While I walked around the University of Illinois campus today, I noticed that these (and all types similar) are the latest vogue with the female student body.
I came across this editorial in a Facebook post. So far, searches to find the original author have come up short, but versions of the parable below have appeared in social media since 2012. Checking out at the store, the young cashier suggested to the much older lady that she should bring her own grocery bags, because plastic bags are not good for the environment. The woman apologized to the young girl and explained, "We didn't have this 'green thing' back in my earlier days." The young clerk responded, "That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future generations." The older lady said that she was right -- our generation didn't have the 'green thing' in its day. The older lady went on to explain, "Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use th...
Music is powerful. It helps us learn things (think of the Alphabet Song or anything from Schoolhouse Rock). It recalls memories of events past, both specific and vague. For me, I see myself walking past WIMPE (the former nickname for Campus Recreation Center - East at the University of Illinois) on my way back to Allen Hall whenever I listen to Hearing Aid by They Might Be Giants. Music can lift our spirits or drive us deeper into despair. Because music has such an impact, I argue advertisers use music, popular music especially, to subconsciously feed our society's runaway consumerism. Once upon a time, advertisers used to commission songwriters to produce songs specific for the product they wanted to sell. The jingles for Alka-Seltzer® and Tootsie Rolls® come immediately to mind for me, but there were thousands of jingles for the thousands of products advertised on television and radio. In the last fifteen years, most advertisers stopped writing jingles, choosing instead to cull ...
Disclaimer: This is simply an observation. To those with children, no offense is implied. I used to work as an inventory specialist for a furniture store chain. While my cubicle sat in a raised mezzanine overlooking the large distribution center, I occasionally ventured out to the stores to manage the scheduled inventory of an individual store's stock (floor samples and so forth). On one of these trips, I met a person who worked for one of those independent inventory contractors with a very peculiar last name. While I cannot remember his first name, his last name is one I will never forget. It was Cmunt (pronounced "smunt"). Given his small stature, I gathered he had his share of ass-kicking and name-calling while growing up with a name like Cmunt. His well-weathered, lined face adorned with a walrus mustache and bushy goatee complemented his cheerful demeanor though. When speaking with him, he spoke of his last name with a weary, good-natured humor. It was obvious he cl...
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