Mmmmmmm

I took advantage of Burger King's offer of a free Whopper if I "sacrificed" ten of my facebook friends (and thank Jebus I did so yesterday!). Very easily done, and I didn't even have to sacrifice Toast like I thought I might!

Anyway, I came across a post about this promotion on CNET, and I think some of the commenters missed the point of the campaign, if not the point of facebook itself:

"Who do I know that is their friendship is worth less than free food?"

"Crappy food ploys for crappy people.
It's funny how people complain about stars that sell out, yet they'll barely wince to delete a friend for junk food."

"Again another negative Burger King campaign. I guess I need to write to them again. Last time I wrote was about the Kill the King commercials.
Sorry. I have a problem with advertising that says hurt someone else to satisfy yourself. I'm in advertising, so I think I have a right to say it. But I feel everyone should complain when they see this type of thing. Advertising is insidious. It's a form of brainwashing. So when there is something repeated... like the candy commercial where the kid is thinking how he can get rid of his friends so he can have the candy all to himself... it puts a message in the subconscious to be hateful, don't share - even with friends.
My apologies for my tirade. I find most advertising is produced by imbeciles who never left the playground.
Hope you have a beautiful day!"

Thank you! But how is this a "negative" campaign? I choose to believe that BK is issuing a wakeup call to its patrons regarding the amount of non-friends they have as facebook friends. Picking 10 of these to sacrifice is hardly making Sophie's Choice, here, people. Rather, it's a choice as to what matters more: free food, or a number that is slightly-but-not-really indicative of one's popularity?
I will enjoy my Whopper with pride.

An email I received today

"I'm sorry that my hairy back bothers you so much.

But on a side note, I have never met anyone who had such an affinity for Burger King..."

Angry-gram!

A thousand violins are playing for me

It took me a long time to accept my first name. I've never been a huge fan, as it's a little too obscure (nothing weird, though, my parents were sane). In the past year or two, I've become OK with it, although there are still things I dislike.

First off, it sounds similar to other, more common names, and so when I introduce myself to someone in a loud area they often do a double-check, only with the wrong name. Sometimes I'll correct them, other times I don't bother. Hell, when am I going to see you again? That's right.

Second, and I know others of you out there with uncommon names can relate to this, did you ever want a personalized souvenir when you were little? Like, say, a toothbrush or a pen or one of those fake street signs? Toast got one of those when we were young. I won't reveal her name here, but let's just say the hospital probably had a betting pool on how many girls would be born on the floor with her name that year. A young child, I could not quite grasp why I couldn't have my own street sign as well. I have searched in vain in the years since, every time I venture into a souvenir shop I am drawn to the displays of license plates and keychains. Much like Bart in the clip below, I am often dumbfounded by some of the names on these things, while the thousands of people with my name are left to suffer.

Long-term goal

As part of my ongoing quest to become my Aunt Zambo, I have signed up for a poker tournament. I hope to follow this up with venturing outside in winter with a sleeveless shirt and no jacket, then by polishing off a bottle of wine by myself, and then by finally reaching the ultimate goal of spending $700 at Kmart.

I may have to shrink myself, though, for the full effect.

I love Zambo.

Questionable decision

A gentleman's opening line on an online dating site:

"I often catalyze living room dance parties by putting Motown records on my turntable."

Dude. DUDE.

No.

Later, I had Eggs Benedict

SO! A few weeks ago, at the bar after kickball, I became BFFs with the DJ, thanks to my request of "In Your Room" by the Bangles (which, BTW, he downloaded on the spot).


Anyway, I was pleased with this turn of events, as he was always willing to play some Big Country or Kim Wilde. (After requesting Big Country from the DJ at KIT in the fall, and having him respond with, "Sure! That's rap, right?" I was a tad relieved to deal with this gentleman)

Tonight, however, we had a bit of a spat. You see, SOMEONE requested "Rockstar" by Nickelback. AND THIS WISH WAS GRANTED. All of a sudden, the pleasant music I had been enjoying turned into nails against a chalkboard. I immediately approached my buddy and we had the following exchange:

Me: "I thought we had an agreement?"
Him: "What's that?"
Me: "That you wouldn't play music that sucks."
Him: "Don't be rude."

Friends, I thought this was the end. Fortunately, we made up by the end of the evening, and all is well. I am willing to forgive this lapse in judgment, as he does aim to please his public. Fight on, DJ Rizzo!

Why do you want to hurt me?

I would just like to post here what I wrote, verbatim, on Toast's wall earlier:

HAPPPPPPPPPY (almost) BIRTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHDAYYYYYYYYY!!!!!
I wasn't going to post until tomorrow, but I'm sitting here listening to music on demand, and as the current song started and I heard the first few lines, I thought, "Good God, is this Party All the Time?!?"
AND IT WAS.
So I thought you'd enjoy that. Cause you like to party all the time, party all the time, party all the tiiiiimmmmmmmme.

Also? Not my best moment, music-wise.

Well, my dear, happy birthday!

Rant ahead

I am not one to openly question someone's parenting skills, but...here we are. I was directed to a blog written by a rather conservative, religious woman who homeschools her children. I most certainly do not have a problem with any of those things, but let's just say things got a bit disturbing as I continued reading.

Take this post, about her 22-year-old daughter's experience with jury duty.

The first paragraph set off some alarm bells. Take this sentence:

"I would not leave her in the Big City by herself."

What exactly is the "Big City," you ask? Well, it's that frightening metropolis, Wilmington, Delaware.

WILMINGTON, DELAWARE.

Yes, that crime-ridden cesspool of a city!

As my faithful readers know, I was born and raised in Wilmington (within the city limits, even!). I know that there are bad sections of town (hell, I grew up near one) but the area near the courthouse at 9:30 in the morning is hardly the setting for a Law & Order episode. Why in the world would a healthy, non-mentally challenged 22-year-old who lives mere MILES from the city not be able to handle getting downtown by herself? Especially after completing a test run the day before? I'm sorry, but if your (FULL-ASS ADULT) child cannot even remotely navigate her way around a city by herself at 22, let alone a town of 80,000, then you have failed as a parent. And even if she can (and I'm inclined to believe she could), if you will not let her attempt to do so, you have failed.

I want to finish by saying that I was not the most self-reliant of children. Nevertheless, my parents pushed me to go beyond my comfort level and I'm the better for it. I cannot imagine how my life would be today, 25 years old and having lost both of them, if they had simply done everything for me like I wanted them to. Their job was not to protect me from the world, but to prepare me to live in it.

Yayyyyy!

After debating with myself for some time, I purchased plane tickets to Buenos Aires today! I'm leaving in March for a week, and am very excited. It's been five years since I was last there, and this'll be my third time in Argentina. It'll also be the first time going strictly as a tourist, as my first trip was for a six-week high school exchange program in the middle of nowhere, and my second was a semester in Buenos Aires with a study abroad program in college. I cannot wait!

Go Eagles!

I went out to the Crystal City Sports Pub on Saturday to watch the Colts-Chargers game, and was disturbed by the behavior of some of the other patrons. The game stayed close the entire time, and ended up going into overtime. Why, then, did half of the place clear out between the two minute warning and the start of OT? Who the hell decides that's a great time to leave? It's not like you're at a stadium and have to beat the traffic (which wouldn't be acceptable in this case, anyway), and it wasn't a school night. If you can commit to the first three hours, you can commit to half an hour more. Jebus.