Evil Incarnate

My friend Irma and I like to use the term 'evil.' It sometimes startles people to hear us use the term. We use it to mean that something has a hold over us, we are powerless over it, and it must be destroyed. As in, "those big, flourless chocolate cookies from Central Market are evil. They must be destroyed." Translation: "I can't stop eating these cookies. Who made them? Where can I buy more?"

Today, I realized there exists a true incarnation of evil in my life: mass produced Mexican cookies. Here is the problem with Mexican cookies. They are a unholy alliance of two things that I love: cookies, and candies. Mexican cookies are often brightly, ambitiously rendered. It's not just a cookie. No, it's a flat cookie, with four marshamallow's crammed on top PLUS colorful candy sprinkles. My favorite brand of Mexican cookie, Gamesa, has this down to an art. I don't know what they put in their cookies, but there's always this lingering taste left of something more. You eat one, and it's as if the sweet taste has only lasted for one brief, shining moment. You eat another, just to get that bland, sugary taste back in your mouth.

Gamesa used to rock, especially their variety packs. But then they got bought out by some big conglomerate like Pesi or Nestle or something, and they started reducing the variety in the pack, shrink wrapping them, and also—heaven forbid—introduced the chocolate chip cookie into the mix. They just couldn't leave well enough alone. They wanted to appeal to white America, too.

But white America already has their cookie classics, like the Oreo. Can't we just accept each other for what we are? Gamesa, take out the chocolate chip and put back the hard lemon zinger thingies. Really, I think this is the dark side of multiculuralism.

But as always, I digress. The good news is that today I noticed that there were more brands than my beloved Gamesa. There was also a brand called Bimbo, which looked highly promising. I'll have to check it out the next time I'm there.

Falling In

So I was just watching the evening episode of Friends, and caught the new Gap commercial featuring Lenny Kravitz and Sarah Jessica Parker.

I am seriously underwhelmed.

What are they selling me, here? Jeans that I can customize to fit my lifestyle? How do I wear my jeans? Over my legs and butt. Listen, Gap. If I had time to be all creative and thoughtful and funky with my jeans, I wouldn't be buying them from the Gap. I'd be buying them from Goodwill and sewing on my own geegaws on them.

Basically, the commercial wasn't selling the intangible: sizzle. I didn't want to become or be near either Lenny or Sarah. I just wanted to change the channel.

24/7

In reference to the beach volleyball photo on my post on equal opportunity, a loyal reader asks

"is a butt like that possible only from jumping and darting on sand all day long? Or can mere mortals achieve such firmness and roundness?

Well, my friends, the answer is yes, mere mortals can achieve such greatness, but it's a 24/7 job. Last night, SexOlympic Gold Medal winners Misty May and Keri Walsh were on the Tonight show. They came out dressed in—get this—athletic warm up suits. (As if to say, gee, I'll put on the slouchiest thing I own on national television and pretend that I didn't display nearly every square inch of my skin for two weeks. Girls, girls, girls. We all know you have great bodies. Don't hide them now! Let's see what they look like in real, fashionably-cut clothing!)

Anyway I digress. Basically, they said that Beach Volleyball is a full time job. Their day can run from 8:00 am to 8:00 pm, and consist of training, playing, working out, etc. and etal.

And you know what? If you work that hard on your body, then you deserve every glorious square inch. And if you get paid, even better.

So yes, we can achieve the Beachvolleyball butt. But since it's gonna be on our own clock, loyal reader, I will have to say that the cost will be at quite a premium.

Heck, it'd probably be worth it. I'll let you know once I get the Provida box open.

iTunes hangover

I looked in the library and couldn't believe what I had done the night before. I don't remember it. It was late. I had listened to one too many songs. I got confused. Possibly from reading too many Amazon reviews. I wasn't responsible for my actions, was I?

I had bought Little River Band's Greatest Hits.

The thing was, I wasn't even trying to by their album. I was trying to buy Neil Young's Harvest Moon. And I'm not just throwing that in there so you can see how cool and erudite I am. I just woke up to the fact that I like Neil Young. I'm a 1980's baby: born and bred on the MTV. But Neil Young's album was listed as a partial album, and I went on Amazon to see what song was missing, and somehow, that led me down the dark late night path to remembering a time when the albatross, and the whale, they are my brothers.

It's just a sad state of affairs, I tell you.