The makers of the blanket for people who don't know how to use a regular blanket are coming out with a canine version. I present to thee, the Snuggie for Dogs:
Holy shit! I can't stop watching. The dog at 1:04 is the fiercest bitch I've ever seen. Look at that pose...she's smiling with her eyes! It would be a travesty if Anna Wintour didn't put her on the cover of Vogue. If the Snuggie dogs were to ever do an infomercial with the Slap Chop guy, I think my head would explode from the awesomeness.
When I'm weary, feeling small, these 3 minute (or less) bursts of Velveeta sunshine renew my faith that there is an art to advertising. I dare anyone to watch the following commercial and not be utterly mesmerized by the Buscemi-esque delivery of some truly epic, memorable copy:
However, for every Guernica, there is this or *shudder* this.
While waiting patiently in line to purchase toilet paper at Shoppers Drug Mart earlier this week, I was met with a revelation. A 30-something woman of average appearance (and questionable intelligence) enthusiastically informed the cashier that the items she was purchasing were in anticipation of an exciting evening spent watching her favorite show: "The Bachelorette". Upon her admission, I felt the warm vomit of my mac-n-cheese lunch arising through my throat, but managed to refrain from outwardly showing my disgust and second-hand embarrassment. I had always wondered what type of person watched that godawful program and was shocked to the core when I couldn't see any lobotomy scars. Instead I eyed her purchases. They included a large bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and a gallon of chocolate milk...the very same things I binge on while playing Mario Kart till 2:00am. How could I hate? Her love of feta was my love of gouda. Another time, another place, we might be kindred BFFs. This knowledge both nourished and destroyed me.
I'm not a huge movie fanatic, but holy shit do the films being released soon look terrible. "Funny People" appears to be anything but; the commercial is cringe-worthy. But maybe I'm not giving it a chance based on the fact that I think Adam Sandler sucks. Then there's "Julie & Julia". When the Julie character asks her boyfriend if she's CRAZY for wanting to write a blog based on a cookbook by Julia Child, he emphatically answers "yes". I'm somewhat led to believe that this couple feels making love with the lights on is downright insane and the only ingredient in this film is vanilla. Lastly, "G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra". I thought this was supposed to be based on the children's toy and not based on a movie based on ANOTHER children's toy (i.e. Transformers)? I'll resume watching the paint dry, thanks.
I am a complete pop culture junkie and I have made the ultimate score.Rolling Stone: Cover To Cover was in the Chapters.Indigo.ca Bargain Bin. I nabbed it for a song. I'm not really sure where to begin (there's 40 years of bi-weekly issues to read through), but I plan on posting some of the more interesting things on this blog (specifically vintage advertisements and photos of Insane Clown Posse fans, which always bring the LOLs).
Manitoba winters can be a hard pill to swallow, but our summers more than make up for it. Blue skies. Fields of gold. Barbeque. Bikini. Martini. Linguine.After my beloved steel chariot was rearended by a minivan-driving soccer mom yapping on her cell phone earlier in the week, I decided to get as far away from suburban hell as possible this weekend, hitting a hidden oasis just west of the city: Beaudry Provincial Park. Ever heard of it? Despite living here for for the duration of my feeble existence, I hadn't...until I read about it in a handy little free guide called "Great Manitoba Getaways".
Located about 10 minutes west of Winnipeg on PR241 (Roblin), the park is a secluded paradise of curious critters (deer, garter snakes...possible escapees from Headingley Prison located across the river) and lush foliage. It's complete desertion reminded me of another beautiful park that often seems to be overlooked (LaBarriere); however, the actual ecosystem of the river-bottom forest reminded me of another place entirely - Stanley Park. Seriously, walking beneath the shady canopy amongst thick dew-tipped giant ferns brought me right back to being in my favorite city in the world, Vancouver. I've been thinking a lot about it lately...perhaps this wee slice of local heaven will tide me over for the time being.
Google "Air Canada sucks" and you get 352,000 results. Google "Air Canada is asstastic" and you get two (hopefully three after I hit 'publish'). It is my ploy for this post to not get buried in cyberspace, thus begins my rant on the most arrogant company I have ever had the displeasure of doing business with.
I've always wanted to travel to Japan but the cost has been prohibitive. One day last spring while deciding upon my next destination, I curiously checked the air fare to Narita and was surprised; it was at the lowest price I'd ever seen, so I decided to take advantage of it and book immediately. I would have been content to sit and wait for my departure date to arrive, but Air Canada's ill-conceived marketing strategy of informing people who've already booked their vacations that fares are now cheaper has left me livid.
I completely understand that air fares fluctuate - it's rare for two individuals sitting next to each other on a plane to have paid the same amount - but last week I received an e-mail detailing the new rate for Narita (same date/flight #) at a price significantly lower than what I had paid. And this morning I received another e-mail in which the fare decreased further ($500 less than the amount I had paid in the Spring). I never knowingly or willfully signed up for these notifications. Since Air Canada doesn't plan on reimbursing me the difference or upgrading me in some fashion, I can't comprehend why I'm receiving them. Offended by this proverbial slap in the face, I wrote to the beleaguered airline to complain about this practice. They wrote:
"Sometimes when passengers see these types of specials they are able to consider inviting friends and family along with them."
So basically, Air Canada is so desperate for money that they will risk pissing off current clientele just to make a quick buck. Nice. Compare that to Westjet's model of service: they will refund/give credit to travelers who've experienced a price difference (thus ensuring repeat business). Not to mention, I will never forget how I was treated by them last year after being stranded at YVR. But most importantly, they do not bite the hand that feeds them by foolishly taunting paying customers.
This evening I went to MTS Centre to watch 'Walking With Dinosaurs'. It. Was. Awesome. Hosted by some dude dressed like a paleontologist, the show is based upon a BBC series of the same name that was released at least a decade ago (I have a DVD of it laying around somewhere). While there is an educational component to the "arena spectacular", the reason most people attend is to be entranced by the life-size animatronic dino recreations. They did not disappoint. For the show's two hour duration, it felt like Jurassic Park had come to life in downtown Winnipeg and for once the oldest creature in our midst wasn't Harvey Smith.
From pea-brained Stegosaurus to the absolutely ginormous Brachiosaur to the cunning clique of Utahraptors, the event included a wide variety of Triassic, Jurassic and Cretaceous beasts. Tyrannosaurus Rex was, of course, the rock star of the evening and closed the show. As it let out a final menacing roar directed at the audience, I heard more than a few young children in attendance cry in terror. Who could blame them? The species had to be pretty badass to still be considered the most fearful carnivore of all time, millions of years after extinction. I doubt the lion or Mickey Rourke will share that fate.
All in all, I give Walking With Dinosaurs 5 out of 5. If you don't have plans this weekend, I highly, HIGHLY recommend checking it out (the engagement at MTS Centre ends Sunday, July 19); tickets start at only $22.50. For more information, click here.
Telemarketing. Spam. Is there anything more annoying?Well, possibly (most children, self-righteous bloggers, etc., etc.)...but for this post I would like to exclusively rant about vexatious marketing tactics.
First up, the dreaded telemarketer. I signed up for Canada's Do-Not-Call list the moment it became possible, applauding the government's efforts to ensure that my dinner/nap time went by uninterrupted. While I still receive the odd-call here and there, I have noticed a difference (however slight). Today, however, brought me to my wit's end. I received a call on behalf of a charity. I am not a coldhearted person (my heart is slate, not black), but I was not interested and politely requested my name be taken off their list. The telemarketer told me they wouldn't do that. I asked again and was once again shot down. I reminded this psychohosebeast telemarketer of my rights as a phone owner (or something) and requested to speak to upper management. At this point, the line disconnected. In my efforts to trace the origin of this particular call, I learned that I could take legal action against the offending company...but blasting Megadeath into the receiver at volume 11 the next time they call would probably be more fulfilling.
My secret shame is that I once worked for a telemarketing firm. My excuse (né apology) is that I was 18 - young, dumb and full of rum - without the post-secondary education that would lead to my higher calling of, er, a more respectable form of advertising. I witnessed firsthand how devolved and deceitful the world of phone solicitation can be. I lasted less than three months in that soul-sucking atmosphere but was scarred for life.
Now onto spam. The number of supposedly reputable companies that have been spamming me over the past while has increased ten-fold. Rexall/Pharmaplus, a pharmaceutical chain I haven't even entered in about a decade, sends me weekly newsletters. Apple added me to their espanol mailing list without consent. I purchased a couple Minnesota Twins tickets two years ago, and Ticketmaster has taken it upon themselves to sell my address to every sport team in the state. The annoying thing is, no matter how many times I unsubscribe, my inbox remains burdened by their waste. Jeez, even the President of Ghana/Zambia/Djibouti isn't this persistent in his efforts to locate a trustworthy foreigner to transfer his wealth.
A few years ago, I designed a family history book for a client. It was a greatly intriguing project that piqued my curiosity to learn more about my own deep ancestral background. I'm only too well-aware of the eccentricities that lie within the living generations of my family (I shan't mention uncle Amos and his unhealthy fixation on Lego people), but what of the past? The rose-tinted hue of legend? Were we kings? Slaves? Or meekly middle class, just as today? My initial exploration has been rather surprising.
As part of my research, I took a DNA test administered by the National Geographic Genographic Project. For roughly $100.00 U.S., you can trace your lineage back thousands of years. My paternal side has always been well-documented. My Englishness has never been questionable: I bleed Earl Grey, can queue like a motherf**ker, and always remain stoic in the face of adversity or malodorous flatulence. The results from the DNA test simply reiterated this. While the "Clague" surname is rarely referenced in historical tomes, you can thank us for indirectly inspiring one of the greatest musicians to ever walk the earth...in 1958, an Eric Clague's vehicular ineptitude resulted in the untimely death of the mother of John Lennon.
My maternal side has always been mysterious; my great-grandparents are French Canadian, but beyond their settlement in Québec decades ago, not much is known in regards to historical migratory patterns. The DNA test concluded that my genes are distinctly (*drumroll*)...middle eastern! Bring on the fried kibbeh!!! This would be the first I heard of it, but upon comparing my olive-y skin tone and my mother's propensity for wearing black eyeliner, I can see where genetics come into play. If one of my distant relatives influenced the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, then you can thank me directly for the phenomenon known simply as "The Beatles".
It's become cliché to say at this point but a part of me died yesterday.Over the past 24 hours, I've been reflecting on how important music is in my life. How it provides inspiration. How it provides education. It's amazing how songs have the power to change one's perspective or mood - how often has a stroke of lyrical genius revolutionized a generation? Or, on a more personal level, how often has loneliness crept into our hearts, only to be banished by a distant voice coming out of the radio offering reassurance (or perhaps reason)? How often are our greatest memories defined by the soundtrack of our times?
As I mentioned previously, some of my earliest memories involve Michael Jackson. He was the first entertainer I appreciated without bias from peers. His music moved me...literally. I can vividly recall my 3-year-old self dancing around the living room to the truly epic "Thriller" LP. Even though I had two left feet, I desperately attempted to mimic every move from the "Beat It" video. I never did master its choreography, but I can muster a passable moonwalk. Maybe. Its success is dependent on wind direction, time of day and whether or not I ate an egg for breakfast.
As his curious personal life became increasingly scandalous (overshadowing any musical output), Michael's influence on my CD collection waned. His sister Janet became the person I fashioned myself after. Regardless, I remember the buzz my classmates and I had after the 1993 Oprah interview. We finally were granted a glimpse inside well-fabled Neverland - The rides! The games!! The llamas!!! It was glorious and it was all we could talk about for a month. Juxtaposed to his 2003 interview with Martin Bashir, the decline of health and wealth is absolutely heartbreaking.
I took my dog for a walk today and Michael's music blared from nearly every vehicle driving past. Then I came home and watched as thousands of people gathered at makeshift memorials while singing and dancing to those same tunes. It's made me realize that music is not simply an extension of language, but rather something entirely separate from it. It is biologically tied to a primal need for community. And within these songs, these silly little pop songs, a lot of us found that. I did. The unity with which I observe people celebrating Michael's life proves that pop culture is not low-brow. What other form of artistry can unite people on such a mass scale, regardless of colour, culture or creed? Music is the thread that makes people come together.
This is my kindergarten school photo. Yes, I am wearing a "Thriller" dress. I also owned, at the time, one sequined glove and a miniature red leather jacket. I'm not even making this up...I was hardcore. Michael Jackson was my childhood. Watching current news reports, I must say, regardless of the circus his life has become, I would be saddened if anything happened to him.
Finally - After months of hard work (or perhaps a bit too much slacking), my new website is LIVE! Feel free to explore: the blog will remain and galleries will be updated periodically with new work. Of course, this post wouldn't be complete without a shameless plug, so if you are in need of help with any design projects, drop me a line at "artist @ debclague.com" (no spaces).
