Scary gumball machine

This gumball machine was spotted at the Manchester movie theater:

It kind of speaks for itself, though I can't help but wonder what happened to that creepy child's eyebrows? Was that part of his gang initiation?

I can't stare at it for very long. The kid's eyes follow you across the room.

Oh, the places you'll go ... maybe.

If you're like me, you like to spend your weekends inside gigantic convention halls and exposition centers, learning about things you may never need and meeting celebrities you have never heard of. Who needs daylight, am I right? And Connecticut is right there with you, supplying these events like they're going out of style (heck, we like these things so much the Hartford Expo is only 2 miles from the Hartford Convention Center).

Here are a few of my favorite upcoming events:

Did you watch The Wrestler and think, "You know, I think I need a firsthand look at that lifestyle?" Then keep August 2nd open, because that's when the Pro Wrestling Icons convention hits the Courtyard Marriott in Cromwell. See Terry Funk! See The Giant Silva! See .... this guy:

I guess he's supposed to be an umpire? Wait, I get it, he's from New York!

Anyway, don't take my word for it. Here's their commercial:

Oh, it's going to be quite the event. Lots of greased men, lots of stringy, sweaty hair, lots of women in tight tops and too much make-up. Hey, according to the website, King Kong Bundy is going to be there. That's all the advertising I need. I'm sold. Who do I give my $99 to? (Yes, the "superticket" to the expo, which allows one autograph and one photo-op with each special guest, costs $99. Make sure you bring your own camera. They don't supply the photos, only the opportunities. And don't haggle. Some of these guys probably need the money.) Just promise to not beat me up. I'm fragile.

Wrestling not your thing? Then you're probably a woman. And, since you're also most likely a total stereotype of what women have been trying to break free from for the past, oh, forever, then maybe the 7th Annual Connecticut Women's Expo (sponsored by Comcast) is more your speed. According to their advertisements, they have everything the typical woman wants in an expo: psychic readings, FREE samples (yes, FREE with capital letters), shopping, fashion shows, beauty makeovers, seminars on things like diets (I've been there, sister), and ... and this is big ... SOAP STARS! Yes, that's right, on September 12th (and 13th), you can get your psychic-loving, vendor-pawing mitts on none other than Lucas from Days of Our Lives!

I know if I were to meet him I'd ask him why he's always such a snake! "You don't need to be a drunk, Lucas!" I'd yell. "All of your relationships turn to mush because of you!" I ... I've said too much.

To be fair, a portion of the proceeds from the 7th Annual Connecticut Women's Expo (sponsored by Comcast) go to the Susan G. Komen fund. So, while you sit in on that sex therapy seminar, you'll know that at least part of your $10 admission is going to a good cause. Of course, you probably will have already known that, thanks to the free psychic reading.

Now, I know what some of you are saying: "Ben, I'm neither a wrestling fan OR a stereotype of the female species. I'm fun and have a family. Is there anything on the horizon for me, or should I just pack my things and move?" All I can say in response is, "Put that Samsonite back in the basement and cancel the U-Haul, my friend!"

My final awesome upcoming expo is just for you!

No, it isn't a scuba expo (but, man, that'd be cool. I imagine there'd be some neat harpoon guns at such an event). It's the Lego Kidsfest, and it's happening November 20-22. Dude, there's going to be so much stuff! Legos! And more Legos! I bet there's going to be BIG, BIG things made out of Legos! Maybe a life-size M. Jodi Rell! Or a big ol' Mark Twain mustache! That'd take quite a few gray blocks.

Seriously, though, I need to borrow my nephew come November. My inner child really, really wants to be in a giant room full of Legos. And my nephew'd probably have fun, too.

So, there you have it, something for everyone: the angry guy, the June Cleaver, and the children (young and old). Now if only they somehow combined all three of these ... I can see it now: Lego wrestlers giving women advice on nutrition, while soap opera stars battle it out in the square circle. Good times ... good times ...

Learning (the hard way) what Ikea instructions are trying to tell me

Ikea. Inexpensive items, a little elbow grease, and voila: a full home on a budget. The Professor and I have frequented the Swedish box store giant off and on for years. I have assembled a dining room table, three cabinets, one chair, a long CD tower, and one end table. And I have never once gotten injured in the process of said constructions.

So when it came to mounting a magnetic knife strip, I had little worries. There wasn't much to it: a magnetic strip, a mounting bracket, and two washers.

Then I looked briefly at the instructions, specifically step number two:

 "What is the person in the right image doing wrong?" I wondered. Is lightning striking them? Are they sliding their fingers to the left and right and causing some sort of magnetic friction? It reminded me of old issues of Highlights. What's different in one picture from the other?

I dropped the instructions and began to look at the pieces. The washers went behind the bracket. The bracket gets screwed into the wall. Then the magnetic front gets dropped onto the bracket. I placed the washers on the counter and held the long strips. I brought them close together. Again I wondered: "What's the problem with picture number two?"

If you guessed that the person on the right, Mr. No No we'll call him, has his fingers stuck between the two pieces of metal, one of which contains a long string of powerful magnets, you'd be right. If you also guessed that I was doing the exact same thing as Mr. No No when holding the two pieces precariously close together while standing in my kitchen, you'd also be correct and I would like to have you sitting next to me the next time I do something quite as stupid as what I'm about to confess.

I brought the pieces together. I never once thought about the magnetic pull between the two. Then it happened. It snapped shut like a lobster claw. The Professor, casually observing to this point, looked at me as if I was joking, as if I was possibly pretending to crush my finger between two pieces of metal. Then she saw that the entire magnetic knife holder was dangling from the pinched pad of my fingertip. I danced around the room like a fool or a Woody Allen character being portrayed by Woody Allen. "Helphelphelphelphelp!" I said, knowing fully well there was nothing she could do to help. The Professor flailed her arms. 

I don't know what was worse: the shock or the pain. Either way, I had to do something. Logic would have had me grab a butter knife to pry the pieces apart from each other. But logic doesn't work when a metal knife rack is hanging from a quarter inch of skin. The only thing I could think to do was grab the holder with my free hand and yank out my finger. So that's what I did. It hurt. The pad instantly puffed to twice its normal size and a nice bite of skin was removed. I will spare you with photos. But I laughed. I laughed at the pain and the ridiculousness and the sight I imagined any passing neighbor saw for that brief, ten second burst of panic.

Thankfully, ice brought the swelling down.

Afterward, I looked at the instructions once more. The obtuse imagery made perfect sense. Mr. No No on the right was clearly doing something wrong. Perhaps that is why they also include this image in their instructions:

Maybe if I had called Ikea with my direct line, like Mr. Question does in the image, I could have asked what was Mr. No No doing wrong. Instead, I had to learn the hard way.

A walk in the center ...

In recent visits to the center of town I've noticed what seems to be an overabundance of empty storefronts staring at me with sad "for lease" signs in their windows.

How many of these are there, I wondered.

Feeling the need to answer my own question, I decided to do a little walking tour with my camera. The trip was to be arduous. I made sure to pack extra supplies, my tent, and a spare set of clothes. My goal: snap a picture of every empty storefront in Blue Back Square and on the center's main stretches (South Main Street, Farmington between Main and Lasalle, and Lasalle Road).

Here's the result:

Sorry, but it's Debbie Downer time. The town center is beginning to look like some impossible 7-10 split. At what point does this become an epidemic? I counted 23 empty storefronts (though, as you see, I only photographed 22 - the 23rd had some people hanging out in front of it that looked tough and willing to punch a weak man with a camera). Granted, some of these spaces have signs promising new shops in the near future, but if we've all learned anything from the "Chow - Coming Soon" debacle (which, I noticed, has finally been removed), we may not want to hold our collective breaths for very long waiting for some of these places to open (cough ... Green Tea ... cough). 

Now, if I'm really ambitious, I'll take a walk down Park Road ...

What BJ's is really trying to tell you

Advertising. When it's good, it gives us information while being entertaining; when it's bad, it gives us headaches and the occasional groan-inducing scramble to switch television stations. And yet, regardless of quality, all advertising is done under such a microscope, passing through the hands of agencies, production companies, and vendors, that more often than not there are loads of tiny symbols hidden within the piece. Some of these symbols are there to influence the mind subconsciously, while others may try to make the product more relatable to a certain demographic. 

Such symbolism in visual advertising comes directly from symbolism in art, which has been around as long as people have been creating canvases or scrawling on cave walls. One of the chief examples of such talk is Jan van Eyck's 15th century masterpiece The Arnolfini Wedding:

On first glance, the painting seems nothing more than a portrait of a couple, yet further investigation shows multiple symbols that offer views on gender roles, class, and domesticity. The woman is near the bed, while her husband is at the window; she is domestic, while he is of the world. The small dog at their feet shows loyalty. The single lit candle on the chandelier may stand for the holy spirit, while the fruits near the window most likely represent fertility.

Honestly, the symbolism in this painting could fill a book (I know I once wrote a 15 page paper on it and felt I didn't even scratch the tip of the iceberg).

But we're not here for art history. We're here because of that pesky headline I wrote: What BJ's is trying to tell you. Mysterious sounding, I know.

Here is the photo that accompanied an advertisement I received in the mail from BJ's Wholesale just the other day:

It's a poor photo, there's no question. Everything looks very staged. The people are positioned in an awkward way that no family would ever stand. And there's some strange Photoshopping happening at the bottom with shadows.

But when studied closer, some very disturbing comments about family and gender begin to lift from the page.

First, the males are both higher in the image than the females. The poor "Mom" character is on her knees, while "Dad" stands tall above everyone with an assuring hand on the shoulder of his son. The guys are the dominant force in the family, the bread winners, the money. This thought is also displayed by the decision to have Dad's hand on the shopping cart. He's in control of the family, while Mom's the one down on the ground. 

That's not to say that women are nothing in the image. Their placement in the foreground gives them some dominance. To me it seems that BJ's may be saying "Men may be in control, they may be behind everything (literally and figuratively), but women know how to shop."

The dominance of male over female also is evident in the choice of BJ's to fill the space behind the males with products while letting the space behind the females drift into a white void. What does this say about BJ's thoughts of women? Do the products behind the males represent knowledge? Ability? Power? Or is the blank white space just an aesthetic decision to make the photo flow more into the text that accompanied it in the original advertisement?

Of course, anything is up for interpretation.

Look at what both the boy and girl are handing to their same-gendered parent:

Yes, that's right, daughter is holding eggs while son is holding mounds of hot dogs. Doesn't take a genius to figure that one out. And the way the father is looking down at the son makes it look like they're having some sort of "life lesson" conversation about what those hot dogs are for.

Why is BJ's telling us that women carry eggs and men carry wieners? Are they trying to reinforce some sort of "family" image? Does it tie into the symbolism of superiority of men that the image is already displaying?

Honestly, I don't know. It is pretty creepy, though, don't you think?

Now, I know there are plenty of smart people out there who read this blog. What do you see in this advertisement photo? Am I crazy for seeing the things I've just said? Is BJ's Wholesale really trying to push some strange "Man/Woman" family dominance on us all?

Or am I just seeing thing?

The impossible contest

From the Connecticut Best Business Guide, one of about a hundred coupon books we receive in the mail each month:

A simple word puzzle, right? Note the date in the top right corner:

Okay, all seems legit. But what's with the fine print at the bottom of the rules?

"All entries must be received no later than Dec. 15, 2008"? Hmmm. Good thing I have that time machine for just this purpose.

I smell of exclusive mall stores . . .

I needed pants, so the Professor and I took a drive to Westfarms Mall this afternoon (we're both free on Wednesdays). As luck would have it, I found a decent pair at Macy's. I already had a $25 gift card from Christmas so, after discounts, I only had to pay 99 cents out of pocket. It couldn't have been easier.

Which made it a bit unsettling, to tell you the truth.

See, shopping for me is a love/hate experience. I don't mind going to stores, but I usually can't find anything worth buying. Then, I get tired and cranky. It can be a sight.

So finding something with relative ease was both refreshing and somewhat awkward. I had planned a long ordeal, and now I was free. I hadn't planned on having the extra time. What was I to do with myself?

The answer? Explore one of those "other" stores the mall offers. You know the ones. They don't have the big, wide windows that the other stores have. They're the ones with loud, trendy music pumping through their speakers. The dark ones that don't even have a sign on the front.

Yes, the Professor and I ventured into Gilly Hicks, the "Australian" underwear store owned by Abercrombie & Fitch.

We had both read a very funny (and also thought provoking) opinion piece on Gilly Hicks several months ago in the Hartford Courant (find it here), and we've joked about the establishment ever since. With such a goofy name, it was easy to turn anything into a Gilly Hicks-related punch-line.

And today, with extra time, we finally stepped foot inside.

I can only describe Gilly Hicks as a high end bra and underwear general store/museum. It is very dark and contains several small rooms and narrow passages. Like a museum, it leads you from gallery to gallery. It even has strange artwork of half-naked men with their hands yanking down their underwear for shoppers to admire. Honestly, I felt like I was in the masked party scene from Eyes Wide Shut as we tiptoed from one room to the next. I was waiting for the bizarre around every corner, faintly visible in the dark, pumping to the rhythm of the beats from the sound system.

Like any terror ride, you can't jump ship at Gilly Hicks. Nope, once you're in, you're in for at least a half dozen rooms. There is no escape. You are filtered from one space to the next until you reach the midpoint, a large area full of drawers of bras that reach to the ceiling, where those faint of heart can take the chicken's way out. And the place has a clingy smell of perfume that lingers on you for a good hour or two after leaving; a calling card, perhaps, telling everyone within ten feet "Hey, I just checked out expensive underwear in a dark room."

It being a Wednesday, the store wasn't busy, which was nice. Even with my wife by my side, such a store makes me feel very uncomfortable. There's something potentially pervy about a man surrounded by thousands of undergarments (though maybe that's just my Catholic upbringing lashing out).

And, after leaving, I still can't say for sure if I think a trendy, exclusive-feeling store like Gilly Hicks needs to exist. It is obviously targeting a teenage audience, and I think that is a bit troubling. The main vibe I got from Gilly Hicks was sex. The dark corners. The music. The perfumed air. Should teenage girls be coaxed into such a place? I suppose I wouldn't know, nor should I say one way or the other.

But the store is an experience. I'll give it that.

Thoughts on the Grinch

I must say, I thought the airing of How the Grinch Stole Christmas! on Monday night was appropriate. The moral of the story, that Christmas is not necessarily about objects and things, seemed well suited for the weary eyes of "Cyber Monday" shoppers and "Black Friday" holdovers. But I couldn't help but feel a bit conflicted in the fact that ABC continues to air the cartoon with additional commercial breaks, not only editing out portions of the story, but, effectively, using the idea that the season is NOT about presents and gifts to sell viewers MORE commercials pushing presents and gifts. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. This is how we live, isn't it?

Getting back to the cartoon, one thing that I particularly love in each viewing is the fact that, regardless of the re-masterings and HD transfers it receives, the supervisors involved still leave all of the mistakes in the animation. In an age when the Lucas' of the world completely change films to reflect modern technology, often leaving their films looking less and less human-made, such absence of interference is breathtaking. The most obvious of these "mistakes" is early in the story, when the hatted Whos carry the roast beast to the dinner table. As they walk, the smallest Who's hat blinks from white to blue. A little blip, but one I look forward to seeing every year. I remember noticing it as a child and loving the human error, and today that love remains, the fact that, even in a 40-year-old classic, there is no perfection.

Taking in the program as an adult, I have grown fascinated with the character of Max, the brown dog companion of the Grinch. What keeps the little animal so happy? The Grinch obviously treats him like dirt, yet he continues to pant and wag his tail. Is he, underneath his fur and big brown eyes, Seuss' example of an eternal optimist? Or, thinking darker, is Max some sort of "I keep coming back for more" spousal abuse victim? I'm sure an argument could be made for either case. Perhaps he always knew that happiness would come to the Grinch. That the act of helping steal Christmas would finally bring joy to his life. Conversely, maybe he has grown so accustomed to abuse that he has found happiness in the small moments when he gets to be more than a whipping post. Too afraid to leave in the middle of the night, and happy to just breathe another day.

He is a most interesting and complex character. Why does he stay with the Grinch when he could run off to the Whos during the night?

At the same time, how did these two come together in the first place? Was the Grinch once a nicer figure? Did he take in this pup out of compassion originally, or was it solely for a henchman/punching bag position? And, if the Grinch did initially act out of compassion, when and why did he turn so foul?

So many questions, so few answers. And yet, these questions are what help elevate How the Grinch Stole Christmas! to the mantle on which it continues to stand. The program has an eternally current message, wonderful moments, and characters that evolve with the viewer. It encourages repeat viewings, with each peeling back a new layer of the onion. A different piece of the puzzle is obtained, a puzzle that is solely ours.

The deep voiced man, lost in Target

Since the busy travel of Thanksgiving Thursday, I really haven't tread very far outside of my apartment. Part of this has been intentional (read: avoiding Black Friday madness, feeling like total garbage from getting sick), but, for the most part, I just haven't had to go anywhere. I went for a run on Friday morning and dropped off a rent check on Saturday, but that's about all. 

I decided I needed to get outside today. The sky had cleared. The sun had begun to poke through the clouds. The temperature had risen to a balmy 54 degrees. I had no excuse to stay indoors.

Oh, but my cold had more or less vanquished my voice. And, what little I had left sounded alternately like Mark Lanegan and James Earl Jones. Cool to mumble song lyrics and Star Wars quotes to, but not good for much else.

Because of this, I couldn't go anywhere which involved speaking. So, no restaurants for lunch with chatty waitresses, no library interaction, no shopping. 

We had a lemon of a humidifier to return to Target. I thought about it. If I went, I'd have to interact with humans, but most likely not speak. Really, it would be simple enough. All I'd need to do was hand it to customer service, get my receipt, and be on my way. 

So I got into the car and headed out. 

Now, it should be noted that I do not understand Target. Literally. The concept of the store baffles me. I can enter a Target and walk around the store a good two or three times before coming across what I'm looking for. This has always happened to me. I am, for lack of a better term, a Target Reject. To me, "Target" is the absolute last name I would give such an establishment. "Elusive Objects Building" would be more apt.

Regardless, the humidifier had to be returned, so I pulled into the massive parking lot and made my way inside. The line at customer service was short and, before long, I found myself handing over the bum unit to the attendant. I smiled, hoping I wouldn't have to say anything. The man, however, just stared at me. I had to talk. So I tried to explain, in a deep, broken baritone, that the chunk of plastic was useless.

"This- humidif- jus- didn- do- anythi-," I managed, the counter vibrating from the pitch escaping my voice box. I think the customer service rep thought I was putting him on a bit, as if the unit was so bad that my insides dried and I lost my voice. I didn't feel like explaining to him my run-in with germy two-year-olds on Thursday. He asked if I wanted to return the funds on my credit card. I shook my head "no."

"My- wife- card-."

I pointed to the store credit cards in front of the register. I felt like Lassie, trying to draw the humans to Timmy trapped in the well.

"You want a store credit?" he asked.

I nodded happily. 

He processed the unit, scanned a card, and handed it over. I smiled and mouthed "thank you."

At that moment, I should have just walked back to the car. But, against better judgement, I decided to look for another humidifier instead. The hunt began.

I am your typical male. I do not ask for assistance or directions. This is not because I think I know everything, but rather because I feel bad interrupting someone to ask for help. Silly, I know, but true.

So, I started lap one. I made my way past electronics, toys, camping, and into the small appliances. To little surprise, the humidifiers were not there. That would have been far too easy. I pressed onward, past holiday decorations, groceries, and school supplies. I dodged Rascal riding grandmas, children, and stressed mothers. I ended up at the pharmacy, then the registers, my starting point.

My strategy had to change. As I began lap two, I decided the best option would be to walk down each aisle. That way, nothing could escape my glance. And, sure enough, I found the humidifiers. They were in a makeshift "heater/humidifier" section in the automotive department (of course!). Sadly, there wasn't much for options. I ended up taking the one that looked the coolest.

I did not say anything to the clerk that rang me up at the registers. I brought the new humidifier to the car and drove home. Now, I only hope the thing works. Though, if it doesn't, I at least have an idea as to where to look for a replacement.

A sinister watch

I am a bit of a James Bond buff. So, seeing that Swatch has released a series of 007 "Villain" watches certainly makes me happy. No word on whether the pieces rattle on about their evil schemes before telling you the time, however. And, I do not think any contain lasers.

Pictured to the left is the Emilio Largo Thunderball watch.

The Swatch website also has a quiz which will tell you what Bond villain you most resemble. I, apparently, am 76% similar to Bond's most recent nemesis, Dominic Greene from Quantum of Solace.

Check out the collection here at the Swatch website. While you're there, view video clips from each Bond adventure and download Duran Duran's theme to A View To A Kill (what, no Live and Let Die?).

Onion goggles, lego utensils, and more

The guys that run Think Geek are always finding new and interesting items out in the wacky world that we call home. Here are a few of my favorite new releases:

1. Lego Utensils - How cool are these things? They're Lego! Wait, I mean Snack-n-Stack.We don't want to infringe on any corporate brands. 

Granted, they probably aren't that practical and I doubt they handle very well, but they STICK TOGETHER! They're Le - SNACK-N-STACK! But, I will admit, that knife looks pretty weak.

2. Tardis USB hub - Okay, I'm not a big Doctor Who fan. As a kid in the early '80s, I would watch the old Tom Baker episodes when they re-ran on PBS, but I've never seen any of the current episodes. That being said, I've always loved the Tardis, the time-travel machine/telephone booth used by the good doctor. This 4-port USB hub, although kind of useless, is pretty cool. The light on top even pulses!

Now, if there was only a USB hub made of K-9, Doctor Who's intrepid robot dog, my six-year-old self would be ecstatic.

3. Wasabi gumballs - I'm a wasabi pea guy, so the idea dipping gumballs in wasabi is right up my alley. They could be horrible, but one needs to be open to new things, yes? 

Hmmm, I wonder if A Dong has something like this in stock?

Plus, look at the cheerful, welcoming image on the tin! It's like he's saying, "Hey, you. You look like you could use a wasabi gumball. Here, it would be my pleasure to share my supply with you."

4. Onion goggles - Tired of crying like a baby or a really sullen drunk person when chopping onions? I know I am! Then, give these a try. You'll look like Bono! Supposedly they fit tightly around your eyes and prevent the onion gasses from getting to your eyes. Either way, you could go to the mall and probably get a free cookie at the Mrs. Fields, if your Irish accent is up to snuff.

    + you =   

Make your own Muppet!

Funny how I found that Muppet News Flash compilation yesterday. Today I rolled out of bed to my telephone ringing. It was my Mom. She was calling to tell me that the Muppets were on the Today Show. My Mom does this every so often. When the phone rings first thing in the morning, either an elderly relative has fallen ill or something from my childhood is on the Today Show.

Anyway, the Muppets were on to promote a really cool new area opening at FAO Schwarz called the "Muppet Whatnot Workshop." At it, children (and adults) can build their own Whatnot Muppet from scratch. What's a Whatnot? Well, click on over to the FAO website here and Kermit will tell you (basically, it's a Muppet extra that's always in the background of shots during the show).

If you can't make it to a store to make your Muppet, you can also design your own Whatnot online and have the hard working elves at FAO build it for you. Who wants to build a bear when they can have their very own Muppet?