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September 02, 2008
We Pause Now...
In Love Story, we learned that being in love means never having to say your sorry. (Although my wife disagrees.) The modern day equivalent may be, "Having a DVR means never having to watch a commercial." This, friends, is progress. It's progress that's been in place for a while now, but you can't sing the praises of this development enough, really.
That being said, there are a few commercials that have impacted my life recently. The first saved my nephew from a serious crying fit last weekend. See, he's started Stage 1 of Crawling, which essentially means he does his best "WWI soldier scurrying in the foxhole" routine, pulling himself by his forearms and elbows towards whatever shiny thing attracts his fancy.
At one point, he mosied himself down to a mere few feet away from my mother's coffee table, a slick modern piece with metal feet. I was watching him as he played with his toys, but I could tell he wanted to proceed full steam ahead towards the coffee table. I heard cheers come from the Sox game on the TV, and in his millisecond of freedom, he lurches headlong, William Wallace-style, smashing his head into the nearest leg.
The next moments were rapid, as the wife and I swooped in, picked him up, and spontaneously started singing the chorus to this commercial to him.
By the time his parents came over, the back-and-forth of "oh no you DIDN'T" had him in complete stitches. Mad props to our friends Liz and Marc for telling us a few weeks earlier how infants take their post-injury cues from the adults around them. Had we not learned that, I'm pretty sure we would have been singing something like, "Oh hell, you DID IT!"
Next up: the greatest act of culinary chicanery since restaurants secretly replaced their normal coffee with Folgers' Crystals:
There are others in this series, with everyone losing their minds in the same unbelievable fashion upon learning they dressed up to the nines to eat pasta from tin foil lasagna pans by a C-student at the local high school. As far as they are concerned, this is the most delightful surprise since learning the cheerleader from Heroes turned legal. They should go all Chris Farley on the Pizza Hut delivery guys, but instead take them home and have their way with them sexually. (I think.)
But the upside to this? I've taken the ridonkulous optimism from this commercial and applied it to my own life. After all, Boston's an unfriendly town, with people more likely to scowl at you than smile. So, enough's enough. Every time something good happens from now on, I'm gonna shout, "Pizza Hut delivered the pasta!"
Works in many situations, really. Forget playing "Dirty Water"; the Sox should spontaneously scream "Pizza Hut delivered the Pasta!" after every win. Blind date goes well? Pizza Hut DEFINITELY delivered the pasta. You beat those racketeering charges? Pizza Hut's delivering some pasta your way, my friend.
Course, don't shout it too loud, as the Pizza Hut people already found me on Twitter for starting this meme. You might have thought you had to worry about Big Brother, but all the while, the Hut's been keeping its eyes and ears on you. So you have to ask yourself: is Pizza Hut delivering the pasta, or is the Pizza Hut pasta delivering you?
Food for thought, indeed.
Posted by Ryan McGee at September 2, 2008 07:58 PM