Apropos of Nothing

David’s Bridal is airing a really depressing commercial. The groom is saying how the wedding is all about the bride and he’s just a cog in the machine. True, the attention is on the bride at the wedding but the blunt way this commercial states that is just so pathetic and sad. (If you want to get technical, it’s also inaccurate since the groom is one of two people who needs to show up or there’s no wedding or marriage.) It’s an ineffective commercial since I didn’t focus on the dresses they’re trying to move but focused on how low this hypothetical person’s self-image must be. The commercial ironically draws more attention to the groom than the bride.

Can we not get through a single weather event without it turning into a three-act melodrama? This morning Action News had “continuing coverage of the fog” (I guess for the benefit of all the blind drivers who can’t just look out the window and see the fog). Do people really need instructions on how to handle excess water vapor?

I have a nomination for a Phillies broadcaster to replace Wheels and Sarge: Charlie Manuel. Hear me out: He doesn’t need to be in the booth for the whole game and doesn’t even need to comment on the game at hand. Just bring him in for a few innings and have him bullshit about baseball and tell stories with the current game on in the background. It would be enormously entertaining.

Someone should market Hate Pink sweatpants for people like me. I hate the color pink. I’ll double my contribution to breast cancer charities if it will get me out of wearing a Pepto-Bismol ensemble. If pink is your color, fine, but there’s no way I’ll ever look good in it. Pink isn’t even a real color. It’s just a lighter shade of red. Pink is the gray of red.

Football announcers should start calling completions “intraceptions” just to see how confused people get at home.

Around 1980, there was a backlash against disco. Some people were sick of the genre but what alternative did they offer? REO Speedwagon, Christopher Cross and Air Supply. For that dreck, people told Donna Summer to take a hike. Compare the charts of 1978-79 with 1980-81 and tell me what music you’d rather hear at a party.

I tried a new brand of soup, Brandywine something or other, comes in a jar, and never will again. The mushroom soup tasted like mushrooms in dirty water from the Brandywine. It was foul.

The gym is not a place for you to chat with your friend at 3 mph on the treadmill. You can saunter around the block and do that for free without taking up a machine. No matter how loud I turn up my music, I can still hear you blabbing away. Most of these people will quit soon but I’d rather they stop kidding themselves and quit now so I can run in peace.