I Deserve Death by Bad Beer

The other night Anja and I went out to a friend of her’s gig at a local club wearing the new and semi-matching plaid jackets we bought the other day at our local thrift store (at the Survival Center which, too, has a blog!). It wasn’t until we walked in the door that I realized that we’d recreated one of those Milwaukee’s Best Lite ads that I so revile. It’s the one where the guy and his girlfriend show up at the barbeque wearing matching shirts and, of course, he promptly gets squished by a giant beer can for being so gaga about his girlfriend that do something as cute and sappy as coordinating his outfit with hers. I mentioned it to Anja and we laughed, mostly at the fact that we hadn’t thought of the ad until then, but as I was introduced to her friends, visiting from out of town, I did feel a little womaned-down, embarrassed about what a moment ago I had been charmed by. Normally I love to make such goofy romantic gestures and laugh about myself for doing them, but I did feel a twinge of emasculation and it made me mad. Mad at Milwaukee’s Best Light, mad at me! When I mentioned it later, I said that, dammit, if I’m gonna worry about that crap even a tiny bit I deserve to be smushed by beer. Luckily, it didn’t happen . . . this time.