Gimme Back That Filet-O-Fish

Big Mouth Billy Bass is like the Pied Piper of Lent.

Somehow, I’ve gone 35 years without ever eating McDonald’s Filet-O-Fish. But this commercial makes me want to eat a million of them.

So I did.

Ok, not a million, exactly. Just one. Which was enough, really (they aren’t very good). It was like a tartar sauce sandwich, because the bun, fish, and cheese were totally tasteless. I was also slightly disturbed by how unnaturally square it is.

But the commercial? Oh, that commercial makes me forget the crappy taste and makes me want to rush out to get another. And another.

Gimme back that Filet-O-Fish.
Gimme that fish.
Gimme back that Filet-O-Fish.
Gimme that fish.
What if it were you,
hanging up on this wall?
If it were you in that sandwich,
you wouldn’t be laughing at all!
Ooooo!

The best part is I don’t even understand what he’s saying!

Is it kitschy (a singing fish in a wood-paneled garage!)? Is it existentialism (what if I WAS in that sandwich?)? Is it a cautionary tale (who's the dude with the drill?)? Is it religious (he is nailed to a plank of wood, after all!)? I don’t know, but it’s their catchiest jingle since, “Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun.”

I may have to make it my ringtone. Just don't expect me to answer your call because I'll be too busy rockin' out to sweet, sweet music.



PS: Honorable mention goes to Denny’s “Nannerpuss” and Boost Mobile’s “Bicycle” -- two commercials I also really love (though, they don’t inspire me to actually do anything but laugh).

Will Work for Money

I generally avoid blogging about anything serious -- this is supposed to be fun, right? But I also feel like I’m pretty truthful here (why else would I admit to my unhealthy obsession with The Hills?).

So if I’m being honest, I’d say if this recession is teaching us anything, it’s that we’re all poor. And we’re all to blame.

What does that mean?

It means, I don’t care if you make $50K or $50MM -- no matter how much we earn, we live like we earn more. From $5 cups of coffee, to $150 jeans, to $500 shoes, to $1500 handbags, to $50K cars, to $1MM McMansions, spending is OUT of control. Now we’re feeling the consequences. And because of crazy spending, most of us don’t have that fund, where 8 full months of our salary is just sitting, waiting for a rainy day.

I know I don’t have such a fund. But I DO know it’s raining!

In an environment where companies in every city, across every industry are freezing salaries, asking for voluntary pay cuts, and laying off perfectly good, hardworking people, the only thing any of us really knows for sure is that we really don’t know what will happen at work tomorrow.

I totally get there’s this outrage right now over AIG bonuses, on the heels of the outrage over automakers flying to their bailout hearings in private jets, on the heels of Citibank continuing to fund a baseball field, on the heels of many ill-advised corporate retreats and holiday parties. The list goes on. And on.

And the “Average Joe or Jane” gets angrier and angrier.

I agree, it is OUTRAGEOUS, and they say rich white guys are to blame. Maybe they are. But from Wall Street to Main Street, this is about greed, plain and simple. So it’s not only about the color of your shirt collar. It’s also about keeping up with the Joneses. And we all do it.

Want to know why?

Just turn on the TV. Excess is everywhere. Like any of us really needs a 24-carat gold bidet? (That’s gross.) Or an iPhone? (A newer/better model is always around the corner.) Or a Slanket? (It’s just plain weird.) No! But we buy these and about a million other unnecessary things because when you get right down to it, WE LIKE STUFF. Especially when it’s NEW stuff! Or at least, we used to.

As a both marketer and a consumer, I realize I’m part of the problem. I’d suspect many of us are asking ourselves, do we WANT an item, or do we NEED it? And let's face it...

Many of us are fortunate enough to say we want most things, we don't need them.

I think the brands that acknowledge this -- that embrace what’s going on with the economy (like Hyundai’s buy-back program if you lose your job, or Disney’s buy 4 get 3 free vacations, or even Old Navy’s $15 sundresses) will find that their relevance in this economic downturn won’t hurt their brands at all. It will instill trust. So that, as we consumers start earning money again, we can spend, spend, spend ‘till our fingers hurt!

Huh?!?

Well, I didn’t say we would actually LEARN from this economic badness, I just said we were to BLAME. After all, we’re Americans.

We can only resist something shiny and new for so long.

So, what say you?

Green Day

They say everyone’s Irish on March 17th.

So, when I was a kid, I looked forward to the (futile) hope that my mom would let us eat Lucky Charms. In my teens, it was all about the green cupcakes. My twenties brought the acquired taste that is green beer. In my old age (thirties), I just really want ice cream.

Since Shamrock Shakes are mysteriously unavailable in NYC, I guess I’ll try to get lucky with Cookie O’Puss (which sounds much nastier than I intended).

I toyed with writing a limerick here, but I thought a more PG-approach to this very green day would be to share my take on one of many notes zipping around Facebook right now. It’s all about answering simple questions with song titles.

So, grab a four-leaf clover and slide down the rainbow into this pot o’musical gold…

Pick a band/artist: U2

Q: Describe yourself.
A: Sweetest Thing

Q: How do you feel today?
A: Beautiful Day

Q: What is the weather like?
A: Staring at the Sun

Q: Describe your current location.
A: Where the Streets Have No Name

Q: Where were you born?
A: Angel of Harlem (Bronx, actually, but close enough!)

Q: What is your (least) favorite day of the week?
A: Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Q: Describe your ex-boyfriend/girlfriend.
A: Mysterious Ways

Q: Describe your current boy/girl situation
A: I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For

Q: What is your biggest relationship flaw?
A: Pride (In the Name of Love)

Q: When you get in a fight, what do you do?
A: Get On Your Boots

Q: Describe your best friend.
A: Numb (kidding!)

Q: How do you feel at work?
A: Stuck in a Moment You Can’t Get Out Of (more jokes!)

Q: What is life to you?
A: Running to Stand Still

Q: What are you looking for?
A: Everlasting Love

Q: What is the best advice you have to give?
A: Walk On

Q: If you could change your name, what would you change it to?
A: Desire

Q: If your life was a television show, what would it be called?
A: Even Better Than the Real Thing

Now if that doesn’t make you want to get up and Riverdance, I really don’t know what will.

Want to play along? Pick a band and post yours below!

Old Wooden Teeth

Chemistry’s been a total dud (and by that, I do mean both the website AND the nonexistent “spark” from online dating). I can’t understand why every guy I’m matched with on that site makes less than $25k/yr and lives at home. It must say something about my personality, like I’m a caretaker, or a cheap date.

Anyway, after two Match misses, I finally went on a date with a guy from Chemistry. At 38, he was closer to my age. Lives in a walkup in the East Village. Never married and no kids, but unclear on his pet status. He was an even 6’ tall -- a nice change from the Hobbits I’ve been meeting. He called himself a “TV fanatic” (me too!). By day, he’s a composer who writes jingles to pay the bills, and by night he said he is opening an off-Broadway musical. Plus he plays about 85 instruments. Now, I’ve never dated an artsy guy before. I’m generally attracted to the complete Neanderthal opposite. So this was a change of pace. A broadening of my horizons, if you will.

Leading up to this point, I’d been calling him Old Wooden Teeth. Not nice, I know! But in all his photos, he had a very plastic smile that made his teeth seem fake – but not like veneers, or even caps. These choppers looked old school. Like George Washington and his sturdy wooden teeth.

Upon meeting him, I realized he also had a tiny, shrunken Beetlejuice head and exceptionally long ET “Phone Home” fingers. But I digress…

We decided on dinner and a movie. Or more accurately, a movie, then dinner. Wow, I thought, FINALLY a guy who wants to spend more than 20 minutes getting to know me! He was pretty insistent on seeing Rachel Getting Married, because it was the only Oscar-nominated film he missed. Nevermind that I’d already seen it, or that it’s WAY too heavy for a first date, or that it came out like 6 months ago -- he scoured the city to find the last movie theater on Earth that was still playing it.

Okay, fine.

So I arrived, and he’d already purchased 2 tickets. Score! No awkward conversations at the ticket counter! He looked basically normal (save the teeny-tiny head and super-long digits), but I noticed he was wearing a lavender scarf wrapped several times around his throat. I remembered seeing that same dainty scarf at Ann Taylor LOFT -- a thought I quickly dismissed.

We went directly to the snack counter. I decided I was paying, so I’m all ready for my $20 popcorn and a diet coke. He asked for hot herbal tea with honey. The snack guy looked at him like he had ten heads (ten very small heads). We settled on popcorn, a diet coke, and a steaming cup of hot water. Yum.

We made some idle chit-chat where he talked only about himself, his music, his “craft.” Didn’t ask me a single question. I soon realized that he didn’t want to get to know ME at all, he just wanted an audience. Awesome. So, the movie starts and we’re basically the only people there. He decided to dig into the popcorn after all, and our fingers occasionally touched. With the right guy, this is cute -- flirty, even.

Not this time…

I was feeling a little uncomfortable, like maybe I wanted to sit in a different row so we wouldn’t be so close to each other in this big, empty theater. So I did what I always do in these situations -- I built a Wall of Hair. What’s that, you ask? If I’m not attracted to a guy, I’ll flip my massive mane onto whatever side he is sitting. This accomplishes a few things: It creates a natural barrier between our heads, it prevents whispering in my ear, and generally discourages any unwanted coziness.

This has been an effective technique in the past.

So I’m quietly sitting behind my hair wall, going in for popcorn ONLY when the coast is clear, and I start to hear this strange humming. It’s really low, but really annoying. Humm, hummm, humhummm. I realize it’s coming from HIM. Terrific. Mozart goes on like this for about 45 minutes.

We’re well into the rehearsal dinner scene where Anne Hathaway’s character melts down, when I see this movement out of the corner of my eye. He was rooting around in his coat pocket for something. A mint, maybe? A cell phone? An asthma inhaler? Any of those items would have been acceptable.

When I finally peeked through the hedge that was my hair, I realized he was doing something in public, in the middle of a movie, that I only do in the privacy of my own bathroom: He was flossing.

Let me repeat that… He… Was… FLOSSING.

F-L-O-S-S-I-N-G-!-!

I was like, EWWWW, gross! Who DOES that?!? And what guy (who’s not a dentist) just randomly carries floss around? I mean, I hate when popcorn gets stuck in my teeth as much as the next guy. Well, clearly, NOT as much as the next guy. But you catch my drift. Maybe Woody was afraid of his teeth rotting, but this was insane.

Needless to say, I said I was feeling a bit “under the weather” after the movie, and I bailed on dinner. He’s since sent me an email to see if I’m better and to tell me he had a lovely time. I’m not writing him back. Telling a grown man that he should not publicly floss on a first date, is like telling that stinky kid in junior high that it’s time to start wearing deodorant.

It's an awkward conversation that I'd rather avoid entirely.

So give it to me straight -- am I being too harsh on him?? Should I have found his sudden dental hygiene urges charming? Discuss.

5 Reasons I Like Castle

It’s been well-documented that an endorsement from me means imminent cancellation, so I hesitated to even post this.

Don’t believe me? Check here, and here, and even the comments here.

Anyway, I easily turned my attention from The Bachelor to Dancing with the Stars (how could I miss it -- I was almost Cloris Leachman for Halloween), but I had no plans to stick around for Castle. After all, a two-hour dancing fiesta is not generally the lead-in for a police procedural/mystery. Plus I told you I don’t like those. I’m just not into Bones, or Psych, or Monk, or CSI, or Dexter, or The Mentalist, or Numb3rs, or Fringe, or Lie to Me (oh my!) no matter how much buzz they get.

I like shows that are easy on my eyes AND my brain, and the fact is that dead bodies don’t make for fluffy entertainment.

But, I suppose there’s an exception to every rule because I was too lazy to change the channel, so I watched Castle, ABC’s newest drama that pairs an NYPD detective with a know-it-all mystery novelist. The twist is that the detective is a big fan of the guy’s books. And she’s all buttoned up, and he’s a playboy, blah blah blah (remind you at all of David Addison and Maddie Hayes?).

But here’s the real twist: I was actually entertained! And there’s a good chance I’ll tune in again next week (assuming it still exists). Here’s why:

1) Nathan Fillion, said novelist, was pretty charming as Rick Castle. He used to be on One Life to Live, I heard he was in Firefly, and he had a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it role on Desperate Housewives, but I remember him most from last year’s Dr. Horrible. And you know what? He’s pretty adorable.

2) The jury’s still out on his chemistry with Detective Kate Beckett, but that could easily be fixed with some makeup (she needs a day at the spa, or a roll in the hay -- or both). If that fails, a reassignment to Parsippany, NJ might be in order, to make room for a detective who doesn’t look like she shops in the men’s department at Kmart.

3) I am a writer at heart (or at least, I try to be), so the premise appeals to me -- a novelist who helps solve crimes by following the “story” instead of the facts. Call it Murder HE Wrote, or Angela MANsbury, I don’t care. It’s still a clever idea. And the poker buddy cameos with actual novelists James Patterson and Stephen J. Cannell were a nice touch. Would be great to see others like Patricia Cornwell, Sue Grafton, or Stephen King pop up too.

4) I’m pretty interested to learn more about the women in Castle’s life – his boozy horndog mother, his responsible teenage daughter, and his icy ex-wife (who also just happens to be his publisher).

5) It’s not REALLY about the dead bodies (although the copycat crimes staged from murder scenes in his books were pretty cool). It’s about the relationships between these characters, which is directly up my alley. And yes, I’m aware that the other shows I mentioned above have some relationship dynamic to them as well, but really, my DVR cannot handle any more commitments at this time. I've already diversified with Friday Night Lights. Don’t let me get sucked in to any more shows!

I’m definitely a little disappointed that they resolved the whole copycat thing in the 1st ep -- I was hoping they would follow a serial killer throughout the season. So, his excuse of wanting to stick around to shadow the Lady Detective for his next novel was kind of a lame way to keep the story going, but I’ll go with it.

Until my mush kicks in. And Castle gets cancelled.

Did anyone else get hooked?

Toilet Bowl Boyfriend

In keeping with the rules of Lent, I ordered up a plain cheese pizza tonight. About 15 minutes after I placed the order, my phone rang. Naturally, I assumed it was the lobby telling me the delivery guy was on his way up.

It wasn’t.

My mom was on the other end. She likes to check in to make sure I made it home safely. It’s cute, really. So we chit-chatted for a few minutes, and I think I successfully convinced her I would survive yet another day in the Big Bad City. Then, I happened to mention that I ordered a pizza. Plain cheese – just like Jesus likes it.

You’re familiar with the phrase, “no good deed goes unpunished,” yes? Well, the conversation went a little something like this:

MOM: Oh no…
ME: What?
MOM: It’s just…well, I just thought you were in for the night.
ME: I am in for the night. The pizza comes to me.
MOM: But you have to open the door.
ME: Yes, that’s generally how food gets inside.
MOM: But you don’t know who this guy is.
ME: Yes I do. He’s the pizza delivery guy.
MOM: But you don’t know what he’s up to.
ME: Delivering pizzas, I think.
MOM: He could take advantage of the situation.
ME: What situation?
MOM: That you’re ALONE.
ME: Huh?
MOM: You hear about it all the time on the news.
ME: Mmm-hmm…
MOM: Flush the toilet when the doorbell rings!
ME: Okay…
MOM: Then, turn on the shower. Are you writing this down?
ME: Uh-huh…
MOM: I’ll send you some of Dad’s pants. Underwear too.
ME: (silence)
MOM: You can keep them on the couch.
ME: Awesome.
MOM: That way, he’ll know you’re not alone.

So, let me get this straight: I need to invent a hungry slob of a boyfriend who orders dinner, then leaves his dirty clothes strewn all over the living room BEFORE taking a dump (and a shower!), just to trick a random delivery guy into believing I’m not alone.

Being single is SO complicated.

Bachelor Boo-Hoo

I’ll admit it: I watch The Bachelor. I’ve even been known to swoon as the Navy Officer/Brit/Actor/Doctor/Tire Heir/Football Player/Prince romances gullible women across the globe.

And I watch The Bachelorette (aka jilted Bachelor contestant who should be viewed as sympathetic, not slutty). I tune in week after week, as dumb-as-rocks guys take a number for a night with her, like they’re standing on line in a deli.

Yes, I’ve seen every single (and I do mean SINGLE – these things never work out) one. Well, all but the one with that fisherman guy Byron, who routinely gets all beat up by his Bachelor babe. That one was a snoozer. Now, I’m not saying I’m particularly proud of my near-perfect Bachelor/ette viewing record. But it is what it is.

So it should come as NO shock that I watched all 3 hours of bachelor-y goodness last night, and will watch another hour tonight. Honestly, I don’t think I blinked once. And how could I?

I love that Crazy DeAnna and her comb-over showed up in New Zealand. I love that Jason set his “America’s Sweetheart Single Dad” title on fire. I love that Mandy Moore lookalike Melissa called him a bastard on national TV. I love that Jason turned into the Waaaa-chelor as he broke down in sobs and proclaimed, “I hate myself for doing this!” I love that Doormat Molly practically leapt out of her polyester dress at the chance to be his #2 (Or is it #3 if you count DeAnna? Or #4 if you count his wife??). And I REALLY love Chris Harrison’s wide-eyed surprised bird face, when he knew how this would shake out all along.

THIS is why I watch the show -- for the drama! Sure, Jason is a TOTAL d-bag. Who cares? I’m not going to date him (too short). Some say it’s scripted. I say, so what?! If I want to watch average people leading ordinary lives, I’ll put a camera in my living room and watch myself eat a Lean Cuisine.

I think I’ll stick with the Bachelor. For once, Chris Harrison had it right. Because this was -- without a doubt -- the MOST shocking rose ceremony EVER (that is, if you didn’t read any of the internet rumors, which all predicted this would happen).

And now Brad “No Thanks” Womack is no longer the most hated Bachelor in the show’s history. A shocking twist, indeed!

Ooh That Smell

Work was crazy the whole month of February. So I was kind of in a news blackout. Well, I’m all caught up now, but I couldn’t let this story pass by without commenting. From the department of Old News, comes this gem…

Mayor Mike Bloomberg held a press conference to inform concerned New Yorkers that the maple syrup smell which has randomly flooded the air since 2005 can be attributed to…

New Jersey!

Ugh. How can this BE? I remember that smell! It was so strong. Like I was carrying pancakes in my purse. How on Earth could it have been coming from a totally different state? And New Jersey of all places! Like we need to add fuel to the Jersey Smells fire. This is serious. The time has come: We must stage an intervention. So here is my open letter to a state I love:

Dear Jersey,

You know the old saying, “It’s not you, it’s me”? Well, old friend, I have it on good authority that it is, in fact, YOU.

Shut down the factories. Roll up the windows on the Turnpike. Stand upwind during low tide. Generally just stop smelling. Please. Let somebody else be the Stinky State.

Signed,
A Congested Former Citizen

Fat Tuesday

I’m really not one to wear my religion on my sleeve (or, in the case of Ash Wednesday, my head).

But today, the night before Lent begins, some people wear colorful masks to a Mardi Gras bash, others booze it up at a parade. Or they earn their beads on Bourbon Street (of course, I’d never do that – the last thing I need is to get sued for putting an eye out). Or they feed their faces with free pancakes. Basically, it’s kind of like Last Call for all the bad stuff you want to do before it’s time to repent.

So, I ordered up a cheeseburger, o-rings, and milkshake for dinner. FAT Tuesday, indeed.

For any good Catholic, there are two basic principles to Lent: 1) sacrifice doing (or eating) something you really enjoy, and 2) don’t eat meat on Fridays. There are many other nuances, but those are the biggies, to me anyway.

While I KNOW I’m not supposed to eat meat on Fridays during Lent, somehow, I always do. I don’t mean to. But it sneaks in! We’ll go down to lunch at work and as luck would have it, it will be bacon smoothie day, or something equally ridiculous, and the day’s all shot to hell.

Who knew a corporate cafeteria could be so fraught with spiritual peril?

Although I’m not convinced that eating bacon is the worst thing I could do, I really hate to tempt fate. So, I’m going to try to be good. REALLY try. For the next 46 days (or 7 Fridays). And when I’m bad, I’ll update the comments below with the offending foodstuff.

Who knew being Catholic could be a spectator sport?

Laissez les bon temps rouler!

Mr. Nice Guy

After sifting through thousands of duds, I finally met another guy, also from Match. Luckily, it was not a Columbo repeat performance.

He was 42 and a financial analyst. Got his MBA from NYU. No kids, no pets, never married. Lives on the UWS during the week and spends his weekends in NJ at a house he’s renovating. Physically, he was cute. Twelve year old boy kind of cute (I mean that in the most non-gross way possible). And at 5’9” he was MUCH shorter than I like, but really, what else is new? He probably wasn't thrilled with an amazon like me either.

He first emailed me about 3 months ago. Not a wink, an actual email. With words. I wrote him back because it was apparent he read my profile (mainly because he quoted it back to me), and his profile was thoughtful and sweet. But as the weeks ticked by, he never once asked for my number. Instead, he told me all kinds of stories. He was a regular Charles Dickens. This went on for SO long, I really just thought he wanted to be pen pals.

When Short Stuff finally summoned the courage to ask me on a D-A-T-E, he chose a Starbucks. In Grand Central. Ok, I guess. Though don’t guys ask girls out to dinner anymore? (Too big a commitment, I’m sure).

Anyway, during totally legitimate dinner-eating hours, we spent our time breezily chatting over coffee. Actually, it was hot cocoa for me, I hate coffee (oh RELAX, it’s not like I said I hate puppies).

In our time together, he did a fair amount of annoying name dropping (drives a Mercedes and an Audi, whipped out his platinum Amex for a $7 check, has a Sub-Zero fridge, blabety, blah, blah). I’m guessing that was just the nerves talking to show me that he’s taller when he stands on his money. Eh. About halfway through our coffee/cocoa liquid meal, he ordered up a rice krispie treat, which my stomach and I just assumed he planned to share. Nope. He picked up the whole marshmallow-y hunk and ate it like an apple.

Overall, though, I have to say this guy was actually pretty normal. He listened to me ramble on about nothing, asked questions that would seem to indicate he was interested in future ramblings, told totally regular stories about his family and growing up on Staten Island, had solid recall of our many, many, MANY email exchanges, and basically seemed like an all-around nice guy.

And you know what I realized?

I like jerks. It’s really as simple as that.

I think I've always known it. But UGH, I wish it wasn’t true! Blame it on some mutant relationship gene, I don’t know. But nice guys -- at least THIS nice guy -- was… boring. I wanted to like him. All 5’9” of him. Really, I did! But no. I guess it comes down to this: I need someone to keep me on my toes. And he was kind of like an open book. One that I’ve read before. And then returned to the library.

About a week later, we emailed. I was the first to put it out there -- we’re a bit lacking in the chemistry department. Still, he said he wants to be friends. And I think he actually means it.

Sigh.