The Adnostic

I while back I read a post on Defective Yeti called "Threat Level Bershon" about how the TSA's facial expression screening process would eliminate any teenage girl from ever flying. I laughed and ignored the Bershon reference because I didn't know what it was and the post was funny regardless.

Then I saw a picture on Flickr posted by Dooce about being "so Bershon." That piqued my interest. WTF was Bershon? I clicked on the Bershon pool and just would a bunch of old pictures of bloggers in their awkward teens or their miserable children who really wish she wasn't about to post something totally embarrassing on the Internet again. I knew there was a connection, but I wasn't bright enough to figure it out.

So I did what any good Internet geek would do, I asked Google. The Oracle of Google fed me this link from Que Sera Sera about how she solidified a friendship through the instinctive knowledge of a common phrase - "I am SO BERSHON!" This is her definition of Bershon:

I was unclear at first, but by using contextual clues and in conferring with Erin, we’ve determined that the spirit of bershon is pretty much how you feel when you’re 13 and your parents make you wear a Christmas sweatshirt and then pose for a family picture, and you could not possibly summon one more ounce of disgust, but you’re also way too cool to really even DEAL with it, so you just make this face like you smelled something bad and sort of roll your eyes and seethe in a put-out manner. Kelly Taylor from Beverly Hills, 90210 is the patron saint of bershon, as her face, like most other teenagers’, was permanently frozen in this expression.

Having been an awkward yet stubborn teenager I am painfully aware of this condition. My parents were agonized by this condition in not one, but two of their children. My sister, Leah, always an overachiever, developed a strong case of continuous Bershon by the age of nine and is still undergoing physical therapy to unwrinkle her nose.*

I'm sure my parents have plenty of Bershon pool worthy pictures, but too bad for you and lucky for me she is too inept with the computer to even know what Flickr is let alone have an account.

* Kidding..... sort of.

Oh cheap fashion, you slutty temptress of my minor yet freakishly strong impractical side. My closet overflows with your wares. My wallet flinches in painful desire from your seductive touch. I am unable to resist your call.

A shopping trip for birthday presents at Buffalo Exchange always somehow yields a gift for myself as well.

Forever 21 is a disgusting whore whom I love to hate.

Loehmann's the Salome of fashion with thousands instead of merely seven veils.

And now TrendCentral has introduced me to yet another uncaring mistress of clothing - La Redoutte, an online catalogue for French fashion at prices that make me go weak in the knees.

I am weak, and life is so unfair.

On the eve of The Zen Master's arrival for my birthday he made me close my eyes and placed a box in my hands. I knew exactly what it was before I even opened my eyes. He gave me a Nano. A little white Nano. I finally have an iPod of my very own! (Take that technologically inept mother who only listens to talk radio and the Spawn of Satan.) ZM was then showered with praise and kisses for his good gifting.

So now I have a Nano to take running with me and I love it. It's much easier to go farther and not concentrate on how much more you have left to go while you're listening to music. Except for that first time I used it and I was trying to power trough the final uphill part of my run and it shuffled to Etta James' "Sunday Kind of Love." Not exactly helpful, but the Ditty Bops version of "Bye Bye Love" puts a surprising happy spring in my step. Who knew?

Then comes the accessories. I bought the armband, of course, and one of my friends gave me a cute little felt pouch from Boy Girl Party that is the perfect size for all my Nano stuff, and now it's time to covet all the other niceties for my little white wonder.

1) I'm going to need extra battery power and plug in capability for my trip to Marbella (TSA permitting).

2) You can't expect me not to personalize this thing, and once it has a Gellaskin with a Japanese woodblock print motif it shall be so.

3) Because I use it running, how can I not be tempted by the Nike Sport Kit iPod widget? It may be only $30, but the special Nike shoes with the little widget hole would set me back another $150. Um, maybe for my birthday next year.

ZM to the rescue once again. He pointed me to this blog post on how to make any shoe compatible with the Nike Sport Kit widget. How can I not love a man who lets me exercise my geekiness and my frugal Jewish-ness?

Here are two things I found recently that I simply must share. One is funny and the other is just fun. Enjoy.

And this for your artistic pleasure.

When does a community of enthusiasts get classified as a “cult?” When people get tattoos of the brand? When owners know something the rest of the world does not? When engineers spend countless hours of their free time doing product development for company that is only offering them more of their products in exchange?

Mini Cooper is leveraging their enthusiasts by creating a direct mail campaign with a secret box filled with a book on “A Dizzying Look at the Awesomeness of Small” and a couple decoder tools. The tools can be used to find the secret messages in Mini ads placed in five national magazines. MiniOwnersLounge.com instructs recipients on how to use the decoder tools.

One hidden message supposedly leads them to the site asweseefit.com about protecting insects and whatnot, but I looked and there doesn’t seem to be anything there.

Mini’s Marketing Manager and VP are also planning a 14 day 3,000 mile road trip across the US to have dinner with the 200 Mini owners joining them on their trek and enjoy live bands and comedians with the 3,300 other owners who have signed up to meet them along the way.

Read more in Ad Age and this blog. See more pictures of the creative execution here.