CSI: Cereal Sofa Investigation

Cue some "Who" music here...

"I woke up in a Soho doorway...a policeman knew my name..."

Only let's change the lyrics up a tad, shall we?

"I woke up on the couch this morning...a box of Krispies in my arms..."

Now some explanation, which, again, like another "Who" song..."I can't explain".

Many of you know I am a chronic insomniac. Many of you also know I take Ambien. But the thing that many of you don't know is what Ambien does.

Ambien is in a class of drugs called "hypnotics" - what they do is basically make you forget everything you did while under their influence...in varying degrees. It's like short-term amnesia...and you literally walk around in a haze if you get up in the middle of the night or, like I do, wait for them to "kick in" instead of taking them and heading for the bed. Then you do things you have a vague recollection of -- or no recollection of doing. I've written emails, blogs and typed comments to news stories all over the Internet...all virtually without my knowledge.

Hemingway had his alcohol...I have my Ambien. Unfortunately, Hemingway also had something I didn't have: Much more writing talent. But that doesn't stop me from trying. I'm always hoping for that exceptionally great book idea to pop into my head before I forget it and be crowned the next great American writer of "my generation".

Last night was no exception. Or should I say "this morning". My nights I spend writing, watching television and waiting for the Ambien to kick in.

Now, back to the Ambien. Ambien has been implicated in a lot of strange behaviour people do. People have raided their refrigerators, had sex, cleaned their whole house, weeded their gardens, driven to the store, attempted to drive out of their driveways in their SUVs but been clubbed by their now ex-wives in high profile sport careers (if you can really call golf "a sport"), and I'm sure people have even tried to use it as a defense for murder.

As far as I know I've never driven around, I've never killed someone...and I know for certain I haven't had any sex after taking it. The eating, cleaning, and weeding...I've done.

While I don't mind the "magical elves" effect with the cleaning and the weeding...the eating thing I've never really had a problem with...until yesterday.

I woke up and a box of Rice Krispies was on the sofa next to me. I looked at it all perplexed and wondered, "Damn, that's strange...WHY is there a box of Rice Krispies next to me on the sofa?" In fact...I don't even remember waking up (or going to sleep for that matter)...but there it was...right next to me.

There's only two reasonable explanations for this:

Number 1: I got the box of Rice Krispies out of the cabinet and took them back with me to the sofa...for whatever reason I don't know. It's not like I was covered with tell-tale "Krispies dust" all over the place. No bowl and the package wasn't open (unless I ate a handful of dry cereal, neatly rolled the waxy-inner baggie liner and closed the box back up).

Number 2: My son thought it would be fun to play a practical joke on me and put the Rice Krispies package next to me on the sofa while I was semi-comatose. But I don't remember him coming out nor draping my arms lovingly around the box. Certainly he wouldn't have risked doing this as I could have "regained consciousness" at any point and asked him what the heck he was doing.

Number 3: Elves. C'mon...there's three of them on the friggen package...it coulda happened!

Yes, I know I said there were "two"...but I also stated they were "reasonable". The third one, while not totally impossible...is highly implausible.

I really wouldn't have thought too much more about it until I came home after picking my daughter up from school and my son, with total dead-pan delivery, asked me why I was arm and arm with "Snap, Crackle and Pop" this morning.

While I'm quite good at coming up with far-fetched excuses as to why the check wasn't received by the cable and electric companies...I'm apparently not that creative and drew a total blank.

The only thing I could possibly consider is that I wondered how nourishing the ingredients were or that I somehow found myself plagued by a comment at the paper which might have remotely referenced Rice Krispies...and in my altered state decided I would respond with complete and irrefutable information by getting the box out.

While I haven't checked online...that's the one I'm sticking with; I also haven't checked online for any photos of me on YouTube...and I don't intend to.

So let's cue that Who music again, shall we? The opening line from "Eminence Front" sums all of this up nicely I think...

"The sun shines...
People forget..."

Getting "Progressive"ly More Annoying

It's no big secret that I'm perturbed by the fact that I'm not a paid writer in some capacity. I'm not saying that I'm the greatest writer who ever walked the face of the Earth...heaven knows I'm not even in the stratosphere...but I don't think I'd end up in the "bottom 100", either.

And one of the things which always irks me - is the advertising industry. I watch commercials on television...I hear them on the radio...and I sit here in astonishing amazement over the wanton lack of creative ability...over and over and over again.

Surely some advertising firm out there knows these commercials are utter crap...and their ad execs have got to be laughing and laughing...all the way to the bank.

What absolute morons they must think the company heads are...to actually approve the inane pabulum they lay out before them...and gobble up.

And again I sit...knowing full well I can write better ad material, better scripts, better movies, better dialogue, better...well, "stuff" in general. Yes, I'm whining...get used to it...I do it well...and since I'm a year older as of the 15th, I'm entitled to be a bit curmudgeonish...hell, someone pays Andy Rooney to do just that! And, yes, I wish they'd pay me, too.

And, as if it weren't bad enough, the commercials have writing which makes my whole body cringe...they employ the most annoying people to get their message across. Case in point, as was pointed out to me today...the "Progressive Insurance" chick.

Now, I must have voiced my displeasure about this topic before here on my blog or in a comment...as, well, it's another tidbit which I've told to practically everyone: I abhor those commercials. I hate them with every fiber of my being...and I hate this "chick" with every neuron in that fiber.

I dislike her so much...I'm just going to refer to her as "chick"...and, yes, it's with derogatory contempt...unlike saying, "I'm a chick from Jersey"...just so those of you who think I think all "chicks" are thought of in a derisive manner...they aren't. Just this one.

Okay...and a few others...but that's not my point. My point is...she annoys the bejeebies out of me.

"But, Mariann, I like her."

You, good sir or madam, are whack.

Plus, you aren't me - and I'm the one writing this...you can voice your opinion by commenting...and then I will say something like, "Is, too" to your "Is not"...and we will go back and forth in a pointless "for/against Obamaesque" diatribe until finally...one of us ceases to do so.

First off, I know advertising which gets on your last nerve serves a purpose. If something is very irritating you tend to remember it...and what is the main point of advertising: getting your product remembered.

Now, you can get it remembered by having a catchy jingle, "I'd like to buy the world a Coke...and keep it company...", a catchy slogan, "Please don't squeeze the Charmin", a shocking slogan, "Nothing comes between me and my Calvins", a celebrity endorsement, "I'm Tiger Woods for Viagra" (oh, c'mon it COULD happen), or a myriad of other things...ranging from cutesy to bizarre. But the powers that be over at "Progressive Insurance" - decided glaring stark white interiors with an obnoxious raven-haired banshee was the way to go.

The contrast alone between the clinically white surroundings...which, ironically match her skin tone...and her dark hair and that candy-apple red gobhole of hers which never ceases to shut...well, makes me almost want to walk up to the television and adjust the brightness knob. But by the time it would take me to find it in the inner workings of my remote...the commercial is over. The only proof I have that I've seen it - is the reverse image colouration of retinal fatigue when I look on a blank white wall (green...where did green come from?) and the droning on and on of her grating voice piercing deep into my cerebellum or cortex...or wherever something that annoying goes to when it burns into your brain...so you can conjure images of it back up again when you need a trigger for that "fight or flight" reaction one day.

Oh...geez...can you tell that commercial leaves a bad taste in my mouth? And I think that taste is bile.

Furthermore, I think some watchdog site should investigate...because if "Progressive Insurance" is also the same entity that sells "Bumpits"...well, things like this should not be allowed to happen in these United States.

And people thought Billy Mays was annoying...

...but, hey, for the right amount of cash, I'd be more than willing to come up with the next odious script for her to read.

(This blog was specifically written in response to a comment on my last blog at the Montgomery Advertiser...someone asked if I was ever going to get around to do the "Progressive Insurance" blog...so I did.)