Severed Limbs and Paper Clips

A pushy hand has made its debut in advertising. I'm not sure which agency Office Depot has hired (and will soon fire) to create these halloween-esque ads. See the Original. See Jay Leno's Version.

The last time a severed hand jumped unexpectedly out of a box and waved me to Office Depot, I proceeded to vomit all over the place, much like I'd enjoy vomiting on these ads.

I'm not sure which is worse - the hand or the theme song. The sad thing is, someone(s) was(were) paid money to sing that crap. I wonder if they put that glamorously repetitious piece of wizardry in their portfolios. Do theme-song-singers have portfolios? They must have a reel...

...I digress.

Andy L. posted this on another site -

"My problem with the hand is that I keep expecting it to grab someone inappropriately. Also; it is very pushy; it points at things three times when once would be just fine, thank you."

No truer words have been spoken Andy.

Here's a hand that should be in your new ads...along with an apology:

Can We Keep It?

A new niece is always good fodder for blogging.

I think I might start a company which creates chairs for adults in the likeness of this baby bouncer. I think it'd be great to bounce around, quasi-suspended for hours on end. It might procure some sort of mental productivity if my body doesn't have to worry about actually supporting my frame.

Any thoughts?

Capt. Obvious' pen name is Mr. Peanut

This astute can of Planters recognized the need to warn its consumers of the fact that its contents held nuts (of all things), and may have been processed on equipment that may have been in contact with nuts (of all things). Thank God for lobbying groups.

Those with allergic reactions to peanuts, be warned. Peanuts are manufactured on equipment that processes peanuts.

*the actual verbiage: "allergy information: manufactured on equipment that processes peanuts and other tree nuts."

It's all in the name

UPDATE: For those of you who don't know, I'm trying to switch the url of this site. It just ain't cool to use yourname.blogspot.com.

In trying to develop a catchy-easy-to-remember-not-vague-means-something blog name, I entered "open247.blogspot.com" I thought it matched my "Always Open" theme.

Unfortunately, someone thought it matched their theme as well and already snatched it up. Curious to find out which swift blogger was as smart as me, I landed on this beauty.

Sheeat son. At least it was entertaining.

This Bud is not for me

I’d like to take a brief moment to thank Budweiser for its recent lapse in judgment in advertising their blue-collar brand. Yes, they have indeed turned over the reigns of the Budweiser carriage to former/current/retired rapper Jay-Z. Guess the Clydesdales can only pull a certain load.

The thing is, Budweiser didn’t do a 180, they did a 360x5. I don’t even recognize them anymore. In an effort to appeal to a primarily black audience (something not yet attempted by any American-based beer – kudos for the thought) Budweiser has become the annoying white guy who wishes he were black and thinks a do-rag will confuse everyone. Nice try, but it didn’t do the trick.

Point is – I’m confused Budweiser. Are you my buddy from the mid-west who drives a Ford, wears Wal-Mart jeans, and smokes Marlboros? Or are you the gangsta from Brooklyn who drives an Escalade, wears Seven jeans, and smokes cannabis? I don’t know, nor do I care.

While I do think it’d have done you well to stick with the Clydesdales, my loyalty lies not with the Red and the White. My stock is firmly invested in the always rich, never filling hops and barleys found in the Blue and Gold. Yes. Miller. Lite. (it doesn’t even matter that they can’t spell.)

Dear January 6th - I love you

Thank you oh Gods of weather for donning us this day of 75 degrees. It was luscious. Though the trees were bare, the sky was filled with blue + sun.

Somehow I was able to convince The Boy to leave the TV only minutes before his beloved NFL playoff (Colts v. Cheifs) to take in the fresh air.

Resistant though he was to enjoy the recently illusive sun, we finally made it out around 4p. 25 joyous minutes later, we were rushed back to the cave that is our apartment to partake in pigskin festivities.

Oh well. I tried.

On New Year's Eve (or the lack there of)

It’s amazing to me the kind of shenanigans establishments try to pull on this, the eve of the New Year. They seem to think this night gives them special license to be closed. At least 2 of the 5 restaurants The Boy and I visited seemed to embrace this notion. One deemed it necessary to implement a “New Year’s Eve Special Menu” which inevitably entailed a $55 per head fee.

Hostess: “Hi and welcome to CousCous (pictured below L). You’re just in time for
our Special New Year’s Eve menu which goes into effect between 8p-10p”

TheBoy: [scans said menu which hostess handed over] “And do you have the original menu?” (her intro seemed to convey that this special menu was indeed a special – not the only - option.)

Hostess: “No. This is it.”



Me: “And how much is this?” (I vaguely recalled her upper-Jacksonian estimate, but couldn’t bring it to mind.)

Hostess: “$55 per person.”

It's safe to say that their website is far superior to their in-person salesmanship. We swiftly declined and moved on to the next (closed) restaurant.

Closing seemed to be the preferred method by which to discourage patronage. The rest required reservations (eons ago) if you didn’t want to wait a eons for a table.

Hostess of Restaurant 2: “Why don’t you just take a walk around Cary St. and if you don’t find any other restaurants, come back here in an hour and a half and maybe we’ll have something?"

Me (in head): "Why don't I kick you like a football?"


I guess I can understand. Their valued employees certainly deserve a break. But aren’t restaurants a place to celebrate, get loaded, and spend lots of cash? What better night than this to swindle unsuspecting patrons away from their money with their attention firmly planted in the festivities of The Eve?*

*You must make reservations or at least call ahead on the last day of the year. Lesson learned.

All in all, it turned out to be a fabulous Eve. The Boy and I watched a movie (About a Boy) and had pizza from the wonderful (and still opened) Mary Angela’s on Cary Street. Italians are smart business people.

We got better company, better food, and a better story out of it. Thank you Richmond establishments for running a muck on our New Year’s. We couldn’t have planned a better one, even if we had exerted the effort to actually plan one.