Supermarket Trolley Dash

I promise to get something holiday-appropriate up soon.  We are canvassing local pet stores.  James Brown will not make it through the Christmas season without being festooned with something jolly for your viewing pleasure.  Stay tuned.

The unsung art of understatement

 

 Until then, chew on this next post – another issue in a series I like to call “Why It’s Hard Being Me.”

 

 I concede from the get-go that I have more than my fair share of idiosyncrasies and a (hopefully endearing) brand of quirky “charm.”  In general, I like to think I keep most of the crazy under wraps from day-to-day.  I do acknowledge there are flare-ups that, while few and far between, are always entertaining.  I live to serve, so here you go.

 

I’ve noticed of late that my usual compulsions and preoccupations have become exaggerated as I age.  More frightening still is the revelation that I seem to have overcome my long-standing aversion to talking to strangers.  It has turned out to be an unfortunate confluence of events.

 

I was at the grocery store a couple weeks back stocking up on those boring but essential household items that seem to demand an ever-increasing supply of my attention.  Piling boxes of Kleenex into my cart, I encountered a bit of a hiccup.  My local Safeway-turned-Lucky “super”market had only seen fit to provide three suitably non-descript grey boxes of Kleenex.  I mined the depths of the options on offer but to no avail.  There were green boxes, blue boxes, boxes with kittens, boxes with dolphins, boxes intended to suggest you were walking through a forest at dawn and, finally, a hideous mauve misfire encased in a bizarre ivy overlay that I will have nightmares about forever.  Aside from the three acceptable instances already in my cart, there was not a single alternative sitting on the shelf that I would consider bringing into my home for reasons that I maintain are obvious.

 

And before you bother suggesting that I buy some other color (or heaven forfend another brand), allow me to explain how buying Kleenex works in my world.  It is a complex and many-tiered decision tree that I’ve developed over years of dedicated tissue consumption – really another post for another time – the quintessence of which is 1) I only buy boxes of Kleenex with acceptably subtle décor (usually grey), 2) I only buy boxes of Kleenex in even numbers, and 3) I always buy boxes of Kleenex myself because, well, if you want something done right…

 

So I’m standing in the household aisle looking from my three boxes of “good” Kleenex back to the 3’x5’x3’ shelf of nothing but “bad” Kleenex and wondering what my next play will be, when I notice a gentleman idly pushing his cart past the paper towels and BAM! Orange-off spray as he steadily approaches my location.  More importantly, I notice the grey box of Kleenex nestled in the bottom of his cart.  I wonder whether this man might be willing to entertain the notion of a Kleenex exchange and I select a relatively non-objectionable (but decidedly unacceptable) box from the shelf in front of me.  I want to say it had stripes and mini Christmas lights on it, but I can’t be sure since things started happening pretty fast after that.

 

By this point the man with the cart sees me watching him and gives me the kind of acknowledgement that leads me to conclude that this may become a more lengthy exchange than I’m willing to endure, but I’m stymied by the prospect of having to return one perfectly reasonable box of Kleenex to the shelf so that I can leave the store with an even number of boxes and my sanity (irony intentional).  As I’m running the cost-benefit analysis of engaging this man in conversation in the hopes of commandeering his Kleenex, he reaches speaking range and gives me a barely imperceptible nod, as if to say “You’ve been staring at me for a while now.”  At this juncture I still have it in my power to redeem myself and get out of there with Kleenex in hand by responding with any of the following:

 

“How do you feel about blue boxes of Kleenex?”

“You look like a sailboat kind of guy.”

(A nautical-themed box being crucial for this purpose)

“I’m hoping for a Christmas miracle and you can be the architect.”

 

What I actually said was:

 

“This is not weird for the reason you think it is.”

 

To his credit, the guy did not even slow down.  He looked at me appraisingly as he passed, but by now just to satisfy himself that I was unarmed.

 

I went home that day chuckling to myself with two grey boxes of Kleenex and a fresh reminder of why it can sometimes be so hard to be me.

Pardon me, is that the Ford Nepotism you’re driving?

I recently had the qualified privilege of viewing the most recent Bond movie, “Quantum of Solace.” For those of you who have seen the less than stellar reviews, I have to say it was better than I thought it would be. If you approach the experience with lowered expectations, you may be pleasantly surprised. I was encouraged to discover that Daniel Craig is less of an awkward fit as Bond than he seemed to me to be in the last film, but I nearly blew a gasket over this fresh onslaught of rampant product-placement by Ford.

Ford Edge

And so here it comes – my latest rant.

 

James Bond would never drive a modern Ford. I am personally insulted by the suggestion that he would. And he would certainly never stick with Ford across two installments of a revered cinema franchise. For starters, he’s British (and those people are fickle). More importantly, Ford makes a mediocre car and – say what you will about 007 – the man does not go in for mediocre (or, rather, didn’t until now). And, before everyone gets all up in arms defending Ford’s proud American heritage and their many (if aging) accomplishments, I am just as big a fan of vintage Ford models as a right-minded person should be. They just haven’t rolled out anything decent lately (including their ubiquitous and ham-handed promos).

64 Mustang from Goldfinger

I really struggled to keep an open mind about this, but ultimately decided that even if I were to accept – only for a moment and only for argument’s sake – that Bond might accidentally find his way into a Ford – meaning that he murdered some poor shmo and made off with his ride – it would still have to be a Mustang and it would STILL have to be minted before 1979.

 

 

Which really begs the question – what the hell happened?

 

I am neither sympathetic to nor willing to accept the theory that in these prequel films Bond has yet to “grow into” his trademark style. You either have taste or you don’t, and I have serious doubts about the undiscerning eye of the movie executive who gave this tie-in the green light. Even putting pure style aside – again merely for argument’s sake – Ford isn’t a frontrunner in any of the categories that could conceivably matter – technology, fuel efficiency, speed, endurance, longevity, craftsmanship, ergonomics; frankly unless he needed an F-350 to tow an airplane, Ford is nowhere near the list of potential Bond-appropriate conveyances. And to those who would suggest that the make and model of the car Bond drives is of little or no consequence, I welcome you to return to the rock under which you have been living and send you along with a friendly admonition to be mindful what you say and to whom you say it.

67 Shelby GT500 "Eleanor"

So vehement are my feelings on this topic (and so free, it would seem, is my time), that I devoted an hour to researching an appropriate focus for my limitless rage. The product of which is the discovery that I need look no further than one of the oldest tricks of the trade. A time-worn practice so entrenched in human history that it hardly requires explanation. Not the oldest profession, mind you, but close.

“Ford has had a long-standing relationship with the Bond movies since Henry Ford II brokered the deal with Albert “Cubby” Broccoli to showcase the ’64½ Ford Mustang convertible in “Goldfinger,” says Uzielli, senior advisor to Ford Global Brand Entertainment, who is also the grandson of Henry Ford II. But he hastens to stress that regardless of that relationship, the vehicles chosen to appear in the Bond films are selected solely based on their suitability for the role.”

 

I’m sure that’s true and Mr. Uzielli shouldn’t feel the need to defend himself.

 

“If we didn’t have the right cars, the relationship wouldn’t mean anything,” he said. “They are very particular about the way their brand is perceived, and they would never force fit a vehicle in that didn’t work.”

Except that he seems compelled to do so (while lying through his teeth).

 

And so, with that revelation, I find myself strangely placated by the knowledge that the world still works in the rational, if disappointing, fashion it always has. Who am I to question the horse trading and credit swaps that occur among the big men who make the decisions that matter, except to leave you with the following plucked verbatim from the media offerings at ford.com.

 

“For the third straight year, Ford topped all other brands (not just automotive) to win brandchannel.com’s 2008 brandcameo Award for Overall Product Placement, appearing in 30 of the 52 number one films at the U.S. box office from Jan. 1, 2007 through June 30, 2008. Ford also won the Scene Stealer Award, given to the brand that took the spotlight from its human co-stars, for the placement of the Ford Mustang in the 2007 hit “I am Legend.”

 

Thank you, Ford, for doing your part to ruin the things I love.