New York Governor David Paterson has proposed an 18% "obesity tax" on soft drink sales in New York state. The American Beverage Association objects ('natch), claiming that this tax will put the squeeze on the middle class. ("In an economy like this, the last thing we should do is raise taxes on hardworking families." -ameribev.org )

Let's say I consume a single 2-liter Coca-Cola every 2 days. That's 180 2-liters per year. (Don't judge me.) At $1.50 per 2-liter, that's $270 I spend on Coke per year. I already pay 7% sales tax for Coke, meaning that $270 of Coke costs me $288.90. If I were forced to pay an additional 18% tax on top of that, those 180 Cokes cost $337.50, a nearly $50 increase over the course of a year. (That's a lot more than I spend on comic books these days.)

Even in these hardscrabble times, that's not really a lot of money. And I drink a LOT of Coke. (Don't judge me.) How many families in New York consume as much soft drink per person as I do? Turns out that according to the National Soft Drink Association, the national average is somewhere near 105 2-liters per American per year. For the average New Yorker (at, say 1700 Broadway in Manhattan, the home of DC Comics) paying a sales tax of 8.375% on that same $1.50 Coke, they'll be paying $199.04 instead of $170.69, an annual difference of about $30.

Needless to say, ABA, I don't think this will break the back of New Yorkers. And the number is so low, that it is unlikely to really discourage that many obese middle class buyers. (Though I do think of my dad, who won't buy any 2-liter soft drink at a cost greater than $1.00, because "the price was never that high when I was a kid!")

But don't take this article as me supporting the government involving itself in my buying habits on the grounds that it knows better than I do what's good for me. I'm the guy that opposes seat belt laws, remember? If I want to get too fat from sipping sugary beverages to be thrown to my death from my car in an accident, I think that's my right!. And I'll let the ABA use that argument if they think it will help them.

Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go to work saving my life by pouring another Coke.

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Though I don't care for parties, champagne, ball drops, singing, resolutions, hangovers, Dick Clark, or anything else that is traditionally associated with "New Years" ("why do you have to be so negative all the time?" grumbles my father), I do like to start the year out on the right foot. Therefore, I present for you my favorite poem, written almost 2 decades ago by a man destined to be a reality tv-show star, to get you in the proper mood for the New Year:

We both lie silently still in the dead of the night.
Although we both lie close together, we feel miles apart inside.
Was it something I said or something I did?
Did my words not come out right?
Though I tried not to hurt you, though I tried.

But I guess that's why they say,
"Every rose has its thorn.
Just like every night has its dawn.
Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song.
Every rose has its thorn."

Yes, it does. You'd do well to take these words to heart. That's not negative; it's just the way it is. I'm sure that the lesson that you learn could get you into Heaven one day.

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I would like to go on record as saying that Vonage has the worst television advertisements in the history of recorded man. Essentially, their commercials boil down to the simple phrase, "idiots and criminals use our product!" Now, I'm all for the peer-pressure approach to mass marketing, but I really think that Vonage has done something wrong here.

Vonage's previous marketing campaign, something that can only be called the "Hey, look! Things are happening in the world that are much more interesting than our sales pitch" sales pitch, was bad enough. But now their ads feature an orange-painted van, some cross between the Scooby-Doo Mystery Machine and B. A. Baracas' A-Team fortress, driving by and hitting people in the heads with pizza boxes like some twisted Grand Theft Auto side-mission. (I'm sure these pop references are intentional, as Vonage is trying desperately to reach people like me who are computer literate and have a, shall we say, invested interest in popular culture.) While this would seem to be a step in the right direction, rising from "please ignore our product" to "assault and battery," the recipients of the products are always the lowest common denominators of society: the stupid, clueless, or criminally stupid or clueless.

Some people will tell you that the purpose of television advertisement is to simply get the name of your product stuck in the heads of potential buyers so that when the time comes, they think of your product. And, granted, most people don't think about the commercials on tv, their eyes simply glaze over as they wait for bumper music to tell them that Wife Swap is coming back in seconds. (I had a roommate once — hi, Jason! — who had the uncanny ability to perfectly time all commercial breaks in his head. We'd be watching something and he'd channel surf during commercial breaks. I'd always get nervous about returning from commercials and missing the cliffhanger resolution, but he'd always click back exactly as the show was coming back. Really, I think it qualified as a super-power. I'm sure that he'd make a fascinating case study for some up-and-coming Raleigh St. Clair. As a result of this ability, however, he NEVER watched tv commercials and had no memory of any ads.) However, I think this approach to television marketing is too simplified. What you don't want your customers to do is to think about how they don't like the message that your sending.

Take, for example, the recent Visa ad where a well-oiled machine of holiday shoppers wanders in lock-step through a cafeteria line until some well meaning but unenlightened individual pays with cash instead of his Visa card and the entire operation is halted in its tracks as the cashier fumbles with change. Visa, while everyone does wish for smooth transactions, telling them that they are robots when they use your card isn't going to endear yourself to anyone's use. Mindless automatons hate to be reminded that they *are* mindless automatons.

Vonage is trying to hit that same market that Quiznos tried to tap with those two talking rat-toejam things a few years ago. (I once heard them described as Mr. Potato Rats, but I think they are officially called spongmonkeys.) As Quiznos soon learned, having unidentifiable rodents pitch for your sandwiches is a bad idea, even if it does get people to recognize your product. I haven't eaten at Quiznos since, and for the same reason, I won't even consider using Vonage: I just don't want to be among the people who respond positively to your bad advertising. (On a related note, Quiznos recently ran ads calling prime rib the "king of steaks," which so angered my father, I got an hour long lecture on cuts of meat. Needless to say, he's not eating a Quiznos, either. Related note number 2: It may come as no surprise that an Executive Vice-President of Marketing for Quiznos was recently arrested for soliciting an underaged girl for sex. Clearly Quiznos' marketing department has a hard time figuring out what their target demographics should be.)

Why do I mention all of this? No reason, really. I just hate those Vonage ads.

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Georgia beat Georgia Tech for the 6th year in a row today. My father, a Tech graduate, was very irritable in the stands after Georgia scored the go-ahead points in the final 2 minutes. But even he still had a good time. I suspect that we'll be playing in the Dec. 30 Chick-Fil-A Bowl, but I'll be damned if I know what ACC team we'll play against.

It's been a long, puzzling season for the Bulldogs. Frankly, I'm a little surprised that we finished with a respectable 8-4 record. After the Homecoming loss to Vanderbilt, I figured we had no chance against Auburn or Georgia Tech. I guess that goes to show what I know.

Looking back at the season, I remember the hecklers during the Tennessee game, the buffalo on the sideline at the Colorado game, and the UGA tailgaters offering the Vanderbilt faithful barbecue after their victory. Yes, it's been a pretty good year, all things considered. And there are only 280 days to go until our September 1, 2007 kickoff against Oklahoma State. Go Dawgs!

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Two years ago, my father decided that he wanted to start keeping bees. So he invested in a hive, a suit, and a starter swarm. This week, he finally collected his first honey, which he put into those familiar little bear-shaped squeeze bottles.

He gave me a bottle and let me sample it. The locally produced honey does indeed taste fantastic. Then he revealed that after dividing the cost of the enterprise by the number of bottles that he was able to produce, he figures that each bottle was worth about $85.

It doesn't taste that fantastic.

Maybe I'll be able to afford a bottle when costs come down. In about 5 years.

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I'm back, and I have some catching up to do, don't I?

First game of the UGA season: victory! Dawgs win, 35-14, over the Oklahoma State University Cowboys. Word on the street was that the Cowboys sold out every seat that we offered them. Quite an impressive display of fan loyalty, there.

I know it was the first game and all, but I was surprised that the lady who owns the season tickets in the row in front of me didn't recognize me. She recognized my brother, and remembered my mother and father, but not me. I must have gained a lot of weight since last year.

Second game of the UGA season: defeat! Dawgs lose, 16-12, to the University of South Carolina Gamecocks. The Bulldogs performance was utterly uninspired, and the generally low expectations for this year's squad were proven uncannily appropriate awfully early in the season.

The crowd was barely involved in the game. I don't know if we were too shocked or if we had resigned ourselves to the loss early. In last year's SEC home losses, the fans were behind the team until the final second. But this time we seemed to be as stunned as the players on the field that South Carolina, who most of us had written off as beneath us, was having their way with us. Damn you, Spurrier! >shakes fist in rage<

Of course, the NFL season kicked off this weekend, and my team, the Miami Dolphins, lost. The teams of my couch-mates, my brother and his girlfriend, respectively cheering for the Philadelphia Eagles and the New York Giants, also lost.

So far, this does not have the makings of a very good Batman and Football Month.

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It almost seems a requirement to follow a blog posting about choking with an entry about chickens.

It was brought to my attention that chickens are gaining ground on dogs and cats in the pecking order of pets in America. You can now order your own pet chicks via the internet at sites such as mypetchicken.com. (I think it's amusing that they have a shopping cart that lets me put items in a "basket." It reminds me that I should not buy all of my chicken related supplies from them alone. Think of the consequences should they make a mistake and lay an egg with my order. Boy, would they have egg on their faces!)

I don't understand this upswing in poultry popularity. Even my father is now raising chickens in his backyard. He spends half his day running around like a... well, you know, tending to his peep, which is apparently the word for a group of chickens. What does he get for it in the end? Nothing but aches and pains. (After all, he's no spring chicken.) It's hardly a cheep hobby either.

Personally, I think this trend is for the birds. I blame this cuckoo fad on advertising, which places a premium on the sex appeal of chicks in our society, especially the size of their breasts and thighs. It raises my hackles to think that someone might prefer a fowl hen over an impeccable puppy as a best friend. Chicken soup for the soul morally can't be made from a processed pet! If this trend isn't reversed mid-flight, we could have entire generations counting on chickens before they're hatched. And that's a recipe for disaster.

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This weekend, my father taught my poodle how to climb under fences on his ranch. My poodle immediately took that newfound knowledge and climbed under the fence protecting the chickens and ate one. Though father was very, very angry with Chere, I still think he should reward her. I mean, applied knowledge is a clear sign of intelligence.

On the up side, dad won't have to bother feeding her any more. After all, if you give a dog a bone, she eats for a night. Teach her to climb under a fence, however, and she'll eat forever!

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Today is Talk Like Bob Dylan Day. So I suppose that everybody must get stoned.

These sorts of days seem to be happening more and more frequently, so I've compiled a little calendar to help us all out.

• May 19: Talk Like a Pilot Day. Roger.
• May 22: Yoda Talk This Way Day, yes?
• July 1: Talk Like a Canadian Day, eh.
• July 27: Bwah-Ha-Ha! Talk Like a Mad Scientist Day.
• September 19: Arrrr! Talk Like a Pirate Day.
• September 28: Have you heard of Ask a Stupid Question Day?
• October 17: Bad German Accent Day. (As if there was a good German accent.)
• April 25: A much needed Day of Silence

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Today's Atlanta Journal-Constitution ran an article about a contest between dog groomers, er, "pet stylists" in downtown Atlanta this weekend. The goal of the contest was apparently to dress a dog up like some cheap Party City Halloween costume. To no one's great surprise, most, if not all, of the dogs in the contest were standard poodles. (One was painted to look like Paul Stanley, which I would think both the poodle and Stanley would take as an insult.) As much as I enjoy grooming Chere, I wouldn't dress her up like a tramp for a chance at a $500 prize. A poodle's got to have her pride.

I just don't understand the inclination to make dogs look like people. (Especially people in Halloween costumes.) Every time I don't pay enough attention, my father is painting Chere's claws. Don't ask me; I don't know why. You read stories about people who hold weddings and birthday parties for dogs. Some dogs see psychiatrists. And I'm sure that some dogs are over-medicated by well-intentioned but stupid owners. Try to get it through your thick heads: dogs aren't people, people. If dogs were people, I'd hate them, too.

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