Wake up your dormant creativity

Missed the last contest? Not to worry. A bunch of people emailed me that they liked the idea and want more of these. You got it.

This time, we're going to work with images, though -- too many of you sent me your responses asking not to share them. So, here are the details of the next (less personal) contest.

Take a look at the previous post. Your new assignment is to create an original image with a vinyl record. Email these to me, putting "vinyl contest" in the subject line. If I get enough of these, I will publish them on the blog and award small prizes to the best ones. You have until June 30th to get these in.

What are you waiting for? Get to it!

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A Sure Way to Become a Star

OK, I admit that this idea is not the most ingenious one, but it's so much fun! Here's what you do:

- Take your favorite vinyl record (providing you still own those -- I sold almost all of mine on a yardsale). Keep in mind that the record cover must contain the singer's photo.

- Then, pose with the record in a way that fills in the parts missing from the shot. Go ahead, let your imagination flow.

Don't want to bother? Just check out this guy's collection then. Here's my favorite shot:

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Worldly Why's

A la Providence Journal’s Mark Patinkin

1. Why doesn’t the librarian at our local branch know who Nabokov is?
2. Why are unemployed people supposed to look for work if they spend all of their time trying to file the weekly claim via the most ridiculous phone system?
3. Why do my kids need umbrellas to take a bath?
4. Why does my six-year-old think that it’s cooler to wear the short-sleeved shirt over the long-sleeved one?
5. Why is the weather always nice when I score free museum tickets?
6. Why does the non-fat Greek-style yogurt taste so fatty and yummy?
7. Why does the reduced-fat cheese taste so bland and blah?
8. Why did the radishes I planted start growing and the cucumbers never sprouted?
9. Why does the ice cream truck always arrive at the playground around dinner time?
10. Why did I major in English?

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And in the spirit of weirdness...

More kick-ass photos from another fantastic Russian photographer. Be careful, they'll forever change your perception of the Brits.



Crumpets, anyone? No? OK, here are some more photos then.


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For those who thought Thayer Street weirdos can't be beat

More here. Caution: adult content.
Once you click on the link, check out the rest of the blog. It rocks. Superb photographer.

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Update to the contest

Since there was such a measly response, I decided that everyone who entered will get a prize. So, I’m emailing all these lucky guys different songs as prizes. Here are the reasons why they deserve it:

D: answer to question #4
J: answer to question #1
N: answer to question #3
E: answer to question #2
P: answer to question #5

The moral of the story? Enter the darn contest next time, people!

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Wanted: answers to 5 random questions

1. What is “good”/ “bad”?
2. How do you get away from it all? (e.g., meditation, travel, Chris Rock on YouTube)?
3. What rhymes with “orange”?
4. Best midnight snack?

5. Favorite spam subject line?

Please post replies in comments. There is a prize for the best answers.

I’m judging, of course. Um… I promise to be subjective ;)

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Russians finally caught on how to advertise

Would you like some cement with that? It'll be 190 roubles. (Source)

P.S. Love the weather-appropriate boots! They go with the tennis cap.

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Woman

Sometimes, she’s a fish. She smiles at the blinding sun and gets ready to submerge herself in the salty waves. Her swimming cap, dotted with marigolds, protects the highlights. She likes that it matches her bathing suit. No, she doesn’t dive in at once. She first stands at the edge of the water, letting the gentle foam roll over her feet. She enjoys watching the clear bubbles flirt with the pale pink of her toenails. Sauntering into the ocean, she rubs her upper arms, wishing away the goose bumps. Finally, when the water reaches the birthmark on her neck, she turns around, waves to the kids, and lunges forward, kicking up her feet and floating toward the blindness. She wishes she had worn her sunglasses. But she had forgotten them in the room where she was a snake.

That day, she was a poisonous one. She wore black stilettos and a matching pencil skirt, slit at the side. Her silk blouse was buttoned up enough to claim decency, but her perfume revealed that the eye was at fault. Her mouth, smothered in crimson, kept screaming. It screamed at the people around the long lacquered desk who were drinking coffee, responding and writing in notebooks; at the sleeping man who was breathing loudly into her neck; at the whimpering poodle who missed her; at the waving neighbor who overwatered her garden, and at the reflection in the mirror. The woman in the mirror didn’t deserve any respect because she was a rabbit.

Not even a rabbit – a cowardly bunny. She raced to the café, putting lipstick on at the stoplights, and spraying perfume onto her wrists. She parked the car too far away from the curb, but she didn’t notice. She was looking around for another car – the one that doesn’t smell like cherry air freshener. No, that one smelled like leather. It was clean and clutter-free. It was roomy and had all kinds of little cup holders that popped out at the touch of a button. She also liked how the seats became warm when it was freezing outside. But not much else inside that car was warm. In fact, the coldness within it was what made her wish she were still a cat.

Those were the feline days! Lying around on the window sill and purring used to come naturally to her. All she had to do was open that window, and the world would be at her paws. After all, her coat was always soft and luxurious. Everyone wanted to rub against it – even the dogs. And she didn’t mind – she loved the admiration. Bring it on, she used to say. The more the merrier. And was it merry! Back then, she never took the phone into the shower with her. Let it ring, she thought as she lay in her bubbly water. When she did answer, she didn’t even care who was at the other end. As long as what the voice was saying sounded enticing, she listened. And they kept calling. Until she became a monkey.

She was a cute chimp, though. She would part her hair in the middle and dot scented oil behind her ears. She made him fondue dinners and knitted mittens. He didn’t make her anything, but she liked holding his hand as they walked to her place. They’d be hungry after the meetings where they all sat around in a circle and shared. She also liked how, after the meal, he’d wrap his hands around her waist and nuzzle the back of her neck. She’d always wash the dishes slowly, to prolong that closeness. After he’d leave, she would wander around the kitchen, looking around and hoping he had forgotten something. A lighter, a mitten, anything. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

You put your right foot in, you take your wallet out...

Boy, am I glad that I don’t shop at Barneys – otherwise, I would be truly devastated that all the seven and a half’s are gone at the first blink of the shoe salesman. Who cares that the shoes’ price is equal to two and a half months of groceries for a family of four – they’re on sale! And sale, my friends, is the magic word, recession or no recession. After all, someone must be buying up all these beauties, price notwithstanding.

The New York Times shares, “As for size 7 1/2, there is scant hope. The shelves are virtual graveyards, save for a few isolated pieces too insane to be functional (eight-inch Alaïa platform wedgies made of bronzed reptile — sale price, $1,399).” Now I will forever wonder what it feels like to be as tall as my husband or to scare little children with my shoes. Man, oh man, why can't I be popular instead of my shoe size!

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Eine Kleine Nachtdining Tale

So, two of us were starving for some hearty food, and one of us was thirsty for something other than Cola. We decided to forego the usual haunts (Pakarang and Sakura, if you must know) and meet on Thayer. Urban Outfitters welcomed us with its enticing outdoor sale racks, and promptly disappointed with the indoor rags. After browsing for a couple of minutes, we came to the conclusion that our grandmothers would have more attractive clothes inside their attic chests, if they had attics (or chests, for that matter). Who knows, maybe UO was going for the homeless-chic aesthetic… Whatever it was, it was too sloppy, too ugly and too yard-sale-find-ish with distinctly non-yard-sale prices. On to the food.

Since we wanted to sit outside, we settled on oh-so-stylish Café Paragon. (I’m convinced you pay 15% for the restaurant name alone). But, who cares when there’s “Sun in the sky, you know how I feel…” I don’t know what possessed me to order the pizza in this place (my merlot?), when Nice Slice is practically next door and offers better grub at a fraction of the price, but I might have been motivated by the fact that everything else on the menu was either unappetizing for my taste buds or too appetizing for my wallet. So, we ended up with a bunch of Margarita pizzas (I set the tone since certain people just kept copying my orders, no names mentioned) and an $11 tuna tartar appetizer (yes, the damn appetizer was $2 more than the entrée!). But, I just had to have that dish since I was seduced by the Hemenway’s version. Paragon’s tuna was fatty, decorated with pleasant tangy aioli and accompanied by some dyed (pink) ginger and a surprisingly crunchy seaweed salad (I always imagined it to taste mushy). I did try to be fair (against my better judgment) and divided the dish into equal parts. So, yes, it was worth every penny.

The pizza, on the other hand, was no paragon; please pardon the pun and the unintentional alliteration. (Ok, stopping the insanity now.) I should have changed my order when the waitress was not sure how to answer, “Is it thin-crust?” Finally, she said, “It’s got some crust to it,” but by then, I was too famished to care. So, when it arrived, it looked exactly like it came from a box in the back of your freezer – the one that’s been there for a half a year, and better be eaten now or never. Yes, it had a somewhat thick and wooden crust and some nondescript cheese and forgettable sauce, but who cares? It filled the stomach, and we were having a good time.




Our gastronomic luck improved with the foray into Juniper. The relatively new establishment beckons with New-York style frozen yogurt (the easiest way I can describe it is – it tastes like yogurt that’s been frozen … you’ll understand once you taste it). Currently, they have two flavors (plain and blueberry) … well, three if you count the plain-and-blueberry combo. You can load it up with all kinds of toppings (gummy bears, strawberries, mango, chocolate-covered grasshoppers). Oh, good, you’re paying attention! But, if you don’t want to spend a dollar on two toppings or you are a purist who does not want to take away from the creamy-yogurt taste, rest assured that topping-free dessert still tastes great. I, of course, had to sample mine loaded with fruit (now I am thinking about writing a poem on the virtues of dairy with berries).

Some crazy woman decided that we should press our lady luck and get even more great dessert. When I’m thinking of sweets, I sometimes forget about the two-block line at Pastiche on Saturday nights. So, since Pastiche was not in the cards that night, we walked over to a nearby dessert place to satisfy the said woman’s sweet tooth. I’m not going to mention the name of that establishment since I don’t have too many complimentary comments to make regarding the experience (they did have comfy couches and great music, though – jazzy, breathy, sixties-style). The apple caramel pie tasted somewhat like – well, sugar with more sugar poured on top of it. The tiramisu was so old and stale that it was crispy. That’s a six-dollar two-day-old tiramisu I’m talking about. Do they realize tiramisu contains raw eggs?! Got to run now. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

This is a contest. This is only a contest.

Attention! I'm holding a contest. If you are dying to become my favorite person, make me this. If you completely don't care about me, then this will do. But I will hold it against you for the rest of your life. I mean it. Now, get to work!

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One-line reviews of my latest 15 netflix rentals

Scoop: Never realized how funny Woody Allen is. Almost peed in my pants. I said almost.
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button: How DOES he get smaller?! That’s what I want to know.
My Best Friend’s Wedding: Julia rocks. He should have chosen her. Idiot.
Confessions of a Shopaholic: Note to self: get thee a green scarf. An expensive one.
Cassandra’s Dream: Karma’s a bitch. Ewan McGregor’s nice to look at.
Last Chance Harvey: Who cares that Emma is taller than Dustin? All’s fair in love and war.
The Edge of Heaven: Flashbacks of Unbearable Lightness of Being. Sadly, no Daniel & not nearly as good.
A Good Woman: Wilde shuddered in his grave. Helen Hunt as a seductress?! Scarlett as a prude?!
Jellyfish: Five stars, no hesitations, no explanations. See it. (Hope I haven’t oversold it)
I’ve Loved You So Long: An interesting puzzle. You’ll be sad when you solve it.
Synecdoche, New York: Simply THE Worst Movie I’ve EVER Seen (tried to see). And l like indies.
Elegy: Penelope is a goddess. I want to be her. Not in this movie, though.
Vicky Cristina Barcelona: See it despite the lack of commas in the title. They become one. Gag.
Peter’s Friends: With friends like these… Watch it – if only to see Laurie out of his HOUSE. Good stuff.
Doubt: Hoffman shows Meryl how it’s done. (Meryl, I still love you!) Creepy, slow, but, see it anyway. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

Another easy meal

Sweet potatoes

Cut them up, sprinkle with some extra virgin, honey, cumin and a bit of salt, cover with foil, stick into oven for 25 minutes (350 degrees)

Chicken

Slice into cutlets, brown on both sides, sprinkle with salt, pepper, spices, saute in vegetable broth until done.

Healthy yummy dessert

Cut up strawberries, put into a cup, add Australian creamy vanilla yogurt. Enjoy. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

Well, she was an american girl...

So, it has finally happened. You may breathe a sigh of relief. American Girl is about to release the first Jewish doll. And, if that’s not a good enough reason to add more sugar to your wine, just wait – there’s more. Rebecca (yes, somewhat unoriginal, but we Jews will take whatever they give us) is a Russian emigrant! Say what? No, I’m not lying. It’s like Hanukah in May.
Oh, and she is your everyday next-door girl – even her hair didn’t want to side with either light or dark, so it went with brown locks that are highlighted. Who knows, maybe the creators modeled her after me – while I was going through my match-the-kids’-hair period. We, emigrants are so finicky – never happy with what God gave us – always striving for improvement – highlighting, leaving our motherlands…

But, seriously – highlights in 1914? (the dolls come equipped with a setting and a back story à la posh restaurants’ menu items), but “the company hopes the doll will appeal to everyone. If a blond Christian girl in North Dakota enjoys pretending she is living in a tenement on the Lower East Side in 1914, helping her Bubbie make latkes for Hanukkah, American Girl will be happy to sell her a toy menorah.” I sense a bit of a tongue-in-cheek attitude here, New York Times!

But, the real question is – will Rebecca be allowed to date a shegetz?! The suspense is killing me!

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Gilda Radner

I first found out about Gilda Radner when I saw her smiling face on the cover of her autobiography, ‘It’s Always Something’. I used to frequent yard sales in hopes of finding some interesting fiction to encourage my English studies. We had just arrived from Belorus. Coming from a culture where people constantly, and often unsuccessfully, attempt to accumulate “stuff”, we were fascinated and bewildered by the ingenious concept of trying to get rid of “stuff”.

While I was reading the autobiography, I felt as though I was having an intimate conversation with someone close to me. Gilda’s writing fascinated and drew me in with the raw honesty of a genuine soul. It is precisely that fearless openness and willingness to share the most private moments that makes it so difficult to fathom why Gilda put up so many facades during her life.

To the adoring public, she was a confident comedienne who was unafraid to talk dirty to the animals or poke fun at Barbara Walters, a previously untouchable woman – at least by the entertainment industry. Though she took her time getting used to the idea that she was now a comedic target, ultimately, Walters not only came to terms with it, but also gave the daring funny woman a big hug.

While the media loves to refer to Radner as “daring”, in reality, she was quite insecure. Her doubts manifested in constant concern about her looks. Continuously starving herself, she yearned to appear flawless to her fans who would have loved her just as much had she been heavier. Perhaps, Radner focused on the external because she had no control over public taste or critics’ opinions.

I wonder if she ever realized that it wasn’t her Winter Garden Theatre’s billboard – the one showcasing her trim figure – that made her an icon. It was her genius for comedy that people remember long after she is gone. There was nothing “tiny” about the ‘Tiny Kingdom’ skit – Radner’s talent is immense. After all, who else could have been able to make the audience laugh uproariously at a boring substitute teacher reading a children’s book? And, there was nothing “foreign” in Radner’s portrayal of the Romanian gymnast – the humor is universal.

Maybe people relate to her portrayals so much because they reveal the human side to even the most unattractive characters. Every one of Radner’s gestures, looks and phrases is in tune with her positive philosophy. Radner led her personal life according to that same notion – take it with a grain of humor. She remained strong despite challenges, such as her parents’ refusal to accept her plumpness, and her prolonged battle with ovarian cancer. Whatever the situation, Radner faced it with a sunny disposition.

It’s that tendency to see the glass as half full that attracted me to Radner when I began reading her book. That year, I was faced with multiple tests that included adapting to a new environment, learning a new language, and entering a new phase in my life – teenage years. Now, as I reread some pages twenty years later, I’m sad that the late comedienne can no longer be funny. In fact, watching Radner give a commencement speech makes me wish I were one of the graduates in the audience. The YouTube clip reveals that she is surrounded by lifeless drones who are too proper to laugh at her jokes, and too stiff to recognize that they are in the presence of greatness.

Watch it HERE

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Some memories of Montreal (or why it’s the most bang for my buck)

bright high-tops, skintight jeans on toothpick guys, quaint picturesque streets, adjoined multicolored houses, curlicued staircases leading to the second floor, full-fat soft-serve ice cream, walking, outdoors jazz ensemble in a garden restaurant, crepes with strawberries, gelato, bonjour, soccer and volleyball in the park, pigeons courting each other near the fountain, little kids speaking French, charming Middle Eastern restaurant owner, warm pressed sandwiches for breakfast, mischievous schoolboys on the playground, fog, first espresso shot, heavenly peach croissants, mannequin hairdos, designer store windows, Brasseries, restaurant peanuts, 13 percent tax, conversation with gardener, john and yoko’s faces on buses, tranquility in the midst of chaos, circus performers practicing in a gazebo, concert rehearsal in an empty church, soothing voice of the planetarium narrator, botanical gardens all to ourselves, browsing supermarkets, kinder chocolate, japanese gum, can i have a sip of your drink, brother?; I’m just short a dollar, mr.; help me pay for operation, man; no-exit underground parking lot, cozy balconies, business lunches on lawns, adults playing kids’ ball games in the park, cheese curds at cash registers, elaborate parking meters, two korean tourists on a bench, woman in a red trench coat hugging and kissing a man twice her age in a black trench coat, polish mazurka, birch juice, Indian guru and his knife, weird tattoo book, eagle diving to catch a fish, squirrel hiding a snack for a rainy day, apple beer, contribution to john and yoko’s exhibit – nailed to the board, art museum library, aching feet.

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An easy three-course meal

Appetizer:

Potato Salad à la Ira:

- potatoes
- mushrooms (fried with onions)
- boiled eggs
- peas
- tuna

Entrée:

Pasta

-pasta w/cheese and butter

- leftover chicken

- zucchini (fried with onions)

Dessert:

Crêpes

(I'm not sure, but I think I stole this recipe from Esquire. So what that it's a men's magazine? Do you expect me to read The Ladies' Home Journal or something? ... I read that too -- Shhh!)

- cup of whole milk

- 3 tablespoons water

- 3/4 cup flour

- 2 eggs

- 1 teaspoon salt

- 1 tablespoon melted butter

- love (I came up with spreading the finished product with Nutella. Or, I might have stolen that too. From La Creperie on Thayer Street. Who cares -- it tastes good, non?)

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I Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike

You are:
a. a man
b. possess a special "je ne sais quoi"
c. are open to openness
d. love Halloween
e. all of the above

If you pick option e. from the choices above, this is for you. You're welcome. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

Simply 3 Cool Sites

1. Visit this one when you're NOT at work and NOT surrounded by children

2. This one when you have just returned from a vacation or want a confirmation of how badly you need to go on vacation

3. This one when you don't know whether to quit your job, have a cold one or take a chill pill.

One of these days, someone will write a similar blog post about this site. Until then, there is always site #3 when you need some smart advice. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

Did you say dessert?!

I have died and gone to heaven. … Well, dessert heaven, at least. But, all in order, please.

So, here’s your completely irrelevant and oh-so-amusing dose of weekly gossip. This past Friday, at a jazzy birthday party, we met a really cool couple. He was smart and attentive; she was brilliant and resourceful. They were crazy about each other, and it showed. Among the thirty or so odd people at the party, they were the perfect pair to sit across from – fun, entertaining and full of useful information.

What kind, you ask. Well, for instance, I learned that my sciatica is not stress-induced, as I suspected – it was caused by a pinched nerve that resulted from the wonderful childbearing experience – something about something pressing on my uterus, or something… Medical details are too boring to remember – who cares about the particulars, anyway, when all that matters is – the pain will haunt me for the rest of my life!?





On a less depressing note, the other piece of the aforementioned useful information I learned was that Sweet Scoops Yogurt is a much preferred choice to my regular standby – Skinny Cow chocolate-drizzled frozen yogurt bars. Come on, when was the last time you saw a skinny cow?! That’s deceptive marketing at its best, people! So, as I was saying – the yogurt. Sigh. I cannot find the proper words to describe its airiness, creaminess, ice-creaminess, sweetness – yes, it’s sweet, but not overwhelmingly so – just the right amount, and none of that nasty fake-sugar taste. You know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout, right?

The best part of this prolonged and annoying story is the fact that Scoops was on sale at The East Side Marketplace this week. It’s almost like winning the lottery, but not quite. Of course, I didn’t go with the girl’s suggested flavor – I mean, who in her right mind wants mint in their desert?! But I did find a lovely Madagascar Vanilla. Yes, I am one of those people who get offended at the bad rep vanilla gets. To me, the expression “too vanilla” is a compliment, got it?
So now, I just have to hope that FIOS will accidentally add Showtime to our TV package, so that I could check out another one of the gal’s recommendations – The Tudors. After tasting Scoops, I trust that woman forever. How could I not – she’s a lawyer! ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

How to spice things up

Absolutely amazing photos of Russian life. You won't be able to take your eyes off the screen. I promise.

More HERE.

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Ira answers Harper’s Bazaar reader questions

“I get depressed thinking I can’t pull off the bondage trend that’s all over the catwalk. What is the best way to wear it without looking like an S&M fanatic?”


Oh, wow! Kudos for finding such an original reason to be depressed. Most people are wallowing in self-pity because they can’t pay their bills, or because they can no longer afford to eat. You, on the other hand, are a true thinker, one who’s above the pettiness and the mundane routine of everyday life. You live in the realm of fantasy – brava! May we suggest purchasing a leash, wrapping it around your neck and attaching it to a car’s bumper? Just make sure that the car is about to take off; otherwise, you’ll just look foolish. Let us know how that goes for you, please. That is, if we don’t read about you in the morning paper first.

“I have OCD about wearing black. How can I brighten up my life?”

We have OCD about washing our hands, but your version of the disease is so much more interesting. So, let us get it straight. You get up in the morning, take off your black negligee, shower, and dry yourself using your black towel. Then, you put on your black stockings, black delicates and a black dress. Beautiful and ready, you show up at work and try to look sympathetic, so that the grieving family you’re greeting won’t realize that you’re truly digging the Goth look and aren’t just sporting the latest undertaker fashions. Oh, you’re not an undertaker? Our apologies – not as interesting as we thought. Well, in that case, just stop by your local Kmart and pick up some Jaclyn Smith pieces. You’ll love ‘em, we promise!

“The recession is keeping me up at night. My husband tells me I have to cut back on spending, but I’m anxious about spending on a budget. Can I still look chic while buying cheap?”

Funny you should mention recession. I have been hearing that word everywhere nowadays. If your husband is telling you to cut back, then by all means, cut back listening to him and go on a shopping spree. After all, the word recession is so similar to the word recess – they are basically the same thing, n’est pas? Yes, take a recess – you deserve it. If the husband can no longer swing Saks Fifth Avenue, don’t turn your nose up to such worthy alternatives as Neiman Marcus or Barney’s New York. Either one will do. But, it’s really all about preference. If walking around the store is a bother, consider your options. For instance, Nordstrom offers a wonderful service – you just meet with a lovely lady, who would otherwise be unemployed, tell her your clothing faux pas and thrills, and she chooses a brand new wardrobe for you. See? You feel great and do a great deed for humanity! The little sales girl makes a mint on commission; the designer sells his collection, and the store profits. Recession shmesession.



You don’t believe me that these are real questions? Think I made them up? I wish. Check out these Bazaar reader inquiries and more here. Oh, just don’t be disappointed by Karl Lagerfield’s answers. He’s not nearly as witty as I am. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

Parenting 101

OK, this is just too good not to share. Now, why didn't someone send this link to me when I had my baby?!

Are you a young mom? An inexperienced dad? No worries. Here's a manual that will teach you about every phase of your little one's life. Just follow the directions -- you'll be all set!

Considering it's cold season right now, this point will definitely come in handy.

Now, my son is almost six -- does this mean I can finally start choosing the "No" option? Please say yes! There is nothing better than a snot-smeared finger when it's your child's nasal mucous. Better than reading at bedtime for bonding purposes. No?

Need more guidance? No problemo!

But, in all seriousness, can someone clue me in -- was this manual designed as a joke or is this for real? Please, dear God in whom I don't believe, tell me it isn't so!

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“Сiльпо” Ads

Man, the theme of this blog is kinda dying since I don't really check out fashion or bargain sites anymore. But, not all is lost. We're gonna work it.

This Ukranian brand is offering the most bang for your buck -- read their ads, and no need to read the comics on a Sunday morning. So, save your 10 minutes browsing the paper, and just spend a couple of grand on a trip to Kiev. Right.

Apologies ahead of time to those who don't speak Russian, but this is worth a lesson or two. Maybe it's because I work in marketing, or because I haven't visited the former Soviet Union for the past twenty years, or because I overanalyzed literature for six years ... But, I'm leaning toward -- it's because I have a brain? I can honestly say that I have never in my life seen an advertisement campaign sadder than this brand's:

Rough translation:

(Rhyme)

"I'm a shrimp, and if you, my friend, don't mind, I'd like to be in your mouth."

The translation kind of kills it because the Russian phrase could also mean, "I'd like it in the mouth".

Oh, the innocent Ukranians. How interesting it must be to visit the country as a foreigner. I really should go back.

More gems here. Translate the rest yourselves. Lazy asses.

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Looking for a frugal vacation?

Look no further!

Mother Russia offers the most bang for the buck. Here's a taste:

More here.

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Moda

Christian Dior's foray into Moscow in 1959. They say that a picture is worth 1000 words. If that's true, these photos are speechless. More images from the source here.

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Would you like some brains on the side?

Just came back from our local Rite Aid, or should I say Wrong Aid? Here is what I observed. Kellogg's cereal bars were advertised as being 2 for $8. Right above that ad, was the real price. The retail is $3.49.

Now, I have never wanted to have a fancy camera phone, but regretted not owning one today. How can someone be so daft, man!? Manager, I'm talking about you!

Since I could not take a photo of that deceptive advertising, I thought you should enjoy another one I quite like. Now, go have some artery-clogging tater tots, lazy ass!

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Inner peace

This post is a bit out of context. Just wanted to wish you Happy New Year, people! That's right, I'm not all about money, money, money. What is this, an ABBA concert? (Everyone younger than 30, go ask your parents about this reference.)

So, let's pause with the money focus, if only for a day or so. Let's think about something that's more valuable, for my money, at least. (had to squeeze it in, man -- just can't help myself!) Let's think about inner peace. Inner peace to you all, homies!

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Goodbye and Good Luck

I just finished reading three “food books”. I won’t name-drop, but I will tell you that instead of inspiring me to cook up a storm or visit restaurants, they left my mouth quite dry. After learning the insider secrets of chefs and restaurant reviewers, I no longer want to eat out. Ever again. Well, unless you’re paying. Wanna go out?


Anywho. Now, I’m onto something much meatier. Reading Grace Paley. Gracie, you da best, woman! May you rest in peace, as my grandma says. You don’t believe me, people? Here is a little taste of just how great this writer is. Enjoy it – it’s worth every bite (or every penny, to be relevant to the blog’s theme. Like how I did that there? Takes talent.)



Where did a Jewish boy grow up so big? “Just outside Kiev,” he told me.
How? “My mama nursed me till I was six. I was the only boy in the village to have such health.”
“My goodness, Vlashkin, six years old! She must have had shredded wheat there, not breasts, poor woman.”
“My mother was beautiful,” he said. “She had eyes like stars.” ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves