Weird
Double Take: "Brains and Brawn" cliches ahoy
07/08/08 07:16 AM Filed in: Media
Any news story that contains the line "and German
hipsters can't get enough of it," is going to be at
least a little bit weird.
So I get up early this morning and unload the dishwasher while playing the video stream of CNN International because it's one of the few streaming news sources I don't overtly despise and they're like a playskool version of the BBC World News. While my back is turned this story comes on and I assume it's a joke/ad for some weird combo product or some high concept marketing piece from an energy company. But no, it's a real thing, evidently. I give you Chess-Boxing:
(CNN doesn't allow embedding, so I DL'ed it and put it on DailyMotion, probably breaking a gajillion Copyrights, but just FYI it's Copyright 2007 Cable News Network, LLC, LLLP, A Time Warner Company - please don't sue.)
Personally, I think that the whole affair is just "German hipsters" playing a joke on news outlets. Sure the guys are big serious boxers, and yes, they do appear to be playing chess, but come on... Olympic event?
But by golly it does have a Wikipedia page, but does that really mean anything?
So I get up early this morning and unload the dishwasher while playing the video stream of CNN International because it's one of the few streaming news sources I don't overtly despise and they're like a playskool version of the BBC World News. While my back is turned this story comes on and I assume it's a joke/ad for some weird combo product or some high concept marketing piece from an energy company. But no, it's a real thing, evidently. I give you Chess-Boxing:
(CNN doesn't allow embedding, so I DL'ed it and put it on DailyMotion, probably breaking a gajillion Copyrights, but just FYI it's Copyright 2007 Cable News Network, LLC, LLLP, A Time Warner Company - please don't sue.)
Personally, I think that the whole affair is just "German hipsters" playing a joke on news outlets. Sure the guys are big serious boxers, and yes, they do appear to be playing chess, but come on... Olympic event?
But by golly it does have a Wikipedia page, but does that really mean anything?
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Regional Treats: Blue Bell Frozen Treats
05/25/08 03:59 PM Filed in: Food
One of the many things I love about travel, or in
this case moving, is the different regional foods you
find traveling around the U.S. Different brands with
different offerings, sometimes with unique
regionalized flavors. Thanks to the internet, gas
prices, economic collapse, peak oil, bee extinction,
and the shitty fourth Indiana Jones movie, the
concept of regionalized foods are becoming a thing of
the past. A handful of industries persevere, however.
Beer being one of the most common "micro" industries.
Because you can never have enough microbreweries.
Candy is still somewhat regionalized with snacks like
Moon Pies (Invented by my Great Grandfather, no lie),
Twin Bings, Cherry Mash, and Alien Sour Balls are still
made by small regional candy companies that
probably skate under the radar of the FDA
allowing the incorporation of trace amounts of
MSG, cocaine, excrement and broken glass in
their products to go largely unnoticed.
(Note to self:
Good idea for name of imminent memoir would be
MSG, Cocaine, Excrement and Broken
Glass!)
But today I'm going to focus on another "micro" industry that soldiers on in the face of corporate consolidation: The Dairy Industry. Because modern science still hasn't come up with a chemical to make milk room-temperature shelf-stable for weeks at a time, there's still a need for local and regional dairies. Back in Omaha we had Robert's and up until a few years ago Goodrich. My folks have Mayfield dairy, which produces a pretty spectacular ice cream bar they call the Brown Cow (not to be confused with the beverage of the same name).
What put this front of mind for me was shopping for groceries at the SuperT yesterday when I ran across the most disturbing images that have ever tried to convince me to wolf down a popsicle. It was the frozen treats of the Brenham, Texas company Blue Bell Creameries.
Here's the first box that caught my eye:
My initial reaction? Why is a child prostitute who is clearly possessed by a demon trying to sell me an ice cream sandwich? Not just an Ice Cream Sandwich, but Ice Cream Sand-wiches.
Where does one begin with what is wrong with this box? Let's start at the picture. It's as though there were a Junior Miss Pageant held by street artist Banksy. The color correction says something along the lines of "no, we WANT her to look like a zombie" and the subtext of the image is confusing. Is she trying to look glamorous, or like a grandmother? And regardless, why was she rewarded for doing this with an Ice Cream Sandwich (neé Sand-Wich).
Bringing me to the other glaring issue, why the hyphen? No seriously, WHY THE FUCKING HYPHEN? You designed the box! You can control how the image and text are laid out. I think we'd all be better off if you brought the image down a bit so you wouldn't have to hyphenate and we wouldn't have to see so much of Jim Henson's Granny-Prostitute Babies.
Stare deeply into those eyelash-elongated eyes and you will have nightmares to last you the week.
On to:
You know what I like after a long, hot, and evidently very dirty day on the job site? I like to pick up a no-sugar Krunch Bar with my comically tiny baby-hand and hold it physiologically-impossibly close to my face (check the angle, his arm would have to be about a foot long) and track it with my non-lazy eye after taking a big ol' bite out of it. Oh sure, the cold my bother my exposed teeth, ever since my porn-stache ate my upper lip, but that sugarless Krunchy-ness would be so worth it.
It's very nearly worth sending off to Photoshop Disasters. Except I'm guessing they used some image manipulation software that came with a "750,000 Clip Art Explosion" product they bought at a flea market.
I hope these aren't employees of Blue Bell who volunteered for these photos, or friends or loved ones or anyone who is seeing the wholly awful things I'm saying in this blog. But these are truly horrible boxes. They don't make you want ice cream. They make you want to weep.
And weep, you will, for:
Oh sure, he was enjoying his Mooo Bar. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw what he'd been dreaming of all these many lonely years on his farm: an unattended stroller. Flushed with the thrill of what was about to transpire, a most insidious grin washed over his face.
Thanks, Farmer McPerv. Please eat your Mooo Bar and keep your hands to yourself.
What is it with these people? They don't look like they're enjoying ice cream. They look like they're about to sodomize you with it, very much against your will. Ol' Coach Fudgebar here looks like he has one thing on his mind, and it involves the star quarterback, the locker room showers, a box of fudge bars and a secret.
(You'll note that the star quarterback from Coach Fudgebar's fantasy is off to the right with, I kid you not, Crème Pops. The jokes, they write themselves.)
Meanwhile, poster child for future child obesity Paul Pop'n'fudge is getting ready for the last little league game of the season. When that's over he can enjoy putting on 150 pounds and losing all interest in sports. He'll join the Speech Team and School Paper and have one of those unflattering fat-guy flat top haircuts... wait.... I'm sorry, that's actually my story.
This kid? He's just elated that nobody seems to mind that he's going to scarf down these Pop N' Fudge bars, in the following flavors from right to left: Cherry, Orange, um... Beige and Fudge. Yum!
That's all for today, but stay tuned. I picked up some truly hilarious mid-70's mags and am warming up the scanner as we speak. In the meantime, leave me some love in the comments.
Huzzah!
But today I'm going to focus on another "micro" industry that soldiers on in the face of corporate consolidation: The Dairy Industry. Because modern science still hasn't come up with a chemical to make milk room-temperature shelf-stable for weeks at a time, there's still a need for local and regional dairies. Back in Omaha we had Robert's and up until a few years ago Goodrich. My folks have Mayfield dairy, which produces a pretty spectacular ice cream bar they call the Brown Cow (not to be confused with the beverage of the same name).
What put this front of mind for me was shopping for groceries at the SuperT yesterday when I ran across the most disturbing images that have ever tried to convince me to wolf down a popsicle. It was the frozen treats of the Brenham, Texas company Blue Bell Creameries.
Here's the first box that caught my eye:
My initial reaction? Why is a child prostitute who is clearly possessed by a demon trying to sell me an ice cream sandwich? Not just an Ice Cream Sandwich, but Ice Cream Sand-wiches.
Where does one begin with what is wrong with this box? Let's start at the picture. It's as though there were a Junior Miss Pageant held by street artist Banksy. The color correction says something along the lines of "no, we WANT her to look like a zombie" and the subtext of the image is confusing. Is she trying to look glamorous, or like a grandmother? And regardless, why was she rewarded for doing this with an Ice Cream Sandwich (neé Sand-Wich).
Bringing me to the other glaring issue, why the hyphen? No seriously, WHY THE FUCKING HYPHEN? You designed the box! You can control how the image and text are laid out. I think we'd all be better off if you brought the image down a bit so you wouldn't have to hyphenate and we wouldn't have to see so much of Jim Henson's Granny-Prostitute Babies.
Stare deeply into those eyelash-elongated eyes and you will have nightmares to last you the week.
On to:
You know what I like after a long, hot, and evidently very dirty day on the job site? I like to pick up a no-sugar Krunch Bar with my comically tiny baby-hand and hold it physiologically-impossibly close to my face (check the angle, his arm would have to be about a foot long) and track it with my non-lazy eye after taking a big ol' bite out of it. Oh sure, the cold my bother my exposed teeth, ever since my porn-stache ate my upper lip, but that sugarless Krunchy-ness would be so worth it.
It's very nearly worth sending off to Photoshop Disasters. Except I'm guessing they used some image manipulation software that came with a "750,000 Clip Art Explosion" product they bought at a flea market.
I hope these aren't employees of Blue Bell who volunteered for these photos, or friends or loved ones or anyone who is seeing the wholly awful things I'm saying in this blog. But these are truly horrible boxes. They don't make you want ice cream. They make you want to weep.
And weep, you will, for:
Oh sure, he was enjoying his Mooo Bar. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw what he'd been dreaming of all these many lonely years on his farm: an unattended stroller. Flushed with the thrill of what was about to transpire, a most insidious grin washed over his face.
Thanks, Farmer McPerv. Please eat your Mooo Bar and keep your hands to yourself.
What is it with these people? They don't look like they're enjoying ice cream. They look like they're about to sodomize you with it, very much against your will. Ol' Coach Fudgebar here looks like he has one thing on his mind, and it involves the star quarterback, the locker room showers, a box of fudge bars and a secret.
(You'll note that the star quarterback from Coach Fudgebar's fantasy is off to the right with, I kid you not, Crème Pops. The jokes, they write themselves.)
Meanwhile, poster child for future child obesity Paul Pop'n'fudge is getting ready for the last little league game of the season. When that's over he can enjoy putting on 150 pounds and losing all interest in sports. He'll join the Speech Team and School Paper and have one of those unflattering fat-guy flat top haircuts... wait.... I'm sorry, that's actually my story.
This kid? He's just elated that nobody seems to mind that he's going to scarf down these Pop N' Fudge bars, in the following flavors from right to left: Cherry, Orange, um... Beige and Fudge. Yum!
That's all for today, but stay tuned. I picked up some truly hilarious mid-70's mags and am warming up the scanner as we speak. In the meantime, leave me some love in the comments.
Huzzah!