Thanks for your recent advertising campaign letting the world know that Dr. Pepper 10 is “not for women.” Without that warning, I might have spent money on your product. Phew, that was a close call!

But now I know that Dr. Pepper doesn’t want my money, for this product or for any other.

That’s obvious, right? If you discourage women from trying your (putatively) more robust, flavorful product, then you must think that women only want insipid, flavorless drinks. Therefore, I assume that any product you market toward women is inferior; I’ll make sure to actively avoid all of your drinks! Thanks for the warning!

Seriously, y’all: I understand the marketing trend to avoid associating low-calorie drinks with “diets.” I understand that, in a sexist society that demands eternal body consciousness from women, the label “diet” feminizes a product (and puts you at risk of missing out on the vast male market). But this attempt to attract men by subtly denigrating women is both silly and not-so-subtly misogynistic.

I hope your future marketing doesn’t rely upon gendered insults. Until then, my household (which until today went through several bottles of Dr. Pepper weekly, between me and my husband) will switch to some other, less gender-labeled brand of soda. Thanks for the heads-up!

sincerely,

Elsa

As we walked up and down and all around the aisles, I had ample time to notice the wafting fragrance of Fresh New Baby throughout the store, which I assumed came from some of the baby-care goods: salves and powders and unguents. Absently, I noted that the scent came in waves: sometimes subtle, sometimes strong, sometimes unpleasantly potent.

And then I looked up.

The megastore has large vents for air circulation. The vents pump air through the warehouse-sized space.

And anytime we stood under a vent, the baby smell became very strong indeed — oppressively so, even. As we moved away from a vent, the scent diminished, then began to grow again as we approached another ceiling vent.

I’ve done a little cursory online searching with no corroborating result, but I’m reasonably sure that my conclusion is correct: the baby megastore pumps the air full of artificial baby smell.

If any readers have occasion to visit their local baby megastore, I’d love some independent verification on this.

* It’s the new operating system for Mac just in case you haven’t heard… There might be two of you and now you know. My good deed for the day is done.

E: [indicating A's iPod Touch] Hey, what all can you do on that thing?
A: …
E: Okay, what can’t you do on it?
A: Well, you can type, but you can’t really write — like, you couldn’t write a paper on it.
E: Uh-huh.
A: And it can’t, um. [thinks a moment, realizes it does pretty much everything else] It won’t bake things.
E: Man, what a rip.
G: [preoccupied with driving a large, unfamiliar, and stall-prone truck] What?
A; Like, brownies or…
E: … cookies or a torte. Really, there’s not an app for that?
A; [shaking head desolately] Not yet.

During Passover, many markets stock a quantity of Coca-Cola suitable for Passover consumption. This means no corn, which means no HFCS; this batch of Coke is made with sugar! Sugar sugar sugar!

The Fella crooked an eyebrow at my excitement as I extolled the virtues of sugar sugar sugar cola. After some prompting, he admitted his skepticism that I could discern any difference, so I proposed a taste test.

We bought two 2-liter bottles of Coke, one regular Coke with high-fructose corn syrup, and one kosher-for-Passover Coke from the seasonal aisle of Passover goods. We stored both together in the fridge, to be sure they’d be at the same temperature.

The Fella poured the first round, served iceless in identical glasses, while I waited in the other room. After tasting and re-tasting, I held up the right-hand glass and declared, “This is sugar.”

“You’re right.”

“I know.” It really was quite clear: I found both drinks pleasant, but it’s easy to distinguish between them.
Then I poured a round for The Fella. He rapidly came to a conclusion. “I like this one better. Which one is it?” He preferred the HFCS Coke. Though I didn’t, I can see why one would. For one thing, the regular Coke was fizzier, though I don’t know whether that’s a question of chemistry, distribution, shelf life, or some other variable.
HFCS Coke has a high, flat flavor, intensely sweet if a little bland. Directly compared to the Passover Coke, the HFCS Coke reminds me of Pepsi (and made me remember the old-style commercial taste tests from my childhood). The Passover Coke was rounder, deeper, with a faint smokey undercurrent. It reminded me ever so slightly of drinking whiskey.

Only after I sat down and Googled performed a Google search did I discover my luck: I’d somehow scored an Oprah tote. At that moment, my attitude shifted from puzzled suspicion to beaming gratitude. Yes, because it’s Oprah.

My oh my, that benevolent corporate monarch knows what she’s doing! Though I don’t watch Oprah or read her magazine, I’m already predisposed to like the products. I’m puzzling out the psychology of that: does Oprah serve, even to the uninitiated, as a transcendent avatar of all things good? (Or all things free?) Or am I swayed by the arrival of all these goodies in one big, unexpected spree? Or is it the combination of the two?

I don’t even remember entering the tote giveaway sweepstakes, but I suppose I must have. (Though, as The Fella points out, if you’ve ever had a Pap smear or handled a $5 bill, Oprah has your profile in her databank.)

disclosure: these products were given to me outright as an Oprah tote recipient, with no request for review and no compensation other than the freebies described. Elli and Elsa of Macbebekin have established a product review disclaimer policy for future offers of promotional goods or services:

A) Even if we accept promotional goods, we might choose not to write about it. Supplying promotional goods does not guarantee a review.

B) If we do decide it’s worth writing about, the review might be negative.

C) We will always disclose that the product was a promotional sample. If we do not expressly state that a product is a promotional freebie, it isn’t.

D) We may revise this policy at any time.

Though the Oprah tote was a prize, not a solicitation for reviews, I wanted to take this opportunity to re-state and clarify our policy.

Inside the box was a cornucopia of goodies packed inside two totes: one tomato-red flat-bottomed grocery tote from Contessa Foods, and one pylon-orange rip-stop nylon O Magazine tote which folds into its own self-containing zipper bottom.

The products, mostly sample sized, can be assigned to three categories:

food
- a coupon for one free Contessa convenience meal: Because I do all of my cooking from scratch (and because we don’t have TV reception, so we never see commercials), I’d never even heard of this product before, but the first thing I thought was “Oooo, dinner!” Well played, Contessa: I went from total ignorance of your product to “ooooo!” in one moment. This promotion worked exactly as planned… or would have, except that we’re a mostly vegetarian household, and their dinners appear to be meat-based. Sigh.
- a full-sized bottle of Wishbone Tuscano Romano basil salad dressing: we’ll almost certainly give this to a friend; I’m the only one around here who eats salads, and I prefer very simple homemade dressing. I bet my Mom will be pretty thrilled to have it, though.
- as single-serving packet of Flat Earth baked fruit crisps, peach mango paradise flavor: “A Blend of Rice, Potato, Apple, Peach, and Mango.” Uh. Potato? Rice? We’ll see about this.
- a single-serving (90 calorie) packet of Quaker Mini Delights Chocolatey Mint multigrain cakes. This will go in my bookbag for some distant desperate afternoon at school.
- a packet of Blue Diamond Natural almonds, cinnamon brown sugar flavor: fingering the foil packet suggests an estimated 10 almonds inside. Mmmm, ten bites of goodness.

cosmetics
- a small tube of Lancome custom volume mascara, unfortunately in black, which makes a frightful contrast with my prematurely white hair. Still, I can play with it and see if fancy mascara trumps my drugstore brand.
- a sample tube OMG, it’s a tiny atomizer! How adorable! of Dior j’adore eau de parfum
- an apparently full-sized compact of Neutrogena mineral sheers powder foundation – shade buff 30: Though the shade is too dark for me even in the summer, I plan to try it out one day to see whether their formula (pressed powder applied with included cosmetic sponge) beats the Signature Minerals I’ve been using, which requires buff-buff-buffing with a Kabuki brush.

skin care
- a 10 oz. bottle of Dove Supreme Cream Oil Satin Smooth body wash: Dove, a company notable for its frequent sample giveaways, ain’t fooling around — they included a full-sized bottle of product. I have to admire that generosity, and it makes me think they’re confident that if I try their body wash, I’ll want to buy the next bottle. Who knows, they might be right! Dear Dove: I’m not crazy about the scent, which smells not unpleasantly of wealthy old lady (possibly a hint to their target market, eh?), but I’m going to give it a try.
- three packets of Befine food skin care: exfoliating cleanser with brown sugar, sweet almond, & oats; night cream with cocoa, millet, & rice bran; warming clay mask with cardamom, arnica, and pomegranate.
- two sample packets from Curel’s Life Stages line: First Signs of Aging youth-defenseTM moisture lotion; Menopause & Beyond skin fortifying moisture lotion; also a coupon for future purchases.
- a sample packet of Jergens Natural Glow Express body moisturizer for medium skin tones: this appears to be self-tanner or possibly body makeup. I’ll give this away.
- a 2 oz. tube of Eucerin Dry Skin Therapy Everyday Protection fragrance-free body lotion with UVA & UVB SPF 15: pretty psyched about this! Fragrance-free and a little SPF, both things I require in a lotion, and in a size large enough to last. That means I’ll get a chance to assess it properly, which never happens with a tiny packet of product.
- 0.5. oz tube of Aveeno Continuous Protection sunblock lotion, SPF 55: Though I’ve been very happy with my Neutrogena oil-free sunblock, which I smear on my face and throat with wild enthusiasm every single morning, I’m delighted to give this brand a try. This sample holds enough for a few days’ liberal smearing on the face — in other words, a good trial run.
- a 5 mL (0.17 oz) tube of Clarins Younger Longer balm.
- a 0.24 oz bottle of Estee Lauder Advanced Night Repair protective recovery complex.

These last two were perhaps the only products that made me squeal girlishly. My face, along with the rest of me, is rapidly approaching 39, and it shows. Though I’m perfectly happy to bear the character that age bestows, I’ve been wondering if it wasn’t time to pay a little more attention to my skin, and to that end, I’ve been reading about various night creams and lotions. Jeez, there’s a lot of info out there, almost none of it supported by evidence. I’m absolutely delighted to have a couple of samples of proper grown-up-lady skin treatments; I’ll try them out and report back.

*Oops! Oh, what a giveaway! I wrote this at the beginning of August, before I’d tipped over from 38 to 39. As regular readers know, other things have been on my mind since then.

I know, I know! But it’s surprisingly tasty, though my brain protests up until the moment I start shoveling it into my mouth. My mouth is the boss.

I looked up the recipe not to refresh my memory, but to show a friend, and in doing so, I noticed that Kraft Foods graciously accommodates the appetites of health-conscious readers:

Healthy Living
Save 20 calories and 2.5 g of fat per serving by preparing with VELVEETA Made With 2% Milk Reduced Fat Pasteurized Prepared Cheese Product.

Dear Velveeta,
This word “healthy”? I think you’re using it wrong.

Thanks for the pasteurized prepared cheese product; it’s awesome.

Love,
Elsa

So I did, and that night while The Fella and I sat side by side watching a movie, I tried it out. Piercing the tube’s seal, I squeezed onto my fingertip a tiny dab of what appeared to be industrial motor lubricant: thick, oily, grayish-green. I sniffed and recoiled.

“Whew! This smells like old!“

The Fella leaned in, sniffed, and nodded. “Yup.”

“This smells like old dude!” I bit my lip. “The reviews said the smell would dissipate quickly.”

A beat.

“I’m trying it.” I spread the dab of goo over my palms and glossed it onto my hair.

Then we waited. Waited. Waited for the smell to diminish.

And in the meantime we talked. Talked about the smell. Among the things we decided it smelled like:
- old dude. Though I’d remarked upon it immediately, we thought it deserved a strong seconding.
- old dude barbershop: a barbershop for old dudes, full of customers.
- the nurse’s office.
- comb sanitizer.
- cheap band-aids from the hospital.
- a clean wrestler.
- old dude, a third time.
- Great-Uncle Bill, minus the whiskey.