Go Westie, Young Man

In the evenings, Ken and I like to settle in and watch a little TV. One of the channels we frequently watch has some excellent shows, but the commercials? Every commercial break, it’s literally the same damn commercials, over and over again all night long. Most of them I can ignore, but there are a few that drive me nuts:

1) Martha Stewart for Pretty Litter

This is a new type of cat litter apparently. It looks like tiny drops of gelatin and according to Martha, it can change colour to show you if your cat is sick with a variety of illnesses. That’s not what bothers me. I just have SO MANY questions about this commercial. It begins with Martha appearing from behind a clothing rack that only contains different coloured parkas—why does she have so many PARKAS? Then, throughout the entire commercial, she’s packing a suitcase. WHERE IS SHE GOING? At one point while she’s extolling the virtues of Pretty Litter, one of the cats in the commercial—there are two of them—is eating out of a plant pot in the background. Is she not feeding them?! Then, at the end, after she’s told us all about her weird-ass cat litter, she’s WEARING a parka, her suitcase is with her, and she’s about to leave on some kind of trip. WHERE IS SHE GOING? Is anyone taking care of the cats while she’s away? Because, based on the amount of sh*t she just put in her wheelie bag, she’s planning on being gone a while. None of this makes sense, like who was the genius writer?

Owner of Pretty Litter: We need a “concept” for this commercial. Yes, it’s only cat litter, but we need the audience to really ENGAGE with it.

Head Writer: Hmmm. Ooh, what about this? Martha is taking a skiing vacation, maybe in Vale, as one does, and she’s getting ready to leave, secure in the knowledge that Pretty Litter will absorb all the urine and poop and odours and whatnot while she’s away for the month. We’ll showcase some down-filled ski jackets and Lacoste button-ups, then have a nice product placement at the end for Samsonite. It’s a relatable narrative that will really capture the consumer imagination!

Assistant Writer: I love it! But…can cats be left on their own for weeks? Who’s going to feed them?

Head Writer: I doubt anyone will be worried about that. Besides, there are lots of plants. Everyone knows that cats can eat plants, STEVE.

Assistant Writer: Can they? I’ve never had a cat.

Head Writer: No idea. I’ve never had a cat either. What about you?

Owner of Pretty Litter: No idea. I hate cats.

2) Scotties Tissue

The premise of this commercial is that a man was hypnotized so that a “sneeze trigger” ensures he will always get the name of Scotties brand tissues correct, so when someone sneezes, he automatically says, “Scotties!” What did he call them before? No one knows—the commercial begins ‘in media res’. And believe it or not, this ISN’T the stupid part. No, the stupid part is that the tagline is “Let’s get the name right.” They get the NAME right but what they don’t get right is that the dog in the commercial for Scotties is NOT in fact a Scottie dog—it’s a WEST HIGHLAND TERRIER. It’s a WESTIE. I’d be more impressed by the company if they actually knew what breed their mascot was. A “Scottie”—a Scottish Terrier—is BLACK, and yes, while there may be some that are ‘wheaten’, the dog in the commercial doesn’t even LOOK like a Scottie. And again, I can imagine the conversation around the writer’s table:

Scotties Owner: So the board of directors and I have decided we need a mascot.
Head Writer: Well, that’s obvious. We’ll just use a Scottie Dog.
Assistant Writer: Aren’t Scottish Terriers black?
Head Writer: But the tissues are white. We’ll just use a different Scottish dog–get me one of those white ones to match the tissues.
Assistant Writer: You mean a Westie? Won’t people notice that we’re using the wrong kind of dog as a mascot?
Head Writer: THEY’RE BOTH SCOTTISH, STEVE. NO ONE WILL CARE.

So the whole campaign and branding are based on a complete misunderstanding. In retrospect, I’m thinking that the context for the commercial is that the man kept calling the tissues “Westies” and then he was tortured and brainwashed into believing that a white dog is a Scottie. 2+2=5.

3) Dove Whole Body Deodorant

I’m baffled by this one. And I guess I shouldn’t call it ‘deodorant’ because according to Dove, the hip, cool thing to say is “Deo”. But this commercial is bizarre. It features women dancing and swirling in an Italian-esque villa as they apply “Deo” to all their body parts, and there’s a kind of rap that goes, “My neck, my back, my legs and pits, all that.” So are we supposed to coat our ENTIRE bodies with deodorant now? WHY?! I, for one, am frankly sick of companies trying to make money by telling woman they “aren’t fresh” (I’m looking at you, Summer’s Eve, you literal douchebag). What do they think we do all day? Mud wrestle? Slathering waxy paste all over your body can’t possibly be good for your skin—one line in the rap suggests you rub it “under your rack”. Seriously? And how do you get it on your back anyway? I can barely reach the top of my shoulder blades. People in the past would have laughed their heads off at this:

Lady Casentmauvais: That brisk romp through the countryside has invigorated my glow, I’m afraid.
Lord Casentmauvais: I’ll get the butler to scatter rose petals around the room to disguise your pong. I’m also noticing the acrid stench of my own perspiration.
Lady Casentmauvais: Indeed. Tell the butler to crush lavender into the carpet as well.

And can you imagine the conversation in the writers’ room?:

Dove Owner: Our sales are slipping. We need more women to buy our products.
Head Writer: We can convince them that their knees are smelly.
Assistant Writer: Ooh, great idea! We could do the same thing with the men’s “Deo”.
Head Writer (scoffs): What man would ever believe THAT, STEVE?

In other news, remember how I was supposed to be a co-host for that radio station show for a few months? Well, I got an email on Thursday from the community group that organizes the show that the other host, who I had just done the show with last Sunday, up and quit. Completely. And now, I am the only, and permanent, host. Wish me luck.

Harmony; Smatterings of Cerulean

I’ve never had a problem going to the dentist. I mean, like most people, I don’t enjoy having someone else’s hands in my mouth (already I can hear the voices saying “Speak for yourself”—this is a PG site, so back off), but I’m not petrified, and I don’t avoid going like some people. In my previous workplace, we had a great dental plan, but there were so many people with really awful teeth that it seemed like a lot of people avoided the dentist like the plague, which is the time period when, I believe, that dentists were invented and were used mostly for implanting dead peoples’ teeth into rich peoples’ mouths. I used to work with a guy who was so scared of the dentist that he had to have laughing gas just for a cleaning. I had laughing gas only once, when I had my wisdom teeth out, and all I remember is that it was the surgeon’s birthday and he had helium balloons in the corner, which were apparently the funniest f*cking thing I had EVER seen, to the point where he got really mad and said, “Stop laughing!” And I was like, “This is your fault, you hilarious bastard!” then he hooked me up to an IV and I don’t remember anything after that, except that having your wisdom teeth pulled out REALLY takes the smile off your face. But even THAT experience didn’t sour me on dentistry. Apparently, according to my dentist, I have “boring teeth”, which might sound like an insult, but he said it’s way better than HIS teeth—he’s had three root canals, four crowns, and multiple fillings, which is weird because you’d think with all his access to floss and sh*t that he’d be completely tuned up. I really wanted to ask if he did the repair work himself, like that Mr. Bean show where he gets sick of waiting for the dentist and starts messing with the dentist’s tools and ends up drilling into several teeth, but he had his hands in my mouth so I couldn’t.

Mostly our conversations involve him griping about the fact that I’m allergic to latex so he has to wear vinyl gloves “just for me” and “they don’t fit properly and they’re hard to get on because there’s no powder”. And that’s a way worse inconvenience than me swelling up and choking, which is why I left my last dentist, who was like “there’s no such thing as a latex allergy—stop being a baby and breathe properly”. Yesterday though, my current dentist was quite pleased because he’s got these new blue gloves that are more comfortable. Of course, he still came in the room with the latex ones on, but my hygienist gave him this crazy signal like she was swatting at a bee or something and he came back with the non-death-inducing ones.

I love my hygienist. Her name is Harmony, and she’s very much like her name. We like all the same TV shows, and manage to talk about them while she has sharp hooks in my mouth. I’ve been going to her for several years, except for a brief period when our schedules didn’t match up. But recently, she’s been working more days and now that I’m retired, I have the flexibility to see her whenever I want. I saw her this past Thursday, and even though it had been MONTHS, we picked up where we left off, which is where her pick is in my mouth. Regardless, she can always understand me:

Me: A u een any u ows ately?
Harmony: Oh my god, yes. Have you seen Disclaimer?
Me: I i on etfix?
Harmony: No, Apple TV. Do you have that?
Me: Nuh. ust isney a prime
Harmony: You can get a free trial. Totally worth it to binge this show. Oh, and The Bad Sisters–amazing!
Me: Uh i a-out? I i a ystery?
Harmony: Yes, so I don’t want to give too much away. Let’s just say you need to be on the lookout for clues.
Me: OOOH.

So now, not only do I have clean teeth and x-rays to prove that my pearly whites will last a few more years, I also have some solid recommendations for what to watch next.

In other news, tomorrow is the DarkWinter Press official release of the incredible poetry book Smatterings of Cerulean, by my good friend Susan Richardson of Stories From The Edge Of Blindness and the brilliant poetry podcast A Thousand Shades of Green. And not only is the poetry excellent, there is also a photograph accompanying each piece. And guess who the photographer is? It’s Ken! As you may know, Ken is an amazing photographer, and I’ve used many of his images for DarkWinter Literary Magazine. So if you’re interested in beautiful poetry and photography, you can buy Smatterings of Cerulean here.

Squirrel! Part Deux

Squirrel! for those who don’t know, is a reference to that easily distracted dog from the movie Up. And if you read last week’s post, you’ll remember that I promised to tell you what happened when we picked up the car. Well, not too much—it was pretty straightforward. The furnace had been fixed (“Yeah, I caved and got in a guy who replaced the pilot light thing”) and the dog smelled marginally better (“But the suede couch can’t be saved”) and then we drove off the lot. The next day, Ken had promised to take over the ownership for our trade-in/junker, but he called me while I was out shopping to say that the new-to-us vehicle’s engine light had come on. I agreed to meet him at the used car lot and drive him home if necessary. When I got there, Car Guy was leaning casually against the side of our SUV and Ken was sitting in the passenger seat:

Me: Hey, how’s everything?
Car Guy: So I threw the computer on it, and it’s just the thermostat. Twenty dollar part, quick fix.
Ken: So how long will it take?
Car Guy: Oh, we can get it done this afternoon, probably by—HEY! That door isn’t silver!!

Ken and I both looked in confusion at our SUV door, which was black like the rest of the vehicle, then in the direction Car Guy seemed to be looking. Leaning against the garage were several disembodied car doors. Two of them were red; one seemed like it was silver…?

Me: You mean the car door over there on the right? Isn’t it silver?
Car Guy: Nooo…I’m pretty sure that’s grey! Anyhoo, let’s say by end of day.

And it was. He’s nothing if not reliable.

In other news, on Wednesday, I made Ken take me out to the cemetery…(I love starting sentences that way, like you’re all thinking, “Ooh, what did Ken DO? What happened next?!”)…to take some new headshots of me for my new short story collection, Dark Nocturnes, which is coming out on April 5^th, thanks to the wonderful JC Studio Press. Why the cemetery? Because for some strange reason, I always look great in a cemetery—all of my best author pics are me and a gravestone. And I don’t know if that says more about the cemetery or more about me. At any rate, it was super windy and hard to get any decent pictures of me with someone’s deadbed, but we found a sheltered spot by an old tree and I think it’s pretty decent, like I’m contemplating mortality and whatnot:

And if you like this picture (brace yourself for incoming blatant self-promotion), you’re going to LOVE Dark Nocturnes, which you can pre-order for Kindle here. Last week, I gave you a sneak peek at the cover and now, here’s the synopsis:

“Step into the shadows and explore the hidden corners of existence in Suzanne Craig-Whytock’s captivating collection Dark Nocturnes, where ordinary lives intertwine with extraordinary circumstances, where the line between reality and fantasy blurs with each turn of the page. Wander through the echoing corridors of old manor houses and deep forests, explore hidden rooms and cavernous antique markets, dance with menacing marionettes and life-size dolls. Lyrical, haunting, and occasionally humorous, Dark Nocturnes is a collection of thirty-two stories that explore joy and sorrow, gratitude and grief, and hatred and desire. Open the cover, feast on the stories inside…and if you’re lucky, Mr. Death just might show up for dessert.”

Squirrel!!

Last week, Ken’s 2011 GMC Terrain finally bit the dust. It had already had a complete engine rebuild a couple of years ago, but the repairs it needed now were too expensive to consider keeping it on the road. Thus began the search for another vehicle. We didn’t want something new—Ken used the Terrain as an all-purpose trailer-hauling, cargo-carrying, dog-transporting workhorse, so anything fancy was out of the question (and as an aside, let me tell you that we can’t even SAY the word ‘car’ in our house without Atlas losing his mind—he thinks going for a car ride, even to our local hardware store two minutes away, is cause for tremendous crying, leaping, and swooning. He’s adorable, and also VERY good. He always has a safety go before he leaps in, and once he’s actually in the back, he stays put. Also, a safety go is when you pee even if you don’t need to, just in case. I don’t know if men do that, but a lot of women I know, myself included, ALWAYS do it.)

Anyway, we had to start looking for another vehicle. We test drove one—a 2017 Terrain (but Ken was leery about more engine problems), and then we looked at a 2015 Chevy Traverse. We’d pretty much decided on the Traverse and headed to the car lot to move forward on it, but no one was around, so we headed next door to a different car lot. There was a fully loaded 2016 Dodge Journey there, and after test driving it, we decided it was the right vehicle. So on Thursday, we made an appointment to put down a deposit and fill in the paperwork. And that’s when the fun started. Because the guy who owns this lot—he’s fairly young, and very nice and smart, and COMPLETELY OUT OF CONTROL. This is what went down:

Car Guy: Hey, good to see you. I stink. My dad’s dog got sprayed by a skunk and my dad doesn’t smell so the dog went all over the house and do you know how to get skunk out of a suede couch because the dog was laying all over it and—hey, it’s really cold in here. (gets up and leaves the room). I don’t think the furnace is working, which is weird because it was fine yesterday, but who knows, anyway how much did you want to put down as a deposit?

Ken: We were thinking five hun—

Car Guy: (gets up and leaves the room and continues talking) Sometimes the thermostat gets stuck and you have to turn it off and then on again…oh wait, do you hear something, like it’s firing up? Once, I came in and it was like minus 5 in here. Wow, I really smell, sorry about that, but I couldn’t even put the dog outside because it’s so cold. (comes in and sits back down). So here’s the report on the Dodge. It’s pleasantly boring, which means it’s been well taken care of and I should probably be asking more for it but there you go. Did you want new plates?

Ken: Yes, the old ones are kind of peeling—

Car Guy: But it’s okay because I really rely on volume sales, which is why my cars are all so cheap, like I just LOVE buying stuff so if I can move things out fast, then I can buy more, You see that 2005 Toyota over there? I picked it up this morning, got two grand on it but someone will buy it—the mileage is only like 45 000k. Crazy, right? Hey, do you think the exhaust pipe for the furnace might be blocked?

(At which point, he and Ken go outside to investigate while I sit there shivering in my winter coat. After a few minutes, they come back and Car Guy is carrying an empty Tupperware container. It’s not clear why. It never becomes clear.).

Me: Did you find the pipe? (Ken shrugs).

Car Guy: No. Maybe. I’m not sure. Anyway, I think I’m just gonna have to put the dog in the shower with some of that stuff, whaddaya call it?

Me: Skunk Off?

Car Guy: Yeah, although that might smell worse than the skunk. Does it sound like the furnace is on yet? (leaves room to fiddle with thermostat). Anyway, let’s get that paperwork done (phone rings). Hello, Honest T’s. The Journey? Sorry, man, it just sold, like literally just now, but hey, I have a 2012, come on by and see. (hangs up). Wow, you guys have great timing. If you could just initial here and here and sign here…okay now we have to go into the other office where the debit machine is, but it’s warmer in there. I just have to go to the bathroom first because I’m seriously dying. Hey Ray! Can you get the ladder and go onto the roof to see if the furnace pipes are up there? Be right back guys.

We were there for over an hour, just to sign some paperwork. But I can’t complain because it was the most hilarious hour I’ve spent in a long time, just listening to him. We pick up the Journey this coming Thursday, so I’ll let you know if he still smells like skunk—and if he finally got the furnace going.

Un Bon Chien

I haven’t written too much about Atlas lately, but he’s really turned into a wonderful dog. He’s very affectionate and intelligent in a variety of ways. But most surprisingly, the other day we discovered that he speaks French. Yes, the language of amour, and he’s quite proficient at it. I was in the kitchen getting dinner ready, and I was speaking French to Atlas, as one does, because I like to practice every once in a while to make sure I haven’t forgotten the basics. I was keeping a running commentary of what I was doing— “Ah, mon bon chien, tu es très intelligent, n’est-ce pas?” and “Je vais faire des pommes de terre à la place du riz” and whatnot. And then I needed some salt, so I said to Atlas, who wasn’t really paying attention at this point, having given up on getting any cookies, “Où est le sel, mon ami? Ah, c’est ici!”

And when he heard the word ‘ici’, he immediately ran to the door and started barking like a maniac, because ‘ici’ means ‘here’, and whenever he hears the word ‘here’, he assumes that someone has come to our house. I had to shush him and open the door to prove that no one was ‘ici’. But I was super-curious:

Me: Since when have you been able to understand French?
Atlas: Oh, you know. You pick it up here and there.
Me: And can you speak French as well?
Atlas: Bien sûr. Je ne suis pas un idiot. Contrairement au président des États-Unis.
Me: That’s pretty good. Your accent is as solid as your understanding of current politics. Hang on—have you been spending time with that French bulldog on the corner? Is that who’s been teaching you French?
Atlas: Among other things, Maman. Ooh la la!
Me: Take it easy there, Loverboy. Stop drooling. Thank goodness you’re neutered.
Atlas: What does ‘neutered’ mean, Ma?
Me: Oh nothing.

Sigh. They grow up so fast.

In other news, my job shadow training at the radio station went really well. It doesn’t look anywhere near as difficult as I thought, and on top of everything, one of the authors didn’t show up so to fill in the time, the other host offered to let me read from my new short story collection, Dark Nocturnes, which is currently on Kindle pre-sale with the paperback being released on April 5^th. I’m so excited about it, and the cover is incredible, thanks to Jane Cornwell, my publisher and artist extraordinaire. If you’re interested, you can find it by clicking here: Amazon

It’s already gotten some fantastic advance reviews but if you’d like a review copy when it’s released, let me know!