Quick, get me some insulin.

I like nurses. I admire nurses. My sister is a nurse. So is one of my youngest and most intelligent friends. And because I do have such a high regard for nurses, I think they deserve better than this insipid jingle from Johnson & Johnson. First of all the lyrics are, "You're a nurse. You make a difference." I think a nurse knows he or she a nurse. And I'm pretty sure they know they make a difference. But they make a difference in many ways far removed from these cliched Hallmark scenes. I would have been happier to see a harried nurse, an exhausted caregiver, even an impatient nurse fed up to here with overwork and paperwork. If you've ever been in a hospital, you know that nurses aren't always smiling angels with Crest smiles and cheerful willingness. They can't be because their jobs are too hard. Sorry Johnson & Johnson. Your heart's in the right place, but I find your "You're a nurse" commercials sickingly sentimental and the jingle just plain annoying.

Johnson & Johnson 2007 commercial on nursing

"I was just passing by and saw your light on..."

Something I realized this week that affects most of my friends, but may not affect you. In fact, it didn't affect me when I lived in Boston: Most of us live isolated lives. Almost every couple I know—who doesn't have children, those creatures who force you into society— has a pleasant, easy lifestyle, but without a coterie of friends. Each duet lives in a nice home to which they seldom invite people. They are content to stay in watching television, reading or doing some solitary project. My partner and I, except for the rare party, never have visitors. My closest friends never have visitors—never! My friends who live alone, do just that: live alone. When I call, I'm never told that they're entertaining company. Are we becoming a nation of recluses? Has e-mail made it too easy to avoid human contact? Is work enough socializing for most of us? Are we all limiting ourselves to just a few "safe" contacts and not extending ourselves socially? And, if so, is that a problem? I must admit I envy some of the characters on TV sitcoms with their constant streams of amusing visitors. But I don't know anyone with an open-kitchen-door policy. Do you?

You should stop saying, "You should."

I hate sentences that start with "You should." They usual proceed some unwanted advice that one has no intention of following. The most common one I've received throughout life is, "You should learn to drive." This despite the fact that I have never wanted to drive and am content to not have a car with its many, many expenses. Other popular admonitions are, "You should learn Spanish." I haven't even learned French which I would like to speak. "You should get a better cell phone." I haven't even mastered my simple pay-as-you-go model. While I find these unwelcome suggestions annoying, I also find them curious. I have no interest whatever in encouraging people to live any differently than they do. If they're lousy drivers, I don't ride with them. If they're alcoholics, they'll reform or they won't. I couldn't care less how people dress, what hairstyle they prefer, or anything about them that doesn't affect me. And if there were some behavior I disapproved of, I wouldn't give them a "you should" suggestion, I would either accept it or not. And if I couldn't accept it, I would drop them. Of course if someone asked me for advice I would, in most cases, be happy to comply. But any advice I gave would not begin with, "You should."

"Did I tell you about my uncle's lawmower accident?"

One of my New Year's resolutions is doing what I wish more people would do for me, which is not burden them with information that can only make them feel helplessly worse. I hate it when someone tells me their aunt has cancer and, golly, she's only 38. I don't know your aunt, but suddenly the spectre of cancer has invaded my day. Or when someone informs me that they were robbed and they have no idea who the criminal was. This leaves me impotently angry, or utterly paranoid about the thieves that surround us—a feeling that may last for days. Recently I was tempted to tell a friend about something depressing that I saw. I questioned my motives. What good could this information do other than to make him as despondent as I? I didn't tell him and realized that I too often convey information that has no cheering value whatever. This does no apply to relevant information between friends, shared problems, and needed advice. Nor does it concern news stories that are fascinating in their macabre aspects. No, this involves those haunting horror stories which affect persons you don't know who are related in some way to persons you do. "I just learned that my favorite cousin went into the hospital for a flu shot and got that flesh-eating disease." Of course, being human, I'm bound to slip up, but I give all my friends permission to call me on it when I do.

It doesn't add up.

This Castrol Motor Oil spot, which runs frequently, is one of those commercials that seem logical until you think about it. When the passenger says, "They sting more than usual." the driver says,"Yeah, you'll get used to it." How can you get used to something that is different than usual? "When the driver says, " I think a dime went up my nose, the driver says, "Yeah, that happens." With thousands of coins flying at him, didn't the passenger guess that might happen, and wouldn't he know if a dime went up his nose?" I believe there should be logic even in absurdities and have no problem with a car spewing coins from the dashboard. But this is one of those spots where the writer didn't make an effort to come up with a more clever (and logical) line and the client wasn't smart enough to notice—and I'm sure most people who see it won't either.

Castrol GTX High Mileage "Cash Car" Commercial

"Carrie" meets "The Red Shoes".

It's hard to say how one feels about The Black Swan. Can one really enjoy a film that is nothing but unrelieved misery, especially when it isn't clear what's real and what's imagined? And how easy is it to root for a heroine who suffers from anorexia, paranoia, kleptomania, frigidity, sexual confusion, and whatever the medical name is for people who like to defile their own bodies? The star, Natalie Portman, was very good as the tormented Nina, though I never felt I was seeing first-class dancing as one did in the most famous ballet film, The Red Shoes. Still it's nice to know that someone even creates a ballet film during this culturally arid decade. Plus there were two other reasons to like this film: the always-worth watching Barbara Hershey as Nina's mother and Winona Ryder as the bitter prima ballerina who preceded Nina. Both actresses suffered what I assumed are imaginary Carrie-like attacks from a delusional Nina as did her rival at the ballet Lily (Mila Kunis) who was or was not a caring friend. Other scenes seemed to pay homage to the Roman Polanski film Repulsion. Interestingly, like a comparable character in The Red Shoes, the male lead Vincent Cassel was not attractive and not the least bit sexy so I can understand Nina's reluctance to put out. So while it was worth seeing, it didn't leave me with any special insights or empathies. The most complimentary thing I can say about this film is that it made me want to see a really good production of Swan Lake.

Monkeys, bananas and 3-D movies.

I long ago accepted the fact that many people are stupid and are not even concerned about their stupidity. For the most part, I can overlook the mistakes, errors, misquotes, malapropisms, anachronisms and just plain faulty thinking. But there are three misspeaks which always irritate me because they are all inexcusable. One is the use of the term monkey when one is obviously talking about apes. Chimpanzees are not monkeys, they are great apes. So as far back as the movie Monkey Business this has been a popular and annoying error. To this day newscasters use monkey puns any time there is a story about great apes. Commercial advertisers don't seem to know the difference nor do the writers of sitcoms. The worst thing is it's not that difficult: an organ grinders has a monkey; Tarzan had a great ape. Another universal error that pushes my buttons is when people refuse to pronounce plantains correctly. The word is plan-tins, like mountains and fountains. Not only do most people say plan-tanes, but they correct me when I pronounce it correctly. Boy does that make a cranky person crankier. And finally let it be known that since the first 3-D movies of the 50s: Man in the Dark, Charge at Feather River, The House of Wax, the glasses were single-toned Polarized lenses. At the same time 3-D comic books, magazines and bubble-gum cards were viewed with cheaper glasses using two different colored cellophane lenses. Never, ever, ever, ever did one view a movie in a theater with bi-colored glasses. Yet, that is what is suggested in countless ads and photos depicting the 50s like the staged absurdity above. You know what's great about having a blog? You can bitch about anything that you like. Or, to be more accurate, don't like.

Why don't we like certain people?

I happen to like Flo on the Progressive commercials. There's just something about her that appeals to me. But I've had at least three friends express surprise at my feelings, commenting on how much they dislike her. But why? She seems to be completely inoffensive to me. Is the answer that there is no why other than that we just dislike certain people for reasons of which we're not even sure? Perhaps someone in our life looked like Flo, talked like her, was as cheerfully ditzy. I happen to dislike lots of people who are very popular: Will Farrell, Steve Carell, and Steve Martin to name just three comics. I could argue that I don't think they're funny, but so many people would disagree. And I can't argue with success, as much as I'd like to. Besides there are lots of very untalented performers who I do like. (No. I am not going to give their names.) Oddly enough, I can't think of a single female celebrity I strongly dislike. I wonder what that means. Then, of course, there are people I detest and loathe and despise and abhor and revile for dozens of perfectly legitimate reasons: but let's leave Sarah out of this.

Shame on Bayer.

I just saw a commercial I found so offensive I had to comment on it even though I cannot find the video on YouTube. In the commercial for Bayer Aspirin, a passenger on a plane gets up with a grimace and asks the flight attendant if she has anything for pain. She offers him Bayer aspirin (actually a whole box) to which he responds, "I'm not having a heart attack." While an aspirin regimen (any aspirin) has proven effective in preventing heart attack, this commercial practically suggests that it will cure an attack in progress. I think this is a deceptive and incredibly dangerous commercial. Of course Bayer has been cited before for over-promising messages. But then what do you expect from the latest incarnation of the company that manufactured the gas used during the holocaust?

A dangerous species.

There are some men who are so lacking in any kind of humanity you wonder how they even have wives and families. They are usually humorless, rigid, inwardly pissed off about something from their past. They are always narcissists and egomaniacs. Vanity is another significant trait—often to the point that even they don't see how absurdly preening they are. Such men often, but not always, drink too much. When such creatures achieve status it usually isn't because of any special brainpower, but often due to saurian tenacity and cronyism: They are very good at finding the rocks under which similarly slimy lizards lie. Here are two such specimens. Note the partially opened mouths and the way the younger gopper looks to the older one for clues on when to attack.

Temples of Worship

There are two things I have never understood and I suspect they're somehow related: sports and religion. I can't imagine how anyone with a logical mind can believe there is a supreme being hiding behind a cloud somewhere who actually gives a damn what you do, and is keeping a tally to decide whether you can go to heaven or hell. In the same way I cannot comprehend why so many people give a damn about the outcome of a game played with a ball by indifferent-to-them multi-millionaires who aren't even from their community. Making it even more incomprehensible is that the fan has to pay excessively high ticket prices to experience this repetitive adoration and often has to be incredibly hot or cold to sit through the thrill. Of course the God fans also have to pay admission to their promised heavenly arena in the form of donations, tithes, suppression of endless pleasures and the burden of relentless guilt. Both situations require keeping score And while the sports rooters are often mysteriously depressed because their strangers lost; the religious always feel that their team is the best no matter what. The way I see life is this: The world was here for billions for years before I was born. I recall none of it, and wasn't the least bit offended that I was left out. One of these days I will die and experience—or rather, not experience—the same kind of oblivion on the other end endlessly. This is fine with me. I don't really mind being an insignificant and temporal being as long as I can have some fun while I'm here. The way I see sports is this: I couldn't possibly care less what a bunch of complete strangers does with a selection of various shaped balls. There is no way I could ever think of their victories and successes as somehow achieved by, and in any way related to, me. And I think giving a profit-making organization a large amount of money so that I can sit foolishly by and admire the prowess of someone playing a game is totally absurd. But as a learned friend once said, "It really doesn't matter what you think." He was, of course, absolutely right and this weekend, despite my scorn, millions will flock to a variety of churches, temples and mosques with beatific expressions on their faces. And other millions will attend games or sit for hours in front of the television and in many cases gleefully shout with intense pride, "We won. We won."

This spot leaves me cold...and confused.

Would somebody please explain this commercial to me. The man in the blue car tosses a snowball at the man in the silver car as silver car is leaving for work. It appears that the man in the silver car starts the snowball rolling before driving down the mountain. The snowball keeps missing him and eventually engulfs and removes the parked blue car to give silver car a space. Whose blue car is it? Not the man at the top of the mountain who hadn't left yet. A.I don't get it. B. If I did, I doubt I would find it funny. C. Why does the snowball take out the blue car? And how would the snowballer know that there is nobody in it? This seems to me to be a muddle, murderous mess. If I'm missing something, please let me know.

P.S. I don't know why it says this was posted at 6:44 am. It was posted at 9:40.

Infiniti Mischievous Snowball

By gum, I hate this commercial.

Normally I like the Flo commercials for Progressive. This one, however, is completely annoying. First of all because it uses long-outdated cliches about old people: They're grumpy, wear sweater vests, scowl, and spout colorful, outdated lingo. Even more vexing is that the cornball cliches he uses would have been related to a complete generation ahead of him. I'm not even sure that "flibberty flab" ever was an expression. I think the creative team has watched too many movies from the 30s. If this man is, say, 70, he would have lived through Vietnam, the arrival of rock and roll, and a hundred other contemporary events, and not spent his life whittlin' down by the crick. I'm not even sure his father would have said "dagnab it."

Revised Language - Flo Tries to Decipher Customer's Mumbo Jumbo

Click.

I'm about to give up on CNN. Every time I watch their news coverage, I am stunned by the misspeaks, grammatical errors and just plain gaps in logic. Following the very sad news of Elizabeth Edward's death were these two comments by CNN staffers. In mentioning a colleague's admiration for Edwards, one commentator said, "He spoke of her effusely." The second misspeak—moments later— would have been comical if it had not been related to such a admirable woman. This CNN reporter told us that, "Ms. Edwards had given up treatment when the cancer spread to her bones at the recommendation of her doctor."

A terrible new trend.

Recently when I was in White Plains my friends were distressed because, while they had signed up with Verizon for cable, they were not getting any actual service. In fact, instead of coming to their home and installing the new system, they sent them a box of cables, intimidating control boxes and other devices along with a complex set of instructions. Not being installers, they could not figure it out and were unable to reach any human beings to assist them. It seemed insane to me that a company would expert average citizens to install their own system. As I watched them agonize over the complex equipment, I was somewhat grateful that I had Comcast, though I cannot say anything in praise of this greedy company. My smugness was short-lived. When I got home to Miami, I found a box with two new control units, wires, cables, new remotes and batteries. Despite being a luddite, I managed to assemble the new equipment for both TVs. Once this is done one has to call a central number for them to activate the new equipment (don't think any American city). When I did I was surprised to discover that while the attractive new remote was a whiz at changing channels, I still was required to use the old remote to turn the TV on and off, at least that's what Chuck in New Delhi told me. We consumers are suckers. TV could be free, but we pay a high price for low-brow entertainment. Soon we'll all be be paying for radio. And worst of all, these monopolies, which are raking in millions, have finally figured out how to save even more: by having us do our own installations. I hate to think of how many technologically challenged Comcast consumers are pulling out their hair tonight.

Bah humbug to a cherished legend.

It occurred to me while I was on vacation and heard "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" for the 105th time that the song doesn't make any sense at all. First of all Rudolph, "had a very shiny nose." And you might even say, "it glows." But that's hardly enough candle power to guide a sleigh through a foggy night. Plus Santa has a zillion flashlights and batteries in his sleigh, why depend on one shiny nose? Besides, why wasn't he prepared? Hadn't this ever happened before? Putting all of that aside, keep in mind, "All of the other reindeers used to laugh at Rudy and call him names." Talk about creeps. This is the kind of animal help Santa hires: jeering reindeer bullies? And I'm supposed to think that when Santa asked this effeminate (look at the pictures) reindeer to guide his sleigh, all these other antlered thugs were suddenly shouting out— in glee yet—, "Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer, you'll go down in history." I doubt very much that it ever happened like that. Frankly I think Robert L. May made the whole thing up and songwriter Johnny Marks and Gene Autry were part of the conspiracy.