Another Bizarre Phenomenon: The Car Advertiser

Car advertising. As in, pasting the name of your business all over the side/back of your car via a cling-on. Could be a good idea, right? It's free, after the purchase of the cling thing. It appears in multiple places (wherever you appear), instead of staying in one place like a billboard. Sure, it can be a great idea. Unless you're the most aggressive driver on earth.
Seriously, people. You need to THINK. THINGS. THROUGH. Here are a few questions for you:
* Do you tailgate (not with beer)?
* Do you pass people on the inside lane, even though they're already going 5 miles over the speed limit?
* Do you honk aggressively and make wild hand motions?

If you answered yes to any of the above, car advertising is NOT. FOR. YOU. You see, it turns out that if you are a complete jerk while sporting the name of your business in huge letters across the side of your car, it has the exact OPPOSITE intended effect. It turns out that, after you cut someone off and flip them off, they no longer have a fuzzy feeling about Fuzzy Friends Pet Store. I know. Advertising is tricky that way.
Honestly, what are you thinking? Do you forget?
Today I was on the expressway and this huge white Suburban-looking thing gets within an inch of my bumper as I'm going 75ish. So I get over. As they're passing, I look over to give them the deathrayeye, and there's "Such and Such Pet Cemetery" painted on the side. My first thought is that they're probably keeping themselves in business, driving like that. My second thought is, if my dog dies, that's the LAST place I'm burying her. I mean, I don't like my dog, so I'd probably just bury her in the backyard anyway, but I'm definitely not burying her there now.
All of this brings me to the story of DJ Craze, my arch enemy of Kzoo. That's not his real name, and he doesn't know he's my arch enemy. He runs a DJ business, a fact that wouldn't escape you if you ever ran into him, because the name and info is literally pasted all over his van. The first time I ran into DJ Craze was when I was out running along Drake. It's a bit difficult to turn onto Drake from side streets, because it's decently busy. DJ Craze was having none of that, though. The poor guy in front of him was inching forward, looking for an in, and DJ Craze laid on his horn, starts yelling and wild-hand-motioning out of his open window.
And then I thought to myself, "Hey, If I ever need a DJ, I'm calling DJ Craze!"
No.
I thought, Hey, DJ Craze! I hope all your records skip!
And now, I see him EVERYWHERE. At the post office, at the Y, at the post office again. He looks a lot like mean old man Clint Eastwood from El Torino. Except, if he happened to witness me being beat up by a gang, I don't think he'd save me. Unless the beating was blocking traffic. In which case, I think he'd just bulldoze us all. Every time I see him, I narrow my eyes a little. Should I ever need a DJ, I will know exactly who not to call.
Am I saying that I am some awesome, heal the world driver? No, but I also don't have "Lolalou: College Professor!" written across my car. Though I do have an Obama bumper sticker, and he probably wishes that I didn't.

Laura, what's the point of having a blog if you're not going to write on it.

As Min not-so-delicately pointed out, it's been awhile. I apologize. I'd like to say that I've been doing something. But I haven't. I just forgot.

So.

I want to talk about that Shorty I Could Take You There song.
Usually the radio is just on as background noise in my car, but every once in a while I make the mistake of actually listening to the lyrics. I suppose that listening to the lyrics of any Sean Kingston song is a big mistake. In the future, I think he should just read the newspaper to a catchy beat. It would be better, Sean. Trust me on this.
In case you were ignoring the actual lyrics like I was, here's the first verse:
We can go to the tropics
Sip pina coladas
Shorty I could take you there
Or we can go to the slums
Where killas get hung
Shorty I could take you there

So. Sean. What you're saying to me is, either you can take me to Jamaica and we can hang out on the beach and drink cocktails... OR... you could take me to the ghetto. Where (according to you) 15 year olds have guns and "killers get hung".
See, Sean, I'm confused. It feels like a trick.
Every once in a while, I use this trick on my husband where I'll give him two choices. I will say on date night, for instance, "Rob, either we can go see a play.. or we can play cards." Rob does not like to play cards. That's mostly because he never wins and he's a poor sport, but that's a whole different blog. The thing is, Rob hates going to plays SO MUCH that ANY OTHER CHOICE ON EARTH sounds like the BEST. IDEA. EVER. So, he's like "Cards! That sounds great! Let's play cards!", whereas, had I just said "How about we play cards?" Rob would have said "I don't LIKE cards". Should you like to use this technique in the future, I will also mention that you have to put the terrible choice first. That way, he thinks for a split second that he's going to have to sit through a play, so when you offer the second, still-not-appealing option, it feels like he's narrowly escaped something horrible.
But this is where my confusion comes in, Sean.
Because ONE of those options (I'll let you guess which) is very UNappealing, while the other is very APPEALING. The game is supposed to be a lesser of two evils thing, but there's only one negative here. See, I would choose the tropics, even if you had offered another option that I actually like- say, watching movies in bed all day or camping or eating a lot of ice cream. So, you didn't have to offer me a really bad option to get me to choose it. But you did...
What this leaves is one of two possibilities:
1. You really, REALLY suck at this game.
2. You're up to something.

And that's why, Shorty, I think you should choose the slums. He THINKS that you're going to choose the tropics, obviously, which means he WANTS you to choose the tropics.
Or maybe that's just what he wants you to think...

Which is why my final advice is this: Stay home. Break up with him and stay home. Screw him and his manipulative, mental warfare.