While in Boston, I was hoping to be abused by the Massachusetts Turnpike Authority.

The Smoking Gun has a hilarious series on these surly tolltakers, including the Massachusetts Turnpike Authority. But if you're really brave, try the New Jersey Turnpike.

Amazing!

Our town recently voted to allow liquor sales. Texas is weird in that there are no uniform laws regarding liquor sales. Some counties are "dry", and some cities in "wet" counties are "dry". I can email you a diagram if you are confused.

So, when the people of our town voted to join the twenty-first century and allow beer and wine sales (and therefore drastically reduce the traffic on roads leading to neighboring Plano and The Colony at 8:30 p.m.), some of the local establishments were anxious to jump on the revenue bandwagon.

Our local Albertson's cleared out the pet aisle shelves about a week ago to make room for wine and beer aplenty from around the world. I don't know that anyone is aware of the sign which remains suspended from the ceiling and the paw print decals on the floor, which, judging from the size, were made by a large bear.

So I'm a marketing guy, and generally speaking, I love a good marketing gimmick--heck, I'll call myself a sucker and shell out the extra bucks for something if it has a good enough slogan/message/pitch.  But one thing that never ceases to amaze me, and annoy me, is all the "extreme" crap they throw my way.

I suppose it all started with the X-Games, kinda like the Olympics for skateboarders (funny, I thought the Special Olympics covered most of that crowd).  As far as I can tell, the only reason anyone watches that schlock is pretty much the same reason people watch bullriding--you really want to see the morons that participate get hurt, badly.

But then the "extreme" label spilled over onto seemingly normal consumer goods.  Simple things like carbonated beverages and Corn Nuts have gone "extreme" these days...heck, last time I tried to purchase Gatorade, I found something like 5 varieties of orange gatorade--Original, Extreme, Fierce, Riptide...can't remember the fifth one, I'm sure it was something else "extreme," like Serial Killer Orange or something.

Now hopefully you've stuck with me this long--after all, this is my first ever post to a blog, and I'm several Grey Gooses into the evening--but I saw something recently that totally took the cake as far as "extreme" marketing goes.  There it was, right in front of me at Costco--Xtreme Citrus.  Now, as you look at this picture, you may try to figure out what's so freakin' extreme about these oranges.  Well, I was there in person, and I couldn't figure it out either.  I mean, they weren't extremely orange--just regular old orange.  They weren't extremely large, small, shiny, hard, soft...as far as I could tell, these were just plain old oranges.  But somehow, they were "Xtreme."

I wonder, back in my days of youth soccer, what would have happened if we'd have had Xtreme Citrus orange wedges to eat at halftime, rather than just those plain old orange wedges we ate.  Would we have come out of the half full of crazy animal fury and just decimated our opponents?  Or would we all be in rehab today as we near our 30th birthdays...

Me, I take great pride in knowing that I have never, and will never, purchase anything Extreme.  I will, however, thanks to a fantastic bargain at the Fiesta market, continue to live the High Life....

This list of "Safe Rules" (shown in its entirety) was posted in the 4th grade hall at LD's school.

I think adults could also benefit from these rules, especially in the workplace.

Joy Ride.

Joyride.

I did a doubletake when I saw this bike in a display case aimed at teaching the kids about conservation or exercise or something at LD's elementary school.

Or perhaps, its intention was to teach 'em young about crime.

From Wikipedia: To joyride is to drive around in a car with no particular goal, a ride taken solely for pleasure. Often, it is assumed that the joyride is done at high speeds in a stolen car, by youths who are not legally old enough to drive. See also: ramride, motor vehicle theft.

Joyriding is a misdemeanor, in violation of Section 10851 of the California Vehicle Code.

And the graphics on this teeny-tiniest of two-wheel bikes (think of those bikes that cockatoos ride in theme park shows) look like what we've been led to believe that 1970s acid trips look like, according to Ponch and Jon on CHiPs.

While it isn't as good as Hot Shoe (a commenter's bike of yore from an earlier installment), I am sure that it sounded good at the time to someone in CheapKidsBike marketing land.

If I were Scott Peterson, I would kinda hope to be found guilty just so I wouldn't have to face my family after they'd heard all those taped stupid lies he told Amber Frey.

The ones that make me laugh most are those surrounding his whereabouts: Kennebunkport, Maine for Christmas... Paris for New Year's. And in reality he was beautiful downtown Fresno, California, or thereabouts.

Can you image even trying to live that down with your family?

If he is exonerated, I'm sure every Christmas for the rest of his life he'll get a good ribbing from someone in the family. If his brother is anything like mine, it may go something like this:

"So, Scott, <insert smarmy sneering tone here> are you going to Aunt Becky's for Christmas brunch or are you going to be in Kennebunkport again this year?".

Oh my gosh, I would be so ashamed of myself.

There isn't much worse in the world than a liar.

Well, maybe a murderer.

This child's bike, interestingly named "Next", was spotted at the KOA Kampground in Bar Harbor, Maine.

Next. NEXT. Next what?

It also says "Misty" on it.

Who thinks these things up? It reminds me of Engrish. It sounded good to someone at the time.

 

Last week found David and me on American Airlines, traveling between Dallas and Boston.

For those of you who have not traveled on American Airlines recently, we are pleased to share with you the Bistro Bag!

As we boarded the plane, we were instructed to pick up our Bistro Bag from a festive cooler in the jetway. I don't know what type of bistro American Airlines employees frequent, but judging from the contents of the bag, it is run by preschoolers.

The contents was a first grader's dream: a one ounce baglet of substandard hard raisins, a half a yogurt (4 oz) packaged to look like a full yogurt, a very small chewy granola bar. The best part of the meal was the bag with handles, and the plastic spoon with salt packets but no pepper.

Even the flight attendant made fun of it. Prior to departure, the flight attendant came through the cabin with a stash of Bistro Bags in tow for those who had neglected to pick one up. "Who didn't get their steak and eggs?" he called out loudly with a smirk.

We snickered. We liked him.

The yogurt blorted onto my shirt as I opened it's foil lid in the pressurized cabin, but then I am pretty sure that is intentional.

David and I decided that there was no reason to ever refer to a Bistro Bag without adding the word F*#%ing at the beginning. Everytime the flight crew referred to the Bistro Bag, we would repeat what they said, substituting "F*#%ing Bistro Bag". Of course this was all whispered, but the laughter that ensued was not. I laughed so hard that I cried.

On the way home, the F*#%ing Bistro Bags were over packed into the festive little dumpster-like cart in the jetway. The F*#%ing Bistro Bags were all smashed, which was appropriate since they contained some salty fragile potato chip fragments, a tiny packet of tiny carrots, a turkey sandwich for lack of a better title, a packet of a mustard/mayo combo, and a tiny brownie.

The sandwich wrapper boasted that it contained "Purdue" turkey like it was something to crow about, so I was expecting something a little more fabulous than a small dry bun and some bland turkey. There wasn't any cheese, tomato, or anything. Just dry bread and a slab of turkey. Not even a salt packet or a spork. I wondered aloud if Mr. Purdue was aware of the impact of the product that bore his name.

The photos above were found on this cool site, since I couldn't use my camera phone while we were in the air. On this site, you can view the airline meals by airline and accompanying commentary, some of which is hilarious. I assure you that the photos above do nothing but flatter the actual contents of the F*#%ing Bistro Bag.