On being a snob

Accusations of snobbery have been hurled my way in the past, and yes, they are frequently justified. I have come to truly appreciate the slither of 330 thread count sateen-finished sheets against my skin; the taste of reverse-osmosis filtered water instead of iron-laden dreck from the well; the whisper of lavender teasing my nose during a bath instead of chemical scents overwhelming it; so yes, I am undoubtedly to some extent a snob.

This is never clearer to me than when I listen to wine advertisements on the radio. First of all, if the wine's that great, the waiter will recommend it in the restaurant or the clerk will recommend it in the store. Second, to the ad agency behind the ads for Frontera wine: those background singers intoning "Frontera" just makes me think of the Simpsons' episode with the rolling, exploding SUV, where the background singers chant "Canyonero" while it goes *BLAM* (not exactly a stellar association for a wine). Frankly, any wine with singers makes me think of the radio ads in my high school years for Canei wine. "Canei? Yes, you can!" Possibly even sweeter than Boone's Farm, Canei white was a staple of high school parties, screw top convenience and all.

Equally irritating are the radio commercials for the Ohio winery which claims, "We bottle perfect days." Evidently you also bottle Hallmark cards, then drink them and spew them out at the public. Granted, there are a few spots on the shores of Lake Erie where someone can enjoy the summer sunshine, but it's easier to do that if you haven't got ninety-gazillion clichés romping around in your brain.

If given a choice, I will stick with my fancy sheets, my fancy bath products, my bottled water and my unadvertised Ohio wines. Sometimes, it's okay to be a snob.