How lazy have we become, culturally speaking? I sit down to write today’s article and two separate instances spring to mind that I believe need to be addressed in the blog before I settle into today’s business. The first is what inspired this, which are the remains of a “Jumbo Push Pop” that one of my sisters presumably finished last night. I’m going to ignore the fact that it’s “Jumbo”, that it’s “TWISTED Berry Blast” and that it’s being advertised by some kind of strange marsupial that can accurately be described as “dapper.” Rather, I’m going to focus on the fact that it seems to have no idea what it means to carry the Push Pop mantle. If you’re reading this and don’t know what these are…stop it. You know. Those little lipstick shaped lollipops that you have to push the bottom in to get to the product, in the proud tradition of reasonably successful popsicles and much less successful push up scrambled eggs (yes, those existed). This “Push Pop” mockery has eliminated the only thing that made it what it once was. It’s eliminated the “push” element by including “Pop-Up-Action”, which is to say it’s spring-loaded.
What, Dr. Samuel J. Phillipsons, is the point? You no longer even get the pleasure of the do-it-yourself nature inherent in the push-pop. The only thing that separates it from the ancient “sweet hard candy on a stick” is that it has a cap (with an odd pen-cap like attachment that implies that executives are wearing jumbo push-pops in their shirt pockets or within their overcoats). You no longer have any control over the amount of pop sticking out of the lip of the pop-cartridge. It’s the Man’s pop.
The second, on a relatively unrelated note, occurred while selecting wine. This’ll be short. Walking around the state store, Jenna and I noticed the “ready-made cocktails” section. Most make sense. The appeal of a properly made White Russian is something that at least seems marketable to the at-home consumer. Smirnoff has decided that’s not enough. They offer a ready-made Screwdriver.
For those of you that are not savvy to mixed drink terminology, a Screwdriver consists of vodka and orange juice. That’s it. Nothing else. The people I’ve told this tale to have tried to rationalize (presumably to preserve their sanity) the product by saying that it probably has the correct proportion. It had better. Still, this doesn’t excuse this. To anyone who has ever purchased this: Get. A. Measuring. Cup.
Ok. On to the day.
I hate Kenny Chesney. If that’s even how you spell his name. Not because of who he is, because the honest truth is that I don’t really know OR because of his music, though his style isn’t one I’m particularly fond of. It’s because his presence in Pittsburgh negatively impacted me by causing an enormous rush at my place of work at about 12am-3am. Which is fine. That’s what we’re there for. But good lord, man. There are only so many Double Quarter Pounders with Cheese I can make without becoming violent, particularly when I’m well aware that without also cleaning the entirety of the store by 5am, the morning crew will act as though I’ve killed a man.
Occasionally, I like to think myself competent. No. Even downright average when it comes to knowing the world around me. This is not true, and Geosense has shown me the truth, that I’m lucky that I’m able to breathe properly. Nothing more grounding than being told you can’t even get the location of Darwin, Australia down to within 1000 km.
Also, it seems they found two more Kuiper Belt objects, one of which has a moon, while the other is actually larger than Pluto, which either gives us a few more planets or furthers the argument for jettisoning Pluto from mnemonic devices involving pizzas.
I’m going to try to go to bed now.