I’m gonna petition to rename the Planet Fitness in Orange, CT the “Anna Nicole Memorial Center.” ‘Cause every time I go there, her face is plastered over every frickin’ television set. It’s worse than being stuck on the “It’s A Small World” ride at Disney on acid.

I feel like the only person in the nation right now who doesn’t care about Anna Nicole Smith. Not that I’m ever happy when someone buys the farm before their time, but c’mon now… let’s be realistic about this gal.

We’re talking about a woman whose greatest accomplishment was, in all honesty, posing naked for Playboy. And when you look at her résumé, that was perhaps the most wholesome thing she has ever done. And I do mean ever. Where should we begin? The marriage to the nonagenarian millionaire, the horrid reality show, the questionable weight loss, the classless announcement of her pregnancy on her website, her son’s passing, the questionable nature of her babydaddy, and I’m fairly certain she was involved in that Tylenol tampering scandal back in the 80’s. Did she really contribute anything to society other than causing a lot of people a lot of pain and frustration?

Point is, point is, why is mass media making such a huge deal about her passing? I understand the basic answer: it’s news. She was known (inexplicably despite a complete lack of talent), now she’s gone. OK, fair enough. Cover her passing.

But for serious people, I don’t think Saddam Hussein’s execution got this much coverage. Not to say he deserved to be posthumously revered, but considering how his capture was such a visible government initiative, don’tcha think there would’ve been more news about it?

Mother Theresa, Ronald Reagan, Gerald Ford, all of them are taking a backseat to Anna Nicole and her ginormous yahoos.

What’s that you say? They weren’t celebrity-status figures? Oh, now it makes perfect sense.

So long as there’s a breath in my body, I will never understand the public’s need to gush over low-talent, low-rent celebrities. I feel like most of America spends an unhealthy amount of time reading about other people’s lives instead of focusing on their own. How is it that we value ourselves so little that we feel the need to live vicariously through a bunch of pencil-thin, unrefined, overly tan divas will forever be a Rubix Cube to me. I can’t get the damn colors to line up in my head and probably never will.

What gets me the most about this phenomenon (I call it the Hilton Factor, because it seems that Paris Hilton’s presence on this planet has only accelerated this morbid fascination) is that it’s not restricted to entertainment publications or websites. It’s everywhere, people. Hell, I’ve practically just stated that I don’t understand the Hilton Factor, nor do I follow it. I don’t have a subscription to People or Us Weekly, and my impulse buys at the Stop & Shop checkout lane are limited to M&M’s and Chapstick.

So why was I able to list every single one of Anna Nicole’s atrocities? Because much like her cleavage, you can’t miss them. Even big time news networks like CNN and Fox News have reported heavily on every one of her moral misdeeds, and now said networks spending an inordinate amount of time covering this “tragedy.”

I use the quotes because, let’s face it, did anyone out there really think that this woman would make it past 40? Living hard like she apparently did on such a regular basis is bound to catch up with you, so even if drugs or alcohol wasn’t the immediate cause of her demise, it’s a fairly safe bet that they were connected in some fashion.

I think what gets me most about this is the fact that Anna Nicole Smith didn’t contribute a damn thing to anybody. Think about it… did she really enrich anyone’s lives? I don’t mean to get on my moral high horse here, but c’mon, people. Did this woman leave a lasting impression short of catering to young men’s masturbatory fantasies in the early 90’s and then giving them all STD’s some ten years later? She didn’t do much of anything. This seems to be a qualification of the Hilton Factor… you don’t really have to do much of anything. You just have to be out in public. A lot. In front of droves of cameras. Wearing next to nothing. Probably inebriated.

When you look at it that way, the only thing that’s missing for concubines are the cameras.

But I can understand honoring certain celebrities for their achievements upon their untimely passing. Christopher Reeve? He strove for stem cell research. Steve Irwin? He educated our youth and engaged them. John Belushi? He simply made us smile.

Anna Nicole? My slate’s as blank as her Oscar Nomination tally.
And what has she left behind? A baby girl, two to four possible fathers, a whole boatload of cash she didn’t earn and a black eye to news media that’ll take a long time to stop swelling.

Yeah, I know. I must sound callous writing all this, but I just gotta call a spade a spade. Untimely or not, I just don’t see the reason to plaster this gal’s face on the TV screen any more than it already has been.

Frankly, I was more torn up about the fact that they used multiple dogs for the role of Lassie. Way to screw up childhood mainstays, Hollywood.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

Five years later and I’m still sitting at the keyboard, ruminating, observing, analyzing and prophesizing as the Landshark swims on.

Believe it or not, I wish I didn’t have to. See, I’ve come to the conclusion that if I still have stuff to vent about on this blog, then there are still things that are seriously wrong with this world and the bodies that inhabit its crust.

What’s even more worrisome is the fact that I’m actually recycling a complaint I filed nearly ten years ago. Way back in the Skidmo’ days, I had a “protoblog” for lack of a better term known simply as “The Soapbox.” One of my earliest entries was in regards to an age-old tradition that I felt was woefully outdated.

New Year’s resolutions.

Maybe I’ve gotten too Zen in my old age, but it’s nice to know I have managed to retain some of my opinions from the good ol’ piss and vinegar days of my late teens and early twenties. Now that I’m approaching the dreaded demographic of late twenties, it’s important to know that the fire of my younger, more naïve days hasn’t burnt out just yet as I slowly descend into the grim chasm of adulthood.

Then again, I think some adolescence in my 30’s could spice this ‘berg up quite a bit.

I mused back in the Soapbox days about how pointless New Year’s resolutions are. I don’t think I have ever been able to grasp why it is important to start a year by making adjustments to yourself. I think I’ve always subscribed to the school of thought that if something needs changing, there’s no time like the present. I mean, I think I can appreciate the sentiment of starting the year off on the right foot, but that shouldn’t mean holding off on setting the ball in motion until the ball actually drops.

If nothing else, I think it’s best to make it a point to improve oneself prior to the beginning of a new day. That way, once you sleep off the hangover, you can hit the ground running without a care in the world.

The reason I bring this topic up is because, quite frankly, I heard one too many people offering up resolutions this year prior to doce-dash-treinte y uno. No more cigarettes, joining the gym, resisting the urge to jerk off in the peanut butter because it’s crunchy and not creamy, the usual. I just don’t understand why we as humans feel the need to put timelines on things when it comes to self improvement.

And let me clarify… I think it’s a good thing to set goals for oneself as a means of personal development, and sometimes deadlines are not a bad thing. If you’re going to have a lung removed, it’s probably a good idea to put down the Pall Malls. But we have this incessant need to put things off until X-Date to begin the changes we yearn for so deeply.

I don’t think this is necessarily a sign that we don’t want to change and grow. Far from it. Those are innate human characteristics that we just cannot escape. Rather, I think we are scared of the steps that are necessary to initiate that change. We want to evolve, we’re just afraid to do the gruntwork. And all honesty, I’m as guilty as anyone in some circumstances. I honestly can’t recall ever setting a New Year’s resolution, but I can remember thinking about how I was going to change up my diet on multiple occasions… just so long as I could finish the pepperoni calzone in front of me first.

Hey, change takes work. It never comes overnight, nor with ease. That’s part of growth, right? That’s part of the reason we have a term like “growing pains.” It hurts like hell, people. Get some protective headgear.

So, to me, I think New Year’s resolutions are a huge copout. Maybe they’re not necessarily acts of cowardice, as I feel that cowardice must be a conscientious decision on the part of the offender. Nor do I necessarily feel that they are signs of weakness. I just don’t think we necessarily know any better.

I truly believe if we were willing to take more initiative with ourselves, we’d be less inclined to fault and confusion.

Oscar Wilde once wrote, “Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow.” However, I much prefer Yamamoto Tsunetomo’s concept of seven breaths in Hagakure: “In the words of the ancients, one should make his decisions within the space of seven breaths. Lord Takanobu said, If discrimination is long, it will spoil.’ Lord Naoshige said, ‘When matters are done leisurely, seven out of ten will turn out badly. A warrior is a person who does things quickly.’ When your mind is going hither and thither, discrimination will never be brought to a conclusion. With an intense, fresh and undelaying spirit, one will make his judgments within the space of seven breaths. It is a matter of being determined and having the spirit to break right through to the other side.”

I don’t know why I like that so much, but I don’t have time to explain right now. I’m on my seventh breath and have decided to bring this transcendental piece to a close.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant New Year.

Every once in a while, a catchphrase comes along that induces mania and nausea in equal doses. Normally it is conveyed through some movie, show, commercial or song. Past examples include the gut-wrenching “drop it like it’s hot,” the ever-irritating “Yeah, baby” from the Austin Powers film series, and the classic “Axis of Evil.”

Oh, wait, that last one never caught on, did it? Sorry.

While novel at first, these little sayings get old faster than day-old milk. As a bachelor living on his own, you learn these things quickly. Point is, there’s a phrase going around right now that makes me want to take the perpetrator and play a game of tag using soldering irons. That phrase, you ask?

“I’m bringing sexy back.”

This has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. First off, no one is bringing sexy back, alright? Sexy was never missing to begin with, so it doesn’t need to be brought back. It’s asinine in its concept and needs to be scrapped entirely.

And for the record, if sexy was somehow suddenly missing, I’m willing to bet that Jessica Alba would be the one to bring it back. At least before she hits the wall.

Furthermore, my greater, much more substantial gripe is the fact that anyone who says this was never sexy for a day in his/her life. Take a look out there… with the exception of Timberlake, is anyone saying this even remotely sexy? When someone with a cocked eye and a harelip tells me they’re bringing sexy back, I feel like telling them I’m bringing polka back, because I think that I’m a much more likely scenario than their claim. It’s like the pic of the 300 pound kid wearing the shirt that says “I FUCK ON THE FIRST DATE.” It’s a whopping fat oxymoron sitting right there in your face, larger than life and twice as ugly.

More than anything you just wanna slap the person in the face and tell them that they can’t bring back what was never theirs in the first place.

Sexy’s not goin’ anywhere, people. If you wanna bring something back, stick to 8-tracks, Pop Rocks and the Gremlin. There’s a reason those items are not around anymore… they were all useless in their conception. Sexy is far from useless and far from gone. There will always be beautiful, alluring, completely unattainable people in the public eye for men and women alike to drool over. So please, next time you decide to quote a song lyric, pick something from “The Humpty Dance,” will ya? I’d rather hear about your exploits in a Burger King bathroom than your arrogant proclamation of a skewed self-image.

So drop this phrase like it’s hot, get jiggy with it and talk to the hand before you get served, alrighty then? Word to your mother.

Goodnight and have a pleasant tomorrow.

OK, I’ve worked in marketing for nearly two years, and have studied it closely for the last six and counting. Overall, I generally like the field that I’ve chosen for myself. I’ve always had a keen interest on an idea becoming a reality. It’s the same reason I enjoy writing as much as I do; I get to see my thoughts and beliefs put down on paper, transposed from intangible to realization. It’s dang cool if I don’t mind saying.

However, I have been aware for a long time about the ethical matters surrounding my area of expertise. I don’t think you can every deny the fact that business, regardless of it’s area of specificity, orbits around profit. I grasp that and accept it. Right now, I’m fortunate enough to have landed a position with a responsible, morally fit company that I can say I’m proud to work for. That’s saying something as we approach 2K7.

And in keeping up with market trends, it’s hard to bite your tongue when you see something like this…

Now, unless I missed my guess, this highly caffeinated, highly absurd energy drink is named after a pretty destructive narcotic most often consumed by high rollers and rock stars. I actually remember the first time I heard about it… I was leaving the gym just a couple weeks ago and bumped into my cousin. He was talking to the kid at the desk, and he said they were chatting about a new energy drink on the market. When he told me the name, I thought he was joking. When I heard about it again a week later, my jaw almost dropped. I’d like to say that after 25 years on this pebble, the overwhelming ignorance of the general public can’t surprise me anymore. I’d like to say that.

Normally I’d ask myself, “What are these people thinking?” But in this case, I already know what they’re thinking: image equals dollars. There’s no question that tapping into a deviant lifestyle can yield ginormous profit margins. One need look no further than a Spencer’s Gifts to verify that. The boatload of sleaze contained in those little mall-stops is enough to fill up two arcs.

And yeah, those shops can be good for a briefly sustained, heavily innuendo-laden chuckle. That’s OK, they make no bones about it. That’s why you’ll see those funky looking leaves everywhere to realize this.

So maybe, just maybe, this new drink belongs in that sort of outlet and not the average corner store.

Obviously when you release a product of any sort, especially a food or beverage item, you want it to be largely accessible to people everywhere. That’s a given, and convenience stores seem like a natural fit (especially for energy drinks). However, there comes a certain line of responsibility with any product, regardless of the medium. It’s the reason that Playboy magazines are poly-bagged. Same reason the GTA games have an M rating.

(An aside… I’ll hearken back to my early LSS days where my first full-length post was about current trends in the video game market. I have to say that the watering down of San Andreas due to the “hot coffee” module is absurd. Look, any way you cut it, these games are rated M for a reason. It says pretty clearly on the package 17+. Any 17-year-old can get into an R-rated flick and see more vivid sex scenes than what was portrayed in the glitch. Besides that, the overwhelming amount of violence in the game is as good a lightning rod as any for the right-wing pundits to assault, yet they chose scenes depicting carnality between humans. This is really, really stupid. It reminds me of when South Park: BLU and Team America were forced to downplay language and similar scenes in lieu of ridiculously depicted blood and guts. These conservative shamans should seriously get their shit together and prioritize their asinine gripes. Maybe then they’d step out of the negative light that the Bush Administration has cast upon them all. We now return you to your regularly scheduled post…)

So this company has now, for all intents and purposes, crossed that line of responsibility into the realm of “just don’t give a fuck anymore. We want money, now.” It’s one thing to be suggestive with your product or promotion. Big Johnson is a great example. It’s clear what they were implying even though they weren’t outright saying it.

(Another aside… I remember a kid in my high school who wore a Big Johnson shirt weekly and switched it up with a Co-ed Naked shirt on a regular basis. Nobody said boo to him. When did we get so bloody uptight in this country?)

Cocaine, however, is just plain overt in its self-designation. No one’s even trying to make any apologies. I understand the cognition behind it – drink this and it’ll feel like you’re on a massive energy high, and you’ll be able to stay up later, party longer, work out harder. OK, I get it. Does this mean I have to inhale this carbonated cocktail nasally?

Promoting a lifestyle is one thing, promoting a narcotic is something altogether different and frickin’ dangerous at that. Anyone in business really should know where to draw the lines of responsibility, and those that fail to do so typically fail miserably.

This is the thing about controversy that you will find in any and all cases: controversy for the sake of thought is a good thing. If it gets people to unwrap their heads around the mundane nature of daily life and try to come up with a different line of thinking, then there’s no problem with it. Controversy for the sake of controversy is not a good thing. It’s cheap heat any way you slice it, and when you go for the easy way out, it has short-term effects often forgotten after a very brief period.

Why do you think Anna Nicole Smith keeps doing all these crazy, nonsensical things? It’s the only way she can keep in the public eye as she really has no redeeming value as a person.
Similarly, it’s dangerous for any outlet to carry such a touchy product on their shelves as they themselves face the consequences as much as the creator and owner of the intellectual property. Kudos to 7-Eleven for putting the kibosh on this sucker early and not even taking the risk. Risk has to be calculated, folks, never blind. Plain and simple.

But then again, this is sleaze marketing at its finest. You think these guys don’t already have Plan B lined up? I guarantee that “Cocaine” was never intended to be their primary name. They probably have some other generic, less flashy name floating around in their demented little think tank that they’ll unleash like a Red Bull in a China shop after the heat really pours on thick. Which it no doubt will. They’ve made a name for themselves, and sure enough people will be gassing up at their local Mobil on the Run, perusing the aisles to attain a lottery ticket and some impulse buys, and they’ll come across The-Energy-Drink-Formerly-Kno—nah, on second thought, I’m not gonna resort to the old “Prince” nomenclature hitch. Too cliché. I much prefer a pseudonym. How about CardioSplode? ‘Cause if this thing touts itself as sporting 350 percent more caffeine than Red Bull, someone’s heart is bound to detonate upon consumption.

(Yet another aside, more relevant than the previous two, though… I heard tell that the real reason legislators were up in arms about this drink was not because of the name or the lifestyle it promotes, but because of the insane caffeine content and possible risks in drinking it. While I have no argument that this is a concern, I hope it did not overshadow the obvious.)

So, someone sees a can of CardioSplode and thinks, “Oh yeah… that’s the controversial drink that had to change its name. Hmm, wonder what it’s like?” Impulse buy turns into curiosity buy. If these wizards can generate enough curiosity buys to give them a chunky piece of the pie, I’m sure the thinking is that they will have a solid boost in a rapidly growing, increasingly crowded segment. The second part is key simply because competition is incredibly fierce right now, and it’s getting harder and harder for these drinks to differentiate from one another. What better way to differentiate than with a catchy, taboo new name?

So yeah. This is the kinda stuff that does make me ashamed to say I’m in marketing sometimes. It’s hard to say whether or not it’s the norm with all companies and their products, but I think few would result to such underhanded methods. Although to be fair, we have come a long way. Remember subliminal messages in various mediums? Those went the way of the dinosaur eons ago. And in an ironic twist, it’s interesting to note that Coca-Cola used to actually contain cocaine in its earliest incarnations. Now just promoting the word alone is subject to crucifixion, never mind the actual content. Nice to know that some progress has been made. Now if only I could clue in everyone else…

Goodnight and have a pleasant tomorrow.

Been a while. It's also been a good summer. Did you think I was bound to stay indoors writing the entire time?

Dolt. On to new business…

There's a term I use amongst a select group of friends to describe individuals who are unruly, uncouth, and unnecessary, especially in the context of the professional realm. That term is "toolkit." Now a "tool," in the vernacular, is, according to Wikipedia, "someone who is being used by an establishment willingly (as a sycophant) or unwillingly (as one who blindly conforms)."

A toolkit is a tool to the 10th power. These are the type of people that upon meeting, I instantly
wish that their mother had received some sort of debilitating kidney punch that rearranged their interior anatomy during the course of pregnancy. Of course, that might be a moot point if such an assault were the cause of their offspring's behavior. Recently I encountered a prime toolkit at my office in the form of an ostentatious twerp affectionately known as "Punch the Intern." He was deemed such by some of my co-workers, because they always stated that they wanted to "punch the intern." Eventually it just sorta segued into a full-blown clandestine alias that is fitting in both aesthetic and physical manifestation.

Whether or not this kid was a sycophant or blind conformist has yet to be determined. But he did make me "syc" to my stomach, he was blind to the fact that everyone around him hated his guts, and I found him easily molded into an obedient little lapdog. In short, whatever his major malfunction, I (and everyone else) found him more obnoxious than an Amway rep on cocaine.
Now Punch, as I mentioned, was not a full-time employee. He was an intern on borrowed time (thank God), here for the better part of the summer before going back to school.

Of course, being that this is my company we're talking about here, we're talking about another "brilliant" Ivy Leaguer. Only in this case, instead of being the average wet-behind-the-ears-greenhorn-grad, this "brilliant" Ivy Leaguer was a below average wet-behind-the-ears-greenhorn-undergrad.

This does not translate to a good experience. No sir. See, at that stage, you feel ready to take on the world, full of p!ss and vinegar, unfazed by the world outside your collegiate bubble. And, since Punch was still actively attending, he was still perhaps a little overconfident in his supposed abilities.

Now, if you take that last sentence and replace the word "overconfident" with "cocky," I think that'd be a more accurate assessment. That being said, it is entirely possible that Punch is just naturally conceited; it may have nothing to do with his overpriced/overrated education. That's hard to determine without really spending a great deal of time with him, something that I didn't feel up to doing. Whatever the impetus behind his Dom Deluise-sized ego, the fact remains that he was a Grade-A toolkit, possibly the biggest I've encountered to date.

I'll spare his university the embarrassment of acknowledging it by name, because I would be downright ashamed to have such a monstrous a$$hat attending my hallowed halls. So I'll christen it with the pseudonym "Asshat U." As it turns out we have two other full-time employees, both recent grads of Asshat U.

This is important… please remember this.

In any event, Punch started and immediately proved himself to be outright irritating. I'm not sure if it was the six inches of hair that was gelled upward into an absurd top fade, the ridiculous colored shirts he wore that screamed "I am either metrosexual or I just enjoy clubbing so much that I have to wear the same effete color combination every day of my life," or the fact that he always wore a tie.

Let me clarify something… I have worn a tie twice since I interviewed here. Once on my first day, and once again when I had a meeting afterwards for another organization. If you want to put a silk noose around your neck, turn the reins over to me and I'll gladly find some silk rope for ya. This offer is only extended to Punch, as he deserved some good mangling.
Anyway, fashion (non)sense notwithstanding, Punch also proved himself to be the illegitimate hybrid of a concubine and an encyclopedia.

A fucking know-it-all.

This was complemented, naturally, by the fact that he really didn't know what he was doing. I'll give him this much, he showed zeal and passion for the job (which really led me to question his sanity), but that enthusiasm gave way to a cocktail of carelessness and cockiness. He impressed his superior by virtue of his dedication, but in turn rubbed all of his co-workers the wrong way by being pushy and abrasive.

Case in point: one of my co-workers was on the phone with a vendor when he stormed into her office and began asking her questions while she was still talking. Screw business etiquette, that's common sense. Just wait until their done and come back in a few minutes, right? Apparently the laws of rationality don't apply to interns with spiky hair.

There was also the silver incident in which a vendor sent coins to us that were priced higher than what was initially paid for on the order. He raised a huge stink about this and actually read the fine print on the back of the order itself over the phone (quite loudly, no less). Normally I'd see no issue in quarrelling with such price shifts. However, anyone who follows the precious metals market must know that the cost of silver has fluctuated wildly over the last year and will probably continue to do so. We have never had a problem signing off on invoices when it comes to coin prices; it's an unstable market at best. But rather than query one of us about it, he jumped the gun, chewed out the vendor and then blabbed to his manager like a good little stoolie. I wanted to put his face through a wall, because when someone sets a precedent, everyone has to follow. Now all price discrepancies must be documented in writing (not that anyone has adhered to this).

Then, the ultimate atrocity… Punch wound up training his own replacement. Green as he was, barely 21 years old and not even here for three consecutive months, he was still entrusted to educate his successor. Go figure that one out, kids, 'cause I'm still lost. In any event, as I mentioned a few paragraphs ago, Punch didn't know anything about the job when it came to brass tacks. So how do you think his replacement felt when she found out a week later that everything she learned was a fallacy? I remember commiserating with a co-worker of mine about how we should have intervened and told her well in advance not to listen to him.

But that's not even the crown jewel on this legacy of idiocy. See, it just so happens that Punch and his replacement share the same surname. Now in order to protect the innocence of his ill-fated understudy, I must go against all standards I have set at LSS and give Punch a second alias. To further complicate matters, I've chosen to use his pseudo alma mater as his namesake, and therefore designate him as Johnny Asshat. His unlucky (yet fortunately unrelated) replacement will go by the name of Janie Asshat. I feel bad calling her that since she is anything but an asshat, but for the sake of posterity, we must maintain consistency here.

So this is the capper, the granddaddy of 'em all, the coup de grace in this rapidly growing legacy of absurdity… Before leaving, he stuck his nameplate next to hers outside her cubicle. This led to Sempai Mike and I referring to them as the "Wonder Twins," and frequently quoting SuperFriends. To Janie's credit, this failed attempt at a joke lasted all of one week as she pulled his plate down herself. Bravo, Janie. Buck the system and your mock etymology.

The last item on that hitlist is really what convinced me that he is a prime example of your average toolkit. Aside from being equal parts arrogant and ignorant, he also assumes the role of "that guy" by coming up with lame jokes that only he finds amusing. Even Janie didn't crack a smile at his gag.

Then again, I don't think many people cracked a smile at him during his entire tenure. I think everyone agreed that they'd much rather crack his ribs first. Preferably with a wrench, just to offer some ironic accentuation to the whole "toolkit" title.

"Poetic justice is a wrench to the ribs." Sounds Zen, yet prolific. I like it.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.