Wednesday, October 20, 2010

I MUST have that recipe. No really. I MUST.

Another poor night's sleep, another major revelation. I think there is a connection but I'm not sure. Maybe I'll eat spicy food tonight and find out.

It seems to me that a major component to marketing is the reassurance of the common consumer that he is not crazy. It is as if someone sat with the draft copy of the DSM V (due out May 2013) and went through each condition, tying its symptoms to a product. The point is to reassure the consumere that when he has his delusions, he is not insane but actually just interested in spending his money. You think you hear your cereal talking to you? Good, buy some Rice Krispies. Do little people invade your house at night and bake? fine, buy some Keebler products. Are you being stalked by your own mop? Buy a Swiffer. My beer bottles have been coming to life and playing football. OK. Who's winning? Bud or Bud Light? Is your dog running around for no apparent reason? Don't worry...he sees the Chuck Wagon. he isn't crazy either. So when he tells you to burn it all down, better listen.

Even for objects like a car...doc, I have this urge to veer into oncoming traffic and crash head on into another car. Well then, perfectly normal. Just buy a Honda with new airbags. I can't stop chewing gum! No problem, just follow what 4 out of 5 dentists would recommend in that case and chew more of a certain brand. All of our body image obsessions are assuaged by ads telling us either to eat more or less. Kill someone? Airline tickets are on sale. Whatever mood we are in, we can be validated by a commercial. Name an addiction and I'll find a commercial which tells you that you are actually OK. List an obsession and I'll list products to make you feel normal.

Without ads we would realize just how mentally messed up we all are. It's a good thing we have advertising to save us from realizations of ourselves.

Buy me dat and buy me dys-function.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Waxing Build up

So recently, as part of my new regime of self loathing, I went to the doctor so I could have official documentation and quantification of how much I am destroying my body. I mean, without numbers, how can I do worse or know I'm doing worse. Because I think that one can study for blood tests, I have been eating better and trying to be better to my body by not drinking lighter fluid every 20 minutes. I have also been practicing peeing in a cup. It isn't that easy, especially from a distance.

So the doctor poked and prodded me. He performed a series of medical tests which required that he rub my stomach, pat my head and mock me for the 15 pounds I should lose. Then, as part of the plea agreement, he sent a nurse in to stick a needle in me and take some of my blood. I'm a fan of my blood. It does stuff like circulate and keep me from not having any blood. I was reluctant to give it up not only because it is one of the few things that I have created that has not tried to make me feel guilty for not going to the mall (children, take note), but also because I don't like the idea that it will turn states' evidence and tell the doctor all about my bad habits like cookies and more cookies. I like cookies.

I reluctantly gave the blood. By reluctantly I mean I sat there and let some woman I don't know stick a needle in me. And to think...I paid her for the privilege. Seems somewhat sordid. Then I left and decided to spend a few days bingeing, figuring that once the blood came back, the world would have the proof that I had such a bad level of cholesterol in my blood that the doctor simply turned the beakers into decorative candles.

Note -- in case you didn't know, and haven't looked up on wikipedia, cholesterol is a waxy substance. So I'm taking the liberty to make jokes about wax. No one makes jokes about wax these days. Apparently, that is still true even after I type this. Hmmm, sad.

I got a call from the nurse on the home answering machine the other day. She said "this is _______ from the doctor's office. He said that your blood work is fine." Click. That's it. Now that might be enough in general, but I am sure that I need more detail in order to be positive that I am not already dead. So I called back. Eight hours later, my cell phone rings and the doctor identifies himself. He asks if I got a call and I said I had but the nurse only said that the levels are fine.

"Yes," he says. "She said that because that's what I told her to say."

"OK" I say lamely. Well what would you say? (apologies, Mr. Mandel)

"What I should have said is that your numbers are superfine" he continues. Now I'm intrigued. Very few things are superfine. Either I have photographs in my blood or I got a transfusion from Kal-el.

"Your cholesterol number might sound like it is high, but don't worry." So I ask what my number is that might sound high.

"220" he says.

"That sounds high" I think, but I say nothing because I don't want to validate his expectation of my reaction. I bet you thought I'd say it. You don't know me at all.

"Your HDL, the good cholesterol, is fantastic."

Now I don't know what the norm is for the numbers but I'm assuming that by fantastic he means it is in the good range (which I later discover to be 50 or above).

"Your HDL is 91. Unbelievable." I'm starting to feel pretty good. He tells me that this is probably genetic and affords me a goodly amount of protection from heart disease. "Your LDL, the bad cholesterol, is 118." That is a touch above average (115) and not a bad thing.

He continues to tell me that my liver and kidney and other vital organs seems to be working at optimal levels and I can have warp capacity within 2 days.

So what would you do in that case? Would you continue to eat reasonably, with salads and balanced, measured meals? Or would you think "Hey - I'm doing great...I don't even need to try!" and then eat a copious amount of cookies and candy?

I did both, just to be sure.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Wheat for it

So here's my question. If more and more products are emphasizing whole wheat then the flour industry has to change. When whole wheat is turned into white wheat, something is taken out. That something is either thrown away or sold. Use more whole wheat and the business model for what you do with the rest has to change.
If that extra is sold, then there being less of it, the price should go up so we should buy into it now.

‎​If it is thrown away then the disposal needs are eiminated and we should advise clients to reduce holdings in that position.

‎​And the companies which make the equipment which turns whole into white? We have to run from those. And of course, we need to invest in white whole wheat futures and not in the bleaching process.

‎​There will also be a mad demand for conversion of recipes from white to whole wheat, and a new demand for innovative whole wheat recipes!

‎​Are there whole wheat pie crusts commercially available? Whole wheat cookie dough tested and pre made? To market! To market!

By the way, standard rules apply - if anyone reading this uses my idea and makes money, I get 10 percent. Anyone not reading this only has to give me 5. Heaven help the person who approaches me with 5.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Stuff that makes me feel guilty

In some way, anything which gives me the slightest pleasure makes me feel guilty. There is almost this sense that I shouldn't be enjoying myself. But what is interesting is that, even knowing that there is an inevitable sense of guilt, or worse, a real world down side to enjoying myself, I still go ahead and do what I do. I KNOW that tomorrow, i have to be up and in a room I can't leave because I have to proctor SAT's. And I KNOW that I have been gaining weight and my overall health is not as good as it could be. And yet, even knowing that I'd hate myself, I ate like a pig. I ate what I shouldn't, and lots of it. I hid and ate like a rat who suddenly got his paws on whatever it is that rats love so much, but isn't as good for them as cheese. And I ate.

So now, I feel sick. i feel guilty. I feel dread, knowing that tomorrow, while proctoring, I'll feel sick. But I did it, and I can justify it to myself in a hundred different ways. Begin self loathing in 3, 2, 1 and now.