Flummoxed.

January 27th, 2004 by

Ahh, the American dream of home ownership. About a month ago, I embarked on a search for a condominium in the city. Sure, all of my friends live in twelve bedroom eight bathroom mansions an hour’s drive away, but I can pay more than they did and get a tiny two-bedroom loft in a renovated slaughterhouse. See my logic? Actually it is a testament to just how much I hate commuting any distance. Plus, the in-town houses seem to appreciate a little faster, and I am looking for a quick turnaround.

No, I don’t need your real estate advice.

So my request for the elusive “large two bedroom with a view of the skyline, assigned covered parking, a large balcony, new appliances, low association fees, and free porn- in my price range” has been met with much laughter. I have found lots of really great places that seem to have almost everything, but no magic bullet yet. I’m looking again almost daily, and have it narrowed down to two or fifty or so. I’ll keep you posted without boring you with the details.

On another subject, here is the latest in my causes about which to become an activist- Commercial censorship. I am very glad that they use that friendly blue liquid in tampon commercials instead of actual blood to show the fantastic absorbency of the latest breakthrough in tamponery. I am even happier they use that same blue liquid for adult undergarment commercials (although I would love to make the same commercial using a gallon of apple juice with brownies floating around in it). Even in denture commercials, they spare us the heebie jeebies of having to see some old gross set of dentures in favor of little plastic discs. All of these scenarios show that some thought was given to good taste.

WHY IN THE HELL CAN’T THEY APPLY THE SAME LOGIC TO COMMERCIALS FOR HAIR REMOVAL PRODUCTS?

Probably the same reason they thought the name “Naads” would sell hair removal cream. At least they didn’t show it smeared all over a sweaty skinbag. What they and others like them do, however, is apply it to a dude’s armpit, wipe it off, and show us all of the sick pubes all over the towel. The Igea® wax system is guilty of crimes against humanity for ripping a slab of wax off of a guy’s back, and then making us all look at it. To make it worse, they make the case against razor burn by showing a close up of some chick’s scabby, busted up bikini line. It looks more like an ad for pizza hut than a waxing system. Could I possibly be the only one who thinks this is a bit gross?

You know, you could have used a nice, toned, muscular female leg when you rip off the wax stuff. Little thin sexy blonde hairs are a few notches down on the pukeometer from a cab driver’s taint. That would have been okay. You know. Just for future reference.

The fancy new hair clipper thin super pencil thing (probably made by igea as well) isn’t out of the woods, either. Just because you don’t show a welcome mat made of body hair doesn’t mean we want to see how well it shaves the little trail of lower back/buttcrack hair on some pasty guy. We also all know that people get hair in their ears and nose as they get older. If the clipper is small enough to get in there, we’ll figure it out. No need to show the hairs actually falling out of the nostril. I thank god every day that hemorrhoid treatment commercials don’t follow your advertising model.

Hmm…what else is there to talk about? I’d go off about the primaries, but I’ve already had it up to here with politics of late. If you were standing here, you could see where I am holding my hand in relation to my body and thus better judge how far I have had it up to.

That last sentence was at once beautiful and terrible. Read it again, for it was done through me, not by me.

Lately I have been inspired to start painting again. More to the point, I can’t sell remote controlled model airplanes, so maybe I should be putting my time into something a bit more profitable. Friggin’ Graphic designer/art guy/savant job isn’t going to make me rich. Even if the artwork gets popular, I won’t be rich until after I’m dead. Now I understand why artists go crazy. Because they can’t afford the American dream until they are too dead to enjoy it.

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