Pink Ribbon Overload: Marketing Ploy? What Makes You Say That?

Have you ever noticed that most pink ribbon products are geared toward women? Okay, our last entry was an obvious exception. But really, have you ever seen manly pink ribbon products? Maybe it’s just that the whole pepto pink thing doesn’t really convey the manliness that, say Craftsman is looking for in its marketing. About the closest thing I’ve seen to a pink ribbon man product are the NFL’s breast cancer awareness games this month, where we get to see big, burly football men wearing pink football accessories.  Which is kinda cool.

But back to the lack of pink ribbon man products.  Their conspicuous absence is probably why I have a hard time believing that most pink ribbon products are anything more than marketing. It wouldn’t really be worth it to Valvoline to go to the trouble of having pink boxes made, because the fact of the matter is, men don’t give a fat crap about breast cancer. No, really. Unless they have a loved one who’s been affected by it, or in the rare case that they have it themselves, they really don’t care.  And since some guys are just insecure enough to actually feel threatened by a pink ribbon on their razor blade package, it might cause the company to actually lose sales.  Hence why you don’t see pink ribbons plastered all over boxes of shotgun shells and cans of Skoal.  (Okay, yes, some women do use motor oil, shotgun shells, and Skoal, especially in Kentucky.  However, I doubt those are the kind of women who are going to base their buying decisions on a cutesy pink package anyway.  Just sayin’.)

On the other hand, there is just a ridiculous amount of pink ribbon stuff that falls into categories that women traditionally buy, such as the pink ribbon Huggies and dishwasher soap submitted by our friend Ashlee.

Taste buds dead from chemo?  Then you’ll love the pink ribbon Hamburger Helper I found at Kmart.  And isn’t it great how it’s got that little hand mascot to remind us to do our monthly exams? 

Or if you’re a foodie like me, perhaps you’d enjoy cooking a meal from scratch using this bunch of breast cancer fungi. Our friend Tanya writes, “What’s for dinner, you ask? Why apricot chicken with mushroom cancer, um, I mean cream sauce.” 

Mmmmm!

 

Pink Ribbon Overload: Permanent Reminders

My friend Jody sent in these two entries, with the following comment:  “I think you should get a pink ribbon tat & navel ring to celebrate Breast Cancer Awareness month!  Here are a few for you to check out!  If you don’t like these, don’t worry…they come in many different styles!”

 You know, Jody, I was just thinking to myself the other day, “Why Self, can you believe you haven’t had a surgery, or any other sort of invasive cancer-related thing for nearly a year?  I mean, gee Self, pretty soon you might just forget you ever had The Cancer and go back to a normal life.  You know, aside from the implant, and the 10-inch long scar, and the newpple that’s made from a piece of your groin, there’s really nothing to remind you of the year you spent your summer vacation being bald and having no eyebrows.  You know, Self, your memory is pretty bad, thanks to the Tamoxifen you take every night.  How will you ever remember the summer after chemo when you only had one boob, and had to find a Foob compatible bathing suit to wear to the water park?”

 I was really worried.  I mean, gee, if there’s one thing I never want to forget, it’s the ridiculous constipation that chemo causes.  So, Jody, I was SO glad when you emailed me the pink ribbon tattoo.  Of course!  Here I was planning to get my newpple tattooed to look more natural, and all along I was missing a grand opportunity!  Why, with a pink ribbon tattoo on the noob, I’ll never forget about The Cancer.  But gee, I just don’t know.  It seems like such a waste to put all the awareness someplace where only I can enjoy it.  So, I’m thinking perhaps I’ll go for the always classy neck tattoo. 

 Jody also suggested the navel ring.  There again, who’s gonna see it?  Hubster?  Oh Honey, trust me, he’s already aware of The Cancer.  Of course, given my penchant for the gaudy, there’s a good chance that gravity would have the Flava Flav sized ornament I’d pick stretching out my belly button, and swinging between my knees like a Focault pendulum. Still, just to be on the safe side, I think I should probably get a pink ribbon belly shirt to go along with it.   Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to find one of those online though.  A tube top might work, too, but I haven’t seen one of those either.  Dang it.  Maybe the belly button ring isn’t such a good awareness tool, after all.

Pink Ribbon Overload: Roxanne, You Don’t Have to Put on the Pink Light

I’ve got an idea!  See?

 Heh heh.  Really though, this is just odd. 

 “Now with the flip of a switch, you can turn on a pink light to honor someone you know who has breast cancer, is a survivor, or lost the fight.” (Or perhaps just lost their light)

 Like an eternal flame, I suppose.  At least until the bulb burns out.  But as a survivor, I have to say that with the flip of a switch, you could also be turning on your coffee maker.  I’d much rather be honored with a cup of coffee than a pink light bulb.  And considering that each bulb costs $5, you could actually spring for Starbucks.  Just a thought. 

 This product is made by a company called Mood-factory, and the bulb itself is known as a Mood-lite.  Too bad it’s not Moody-lite, eh?  Adding to the weirdness is that the different colored bulbs are “created to elicit feelings of <insert mood here>”.  In this case, the mood is “sassy” and in fact, that’s what they call the bulb itself.  A sassy.

 The website goes on to say:

 “Brighten Our World Pink is an exciting new way to raise money for Breast Cancer Awareness. Putting a pink Sassy in a porch light or window on October 12th reminds people…blah blah blah” 

I don’t know about you, but I think it’d be much more “exciting” to put a pink sissy on my porch.  Kind of like a Salvation Army bell ringer, except collecting money for breast cancer research.  One that would pinch you, or at least give you a good old fashioned feather boa roundhouse if you didn’t donate to Komen.  “Oh no you dinn’t just walk by here and not put some change in my pink sassy sissy receptacle!”

(Props to Faye for enlightening us with this one.)

It’s October 1st. Let the Pinkness Begin.

Today is October 1—the official start of Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  You know, there are just so many folks out there who aren’t aware of breast cancer.  Like newborn babies, and aliens, and goats, and…well, that’s about it.  Because there is no escape.  None.  As we demonstrated with last year’s parade of Pink Ribbon products, virtually no retail segment was immune to the pinkness of October.  Cat litter?  Check.  Hair dryer? Check.  Pita chips?  Check.  Cement mixer?  Check. 

 See?  So unless you’ve spent the last 25 years or so frozen in carbonite like Han Solo, you’re probably very much aware of breast cancer.  Yet the pinkness keeps coming. 

 Recently the executive editor of a local magazine, Terre Haute Living, approached me about doing some freelance work.  I decided to do it, and submitted a piece to be published in the upcoming November/December issue.  This is very cool, but you’re probably wondering why my pink ribbon train has derailed.  It hasn’t—hang with me.  When I went to actually meet Terre Haute Living’s Shaun Hussey in person, he made reference to the cover of the September/October issue, and how he’d gotten some criticism for the cover design.  Unlike most issues, this one had no words, except for the title, and apparently some folks weren’t down with that.

 I said I hadn’t seen it, and he reached over and grabbed a copy to show me.   It was emblazoned, simply, with a ginormous pink ribbon.  Perfect.  And this is the publication from which I’ll be getting my first print publishing credits. 

 Too bad I didn’t get this gig a month earlier.  Now that would have been some funny stuff.

Josh Bell Loves Pete’s Pride Pink Ribbon Pork Fritters

Okay, not really.  I mean, Josh would probably like them, but there is no such thing.  Dang it.  Pete’s Pride is totally missing out on some mad marketing AND alliteration opportunities.

As you guys surely know by now, I’m a big nerd who gets a whole lot of amusement out of perusing the search engine terms people have used to find this blog.  Some things are to be expected, especially since we’re nearing October, like the current top three for the past 30 days: “pink ribbon cake pan”, “pink ribbon cake”, and “pink ribbon”.  But the 4^th item on the list is a little puzzling to me—Richard Simmons.  Really?  Is October Richard Simmons Awareness Month, too?  Wonder what color the ribbon is for that one.  Is sequined a color?  Richard Simmons beat out the perpetual favorite “bald girlfriend” (I’m pretty sure that I really, really don’t want to know the motivation behind that one) and the believe it or not “pork fritter” is way down the list at number 8.  Pork fritter fans need not worry, however, because in the all time search engine term standings, the humble pork fritter holds 3 of the top 5 slots.

And speaking of pork fritter fans…if you’ve been keeping up on the comments, you know that our friend Nanine is a transplanted Hoosier, living in Texas, who has been searching for Pete’s Pride Pork Fritters to no avail.  Of course, since we ARE pretty high on the google results, she ended up here, and asked if I knew who makes Pete’s Pride.  I didn’t, but I do now.  I don’t know why I was even at all surprised to learn that Pete’s Pride Pork Fritters are manufactured by Al Pete Meats (recently acquired by Monogram Foods) in none other than Muncie, Indiana.   Why of course they are!  Where else?  So, Nanine, I hope this helps you in your quest.  Keep us posted—we love having an excuse to write about pork fritters. (We also love referring to ourselves in the first person plural.)

Now back to those searches.  It gives me a chuckle every time someone gets here from googling “Josh Bell poet” or some other variation.  If you recall, my old friend Josh has the distinct misfortune of sharing his name with another extremely famous Josh from Indiana.  Hence, folks looking for my friend must include poetry/poem/poet in their search.  However, like other violin-toting super villains, the fantastically famous Joshua Bell will stop at nothing in his quest to squash my dear Josh like a bug—going so far as to title one of his albums “Poeme”.  Really, can there be any other explanation for this?  So, it was especially amusing to me when some obviously determined fan of my Josh recently got here by searching “josh bell poetry or poem or poet not violinist”.   Take that, you fancy fiddler.

This weekend is the local Race for the Cure.  Yes, I’m going.  No, I’m probably not doing the survivor parade.  Wearing the pink shirt is about as much as you can expect from me.  And Thursday is the first day of October, so get those Pink Ribbon Overload pictures to me.  I’ll be starting off the month with one of my own finds and the story of how it came into my possession.  That’s right, I actually own this one, but even that’s not the whole story, so check back with me on Thursday afternoon to get the scoop.

It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Holy cow!  It’s been a really long time since I posted.  Closing in on two months.  I know that half of you probably thought, “Oh, she’s moved on with her life since all of her cancer stuff is done” and the other half thought, “I wonder if she’s had a relapse? I bet she’s dead.”  The answer is neither, really.  I’ve a got a couple of other irons in the fire.  Plus, Mini Me, who was previously homeschooled, is going to school this year, and let me tell ya, this school thing is kind of involved. So, we’ve been going through a few adjustments here, and I just haven’t kept up on the blog very well.

 But you really didn’t think I’d miss our favorite time of year, did you?  Yes, that’s right folks, it’s almost October, and we know what that means: Pink Ribbon Overload.  Yay! So, be on the lookout for those fabulous articles of awareness—like the Pink Ribbon Blow Dryer, or the infamous Tiny Hair Tongs—and email me your pics at themoodyfoodie@gmail.com.  

 This year I want to do something different.  At the end of October, I’ll pick my favorite 5 submissions.

(Now if I were you, I might include a witty comment, or a poem, or some awesome alliteration with my submission, just to have a leg up on the competition—but you do whatever you want.  Bonus points for items photographed in a store rather than ones you found online.  Super bonus points if you, or a partner in crime, poses with the item like you’re a Price Is Right model.)

Then I’ll let the readers decide which one is the best, most ridiculous example of the P.R.O.  To see last year’s submissions, click here.)  The winner will receive a fabulous prize of my choosing. 

 I’ll be back later in the week with a post about my latest visit with Dr. Beer-Hurray, and news on the final phase of my reconstruction.

The Pink Mafia

There haven’t been too many haters show up here.  Except for Jamie, the person who told us all that we were collectively lame and needed to “get real” because we made fun of breast cancer Barbie.  Funny, I haven’t heard a peep out of ol’ whatsherface since I explained that I’ve got a 10 inch scar across my chest that gives me the right to dis’ BC Barbie all the livelong day.  Of course, it could be that she was just so disgusted by our fun that she’s never come back.  But I like to think that it was the verbal beat-down  she got that silenced her.  Take that, fun sucker.

 Sometimes, I write things that I know might provoke those humor vigilantes out there.  Of course, I do enjoy a certain amount of immunity.  You know, one of the perks of having The Cancer is the immunity you gain.  I think this may be rooted in the pity people feel, which would probably annoy me if I really thought about it, but I don’t.  I just enjoy the benefit. 

 In real life, the Cancer Immunity was way more powerful when I was bald.  Shoot!  You can get away with just about anything when it’s obvious you’ve got The Cancer.  If I were smart, I would have robbed a bank or held up Starbucks.  Chemo brain would have ensured that I forgot where I left the getaway car, and I’d have had to run away on foot.  Sure, I’d be easy to spot—you don’t see too many bald women running around with big bags of money slung over their shoulder (like a continental soldier)—but gee, can you see me getting arrested like that?  No way!  They’d feel too sorry for me. 

 But these days, I don’t get much protection from The Cancer Immunity, because it’s not obvious to the random person I run into.  Dang it.  I don’t want The Cancer, but I want Cancer Immunity forever.  I do get a little bit of that when I blog though, since the blog started because of The Cancer and I continue to talk a lot about The Cancer.  However, there is one fear that always looms over me when I post snarky things about breast cancer awareness: the fear of getting hated on by The Komen. 

 So, the other day when I got an email from Mildred Jones* with the subject line “Susan G Komen for the Cure” my mind flew immediately to all the smart-alecky things I’ve ever written about the pink ribbon, survivor walks, etc.  Oh crap.  It’s the Pink Mafia.  I’m in trouble now.  They’re gonna bring that pink ribbon cement truck over here and make me some new shoes to go swimming in. 

 I must just have a guilty conscience.  All Mildred really wanted was to see if I was planning to be a team captain at the Race for the Cure in October.  Guess she hasn’t read my blog after all. 

 *Not her real name, because like I said, I don’t want to anger The Komen.  Nothing to see here, Komen.  Move along.

Breath Cancer

As you guys know, I like to keep tabs on the Google search engine terms that land people on my blog.  It’s not that I’m all about the marketing or anything like that.  I’m not sitting around trying to figure out what keywords to use in order to generate the maximum amount of traffic.  Although, I do get immense pleasure out of being high up on the search results for Pete’s Pride Pork Fritters, and have been known to work a pork fritter reference randomly into just about any post.  This serves a dual purpose, by both bolstering my Pete’s Pride position on Google, and allowing an atrocious amount of alliteration.  Heh heh.  I am nothing if not and incorrigible word nerd.  But at least as amusing to me as the Pete’s Pride Pork Fritter thing, (score!  I just snuck in another one!) are some of the bizarre phrases that people Google in order to end up here. 

 Included on the list of recent searches was one for “breath cancer black rollerskates”.  Breath.  Cancer.  Now I’m not sure if this was merely a typo, or perhaps this person has a speech impediment.  I figure, I write like I talk, so why shouldn’t they, right?  Ah, but I suppose in that case they would have searched for “breath canther black roller thkates”.  So, okay, maybe that’s not what was going on with this one.  Maybe they really were searching for breath cancer roller skates (in black, please, because if breath cancer could be seen, it would most certainly be black or at least very very dark green).

 I’ve never heard of breath cancer before, but I’m by no means an expert on such things.  And, if it exists, why it sure would explain the halitosis some folks have.  Oh, snap, do you think my dog has breath cancer?  I bet there’s a special day for that, too.  National Canine Breath Cancer Survivors Day—a holiday that’s as much for those of us who have survived an encounter with our dog’s breath, as it is for the furry survivors themselves. You know, I seem to remember seeing breast cancer awareness kitty litter—how ironic would it be if that were Canine Breath Cancer awareness kitty litter?  Huh? That’d be a whole lot like lung cancer awareness Marlboros.  Maybe that’s why I’ve never seen it.

Where’s My Donut?

My girl Tanya sent me an email yesterday to let me know about the National Cancer Survivors Day—this Sunday!  So, I’m thinking, “As a breast cancer survivor, I already get to claim the entire month of October, so another day seems kind of greedy.  But gee, Cancer Survivor’s Day does sound mighty fun.  Especially if it involves free pedicures, lattes and donuts.  Which I’m sure it does, because otherwise what would be the point, right?  And I can overlook the having The Cancer waved in front of my face one more time, as long as there’s caffeine and sugar and hot pink nail polish.”

 So, I went to the official website for this thing.  And this is what I read:

“National Cancer Survivors Day is held annually in hundreds of communities throughout the world on the first Sunday in June. It is a symbolic event to demonstrate that life after a cancer diagnosis can be a reality.”

 Huh?  So, are they saying this isn’t for the survivors, it’s for everyone else so they can know we survived?  Is that really necessary?  I mean, do people think that you’re diagnosed and immediately drop dead?  What kind of made-up-after-the-fact holiday is that, anyway?  It’s like the Kwanzaa of disease days or something.  And where’s my donut?  I survived the filth-flarnin’ cancer, dadgummit, if you’re gonna have a day for me there’d better be a big fat wad of glazed, yeasty goodness at this deal.  My tolerance for being exploited for somebody’s do-gooder efforts is directly proportional to the amount of free coffee available, and the availability of a pedicure, chair massage, or some other form of pampering. 

 But, I see that this is a “symbolic” event.  I’m not sure that I understand that, but I think it means that while there isn’t anything free, there are plenty of items available for purchase, including a stylish visor.  (Think of it as your survivor colors—you know, like The Diablos or Hell’s Angels, only instead of looking scary and tough, you look like a dork wearing a hat that says “Woo hoo! I got The Cancer!”)  There are also these spiffy magnetic flag pole things for your car that look suspiciously like the little flags your car wears when you’re part of a funeral procession.  (Yes, really.)  And I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt.  Maybe it’s not that they figure, “Well, you did have The Cancer, so you know it’s just a matter of time before you need this thing for your funeral.”  Maybe it’s because, like reusable water bottles, having your own funeral flag is the hipster thing to do.  So when the flagman comes around, you can say, “Thanks, but I brought my own.”

The Dr Birhiray Fan Club

There’s been a whole lot of love for Dr Birhiray going on in the comments lately.  That’s great—beats the heck out of the comment recently left by Jamie, who apparently had no appreciation for the irony of hatin’ on a bunch of cancer survivors for poking fun at BC Barbie when she left the following comment:

 “You people are ridiculous.  You should feel embarrassed by the way you are replying to something so simple.  This Barbie is only being used to spread the awareness.  This Barbie was made to represent something devasting to many men and women in the world, breast cancer.  No this Barbie isn’t realistic to the effects of breast cancer; but there is one thing, there is beauty in everything.  God made everything beautiful.  Even when we are having hard times, even when women who are beat down by breast cancer, this represents the beauty that is able to shine through in a bad situation.  This Barbie was only to raise awareness, not to depict the actuality of breast cancer.  Get real.”
 
(Sheesh.  Jamie are you, like, the creator of breast cancer Barbie?  Or are you just some random do-gooder swooping in to save all those poor beat-down breast cancer survivors from meanies like us?  Newsflash, my dear—we ARE breast cancer survivors. I’ve got a 10 inch scar across my chest that gives me the right to make fun of Pink Ribbon Barbie all the live-long day.  So chill.  Dang.)

Ahem. 

 Alrighty then, so back to Dr Birhiray.  As I said, there’s been a lot of folks loving on Dr B up in here, so I decided that gee, maybe we need to take this to the next level.  So, my friends, I’ve set up a Dr Birhiray Fan Club group on Facebook.  If you’re a patient, a family member, or even a friend who is really glad that your peeps have such a fantastic oncologist, please join! 

 My next appointment is in about a month, and I’d love to be able to show Dr B his fan club page with just gobs and gobs of folks on there.  This will serve a couple of purposes.  First, it will show Dr B how much he’s loved, because let’s face it, the man doesn’t always see happy endings and that’s got to wear him down sometimes.  Second, I hope to enhance my status as Dr B’s favorite patient.  Yeah, that’s right, apparently I must be his fave because  at least one person googled “dr. birhiray favorite patient” and lo’ and behold they ended up here!  So that must mean it’s true, right?