Identity Crisis!


My blog is less than a week old, and I’m already suffering major titular cold feet.  While at first I enjoyed the blog’s name and its directness, “This Blog Is Mine” has worn a bit thin on me.  The major problem is that it’s confusing to remember.  Is it “This Blog Is Mine” or “This Is My Blog?”  Also, it’s slightly wordy and doesn’t quite promote the brand, which in this case is, well, me (not to be narcissistic or anything…).

So I’ve decided to change the blog to the self-descriptive B-Side Blog.  It’s not a particularly snazzy name, but it gets the job done.  It’s also more unique.  Nevertheless, I’ve installed a new banner, which is really only temporary (unless people are in love with it).  One of these days, the URL will switch to, but will still work.

Hopefully, this will be the last name change, but one can never underestimate my indecisiveness.  Or can they?

Easy, Breezy, Beautiful, GARBLED GIRL


In my continued attempt to be a minor consumer advocate, I have to call into question Covergirl and their bafflingly titled line of lip glosses, “Wet Slicks Fruit Spritzers,” a name that is neither easy, breezy, nor particularly beautiful.  When I first heard of the brand, I was watching America’s Next Top Model as the lovely but dictionally-challenged Jaslene (she of the “I speak like a deaf person talking” voice) attempted to say the brand during one of her “My Life As A Covergirl” fiascos.  I swear, I rewound my Tivo over twenty times, and I still had no idea what she was saying. Weshsprishfrishspritzer?  The only word I could really hear was “Spritzer,” but that made no sense because who uses the word “SPRITZER” in youth culture?  Nevertheless, I chalked it all up to Jaslene’s strange but lovable method of slurring consonants and vowels into a fine pastiche of phonetics and moved on.

However, during last night’s ANTM finale, the brand made a triumphant, equally tongue-twisting return.  Turns out that Jaslene wasn’t the only one who couldn’t help but to butcher “Wet Slicks Fruit Spritzers.”  Every finalist slurred the name — and for good reason.  After finally reading what the word previously known as Weshsprishfrishspritzer was, I discovered that Covergirl had merely come up with one of the worst brand names ever.  Not only is it hard to remember, it’s damn near impossible to say.  Try to say it once quickly.  Now try to say it twice.  Total failure, yes?  So I apologize, Jaslene, for thinking it was merely your inability to pronounce words clearly.  You were put in an untenable situation by idiotic marketing execs who should be fired.  

That being said, I’m not quite ready to put this whole ”Westshlickfruishshrptz” campaign behind us.  I’d like to see just how mangled the brand name can be.  That’s why I nominate perennial marble mouth Shannon Sharpe to be the next spokesman.  One word:  ”Wootslookafroogasprootzer.”

Don't Know Where To Go On Holiday? How About Tuscany, St. Lucia, or, you know, DETROIT?


Not to hate on my many friends from the greater Detroit area, but even they have to be scratching their heads as to how their fair city wound up on the New York Times‘ vaunted destination guide, The 53 Places To Go In 2008.  Sure, there’s plenty of rich local history, and the riots are a blast, but when we’re dealing with exotic locales such as Laos and Courchevel and Killlimanjaro, Detroit seems so… blah.  I think it was the editors’ way of cracking a mean joke — like The Gray Lady’s own personal version of She’s All That.  Of course, next thing we’ll know, the Times will be falling in love with Detroit and having its Magazine Section making the city over in a little red dress and makeup, and Sixpence None The Richer will play as Detroit comes down the stairs, but it’ll all come crashing down when Paul Walker lets Detroit know that she’s just the victim of a cruel prank and that she’ll never be the queen of the Global Destination Prom.  Then the Times will rebel against its dad and not go to Dartmouth.  Wait, what was I talking about again?

Oh yeah.  The article.  To read more, check it out here.

Commenting Update

TBIMuser.jpgSome people have been having issues writing comments, but I think I’ve got it all sorted out.  Now, if you have a Typekey account, you can use that to leave comments.  If you don’t have that and don’t want to sign up for it, no problem!  You can leave a comment anonymously!  Just click on the “comment anonymously” option, write what you have to say, enter in the Captcha password (the little word scramble), and voila — you’ve written a comment!  IT’S THAT EASY.

Good luck!

Hapless Blogger Terrorized By Mutant Bird!


Every now and then, I think I’m the toughest person in the world.  And then I find a dead bird on my balcony and realize that in a fight between me and a cotton ball, the cotton ball would win.  Yes, my squeamish side (a side which covers about 95% of my body) emerged the other day when I discovered the lifeless corpse of a sparrow lying uninvited on my balcony chair (from Costco, no less!).  You see, for whatever reason, sparrows absolutely adore that Costco chair — something I wouldn’t mind if they didn’t ceaselessly register their pleasure with constant bodily emissions in the form of white goo.  I find myself in a constant, tireless turf war over that chair, and no matter how many times I bust out the Clorox, those damn birds come back time and time again to peck away at the fabric and shit up a storm.  So normally you’d think I’d be thrilled that for once, a sparrow found death on the chair, but instead, I was grossed out.  After all, I’d be the one who’d have to clean the damn thing up; so once again, sparrow wins.

In an effort to keep my day carrion-free, I first attempted to ignore the bird, thinking that sooner or later my roommate would return, and I could pawn all crime-scene cleanups onto him.  However, my roommate was mysteriously absent that day, which meant the responsibility of dealing with the bird fell squarely on my shoulders.  Needless to say, I was not particularly happy about this, especially when the task took a gruesome turn for the macabre…

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Memo To Deodorant Overlords: "Extreme" Is NOT An Odor


I’ve come to realize that when it comes to deciphering deodorant odors, I’m at a total loss.  Time and time again, I waltz into the pharmacy and find myself staring at the shelves of deodorants, wondering what in the world I’m about to purchase.  Yes, yes, I could be a heathen and sniff all the different brands, but in general, I’m not a huge fan of opening products I’m not buying.  Nor am I terribly enthused over the idea that the stick I rub in my armpit may have been previously grazed by an unknown quantity of curious noses.  What I’m trying to get at is that deodorant descriptors are frustratingly cryptic, and I’m having a difficult time envisioning just exactly what olfactory treat my nose is in for when it takes a whiff of “Arctic Chill” or “Fresh Blast.” Last time I checked, concepts didn’t have aromas.  And if they did, I’m not so sure I’d want them emanating from my armpits.  Who says I want my underarms to smell like a blast, let alone a “fresh blast?”  If anything, that kind of sounds like a fart.  No, I want my deodorants to follow the lead of my air-fresheners:  give me a concrete idea of what I’ll be smelling like to the general public.  Powder?  Lilacs?  Neutral odors?  It’s really very simple.

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Absolutely Horrific


I don’t want to be overly cynical or anything, but I’m truly amazed at how dumb people can be sometimes.  Yes, I know that sounds harsh and particularly “angry blogger”-ish, but it’s true.  I mean, we all do dumb things —  it’s normal — but the other day at the gym, I witnessed one of the most idiotic, or rather, baffling displays I’ve seen in quite some time.

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I'm Not The Only Who Notices These Things

As you all know, I definitely appreciate a good airplane story.  And when it comes to stories, very few can match Dave Sedaris in the humor department.  How convenient then that in this week’s New Yorker, the acclaimed writer takes on that most vaunted of experiences:  a trans-atlantic flight red-eye.  Unlike my flight blogs, which have all taken place in the sprawling pandemonium of coach, Sedaris documents the joys and inconveniences of Business Class Elite, an entirely new and dainty beast.  It’s hilarious.  I particularly enjoyed his follies with the armrest control panel (an error, I might add, that I would NEVER make)  Thanks to Zoobabe for the link!

•  Journey Into Night [The New Yorker]

Flying Back to the Blogosphere


WELL HELLO.  Welcome to my new blog.  It’s sort of a work in progress; so excuse the mess.  A few weeks ago, I decided that I was officially going to start blogging again, and what better way to mark my triumphant return than by engaging in one of my favorite pastimes of blogging yore:  the flight liveblog.  Or perhaps, the flightblog.  Or better yet, the flog.  

Yes, for the first time in what felt like years, I decided to pull out my laptop on a flight and blog the entire thing.  At first, I wasn’t going to do much — just dip the toes in the proverbial waters, if you will.  Why bother doing all this work if I didn’t even have a blog set up?  But when I found myself detailing the assorted highs and lows of sitting amidst a celebrity and an awful, awful family, I knew I had to find me some real estate on the Internets.  One thing led to another, and after much brainstorming/annoyingly questioning friends to no end, I decided upon this here domain name, and the rest, dare I say, is history.  Well, maybe not history.  It’s a bit presumptuous of me to act like this blog is history-worthy when this is in fact its very first entry, but IRREGARDLESS, I now have a home for my flight blog (flog), and so without further ado, I present to you my first official blog entry…

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