Apparently there’s no product you can’t sell more of by simply using scantily clad waitresses to sell it. It’s Business 101, really.
Edited to add: Seriously, don’t they worry about burns?
I’d like to say that I’m not a Type A personality. I’d like to tell you that I put my Virgo sun sign to shame with my easygoing, even-tempered attitude. I’d like to describe myself as carefree and laid back. But, eventually, my actions would defy my denial and you’d discover the truth.
I like order. I like organization. I like category.
After several days of listening to the more than 70 songs we came up with last week, I have concluded that accomplishing our task properly requires them to be split into two lists:
List one is a place for the children. It’s a resource for the video montage, the wedding dance, the lullaby mix. List Two is all about the parent: addressing the anxiety, the guilt, the dream of momentary escape, the longing to recapture those pre-child good old days. I have added from last week’s comments, stuck to last week’s rules, divided them accordingly and republished the available tracks to iTunes as two lists. Now I NEED YOUR HELP.
Playlists need names. I could stick with: For Them and For Us, but I think you can do better … Post your suggestions in the comments, or, if you’re shy and lurking but have a great idea, drop me an e-mail: mommytracks@gmail.com. Is there a prize? C’mon …. Isn’t the glory of winning enough?
In related news, Bill at ‘So Quoted’ gave an interesting overview of the parenting songs of Loudon Wainwright III - an artist whose songs I’d not heard and had a hard time placing on this list, but who has provided extensive musical commentary on parenting.
Finally, having listened to these songs now for a week, I have been pleasantly reminded of a few songs I’d forgotten … The Dixie Chicks’ Godspeed (Sweet Dreams), Live’s Heaven and Paul Simon’s St. Judy’s Comet have been the stand outs.
Somedays I have a lot to say. Other days I just have a lot of questions. Today is one of my more inquisitive days.
1) WHEN and HOW did Jeremy Piven get so much hair? Am I the only person who remembers PCU?
2) On another almost Entourage-related note I haven’t yet seen The Departed. Does Marky Mark really have a chance at winning an Oscar? Because there’s really just no end to the potential comedic opportunities in that.
AND FINALLY
3) WHEN is Oprah Winfrey, or any other talk show host, going to assemble a group of busy working dads and a cross-section of FATHERS and talk about their guilt, their balancing issues and whether they’re making the right choices for their children? Because I think when we start acting like raising our children need not be the job of “I alone”, we might all start to feel a little better about our vastly different yet simultaneously acceptable choices. Did anyone else tune in yesterday?
Fox’s much-hyped series Prison Break resumes on Monday. We’ve been in lockdown here catching up on Seasons 1 and 2 in preparation for its return. We throw the kids (Haywire, Tweener and Linc the Sink as we’ve started to call them) in the CHU when they misbehave, refer to each other as ‘boss’ and shudder at the thought of T-Bag on the loose.
If you’ve not yet jumped on the prison bus, the premise is that beautiful little brother genius Michael Scofield breaks his big brother out of prison. And with every episode I watch, I can’t help but wonder … how far would my little sister go to save me from certain death by electrocution?
So I e-mailed her.
“Dear Sis:
If I were on death row for a murder I didn’t commit, would you: tattoo your entire upper body with the blueprints of my prison; pretend to rob a bank; marry a stripper from Budapest so she could smuggle things to you while you were in jail; take insulin suppressants and pretend to be a diabetic so you could hang out in the infirmary with the hot prison doctor who gives you insulin shots; get the shit kicked out of you by a pedophile and two of your toes cut off by a mob boss; barely dodge being gunned down by the guards after stealthily climbing through the prison ventilation system to save the hot doctor from certain rape by a gang of out of control prisoners; burn off the upper portion of your back on a hot pipe while wearing a stolen guard uniform; dig small poisonous items out of your arm skin with a razor-blade; beat yourself bloody a few times (to fake being beaten by your paranoid roommate and also to fake insanity so you can track down your paranoid ex-roommate to draw you a picture of the tattoo you burned off on the pipe); while faking insanity make an ashtray for the hot doctor; apologize to the warden while also holding him at knife point after destroying the mini Taj Mahal you built for his wife; fake (or are you) loving the hot doctor so that the hot doctor will leave the weenie little doorknob of the infirmary unlocked so that you could deal with the obviously secondary problem of removing the bars from the infirmary windows; then run several miles while handcuffed to the pedophile who, incidentally, the mob boss wants to murder?”
“Remember, by doing so you are going to be pissing off not only the actual President of the United States, but also a team of elite, invisible, well-funded killers called “the Company” who apparently actually run the country, and you will spend the next several TV seasons on the lamb wearing an ugly beige suit, running from the COs, the Company, and the pilot-dude from Armageddon … all so you could break me out of jail and keep me from going to the chair for killing some weird toothless guy who’s actually locked inside a multi-million dollar mansion in Montana?”
“Oh, and you also have to make a lot of origami doves, repeatedly revisit the greater implications of your conduct … and maintain TOTALLY flawless skin … Would you do it?”
A few minutes later I got this reply–
“Hmm. Tough call. How hot is the doctor? And how ugly is the beige suit?”
That’s my girl.
