A New Twist in Advertising

June 18, 2008

A long time ago my mother found an encyclopedia in the bathroom. She asked my father if he was doing “some light reading” while using the facilities. He told her he didn’t know anything about it, so she decided to ask me, and what she found out surprised her very much.

It was I who’d been reading the encyclopedia in the bathroom . . . and I was 6.

I don’t know about you, but the bathroom is just plain boring. Sitting there, hanging out with nothing to do (and rarely something to look at) wears at my productive/efficient side. I feel the same way about working out. I hate going to gyms because it’s so mindless. P.S. That’s why I study the martial arts; you have to think to survive, you lose weight while building muscle, and you get to beat people up!

Anyway, so I found a way around being bored in the bathroom . . . just pick up a good book. Ever since I was six I’ve read tons of things on the porcelain throne; everything from magazines to encyclopedias to novels (no, I didn’t read the entire novel in one sitting). In fact, I’ve read the entire collected works of Shakespeare . . . in the bathroom. I was in college, I was really busy with school and work, but I wanted to read Shakespeare too, so I found the most opportune time. There’s nothing wrong with a little Bard in the Bathroom!

Anyway, since I’ve been reading in the bathroom my ENTIRE life, I’ve formed quite a habit. It’s hard to have a seat and not immediately reach for the nearest copy of Writer’s Digest or the next volume of Calvin and Hobbes. This does present a problem, though, when using bathrooms that are not my own. Many times you get lucky and the owner of the aforementioned water closet has their own reading material close at hand, but from time to desperate-time you find yourself in a public stall or in the lavatory of someone who’s illiterate.

This is what I do: if it’s a public bathroom you can use your iPod or cell phone to play games. You can also peruse the stall walls and bulk up on your ghetto slang and pithy perversions. But if you’re visiting relatives with no reading material you have to stoop pretty low. And boy do I ever.

I’ve read the backs of almost every shampoo bottle, can of hair spray, toothpaste tube, bathroom cleaner, and tissue box ever made. I can tell you how much fluoride Colgate has in it compared to Close Up. Did you know that tampons . . . ? Well, never mind.

Like I said, I get bored.

So I’m in my Aunt’s bathroom trying very hard to not give in to my Obsessive Bathroom Reading Behavior (OBRB). I fail miserably. So after reading her hairspray and toothpaste I move on to the contents of her shower, and it’s there that I stumbled upon a very annoying advertising tactic.

You knew I’d get to the point eventually.

I pick up a bottle of shampoo and find an interesting question on the back. Q: What percentage of women wear the wrong bra size?  I must admit the question intrigued me. I casually scanned the bottle for the answer but, to my dismay, I couldn’t find it. It wasn’t there. Instead of the answer I desperately wanted to know there were written very little words that read, “to find out the answer look on the back of our Conditioner.”

I couldn’t believe it! What kind of a pathetic ploy was that. The only way you can know the answer is to purchase the shampoo andthe conditioner together? Granted, I was in a very vulnerable state at the time: I was in a frilly bathroom with no reading material and I’d just been hoodwinked by a shampoo company’s marketing department.

Needless to say I scoured her shower in hopes of finding the conditioner bottle, but apparently the answer hadn’t been important to my Aunt. When I looked at the shampoo bottle again I did find an answer there, but it was obviously the answer to the question on the back of the conditioner tube! Grrr.

So, in the end, I finished my bathroom session highly annoyed. First of all, my Aunt seriously needs a magazine rack or library shelf in her bathroom (preferably with books listed using the Dewey Decimal System). Second of all, that shampoo company needs to get a life. If that’s the best you can do to get people to buy your conditioner I think you need to have a better product.

So just to spite the Big Bad Shampoo ExecsI’m not only NOT going to buy the shampoo or the conditioner, I’m also not even going to look at the bottle as I walk past it in Wal-Mart. Hmph. So there. That’s what they get for taking advantage of me in a compromising situation.

So, in retrospect, all I have to ask is, does anyone know “what percentage of women wear the wrong size bra?”


Christmas Eve!

December 24, 2007

I couldn’t possibly scrawl my feelings for Christmas in a single weblog. Even though there are no pages, just endless streams of digital parchment, I don’t think my mind could interpret into words the billions of emotions and abstract webs of fascination and delight I experience at this time of year.

So here’s one little anecdote to leave you with this beautiful Christmas Eve.

I’m with family right now. My sister and I, though professional and reserved in our respective corners, are like match to fuel when we’re together. The fireworks of raucous laughter and incessant playing are contagious, nigh intoxicating. Now I just need to figure out who the match is. :-)

The extended branches of my family get together on this most glorious Eve to celebrate the birth of our Savior. The sweet fellowship, food, and festivities will extend deep into the latest ebony, littered with rainbow lights and a deep, pale moon.

By the time the masses (approximately 30 some people) fade into the cracks and crevices from which the appeared, the remnant that’s left will try to find a relatively comfortable place to crash while we await Christ’s Day. All the beds will be packed and sleeping forms will invade the most unlikely places, including the bath tub. This reminds me of one particular prank I played on a sleeping cousin, cuddled dryly in the basin of my parent’s tub. Sigh.

My place of honor, reserved for the eldest boy, was wherever I chose. My choice? Push out the chairs and throw down a sleeping blanket . . . I’m sleeping under the dining room table. Why there? Don’t be silly, everyone knows the answer to that question.

So there we are. A house full of family, every nook and cranny nooked and crannied, me in my kerchief under the table . . . and Christmas waiting on the door step.

My narrative could continue long into the New Year, but I only wanted to share with you some of the sweet eccentricities of my family. I know most of you share in my unique love of quirky family traditions, and I’d love to hear about them. Tell me what crazy things your family does for the holidays.

Until then, this is Kevin Olsen signing off from under the dining room table. Merry Christmas and God bless.


Childhood Playthings

December 13, 2007

I was recently inspired by Rhea (http://rhea7.wordpress.com/) to revist my childhood playthings. She has an amazing fascination with crayons, and though I cannot write as prolifically about my favorite addiction, it possess the same sway over my heart.

I love Play-Doh.

 Play-Doh

I’ve never considered myself a three-dimensional artist. I have a cousin who throws clay with the best of them, but I never quite got the hang of it. Play-Doh is no different. I couldn’t make a dog or a house. I got pretty good at snakes though! To be honest, I didn’t really want to make anything with the Play-Doh. I didn’t crack the air-tight seal of those yellow, plastic cans to form a work of art . . . I just wanted to play with the Doh! Another reason I never crafted sculptures is I’ve always hated mixing the colors. Over time you’re left with hues like “Sludge Brown” or “Insect’s Insides.” The primary colors of Play-Doh are so bright and appealing I couldn’t stand to adulterate them. So, I’d choose one shade at a time, spend hours squeezing and rolling it (making various species of snake), then carefully put it back, picking out- if necessary- any unwanted specks of different-colored Doh.

The colors are great, but I especially love the feel. I love to squish it between my fingers and mash it in my fist. If preserved properly that stuff can last for YEARS. It’s the perfect mixture of mailable-suppleness I’ve ever encountered. Well, there’re a couple things that are softer and more tender than Play-Doh . . . but this is neither the time nor the place. :-)

Still, the most addictive thing about Play-Doh is the smell. It sounds sick, but I love to sniff Play-Doh! I’ve been known to pop open a can just to take a second’s whiff. It’s almost like a drug that calms my spirit and floods my mind with ancient moments of childish joy. I’m an extremely olfactory-focused person. I love smells, and Play-Doh is so vital. Did you know they actually made a Play-Doh cologne to celebrate it’s 50th anniversary? I haven’t been able to find a bottle to buy, but you’d better believe I will when I get my hands on one!

Play-Doh is by far one of my weaknesses. I love playing with it. I love being around people that are playing with it. I wish they made a shampoo that smelled like Play-Doh.

Call me strange. Call me childish. Call me a Play-Doh addict. That’s fine. Rhea and I will just take our crayons and Play-Doh and go home!