My parents have made sure to always have a real Christmas tree every year. We decorate it, some years with a little more zeal than others. However, we have never been the type of family to go overboard when it comes to Christmas cheer. One of my uncles loved to decorate his house with an obscene amount of Christmas lights. His house would stand, out not only because of his enthusiasm, but also because his family happened to be one of the few Christian families in the neighborhood. One year they had a hard time selling a small sailboat so they placed it in the front yard, equipped with a lighted mast and a mini rudolph.
However, while procrastinating I have stumbled across some people who can put my uncle to shame. While he may have decorated his entire house to look like the American flag, he failed to time his lights to festive music. Perhaps I’m simply a latecomer, but I’ve never fully paid much attention to how much effort people can put into music and light shows.
I have done a little browsing on YouTube and have come across four different music and light show categories.
1) The people who take these things incredibly seriously
While impressive, I find these a bit on the boring side.
2) People who want to annoy the crap out of their neighbors
It doesn’t really matter if their shows are all that well done. What does matter though, is music choice and the amount of lights used. Take the example of this house, which used the Crazy Frog version of “Jingle Bells.”
Or, these people, who used a techno version of “Jingle Bells”
3) All things TSO (Trans-Siberian Orchestra) related
People really like TSO.
4) People who don’t really care that much about Christmas but really enjoy music and light shows (as well as annoying their neighbors)
One house does Sandstorm
And my personal favorite, lights done to the Colbert Report theme
I am really glad my neighbors don’t partake in any of this.
Edamame tuckered himself out with his quest and so decided to go back to training for a while. However, he found himself getting tired easily and lacked the passion he had previously shown in the dojo. One day his sensei took him aside and said, “Edamame, I think it’s time you went on vacation.”
Edamame replied, “But I’ve hardly been around at all these last few months. If I cannot complete my quest then I must continue my training.”
“My son, you demonstrate the discipline of a true ninja. But all of us need to take vacation sometimes. You are young and are tired beyond your years. Go, take a break. That is an order.”
Edamame slunk out of the dojo and booked a plane trip home. He was a little bit sad as he felt that he’d let himself down, but he was also relieved to see his family again. A couple days later he got off the plane to see his parents and brother waiting for him by the baggage claim. His parents were small too but his brother was almost normal sized. They’d had to move houses after he was born because he was too big to sleep in an oven mitt. They didn’t mind though because they finally had someone tall enough to put the star on top of the Christmas tree.
“Welcome home Edamame!” his mother exclaimed. “We are so happy to have you back. Even Auntie Ninjin is coming over for dinner.”
Edamame smiled and looked forward to climbing into his own bed for some much deserved rest. However, once they got home Edamame realized that he would not be going to bed any time soon. His mom had invited almost his entire family over for dinner and they would all be staying the night.
“You’re the star of the show tonight!” his father informed him. “We all want to know what you’ve been up to since the last time we saw you.”
At dinner everyone turned to Edamame and became silent. The dojo had to be semi-secretive about its activities so no one really knew anything about his adventures. He explained to them about his love for ice cream and how he discovered he was lactose intolerant. He described his travels through the United States, Spain, France, and Sweden. About how he’d been followed by his enemy in Argentina, China, and eventually Indonesia. He shared his pictures and the recipes he’d learned. His cousins asked him millions of questions and wanted to know if he could really beat up all those bad guys. He blushed, his ninja modesty preventing him from answering.
Then Aunt Ninjin said, “You know, your cousin Ringo is also lactose intolerant. I give her these lactaid pills and she can eat all the ice cream she wants. Here, have one.”
She pulled a bottle out of her purse and handed a couple of pills to Edamame. Then she got up and got some vanilla ice cream out of the kitchen and placed a bowl in front of him. His eyes bulged out of his head as he began to realize that he would finally be able to eat his precious ice cream. All of his problems would be solved!
He picked up a spoon, took a bite, and paused. His family looked at him waiting for a response. His face scrunched up and he yelled, “I HATE IT! I HAAAAATE IT YUK YUK YUK GROSS GROSS GROSS!”
“But does your tummy hurt?” Aunt Ninjin wanted to know.
“No.”
“Well then the pills do a pretty good job I’d say.” Aunt Ninjin sat back with a smug look on her face.”
“But I hate it. But what about everything I’ve done these past few months, all the recipes, and all the bad dreams? I have missed out on my training and my duties! Now I can never be a true ninja. It’s all been wasted!”
“Oh Edamame,” his mother said. “It has not been wasted. Just think of all of the wonderful things you have seen and the people you’ve met. You are so young, you have time to become a true ninja.”
“I believe you are right mother. And you know, I’ve discovered that I hate one dessert, but there are many others that I like now!”
Edamame finally felt at ease. His quest had ended. However, he loved traveling too much to give it up and so decided to take a ninja gap year. He would try to pick up any neat recipes he found along the way, although they might not always be for dessert. He would also be sure to bring his lactaid pills, just in case he couldn’t get by without dairy. And he decided he would maybe even blog about his adventures. Keep an eye out for Edamame’s first stop to Portugal!
Last evening, I had the opportunity to attend a lecture at the Reform Club in London. Peter Hennessy was speaking about the British decision to build nuclear weapons. As an aspiring historian, my father believed that I would benefit from attending the lecture. The lecture was interesting, but is not what I’d like to write about today. Instead I would like to focus on what makes me an American, rather than the Brit I could potentially be. My mother is from Ohio, my father from Northern Ireland. While most of my schooling has been in the States, I spent over 8 years in the British school system in Singapore. My American side wins most inner arguments, but a small voice (possibly that of my granny) urges me to embrace my Britishness. But last night at the Reform Club, I learned that while I may be an Anglophile, I will always be a full-fledged American.
What is the Reform Club you ask? It is a snooty, stuffy, club in Central London, where rich old white men and women argue about politics and enjoy guinea fowl and roasted vegetables. At 24, I was probably the youngest person there, other than a couple members of the catering staff. I say probably as a couple other younger people were also dragged by family members. My dad, coming in at 53, was probably close to being the second youngest. It wasn’t all bad. Many people seemed kind and wanted to know if I had enjoyed the speech. Perhaps they had mistaken me for a teenager, who was far too young to possibly understand the lecture. One woman became rather defensive and angry after my father went to move his things from a seat he had ever so mistakenly believed to be free. Several ladies reminded me of Keeping Up Appearances Hyacinth Bucket. For those of you not overly British enough to know anything about this show (or happen to be under 60), Hyacinth Bucket is one of the silliest characters to ever grace a television screen. Constantly trying to prove to her neighbors and fellow members of society that she is civilized and far from being a commoner, she insists that her last name is pronounced “Bouquet.” Her family members, clothed in wife beaters and ill-fitting pants, cause her humiliation and embarrassment. The thing is, no one cares how upper class Hyacinth believes herself to be. After attempts for propriety fail, her neighbors see her as being human, and a pain in the ass. While members of the Reform Club may actually have the titles and reputations to place them in the class with which Hyacinth wishes to associate herself, their manner and speech make them just as ridiculous in my eyes.
Having said all of that, of course I attempted to be at my best behaved and most British. Having spent quite a lot of time in the UK, I have a fairly easy time of changing certain words in my vocabulary. “Chips” become “crips,” “French Fries” become “chips,” “college” becomes “university,” and “trash can” becomes “bin.” I’ll add superfluous ‘u’s to words when spelling, and will sometimes reverse “er” to “re.” “Center” will become “centre,” and “behavior” becomes “behaviour.” Pronunciation of words like “controversy,” “details,” and “research” may also change. After a couple of days I have no problem looking right first when crossing the street instead of left. I can even slightly change my accent so that I can trick people for a brief second that I am not an American. Saying “excuse me,” “sorry,” or “thanks,” with a small accent twist has helped place me into the “other,” or even worse, the dreaded “tourist” category.
But, there is one thing that I cannot change. Believe me, I have tried. I cannot change how I hold my knife and fork. This may seem stupid to most people, and it is. But at a dinner party or at a restaurant, my eating habits single me out as an American. British people never put down their knives. The fork remains in the left hand while the knife helps to pile food onto the back of the fork. Peas, chicken, and potatoes will be mushed together. Noodles must not spend excess amounts of time dangling in air. In contrast, Americans will go out of their way to not have to pick up their knives. We cut a piece or two and then set our knives back down. The fork is casually switched from left to right, and if we need to cut another piece, back to the left again. When eating pancakes we will often use the edge of our forks to cut off a piece. Food like rice is scooped rather than piled onto the fork. Our free hand is free to either venture under the table, fiddle with the napkin, or help prove a point in some useless argument. While no one dared to mention it last night, I could feel myself being distanced from the rest as I used my left hand to brush away a piece of hair that had fallen into my eyes. I have come to accept my eating manners as proof that my American side will always win.
As Edamame’s enemies grew more cunning, he realized that he would need to act more quickly in order to escape them. Desserts were the last thing on his mind as he traveled through China, Russia, Germany, and Denmark. His enemy appeared at every corner and at each major tourist site he found. He flew to San Francisco, where he almost got squashed by a car on Lombard Street. Next he went to Black Rock City, Nevada and attended Burning Man. Yes, he even fled to a desert in the middle of Nevada in order to flee his enemy. However, he found the art cars and numerous lights far too overwhelming, and so left before the man had been burned.
Reno provided some relief as he was able to hide under craps tables…or at least until an elderly man spotted him and insisted that Edamame would bring him good luck. At his first opportunity, he flew back to Boston, only to find that his clan was nowhere in site. What had happened? The dojo appeared to be untouched, each weapon in its place. But where were his fellow students? He knew he couldn’t stay in one place for long, so he sped off to New York City to find some answers.
Once he arrived, he visited a sister clan, hoping that someone could help him. Luckily, the dojo’s sensei had learned of his clan’s whereabouts. He informed him that the enemy had learned too much. Edamame had gained fame at the Olympics. The enemy had been able to trace him back to the dojo in Boston. And so they had relocated to London. They knew that Edamame would eventually find his way back to them, and wanted him to know that he would be fully welcome to rejoin them once his dessert quest was finished. Edamame was surprised at the news, but happy to know that everyone was safe. He had always wanted to visit London. Now he would have the chance to explore a new city. But first things first! He had to get back to his mission. Where would he go next?
Edamame decided he had not yet had enough of Asia (and besides, he had racked up quite a few frequent flyer miles by now) and so he headed to Bali, Indonesia. After arriving at Denpasar Airport, he hopped on a mini motorcycle and sped towards Ubud. He had never seen so many beautiful stone figurines or entryways. Statues were wearing checkered black and white cloths around their waists, several holding orange flowers as offerings. One day he went to the Barong dance and loved seeing the costumes.
On another day, he visited Tannah Lot, which is a beautiful temple surrounded by water. On his way back to the parking lot, he found a man selling different types of food. Along with satay and nasi goreng, there was pisang goreng, a much loved banana dessert. Edamame had always loved bananas, and so was pleased with this new found treat. The bananas were warm and gooey, perfect for a hot day at the beach or a cold, rainy day.
Oh no! A sneaky little monkey appeared and grabbed the bananas out of his hand! Edamame only had a few hours left in Bali before he had to move on. Perhaps he would try to obtain a recipe from someone, as he suspected that Pisang Goreng would be a little bit harder to come by in London. As much as he had enjoyed the dessert, he wasn’t quite sold on the idea of his favorite thing being fruit based. It would need sugar and lots of it. He sighed and figured he’d check out a map to determine his next location. He looked at the beach and wished that he could spend some time relaxing in the waves. But a ninja does not have time to overcome jetlag or to go boogie boarding. Perhaps he would come back to Bali once he had retired…or had returned to Earth in another life.
Edamame was completely mortified after his trip to Argentina. He knew he would have to travel quickly and quietly in order to not be seen by his enemy. He rode buses through Brazil until he made it to Rio de Janeiro. He then got himself a plane ticket to London. At Heathrow he stared at the TV monitors, showing which flights were arriving and departing. Where should he go next? Out of the corner of his eye he saw a crowd of people staring at a different TV screen. Several people gasped as they saw Roger Federer lose an early round match in the Olympics.
The Olympics! Edamame knew that he must make his way to Beijing. With millions of people there, it would be impossible for any of his enemies to find him! He jumped on a plane and contemplated what type of desserts he might find in China. Did cows even exist in China? He’d just have to find out. Perhaps he was about to find an end to his nightmares.
He was amazed by the crowds he saw in Beijing. Everyone was walking down streets wearing jerseys of different colors. Brits, Brazilians, and Americans were cheering at restaurants. As he was rather small, Edamame was able to sneak past the guards into the Birds Nest to watch some of the events. He watched a couple of the martial arts events and felt a sneaking feeling of competitiveness rush through him. He wondered why his sensei had never tried to bring him or his clan here. Surely they would make their sensei proud by bringing him a stack of gold medals! Then Edamame felt embarrassed as he remembered that the clan was meant to do the world good, and not to flex muscles or show off incredible flexibility and talent. Perhaps he should go watch another event, one that wouldn’t make him question his sensei.
He walked into small shops, but could not find desserts. He did find an endless supply of bao, which he enjoyed but did not fulfill his needs.
Oh no! The enemy he had encountered in Sweden had found him. Edamame ran through the streets until he entered a large building. The enemy was close behind him, holding a giant wheel of cheese. He didn’t even notice the people staring in amazement, he just kept running. As chunks of cheese were hurled at him, Edamame did cartwheels, handsprings, and somersaults to avoid being hit. Finally a large man grabbed him and pulled him to the side. He looked up to notice that he had unwillingly partaken in the men’s gymnastics finals. The athletes stared at him with contempt for having disrupted their event. However, they were also somewhat amazed at having seen a tiny ninja perform some of the most astonishing gymnastics they had ever seen. Edamame tried to explain what had happened, but wound up being banished from Beijing until the Olympics were over.
He hung his head sadly and wandered through other parts of China. Eventually he arrived at a festival where people were eating delicious looking treats. He looked up to the night sky and saw that he could almost make out a woman’s face in the moon. An old man was telling a story to several children. Edamame listened to the story, happy to discover that he still remembered some of the Chinese he had learned long ago.
“Once upon a time,” the old man began, “the world had not one, but ten suns. Plants could not grow and people suffered from the heat. The emperor summoned all of the land’s archers to shoot down all but one of the suns. One archer succeeded and brought happiness to the land. The emperor rewarded him with an elixir to immortal life. He brought it home and shared his good news with his wife. However, he forbade her from having any of the elixir. Angrily, she drank it and floated up to the moon, where she has remained forever. Some say that some of the elixir spilled and reached the mouths of a frog and rabbit. Sometimes you can see either her face, or that of the frog or rabbit in the moon. Every year we hold the mooncake festival to celebrate the archer’s success.”
They were beautiful and didn’t contain any dairy! Maybe this would be the dessert he could come to love more than ice cream.
Unfortunately for Edamame, the mooncake festival would end in a few days, meaning that all mooncake recipes would be stored away for another year. He would have to continue on his journey. At least he could try to come back to China once a year, for another taste.
Edamame was clueless as to where he should head next. His journey to France had made him a mini celebrity (in both stature and fame), as he had managed to bring attention to several pastry chefs. Tourists and locals had been perplexed by a small ninja running into bakeries and trying a variety of desserts. As meringue sales went up, the bakery owners requested to have their pictures taken with Edamame. Newspapers featured him in their Arts & Wine sections and rumors spread throughout towns of the fierce little warrior with a sweet tooth. However, Edamame was focused on his mission and unable to speak or read French. So he continued through Europe, ignoring the head stares and camera phones pointed in his direction.
Europe was proving to be a challenge. He made his way up to Denmark and Sweden but found that everyone he met only wanted to offer him flavored vodka or pear cider. Edamame certainly wasn’t old enough for alcohol yet and
so had to politely decline all of the friendly offers he received. While wandering through Malmo, he heard someone whisper to him from an alley.
“Hey little ninja guy, come here!”
“Who are you?” Edamame asked?
“A friend who understands you. I can help you find what you’re looking for.”
“How can I trust you?”
“I give you my word. I know the pain that comes with choosing blue cheese dressing over a vinaigrette. Go to Argentina little ninja. A long time ago, the Argentines realized that they had a dreadful reaction to milk. As a result they banished all cows and developed their own, milk free dessert: Dulce de Leche. ‘Leche’ means milk and ‘dulce de’ means free of. The country will welcome you with open arms.”
“They have no cows? I thought I had read somewhere that Argentina had cowboys…”
“Silence! If you plan to succeed on your quest, then go to Argentina.”
Edamame’s eyes brightened as he imagined a country filled with delicious milk free desserts. He made his way down South, passing through mountains, desserts, and waterfalls. He sped through to Buenos Aires and ran into a pastry shop. He tried asking the man in the store about dulce de leche, but he didn’t understand Spanish. He found out quickly that it’s pronounced “dool say” and not “dool che.” The man in the shop chuckled and then gave him a large serving of it alongside a banana. “A banana!” Edamame thought. “This must truly be what I need!” With just one bite, Edamame was in love. It tasted good on almost every fruit, on bread, and even by itself. He was not able to control himself and spent days at a time eating it up. But, he realized that his stomach was grumbling all the time. It ached and felt kind of funny. He’d barely thought about the other members of his ninja clan. How had he let himself get so distracted? The meringues had never made him act this way.
One morning he was not able to get out of bed as he found his tummy hurt too much. He slept for hours until he was eventually able to muster up enough energy to speak with the woman at the front desk of his hostel. “How does one make dulce de leche?” he asked her. She did not understand what he had said and so pulled out a container of dulce de leche. He shook his head and said, “Donde esta internet?” She pointed him in the direction of the nearest locutorio (or internet cafe) and gave him a few centavos. He looked up dulce de leche and discovered that “leche” did in fact mean milk, but “dulce de” most certainly did not mean free of. In fact, it roughly translated to milk candy, or milk-based syrup. His face dropped in horror as he realized how badly he had been tricked. How had he not noticed the fields filled with cows on his journey southward? One of Argentina’s biggest exports was beef! In fact, Argentines ate beef all the time. Finally the phrases carne asada and parilla made sense. A typical Argentine barbecue consists of eating as much of the cow as possible! How that man had fooled him! No longer could he be as careless in his journeys. His enemy had learned of his existence and now knew his location. He would have to work harder to conceal himself and would certainly need to pay more attention to dessert ingredients!
Edamame woke up from yet another tormenting dream. This one was similar to the last, except it was his Master presenting the ice cream to him. “Edamame,” he beckoned. “This is safe. I have scoops here of soy ice cream, coconut milk ice cream, and rice milk ice cream. Each is wonderfully delicious. You can eat to your heart’s content and never have to leave the clan.” Edamame tasted one of each scoop and could not tell the difference between either kind. In fact, they tasted exactly like the ice cream he had loved his entire life. He smiled at the thought that he now had an acceptable ice cream substitute and could carry out his days tummy ache free. However, he quickly realized he had been mistaken as he began to feel violently ill. His Master began to laugh and quickly transformed into his greatest enemy. Oh no! He had been fooled! As he woke up, he knew that he must find something completely different from regular ice cream, or he could find himself in a terrible predicament.
Edamame explained to his Master that he would not be able to focus on
his duties until he had found a new favorite dessert. His Master accepted what he had to say and wished him well on his journey. The summer didn’t happen to be a very busy season for the ninja world, so he was okay with letting his best spy go on a well deserved vacation.
He traveled all across the United States and was dismayed at how hard it was to find a dairy free dessert. He ran into bakeries and restaurants, peered into cookbooks, and went to all kinds of
specialty stores. How many times had he almost found a scrumptious looking treat, such as churros, only to find that it contained a few tablespoons of butter? Butter was becoming a huge obstacle. He could eat the contents of an apple pie, as long as he avoided the crust.
New friends he met along the way encouraged him to find vegan friendly alternatives to typical desserts, such as Dairy Free Cheesecake. He was perplexed by the concept of cheese free cheesecake. It tasted fine and he appreciated the joys of tofu, but it did not satisfy his ice cream craving. It reminded him of his dream and so he pushed on to his next destination. Whatever he found would need to be something new to him.
Edamame made his way to France where he discovered meringues. These tiny little cookie like goodies are made from egg whites, salt, cream of tartar, and sugar. Despite its name, cream of tartar does not contain dairy. It is used to stabilize egg whites. Edamame absolutely loved meringues. Their shape and twistiness delighted him and he found he could eat many at a time. As each
one is rather small, he had no trouble picking one up, unlike the butter filled desserts he had earlier discovered. However, nibbling on several meringues at a time did amount to a trail of crumbs. They were easily breakable, which made them the perfect addition to a bowl of vanilla ice cream, chocolate sauce, and strawberries. Not to mention that any enemy would be able to locate him by following all of the crumbs. Alas, he would have to continue on his journey.
As Dan still has not created the Ninja Varnish t-shirt, I will try to bring our little ninja pal to life in a different light. We shall call him Edamame.
Edamame is by no means a standard ninja. At eight inches in height, his clan highly values him for being able to gracefully hide in potted plants and mailboxes. Each night he sets out to complete a different task, working as the clan’s top spy. None of the other clans have managed to find out their secret. Have they placed cameras in every location? Could traitors be lurking in every corner? How would they ever suspect an eight inch tall ninja? Every morning Edamame curls up in an oven mitt and sleeps until his next training session.
What his teachers and pupils do not know, is that while he sleeps, Edamame dreams of ice cream. The flavors and toppings vary. He doesn’t care if the scoop is cookie dough, mint chocolate chip, black raspberry, or Americone Dream. Why, you may wonder, does he dream of ice cream? Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to dream of beautiful ninja women, noodles, or nunchaku? Sadly for Edamame, his master has forbidden him to indulge in ice cream.
Oftentimes, Edamame will dream of a conversation he had with his master:
Edamame: Sensei, will I one day be able to eat ice cream like my fellow ninjas?
Master: No, my brave Edamame. For you are lactose intolerant. With just one scoop, you may succumb to only the worst pain and reveal our secret. No one must ever know of your alliance with us. Ice cream could lead to your undoing.
Edamame strives to be the best and struggles between his love of the frozen treat and his loyalty to the clan. Typically, Edamame sneaks into the clan’s kitchen in the afternoon and grabs bananas, chips, and raisins in the hopes of staving a vicious ice cream craving. To distract himself, he runs twice as many laps as his fellow ninjas and spends his spare time in the dojo, away from the freezer. Lately his dreams have woken him up abruptly. He sees a member of the other clan, grinning evilly over a pint of cookies and cream. He beckons to Edamame, seeming to understand his greatest weakness. Edamame is no longer able to resist and runs towards the ice cream. Not bothering to grab a spoon, he dives into the container and stuffs whatever has not yet melted into his mouth. Moments later his enemy laughs as Edamame is overcome with pain. The lid of the container closes above his head. Edamame wakes up fearing that his nightmare will come true in a matter of hours.
He reassures himself that none of his enemies know of his existence, let alone his love for frozen dairy. The dreams have become too much and he must put them to an end. The only solution is to travel the world until he finds a dessert worthy of his admiration. A dessert that is lactose free and worth dying for.
For me I’d say in Boston. I learned how to drink hard liquor, wine, and the like in a variety of places, but Boston is where I truly learned to appreciate beer. For my grandmother, it was Idaho.
One day (when she wasn’t busy driving her grandmother to Mexico city), she took a train from Cleveland, OH to Los Angeles to inspect her brother’s girlfriend. He was in the military at the time, and my grandmother, the only girl amongst the siblings, was deemed the best choice to go find him. In Utah she wound up at a hotel by herself, wondering what she should do to pass the time until the next leg of her journey. As she had “learned how to drink beer in Idaho,” she went to a store and picked up a bottle of beer and brought it back to the hotel. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a bottle opener. A young soldier asked her what her room number was. After hearing the response, he told her that every room had a bottle opener in the bathroom. Later that evening, the young man gave her a call to see if she was able to open her beer and asked if she needed assistance. Terrified at the fact that she had needlessly told a stranger her room number, she positioned a chair under the door handle and prayed that no one would come knocking at the door. She had every reason to worry. My Grandma was a fox.
She stills remembers the days of Prohibition when a soldier came to their door with a large amount of booze.
She now enjoys a beer every Tuesday night after she and her friends go to their computer lessons at the Apple Store. She is 85 years old.
My other grandmother is not much of a beer drinker. She’ll have a shandy every once and again, but she refuses to be caught dead buying liquor by one of her fellow churchgoers or neighbors.
While other people may not like old people, either because they drive slowly or can often be cranky and bitter, I find delight in seeing my grandmother smile as she recalls a journey from her twenties. It can be hard to imagine her as ever being young as I have only ever known her with short white hair. But the clarity with which she tells the story about finding a bottle opener, shows that the woman who so frequently threatened to beat my cousins with a yardstick for running on the neighbor’s roof, was also once free and daring. She is more than just a mother, widow, and grandmother, she is also Elaine.
My tip for the day is: Go find out where your grandmother first learned to drink beer.
If not beer, then what else has she done? You may have to hear some “subtle racism”* or listen to how the world is ending first, but you might wind up learning something your parents don’t even know. Elderly people may also startle you with the things they say.
For instance, my great Uncle Norm (who is 88), is a bachelor living in Cleveland. He happens to be well affiliated with the arts and a keen traveler. Calling him stubborn is a great understatement.** He prides in his garden and has a wide variety of flowers and trees in his back yard. He often quizzes me on their names in the same manner a kid I used to babysit quizzed me on Pokémon character names. A few of the tallest flowers in his yard happen to be poppies, not the little red kind, but the large pink kind, like the ones in Afghanistan.
He explained that someone had informed the police that he was growing illegal plants in his yard. His answer was that once you’ve planted them, there is no way to remove them. You can dig them up, but they will always come back. With that, the police assumed he wouldn’t be manufacturing opium, and left him alone. Uncle Norm continued by saying that on a trip to China he had urged his tour guide to take him to an opium den. When the guide hesitated, Uncle Norm declared that he would not pay him unless they visited one. Reluctantly, the guide took him to one where he could observe several Chinese men smoking. Of course, he did not partake in the activity as only the Chinese were allowed to smoke opium at the time (or so says Uncle Norm). Other people would come into the den to make money by massaging the smokers for an additional sensation. On a side note, Uncle Norm will also invite you to “the Club” for breakfast, which happens to be a Big Boy.
*By “Subtle Racism” I mean racism that elderly people find acceptable. This includes terms such as “white heaven,” “cinnamon colored skin,” and “integrated neighborhoods.” My grandmother related a story about previous Indian neighbors who never cut their lawn, “Well, according to another neighbor, they didn’t need to cut their lawn in India as the elephants would eat the grass.”
**Uncle Norm does not do well with rules. No “Wait Here Until Seated” sign can deter him from claiming his favorite table at a restaurant. If a museum is closing and there is an exhibit he wants to see, he will find a way in. If you had plans that day, you will change them in order to accompany Uncle Norm to the museum.
As internet advertising strives to make television and print advertising obsolete, companies have to do their best to pull their audience in. I frequently choose to surf the net while watching TV, or get up to grab some ice cream during the break, or just fast forward if I’ve used my DVR. A commercial has to either be truly colorful or loudly obnoxious for me to even notice what product is being blared at me.
You know what I do notice? Ads targeted right at me, or at least, at what the website I’m currently visiting believes is my demographic. Google scans my e-mails and search results, Facebook takes advantage of my sex, age, and listed interests.
A commercial basically needs to do this to grab my attention these days:
I occasionally will think back to older commercials that made me giggle when I was either in middle or high school. Some weren’t meant to be funny. Take Life Alert for instance. While I lived in Dallas, the Life Alert commercials featured an old man falling over saying, “I’m having a heart attack!” Heart attacks aren’t hilarious, but the commercial most definitely was. Unfortunately, I was not able to locate that particular one. I also remember one with an old woman speaking into the camera, “I don’t want to be a burden to my family.” Death is never actually mentioned during the ad, but how could one not feel its looming presence?
How about ads that trick you into thinking you’re watching a commercial for Snuggles Detergent, when in fact it’s for a BattleTanx Playstation video game? Back in middle school, I loved this particular Sprite commercial:
In the UK, Volkswagen aired a commercial for the new Diesel Jetta. People would run around writing “Die” on post-it notes and doors while the Exorcist’s “Tubular Bells” played in the background. By the end, we’d all figured out they were really spelling “Diesel.” Those tricky bastards!
Of course someone would have sent you a silly foreign car commercial (I will refrain from posting the one where the cat’s head gets cut off by a closing sunroof):
This UK Domestos ad is by far my favorite. I laugh every time. How could you not appreciate a germ singing about giving us all diarrhea?
