Ch-ch-cherry cola

Ok, so Slate has an ad report card, which I did not know until I read the one on Miller's new commercial, and I am deeee-lighted to find out somebody out there is thinking about the little low-life that wants to read about commercials at work. I'm not being sarcastic here, either. I am extremely happy to have something else to read other than celebrity gossip.

What happened to Steve Guttenberg? Wouldn't it be amusing if he staged a comeback, like Demi (Charlie's Angels) or Travolta (Pulp Fiction)? What if he transformed himself & his body (on Atkins, I'm sure - have you seen the new choices at Subway? It's nuts!)? What if he reintroduces himself as a quirky, quiet actor with soul, heart, and enviable tap dancing skills in a new Spike Jonze sans Sofia Coppola movie? Or, better yet, what if he reintroduced himself the way all slick and shiny goo-goo actors do, trying to make themselves more serious by taking on a War movie or the Holocaust?

I know what I'm about to say is in poor taste, but here it goes - a man died this weekend, he's actually related by marriage to one of my supervisors. He was killed by trying to put up a pinata, and he fell off the roof. Only in New Mexico would that happen.

As for the subject of this entry, I distinctly remember the nicer, blander Rosie O'Donnell raving about Savage Garden's Ch-ch-cherry cola part in that catchy little re-re song. Stupid, I know.

2004-01-12 | 1:25 p.m.

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