Happy Inbox

Things like this in my inbox make me happy for carried-over vacation time:

Is there a twelve-step program? The details...

Back tonight at my regular Sunday evening coffee shop, drinking the tasty flavors of chai with skim milk, and listening to Ingrid Michaelson. My new favorite song this week is The way I am, even if it was featured in an Old Navy commercial this past holiday season. Today began my CD ripping project where I finally end up throwing several thousand CDs onto my iPod. Despite reminiscing over 20 volumes of Just Can't Get Enough: New Wave Hits of the 80s today, I opted for the modern stylings of Michaelson tonight. 

As I mentioned last night, I have an unhealthy obsession with the Utah Jazz mascot, Bear. Though there are several cute guys on the Jazz who have not previously played here in Utah, Bear trumps them all. He's that brilliant combination of funny, athletic, confident... he doesn't say mean things. Quite possibly the perfect man. I don't have a crush on the guy inside Bear, I could really care less, but Bear, all all the gorgeous qualities he embodies.

The obsession with Bear began a couple of years ago when I worked for a local radio station and was doing a remote at a local car dealership. I had just finished a live hit, when I heard a screeching of tires and a loud bang. Before I knew it, I was covered in silly string; Bear had ridden into the dealership on his Harley and I got caught up in the colorful wake. 

Then it happened. 

Bear hoisted me over his shoulder, carried me outside, put me on the back of his bike and we rode off into the sunset. Okay, it was really just down the street, but I have never forgotten that day. Since then, I've had encounters with Bear during various events, and each time I'm reminded of his fuzzy chivalry-- whisking me away from the day's monotony, even if for a brief moment, on the back of his chrome horse.

I'm left wondering if women just want to feel rescued from time to time. Sure this experience wasn't necessarily just about Bear, but just the fact that some man sought me out of a crowd of people to act confident toward and do something special for. Last night, I had a chat with a girlfriend who I don't know what I would do without right now, and though we are both strong and intelligent, yet opinionated and hot, women, men apparently don't appreciate that. Or maybe they do, and it's foreign. I don't pretend to psychoanalyze men right now, but I do know that for as strong and intelligent and opinionated and successful as women can be, sometimes they just want someone to fight for them.

Fight is all relative. Fight doesn't mean drawing out the saber and chopping off the limbs of the Black Knight, but it does mean realizing a fantastic woman when you meet one. In this age of fast-paced lifestyle and unimaginable technology, I worry that people sometimes forget to take the time out to live a little fantasy here and there. Believe it or not, it's okay to show vulnerability.

I'll find my Bear one day-- all tall, hairy confidence I'm looking for in a guy. He doesn't even have to have the Harley.

Is there a twelve-step program?

After going to the Jazz game tonight, I realized that I have a bit of an unhealthy obsession with the mascot, Bear.

It's best that I not elaborate after the bottle of red wine I subsequently came home and drank afterward, but just know that I will get help. If necessary. Eventually. Probably not.

Damn right I'll trust the Gorton's fisherman...

I was watching tv the other day and for some reason was drawn to one of the new Gorton's fish stick commercials. I've never eaten fish sticks, my mom never fixed fish sticks and I've never gazed upon fish sticks in my grocer's freezer. Yet yesterday I sat in front of the television, unable to change the channel during a Gorton's commercial because it was a thing of beauty.

The new Gorton's fisherman is smoking hot.

For a long time, I seem to remember the old Gorton's fisherman was just a crunchy man of the sea. Maybe I'm getting old, maybe my taste in men is changing, but I never wanted to eat a frozen fish fillet off of someone's stomach so badly as I did when I saw the new Gorton's fisherman. I actually considered going grocery shopping for some fish sticks because I was so motivated by the new Gorton's fisherman. Then I realized I'm a lemming, a fish stick lemming, persuaded by advertising to buy frozen fish pimped out by a hot guy in a cableknit sweater.

Researching further, I realized I was right. Apparently since women do most of the country's grocery shopping, the Gorton's folks are banking on the persuasiveness of a hot man clad in yellow rubber. The new Gorton's fisherman is part of Gorton's ploy to thrust popularity back into frozen fish sticks. And God bless them for it, I believe the new Gorton's fisherman can thrust whatever he'd like to thrust.

(If you want to see this quick little documentary about choosing the new Gorton's fisherman, click hamptons.plumtv.com I tried embedding the video, but it has an autoplay feature which would subject all three of my readers to instant bagpipe music.)

Update: 10:41 pm, just saw a different new Gorton's fisherman commercial while watching a depressingly abysmal show on the WE (Women's Entertainment) Channel. It's confirmed, I really need something, even if it's just a frozen sea-product. This time the commercial is for Shrimp Temptations. The new Gorton's fisherman can tempt my... oh, never mind.