No, I’m not talking about Al Gore, though I do appreciate his work on the Internets and global warming awareness. So here’s what happened.
We ended up NOT taking a mini-road trip this Saturday because we couldn’t haul ourselves out of bed early enough to make a trip anywhere worthwhile (Damn you, three-inch memory foam mattress topper!) So I ended up reading Stephen King’s latest novel CELL, watching a marathon of Animal Cops Houston, and eating everything in the kitchen that wasn’t nailed down. I’m sort of addicted to the Animal Cops-type shows, because who doesn’t like seeing puppies rescued and schmucks arrested? But sometimes these shows really piss me off, because people can be such a-holes to animals. Also, there can be very gory scenes, like the German Shepherd puppy that had the chain link collar embedded in her neck (don’t worry, she’s fine and was adopted by a lovely family). But the sight of that gaping circular wound did something to the backs of my legs from knee to rear that unless you have this condition, well, it just won’t make any sense.
When I see gore, injuries, and blood and guts, it’s like the backs of my legs cave in on themselves while my food exit portal* does the Scooby Doo skedaddle trying to flee the scene. (Which is the biggest reason I never pursued a career in the medical or veterinary fields. You don’t want your ER nurse gagging and collapsing whenever she looks at you.) Anyway, each time they showed a close-up of that poor puppy’s neck, with the pink, raw, watery flesh that actually made the dog appear to be wearing a vagina collar, my legs buckled and I wanted to crawl out of my own skin. (I am so, so sorry for that disturbing analogy, but seriously…if you SAW this dog’s neck!)
And then Animal Cops cut away for a word from their sponsors and the Aaron Neville Red Cross commercial filled my TV screen. Again. So naturally, we sang along in our Aaron Neville vibratos, but with the lyrics from another of his commercials: “The touch. The Feel … Of Cotton. The faaah-bric of ow-er li-hi-ives.”
Hey, I gave to the Red Cross after Katrina hit. But at this point, I suspect that particular commercial is doing more harm than good. In my mind’s eye I see thousands of households reaching for the remote at the first mournful Aaron Neville bars: “Ohh-AHHHHHH-ah-HAAAAAAOoooh-oh-ah.” Click. The sound of a million checkbooks slamming shut across America. Hey Red Cross, if I give you more money, can you please shoot a new commercial? Maybe you can include some footage of Geraldo flipping out at the Super Dome. That ought to scare people into donations.
*While I was writing this, tap-tap-tappetying along, I asked J, “Honey, what are some synonyms for anus?” He replied with a semi-amused, semi-horrified, “Oh no.” It was the same tone a father might use after discovering that his daughter told her daycare provider, “My Dad calls you Jean LaPeen the Sex Machine.” Which actually happened in 1980. Anyway, a minute later we had a few colorful anus synonyms, but none seemed appropriate. Thus the clunkier, more family-friendly “food exit portal.”