You guys. I received this in the mail the other day:
I feel the need to call out BJ's for the egregious promotion of a fantasy in order to sell memberships. I think it is blinding obvious to everyone that this scene would never happen in the real world. The family looks so happy - so very pumped indeed to be eating dinner together. I don't think I have to tell you that this is a farce because no family would be this very, very excited when they were about to dig into a plate of boiled carrots, boiled peas,
boiled potatoes, and a slice of turkey.
Who styled this? BJ's has a vast selection of food stuffs that are exponentially more exciting than this meal (Their plates could be filled with Stouffer's Mac and Cheese!). Which marketing expert said to her team, "I have this great idea - the set will be a stylish kitchen that screams '2016,' we'll drop in a very good-looking family, naturally, and we'll show them eating their annual '1985 Day' dinner feast. Kids love the 80s, so we'll have th...
I can't get this thought out of my head since I went to visit a family member at the hospital recently. She has been in in-patient care on and off for almost a year as she fights some shitty, shitty cancer. Rachel and I happened to be in the Poconos during her most recent hospital stint, an we were able to visit her on our way back to Philadelphia. To get to her room, we took the "Pool Elevator." I was really excited that the hospital had a pool until I realized that "Pool" was the last name of the family that donated money to build the hospital wing. We were in the Pool Pavilion. But that got me thinking:
Why isn't there a pool here?
And why isn't there a nice restaurant? And, while we are asking the tough questions, why isn't there a self-serve soft serve ice cream machine in the hospital?
Certainly, the most important part of a hospital is its care-giving. It makes sense to me that money should pay for machines and medicine that mak...
There is a legend in my family that I hold close to my heart. Before I share this legend with you, I should let you know that hyperbole is a big thing in my family, so I am not sure how much of the legend is true. You have been alerted.
The legend takes place in Scranton, Pennsylvania in the mid-1950s, when my grandfather Frank was dating my grandmother Peggy. I like to think that their coal country romance burned a lot like coal itself - white hot and long-lasting, but messy. The legend goes that they were on a date out at a bar - a bar I always picture as super divey - and my grandmother Peggy told my grandfather she wanted to dance on the shuffleboard table. Well, now, there were people playing shuffleboard! But instead of saying, "Peggy, there are people playing. You can't dance on the shuffleboard table," my grandfather went over to the people playing and said, "Get out the way. My girl wants to dance...