Speaking of Advertising

In a dream from the other night I was talking to Hillary Clinton about the history of pure food laws and Upton Sinclair.

And I spent time in the company of THIS GUY who I get a lot of ads about:

But Deliver Us From Evil

Somebody listened! After torturing us for 30 years, this hideous commercial is struck from local airwaves for deceptive advertising. Ahhhhhh

 

Plant Based Eggs. Think About It.

OK. I love this commercial. Wayne has a hangover and needs something to keep the bile down. He puts some plant-based eggs in the toaster (yes. toaster), makes an egg muffin and "helps to save the planet."

Although the commercial gives me joy and helps the planet in that way, my BS meter goes into the red when a vegetarian option I see on television says it's going to save the planet.

In case you were wondering, Just Eggs does not save the planet. And the interior packaging is plastic, which made me feel guilty. But their little puck was on its way to being tasty. I might buy it again, just for the fun of it (while using the plastic puck holders as seed starting containers for the cats' wheat grass farm.

Like me, the ad community likes Wayne, and Kelly, and J.B. Smoove, who does the voiceover. 

However the vote is still out on Just Eggs.

Just for the record, I did not pay full price for Just Eggs. I bought them at the canned food warehouse.

And also, for lunch I made some eggs. So much better!

Salt

The other day on the way home from work I went to do my usual opposition research (looking for Hannity on the radio dial) and he was nowhere to be found. In his place was one of those financial shows that are really just long paid advertisements. But within the show it also had advertisements. 

For salt. Ever heard an ad for salt? Me neither.

Turns out that salt has a lobby. And it wants old people to know that if you don't eat enough salt you could have health problems.

And it has a mascot, Old Salty, who you can follow on Facebook.

You're welcome.

Fashionable Ladies

Ebay tracks what I've looked at and what I like, theoretically. But cue the sound of squealing brakes.

Just now I scrolled down to find that it had suggested that I buy vacuum-packed spicy duck neck, sold by fashionable-ladies 89. What did I do to earn this suggestion?

Too funny.

Death of Big Wally

Big Wally is no more. Let us all observe a moment of silence.

A few weeks ago I came into the lady bathroom to find a leak on the floor underneath him. Mrguy put him out of his misery and escorted him to the trash can. He had a good run, Big Wally, and there's only so long (40 years or so) that you can keep a corrosive substance in a can under pressure.

He has been replaced, not in our hearts but on the shelf by Free Expression Paint (red).

Drumsticks and Pepper Grinders

It was nice to get away from the horror of the new administration by going shopping. Today was the annual White Elephant sale, and I'd never been. Mrguy and I sallied forth at a reasonable pace, parked across the bridge from the event in order to avoid the madness and went in. We eventually went our own way, but it wasn't long before I found this:

A lifelong desire fulfilled. It was not cheap. People stopped me to say hi, to tell me how much it's really worth, to tell me about the volunteer (who I also met) who would have bought it at a cheaper price.

The line to buy my exterminator was half an hour long. While in line I found a pepper grinder made by Vic Firth, the drumstick maker, in a festive hot orange. I hear it has a fabuous grind.

Then we went for German food, and had spaetzle and red cabbage and grapefruit beer.

A huge nap followed, making up for a sleepless night.

UPDATE: Best pepper grinder ever. It has an amazing grind, doesn't leave a trail of pepper where it's sitting and the grind is adjustable. SCORE!

Calling Linda Wong

Linda and I first met a year ago, when I got a new phone number. The first time I called middlesis using my new phone she said "Linda Wong?!!!" Her caller ID had identified me as Linda Wong. And thus it started. I am now officially Linda Wong to my sis.

And then I guess Linda need insurance. And a loan. And maybe she was an undecided voter. So I started hearing from the Obamacare phone bank. Love the President. Love the Affordable Care Act. Don't love receiving 8 calls between 8 and 9am for Linda Wong.

Since the election the flow of calls has slowed somewhat. Until yesterday.

But let's back up about 15 years. We'd moved to the little house on the hill, and had a peekaboo view of the mountain and the flats of the city. But there was this annoying weather balloon in the middle of my view on weekends, and hideous rock music blaring out of a building nearby, both courtesy of Greg Smith Motors.

Maybe I was an obnoxious dork for complaining about the balloon in my sight line, but maybe they were dorks too. They cut down the city's trees in front of their dealership and eventually defaulted on a quarter million in taxes they owed the city before skipping town. Anyhoo, I would call to complain about the big balloon in my view and whoever would answer the phone would hand the phone over to "Greg Smith" himself, who would field my complaint. The first time I called he had a local accent. Next time he sounded like he was from Nashville. Finally "Greg Smith" had a very thick South Asian accent. Such a crack up. Eventually Greg Smith skedaddled and the next dealership didn't use balloons.

So yesterday I'm at work and I see a call coming in. Urgent calls related to my mom can come from anywhere, so I picked up. I hear a crunch and a pause, and a guy with a very thick South Asian accent introduces himself as Greg Brown and says he's in charge of cybersecurity blah blah blah and without thinking I just burst out laughing. Then I hung up. Just like the old days. So excellent, "Greg Brown".

Lots of people who work phone banks take pseudonymns. As an example I had a friend, last name named Gil-Sola, whose phone bank name was "George Sola." It wasn't so far off the mark but gave him anonymity. That works. Make it believable, People.

Who's My Buddy?

It's time to admit it: I kinda have a thing for Kewpie dolls. Not a big thing, but a thing.

They're cute and they've always been there in the  pop culture background. 

If you don't know what they are, start here.

My first Kewpie (probably a Kewpie knockoff) was a tiny bisque doll that I found while digging in the back yard.

My second was found in our house, shortly after we moved in. When I looked into one of the door chimes to see why one of them sounded muffled when the doorbell rang, I found a small Kewpie stuck inside of it.

Then came Tarako. A group of us fell in love with a Kewpie prize in an arcade game in Kobe, and spent an unreasonable amount of cash trying to win what I dubbed "the clip-on baby". I proudly wore mine in my hair that night. Our host told me that she was called Tarako-chan. She was currently starring in television commercials for Kewpie Brand tarako (cod roe) pasta sauce.

At Tokyu Hands that week I bought a Tarako head costume and wore it on the subway. Everywhere I went, people sang the commercial jingle to me.

On my last day in Kobe I had an urgent need from the pharmacy. I remembered that there was a grocery store a few floors below our hotel, so I went downstairs in search of it. I ended up finding an antiques mall, and one of the vendors had an entire display of vintage Kewpies. I had the money, but couldn't find anyone in the entire mall to sell any to me. My original need was urgent, so I left. I still dream about that antique mall.

You know the rest. Kaohsiung was awash in Kewpies. My Sonny Angel Kewpie in a mahjongg tile and Kewpie with a bonnet made of corn bring the current count of Kewpies to three. I have a few more mystery boxes of Sonny Angel Vegetable Series Kewpies from Kaohsiung, but can't bring myself to open them just yet.

Just as I was thinking of writing this the other day, mrguy and I watched the end of Kurasawa's Stray Dog the other night. In one scene, Inspector Sato sees a Kewpie sitting on a banister in an apartment house he's about to leave. He picks it up, smiles, and sets it back down.

Where will Kewpie be next?

Taiwan, Day 3

By day three jet lag had fully set in. I woke up at 5am and watched a vintage kung fu movie.

The breakfast buffet continued to provide novelty with delicious pancakes that were served with rose flavored honey.

Happy work continued at the museum.

Our colleagues did a press conference in the morning. They did us proud and some of us felt a little teary-eyed watching.

After work we went to Cijin Island, which I've learned is actually a peninsula. The cab ride to the ferry took us through some cool looking scruffy areas on the way to the waterfront. It was one of those experiences in which you wished your eyes were cameras.

The ferries are amazing. Most of the traffic going to the island was on scooters. Few pedestrians rode. No smoking is allowed on the Spirit of Kaohsiung, or any of the other ferries. Not a problem.


However if you want to partake of betelnut, just look for these multicolored signs.



The city's oldest temple is there. Hundreds of paper lanterns illuminate its courtyard and the effect was mesmerizing. The rest of our group took photos, and I sat on a bench and blissed out.

More amazing feats of food ordering took place when we found a seafood restaurant open. My colleagues selected our dinner from the friends on ice out in the cases on the sidewalk. We had lobsters and scallops and fried rice and bitter leafy greens and Taiwan Beer. We did not have the two items on the menu that made me laugh out loud while reading it: Areola Babylon, which sounded completely made up but is actually a type of whelk, and Halitosis somethingorother. You know by the sound of it that *that* can't be good.

I was inspired by my love of Anthony Bourdain to sample the eyeball of the whole fish we ordered. I was probably emboldened by the previous night's pig intestines, also. I ate it in segments: first the vitreous humor, then the colored bits, then the weird white thing which had the consistency of laundry detergent clumps. I ended up spitting that out. It was o.k. Not life-changing. Just texturally challenging, and definitely easier to get down than pig intestines.

After dinner we walked on the beach and saw a home-grown fireworks display, and then made our way back to the ferry.

Josephine the Plumber

On the way home to watch the debate with mrguy, I was stuck in traffic behind a woman whose car had a Yes on 8 (restore marriage) bumper sticker. She was weaving in and out of her lane, while text messaging at the wheel. Then she brushed her teeth.

Once ensconced in the happy Guy home, I heard a lot about Joe the Plumber.

I'd much rather talk about Josephine the plumber. She was my favorite advertising character in the day. In commercials she talked out of the side of her mouth, wore lipstick, and taught you how to get stains out of your sink with Comet.

7 years ago I saw her (the actress Jane Withers) at an event in LA. She looked amazing. She was wearing a bright colored blazer and her hair was in a bouffant. She reminded me of my favorite co-workers from the diner, out for a night on the town.

If they'd been movie stars.