Between the Thursday afternoon Scattergories showdowns and the monthly "mystery" tours, there's always a ton of fun stuff to say about work... but I try to keep all office-talk off of this blog. However, I'm making an exception for yesterday's special guest visit...
From the Celtics' Championship Trophy. The real one!!! I have a photo of me standing next to it as well (below). They told us to wear green... so I wore a Philadelphia Eagles t-shirt. Is that sacrilegious?
Definitely check out Lemondrop if you’re itching for a lighter, goofier side of Ryan. Because, though I know I can get mad serious up in here, my all-time favorite workout is laughing. Great for the abs.
OR they make a mockery of the whole thing. Like this one (clip below), by Victor Fischbarg. He only has 2 votes so far, so he probably won't get very far. But dude. Come on. The hand? That's awesome. You'll win my eternal admiration if you can find a more craptacular character rendition.
Hey. You there. Do you spend entirely too much time on YouTube? Do you scour the site for funny clips? E-mail blast your friends with “besties”? Post particularly provocative clips on your Facebook profile or Twitter them to show strangers just how witty you really are?
Yes? Well then I’ve got a fun project for you. I’ll be writing a weekly column on The Madison Avenue Journal called Commercial Worthy, where I will be exploring the T.V.-commercial-potential of all my favorite YouTube vids.
Of course, after years of YouTube addiction I’ve got tons of clips – but I’d also love your input. If you keep a list of awesome clips, or if you come across one that you think would make a great commercial video, comment on this post with a link or e-mail me a tip. If I find the video particularly commercial-worthy, I might write it up.
And check out the column, which will run every Thursday on TMAJ.
Seems like I’ve been talking to God a lot recently. It’s nice; feels like I’m calling up an old-time friend who moved overseas when we were both really young. We chat, we laugh, we gossip, we share our hopes for the future.
Looks like I’m not the only one addressing God like (S)He’s a normal dude(ette). These kids are on point.
I feel you, Ginny. President's Day just doesn't cut it.
As you may know, I have a love for the quill, a zeal for the absurd, and an enthusiasm for the inspirational. But, my dear friends, might you have guessed that I also have a knack for ze booty shakin’?
And lucky for me, I work at an amazing company that celebrates all the many diverse and unique passions of its employees. Here’s a clip of me and two co-workers poppin’ and lockin’ to Timberland’sThe Way I Are.
I think Gatorade needs a new consumer insight to play off of, because their messaging really isn’t reaching a large, super-special group of dedicated consumers: Young Professionals Whose Definition Of Networking = Drinking Too Many Cocktails 5 Night A Week. You know who you are, and you know you down a jug of fruit punch Gatorade before passing out to prevent a morning hangover.
Gatorade! Embrace your consumers!
Also, I just think these swirly images are rad. It’s not animated (focus on one football-looking thing and the image will stop moving). Neat! Should totally be used in an advertisement.
And now, well, I can’t stop thinking about the Washlet. I can’t stop thinking about the five people whose butt curves are now imprinted in my memory. Five new butts, five new happy butts… it doesn’t get any better than that.
Or does it? Visiting the Washlet site for the first time made me so overcome by – let’s say, nouns – that I didn’t have a chance to pick out all of the wonderful things that would make the Washlet such an integral part of my life. But on second, third, and fourth viewing, I really nailed down the golden points. So for a second, let’s do go through a few of them.
First off, this site promotes interracial relationships. During the technology guy’s intro speech, notice how the older gentleman’s eyes creep over to the Black lady. It’s so obvious that he likes her.
It’s a toilet seat that’s got more in common with my laptop computer than any other toilet seat I’ve ever encountered (and that says a lot, because I sure encountered many a toilet seat). So that must mean that my laptop is just as similar to a toilet seat—which is really great news for laptop owners when there’s no bathroom in sight.
It uses technology (much like science in this movie trailer). Technology like “nifty technology,” “remarkable technology,” and “technological wizardry.”
The toilet seat turns bad air into good air. Eem… I don’t know what that means, but it sounds like a good idea.
It involves a cleansing wand made of advanced antimicrobial plastic. I think I had one of these in my dress-up bin as a little girl, actually. So I’m familiar with this concept.
Best of all, you can try the seat at a variety of bathroom supply dealerships. Even BETTER news if it’s an emergency and the store is closer than home.
Please - oh you simply must! – visit the site. Take extra time with Technology, Washlet 101, and Happiness tabs (all playing from the same site: www.washlet.com).
I’m sorry, but I just can’t help it. I mean, this Britney Spears performance is just so horrible that's it's well... captivating. I'm left with all these feelings, some that I've never even felt before!
Why does she skid to a stop every time she clomps across the stage? It’s like she has to catch her balance from walking. That confuses me!
Why does she haphazardly grope the dancers? She's that scary aunt at your 2nd cousin’s wedding who keeps secretly coping a feel on all the distant relatives. That makes me feel, strange!
Why doesn’t she smile? Or at least look alive? That makes me scared!
The best is the audience pans. Diddy looks like he’s about to rip apart the Week 1 Making The Band hopefuls (2:07). Rihanna isn’t even paying attention (0:37). And 50 Cent – that’s 50 Cent there, right? – well he just looks confused and embarrassed, like he’s watching Poison Ivy 3 with his mom (0:50).
But, at least Britney’s getting some press. Maybe her abysmal performance was just a press ploy - because now everyone’s talking, that’s for sure.
During my trip to Europe (ooo, Flickr photos!), I actually spent about 15 hours in London (long story). While I saw virtually no British sights and spent most of my time paying cab drivers, I did manage to make it to a cell-like Austrian restaurant called the Tiroler Hut. I'm not a huge fan of Austrian food (sausages and big slabs of meet and potatoes and stuff), so I ordered the shrimp cocktail platter. And I mean, I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't very good.
What was pretty... impressive, I'll say... was the entertainment. It was like semi-karaoke but with no projected lyrics.
For example, there was this guy, an Asian man singing Italian ballads.
And then this guy, a Brit (I think??) hollering a somewhat terrifying rendition of New York, New
York (with background dancers).
And then, of course, the MC - decked out in Lederhosen and rockin' with his bells (I simply had to include the video as well, just click the photo below or the link underneath - takes a couple seconds to load).
Well I’m off for Paris tomorrow—my favorite little wonderland. I was a French major in college and have spent many a summer in the city, and so I’m totally psyched to visit old friends… any new ones. As it turns out, a few of my Age of Conversation co-authors from will be in Paris as well (Luc, Cedric, and Gianandrea) and so we’re planning a lunch meeting. Face-to-face! Yes!
Anyway, I think the guys over at Flight of the Conchords wanted to wish me a bon voyage, so they featured this little diddy in last Sunday’s episode. Thanks guys! I’ll be sure to scope out some musique danse a la discothèque.
triskaidekaphobia \tris-ky-dek-uh-FOH-bee-uh\, noun: A morbid fear of the number 13 or the date Friday the 13th.
So this explains why large building elevators skip the number 13—the designers are total triskaidekaphobes.
(But really, c’mon, the number skipping is stupid… anyone with half a brain can figure out that the 14th floor is really just the 13th. What they need to do is build an extra floor. A frightening, haunted 13th floor, completely unreachable by elevator. You can only get there via a bloodcurdling wooden staircase, which is always on the verge of caving in and stealing your soul.)
Also, I think my boyfriend is a sufferer. Actually now that I think about it, he is SO triskaidekaphobic. He can’t even count to 13 without whimpering. He flat out refused his 13th birthday, just stayed 12 for 2 years.
So I guess this phobia is real. It’s real, it’s out there, and it’s scary.
...P.S. I have a morbid fear of the number 11. Just thought I'd throw that out there.
Hehe... I'm sorry. I just couldn't help myself. This ad doesn't even make any sense! If she smells so bad, he wouldn't be indifferent. He'd get up and run away, wouldn't he? I mean, he'd do something... here he's just sitting in the foul air. Silly strategists.