1. Pink Is The New Blecch
Blecch – consistently so spelled — was a routine part of the vocabulary of Mad magazine, at least the classic glorious organ of caricature and satire, not the puerile broadsheet that appeared post-William Gaines. It was pretty good onomatopeia for the sound of someone hurling lunch.
The word flitted through my mind last weekend when I pulled into the Gold’s parking lot and discovered that there is one thing wrong with having a gym next to an REI storefront. REI has these periodic member special sale dates where they flog pup tents and Coleman lanterns and ski racks and what-all at what must be astronomical bargain prices, because a parking lot that I bet is nearly a quarter-mile in length and four rows deep was utterly crammed and a line of people snaked out the door of the store around the far corner of the commercial block.
Half of them seemed to have brought their kids with them.
Some of those kids were little girls.
Every single one of the little girls, as God is my witness, was wearing a coat in the identical lurid shade of jelly-bean pink. It was as if they were in training for one of the Susan G. Komen walks, or a bomb had gone off in a lipstick factory.
When did this horrible, shrieking, plasticky, not-found-in-nature color become the obligatory hue for little girls’ attire (and toys and rooms and duffel bags)? What is it doing to their brains? It is near as dammit to the Baker-Miller paint that for a brief time was believed to calm down rumbustious drunks and violent inmates of correctional facilities. Maybe it is meant to make little girls docile, a sly plot by corporate manipulators. Except:
Research has shown conflicting results on the effects of Baker-Miller pink. While the initial results at the Naval Correctional facility in Seattle were positive, calming those exposed, inmates at the Santa Clara county jail were trying to scratch the paint from the walls with their fingernails when exposed for more than fifteen minutes. At John Hopkins, appetite suppression was observed and studied.
2. Dairy Queens
WTF is it about approaching snow that makes people think they are going to need gallons and gallons and gallons of milk?
I usually shop on Thursdays, but we are looking down the barrels of a big snow whack here — maybe eight inches — and I figured I had better get it over with by noon today at the latest. The store was only moderately crowded, but the dairy case was already ravaged. You would think someone had a swimming pool to fill.
It’s going to be forty on Friday; the roads won’t be instantly clear, I know, but by Sunday or so I expect we’ll be able to get around. Do these people usually buy a jug of milk every day of their mortal lives?
It happens every time.