Earlier this week I picked up a box of wine at the grocery store, because I am a Classy Lady with Classy Lady Tastes. (Wine is one of those things that shouldn’t be cheaper in bulk and yet is.) Before I stuck it in the fridge (behind the pimento cheese, in front of the pesto), I took a gander at the box copy.
And that’s how I learned that I wasn’t drinking wine from a box. I was drinking wine from an “eco-cask.”
You guys? I think I have a new favorite word.
I realize that the person writing the non-Franzia box wine copy is not lying when they say that boxed/bagged booze is better for the environment than glass bottles. But there is something inherently hilarious to me about the fact that that’s the new marketing tack for a product that I basically associate with soccer moms.
Other than my friend the eco-cask, it’s been a weird week in ways that are not relevant to the blog. But–I did go see Bon Iver with my dad and m’colleague Anna, which was a lovely reminder that the Bon Iver guy is maybe a little bit crazy. The set design was reminiscent of giant beards/Spanish moss, and Anna and I passed the opening band’s time on stage trying to guess whether or not Bon Iver dude was nesting in the beards. (Answer: possibly.)
On a related note, look at what Anna found: Bon Iver Erotica. A sample:
Bon Iver and I spent all morning at the farmer’s market listening to the banjo boy, whose talent was an unexpected delight. While we listened, Bon Iver made a friendship bracelet from reeds, grasses and thin strips of bark he found. When the boy took the second of his scheduled 15-minute lemonade breaks, Bon Iver placed the bracelet in the boy’s overturned cap with a flourish. ‘I’ve been that boy, and I want him to know the banjo’s not his only friend,’ he said.
Besides hipster music times, my day is filled with approximately 900 (3) different internet projects/watching Doctor Who a lot. Do you want more of my ramblings with various levels of safety for work? (Answer: yes.) Then I recommend my thesis blog, my health promotion Twitter, and Manic Pixie Voicemails. And, as always, I am happy to edit your resume for money.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go take a nap before I read about how crazy every historical scientist ever was.