Ad-verse Conditions

In July, the USS Private Conversation moved from San Diego, California, to San Francisco -- a welcoming place for load-bearing ships such as this. Of course, of late, our cargo has been exceptionally light. Now that our flabby-assed crew has finally finished moving the chairs about, we hope to be drumming up business again in no time. For now, though, the best we can do is share some of the little things we've noticed while sitting on our butts.

For example... commercials continue to be annoying. Sure, they are once again creeping up to volumes twice that of the programming you are intentionally watching, but it's more than that. They've gotten... dumber.

Canada Dry is now advertising that its Ginger Ale is made from... drum roll please... real ginger. And claims this is a "nice surprise." REALLY? Is anyone really surprised that there is GINGER in GINGER ALE? If so, I've got another surprise for you. You'll never believe this one... there is GINGER in GINGER SNAPS, too!

I'll let you sit down to recover from that bombshell before moving on to the next irritating commercial.

There's a bank with a current "even kids know it's wrong..." campaign. One little boy wants to keep playing with "the red truck" taken way by a limited time offer and replaced with a cardboard cutout; a little girl is placed on a bike, but told she can only ride it within a limited area roughly the size of the bike itself; and two little girls are offered ponies. That's the one we hate.

Come along with me on this one and hate it, too. It's fun!

Bank Guy to Little Girl A: Would you like a pony?
Little Girl A: Yeah.
Bank Guy gives Little Girl A a toy pony.

Bank Guy to Little Girl B: Would YOU like a pony?
Little Girl B: Yeah.
Bank Guy calls to live pony: Tck Tck Tck.

Bank Guy: Here you go, this is for you.
Little Girl B, petting live pony: Wow! That's fun!
Little Girl A: You didn't say I could have a REAL one.
Bank Guy to Little Girl A: Well, you didn't ask.

WELL NEITHER DID LITTLE GIRL B! But does Little Girl A point this out, or protest, as any little girl in this situation would? (Come on, tell me you believe the FIRST thing out of her mouth wouldn't be "neither did she! It's not fair!") No. She just sits there and takes it.

Even adults know this is wrong.

And does it bother anyone else that Billy Mays commercials are still airing? "If it breaks, we'll replace it free!"

No, Billy. You won't. I'm sorry, but... you won't.

Hummingbird in Hand

Some months ago I installed a hummingbird feeder on the balcony of my San Diego apartment. At the time, it was a whim. My mother had bought the feeder but had never hung it. After months of looking at the the thing sitting empty, I filled it and put it out. In no time, the little birds came to drink from the glass and I found that I enjoyed their visits. I've kept the feeder full ever since.

This Friday, while I was preparing for a visit of the human variety, I left the balcony door open for a blast of fresh air. I left the living room and went to work in the back of the house for a while; when I returned, I found that one of my small avian visitors had found his way inside.

By the time I took this shot, the little guy was exhausted from batting himself against the window, seeing the freedom of open air in front of him but forgetting that he'd come in another way. I'd tried to coo and shoo him, but to no avail -- he had no intention of flying back through the door.

Though my initial appearance seemed to stir him to frantically try his escape through the pane, once he'd gotten used to my nearness he calmed. He would fly up the window pane looking for an exit before he'd land again on the window's track, which became a perch between attempts. I remembered a video of one bird-enthusiast who encouraged hummingbirds to feed from his bare hands, and -- though I'd be afraid to try this with any larger bird -- I began to place my hand on the track of the window until it became his resting perch between attempts.

Hummingbirds are incredibly small. You know this looking at them. You'd think that knowing this would prepare you for them to be equally incredibly light -- but it doesn't. If I had not been able to see the bird in my hand or feel the tiniest touch of his claws, I'd never have known he had landed by the weight of him.

I tried several times, with the bird perched on my hand, to move away from the window and lead him toward the door, but while the movement itself did not seem to startle him, the increasing distance from the window did. I'd get a little farther each time, but never far enough to expect to lead him outdoors again.

Finally, when he perched on my right hand, I gently lowered my left hand over his back so that he would not spread his wings and fly back to the window. I thought he'd protest; that when we moved farther from the window than we'd gotten before he'd begin to flutter against my grasp. He didn't. He sat calmly in my hands, his head peeking out of the ride, until I arrived on the balcony and removed the hand over his back. He stayed a moment, and then sped away to the nearest tree.

There are superstitions about finding birds in the house, most of them dire. But after hearing my story, my mother found this interpretation somewhere on the internet:

A small bird flying into the house means true good luck: if it was a hummingbird, its great fortune. Hummingbirds are the reincarnations of true good angels of wealth. Good fortune will befall you and your home; its now blessed by a angel.

I don't know about angels, but if the opportunity to hold a hummingbird in your hands isn't good fortune, I don't know what is.

Women Attracted to Men in Expensive Cars My Ass

If you've been following this blog -- and I know you haven't been -- you know that I haven't posted anything interesting in months. There are several good reasons for this, too numerous to mention. But the most recent excuse for this is that I underwent my first surgery this month.

Prior to that, I visited ailing family in Michigan and, directly after my own surgery, I hosted visiting friends in San Diego. Which, by the way, was the most fun I've had in a very long time. Thanks, Denise and Lizzie!

Okay, so I mentioned some of my excuses. Sue me. (No, don't. I'm unemployed and paying medical bills right now. You won't get anything.)

The thing which brings me to my blog this morning is a link which a Facebook friend posted, claiming that girls really are more attracted to men in expensive cars. In his post, my friend claimed that this was exceedingly obvious. What a crock!

Look, there's no denying that if you put 10 cars in a row and ask me to pick the most attractive one, I will certainly have an opinion. The same is true if you put 10 single men in a row. But if the car I found most attractive happens to belong to the man I find most attractive, it will be a coincidence at best.

Here's the thing which women learn with time and experience: the guy getting out of the car is more important than the car from which he gets out. Granted, if the car is a Ranchero so rusted that the bed has been kicked off the chassis, the doors are held closed with a bungie cord, and the floorboard has a hole in it allowing a tornado of leaves to accompany its passengers, I might think twice about the driver (yes, I've met this car); but in most cases, four wheels and a working engine are all that are required.

What time and experience teach us is this: as a general rule, the worst men drive the best cars. The spoiled, entitled, bossy, manipulating men go for show -- and nine times out of ten, that showy car is no indication of his income. Until he proves to you that he's a lawyer or doctor, it's safe to assume that his parents bought the car or that he's a drug dealer.

Okay, okay. That was a sweeping generalization and I know it. But COME ON. What kind of cars are we talking about here? Let's go back to the scientific study. Here I use "scientific" loosely.

Here's how researchers tested the women. "The university team showed women pictures of the same man sitting in two cars - a £70,000 silver Bentley Continental and a battered Ford Fiesta. The women, who were aged between 21 to 40, picked the man sitting in the Bentley ahead of the same man in the Ford."

You think I made a sweeping generalization?!? Here's the choice -- binary, mind you: a shiny new Bentley, or a battered old Ford. This isn't even a fair test comparing a new expensive car to a new affordable one. One is pristine the other is "battered." There doesn't even need to be a man anywhere near the car to predict the winner of this contest. Christ.

Let's see... are women really more attracted to men in EXPENSIVE cars, or to men in cars which haven't been ABUSED. I refer you to the aforementioned Ranchero. You could have done the same test with two Bentleys -- one new, one battered. Guess which one women (or men for that matter) would prefer. Yeah. But in that scenario the headline couldn't read that they prefer the expensive cars. Grr.

Crap science.