We Get What We Want.

I'm not special. And that's what keeps me moving forward. When I get sick of the never ending rat race at work or feel as though I'm not maximizing my personal potential, or failing to provide value-added deliverables which can be tracked through quantifiable metrics, I remember how a lot of gold comes from the Democratic Republic of Congo in Africa.

The DR Congo is where children and parents alike line up the on the side of crumbling muddy pits and toss up clumps of dirt to be sieved for tiny bits of gold. That gold moves through several layers of corrupt officials and offshore middlemen, and finally lands, among other places, in the velvet lined cases of America's malls. Those uneducated and barefoot children are lucky if they get anything for their work. The adults are usually paid with a bucketful of mud that may or may not contain any gold. A bucketful of MUD. It makes my qualms about my job seem like the fat little king in the Bugs Bunny cartoon who constantly demands hossenfeffer despite the lavish feast laid before him.

At the grocery store, I like to save money on food. When I see blueberries that cost more than three bucks a pack, I may feel indignant. Blueberries grow on bushes in Michigan. They're not rare. They should be rock bottom cheap. Then I remember the hands that picked them may have belonged to a 10-year old Mexican migrant worker. Not in Mexico. In Michigan. Working all day in the field. Living in squalor, with no sewage or hot water. In Michigan.

On the other side of the coin, it's important for growers to have access to child labor. It's more profitable for them. And that's important. Plus, I'm used to cheap fresh fruit on my table. Or as I like to call it, hossenfeffer.

Merry Christmas America

Hey Christians! It's that time of year! Christmas is all up in our grill bringing on the joy of the season. Like a Sony Bravia 46-inch LCD HDTV priced UNDER a thousand dollars! That's 1080p, not 720p, yo. Let's just say "three wise men" were spotted doing the upgrade thang at Tar-jhay.

If you're looking to honor Our Savior's birth with exotic and lavish scents, then indulge in The One by Dolce & Gabbana for $55.99 (1.7 oz). Its unexpected hints of plum and vanilla pair seamlessly with the world's greatest unexpected pregnancy. Speaking of unexpected, don't make your guests crash in the gross manger thingy. Put down some coin for your peeps and let them rest their weary heads on a Natura Latex Harmony Mattress. This tree-hugging badboy blends soy-based and latex foams, helping reduce our dependence on uncool petro-chemicals. Petro-chemicals that come from Jesus' old stomping grounds. That is if the tankers can make it past those jerk pirates trolling the coast of Somalia! LOLz!

Which brings us back to Christmas. Don't be all procrastinatey and stuff this year! Jesus is checking Santa's list. You might not be on it. So CHARGE it!

At the Movies

I'll judge a movie by its trailer all day long. This is one of the ways I decide which movies to see at the theater. I'm usually right. Sometimes I'm wrong.

The last two movies I saw at the theater were relative indies, The Road and Antichrist. The trailer for Antichrist lured me in with strange moments in slo-mo juxtaposed with anguished characters in a writhing wooded setting. The movie was the same, except more beautiful, more shockingly sexual, and more boring as hell. I mean c'mon! I get all the metaphor and statement crap, gimme some of that freaky deaky you promised in the trailer. Slooow and precious, beautiful and well-acted. I knew it! I was sucked in by the promise of Willem Dafoe, but left the theater feeling intellectually inadequate. Partially because I didn't get the talking fox part, and partially because I was totally entertained by the closeup depiction of a woman slicing off her own clitoris with a pair of rusty scissors. Art films... they're so artsy.

And The Road trailer promised a harrowing tale of grim and violent post-apocalyptic future. Viggo Mortenson is a low key bad ass and this movie's trailer underscored that. But at the same time, the trailer hinted at a fair amount of action. Not so in the actual movie. It was sloooowww... and painful and grim. As a man whose wife had bailed to her own death, Viggo played the role of the desperate father simply trying to not die. There were a few nasty marauders in the pic, but for the most part it was father and son narrowly evading lonely oblivion on a day-to-day basis. Pretty entertaining, but definitely could've used some more action.

I didn't see the trailer for Precious. Just a couple clips online here and there. That's all I needed. This movie made me a fly on the wall in the rotted suffocating heat of bleak ghetto life for one severely abused, undereducated, obese black girl. Wow. What a jaw-dropping performance by all, particularly M'onique who played the main character's ragingly abusive and equally neglectful mother. Where she pulled that performance from I can only guess. But if she doesn't win an Oscar for that, I'll be as pissed as the year Denzel won for Training Day.

AT&T the Great White Nope

There's a TV spot for AT&T Wireless that has my attention. Not because it's creative or memorable or effective. But because it's all kinds of racist. However, I do believe it is unintended. But I could be wrong.

The AT&T spot in question has garnered moderate attention for casting Tyler Hansbrough, #13 draft pick for the Indiana Pacers. Never heard of Tyler Hansbrough? Perhaps you don't belong to the target demo. I trust that Mr. Hansbrough - with more than 20k FaceBook fans - enjoys enough recognition for AT&T's purposes, which is carving out a sizable chunk of the endlessly expanding social network universe. That's where AT&T is focusing much of their marketing, and this TV spot seems to be their flagship for that endeavor.

It illustrates a pig tailed li'l black girl who ain't got a friend in the world, 'cept her scrappy white mutt who jus' ran 'way. She's obviously sad that her dog has gone missing. So what's a po black chil' s'posed to do, 'cept nail crumpled li'l signs up 'round town? Not exactly a hopeful method of reuniting with lost pets. But unbeknownst to the po li'l black chil', a very connected and benevolent white guy, played by Hansbrough, has noticed her doomed analog plea and decides he should help. With his AT&T smartphone, he snaps a pic of her sign, and sends it out to his vast social network. We then cut to a series of scenes that shows young white folk getting Twitter and FaceBook updates on their tricked out mobile devices. They spring into action!

Every person holding a mobile device in this spot is white. Each become part of the plan to help tall whitey help po li'l black chil'. Meanwhile, the black folk are relegated to analog ignorance in every scene. Sure, Mr. Hansbrough's character hangs with some brothers, but they appear to be oblivious to his charitable act. One quick scene has a white woman showing her phone display to a black woman, as if to ask if she's seen the dog. The sista cluelessly shakes her head no.

Eventually, the dog surfaces with three young people - two whites, one black. Guess who's transfixed by her mobile device? The white girl, of course. She got the Twitter update and immediately recognizes the dog! What's her black friend doing while the white girl solves the mystery? Petting the escaped dog and smiling her clueless ass off.

Finally, we see the po' li'l black chil' dejectedly walking home after a day of fruitless, primitive search. But who's waiting triumphantly on the stoop of her home? Mr. NBA himself. With whitey the dog. Po li'l black chil' is so happy she doesn't even feel endangered by the ivory stranger parked on the porch steps. And why should she? He's the perfect role model for blacks: Kind, white, and in the NBA.

Post script: I can't decide if it's clever or pedestrian, the way AT&T embedded no less than four of their signature "more bars in more places" into the scenes of this spot. Most viewers will see the architectural arches that overtly imply more bars. But three other instances are much more subtle, if not subconscious. What is this, the fifties? Subconscious advertising cues have never been proven effective and are more myth than real practice. If AT&T is trying to be a leader in 21st century communications, they can start by leaving unintended racism and Madmen-style legend behind in the last century.

I'm on CNN.com reading the day's news and events. I knew before I logged on it would be a gruesome affair. Lately, there have been some seriously heinous events reported. I'm no sociologist, but it seems to be pretty bad compared to even five years ago. I am unclear as to whether there are more horrible things happening every day, or if the media is just reporting more of it. So allow me to give some examples of what story lines I am reading on ONE page of the news online.

Police: Mom Tried To Suffocate Daughter In Kudzu Patch

Baby Abandoned In Storm Drain Dies

Metro Atlanta Soldier Killed In Afghanistan

Man Accused Of Slicing Cat's Throat

Contractor Not Guilty Of Dog Spray Painting

Pandemic Flu Vaccine Production To Fall Short

Woman Catches Fire During Surgery, Dies

Bees Sting Man More Than 200 Times

Gov't Stands By As Mercury Taints Water

Man Says He Hid Wife's Body For 2 Years

Wow, quite a news day.

Click on lives

Garden hose duct-taped to mouths full blast. So much, in so many ways. Always at our fingertips, in our pockets, on our skin, in our wallets and under our eyelids. More flavor, more access, more use, more input, more opinion, more friends than we really have. More beat and more chocolate than ever before. Our circles set us free while they entwine us in a tangle of our own reflection. We look good, but we feel bad. Scan it send it click it work it. Touch screen speed and mainstream greed and bits of the world that bring empty calories to our plate. Hate spills and eyes lock, children learn, we hate them for it. Days to come morphing grotesque, but still we pound the rocks.

Extreme is the new regular

You cannot deny that food is extreme now. Extreme is the rule, nearly passé. Juice boxes, pizza crusts, nachos, chocolate beverages. All deliver – according to their packaging and marketing – a maximum explosion of mouth-blasting chow downness with every cheese-filled, bacon-packed, mega-sized mouthful. Today’s edibles are commonly ladled with illusory flavors like Taco Bell’s Volcano Double Beef Burrito and Burger King’s Angry Whopper with Angry Sauce. I have no point of reference for Angry Sauce. Is it extracted from the frothy fat rolls of an outraged Bariatric patient? We’ve become so imbued with flavor extremeness that today’s packaged food must top yesterday’s bombastic caricatures of sustenance in order to be noticed by a bored and spoiled populace of overeaters.

This uniquely American affliction has spread to chewing gum. Spearmint, peppermint and cinnamon are cast aside like outdated analogs to make room for Rain, Cobalt and Flare. I had to read the packaging carefully before buying a pack of Wrigley’s uber-hip 5 Gum. Because of the satin black packaging, I wasn’t sure if it was gum or a pack of French cigarettes. The closest thing to flavor copy, “Experience the warm and cool winter sensation of 5 gum.” A bold, if not nebulous, claim. Except it tastes like chemically engineered, mint-like putty. That’s what happens when they “extreme” a classic product like peppermint chewing gum. It’s already perfect.

Are we so over-stimulated and so easily bored that gum makers must resort to reformulating, renaming and repackaging a product as perfect as spearmint gum? What will our grandchildren eat/drink/chew? I don’t want to know the answer. We need to slow down, eat simple, and just chill the fuck out.

Snow: a Force for Good

Snow is our friend. And until TV weather forecasters realize this, we will continue to suffer their stressful warnings about an impending dusting. Snow does things that only snow can do. It covers up dog poop in my back yard. Snow slows things down. When we get hit with a few inches overnight, I don't have to be into work on time. Sometimes, when it snows during the day, I leave work early. And I go sledding. There's nothing like a sled hill after a snowstorm. The electricity in the air affects everyone. I used to go for the sledding. Now I go for the atmosphere.

Yeah, shoveling snow kinda blows. But I like the way the sidewalks look after they get shoveled. Nice and neat, defined and clean. Snow allows neighborhood kids to make some pocket money from neighbors. Snow feeds entire families because dad wakes up at 4 a.m. and plows as many driveways as possible. In northern Michigan, a snowstorm attracts snowmobilers with pockets full of cash to throw at elk jerkey, batteries, sandwiches and hotel rooms. They come in trucks and SUVs equipped with new snow tires they bought from Sears and Belle Tire. Just try to get your vehicle serviced at a tire store after a snowstorm. You'll be watching Montel on the TV in the waiting area for hours. That means mechanics are working and earning money. They're installing parts made in factories and delivered by drivers who get paid by the hour. Snow is one of the greatest natural economic engines known to man.

Snow gives an opportunity to spend time with your kids while they're still kids. And they get to spend time with you while you feel like a kid. Snow is good and pure and positive. If only the local news reported it from that angle.