The Foil, the Bait, and the Switch


I think it's about time to push the tinfoil picture down the page with a new blog post. I'm certain some of you will feel disappointed to have to scroll down to see Abba in foil. And I think those who feel that way should talk to their ecclesiastical leader.

What's most disturbing about the picture to me is that the band clearly is not trying to be funny. They're trying to be awesome. I think the picture would be okay if they were being funny. You know, "Oh, look at us, we're wearing tin foil in front of a blue wall with our girlfriends. Ha ha. Wheee." But it's not like that.

And this leads to the second most disturbing thing about the photo: somebody in the band at some point had to have thought to him or herself, "Hey, let's dress up in tinfoil. That will be really sexy, and people will buy our albums because we wear tinfoil." Or, at the very least, some PR guy associated with the band came up with the idea, and the band members looked at each other and said, "Wow, yeah. Tinfoil. Good idea, right? No, don't worry. I think this look will age really well."

To be fair, one thing I can say about wearing tinfoil is that it might keep you cooler in the summer when you're outside in direct sunlight.

Also, if you were ever at a George Clinton w/ Parliament concert and you were wearing tinfoil, I bet you'd blend in so well with the band that you could just roll up on stage and do your thing without having problems with security. As long as "your thing" isn't biting people's necks and sucking their blood. Then, I'm thinking security might get involved.

Totally unrelated sidenote --

Our recent move unearthed a lot of loose "memorabilia" that otherwise wouldn't be hanging around the house. One such article is a stack of photos from the year 2000 that have been chilling beside the computer for a few weeks. Most of the photos are of me and my then-girlfriend. I kept thinking to myself, "You know, Joey, you should really put those away because sooner or later someone's going to ask about them." And someone did.

"Daddy, why are you hugging someone besides Mommy in this picture?" six year-old Savannah queried as I surfed the net this morning. Oh, nuts, methought. I tried the nonchalance approach: "Oh, we were just friends."

"But it doesn't look like you're just friends," Savannah pressed. "Friends don't hug like that." Hmmmm... I suppose she's right. Friends do tend to give off a somewhat more platonic vibe when they hug than me and chick were vibing in the photo. So I had to change tactics. I decided to reveal just enough truth to satisfy, then change the subject to something Savannah would want to talk about even more than Daddy's past love life. Something like kittens.

"Well, that was before I knew Mommy," I conceded.

"Was she your girlfriend?" What the-? Why was I getting the 60 Minutes treatment? It's not like the girl was my intern or something.

"Um, well, yes."

"Did you love her?" Honestly. You're my daughter. I can't believe we're having this conversation. I drew the line. I wouldn't be baited like this.

"I... can't really remember," I lamely mumbled.

"Did you want to marry her?" She was running up the score, still playing her starters in the 4th quarter when she's up by three touchdowns. I was worn down.

"YES, Savannah. Yes I did, okay? There. Are you happy? But then she went on a mission and I met Mommy and... seriously. You're six. Leave me alone."

Then later this evening Savannah turned what she'd learned against me. Shannon was surfing the net when Savannah sauntered up. Pointing to the stack of pictures, she casually engaged Shannon: "So, have you seen the girl Daddy used to like?" Fortunately, Shannon is self-secure and only slapped me thrice.