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Ben and I were watching TV last night and doing the regular things that people do during the commercial segments - tidying the kitchen, checking up on our email, exchanging pleasantries.

Then it happened and we were both fixated: a new commercial for a prescription drug called AcipHex came on. It’s a drug that treats stomach ulcers and heartburn and supposed to be a play on the words “acid” and “effects.”

But really, it just sounds EXACTLY like everyone in the commercial is saying Ass Effects.

Call me juvenile, but I’ve never lost control of myself like I did during this 30-second spot.

They would say “Ass Effects truly helped me return to my normal activities,” and Ben and I would try as hard as we could to stop laughing soon enough to catch the next time they said Ass Effects.

“Ask your doctor before using Ass Effects…”
“How can Ass Effects help you?”

And so on.

I know I often complain about not being a high-level advertising executive, but I really want to get to the bottom of this blunder: did no one, in the dozens and dozens of meetings that I’m sure it took to develop this product, ever mention that their drug sounded a lot like someone saying Ass Effects? Has the business world sunk so far into itself that no one, from the middlest manager to the highest executive, had the nerve to point out a butt joke and save their company a few million dollars and months of ridicule?

Was there never a janitor in the boardroom who looked up from his mop to say, “Not to interrupt, gentlemen, but Ass Effects sounds a lot more like the name of a junior high garage band than of a doctor-prescribed medication. I realize that my job description consists mostly of cleaning up your byproducts, but I would strongly recommend not moving to Phase Two of planning before you resolve this issue.”

Didn’t the president of the pharmaceutical company ever bring his toddler in to work one day when the babysitter was sick, and the toddler would hear the word “AcipHex” and say, “Daddy, even I — a hardly-developed human being with limited motor skills, a substandard language ability, and a crippling thumbsucking addiction - even I could come up with something better than AcipHex if you gave me five minutes. You know, maybe something with less vulgar and downright confusing connotations.”

Didn’t any of the actors in the commercial crack up during the first take, when they said AcipHex for the first time? Didn’t they apologize and say, “I’m sorry, and I’d like to reassure you that I’m a professional actor. But am I pronouncing the product name right? Because it sounds like I just said Ass Effects on camera.”

Did it come up once in a meeting, and their big, brilliant solution to the problem was capitalizing the H? Because I have news for you guys - it doesn’t matter. It still sounds exactly like Ass Effects.

I could see Ass Effects being the new trendy exercise that sweeps the nation and takes the early-morning infomercial circuit by storm. I could see Ass Effecting being a late-night soft-core Cinemax flick that involved a lot of terrible sets and only the slightest hint of a plot. I could even see Ass Effects being the name of a show-stopping award-winning chili.

But I just can’t see it as a heartburn pill.

Thanks to Hilary, the video is linked down below in the comments.

Well, that was easy. After a 30-second ceremony at City Hall, Ben and I are officially life partners. I can’t tell you that it feels all that different, but I can tell you that it feels good. I’m not comfortable with the whole “wife” and “husband” thing, but we’re slowly getting the hang of it - and, to my surprise, we didn’t suddenly fall into predictable gender roles or start having domestic disputes. At least not yet.

I thought I’d post a few pictures of the evening - although not nearly the full collection. I’m somewhat certain that you can’t spot the two mustard stains on my dress that I worked for hours to remove. If you can see them, please don’t tell me.

After the marriage itself, we ate cheese burgers at a local pub (it was, after all, our special day) and then walked over to our favorite hole-in-the-wall dive bar, Rudy’s, where many a man is drinking away their pension, no matter what time of the day it is and where every seat cushion is covered in a copious amount of duct tape. We then spent the night hanging with friends old and new and ended the evening with some take-out Chinese food. I couldn’t have had a better wedding if I were given a huge budget and many months of planning.

Still, we are planning a more official event in a year or two that will include our far-away friends and relatives. Until then, though, every time I have a $6 pitcher of domestic beer and an old hot dog, I’ll think about how much I love Ben.

There are more pictures located here. Ben obviously wrote the captions.

I’ll update again tonight with the terrifying adventure known as our winter cabin honeymoon/brush with death. It was really romantic, almost dying together in the snow.

Alert reader Mozzadrella sent me this link, the Fritz-Cam.

Now, I understand that my blog has been a bit kitty heavy these last few weeks due to my new boss, but this is pretty cool even if your ideal retirement plan doesn’t involve 40 cats, a single-wide trailer, and a lot of stockings and hairnets.

A lot of the site is in German and Fritz is a German cat, but most of the content transcends language. The thrust of it is that Fritz’s artist owner attaches a camera collar to Fritz before he goes out exploring. The camera is rigged to go off at certain intervals and the camera catches freeze frames of the cat’s adventures and point of view. Many of the resulting pictures are beautiful and strange. All of them are super-cool. Not only are the interesting to look at out of context of the kitty cam concept, but it is also fascinating to imagine the world from under cars and between reeds and up trees (see one of my favorites down below).

Of course, the site immediately made me wonder what would happen if I attached a kitty came to Ripley:

• Shot One: a close-up of our couch.
• Shot Two: a close-up of our couch, at a slightly different angle.
• Shot Three: a close-up of our couch, at the original angle.
• Shot Four: food bowl.

If it’s possible to be addicted to a certain type of bookcase, I am addicted. It all started last year when my roommate Dan bought one. I watched him unpack it and was flabbergasted at the ingenuity, the price, the style, and the quality of the thing. One look and I was hooked. I bought one that day and since then our apartment has filled with them. I have squandered my money, spurned my loved ones, and stopped regular hygiene - all for these foldable bookcases.

And now that I’m working from home, I bought another one last week along with the matching desk. I am in desperate need of a 12-step BA program, where I can talk to and relate to others like me - others who can’t stop lining their books up on shelves.

Here’s the deal: first of all, they fold flat. It’s kind of like the stackable ones that used to be popular when I was in college, but these are less expensive and are sturdier. They also come all put together, so that when they arrive, you simply remove the box and fold down the individual shelves - no assembly required. If you ever visit me, I can give you my info-merical-esque demonstration.

The only thing I regret about purchasing these bookcases as if they were an addictive and controlled substance is that I didn’t know about them sooner. They would have been perfect in college and grad school! They would have been so easy to move or to put in storage! They look so classy when you put two right next to each other! They would have been so, so much better than the slightly more expensive and much less classy-looking parade of Ikea bookcases that I have owned — the ones with the cheap cardboard backings and sagging shelves.

Here’s the link to the Amazon page: folding bookcase

I’ve tried to stay away from office gossip since I started working from home. I’ve tried to keep my opinion to myself. I don’t want to be paranoid - one of those coworkers who is full of conspiracy theories when really they’re just trying to justify why they can’t seem to climb the ladder.

But here’s the thing: I’m starting to question Ripley’s recent promotion to CEO.

Up above, please observe a new page for book reviews. I’ve even separated my reviews into three categories: The Hall of Fame, The Hall of Shame, and The Hall.

And if you are one of the four people who actually pay attention to the book reviews, wondering why there hasn’t been one for a month — don’t worry. I’m about three-fourths of the way through five different books right now. It’s only a matter of time before I decide to finish one instead of start another one.

Thanks to my lovely web-nymph Robin, who I think might dabble in dark, powerful magic, comments are up and working smoothly. It’s amazing/sad how much I missed the feedback. Especially about the thing on Britney Spears’ boyfriend’s face. I feel so alone.

I also fixed my RSS feed so that it feeds entire posts instead of just teasers. That really seemed to get to a lot of you.

In other news, the ads thing is working out even better than I had thought, and I hope it isn’t bothering anyone too much. This whole writing life idea might just be feasible, and it’s because of you guys.

Now I have to make the long commute to my couch and get some copy written . I will have the Food Network muted in the background. I will play offensive music. I will take breaks to tease my boss with a milk jug cap. I will blow my nose into a dish towel. In short, I will live.

UPDATE: I’ve fixed all of the subscription buttons (and technorati favorite buttons) to the left. All by myself. This is a small miracle. We are ready to roll.