The court of pet-peeves is now in session. The Honorable Judge Curmudgeon presiding. All rise … or not.
I recently saw a detailed, highly-researched article in a medical journal that said stupid people tend not to believe stuff they read even when faced with overwhelming facts. I don’t believe it.
Next: What is Bernie Sanders going to say about pizza companies that are now getting into the insurance business? One national chain is offering to replace your pizza, if something happens to it.
Who, may I ask, in their right mind, would buy a pizza not because of its taste, but because it carries an insurance policy? Is that the first thing that comes to mind when you suddenly have an attack of the munchies? Is the thought process: What kind of replacement-coverage does it have? Give me a break.
“Hey, Honey, I know it tastes like crap and is overpriced, but if we happen to get into a horrible automobile accident on our way home when the car hits a bus and blows up, we can go back to the store and get another pie absolutely free!” Yeah, right, life is good, eh!?
Next: Have you ever heard of anyone who grows their own vegetables say something like, “I wished I’d planted more zucchini” or “I’m running out of zucchini!”? Didn’t think so.
This stuff spreads like the measles. I think maybe it’s because it camouflages itself, hiding behind its same colored leaves, in an evolutionary-long plan to multiply and someday take over the world. Ridiculous, you say? May I direct your attention to the vegetables now working in the Washington D.C. area?!
But seriously, what’s up with this squash? Here’s an example of a not too uncommon scenario often played out on a summer day: “Hey, Bob, I dropped off some extra zucchini at your house. We have too much. I left it on your front porch for you and the wife. Did you get it?”
“Yeah, we got it, Stan. Thanks. But two or three hundred would have been plenty. We usually eat, I don’t know, maybe, one or two a week. But, thanks, anyhow. We should be set for the next millennium or so. Be sure to say ‘hi’ to Ethel for me.”
Here’s a serious question: How can we have kids — or anyone, anywhere — go to bed hungry when we have this much zucchini? We don’t have a world-wide food shortage problem, we have a food distribution problem. (If you have a plan, please, step to the plate and do something. Call Stan … maybe he can donate a truckload or eight.)
Next: I’m personally offended by the TV commercial that shows a gathering of 30 year-olds — whatever — hanging together trying to deny the aging process via an announcer who asks, “You don’t want to end up like your parents, do you?” Here’s the reality of life: time marches on. Grow up, literally.
But that’s not the issue. My fidgety angst stems from the question itself. Contrary to the ad’s insinuation, I’d be honored to be identified by the lives that my mom and dad played out. They will always be my heroes. Why would someone think that throwing their own parents under the bus was the cool way to go?
And while I’m that topic: There’s also a commercial (same company?) that shows a middle-aged gal reading a book in the yard of her parents’ home, where she obviously lives (as evidenced by the ensuing voiceover). She acts irritated when her mother lets her know that she (the mother) was fixing her a refreshing drink. “I’m making a smoothie for you,” she affectionately shouts.
As the look of annoyance spreads across the daughter’s face, the spokesperson asks, “You don’t want to wind up living with your parents forever, do you?” Seriously? This lazy-ass, ungrateful freeloader has never had it so good. Why wouldn’t she? Give me a break.
And don’t you think her parents want her out more than she wants to leave? The disdainful look of martyrdom she puts on is offensive and insulting to parenthood! Here’s an idea: Put the book down, get up and go do something to make your make-believe world happen. And quit draining your parents’ retirement, you self-centered brat. Good Lord!
The whole commercial is bass-ackwards. And I guarantee you that whoever came up with the concept is not over 30 years-old. Whew, I’m all worked up.
I’m done. Now go get the smoothie your mommy made for you.
And that’s the way it looks from the Valley.
Contact Tom Valley at Tvalley@Rochester.RR.com