My brother thinks I'm spoiled, and though he may be partially correct, please allow me to explain myself before you pass judgment. In the past, I had the privilege of experiencing some unique fine dining situations. In college, I dated a Floridian pastry chef and, with that, came the perks of a certain type of lifestyle. Whenever I'd go visit the Sunshine State (that is Florida, isn't it?), he used his pull and connections in the culinary industry to wine and dine me. From these experiences, I may have developed what my mom likes to call "expensive taste," but I assure you it was long before these evenings of 5-course meals out that my appetite for the finer things in life had been whetted--and by the way, my parents also played a huge role in tempting my tastebuds.
In fact, by age 3, I had been to Hawaii--not once--but twice! While I'm sorry to say that one of my fondest memories of these extravagant vacations was going for a walk with my granddaddy to discover hundreds of dead frogs along the road after a rainstorm, I am not embarrassed by my not-so-humble beginnings. I know how truly blessed I have been to experience many things most people only dream of--and THAT, my friend, may make me spoiled, but it does NOT make me a spoiled brat.
Unlike the children of Hollywood's richest celebrities, I didn't wear designer clothes on the playground...nor did I receive a brand new sportscar when I turned 16. Don't get me wrong--I was well-cared for, but I wasn't unbelievably spoiled. While my parents footed the bill for my five-year college education and sorority dues so I wouldn't be in debt up to my eyeballs resulting from student loans 20 years down the road, I am not oblivious to the sacrifices they had to make to be able to cover these expenses. I am grateful for everything I've ever been given, but I'm not so spoiled that I feel entitlement to a handout. I am now out on my own in the real world, a fully capable 31-year-old working woman who is her sole support.
I've had some tough financial times, and I must admit it's nice to know I don't ever have to worry about my electricity being shut off or living in a cardboard box at the airport because my parents will always be there if I need them. But I can honestly say it's not their finances I'm most reliable on--it's their unconditional love and support that I'm most thankful for.
I'm very girly, and it's true that I have a great love of food and fashion. There are times when getting dressed up and going out on the town for a fancy meal is all it takes to make me happy, but I don't expect such luxuries on a daily basis. It's just nice to experience "richer fare" once in awhile for a special occasion. Just last week, Jeremy surprised me and took me out for my birthday to my all-time favorite restaurant--Bob's Steak & Chop House. He even wore a suit! (and looked incredibly handsome). While his choice of restaurant was surprising, the real surprise was that he was willing to pick up the check at such a place.
You see, Jeremy and I are two very different people. Five-star dinners are not his choice of money well spent. He would be happy eating at El Fenix every single day (I'm dead serious) in jeans and a T-shirt. While I greatly enjoyed dinner and his thoughtful birthday surprise, I must confess it took just a tiny bit of my joy away when he looked at the bill, paused, and then said he was "crying a little on the inside." I guess I will just have to realize that he and I will never agree on spending money this way. Sometimes, I believe the experience is worth the money when he always wants to have something to show for it. So I'll just have to hit up the ritzy wine bars with my dad--a fellow lover of the finer things in life. (Come on--where do you think I got it?!)
I spend most of my hard-earned money on clothes and shoes, but I don't own a pair of Louboutins, and there's not a single garment from Neiman's hanging in my closet. I enjoy a $40 glass (yes, I said glass) of wine on occasion (usually when Dad's paying!), but I'll drink the $3 bottle of Oak Leaf from WalMart on a weekly basis. I enjoy fancy vacations to tropical paradises, but I'm just as happy going on a 3-day road trip to New Braunfels in South Texas. You see, it's all about balance. There's nothing wrong with occasionally splurging and still being able to appreciate the everyday stuff, too. That's what truly makes a person "refined"--their experiences in life. I'm happy to say I've had many that I wouldn't trade for the world--and they've made me who I am today. So yes, I may shell out big money for name-brand cosmetics, highlights, cute shoes and the occasional designer handbag, but I don't take any of it for granted. After all, it's just "stuff"....and besides, I already know that the best things in life aren't things.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Aunty = Awesome!
Whether I care or not to admit it, I'm now at the age where people ask me if I have kids, and I can't look at them as if they're crazy because it's a completely legitimate question. My answer is always, "No, but I have a niece and nephew, and that's way more fun!"
I truly believe that all kids need to have a "cool, fun aunt." Since I'm not married and I don't have any rug rats of my own, that's exactly what I intend to be. If you think about it, being an aunt is the greatest thing in the world--you get to spoil the kids rotten and do all the fun stuff without the temper tantrums, terrible two's, disciplining, and diaper changing.
Speaking of diapers, it's important that I share a major milestone with you. At nearly 31 years old, I recently changed my first diaper. Yes, it's true, and if you know me, you'd realize how huge an accomplishment that is since I swore the first poopy diaper I ever changed would be that of my own child.
Mom says I should be embarrassed to admit that I've never changed a diaper, but being that I was always the youngest and never around kids other than the occasional babysitting job (which I refused to accept if the kids weren't potty trained), I don't think that's unusual at all. Why in the world would I volunteer to change someone else's baby's diaper?!
A few weeks ago when my brother and sister-in-law needed a babysitter for a few early-morning hours and no one else was available, I decided I was finally up for the challenge of diapering. I love my little niece more than anything in the world, so I figured I could suck it up and finally change a poopy diaper. I would only be alone with her for several hours, and how many times can one kid poop in the morning anyway? As often as I've seen others change diapers, I figured it would be a piece of cake (maybe that's not a good cliche to use here since we're talking about poop). Anyway, much to my surprise, it proved a bit more challenging than I realized.
I laid Tori down on the changing table while trying my hardest to breathe through my mouth. I must admit I cringed with dread as I undid the Velcro tabs on her diaper. "This is not so bad," I thought to myself. She wasn't that messy. In fact, it looked like round little rabbit pellets. (Sorry if that's too much info!) I lifted her legs up and grabbed the wipes, while trying to scoop up the dirty diaper, but a runaway turd rolled out and onto the table. Ewww! I tried scooping it up and getting it back in the dirty diaper while keeping Tori's legs extended straight up in the air. I must not lay the kid back down on the rabbit pellets. All the while, she was wrinkling her nose and crying, "Tinky, tinky!" Yes, I know it's stinky, baby--hold on. Since I only have two hands (I swear, you need at least three for this job!), I had difficulty getting the poopy diaper all wrapped up until after the wiping was done. As you can imagine, that caused the stench to linger in the air a little longer than either of us deemed necessary.
Finally, I got her cleaned up and put a new diaper on only to realize that I had it on backward as she whined "hurt, hurt." Come on, I thought this was supposed to be easy! I turned it around, powdered her little bottom, and fastened that sucker up as quickly as I could. Finally, mission accomplished. I did it! Now to get rid of the little ball of stink. All I have to say is, thank the Good Lord for the Diaper Genie. I opened the lid, dropped it in and Tori said, "Bye, bye stinky Mickey!" (Her diapers have Mickey Mouse on them.) Thank goodness I only had to change one diaper that day. I know the more you do something, the better you become at it, but I think changing diapers is something I'm not so sure I want to achieve expert status in. I love my niece and nephew, but I think I'm gonna stick to my potty-training rule before babysitting again.
Once Tori gets a bit older and can wipe her own little bottom, then lookout--'cause here we come! Tori will have a full day of fun with Aunty Cassie....and I bet there will be a trip to the shoe store, nail salon, and ice cream shop involved.
I truly believe that all kids need to have a "cool, fun aunt." Since I'm not married and I don't have any rug rats of my own, that's exactly what I intend to be. If you think about it, being an aunt is the greatest thing in the world--you get to spoil the kids rotten and do all the fun stuff without the temper tantrums, terrible two's, disciplining, and diaper changing.
Speaking of diapers, it's important that I share a major milestone with you. At nearly 31 years old, I recently changed my first diaper. Yes, it's true, and if you know me, you'd realize how huge an accomplishment that is since I swore the first poopy diaper I ever changed would be that of my own child.
Mom says I should be embarrassed to admit that I've never changed a diaper, but being that I was always the youngest and never around kids other than the occasional babysitting job (which I refused to accept if the kids weren't potty trained), I don't think that's unusual at all. Why in the world would I volunteer to change someone else's baby's diaper?!
A few weeks ago when my brother and sister-in-law needed a babysitter for a few early-morning hours and no one else was available, I decided I was finally up for the challenge of diapering. I love my little niece more than anything in the world, so I figured I could suck it up and finally change a poopy diaper. I would only be alone with her for several hours, and how many times can one kid poop in the morning anyway? As often as I've seen others change diapers, I figured it would be a piece of cake (maybe that's not a good cliche to use here since we're talking about poop). Anyway, much to my surprise, it proved a bit more challenging than I realized.
I laid Tori down on the changing table while trying my hardest to breathe through my mouth. I must admit I cringed with dread as I undid the Velcro tabs on her diaper. "This is not so bad," I thought to myself. She wasn't that messy. In fact, it looked like round little rabbit pellets. (Sorry if that's too much info!) I lifted her legs up and grabbed the wipes, while trying to scoop up the dirty diaper, but a runaway turd rolled out and onto the table. Ewww! I tried scooping it up and getting it back in the dirty diaper while keeping Tori's legs extended straight up in the air. I must not lay the kid back down on the rabbit pellets. All the while, she was wrinkling her nose and crying, "Tinky, tinky!" Yes, I know it's stinky, baby--hold on. Since I only have two hands (I swear, you need at least three for this job!), I had difficulty getting the poopy diaper all wrapped up until after the wiping was done. As you can imagine, that caused the stench to linger in the air a little longer than either of us deemed necessary.
Finally, I got her cleaned up and put a new diaper on only to realize that I had it on backward as she whined "hurt, hurt." Come on, I thought this was supposed to be easy! I turned it around, powdered her little bottom, and fastened that sucker up as quickly as I could. Finally, mission accomplished. I did it! Now to get rid of the little ball of stink. All I have to say is, thank the Good Lord for the Diaper Genie. I opened the lid, dropped it in and Tori said, "Bye, bye stinky Mickey!" (Her diapers have Mickey Mouse on them.) Thank goodness I only had to change one diaper that day. I know the more you do something, the better you become at it, but I think changing diapers is something I'm not so sure I want to achieve expert status in. I love my niece and nephew, but I think I'm gonna stick to my potty-training rule before babysitting again.
Once Tori gets a bit older and can wipe her own little bottom, then lookout--'cause here we come! Tori will have a full day of fun with Aunty Cassie....and I bet there will be a trip to the shoe store, nail salon, and ice cream shop involved.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Writer's Block
As a writer, there's nothing more daunting than a blank piece of paper staring you back in the face. I'm currently sitting on the couch with a glass of red wine, gazing at my empty notebook, waiting for inspiration to come. I cut off my fingernails and got out my old Martin guitar, feeling inspired to play and write. I'm embarrassed to admit how long it's been. In fact, my fingers have grown soft as a baby's bottom--no more traces of chord-playing callouses.
I brushed off a layer of dust, tuned up my strings and began to practice some of the chords I've known since I got my first guitar at age 9. And then.....nothing. Why can't I think of anything to write about? I'm a writer, for crying out loud! I do this for a living.
I've had a love of country music for as long as I can remember. I grew up listening to women lament about lost loves and broken hearts long before I had the mental capacity to grasp such a concept as a mere child. While I've (thankfully) never experienced divorce or abusive relationships, I find that my lack of "hard living" puts serious limitations on my wealth of songwriting material.
There's a joke in country music that goes like this..."What do you get when you play a country song backward? Your wife comes back to you, your dog comes back to life and your truck starts up again." Everyone knows that country music is about heartache. I think that's why I love it so much--because it tells a story. Even if, after the song ends, you feel like you need a Prozac, it's still a great song--because it makes you feel what the singer/songwriter was trying to convey at the time it was written. So there's tons of pressure to write a great song that makes people feel something. Too bad I happen to be at a loss, thanks to the dreaded "writer's block." That's why I'm currently writing a blog about having nothing to write about!
Sometimes when writer's block strikes, the best thing to do is walk away and come back to your writing later. Well, it's been almost a week since I started writing this post and now all I have is short, ugly and unpainted fingernails--and still no new song. I keep a notepad by my bed in case I wake up in the middle of the night and inspiration strikes. Usually though, I find that songwriting ideas come to me at the most inopportune times, such as when I'm in the shower or driving to work. So if you see me on the highway and my car swerves a bit into the next lane, not to worry--I'm probably just in the middle of jotting down a line or two that suddenly popped into my head before I forget it......either that, or I'm responding to a quick text message. (Just kidding, Mom--kind of). ; )
I brushed off a layer of dust, tuned up my strings and began to practice some of the chords I've known since I got my first guitar at age 9. And then.....nothing. Why can't I think of anything to write about? I'm a writer, for crying out loud! I do this for a living.
I've had a love of country music for as long as I can remember. I grew up listening to women lament about lost loves and broken hearts long before I had the mental capacity to grasp such a concept as a mere child. While I've (thankfully) never experienced divorce or abusive relationships, I find that my lack of "hard living" puts serious limitations on my wealth of songwriting material.
There's a joke in country music that goes like this..."What do you get when you play a country song backward? Your wife comes back to you, your dog comes back to life and your truck starts up again." Everyone knows that country music is about heartache. I think that's why I love it so much--because it tells a story. Even if, after the song ends, you feel like you need a Prozac, it's still a great song--because it makes you feel what the singer/songwriter was trying to convey at the time it was written. So there's tons of pressure to write a great song that makes people feel something. Too bad I happen to be at a loss, thanks to the dreaded "writer's block." That's why I'm currently writing a blog about having nothing to write about!
Sometimes when writer's block strikes, the best thing to do is walk away and come back to your writing later. Well, it's been almost a week since I started writing this post and now all I have is short, ugly and unpainted fingernails--and still no new song. I keep a notepad by my bed in case I wake up in the middle of the night and inspiration strikes. Usually though, I find that songwriting ideas come to me at the most inopportune times, such as when I'm in the shower or driving to work. So if you see me on the highway and my car swerves a bit into the next lane, not to worry--I'm probably just in the middle of jotting down a line or two that suddenly popped into my head before I forget it......either that, or I'm responding to a quick text message. (Just kidding, Mom--kind of). ; )
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Shamed by a Name
There are certain things I believe celebrities simply should NOT be allowed to do. One is name their children. I mean, come on--kids have a hard enough tough time growing up this day and age as it is. Of course, being bulleyed and teased for your hand-me-down clothing and bowl-cut hairstyle are practically rites of passage. We all must endure the ridicule at some point and, as a result, come out on the other side stronger individuals for it. However, getting your you-know-what kicked on the playground as a result of your parents' thoughtless decision and attempt at uniqueness is just downright ridiculous and totally unnecessary.
Just last week, Beyonce and Jay Z's daughter's name was released by the media--Blue Ivy. It got me to thinking...why do celebrities feel the need to torture their children? I started a running mental list of all the atrocious names I've heard come out of Hollywood. First, there was Rumer. Then came Apple and Moses, Jermajesty, Blanket, Huckleberry, Pilot Inspektor, Coco, Phineus, Moroccan and Bear Blu....and the list sadly goes on and on.
When I was growing up, the name Cassie was unheard of, and I thought I had it bad going through life with a name that no one could pronounce. Seriously--if I had nickel for everytime someone called me Casey, I'd be retired by now. Apparently, Hooked on Phonics didn't work for the majority of the population. Even my college professors couldn't get it right!
Most of the time, I don't even bother correcting people when they butcher my name--I pretty much answer to anything. I've had many a phone conversation answering to Cathy Phillips as though I speak with a "lithp." As irritating as the mispronunciation of my name is and the fact that I rarely find trinkets in gift shops with my monogram, I guess it could be worse. I could have famous parents and, as a result, be named after a fruit or household item.
Just last week, Beyonce and Jay Z's daughter's name was released by the media--Blue Ivy. It got me to thinking...why do celebrities feel the need to torture their children? I started a running mental list of all the atrocious names I've heard come out of Hollywood. First, there was Rumer. Then came Apple and Moses, Jermajesty, Blanket, Huckleberry, Pilot Inspektor, Coco, Phineus, Moroccan and Bear Blu....and the list sadly goes on and on.
When I was growing up, the name Cassie was unheard of, and I thought I had it bad going through life with a name that no one could pronounce. Seriously--if I had nickel for everytime someone called me Casey, I'd be retired by now. Apparently, Hooked on Phonics didn't work for the majority of the population. Even my college professors couldn't get it right!
Most of the time, I don't even bother correcting people when they butcher my name--I pretty much answer to anything. I've had many a phone conversation answering to Cathy Phillips as though I speak with a "lithp." As irritating as the mispronunciation of my name is and the fact that I rarely find trinkets in gift shops with my monogram, I guess it could be worse. I could have famous parents and, as a result, be named after a fruit or household item.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Project $$$hopping
I've recently become obsessed with the TV show Project Runway. In fact, I just purchased Tim Gunn's book about fashion and style. While I appreciate his charming wit and onscreen "make it work" pep talks, I have cause to wonder what makes a person qualified to ascertain what is and is not fashionable. Fashion is art--there is no right or wrong answer to the question...only the guts to claim it, wear it and work it, girl! An outfit deemed stylish by one person can make others do a double take (and NOT in a good way) as the wearer passes by causing onlookers to wonder if that person in fact, owns mirrors in his/her home. I believe I have seen some of said outfits on the show's models.
Now I think of myself as a somewhat fashionable individual--at least, I try to be. I am fascinated by all things related to fashion, cosmetics, and of course--SHOES! I've been employed in the fashion industry for a good part of my post-college career, and I've learned a great deal of fashion industry-related terms that the "lay-woman" probably has never even heard of. Even though my degree is not in fashion merchandising, it's very interesting to me. As a result, my style has definitely changed over the years. I can honestly say I am a recent convert to skinny jeans (much to my sister-in-law's horror). I used to think the only person they belonged on was Audrey Hepburn; however, as my shoe collection grew, so did my desire to show off my fancy, new stilettos. Thus, the skinny-jean-wearing began. I also have stacks upon stacks of wedge sandals piled up in my closet. I used to HATE them and then one day I decided I was wrong--they are absolutely adorable! It really is amazing to look at old photos and see how fashion has transformed over the decades. Some things are still classic while others came and went...but not soon enough (hello, 1980's--arguably the WORST fashion era known to mankind). In any case, fashion constantly is evolving and even sometimes is recyclable. Only now, it's "vintage"--and more expensive!
In order to (as Steel Magnolias' Truvy would say), "stay abreast of the latest styles," I spend hours parked in front of the TV each week to watch Michael Kors, Nina Garcia and Heidi Klum spout off their blunt opinions of the garments the wannabe designers of today have crafted and sent down the runway on tall, gorgeous, (and emaciated) models. Sometimes I agree with their candid remarks, but oftentimes, I'm stunned at the near verbal abuse of what comes out of their mouths. I have to say this...Michael Kors, you make great clothes, but my God, your Lifetime Achievement Award does NOT make you the end-all of the fashion world! (Sorry, had to get that off my chest). I never know what the judges are going to say. Even Tim Gunn, who has amazing foresight into what the judges like and dislike, is not always on the same page as Michael, Nina and Heidi.
The beauty of this show is the subjectivity. While many times, I would never wear what clothing the designers made, other times, I think to myself, "I have got to learn how to sew!" It would be awesome if I could design my own wardrobe out of scraps of fabric. The truth of the matter is, I cannot sew...not even a little bit. I can't even sew a button on a shirt. There are a few select pieces in my wardrobe that I have "repaired" over the years with a needle and thread, but to see the stitch work would only solidify my point that I am NOT a fashion designer.
Since I crave the stylish pieces that my nonexistent sewing machine could never produce, I must turn to shopping. I. LOVE. TO. SHOP!!!! So the result of my Project Runway viewing has become Project Decrease My Bank Account. Some may find my obsession to be a mere display of profligacy (Jeremy), but to me, it's all worth it. I may not have a practical time and place to wear those fabulous dresses and ridiculously tall, uncomfortable (but killer!) shoes, but I WILL look stylish if and when I do! Because Truvy also said, "There's no such thing as natural beauty."
If someone out there reading this is well versed in sewing, I'd love to try and learn a new skill, but until then, I'm off to the mall......
Now I think of myself as a somewhat fashionable individual--at least, I try to be. I am fascinated by all things related to fashion, cosmetics, and of course--SHOES! I've been employed in the fashion industry for a good part of my post-college career, and I've learned a great deal of fashion industry-related terms that the "lay-woman" probably has never even heard of. Even though my degree is not in fashion merchandising, it's very interesting to me. As a result, my style has definitely changed over the years. I can honestly say I am a recent convert to skinny jeans (much to my sister-in-law's horror). I used to think the only person they belonged on was Audrey Hepburn; however, as my shoe collection grew, so did my desire to show off my fancy, new stilettos. Thus, the skinny-jean-wearing began. I also have stacks upon stacks of wedge sandals piled up in my closet. I used to HATE them and then one day I decided I was wrong--they are absolutely adorable! It really is amazing to look at old photos and see how fashion has transformed over the decades. Some things are still classic while others came and went...but not soon enough (hello, 1980's--arguably the WORST fashion era known to mankind). In any case, fashion constantly is evolving and even sometimes is recyclable. Only now, it's "vintage"--and more expensive!
In order to (as Steel Magnolias' Truvy would say), "stay abreast of the latest styles," I spend hours parked in front of the TV each week to watch Michael Kors, Nina Garcia and Heidi Klum spout off their blunt opinions of the garments the wannabe designers of today have crafted and sent down the runway on tall, gorgeous, (and emaciated) models. Sometimes I agree with their candid remarks, but oftentimes, I'm stunned at the near verbal abuse of what comes out of their mouths. I have to say this...Michael Kors, you make great clothes, but my God, your Lifetime Achievement Award does NOT make you the end-all of the fashion world! (Sorry, had to get that off my chest). I never know what the judges are going to say. Even Tim Gunn, who has amazing foresight into what the judges like and dislike, is not always on the same page as Michael, Nina and Heidi.
The beauty of this show is the subjectivity. While many times, I would never wear what clothing the designers made, other times, I think to myself, "I have got to learn how to sew!" It would be awesome if I could design my own wardrobe out of scraps of fabric. The truth of the matter is, I cannot sew...not even a little bit. I can't even sew a button on a shirt. There are a few select pieces in my wardrobe that I have "repaired" over the years with a needle and thread, but to see the stitch work would only solidify my point that I am NOT a fashion designer.
Since I crave the stylish pieces that my nonexistent sewing machine could never produce, I must turn to shopping. I. LOVE. TO. SHOP!!!! So the result of my Project Runway viewing has become Project Decrease My Bank Account. Some may find my obsession to be a mere display of profligacy (Jeremy), but to me, it's all worth it. I may not have a practical time and place to wear those fabulous dresses and ridiculously tall, uncomfortable (but killer!) shoes, but I WILL look stylish if and when I do! Because Truvy also said, "There's no such thing as natural beauty."
If someone out there reading this is well versed in sewing, I'd love to try and learn a new skill, but until then, I'm off to the mall......
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Beauty is Pain
A few days ago, I was lying on the couch with my feet propped up. My boyfriend asked me, "What's wrong with your pinky toe?" He was referring to the rubbed raw sore spot on the edge of my foot. I replied, "Nothing...it's from my shoes." He rolled his eyes, and I just shrugged it off like it was nothing unusual. The sad thing is that it really isn't unusual for me. I'm used to suffering pain and discomfort in the name of fashion.
There's a famous saying--"No pain, no gain." I most definitely have endured my fair share of pain, but the other day, I started wondering if my all my discomfort truly resulted in gain....or was it all simply in vain? I guess you could say that sacrificing the comfort of a pinky toe for the sake of wearing cute shoes most definitely falls into the category of vain.
Our society has become so vain that we not only forfeit comfort for the sake of beauty, but we even jeopardize our health and well-being. I'm not even joking when I mention the newest fad in plastic surgery--toe lengthening/shortening and even (gasp) removal! While I readily admit that the removal of my pinky toe would certainly improve the fit--and comfort--of the majority of the shoes in my closet, I'm not about to go to a plastic surgeon to have it chopped off. No thank you--I will just continue to squeeze all five piggies into those strappy stilettos, walk slowly and carefully, and grin and bear it.....because every girly-girl knows that beauty IS pain!
Sunday, May 15, 2011
The Advertising Age
"Call 267-8433, because the next best thing to new"......if you just finished singing this jingle in your head, you watch too much TV! Or could it be that we are just subjected to far too many advertising messages each day? While the former may be true, the latter is most definitely true. In fact, when I was a kid home from school in the summer, I could pretty much give you the names and numbers of at least two or three local attorneys after being blasted by their commercials during the "CHiPs" reruns I watched. And if you needed the phone number for Dalworth carpet cleaning, got it memorized!
Based on the information I found on Google, Americans see an average of 3,000 advertising messages per day. Holy cow--that's a lot of intrusive advertising! Most of the time, we don't even realize we're being brainwashed--I mean influenced by the media.
When I was a freshman in college, I took a speech/communications class for which the big project of the semester was to write and deliver a speech in front of the class. We were given the opportunity to choose any topic we could think of. I chose to discuss the media's influence on society. I explained how we are force fed hundreds and hundreds of messages indicating what is "expected" of the population--such as what is "beautiful," etc. After a couple years, I went on to major in advertising and minor in marketing. How's that for irony?!
It really is amazing if you stop and think about how many advertising messages we view each day--not just on TV, but everywhere. I don't know about you, but I can't help but notice (and judge the creativity of) all the billboards lining the highways of Dallas/Ft. Worth. Most of them are terrible--a few are cute, but mostly, they are just intrusive! I do enjoy the Chick-fil-A cows, and I assure you that campaign has made Stan Richards (of Dallas' the Richards Group) a ton of money!
In addition to billboards, we get fliers for the new Chinese restaurant down the street, drycleaning coupons, etc. etc. And don't even get me started about the annoying TV commercials that are broadcasted at 3x's the volume of the episode of the prime time sitcom you're watching! Since I don't have TV right now (it's a long story), I'm no longer subjected to broadcast advertising other than radio commercials, which I avoid at all cost by switching stations ASAP.
Does advertising really work? You bet it does! Whether consciously or subconsciously, we make hundreds of decisions each day based on the advertising messages we've seen. That explains why companies will spend a kajillion dollars to advertise their products during the Super Bowl.
As technology progresses, the format of advertising continues to adapt to these changes. DVR's and Tivo have most certainly affected the advertising industry since television viewers now have the option to fast forward through commercials at warp speed. These technological advances don't seem to have hindered advertisers' messaging--they simply have forced them to come up with innovative ways to annoy the heck out of the general public.
I really can't complain about being bombarded by advertising. After all, it is my livelihood, and it ensures job security. Plus, I feel like my college degree came in handy when I can analyze a commercial and tell you exactly why it sucked. So I guess at the end of the day, advertising is a necessary "evil." Unfortunately, though, now I'm gonna have that damn Dalworth song stuck in my head all day!
Based on the information I found on Google, Americans see an average of 3,000 advertising messages per day. Holy cow--that's a lot of intrusive advertising! Most of the time, we don't even realize we're being brainwashed--I mean influenced by the media.
When I was a freshman in college, I took a speech/communications class for which the big project of the semester was to write and deliver a speech in front of the class. We were given the opportunity to choose any topic we could think of. I chose to discuss the media's influence on society. I explained how we are force fed hundreds and hundreds of messages indicating what is "expected" of the population--such as what is "beautiful," etc. After a couple years, I went on to major in advertising and minor in marketing. How's that for irony?!
It really is amazing if you stop and think about how many advertising messages we view each day--not just on TV, but everywhere. I don't know about you, but I can't help but notice (and judge the creativity of) all the billboards lining the highways of Dallas/Ft. Worth. Most of them are terrible--a few are cute, but mostly, they are just intrusive! I do enjoy the Chick-fil-A cows, and I assure you that campaign has made Stan Richards (of Dallas' the Richards Group) a ton of money!
In addition to billboards, we get fliers for the new Chinese restaurant down the street, drycleaning coupons, etc. etc. And don't even get me started about the annoying TV commercials that are broadcasted at 3x's the volume of the episode of the prime time sitcom you're watching! Since I don't have TV right now (it's a long story), I'm no longer subjected to broadcast advertising other than radio commercials, which I avoid at all cost by switching stations ASAP.
Does advertising really work? You bet it does! Whether consciously or subconsciously, we make hundreds of decisions each day based on the advertising messages we've seen. That explains why companies will spend a kajillion dollars to advertise their products during the Super Bowl.
As technology progresses, the format of advertising continues to adapt to these changes. DVR's and Tivo have most certainly affected the advertising industry since television viewers now have the option to fast forward through commercials at warp speed. These technological advances don't seem to have hindered advertisers' messaging--they simply have forced them to come up with innovative ways to annoy the heck out of the general public.
I really can't complain about being bombarded by advertising. After all, it is my livelihood, and it ensures job security. Plus, I feel like my college degree came in handy when I can analyze a commercial and tell you exactly why it sucked. So I guess at the end of the day, advertising is a necessary "evil." Unfortunately, though, now I'm gonna have that damn Dalworth song stuck in my head all day!
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