When the 100 day long writers’ strike ended in February, we breathed sighs of relief. Now comes word that an actors’ strike is possible. Ugh. You know what such a strike would mean: even more reality tv and reruns.
Reality tv. Reruns. How about a rerun of our idea for a new show inspired by “American Idol?” Producers, networks, give us a call.
I read in yesterday’s Chicago Tribune that chipped manicures are now “in.”
Who wouldn’t read an article with a headline that contained such news?
Apparently, young celebs and wannabe celebs are embracing the “peeling and chipped” aesthetic because it shows that they “could care less.”
Let me get this straight. One makes the appointment, shows up, pays and tips in advance (de-rigeur since at completion, one’s nails will not be dry enough to dig into wallet), gets soaked, scraped, filed, shaped, oiled, lotioned, cleaned, and polished—then sits for thirty more minutes or so while “I’m Not Really A Waitress” red dries to a perfect sheen–
Then, instead of opening the door with your chin and driving home, steering with your elbows, you just let the sucker get all chipped up so it will look like you don’t care?
My first thought was, perhaps like yours, why not just skip the whole thing in the first place? When I ranted about the double narcisissm of this to Mr. Ampolo, he, as usual, helped me see beyond my knee jerk crankiness about the affectation which to me says, “I can afford a manicure, I can take the time for a manicure, but when it comes right down to it, I don’t really care all that much about the manicure and above all, I don’t want anyone to think that I care that much about my manicure.”
Mr. Ampolo suggested we think outside the box. There’s a whole new market out there for the entrepreneurial sorts we know. After all, isn’t Ampolo about sharing ideas? Here are some that I certainly hope someone takes and runs with—
Yeah, I had eggs for breakfast, what’s it to you? Pre-stained ties, for the junior executive who has to wear a suit, but needs to prove he just doesn’t care about a promotion.
Unwashed Hair in a Can! Sure you might like the feeling of washing your hair until it’s squeaky clean during your morning shower, but do you want everyone to think you’re shiny clean for them? Do you want them to think you care what they think? Spray in the grease and dirt that will show you are above the petty stares of others.
Pre-Workout Workout Tee. Put this baby on and you will look and smell as funky as if you’d run two hours through a rainforest before you even leave the house. Everyone will think you’ve been working out for hours…wait a minute. This product shows you do care what people think…yeah, but if it’s about working out…and looking bad while you do it…and not caring that you look bad…this one actually has it all. Affectation, narcissism, and sweat stains. Mr. Ampolo and I might take this one and market it…
We’ll play you out with–who else?–Nine Inch Nails.
Hey-Ho—Mrs. Ampolo here again. Last time I visited, I was touting summer oatmeal—my fave breakfast, made even cooler by frozen fruit. Lest you think Mrs. Ampolo is a granola-crunching, Birkenstock-wearing earth mother (and, I admit, I am) here’s another summer recipe that I just invented five minutes ago, that is deliciously non-earth mother.
First get yourself a bottle of Pinky vodka. Yes, it’s pink—and flavored with wild strawberries—and believe it or not, Mrs. Ampolo is anti-flavored-vodka. She’s a plain old Grey Goose or Ketel One kind of gal—no citrus, no nothing. (‘ceptin mebbe olives.)
But Pinky—it was a Christmas gift from good old Chuck and Lynn, I think because they liked the bottle and name—but it has started something around here.
Okay—here’s the summer cocktail. Put four or five frozen (from the freezer—don’t even consider thawing) strawberries in your glass. Pour a couple ounces (or so) of Pinky over the berries. Add a few ice cubes if your aim is to get it really cold—satisfy yourself with the frozen berries if you’re looking for pretty. And if this is for company? And you feel the need and calling for garnish? Add mint leaves. Sugar them if you must, but that is so not South Beach. That’s your Pinky. And I’d like credit please. Pinky vodka manufacturers? Are you out there? I’ll take my pay in cases.
Our friend Jim, whom you might know as author James Finn Garner (Politically Correct Bedtime Stories, Recut Madness), offers a most interesting idea. He writes:
I got on a crowded elevator at Northwestern Hospital. As everyone entered, they had to stop and check to see if their floor had been pressed already, but no one could really see anyway, because there were too many people and they all had to cram in to block the panel. This created a logjam, and more confusion, which created a bigger logjam.
Here’s my idea: Why not put the control panel on the back wall? That would change the traffic pattern: old riders could stand against the wall better, creating a corridor for new riders to enter and push their floor buttons.
An additional addition: In a crowded elevator, the rear panel might still be hard to read, so why not install something up high to indicate which floors had been pushed? I mean, the fake wood panelling is nice and all, but it ain’t exactly library quality, and function should win out over aesthetics–even if it’s hardly an issue.
Now, watch Otis run away with my idea.
Jim, who had absolutely nothing to do with the video (’Elevator,” by the rapper Florida), is also the creator of the baseball poetry site, Bardball.com and has his own terrific Blog.
