You know what phrase I would really love to never hear again? It's: 'We're in for a hot summer.' It gets bleated, parroted, trotted out, groaned, or uttered in sepulchral tones by some lugubrious-looking sod Every. Fucking. YEAR! We live in AUSTRALIA, and a hot summer is kind of the nature of the beast when it comes to this wonderful sunburned country of ours. That being said, I utterly detest the heat and don't handle it at all well. The weekend just gone was a horror with that fiendish heat, and of course, along came the doomsayers and prophets of misery: 'We're in for a hot summer'. Good lord, peeps: it's the Australian summer! My sixteen-year-old and I got into my car yesterday for the trip to purchase new joggers, and the hot blast came through the vents as I turned the key, prompting my son to complain, 'Mum, I feel like Satan's farting in my face!'
I didn't eat much today, which is unusual for me. This is because I had to have a filling this morning, and for a long time my jaw and lip were as numb as the collective IQ of Parliament House. But that's my dental work finalised for the next six months. My left lower incisor is a prosthesis set on a plate, which was removed during the process. I used a mirror to assist in its replacement today. I learned a rather gruesome lesson a few weeks ago when having another filling; I attempted to put it back into my numb mouth just by feeling my way, which led to a mishap with one of the plate's wire hooks that saw me snagging myself like a landed snapper.
One of the my best achievements over this week was introducing a student to the Uncle Sam deodorant ad from the 1970s. This might sound twee and minimal, but might I remind you it is 2020, so anything that doesn't generate abject misery and despair could be considered an achievement. The young lad was studying TV commercials, so we talked about gimmicks applied, and we went on You Tube and viewed this ad. I told him the impact this ad had on my generation: it was widely talked about and analysed in the playground, and prompted the sector of the populace that comprised sweaty, smelly, BO-riddled teenage boys to go out and buy one of the garishly decorated cans ('..the Stars and Stripes can...'). As predicted, the young lad was most amused by this ad. I asked him was his teacher the same age group as I am, and he does not know (or else is too diplomatic to say). I advised him if his teacher is old enough to remember this ad, it will be a very pleasant trip down memory lane. It really is the best ad of the Seventies.
Continuing with the gimmicks and tactics, we talked about catchy and memorable tunes, as well as appealing to a sense of glamour and freedom. This segued to me finding him the Amoco ad - you know, the one with the jingle: 'Amoco, nice and clean/Amoco, you know what I mean...'. Also had some bizarre bit '...escape from the sheep in the street (baa-baa)..'. At least, I think that's how it went. The downside to this is that I now have it stuck in my head. On the plus side, my Facebook group's theme today is 'ear worms', so I posted that ad. I also posted Seasons in the Sun (aarrrghhhhh!) and Call Me Maybe (double aarrrghhhh!). Sadly, someone in the group posted Fernando. But there was solidarity. I am not the only person on this planet who holds the belief Fernando is a pissy but brutal manifestation of nauseating mawkishness that totally fellates camels' balls. Fight me on this point if you wish, but I won't be swayed.
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