And turn down that devil music, too
Have you seen this commercial for a microwave s'more maker? Michelle sent me the link today, and I was rendered speechless with horror.
Look, I love As-Seen-on-TV stuff as much as the next guy. That shelf at the CVS is one of my favorites, because I've lived 31 years without a sonic knife or a cat de-shedder, but suddenly I can't go another day without it. (Not that I have actually bought either of these things. I'm just saying.) But is it possible that things are finally going too far? First Billy Mays ("Gay Icon Billy Mays!" as Webmaster Nick always calls him) sells those ludicrous slider makers, and now this.
First, should you be so hard-up for a s'more that you have to make one in your kitchen right this second, pull out a square of foil and wrap the s'more in it and put it on a stove burner for like five seconds. Don't spend $14.99 plus shipping and handling to buy this thing that may or may not work and, most likely, will end up collecting dust on the top shelf of a cabinet after a week.
Michelle nailed it when she said this is the kind of thing you find four of in your dead great-aunt's house. Nobody else would buy them. I hope.
Second and perhaps more important, a large part of the joy of the s'more is that you make it around a campfire, circling in a constant effort to stay out of the pillar of smoke, trying to get your marshmallow close enough to the fire that it gets melted all the way through but not so close that it catches fire and plummets to its doom. It's smooshing everything together and getting the epoxy-like combination of chocolate and molten marshmallow all over your hands. It's burning your mouth because you can't wait to bite into the thing.
I feel sorry for any children out there whose only experience with the s'more will be made in the microwave, because that's like ordering filet mignon and getting the beef tips from the Western Sizzlin'.
I'm not quite sure why I get so het up about things like this. Maybe I feel like society is losing the little differences that make it wonderful, and we're all becoming a bland, plasticized, homogenized version of ourselves. Maybe all the capitalism is getting to me and it bothers me that such a fundamentally simple joy should be turned into yet another way to make a buck.
Wow, all this nostalgia and condemnation brought about by a stupid chunk of plastic!
Whatever. All I'm saying is, I bet they had Micro S'mores in ancient Rome just before the fall.
Look, I love As-Seen-on-TV stuff as much as the next guy. That shelf at the CVS is one of my favorites, because I've lived 31 years without a sonic knife or a cat de-shedder, but suddenly I can't go another day without it. (Not that I have actually bought either of these things. I'm just saying.) But is it possible that things are finally going too far? First Billy Mays ("Gay Icon Billy Mays!" as Webmaster Nick always calls him) sells those ludicrous slider makers, and now this.
First, should you be so hard-up for a s'more that you have to make one in your kitchen right this second, pull out a square of foil and wrap the s'more in it and put it on a stove burner for like five seconds. Don't spend $14.99 plus shipping and handling to buy this thing that may or may not work and, most likely, will end up collecting dust on the top shelf of a cabinet after a week.
Michelle nailed it when she said this is the kind of thing you find four of in your dead great-aunt's house. Nobody else would buy them. I hope.
Second and perhaps more important, a large part of the joy of the s'more is that you make it around a campfire, circling in a constant effort to stay out of the pillar of smoke, trying to get your marshmallow close enough to the fire that it gets melted all the way through but not so close that it catches fire and plummets to its doom. It's smooshing everything together and getting the epoxy-like combination of chocolate and molten marshmallow all over your hands. It's burning your mouth because you can't wait to bite into the thing.
I feel sorry for any children out there whose only experience with the s'more will be made in the microwave, because that's like ordering filet mignon and getting the beef tips from the Western Sizzlin'.
I'm not quite sure why I get so het up about things like this. Maybe I feel like society is losing the little differences that make it wonderful, and we're all becoming a bland, plasticized, homogenized version of ourselves. Maybe all the capitalism is getting to me and it bothers me that such a fundamentally simple joy should be turned into yet another way to make a buck.
Wow, all this nostalgia and condemnation brought about by a stupid chunk of plastic!
Whatever. All I'm saying is, I bet they had Micro S'mores in ancient Rome just before the fall.