First published on The Big Jewel
A simple slice of toast launched my career as a professional Miracle Marketer.
I was peering, bemused, at what appeared to be the toasted visage of my Uncle Frank on a piece of rye, when my wife popped her head over my shoulder and said, “I see it. Like the Shroud of Turin, right?”
That’s when it hit me. I grabbed my coat and drove like a hellcat to my friend Ben’s downtown deli. I raised my toasted rye, triumphantly, for him to inspect.
“Can you see it?” I asked.
He squinted and leaned across the counter for a better look.
“It kind of looks like Donald O’Connor,” he mumbled.
With Ben’s permission, I set up the toast on his deli counter for all to see. A last burst of divine inspiration had me instructing Ben to tell his customers the toast had come from his kitchen.
Ben sold over 500 corn beef on rye sandwiches that weekend.
From the 1999 Arthur Treachers “Loads of Fishes” event, to the “Weeping Michael Jordan” phenomenon at the United Center in Chicago, I have created Miracle Business Promotions since that humble piece of toast launched my career.
Selecting the appropriate subject for a Miracle Marketing campaign is of the utmost importance. You can’t just ask people to fill out a card that says “How was my service? Have you spoken to Jesus lately?” The miracle should be immediately recognizable to customers. The sudden appearance of stigmata could be traumatic to a non-Christian. Apollo crossing the sky in a sun chariot these days would have little to no value. I need to go deep undercover, often posing as an employee in order to subtly poll my client’s customers.
For example:
Me: Would you like cream with your coffee, sir?
Customer: Yes, please.
Me: Sugar?
Customer: No.
Me: Hey, you catch the 700 Club last night?
Customer: What? No…
Me: Me either. *cough* Praise Allah. *cough*
Customer: What’s that?
Me: Hey, by the way, we have a special on bagels and lox today.
Customer: Really? That sounds good.
Me: Ah ha!
Customer: Ah ha what?
Me: Nothing, sir. I’ll be right back with your breakfast!
First, I’d like to apologize for accidentally posting (and consequently emailing all my subscribers) the post that is really just my gibberish of ideas…AGAIN. I think that is about the third time I’ve done that.
I spent half the day yesterday with a s’more stuck in my hair, so you can imagine I’m not always the most self-aware person on the planet and, as my mother would say, “a bit of a dizz-bang.”
To make it up to you, I give you this…
Dior is going for a new “truth in advertising” slant, using “Cocaine Kate” Moss for their new lipstick line “Addict.”
This is either brilliantly ironic or doomed to bring up a lot of unwanted Google search results of Kate looking like something the cat dragged in after an all night party with one of her various loser rocker ex-boyfriends, like this charmer on the right…
Here’s the real Dior ad…
What you don’t know, is a LOT of other people tried to get this coveted ad spot.
Sometimes a dumb idea gets a hold of you, and the next thing you know you’re drawing talking flowers…
First published as a gracious guest blog on Naked Girl in a Dress
Newspapers are bursting with stories about children being bullied; but rarely is the phenomenon of Dog Bullying broached in polite company. It’s possible this is because when I hang outside polite parties with my ear pressed against polite windows I’m mishearing polite things, but I think polite people (my friends) just don’t discuss it.
My dog is a frequent victim of bullying. While my husband and I take pains before walks to be sure his kerchief is tied at a perfectly jaunty angle, other dogs repeatedly approach him in an aggressive manner. My mother-in-law’s mutt so intimidated our beautiful boy that he became one with the furniture, slinking around the room in the shadow of Lazy-Boys, terrified that mangy shelter-trash might notice him. We practically had to BEG him to come out from under the bed for his evening massage.
We whisked our baby away from that hostile atmosphere, only to have him double-teamed by a brother-sister terror squad during an otherwise peaceful beach walk. Jealous of his charm and poise, they menacingly circled our boy, forcing me to go Crouching Mommy Hidden Dragon on their furry asses until their cigar chomping owner finally put them back on their Hell Hound restraints.
Following the attack, my sweet puppy, Lord Underfoot, stared at me from behind one perfect curl flopping attractively over his left eye.
“Why?” said that beautiful, terrified gaze. “Why, Mommy, do they taunt me so?”
I’ve given that question a lot of thought and tried to learn from our mistakes. Attire is one area where I feel we’ve erred. We know now never let our dog wear a retractable key chain on his collar. It makes it much too tempting for other dogs to pull on the keys and snap them back into a dog’s face. Just hide the house key for him in one of those plastic rocks.
First published in The Big Jewel.
Sunday
Brother-in-law invites us over to watch football. Upon arriving, he admits his youngest daughter is getting over the flu, but that he kept that fact a secret for fear my hypochondriac husband wouldn’t visit. What a scamp! My laughter drowns ominous foreshadowing music playing in the background.
I spend hours singing “Living on a Prayer” with older niece, who isn’t yet showing symptoms of illness shared by younger sister, a.k.a. “Patient Zero.” 40,000 viruses swarming video game microphone sing backup in screechy virus voices, but go unheard thanks to my stirring rendition of “Life is a Highway.”
I rock on.
Monday
We drive home. Viruses begin digging trenches, preparing for the upcoming battle. My white blood cells float around, high-fiving the red blood cells, nary a care in the world. They are complacent, thanks to the infrequency of my interaction with weapons of mass destruction known as “children.”
Tuesday
Normal work day. The viruses share battle plans through their hive-mind. “We are the Borg,” they say. “Existence as you know it is over.” The white blood cells shrug. They never watched Star Trek The Next Generation. They assume someone is mumbling about 1978 professional men’s tennis and, inspired, trot off for a quick match.
Wednesday
Wake up with sore throat, which I blame on window left open all night and/or allergies. White blood cells think “open window” theory seems a reasonable assumption and return to throwing clay in pottery class. One of the white blood cells puts on “Unchained Melody” from the Ghost soundtrack and they all have a good laugh.
