Rockin' the Suburbs

Yeah, okay, so the title of this post is quoting Ben Folds but it seemed somewhat apropos. Y'all don't know what it's like to be young, middle class and white. You see, there I was watching ye olde flat screen last night when what to my wondering eyes should appear but a perfect, spoofy-yet-real commercial for a Weezer Snuggie! BONUS: When you order, you get their new CD (a $15 value) for free.

Man do I love these guys! Pure marketing genius.



On a semi-related note, someone posted the following little anecdote the other day on My Life is Average:

"Today, I saw a commercial for the Snuggie. I thought it was stupid idea but I couldn't change the channel because I was under a blanket and I didn't want my arms to get cold."

My alternate title for this post was WWBHW (a.k.a. What Would Buddy Holly Wear)?
I don't care what they say about us anyway, I don't care about that!

Rockin the Suburbs

I just read, or rather attempted to read, Restless Virgins, a story presumably about a sex scandal that rocked Milton Academy in 2005. The book is, more accurately, a one dimensional chronicle of teen hook-ups (I'm too old to care) and tracks a number of kids through their sexual exploits and/or teen heartaches. And the "scandal" -- which is nested in the center of the book and barely makes a dent in the reading -- seems like just another day in the life of these kids except that they got caught. Rather, the whole scene is scandalous and belongs in Penthouse Forum Junior (if there was such a thing).

I put down the book midway through and thought to myself, "I'm so glad that I never had to compete with my friends sexually." Things really were so much more innocent 25-30 years ago. Yes, I had some promiscuous friends but they were more the exception than the norm. I think.

Then I went out for a quick cocktail with my neighbors last night. Women who live in all of the homes surrounding mine but who, with the exception of a couple, I really don't know. Women who, I just came to find out, dine naked with their husbands IN THEIR BACKYARDS wearing nothing but red pumps. Women who apparently howl so loud with their husbands from their hot tubs that they caused a lot of laughter at the table last night. Women who boast about breaking their headboards.

I can't compete at that level. With the exception of my classically dressed next door neighbor and a couple of slightly more casual friends, I was also the only one not (as her husband later put it), "cougared up." My green t-shirt with bright pink belt on white cotton shorts was no match for all of the black-on-black ensembles I was seated with. Which also begs the question: Was this a casual night out for the girls or were they headed later to the Academy Awards? I somehow missed that portion of the invite.

Anyhoo, I'm thinking I should climb up into the tree house over the weekend to make some crazy noises. As Bonnie Rait once said, "Let's give 'em something to talk about."

Or maybe not.