a lamp? Are they mad? Do they not realize that for $300 I could get a pair of Swedish twins to swing on a tampeze? Naked. Above my bed!

Perhaps I should just move into someone's garage and sleep on a futon. Or overcome my fear and loathing of all things ugly and move in with my grandmother. Not that she's ugly. But like so many elderly people, she likes to surround herself with all things old. Do they do this to remind themselves to 'Cape Diem'? I mean, after all, death is knocking on the door with his rather narly knuckle.

Would someone please let him in?! But turn the lamp off, he's not very attractive!

The results are in ....

Ladies and germs, the results are in. Long live The Loerie Awards! This weekend in the sleepy town of Margate, KwaZulu-Natal, the results of The Loerie Awards (basically, the South African equivalent to Cannes/Clios) came in. And the winners in the print/newspaper section are:

GRAND PRIX: Lowe Bull (Cape Town) for Independent Newspapers / Cape Times - Hiroshima, 911, JFK, Soweto Uprising









To check out the work of the other winners, go to: www.theloerieawards.co.za

Letters from behind bars

I'm a copywriter. So I sat down (figuratively) and decided to write - to prisoners. Not a sermon. But a simple, "Hey how you doing?" kind of writing. Old fashioned letter writing.

"Why on earth would you want to do that?" I hear some of you ask. Simple. If that was me behind bars, I would want contact with the outside world. Letters from friendly folks like myself would make my day. Something to read. Something to think about. And something to while away the hours as I replied.

Sure, one of the people I am writing to was convicted on two counts of 2nd degree murder. It's not like he's going to ever be released. I mean come on, the guy is on death row. What harm can come of my writing to him? We are all going to meet our maker. He just happens to know when - to the minute. Just imagine how scared he must be. Yes, sure, some of you are saying he deserves it. But what about remorse? I'd like to think I was raised to be a nice kinda guy. A friendly kinda guy. And to some degree I am. But the friendly and the nice come to an end the minute one of them ask for:

1/. $$$$$$
2/. $$$$ for a lawyer
3/. A conjugal visit

I mean, seriously, there's only so much I am willing to do.

Besides, some people knit mile-long scarves, some people drink themselves to sleep. Me, I write to prisoners on death row. It's just one of the many services this civic-minded young man offers :-)

No way Neutrogena!

"Why 'No to Neutrogena'?" I hear you ask. Good question. Because I was looking into my bathroom the other night and noticed that I have bucket-loads of Neutrogena toiletries. From shapoo to conditioner. From shower gel to soap. And then I heard a nasty little rumor. The type of rumor that could bring down a European empire. The rumor that *gasp* Neutrogena tests on animals *hiss*.

So I emailed them and asked them. I think one of their lawyers replied because the email reply sounded like a yes but came across as a no. I shook the haze from my wary head and came to the conclusion that these nasty people pry open the eyes of little bunnies and kitties and pour crap into them to make sure I can use them safely in my bath without running the risk of being scorched by acid. Horrendous. And I WILL NOT condone that kind of behaviour - there's, not mine.

It's an abomination that in the 21st century, people still have monkeys and rabbits and cats in labs, solely for testing. It's shocking and I will be clearing out my bathroom of all and any Neutrogena products - just as soon as the bottle is empty and I can find a good replacement product that doesn't test on animals. Any suggestions? Did I hear someone say Aveda?

Monsoon Season. Yeah, right.

Come on people. It takes more than just some rumbling from above, one or two flashes of lightening, and 2ml of rain to start using the term, "Monsoon Season".

Okay, so we have had a little more rain than we are used to in this hot, dry arid little hole in the Nevada desert. So we're used to temperatures in the 100s (that's almost 40 Celsius for my readers in the rest of the world). And now we get a sprinkling of rain, it gets a little humid, and people start screaming, "Run for your lives, it's Monsoon Season".

Most summer monsoons have a dominant westerly component and a strong tendency to ascend and produce copious amounts of rain (because of the condensation of water vapour in the rising air). I don't see "copious" amounts of rain. But perhaps it's because these wonderful folk here in Vegas who are more akin to staring directly into the blinding sun than they are into the clouds expectant for rain that the term is being thrown around like a hot potato.

Oh well, knock yourselves out. Just know that I, and the rest of the civilized world, am laughing at your stupid ass.

We love you Mom. Now let's find you an old age home.

There's a not-so-funny joke that goes something like this:

Be nice to your kids. They'll pick out your old age home.

Haha, very funny. But strange how the wheel turns. Today I am doing that very thing. And trust me, it ain't pleasant. There aren't a lot of options out there people! My Mom is not that old that she hobbles around hunched over, smacking passers-by with her walking stick. So that cancels out a few places.

The two hands don't quite reach 12, so that cancels out a few other places.

Then of course, they have the "upmarket" versions. Yeah yeah, nice but a little out of our price range. I also need to pay my own rent and put food on my table.

We don't want a nursing home because firstly my Mom ain't as old as the woman in the picture above. And secondly, well, I don't know, I just don't want her in a nursing home.

And what's with these names? The Silver Palms. Willow's Arms. Shady Pines. It's like we're putting our folks out to pasture in the fields. We need a decent place. Clean. Quiet - okay, maybe not so quiet, my Mom will throw a party every now and again, and not too expensive. Oh, and safe. It must be safe. Those nasty crimial elements down in South Africa like to prey on the elderly. Does such a place exist?

Snip snip. No more kittens.

I feel cruel. Cruel AND evil. Yesterday it was my kitten's 5-month birthday. What did I give her? A feline hystorectomy. Yup, I took my little feline companion to the vet and asked them to snip out her bits.

I explained to the vet how evil I felt. She was kind and wonderful and all the things you expect a vet to be. She explained to me that if I don't plan on breeding my beautiful little Bengal, then it was for the best. Apparently health-wise, it's better. According to my good friend, Wikipedia, spaying your cat offers the following advantages:

"Hormone-associated diseases such as benign prostatic hypertrophy are prevented. Female cats and dogs are seven times more likely to develop mammary tumors if they are not spayed before their first heat cycle. A dangerous common uterine infection known as pyometra is also prevented. Uterine, ovarian, and testicular cancer are also prevented for obvious reasons, although these types of cancer are uncommon to begin with."

So she had the snip yesterday and spent the night at the vet's office. I go back to pick her up tonight. I hope she doesn't hate me. But I can't say I'd blame her if she did.

It's coming out. Just not today.

So there I was, shivering like a Mexican in Canada, all pysched up about having a tooth extracted. Scared. okay, more like terrified.

I dragged my sorry carcass out of bed at the unGodly hour of 7:30am to get dressed and ready for my visit to the Oral Maxillofacial surgeon. Hadn't eaten in 8 hours - as they told me not to. I sat there, filling out forms for almost 30 minutes. Disclaimer this. Disclaimer that. I promse not to sue if this happens. I promise not to bite him if I think he deserves it. Blah blah blah.

Eventualy I go through. I sit on that cold, hard, plastic chair and in he walks. He checks my glands, asks a barrage of questions (including a request for an elaboration on question 44 on one of the sheets I answered - suffice if to say it regarded the use of recreational drugs about 8 years ago) and then BAM! He gave me the bad news. No surgery today because I didn't have someone responsible with me. I asked, "Like what? To hold my hand?"

"No," replies the sullen butcher. "So that they can drive you home."

"But can't they just come when I'm done?" I ask.

Apparently not. For general anesthesia - oh come on, you think I want to be awake when they slice open my gum??? Be serious - someone needs to wait around, reading magazines or whatever it is people do in doctors' waiting rooms, and then drive you home.

Thanks for telling me that yesterday when I called. So off I trotted, all my teeth in place and hungry as a skinny hippo. Now I need to wait about two weeks before I can get in to see him again. Inconvenience. That's what it is. An ineptitude, don't forget ineptitude. And for once, it's not mine.

My paraskevodekatriaphobia

In English, German, Polish and Portuguese-speaking cultures around the world, today is considered bad luck. Well, not just today, but any Friday the 13th.

The fear of Friday the 13th is called paraskavedekatriaphobia (a word that is derived from the concatenation of the Greek words Παρασκευή, δεκατρείς, and φοβία, meaning Friday, thirteen, and phobia respectively; alternative spellings include paraskevodekatriaphobia or paraskevidekatriaphobia, and is a specialized form of triskaidekaphobia, a phobia (fear) of the number thirteen. (thank you Wikipedia)

But where does this fear eminate from? Once again, I turned to my trusted friend, Wikipedia. Apparently the Last Supper which is supposed by popular Christian belief to have been on Thursday, with Judas numbered among the thirteen guests (Jesus plus his 12 apostles), and that the Crucifixion of Jesus which is supposed by popular Christian belief to have occurred on a Friday. However, Judas was not actually present for the latter part of the meal.

One theory, offered in the novel The DaVinci Code holds that it came about not as the result of a convergence, but a catastrophe, a single historical event that happened nearly 700 years ago. The catastrophe was the decimation of the Knights Templar, the legendary order of "warrior monks" formed during the Christian Crusades to combat Islam. Renowned as a fighting force for 200 years, by the 1300s the order had grown so pervasive and powerful it was perceived as a political threat by kings and popes alike and brought down by a church-state conspiracy, as recounted by Katharine Kurtz in Tales of the Knights Templar (Warner Books: 1995):

"On October 13, 1307, a day so infamous that Friday the 13th would become a synonym for ill fortune, officers of King Philip IV of France carried out mass arrests in a well-coordinated dawn raid that left several thousand Templars — knights, sergeants, priests, and serving brethren — in chains, charged with heresy, blasphemy, various obscenities, and homosexual practices. None of these charges were ever proven, even in France — and the Order was found innocent elsewhere — but in the seven years following the arrests, hundreds of Templars suffered excruciating tortures intended to force 'confessions,' and more than a hundred died under torture or were executed by burning at the stake."

Now isn't that reason enough to fear this absolutely otherwise mundane day? No? Okay, read on.

It's been estimated that [U.S] $800 or $900 million is lost in business on this day because people will not fly or do business they would normally do." I mean isn't that just insane?

Some people are so paralyzed by fear that they are simply unable to get out of bed when Friday the 13th rolls around. The Stress Management Center and Phobia Institute estimates that more than 17 million people are affected by a fear of this day. Despite that, representatives for both Delta and Continental Airlines say that their airlines don't suffer from any noticeable drop in travel on those Fridays. Yeah yeah. I guess that's because people have already booked their flights to spend the weekend here in Vegas. Unlucky for some means luck for others. Kaching.

Roll on Saturday the 14th.

Just finished reading

I recently finished reading this book. Now I'm not about to dive into some Oprah Book Club schpeel about it, but suffice if to say, wow. I was hooked from page one.

This writer has the most amazing way of drawing his reader in. Of giving an incredible description of surroundings. I have never been to Pakistan or Afghanistan but from the picture he paints through his words, I was able to visualize the cities, the hill-sides, the streets. I cannot recommend this book enough. And to think I picked it up in Wal-Mart because I knew I was going to be bored.

The only other book that has had such a profound effect on me was Carol Shields' "The Stone Diaries". Another tear-jerking biography. This time about a very unspectacular woman who leads a very uneventful life. Go on, pick either up at your local book store, curl up on a chair with a cup of coffee and prepare to be moved.

Okay, so this posting turned out to be more an Oprah Book Club recommendation than I wanted, but hey. They're great books, what can I say?!

Sheep give us mutton & lamb. Now we're after their skin for our shoes.

So there I was, I don't even remember which site I was on, and this one of those annoying pop up ads did just that - popped right up onto my screen. And there, in front of my eyes, I saw what must rate as the ugliest flip flops/sandals/whatever you want to call them.

I mean seriously, if your feet are cold, DON'T WEAR SANDALS!

Sewing or gluing a strip of sheep back to your sandals is NOT going to keep your feet warm. Instead, it will make your feet look very ugly, and will make YOU look very silly for buying them.

Says the creator of these monstrosities, "It was a chilly Northern California morning two years ago, and as usual, I was running late for class. I kicked off my comfy sheepskin house slippers, but there would be no time for socks today. I eyed my well-worn pair of sandals by the door, and with my eyes on my watch, my hand on the doorknob, and my bare, rapidly-cooling feet slipping into my flip flops, a light bulb went off:

"Sheepskin...sandals...sheepskin...sandals...sheepskin...sheepskin SANDALS!"

Well a few months and a patent application later, I created the world's first sheepskin sandal and solved my cold-feet problem. And as it turns out, I wasn't the only person out there who wanted to wear their flip flops all year round."

— Alex V., Founder, Bonsai Sandals

Well thank you dudley do-right! Without you, my frozen feet would definitely have fallen off. Thawed out or snapped off. Either way, because of you, I shall remain the world's laziest sloth.

Shocking. If I ever see anyone out there wearing this sheep throw-up on their feet, be warned that I will set them ablaze. As in douse them in gasoline and set them on fire.

Where is all the copy?

"Yes, it's nice, but ... it's missing something."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's missing something."

"Like what?"

"Well, for starters, where's all the copy?"

"This is a visual metaphor. It doesn't need reams and reams of copy."

"I understand, but we need to explain the product benefits."

"But we've done that, here, in the visual. Can't you see it?"

"I see a pretty picture. But I don't see any benefit. I don't see paragraphs of copy."

"But it doesn't need paragraphs. It doesn't even need a single line of copy."

"You're a copywriter, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Then what was your contribution to this, this, ad?"

"I brainstormed with my art director and we came up with the idea together."

"No. I see a picture. I don't see words. I want to see words. Do your job."

"But ..."

"No. There are no buts about it. Don't try and sell me an ad with no copy. Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"I didn't say that. I was just saying ..."

"You've said more than enough, young man. I'm much older than you are. I have been selling this product since before you were a scratch in your father's scrotum. And you come in here with your high falooting ideas of winning some fancy shmancy advertising award with this work. Let me tell you something, sonny. I know what wins awards. And this, this picture you call an ad won't win diddly squat. You here me? And the people out there who buy my product will never understand this."

"You saying the consumer is an idiot? A moron?"

"They are brain-dead morons, yes."

"Who does most of the shopping in your household, Mr. Client?"

"What type of stupid question is that? My wife of course!"

"I see. So then your wife is a consumer?"

"Oh I see where you're going with this and I warn you sonny. My wife attended one of the nation's top colleges. She's no dummy."

"I didn't say she was, Mr. Client. I am merely tring to point out that ..."

"Okay, it's settled then. You'll come up with another campaign. One with a hellava lot more copy than this one does."

"What? No, we never ..."

"See you all next week. Thank you for wasting my time."

Gotta love clients ;-)

How to butcher the Engrish language

Trust me, it's not that difficult.

Maybe it's because I'm a copywriter. Or perhaps because I'm just a litte anal retentive about some stuff (like badly written copy), but seriously, this is just a little too much. This wonderful picture is the bottom of a frying pan. In case you can't read the words:

"Shining Elegance
A high qualified feeling which appeals to our mind. An admirable elegance that makes us wide-eyed. Authentic elegance has an incredible power which changes the surrounding atmosphere. THIS IS SUPER!"

A high qualified feeling which appeals to our mind??? This is a freakin' frying pan people. What high qualified feeling? A frying pan that makes us wide-eyed? Okay, well at least they hyphenated the word, but still.

This is NOT super. It makes me cringe, dammit.

I feel a rather uncomfortable case of *cough* Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis coming on

It seems yours truly is on a medical bent this week. That said, I came across this super word: Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis. Yes, it's an actual word. Well, more of a medical diagnosis than a word really. It's a lung disease caused by the inhalation of very fine silicate or quartz dust.

Alas, mostly miners caught this hideous disease. Let's be honest, I can't see a plumber or a lawyer catching Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, mostly because a plumber unblocks toilets, and a lawyer talks the stuff that blocks those toilets!

I was drawn to this incredulous word because it contains 45 - yes, 45 - letters, AND ABSOLUTELY NO SYNONYM. Very odd. Now if I could just learn to pronounce it. Fortunately for me, I may not have to. Thanks to those wonderful medical people, the more general and widely used term for this condition is pneumoconiosis, also known as black lung disease. See what happens when you're busy saving lives and treating STDs? You simplify. And that's a good thing.

Anyway, I went back and researched the long version of the word. Lo and behold, what should I find? It is the longest word ever to appear in an English language dictionary. No shit! Then I found that it can also be caused by the inhalation of very fine silica dust usually found in volcanoes. Now THAT, brothers & sisters, is a LOT more exciting than mining, or plumbing, or bull-shitting/plumbing.

Who the hell breathes in volcanic dust? I want to meet this person. I want to meet the very brave soul who treks to the top of a volcano to breathe in the "very fine silica dust". Well, okay, either very brave or bloody stupid for not wearing a mask.

Nonetheless, still very cool.

What is it about xanthine alkaloid compound?

Name your addiction. No, it's not the name of a new reality TV show. I'm literally asking you to name your addiction.

Coffee? Sex? Gambling? Mine is coffee. The sheer aroma of some ground beans is enough to calm my nerves and send me into ecstacy. But why is that this central nervous stimulant rocks my world? Well, accordingly to my wonderful friend, Wikipedia, it's because caffeine is a central nervous system and metabolic stimulant and is used both recreationally and medically to reduce physical fatigue and restore mental alertness when unusual weakness or drowsiness occurs. Caffeine stimulates the central nervous system first at the higher levels, resulting in increased alertness and wakefulness, faster and clearer flow of thought, increased focus, and better general body coordination, and later at the spinal cord level at higher doses.

And not saying I would ever want to - I mean honestly, why? - but should I choose to stop drinking this amazingly theraputic, aromatic beverage, I could expect the following withdrawal symptoms: possibly including headache, irritability, an inability to concentrate, and stomach aches may appear within 12 to 24 hours after discontinuation of caffeine intake, peak at roughly 48 hours, and usually last from one to five days, representing the time required for the number of adenosine receptors in the brain to revert to "normal" levels, uninfluenced by caffeine consumption.

Caffeine causes excess release of stomach acids during ingestion. When in withdrawal the stomach acid levels decrease substantially and can cause some stomach aches in certain people.[citation needed] The aches normally last between 24–48 hours and can be confused with constipation.[citation needed] Analgesics, such as aspirin, can relieve the pain symptoms, as can a small dose of caffeine. Most effective is a combination of both an analgesic and a small amount of caffeine.

We know what that means. Me no stop drink coffee.

And apparently, I'm not alone. In North America, 90% of adults consume caffeine daily. Yeah baby, glug glug glug. Stabucks loves ya.

Beauty really is only skin deep. Trust me.

So this weekend I went to see Bodies - The Exhbition. OH MY GOD! I was a little weirded out to see exactly what lay under "the body's largest and heaviest organ" (the skin, in case you didn't know). So many muscles, and tendons and veins and damn those poor med students.

The exhibition is very well put together and leads through the various parts of the body - muscle, bone, nervous system, reproduction. And, as always, "that guy" was there. You know him. The sign said, "Please do not touch". So he touched it. But not only did this asshole touch it (remember folks, this is dried muscle fibre) but he was telling his two female companions ... oh wait, it all makes sense now. The dickhead was telling the girls how he used to have "huge lats", just like this *tug on the lateral muscle on the body of the guy who dontaed his body to medical science only to be manhandled by some fat gutted jackass trying to impress two girls*. What an idiot.


Anyway, I thoroughly enjoyed the exhibit. And yes, I did cringe when I saw the dissected penis. How can they show that? To men? Who still intact penises? Not cool. Very uncomfortable. Ouch.

But do yourself a favor and see it. The exhibit. Not the dissected penis.