Blah. That’s how I’ve been feeling the last week or so. Just….blah.
I guess I’ve had a case of the blues. The sads. A big, old basket of existential ennui. The icky, cold and miserable weather did not help. I have no get-up-and-go when the weather is this cold.
I (mostly) blame the Lance Armstrong versus Oprah extravaganza.
Although I read the entire original report and come to my own conclusion on the doping allegations, it was all still too new and raw. Which made the timing of the whole interview particularly jarring. I know that many people feel that it was the right thing for him to come forward and make a total confession (although, I would argue, his confession seemed a bit halting and not really very complete), I feel like it was too soon to hear his mea culpa. It’s like he just wanted to get it over with and out of the way. Not really sincere.
The reason I even care a smidgeon about this whole thing is because he was my first cover story for a major newspaper. I was working on the business desk at the Austin American-Statesman and wrote a story about Armstrong’s marketability in the wake of his second Tour de France win. It made it onto A1, and I have that cover story framed in our guest room.
His smirking interview kinda takes the wind out of those pride sails now.
To top things off, it seemed like all the news last week was disappointing as well. First, came the news that Trader Joe’s Two Buck Chuck was now going to cost $2.50. My sangrias and I are not very happy about this.
Then, I read about this new thing called ‘food fraud,’ whereby manufacturers fake out consumers by just out-and-out lying or diluting certain products. Like pomegranate juice made out of water, citric acid and red food coloring. My pomegranate martinis and I are not very happy about this.
Beyonce was accused of phoning in that incredible inauguration performance. After a couple of tense days of not knowing, it appears she’s been cleared of the allegations. Still, it does shake one’s belief in public performances in ginormous venues in frigid conditions while wearing ridiculously large rocks in one’s ears. And if we can’t count on that, whither humanity??
But the final straw came when I heard the strains of this commercial emanating from my television.
Yes, for some reason, Citi has decided to relaunch this atrocious commercial upon the unsuspecting public. I cannot begin to convey how much this commercial irritates me. I was so relieved when it stopped clogging up the airwaves and the fact that it has been unleashed again makes me so, so angry. I almost poked my eye out with a mascara wand the other morning when I heard it come on during Good Morning America.
Listen Citi, just climb your damn rock and shut up about it already.
As a woman, which is clearly the market Citi is trying to target with this ad, nothing about this commercial makes me want to run out and sign up for any Citi products. Not the wailing, wanna-be Florence and the Machines song in the background. Not the clever double entendres (‘oh, look, nylon rope as a substitute for nylon stockings. How clever and empowering!’). And would it be so wrong for me to want to just buy a pair of pretty shoes using a Citi Visa, instead of feeling pressured to buy climbing shoes and climb a stupid rock? Why can’t I like diamonds instead of excruciating physical exertion?
In fact, the whole commercial is having the opposite effect of making me want a Citi Visa, so they should just cool it.
As you can see, I’ve put way too much thought into this whole thing. I’m sure a therapist would have a field day with all this.