Jul 22, 2007

Lactose Intolerance

In the spring and summertime, Mister Softee will often meander down Any Street USA, beckoning neighborhood children to indulge upon a tasty frozen treat and experience what is known as the all encompassing, Mister Softee experience. Religiously, children will chase Mister Softee down (INSERT STREET NAME HERE) with either a barefoot parent in tow—or more likely, a flock of barefoot kids will ebb and flow, to and fro about the street as they frantically backtrack for rogue quarters and dimes that disobediently drop from their tiny little hands and begin to roll curbside. Seriously, forget about checking the sofa cushions for change—in the spring and summertime, check the curb. I’m just sayin’.

For the most part my encounters with Mr. Softee have been amicable in that I can tolerate his jinglistic presence by simply channeling my childhood nostalgia, as I clearly remember the excitement of Mister Softee. As a squirt, I faithfully chose the ice cream sandwich even though I wasn’t a huge fan of ice cream per se; or should I say, my digestive system wasn’t the fan. No matter, as it was only two minutes until the blistering sun melted my treat into a structurally unsound heap of cookies and cream anyway—it was all about the experience for me; the chase.

You see, that’s what a phenomenon Mister Softee is, even the lactose intolerant can enjoy the experience. As an adult I can certainly appreciate the sight of children chirping for sugar like hungry little finches. One might recall that as Mister Softee trolls the neighborhood for children—homeostatic and neuroglycopenic alike—his truck plays the contagious jingle known as “Mister Softee.” Or, as the children like to call it—ICCCCEEEE CCRRREEEEAAMM!!

Here is a little something you may or may not know about the “Mister Softee” jingle:

The jingle transmitted via the Mister Softee trucks was created in 1960 by an advertising agency. No way! Way.

The lyrics include the following: (please, hum along)

The CREAM-i-est DREAM-i-est SOFT ice CREAM
you GET from MIS-ter SOF-tee.

FOR a re-FRESH-ing de-LIGHT su-PREME
LOOK for MIS-ter SOF-tee....

This time of year, the Mister Softee jingle evokes a northeastern, weather repressed association to spring and then to summer; to fresh cut grass, vacation, and chlorine-tinged hair; to happiness and contentment. I don’t have a problem with that. I mean, for the most part Mister Softee is speedy about his business, thus making this trademark jingle tolerable. After all, he only swings by our neighborhood 1-2 times per week, which is far more bearable than the ritualistic pace of the pimped out, subwoofing El Caminos that rattle and bombard my friend Chet’s neighborhood on INSERT Avenue with their driving DOOOMMM THHHUUMMP DOOOOOMM riffs 24/7. In fact, up until the summer of 2007 Mister Softee rarely came by at all, as my neighborhood doesn’t have many children who typically respond to his presence; in fact, they are somewhat indifferent. It’s nothing personal.

Yet this year, spring arrived and it suddenly became more than clear that Mister Softee had changed. I say this because he now circles our neighborhood 4-5 times per day and I would testify under oath that his virulent jingle been upgraded in the amplification department; MTV has clearly pimped Mr. Softee’s ride. But why this sudden change in behavior, Mr. Softee?

I believe that Mister Softee is misinterpreting the indifference in my neighborhood as rejection, taking it personally and therefore, he has reassessed his routine, for we have become a challenge, we have crossed him and we will pay. In retaliation he has deliberately cranked the jinglistic audio needle deep into the red, while he has quadrupled his visits to our disrespectful, indifferent neighborhood. However, Mister Softee ought to consider that our indifference is not even about him. Perhaps he would realize the true source of our indifference if he merely paid attention to the smattering of signs, which adorn and bookend our street.


In fact, I think he may be under the delusional impression that we—children and adults—sit in our homes poker-faced and defiant; mocking his cries for attention, when in fact a majority of the children are probably busy reading a closed captioned episode of “Sponge Bob Square Pants.” What a pickle: Mr. Softee is oblivious to their disability and the children are oblivious to his presence.

Sometimes I will scream from inside the house, THEY CAN’T HEAR YOU MISTER SOFTEE!, yet he still circles the block like a hawk hunting for prey. He is relentless; he is committed; he is Glenn Close from “Fatal Attraction” and trust me, he “will not be ignored,” as he is determined to provoke us by blasting his musical gibberish—ironically, at deafening decibels—while in response he will receive only the aggravated reverberation of windows slamming shut. Did I mention how freakin' hard it is to get that motherhumping jingle out of your head? I’m just sayin’, it’s a subliminal attack on your short-term memory; you can’t help but rehearse it and unknowingly consolidate it into your long-term memory. What a kick in the pants.

Look, I’m a napper; I enjoy and rely upon my catnaps for leisure, as well as medicinal purposes and I have to say that it’s as if the lyrics to his jingle have undergone a most misanthropic metamorphosis—‘The CREAM-i-est DREAM-i-est SOFT ice CREAM- You-can FOR-get AB-out NAPP-ing, I-am MIS-ter-SOF-tee!’ Truly, I have tried to be tolerant of his harassment and misdirected frustration, but his daily presence has finally breached the confines of my patience.

I never thought I’d say this, but I’m at war with Mister Softee. Sadly, his erratic behavior has created a self-fulfilling prophecy; that is, his perceived notion of our rejection has indeed created a rejection within us via his obsessive, if-I-can’t-have-you-no one-will mission and it’s only a matter of time before I go running outside wild-eyed and disheveled with a fist full of marbles in one hand and a carton of Ben and Jerry’s in the other screaming, “WE DON’T WANT YOUR ICE CREAM MISTER SOFTEE!! BUGGER OFF, YA MUG!” Yes, I am of British descent.

Oh, come on now, jenji…Marbles? Must you be so aggressive?

What!? He started it with his fanatical use of that bedazzled, jingle-jangling, diesel chugging, subwoofing, smoke spewing, whippy-dipped sugar mobile as an abusive device designed to disrupt my catnaps and punish our neighborhood.

If Al Gore wants someone to blame for frivolous fuel consumption, Mister Softee’s the man. I’m just sayin’.

jenji

temporary peace and harmony

Jul 21, 2007

ask Harold

On 7/20 Sue had this question for ask Harold...

This may be personal (but not quite as personal as the grooming habit you discuss) but what is your current shedding factor? I was at the SPCA last night and was a pubic's hair away from adopting a fellow 'mate of yours until he dumped a crapload of hair on my new white capris. I don't think this is gonna be a match made in Heaven since I love to live low maintenance.
Kind Regards, Sue

Thank you kindly for your question, Sue. Please be assured that you have come to the right metro kitty to answer your query.

My current shedding factor remains quite precarious in that I have a tendency to hack up hairballs on a somewhat frequent basis. This is not to say that any kitty you may choose to adopt may do the same—in fact, my mommy has informed me that many of her past kitties have not had such hairball problems.

First, you should know that my allergy condition has predisposed me to hairball issues—so, you need not worry about hairballs as long as you buy kitty food with hairball formula to prevent such problems (dry food only).

Second, you should be aware that what some have come to call my “fanatical” baaawwwl licking actually compounds my hairball issues, yet cuts down the “shedding about the house” factor, as most of what would have been shed about the house has indeed been hacked down my throat. Occasionally, my mommy will sigh and say things like “seriously Harold, how can one cat shed so much?” as she sweeps the floor during the summer months. As I have mentioned in previous posts, I have been known to shed like a wookie in the Sahara desert, but overall it’s really not much. My mother is just—well, you know…dramatic. I don’t want to even tell you what she sheds once a month—let me just say it isn’t pretty…have you seen Baby’s First Christmas? Yeah, I rest my kitty case.

Anyway, if you get a short-haired cat the shedding won’t be nearly as much as a long-haired kitty. Also, it’s a good idea to brush your kitty outside or on a patio to limit shedding and promote a healthy, shiny coat (make sure an indoor cat has a leash on so they don’t run away). Shedding about the house should be minimal if you follow these directions. In fact, I did some research on the web (despite my lack of thumbs) and found a site which may help you here. One site even went so far as to insist that "if you brush your cat, you have full control over where the fur goes." I love to be brushed, but I strongly recommend that you do not attempt to brush your kitty while he is licking his baaaawwwwls, as this will only infuriate him and ensure that he pisses on your new white capris (not a move that I would pull, as I am a pair of hot pants away from being a lady).

Most any kitty will love to be brushed as you can see if you click here.

The only other mitigating factor concerns your capris, as clearly the adoption of a kitty is all about you. Are they from Banana Republic or Ann Taylor? If they are from the latter, I hope you enjoy your new adopted kitty. If they’re from Banana, well………buy a brush and make a sincere effort to adopt a kitty that has been schooled in the fine art of baaaawwwwlll licking to minimize your problems.

Which reminds me, it’s time to get back to mine.

Good luck and good day to you.
Harold

Jul 2, 2007

We interrupt this program...

In society, there is a dysfunctional relationship between the corporation and the community. Specifically, the corporate entities of 24-hour cable news often become the abuser, whereby the community, society, and/or viewer, will become the abused.

Structurally, this abusive relationship renders one party deviously aware of its power and superiority, wherein the other, faithful and loyal to the information that television provides, remains unaware of their own inferiority, suggestibility and ignorance regarding this calculated duality.

Ann Marie Seward Barry wrote an essay entitled, Visual Intelligence: Perception, Image and Manipulation of Visual Communication, wherein she maintains that:

“The viewer believes in television, for generally speaking, he is convinced that the small screen, unlike the large screen (of cinema) opens a window on the real lives of people”
(Barry, 171).

For the most part, I agree with Barry and therein lies the problem. Further, I assert that contemporary television—specifically, 24-hour cable news—has taken advantage of this conviction by deceitfully persuading the viewer that the information broadcast is somehow a collective, homogenic experience—that this is reality and in reality we (the channel) are you. Au contraire. In reality, they are not us, nor should they be. They should document and present the news to us sans the manipulative and/or suggestive bias or spin and further, encourage us to form our own opinion and ideology; to supplement our source for information with as many outlets as possible. Our relation to the talking head should be irrelevant, for the journalists of contemporary 24-hour news fail to attain even a shred of journalistic integrity and impartiality and further, simply refuse to ask the tough questions. Therefore, the tough questions are rarely asked, the corporate spin ensues, the “real” reality skews and the various societal maladies begin.

Regrettably, a vast majority of our society will simply believe what they are told, wherein they fail to critically engage with the presented information. Abusing this reality, each channel harbors a specific objective and actively preys upon society’s pluralistic ignorance and passivity to attain the real reality.

In addition, they strategically overload our auditory and visual perceptions with dramatic melodies, while surrounding the chiseled bobble head of the moment with various icons, banners, graphics and an inexhaustible stream of post-9/11, journalistic text—other news—that incessantly creeps across the bottom of the screen, because let’s face it, we need to know it all and we need to know it now. Assign a trusted face to assault our senses, add fear and stir. Now wonder society is riddled with ADD, OCD and PTSD—we’re distracted, obsessed, traumatized and indeed entranced by the affects/effects of the all-powerful 24-hour, all-or-nothing news, fraudulent flim-flam cable news. And by all-or-nothing, I mean that they either overwhelm us with ambiguous, spurious fear (all) or distract us to the point of obsession with utter drivel (nothing). Either way, we’re too preoccupied and distracted to notice what’s really going on around us—events that in fact desperately need our attention.

Still, society continues to ritualistically gorge itself upon this feast of 24-hour news, riddled with fear, terror and panic, and we do so with a significant sense of urgency and desperate sense of futility—and yet, we are often unable to articulate exactly what it is that has us up at night because these methods leave the viewer highly distracted and incapable of any form of qualitative and/or constructive analysis. In fact, many viewers are generally unaware of this subliminal, cognitive assault and may instead feel a sense of community and camaraderie with their news source; that is, as they sit in their lazy boy dutifully nodding along with channel XXX’s assessment of FEAR FEAR FEAR they may relate to this experience in much the way one might relate to a live community exposition—they have chosen their source for information and they believe what they are told. We trust in what they’re reporting as accurate and thank them for it. After all, the bobblehead of the moment is our friend—a constant in an inconsistent world—and a friend would never lie to us, so we have faith in what we perceive as fact. Don’t eat it (FEAR)! Don’t buy that (FEAR)! Don’t trust them (FEAR)! Don’t travel there and for God’s sake don’t stay here—FEAR FEAR FEAR!

It’s no wonder that society is in a perpetual state of hypervigilance, as we are told that we are either going to catch it, lose it, need it and/or die from it—or that someone else is either going to discharge it, steal it, leave it or kill us for it. It only makes sense that after cramming this FEAR FEAR FEAR down our throats for so long that we are merely a mass produced and perfectly manipulated plate of pâté de foie gras for the corporation (24-news) to indulge in—and in our worried, restless, sleepless and anxiety ridden states, these corporations continue to relentlessly cram this cocktail of fear and doom down our already swollen throats—literally, through a cathode ray tube (quiet all you flat screen smugolites). And like our avian friends whose sick and swollen livers are created to satisfy the palates of the privileged and elite, our bodies have also become sick and swollen from this constant ingestion of fear and doom—our sickness has been created to benefit or feed the elite as well—mainly the pharmaceutical corporations and their investors/supporters who rely upon the psychosocial affects/effects of media.

This is the real reality.

In fact, it seems that the only reality where the viewer has a choice or shall I say, invitation into the analytical processes of television remains in the realms of the other reality; to be precise, reality television and it’s up to us to decide whether or not Sanjaya should stay another week on American Idol. In fact, I believe that this other reality—where the viewer is asked to vote and thereby feel included—was created by the corporation as a device to further distract society from the real reality by again instilling a false sense of control over something—anything—as long as we feel and perceive that we are important and being included.

They would much prefer that we perfect the fine art of dual dialing (using a cell phone and home phone to generate as many votes as possible for our favorite performer), as opposed to the fine art of getting ourselves to a certified polling station, signing in, nodding to the elderly volunteer, drawing the curtain and pulling an actual lever for a candidate whose talents and issues exceed that of wearing a mean pair of hair extensions. Honestly, what a true gift the corporation has bestowed upon us with this other reality—thank God for American Idol and her inbred cousins, for without them we might drown in our own miseries.

That is, as many people struggle to makes ends meet—working two, three or more jobs—they will still find that they must live check to check only to find themselves clawing their way around a bottomless pit of debt, wherein they cannot afford healthcare, rent, utilities, daycare or any other such trivialities like oh I dunno, food; some cannot find employment, while many others have simply lost sight of any realistic retirement. Yet, through our despair, network television has allowed us to keep the faith, for we have control over who’s going to sing the next Celine Dion cover song on American Idol which, by the way should be illegal in all 50 states. And the inebriated hosts of these programs make it more than clear—dammit, if you don’t vote, then you’re to blame for Sanjaya’s departure. They even triple team us—Simon, Randy and Paula tell us that if someone is eliminated, then it’s our fault for not voting and I hope you’re happy!

If only certain elected officials had the balls to admit to us that we’re to blame for their position, that it’s our fault that they are in office. As if to say, "You imbecile, if you dropped the remote and voted/participated in the real reality, we wouldn’t be in this powerful position in the first place, so it’s your fault. There, I hope you’re happy!" this is about the point where they would blow a big wet raspberry in our face. However, they wouldn't dare give away this secret formula of dysfunction, so we remain.

Most likely, we may take joy in judging and eliminating others on these programs because then we can then perpetuate this overbearing cycle of judgment and abuse that the corporation heaps upon us, as the abused can often become the abuser in another circumstance and how gratifying is that power I ask you?

Sure, we're merely deciding—that is, judging—the fate of an often tone-deaf 17 year-old kid, but oh how sweet the satisfaction of doing so. The subordinate sector can suddenly begin to feel somewhat liberated. You see, the corporation has the brilliant sense to throw us a bone every once in a while, as greed and a fervent preoccupation with immediate gratification can sometimes blind the corporation and thereby sabotage their own agenda. However, very rarely do they shoot themselves in the foot, as these folks have excellent life coaches to be sure. I suspect that these coaches are primarily made up of child psychologists who must break out the crayons in an effort to explain why conquering an already fragile population without reward may prove to be counterproductive in the long run.

You see, as society continues to drown in the real reality of everyday existence, 24-hour news and network television (the ugly stepsister of 24-news) have a premeditated partnership in how they inundate us with copious fear; however, not enough to send us completely over the edge—the crayon presentation works, I tell you. For, even the abused individual has a threshold for their abuser and it’s a mighty fine line that the corporation (television) has to walk and this is where network television tags out the meaty hand of 24- hour cable news and begins to allow hope. Hope to relieve our suffering, as we are permitted—in fact, welcomed—to become part of a democratic process, albeit a completely irrelevant democratic process.

As I mentioned, network television allows us to vote on frivolous topics and to further garner our trust, it incessantly asks how we’re doing, for it suspects we’re not feeling so very well and rightly so—in fact, network television has the solution.

Oh, network television, how do you know I’m not feeling so well? You’re so perceptive—I heart you network television. Please, share your remedy with me.

Around 6 pm or so, network television begins to urgently ask the viewer a myriad of important questions:

Do you feel anxious?
Do you have stomach trouble?

Seriously, how many times a day do you find the need to, you know….go?
Headaches?
Constipation?
Bloating?
Diarrhea? Dry mouth? Migraines? Blurred vision? High cholesterol? Low cholesterol?
Acid reflux? Insomnia? Arthritis? Restless leg syndrome?
Do you think you have generalized anxiety disorder? Bipolar disorder?

Do you have an unsightly scar on your face—because you know, as a society we need you to obsess over your body and perfection—ah, we mean you deserve to look perfect.

Muscle pain? Weakness? Fatigue? What about cellulite? You best get rid of that cellulite. Depressed? Depression hurts. Come on, you can tell us. Do you have an overactive bladder? Hemorrhoids?

Wait! It’s herpes; you have herpes! That’s okay, you can still lead a sexually active life (usually by the beach) with anyone you want—you can even ride bikes together! We at network television have the answer to your 24-hour prayers.

In fact, look at all of the well-lit remedies we have to offer for your various maladies.

And as the viewer, we remain oblivious to this passive-aggressive agenda, as we are again entranced by the suggestibility and consideration of network television, which has compassionately validated our suffering through a simple acknowledgement: that we are indeed suffering. Therefore, we feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for their concern, for we remain paralyzed with an inability to constructively ask why we’re sick—let’s face it, by that point we’re feeling so shitty that we’ll try anything to relieve our suffering. It’s as if we’ve been on an all night bender of toxic 24-hour news and now, violently ill and heaving, we’re resting our head upon the side of the porcelain throne and begging God for a cold washcloth or friend to hold our hair; and in our weak and vulnerable state, network television can easily become that friend. Although I am quite sure that they would much prefer that you consider them a God.

These corporations realize that this unremitting inundation of fear and hate that they, the mass media, have so lovingly bestowed upon us is going to make us sick, weak and submissive. Therefore, they send in the subliminal messages of profitable network advertisements—specifically, pharmaceutical advertisements—which have again, given us a false sense of control. They assure us that our situation is far from futile—there, there my friend, here is the answer—just ask your doctor if XYZ is right for you. However, if you don’t ask, it’s your own fault and I hope you’re happy!

In fact, one day in the middle of July 2007 between 6:45pm and 7 pm I recorded all of the advertisements during the NBC, CBS and ABC nightly news. These elevating stories included lead based paint in children’s toys (FEAR!), vague terrorist plots (FEAR!), the inaccuracy of mammography (FEAR!), an incurable and virulent strain of tuberculosis (FEAR!), as well as an addendum to the Ten Commandments by the Vatican (don't forget to pray), which reminds us not only that “thou shall not murder” (kill), but that “thou shall recite the rosary whilst in (formidable) traffic.” The latter is not so much fear as it is freaky, and clearly an indication that someone in programming needs to be fired for allowing such benign stories to slip through the fear laden cracks.

Inexplicably, I began to feel nauseous while I watched the news—I can’t explain it—just that my stomach burns into my throat, my head throbs, while my heart races and my legs…well, my legs feel all, I dunno—squirrelly. I sure wish I knew how to remedy this tummy ache of mine.

Luckily, sandwiched between this symptomatic trigger fest o fear were the following advertisements:

Preparation H (2 times), Lunesta (insomnia), Requip (RLS), Caduet (cholesterol), Gas X, Zetia (cholesterol), Advil PM (insomnia), Nexium (acid reflux), Listerine, Imodium, One-a-Day Prostate for men, Vesicare (bladder control), and Contar (diabetes)—did I mention this was only a 15-minute chunk of time? There were also two commercials for Hyundai, one for Chrysler, another for V8 (mysteriously, a preventative measure for our health and again, someone should be fired at Pusher Man Inc.) and finally—or shall I say ironically, Liquid Plumber (twice)—after all, with all that shitting, yakking, and pissing you should be using the “foaming pipe snake” to clean out the ol’ pipes of the house once in a while—you’re up pacing at night anyway, why not use this time wisely?

Overwhelmed with ailments via our neuroticism, thanks in part to our manipulative 24-hour news, we must remain isolated in our real reality from any physical interaction and/or involvement, organized protest and/or individual research, oblivious to our ignorance and analytically static in the biased rendition of their real reality. After all, we’re too overwhelmed with illness and fatigue to assert ourselves after a 12-hour workday.

Further, the corporation relies upon subliminal polarization to prevent the viewer from any proactive interaction with the news or for that matter, with each other. How can one organize when one cannot stand their neighbor? Compounding the spin (I know, at FOX the spin stops there), the viewer can only see/hear what they are shown/told and along with the power of a savvy producer and creative editor they can alter the context or "reality" of an actual event—the real reality—through a manipulative editing process. It is divisive, deliberate process and it works.

Again, akin to the abusive relationship, I would argue that as the abuser, the corporate executives isolate the abused from the truth and implement their own devices to foster a false sense of security in the depiction of the news—sure you should be afraid, but our hierarchy (government, executives etc.) has it under control—or, sure it’s a problem, but just keep working and everything will be okay. Therefore, we believe the fear, we worry about the solutions and we get sick—then, we find comfort in network advertisements and go further into debt trying to pay for those remedies. When one is sick, one should rest. Instead, one has to take on extra hours or positions to pay for the potions that maintain us as viable drones. We’re too damn busy and burnt to investigate any other alternatives.

Further, I would contend that the corporation in fact loathes the viewers they so depend upon and abuse, as they continue to exploit our devotion for their own profit and advantage. As I have argued, the corporation exploits our desire for communication and information, by feverishly shoveling frivolous news, copious fear and uncertainty down the throat of an already anxious society riddled with apprehension and diffidence. Again, a method is used to distract society from the more pressing issues of our time; issues with images so vivid that they cannot be spun or disputed—the real reality.

For example, 24-hour news fails to document or depict the caskets of the well over 4,000 servicemen and women killed in action arriving home from Iraq and Afghanistan. Although, this particular case of censorship was in fact a direct order from The White House to the press, wherein casket coverage was forbidden, while this deliberate deception is spattered red with manipulation and the trickle down effect from our President to the corporation is in all probability polluted.

So I ask. Despite that order, why doesn’t the layman organize and rebel by documenting and capturing the flag-shrouded caskets on a camera phone; by resorting to what Jesse Drew called”

“a form of technological ju-jitsu, whereby a smaller opponent uses the greater motion and weight of its opponent against itself to bring it down” (Drew, 186).

Because most of us are too sick, tired and hopeless to do so—not to mention, the drone-like whirr coming from the societal nest is deafening.

Yet, one could capture this somber reality of war on their camera phone and consequently post the footage on the Internet via MySpace, which is incidentally owned by News Corporation (NewsCorp), who ironically own FOX television and dozens of other media outlets; ultimately, these controversial images would be broadcast through the very device that the corporation has been forbidden to use in broadcasting such images. Instead, 24-hour news fixates and distracts us with the images of a big-breasted blonde who squandered her life away through the dysfunctional consumption of pharmaceutical drugs and money; eventually, dying from it. Or with the perils of a intellectually vacant heiress who is so self-absorbed and overflowing with ego that she cannot even hire a driver to chauffeur her drunken ass around Los Angeles.

The corporation knows that as a society we can identify with Anna Nicole Smith and Paris Hilton (and prefers us to), for our increasingly superfluous and materialistic society continues to raise generations of entitled young adults who, not yet burdened with the ever-present stomach ulcer, have a ferocious appetite for immediate gratification and gluttonous consumption, sans the effort.

These vices further serve as a catalyst for the continuous cycle of corporate abuse against a credulous society that depends upon this disingenuous depiction of the real reality, which the other reality successfully distracts us from.

It's classic good cop, bad cop. Society is its own worst enemy (bad cop) and network/24-hour cable television is seemingly their salvation (good cop). It's dysfunctional: the abused and the abuser, while there is no shelter for salvation.

Let me just say this: the bucktoothed mama of network television and 24-hour news didn’t raise no dummy.

jenji