Another Day, another Valentine doll

Dear Teleflora,

 

DWD here. I watched your Superbowl commercial. You win!

 

Bold move to bypass comedy in pushing floral arrangements, but it worked. A voyeuristic insight to a model getting ready for a date? Hot. The way her trapezius and latissimus dorsi muscles snaked around her scapulae? Hot hot! But the marketing maestros added a final touch, lifting your ad above all others using silky skin to pique interest.

 

Education.

 

Coming straight from such a beautifully reliable source, her face is all the credentialing she needs. One can’t refute her wisdom.

 

“Guys, Valentine’s Day is simple.” Pan camera to the floral arrangement behind her. Sultry half-smile. Bedroom eyes. “Give, and you shall receive.”

 

There! The final word in understanding the female psyche! Brought to you by Teleflora! For years I attempted appealing to female intelligence. Empathy for the complex interplay of hormones and self-image and societal roles they must maneuver. Their desire for emotional connection and commitment.

All fruitless. Such a fool. I get it now, though. Women are flower floozies. Bachelor button bimbos, hyacinth hookers.*

 

Oh, how my life would be different had I known.

 

I once discussed the failure of greeting card and jewelry companies in helping males with relationships. In attempts to facilitate a man’s primal desires, they fall flat. Take a look. 

Averts Make the Heart Grow Fungus

 

No failure from Teleflora! Light the way, O Great Ones! Together, guys will get more receiving. You can undermine decades of feminist progress. We'll both rake in our well-earned rewards.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

 

DWD

 

*I thought up several other monikers consistent with Teleflora’s groundbreaking research, but they aren’t family friendly.

News from Lake Woebegone

I hope you will all pardon my self-indulgence. It's not often a girl is asked to do an interview with a major fashion magazine. Especially one exhibiting the epitome of panache from one end of Duluth, Minnesota to the Saskatchewan border.

My debut with the Eveleth Elle:

EE: Shelly - can I call you Shelly?
SBT: That's my name.
EE: Good. I hoped this could be a first-name basis, up-close and personal talk.
SBT: Okay, but only if you brushed your teeth.
EE: (Laughs) Well, we were overwhelmed by the followers of your blog among our readership. They were urging us to find out more about you.
SBT: Both of them?
EE: Three, actually.
SBT: Hmm. I'll have to check my site again. Number three, whomever you are, welcome!
So, what do you want to know? I'm a Zodiac atheist. I like long walks under logs and couches, and eating long earthworms with handsome men Lady-and-the-Tramp style.

EE: The big question everyone keeps asking involves the rumors of getting in front of the camera.
SBT: Liked those Valentine's cards, did you?

EE: No no no no. The children's book rumors! Stop being so modest.
SBT: I guess I'm the last to know. Fill me in.

EE: Ooh! I get to dish the good stuff?
SBT: Come on, who's the author? What's the illustration style? What's the subtle political agenda I'll be pushing?

EE: That much I don't know, but if you were making all those decisions, what would be the result?

SBT: That's a shallow dish, girl. Result? Newberry award. Twice in a row.

EE: Okay, but before that.
SBT: You want names? Hmm. Unfortunately Dr. Seuss has passed. He did nice work with Yertle. And he could pick a meter and stick to it. That's an unfortunate rare skill in children's literature. But poetry's not really my thing. Maybe Oscar the Grouch as author. I think he's a mammal, but he sure doesn't let it show.

EE: So you want an author-illustrator team?
SBT: Two perspectives, you know? To capture the feel of dual monocular vision.

EE: I don't know what that means... but go on.
SBT: This is a tough decision. Bill Watterson is out, though.

EE: Too hard to contact? Too expensive?
SBT: No, I want him to voice the audio version. Who doesn't want to hear him impersonate Calvin's Dad?

EE: I think that reference must predate me...
SBT: I'd need time to choose between Mercer Mayer, Maurice Sendak, and Fumi Kosaka, since Michelangelo is dead.

EE: Now there's a group of illustrators. What about that guy that did Poky Little Puppy?
SBT: Um, really? Didn't you see how cute those puppies were? He even made the lizard adorable. I wanted to see the black spider, but some moron editor cut that illustration out.

EE: That's true. What was he thinking, removing a black hairy arachnid picture from a baby book.
SBT: Now you are making me hungry. You're buying lunch right?

Adverts make the heart grow fungus

I've been lucky this Valentine's season. Not in the way humans hope to, but in finding ideas for carrying Derick William Dalton's blog for him, the bum.

In this case, it's a letter he wrote which I found in C:\Desktop\Letters\Angry\To manipulative corporate sycophantic s***heads. It's not a mushy one to his wife, obviously. Those are under C:Desktop\Letters\Seductive\My Bitsy Pookums Snoogy Woogy Wips.

Yes, I puked also.

The letter in question today is filled with the angst of a man crushed between the pressures of being romantic and the lack of time and creativity to do so. Then having his inadequacies repeatedly tossed in his face by popular culture.

The poor sap. He writes:


Dear Kay Jewelers and Hallmark Greetings,

I write to express my opinion regarding your advertising campaigns and products. I'm not concerned with cards contributing to rainforest destruction by lack of pre- or post-consumer recycling. I could care less if you purchase your uncut diamonds from militant tyrant regimes in Africa.

I'm disturbed by the misanthropic view of males which you project, and subsequent attempts to capitalize on perceived inadequacies.

"To My Valentine..." open card, "words can't express my love for you."

Really. Then why did you write those? To practice your calligraphy?

"To my dearest love..." open card again, this time with trepidation, "I wish you a sudden rush of whatever brain chemicals make you experience lust."

At least this one had real information, but you are insulting men blatantly instead of covertly. Are you suggesting Valentine's Day is really about men giving themselves a gift by bribing their partners? Okay, maybe to some guys, but be subtle! If that works, it's because the guy already accomplished the necessary seduction. Do you see the fine, blurry line between bribery and payment for services rendered?

To the jeweler, relationships exist for a different end. Judging by your advertisements, you gained a comprehension of women by watching fiances fawn over rocks while you were supposed to be polishing ancient crushed coal - no firsthand experience. The excitement is the man, the moment, not the sparkly ice. Sure, some guys wish they could skip the romantic dates, commitment, learning of first names, and get right to the sex. They have alcohol, and it's much cheaper than diamonds. Women see your commercials, obviously aimed at insecure single guys, and are repulsed. Not just at the guys exhibited, but their girlfriends who become neurotically ecstatic when on one knee he offers a bit of jewelry. Real men want to give you a wedgie and a swirly, real women want to change the channel.

Continue to remake romance in your own image. Associate your products with happiness and ecstasy. The world needs more hollow products to fill our emotional voids.

Leave me the hell alone,

Derick William Dalton


A chill pill. Double dose. Or a day off, that's what DWD needs. Personally, I'm grateful male turtles are the alcohol and no-commitment types, sans alcohol. So much less complicated.

I could go for something chocolate, though.

Be my Valentine's Day marketing demographic

The season seems to be softening me like a deficiency in vitamins A, C, and D. This post is therefore dedicated to all who read it. Free of charge, I'm offering full reproductive permission.

Whoa, that came out wrong. Please don't ever ask me what you can and can't do with your jeans and genes. And to that Russian tortoise who keeps emailing me, that certainly was NOT the invitation you've been hoping for.

Do you see why I stick to cynicism? So much less confusion.

Many people need pre-made Valentine's Day cards. I'm not above associating myself with popular culture in the name of self promotion. So print and use to your heart's content, and may St. Valentine bring you whatever it was you asked when you sat on his lap.