Omissions and misinformation, a little Thursday rant

This morning on the Today Show, they aired a segment about how identity thieves are using people’s file sharing programs to steal their personal information.

Now, I’m not going to go into whether file sharing is amoral or immoral or whatever the ethics behind it are. But the simple fact is that much of it is very illegal. In fact, the song they used as an example was a Beyonce song.

I just sat there marveling as the news report claimed that, “These file sharing programs can have a dark side.” You think? How about the dark side of illegal file sharing?

I was also quite boggled by a quote from a man whose daughter’s file sharing had led to their tax returns being stolen and sold on the international market. He said something like, “I never thought someone could use these programs to commit a crime.”

Seriously, dude?

I’m floored by the massive viewpoint that was left out of this news story. It’s kind of like if they did a story about people who pick the pockets of car thieves while they’re bent over hot-wiring a car.

Look, I don’t care if you file share or don’t. As an author, I have to hope in the name of my own livelihood that somebody doesn’t find a way to share my book online for free.

But the lazy reporting has GOT to GO!

Similarly, this week’s episode of “The Biggest Loser” (which I love) featured a quiz about health and nutrition. The first question was:

“True or false: Switching from regular soda to diet soda will extend your lifespan?”

The contestants answered “false,” and the woman from Prevention magazine said, “Yes! It’s false! Studies show that both diet and regular sodas can lead to metabolic syndrome!”

So how do you get from, “studies show that diet soda can lead to metabolic syndrome” to “diet sodas will NOT extend your lifespan”?

Yes, studies have shown that diet sodas are not always effective because their sweetness can cause people to crave sweets, in which they then indulge, which causes them to gain weight that may contribute to metabolic syndrome.

But that is CORRELATION, my friends, not CAUSALITY. And the absolute “false” renders this ridiculous. I promise you that there are some people out there who switched from regular soda to diet soda and did not get metabolic syndrome, and (gasp!) extended their lifespans.

They didn’t mention how much diet soda vs. how much regular soda. They didn’t mention the health of the person in question. They didn’t put it in context of studies or specific situations.

They just made an ignorant, unsupportable blanket statement and passed it off as a fact.

Bah!

8 comments February 26th, 2009

Katie’s thrilling “American Idol” recap: Top 36, Week 2

(Note from Future Katie: this is waaaay longer than I thought it would be. 1300 words? What is wrong with me? Non-Idol fans may just want to, you know, not go there with me. I will totally understand.)

Tonight is the second top 12, from whom three will go on to the actual top 12–the top-voted girl, the top-voted boy, and the next-highest vote-getter, regardless of gender.

I’m going to blog it as I see it, which means you get to ride the thrilling emotional roller coaster along with me.

Jasmine Murray “Love Song” by Sara Bareilles. I didn’t know they made people this pretty. It’s that wide-set eyes thing that makes people super photogenic. She has a nice voice, but this song doesn’t show off her strengths. At all. Too bad.

And I hate it when people respond to critiques by saying, “I had a great time.” Don’t care what kind of time you had. Want good singing. Also, it’s hilariously dumb that she tried to vote for everyone. Very good use of your time. Should have been working on your vocals.

Matt Giraud, “Viva La Vida” by Coldplay. The dueling piano player. You have to be careful when you sing one of the best popular (and my current favorite) songs. His angsty, breathy style takes all of the transcendently high-flying confidence away from the song. And his runs make me want to throw up. Awful. Why? Why? Why? Go home, guy. Just go home and leave my playlist alone.

The judges want everyone to remember Hollywood week, but I hope there’s not room for him in this week’s top 3 (because that means it’s going to be a really long night).

Jeanine Vailes, “This Love” by Maroon 5. Never seen her before, have we? She has kind of the opposite face of Jasmine. She makes the song sound like something I would have listened to on the local pop radio station while brooding in my bedroom every night in 7th grade, between “Buffalo Stance” and “My Prerogative”. I really dislike that sort of round-mouth approach to singing. Don’t hoot the notes, dear. Sing them for us.

Paula: “Great legs. Simon?” Nice.

SIDE NOTE: I’m just noticing how casually Ryan Seacrest is dressed tonight. Also, thank goodness the horrific family interviews are gone from this show.

Nick Mitchell as Norman Gentle, that song from DreamGirls. I think he could have a show in Vegas, headlining at the Trop or some other low/mid-grade hotel. I’m just not interested in comedy music. And his voice isn’t good enough to justify the character. Maybe a cruiseline or something.

Best comment: “I don’t know those people” when Simon mentioned his parents. I think this guy is going to end up with a sitcom or something.

Seacrest: “This is live, can you tell?” Seacrest, 1. Dopey interviews, 0.

Allison Iraheta, “Alone” by Heart. Awkwardest pre-interview ever. I like the tone of her voice. I hope she can hit some notes… Hey, not bad. First good performance of the night. And better, I think, than Carrie Underwood’s wooden version a few years ago. Plus, pink hair. And 16 years old?!? All good.

Her mother is dressed like a Miss America contestant. But that’s okay.

SIDE NOTE: The husb is eager for someone to actually come out and sing the telephone book, as the judges keep insisting someone could do.

Kris Allen, “Man in the Mirror,” Michael Jackson. Good luck, dude. Could work if he plays it up, boy band style. Actually sounds kind of current. Perhaps singing about looking at yourself and making a change is what made Michael Jackson go nuts with the plastic surgery. Probably not.

Not bad, better than everyone but Allison.

SIDE NOTE: What on earth is wrong with the back of Paula’s shirt? It looks like she got attacked by a werewolf.

Megan Joy Corkrey, “Put Your Records On,” Corinne Bailey Rae. I love this song. She’d better sing pretty. Hmm, she’s talk-singing. Hmm, she’s failing. Also, the hand-wringing dance is unintentionally funny. And she’s dressed like a six-year-old. She puts me in mind of Alice in Wonderland. She dances like those flowers in the early 90s that used to jerk around when you played music.

Wow, seriously? Paula’s right, she is beautiful. But wrong about doing everything right. Dressing, wrong. Wiggle-dance, wrong. Sing-talking, wrong. (Note to Randy, “drop dead” is not a compliment unless you attach “gorgeous.”)

SIDE NOTE: but her look is definitely what I have in mind for one of the major supporting characters in my work-in-progress.

Matt Breitzke (aka, the welder), “If You Could Only See,” Tonic. I think he has an uphill battle since the other blue-collar hero, Michael Sarver, got through. However, he’s not bad. I’m not sure this song is enough of a stretch for him. He sounds like a less-good imitation of the original. Wedding singer, maybe?

I think he could have chosen a riskier song that would have sounded much better and paid off.

OMG, we’re only on 8?

Jesse Langseth, “Bette Davis Eyes,” Kim Carnes. I like her as a person. “Oh, you’re talking crap? I’m in!” She has an interesting voice. I’m just not sure this is good enough. Actually, it gets better. And she has an interesting look, although let’s put some bangs on that forehead, m’dear.

Okay, stop trying to show off your musical knowledge. And I do agree with Simon, she’s “too cool for school.” She needs to get over herself a little.

Kai Kalama, “What Becomes of the Broken-Hearted?” Jimmy Ruffin.
I’ve never liked this guy. Let’s see if he can change my mind. Actually, looking at him, I don’t know what I don’t like about him. His shoulder undulations are a little creeptastic. His voice is okay. A little generic. The husb really likes him.

I agree with Kara that the song is old-fashioned. Maybe that’s what I don’t like about him.

SIDE NOTE: Megan is doing the spastic flower corkscrew dance on the balcony.

Mishavonna Henson, “Drops of Jupiter,” Train. Ooh, she sounds good. Sounds comfortable. I’m not wild about the “eh eh ehhhhhh” parts. Yes, I like her. She’s interesting enough to want to see more of.

The judges are left cold. I can understand that. She doesn’t compare to Allison. She almost has that Melinda Dolittle thing, where she’s so complete a package that she’ll start to drive me batty after a couple of weeks. “What ho! I assure you, I am crazy, Mr. Seacrest. Pray entreat my dear friends on yon balcony. They will bear witness… You shall see my inanity in its glory! Ho ho ho!” (Pardon me, I’m reading both Tess of the d’Urbervilles and Vanity Fair.)

Adam Lambert, “Satisfaction,” the Rolling Stones. I have high hopes for this guy, because I think he has an incredible voice. I’m not wild about this song as a song, but let’s see.

Hmm, no. This is not a song that was designed to show off voices. I hope he moves on and chooses songs I like more.

And oh, hush up with the “some people like it, some people hate it” comments. When you can do better, you should go ahead and do better. Even if some people like what you’re doing when you’re not very good. Dingbat.

The husb and I have a theory that the better singers get the more attentive lighting design. Adam seems to have drawn the long straw in that regard, although the bars of color remind me of the outside of a Toys R Us.

My predictions? Allison Iraheta, Adam Lambert, and Matt Breitzke vs. Kris Allen as a backup. And possibly some room for Mishavonna in the wildcard show?

Allison is the best of the night.

Simon was right, I already forgot the red-headed girl.

But the award for best twisty flower balcony dance definitely goes to… Megan Joy Corkrey! Wooo!

Next week, I’m thinking about doing ten-word reviews.

2 comments February 25th, 2009

With apologies, my American Idol recap

Yes, I still watch the show! I can’t help it. I’ve never missed a season. In fact, out of eight seasons, I can count the number of performance shows I’ve missed on one hand. (We rarely watch the elimination shows, though. That’s what the internet is for!)

For those of you who aren’t up to speed, Idol is down to its top 36. Every Tuesday for this and the next two weeks, twelve performers will sing and three will be moved ahead to the final leg of the competition. There’s talk of a wildcard show, which is a new thing, but I don’t know how that’s going to work. I’d like to think the judges select the lineup for that show and the audience gets to vote again.

Last night, the first twelve performers took to the little round starter stage.

“Three out of twelve” odds sound really tough until you realize how few of these contestants actually have what it takes to make it through a season of live performances. The mostly-unslayable dragon of the evening was, as usual, song choice. A modern, relatable guy transformed himself into an old-fashioned easy listening singer with Michael Jackson’s Rock With You. A bluesy rocker buried all of her vocals under a chaotic rendition of Elvis Presley’s A Little Less Conversation. Singer after singer fell victim to the cruel sword of a poorly selected song.

There were standouts. Little pink-haired Alexis (now gosh, why do I like her already?), surname Grace, belted out an Aretha Franklin song with control and poise (which is, if the rest of the performers last night are any indication, much harder than it sounds). Longtime favorite Danny Gokey, who won America’s hearts when he auditioned with his best friend only four weeks after his wife had passed away, nailed Mariah Carey’s “Hero” and established himself as the first singer to actually take any risk with his song choice–or shall we say, any smart risk.

Oil-rig roughneck country singer Michael Sarver and enormously likable Anoop Desai also turned in solid performances. Sarver is the ultimate everyman, and Anoop is the boy every high school girl can picture taking her to the movies and being polite to her parents.

As for the measure of a disastrous performance, they all seem to have one thing in common–a crippling awkwardness. Even when it’s just the husb and myself watching, we get uncomfortable. A true performer is the host of the audience, and their steward. While s/he is onstage, the audience gets to relax and enjoy, rather than exert any effort.

Several of last night’s singers fell well short of that mark, and as a result we probably won’t be seeing them again. Probably the worst were the lovely Casey Carlson, who winked and open-mouthed her way through a grotesque rendition of one of the least melodic songs ever written, “Every Little Thing She Does is Magic.” Another disaster was high school student Stevie Wright, whose youth and inexperience cut her off at the knees the moment she took the judges’ exhortations to be “younger” as literal advice. She sang a bouncy pop song written for a voice very different from hers.

Once-fresh-faced Ann Marie Boskovich looked about forty years old, in her generic blue dress (I hate that shade of blue! it’s for pajamas!) and lounge singer limp hair. Ricky Braddy sang well but was completely forgettable, another victim of the dreaded “they haven’t shown me until now” syndrome. Brent Keith, who I’m told was on season 2 of “Nashville Star,” but whom I can’t remember, even though I watched that season, can’t compare to the real-guy appeal of “the other country guy,” Sarver.

The above-mentioned Jackie Tohn (who failed Elvis) and Stephen Fowler (who failed Michael Jackson) have to be packing their bags this morning.

Probably the big surprise of the night was Tatiana Del Toro, who’s been portrayed up to now as a simpering, shrieking, hysterical, nonsensical limelight-hog. Who knew she could actually sing? But her super-controlled presentation, no doubt intended to show America she’s not as crazy as she obviously is, was dull, and now she’s either the girl you hate or the boring girl. Or both.

Three of these twelve will go on–the top guy, the top girl, and the next-highest vote getter. I’m think Danny Gokey, Alexis Grace, and either Michael or Anoop–hopefully with whoever’s left behind earning a wildcard slot in a few weeks.

Happy Idoling!

k.

9 comments February 18th, 2009

The saner side of Britney…

Sunday night, MTV premiered “Britney: For the Record,” a fairly no-frills documentary about Britney Spears. It features several plain-talk, intimately-set interviews with her at a hotel, and follows her through 60 days of her life, culminating in her surprise appearance at Madonna’s Los Angeles concert, which I remember well because it was part of a series of things that royally screwed up my commute. (Thanks a lot, Madge!)

In general, I don’t feel very strongly about Brit one way or the other, except that she and Paris and all those girls have kind of horrified me with their antics in the past. I have compassion for her the way you have compassion for the monkeys at the zoo who would obviously rather be riding the merry-go-round and jovially flinging their poop at each other than begging you to swing the peanut cup at them.

The documentary was interesting. In a lot of ways, it felt like a slow exhale. There are funny bits, uncomfortable bits, and touching bits (such as when Britney breaks into tears and says simply, “I’m sad”). You get a very clear sense of how literally trapped she is, for all her money and fame. She can’t leave her house without being followed by fifty (five-zero) carsful of paparazzi. She gets out of her car to cross a sidewalk, only to be forced back inside by the crushing mob of photographers, many of whom literally don’t care whether they hurt or scare her, as long as they get “the shot.” There’s a great moment where (a terrifyingly Botoxed) Madonna talks to the camera about how her experience and Britney’s are similar, and how they’re different.

Yes, Britney carved her own canoe, but as she points out, she was young. It was fun, at first. And now she’s paying the price, although she refuses to see herself as a victim.

So anyway, regardless of how you feel about Britney, if you happen to catch this documentary, give it a chance. It doesn’t ask you to like her music or her performance style.

Ultimately, what it does is humanize a girl who’s been largely dehumanized.

And in this day and age, where we package bright, ambitious young women as commodities, encourage them to sell their souls and bodies, and then throw stones and insults at them, every bit of reclaimed humanity counts as progress.

11 comments December 3rd, 2008

How the other half lives (hint: weirdly)

Sunday night, the husb and I were watching a news story about a Wall street stockbroker, a former master-of-the-universe type–one of those guys whose goal all through business school is to channel Gordon Gekko.

The premise of the story was that he had lost it all, as I guess we’re to infer so many Gekko-wannabes are doing at this very moment in time. He waxed on about his designer clothes, his car (which he bought because it was the kind Don Johnson drove in Miami Vice, so please forgive me if I just flat out say this guy was pretty much a loser), his horrifically cheesy houses all over the northeast part of the country…

And then the newscaster ran through a litany of the ways in which he’d lived large:

“Parties on his yacht with beautiful women, Dom Perignon, jugglers and clowns…”

Come again?

I love the idea that the Wall Street elite are out there having ridiculous parties where they pour Dom Perignon all over each other and then sit down to watch some juggling. Or are the jugglers more background? Do they and their clown cousins just sort of mingle with the guests and add to the festive nature of the party?

Oh well.

All I know is, I love those moments when the husb and I look at each other and immediately know that we’re on the same wavelength. And we definitely had a bit of shared braintime over the clownophile habits of the rich and not-famous.

PS – If you are the person who found my blog searching for “American Stepford Bullterrier,” you probably mean the American Staffordshire Terrier or the Staffordshire Bull Terrier, and if you get one, make sure you go to a good breeder who prioritizes temperament and lets you meet at least one of the parents. You can find the breed clubs’ websites here (AmStaff) and here (Staffie). Also, unfortunately, your homeowners insurance company may not cover certain breeds, so look into that first.

8 comments October 22nd, 2008

The astonishing lure of HGTV

Wait, before you do anything else, please watch this video:

And now on to our post…

Being in Belize, and being rained in for a sizeable percentage of the time, the husb and I found ourselves often lounging in the living room of the condo where we stayed, watching HGTV (yes, we were roughing it)–that’s “Home and Garden Television”, for those of you who don’t have cable.

HGTV has a lot of shows about, as you can imagine, houses. Selling houses, buying houses, renovating houses, valuating houses, dressing up houses’ curbs and playing down houses’ weaknesses. As their promos say, home prices are falling, and people–even people who have no intention of moving–seem to be obsessed with making sure they retain as much market value as possible.

You see the full spectrum on these shows–the new empty-nesters who are “downsizing” into a 3000-square-foot condo with a fountain and a media room; the newlyweds who are struggling to find a house in their miniscule budget. The real appeal, I think, is that while you watch homeowners and real estate agents pick over the features of each property, you pretend they’re in your house.

Doodly doodly doo, doodly doodly doo… squiggly lines, squiggly lines… begin fantasy sequence…

The hosts are smartly dressed. There are two of them. One has a British accent. Despite the fact that camera crews have been tracking mud all over my floors for the better part of the day, I pretend I’m surprised to see them here.

“Well, look at this! What a surprise!” I say.

“You are pathetic!” they snap as they enter my foyer. “Did you know that 66% of your outside lightbulbs are burnt out?”

“Uh… that is known as ‘the lighting rule of thirds’,” I will say. “It also plays up our hillside charm by inviting woodland creatures, such as squirrels, skunks, coyotes, and disgusting, disgusting potato bugs to visit.”

By this point, they are through with listening to me. They are staring at the plastic bags in the foyer.

“Er, those are for charity,” I say, sliding in front of the offending bags. “This house has really good charity karma. Buyers love karmically clean houses.”

They are also unimpressed by the fact that the water is off in the guest bathroom, because the toilet won’t stop running and, um, someone is too lazy to call a plumber. (Where’s Joe the Plumber when you need him?)

But I cleverly explain that it can be hidden: at an open house, we just need to move buyers through the house in three-minute intervals–start by demonstrating the fact that the toilet flushes, and then rush them through everything else. Or we need to plant someone in there and have him or her flush every three minutes, and leave a bunch of empty Pepto bottles out where you can’t miss them. Polite people–people karmically clean enough for this house–will be too courteous to say anything.

By this point, I will have wandered into the kitchen and poured myself a Kool-Aid. Because, let’s face it, HGTV may fit the laid-back pace of Belize, but now that we’re back in the USA, I need my editing a little snappier–at the very least, TLC pace.

Things go downhill, fast.

While the hosts attempt to assess the merits of my galley-style kitchen, I am rooting through the snack bin and pulling out a 100-calorie pack of Goldfish, preferably with flavor blast. I plant myself on the couch and politely ignore them until they get the message and leave.

As they let themselves out (because by now I’m watching America’s Next Top Model, where they assess things that really matter, like your ability to walk in heels and smile with your eyes), the one with the British accent trips over the two overflowing bins of dog toys and threatens to sue. To defuse the situation, I let him root through my charity bags and choose whichever two items he wants (an old portable phone and the dress I wore to my rehearsal dinner).

Then, exhausted, I lie down on the couch and let Tyra’s voice lull me to sleep.

Maybe I’m not cut out for reality TV.

Doodly doodly doo, doodly doodly doo…

I wake up with a start, in a mostly dark house.

It was all a dream.

What a relief.

The living room is dimly lit by the comforting, familiar single light bulb shining over the front steps. The toilet is singing like a burbling brook (“great flow!” a creative realtor might write in his ad). The potato bugs are scratching their sweet scritch scritch lullaby at the front door.

And I know that when I wake up in the morning, I will find, as my little gift from the universe, a giant potato bug lying dead on the front walk, and it will take all my strength to keep the dog from picking it up and trying to eat it.

My own little slice of paradise.

There’s just one little thing that doesn’t make sense…

Why do my fingers smell like flavor blast?

5 comments October 18th, 2008

Disturbing new trend alert! You heard it here first!

I don’t know if this is as prevalent across the rest of the world as it currently is in the USA, but lately I’ve noticed a trend in a lot of advertisements.

I call it “a-hole chic.” (Well, when I’m not blogging in front of a potentially PG-rated audience, I use the whole word. But the abbreviated version gets the point across, right?)

At some point, it became desirable and even “cool” to have commercials where the people are just jerks. There are dozens of ads where the deliberately slobby roommate or treasonously unsympathetic spouse somehow one-ups an innocent victim and comes out on top.

There’s a pretty bad campaign out for Glade scented products, featuring the products’ ability to turn any normal person into a pathological liar. The lady who tells her yoga friends she found some miraculous odor-emitting substance, and then the one friend sees the plug-in and calls her out on it. The lady in the tub who lies and tells her friend she’s at a spa??

(First of all, why are you answering your cell phone in the tub? Let’s just lay this on the table right now, I would rather not talk to you on the phone when you are in the process of bathing yourself.)

But the worst offender by a mile has to be the new Cadillac campaign, where the painfully detached woman drives at what must be unsafe speeds down a tunnel in her Cadillac, and talks in her best “meanest girl in 7th grade” voice about the car.

Or the one that I’ve seen approximately 422 times this week, with the guy driving the Cadillac hybrid.

He drones on like the antagonist in a Disney film, criticizing the current crop of hybrids for their lack of features like an eight-inch DVD player and a cow-pusher and a king-size waterbed, or whatever ridiculous things people are demanding in their cars these days, and then he says they should make a hybrid of the car he’s driving, which has not only all those features but also allows you to rob old ladies and shoot homeless people with a built-in pellet gun.

Then he looks at the camera and says, “Whoops. Did I give away the secret?” or something, in the most irritatingly snide tone, like he’s way better than you and he’s actually kind of annoyed that a peon like you even gets to watch his commercial.

What they aren’t telling you is that between shooting commercials, he’s the second assistant manager at Denny’s–not that there’s anything wrong with an honest day’s work–and the way he’s able to conjure up such a snotty tone is that he’s pretending he’s working the Daytona Denny’s in the middle of spring break season.

So here’s the real problem. I know a couple of nice people who drive Cadillacs. But they’re soon going to be way outnumbered by the people who saw these commercials and decided that they aspired to be just like the a-hole (man or woman) in the commercial. And before you know it, 99% of the Caddys on the road will be driven by junior titleholders in the a-hole chic pageant.

Which leads me to my two personal snide remarks, which are questions for the people who can relate to the mean lady and dude:

(1) What kind of maniac buys a hybrid car that gets 12 mpg?
(2) If you’re dying for a car with an 8-inch DVD player, you have at least one kid, and also that you are incapable of entertaining said kid by yourself. So not only are you raising a snotty child who will drive you to distraction once s/he becomes a teenager (kids are sponges!), but clearly you are not the most interesting human being on the planet, and no amount of talking down your nose at the rest of us is going to make you any less of a flaming bore.

So there.

5 comments October 8th, 2008

It’s aliiiiive!

So I’ve basically worn an indentation in the office chair today, getting the new design all ready to go. I guess it comes with the obsessive personality–I can’t possibly just let something like a web redesign percolate for a few days.

Some pages are still inactive, and I’ve found a few spots where links need tweaking, etc. Please let me know if you find a bug. Right now, I know the Winston link isn’t working–sorry, Tom! I’ll fix it tomorrow.

So much focus and concentration leaves only enough room in my brain for a list:

SIX THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY:

* The show I Love Lucy. It’s a masterpiece. Half of the episodes leave me laughing so hard I’m in tears. The other night, we watched the one where the actors move in upstairs, and I was in hysterics at the end, much to the non-delight of the husb, who was trying to sleep.

* That Pat Wood was shortlisted for the Orange Prize, which is a veddy veddy prestigious British award, and the winner will be announced tomorrow (Wednesday) at 7:15-7:30 pm (ish) UK time, which for me is late morning, veddy convenient!

* That you don’t have to steam Trader Joe’s Chicken Gyoza–you can microwave them! And it only takes a wet paper towel and two minutes! How did I miss that for so many years?

* That my asparagus is in fine form, a hilariously skinny and tall first stalk that is now getting some detail.

* That I finally got a replacement sewing machine for my new one that arrived broken–probably dropped in shipment. Which is great, because my old one broke again. D’oh! (Yes, this means I now have two sewing machines. For a week or so, I have had two BROKEN sewing machines. I’m saving the second one for my friends who come over to hang out. I’m not sure I’ll be able to convince them, but having an extra machine is a big step.)

* That So You Think You Can Dance is back on. Ahh, summer!

This is my favorite routine EVER — from last season. It’s perfect!

(Oh, and am I the only person who thinks that movie about the Playboy Bunny who becomes a sorority’s house-mom looks hilarious? I swear, my brain chooses the weirdest movies to get excited about. But heaven help me, I think it looks funny.))

11 comments June 4th, 2008

Wal-Mart math

Last night, I saw a commercial presumably co-sponsored by GE and Wal-Mart. The actress, dressed in “everyday mom” clothes, was holding up a compact fluorescent light bulb and saying that if all of the Wal-Mart shoppers out there (“All 200 million of us–”) bought just one of these light bulbs, it would be the equivalent of taking 11 million cars off the roads.

I find this extremely hard to believe. That basically says that every 18.18 light bulbs equals one car. Cars don’t seem quite that low-energy to me. Considering that cars themselves contain multiple light bulbs.

I’m sure there’s some slippery math behind it all–such as “we didn’t say the cars were driving, they were just parked on the road” or “we’re saying over the life of the light bulb, you will save the power equivalent to running 1/18th of a car for two hours” or something along those lines.

I hate stuff like this. I think we need critical thinking classes in schools.

11 comments April 3rd, 2008

Megan, are you out there?

Megan, Alphaville-loving Megan, are you out there? Have you seen the new Futurama movie?

I saw it last night and thought of you.

(Warning: weird sounds will result from clicking on this link… don’t do it if you work in a cubicle farm.)

That is all. Thank you.

Now I really really really need to get back to revising. Meh.

2 comments December 16th, 2007