Wednesday, September 29, 2010
There is so much wrong here, it's hard to know where to begin. I think I'll just take the commercial's many flaws in order of appearance.
First, we see something I'm pretty sure I've never seen in a commercial for deodorant before- a guy actually applying the stuff to his armpit. Hey Degree, did you think that maybe there's an adult out there who doesn't know how to use your product? Is this something you thought we'd really appreciate seeing? I can only hope that the makers of Preparation H don't copy this really bad idea.
Just in case you aren't getting the subtle message- um, guys? We know how to apply deodorant. Thanks anyway.
Ok, next, we see our rugged, manly hero tumbling down the side of a mountain on his bike and mysteriously losing his front wheel. This has never happened to me in almost forty years of riding a bike, and I've never even watched a video of someone putting a bike together. So in my life I've managed to apply deodorant AND ride a bike without having an accident. I feel so accomplished right now.
Now things get REALLY stupid. Our hero continues down the mountain on one wheel, chasing the front tire as he goes. The disclaimer reads "Professional Stunt. Do Not Attempt."
Hold it right there, degree. There is no "stunt" being performed here. Just fancy camera and computer manipulation and special effects. It's not as if this guy is really chasing his tire down the mountain, after all- any possibility of conning the most gullible of viewers into believing that what they are seeing has any basis in reality (and therefore qualifies as a "stunt") is erased when the bicyclist bounces across a stream- what is the errant front tire doing during this time? Bouncing in one place, waiting for him to catch up? And then proceeding down the hill when it senses our hero is ready to resume the chase? Um, no, YouTube droolers. Really not possible. Thanks for playing, though.
The front tire and the bicyclist finally come back together again on a stretch of highway- no tools needed, which at least partially explains why the tire fell off in the first place. At this point Degree AGAIN attempts to pass this off as some kind of amazing stunt, as the bicyclist throws his arms up in triumph- yeah, congratulations, buddy. You've managed to appear in a crappy deodorant commercial. Other than that, kind of hard to see what you've actually accomplished here.
I don't mind trick photography and special effects in commercials. I don't mind cool stunts in commercials. What I mind is when a company has so little respect for it's customers that it is comfortable in conning them with a commercial which features special effects and calls it a cool stunt.
Oh, and when a company thinks it's customers don't know how to use it's product and need to have this demonstrated. Even when it's deodorant.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
LOL this commercial is so funny! It has everything! In this I agree with all the thumbs up here at YouTube which btw is my favorite cite cept for Facebook LOL and I think this is the Best. Commercial. Ever. It's epic.
I mean, first of all, it's got these old guys who were in a similar commercial around 20 years ago, and John says he's old enough to remember it, which LOL makes it a super epic commercial, like Retro like A-ha or something and I totally agree with the YouTube comments here. Epic Epicness.
Then as if thats not enough you got these guys agreeing to be friends, which would be suck ass lame except you know someone's gonna get fucked over royal like u just wait and see. So that makes it funny 'cause you know it's not gonna last, so very epic.
Then here is the best part cause it happened to a friend of mine once and we all had a good LOL over it. The one guy takes out his smartphone when the other guy who thinks they are friends now and he videos the second guy drinking a Pepsi. When the second guy is like what the fuck? the first guy says "YouTube'd it." Then he shows him, and first let me say this is totally awesome cause the guy has no respect for the second guy's privacy, if he wanted privacy he should not have left the house FYI buddy everyone's got cameras in their phone if you didn't want to be on YouTube you shouldnta left the house moron LOL!
Then the second guy realizes hey I could lose my job when my bosses see this, so not only did this guy pretend to be a friend and then fuck him over with the YouTube'd thing but now the second guy maybe is going to get fired, which means he won't be able to afford soda at all anymore and say goodbye to your house if you've got a mortgage loser LOL!!
Then here is the best part which really puts the period on the epic epicness of this commercial. Next thing we know we've got the first guy being thrown through the window by the second guy LOL I hope that first guy is dead that would rock but then we wouldnt have a sequel which would totally suck because this commercial is so epic.
I think what is so great about his commercial is because its so real, I mean, at my YMCA the assholes who run it put up NO CELLPHONES IN LOCKER ROOMS which I think is really gay but I guess its because they think someone might YouTube someone showering or naked and boom its on YouTube LOL. Which would be so epic but I guess those guys dont think so they should get a life hey cellphones with video is here to stay and fuck privacy thats like so 20th century.
Anyway thats why I think this commercial is so epic awesome ROTFLMAO. I'm glad I got a chance to use this blog to say it but actually I think this is kind of a lame site LOL dont tell John LOL
--John Jamele's 13-year old intern, who volunteered to do this post because John had a headache from pounding his head against a wall
Saturday, September 25, 2010
It's bad enough that the people in this commercial appear to be INSANELY happy to be eating at The Olive Garden- I mean, good lord. They look like they are five years old and are being treated to a day at Disney World. But the ridiculously blissful grins are only the beginning of this reality-bending slice of garbage, which is over the top even for OG ads.
This guy tells us that he "goes to The Olive Garden all the time.." Seriously? You know, there ARE other restaurants out there. They're called GOOD restaurants. And if you skip the Olive Garden two or three times, you could afford to go to one.
This guy continues "...and I knew about the endless bread sticks and salad, but now there's endless PASTA as well?" Yep, you can now get "endless" (I don't know why "unlimited" or "all you can eat" doesn't work fine here. Not as classy-sounding? How classy can you be, you are at the OLIVE GARDEN!) pasta too!
Wow, super-amazing deal here. All the pasta you can eat, plus all the salad and bread sticks, for "only" $8.95. Look, I know you pay a premium when you eat out- the food gets served to you, you don't have to do the dishes, etc- but think about this for a minute. Even if anyone would really WANT to mix spaghetti and tomato sauce in one course, followed by linguini and clam sauce the next, followed by angel hair pasta and pesto the next- how many bowls of pasta can a person eat at one sitting, especially while dampening the appetite with salad and bread? Nine dollars worth? If you think so, you haven't checked the prices of pasta lately. A box of spaghetti costs about fifty cents.
"How's your pasta, sir?" I'd prefer that his guy be rude and respond "it's pasta, and I've noticed that no matter how much of this wine I drink, I really don't want to eat that much of it," rather than the Not Funny Yet Hysterical-Laugh Inducing "Endless." Why does every Olive Garden ad end with people laughing? It sure isn't because anything even remotely amusing has been said.
Maybe it's the cheap wine. I suppose if they made that endless, these idiots would never leave.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Someone has Finally(!) responded to the decades-old demand of American males in their twenties and thirties for a chicken sandwich we can order without having to ponder the painful question "do you want that on wheat or white?"
Finally(!) we can get fried chicken, bacon, and cheese in one nifty little package, with no danger of exposing our bodies to nasty carbs or (shudder) fiber!
Finally (!) guys of limited means can kill themselves with food while sticking to a tight budget. Back in the bad old days, you'd have to spend serious money stuffing this level of fat and sodium into your bloodstream. Well, KFC to the rescue- now you can speed your way to the grave with the change you dug out of the couch or glove compartment.
And now, we Finally(!) have a lunch worthy of our consideration after breakfasting on IHOP's cheesecake-filled pancake platters.
All we need now is for someone to come up with a good, wholesome dinner-- I don't think Long John Silver's Hush Puppies or The Olive Garden's Endless Pasta Bowl with Breadsticks quite fits the bill- and we'll have our Last Request menu in place.
But back to KFC for a moment- I want the names of the people who actually requested this Double Down monstrosity. Because unless you make your living doing liposuction or open-heart surgery, it's hard to imagine how the existence of this crud really enhances your life at all.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
There are several of these nasty little bites of crud disguised as advertisements for Miller Lite out there, but this one pushed the wrong buttons for several reasons.
First- we have the super-hot bartender who behaves like no bartender who wants to keep her job- and the tips coming in- ever would: she openly mocks a customer. What exactly does "do you care how it tastes?" mean, anyway? I would be taken aback by this question, and maybe we can give the guy a pass for answering "no I don't care." I mean, I'd assume that it was a joke. I just ordered a Lite Beer. You are a bartender. I kind of expect that even if I don't specify a brand, you'll give me a beer you think tastes pretty good. You know, because I'm a customer, and all that quaint shit.
Second- "When you put down your purse and start caring, I'll give you a Miller Lite." Fucking Excuse Me? Who asked for your opinion of my wardrobe, beer monkey? Know when you are going to give me a Miller Lite? When I ask for one. Which btw, will be never, because why the hell am I drinking light beer anyway?
Third, in response to "it's a carry-on," the bartender doesn't quite seem to know what to do with her empty skull- "no, it's not" comes out of her lips, but she shakes her head in the affirmative. What the hell? It's bad enough that you've created an argument with a customer, lady. What's with the "no" answer and the "yes" headshake? What's with the attitude? My money not green enough for you?
Naturally when the guy gets back to his "friends" with his beer, he's treated with condescending derision from all of them, including the Token Black Guy Who Must Appear in Every Beer Ad Featuring More than Three Males. Naturally.
Miller Lite seems pretty determined to give State Farm and NFL Direct a real run for their money when it comes to producing stupid, nasty, insulting commercials. With this string of Hot Judgmental Bartenders ads, I think they might just pull it off and win the race to the top of the steaming heap of putridness the commercial landscape has become. I'd just like to see a real bartender try to pull this crap and keep her job. I don't how cute this woman is; act like this in the real world and you'll be filling out an application at Hooters the next day.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
You know, it would be really easy for me to devote this edition of snark to the absurdity of featuring Shaquille O'Neal in a series of commercials for cable service. But if I wanted to do that, I'd include a clip of Shaq saving Stupid Father from the eternal disdain of his children because he failed to get tickets to a concert (or something, I have seen that one several times and I still don't really know what it's about.) Too easy, too obvious.
Instead, I'm going to ignore Shaq altogether and focus on the pathetic, whiny little toad curled up in a ball in his living room chair, freaking out because he can't get a video to download ("Come ON!!!!" he pleads) OR the Satellite signal to return to his tv during a thunder storm. Oh Noes, this poor guy is being deprived of all electronic stimulation, what will he do?
I mean, seriously, what's he supposed to do, turn his toys off and go read a (gasp) BOOK? Indulge in a hobby which does not involve an internet connection or the word "fantasy?" Get real.
My parents have a satellite dish. When there's a thunderstorm, the tv gets unplugged because if the dish is struck by lightning, the damage to the tv is not covered by the warranty. Know what? No one freaks out at that house when the tv is not in use and the internet is down. Because the people who live there know how to read, talk to each other, play cards, etc.
I can't get over the fact that we've got a grown man reduced to the fetal position because he can't watch tv or surf the web. Time to re-evaluate your life, buddy. I don't think you'll like what you see.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Here we see a bunch of imagination-starved louts, their brain cells fried by the cotton candy of downloadable video and instant-gratification fantasy games, incapable of having fun with what looks to be a 1990s era, Atari-style football game. You can just see one of them muttering "huh? Wha' jus' happened? This sucks, man. Those dots don' look like people, so how can I tell they're supposta be people?"
"The NFL has never been a game of dots..." the narrator begins. And we know what's coming- fuck this dot shit guys, now you can go to NFL Fantasy Football.com and see actual video when you play your game.
When I was around 12 years old, me and my brothers played a really cool electronic football game- you'd pick offensive and defensive plays from a file and then put them on a piece of transparent plastic backlit by a light bulb. Then you'd slide an opaque piece of paper over your selected plays, revealing which side guessed correctly and whether yards were gained or lost. We'd play this game for HOURS. Know why? Because it required strategy, and it was AWESOME.
My nephew got married this past summer. When he was seven years old, in 1987, we'd spend hours playing an NFL computer game on my Tandy 1000 TX. The "players" were little blobs of color on a green screen representing the field. Every sack resulted in a loss of six yards, and for some reason the little blob labeled Art Monk would always make a big play when my nephew wanted him to, dammit. We'd play this game for HOURS. Know why? Because it was easy and FUN.
Now, NFL.com tells us that unless our games look exactly like television, they are really really lame and you'll die of boredom attempting to play them.
Well, fuck off, NFL. Not all football fans are brain-dead losers who need their fun spoon-fed to them. Why would I want to play a game that makes me think I'm just WATCHING a game?
Maybe I'd understand it better if I understood fantasy football to begin with- when I was a kid, we'd dash outside between commercials, at half time, and between games to throw a football around. We still play touch football on Holidays, when we can get enough of the family together. I guess the NFL wouldn't get this, since they think that when we aren't actually watching a game, we should be spending all our time checking stats, "conducting trades," playing some crap version of a real contest on our laptops, and above all gradually becoming part of our couches as our brains turn to jelly.
Facebook. Cell phones. Fantasy Football. Nope, this Obesity Epidemic has me stumped. What could possibly be the cause?
You could at least stop being part of the problem, NFL.
Now that you can blather incessantly for unlimited hours (still laughingly referred to as "minutes" in these commercials,) text your fingers off, watch videos and television, play games, manage your fantasy leagues (taking breaks now and then to check Facebook and fantasize that you have friends, or looking out the window and fantasizing that your life is worth living) and basically waste your youth away fiddling with a stupid piece of plastic as your waistline and ass expand exponentially and your inevitable bout with diabetes moves ever closer, your existence is, truly, Fascinating, isn't it?
Not that this will have any impact on you pathetic zombies, but do you ever stop to think that maybe it's pretty damned sad that you are being sold a phone called the "Fascinate" many, many years after cell phone technology ceased to be anything close to "fascinating," and many, many years after cell phones moved from conveniences to life-sucking, privacy-denying nuisances? Today I'm speaking in particular to the obnoxious jackass on the jogging trail thirty yards in front of me this afternoon, who insisted on carrying on an EXTREMELY LOUD "conversation" (I assume someone was on the other end, though I can't imagine when that person had a chance to add anything) sprinkled with plenty of cursing and what used to be considered rather delicate, private details- that is, back when we actually had a civilization going on here.
Remember those days? They were fascinating.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
These "Family Stories" ads are a little funnier on the radio- people "discussing" the car that serves as the center of their lives, how Cousin Bob bought one two years after he got off the boat from the old country, and here's a black and white showing that event, and later he turned it over to his first-born, embracing the tradition of primogeniture, but then later that guy bought another Camry and the original was handed off....well, you get the idea.
Still, actually seeing people wax poetic about the family car is pretty darned amusing, especially when you remember that, after all, they are talking about a CAMRY. All these kids are dreaming of the day when mom and dad decide it's time to pass the family car on to the next generation- one girl gives a "YES!" fist pump when recalling that glorious day when she inherited the well-worn chariot. Another kid allows himself to fantasize out loud that he might someday be bequeathed the family's new Camry Hybrid- only to suffer they "yeah right, as if you're worthy" (or maybe it's the "yeah right, as if this thing is still going to be running when you are old enough to drive, six years from now") derisive laughter of his parents and siblings.
So what's the hilarious punchline? It's not the stupid "Boller Camry Tree" pun- that's not hilarious, it's just cloying and stupid. It's the "Want to see the Boller's whole story? Go to Camry.com" we get in the tv ad. I mean, come on- first, does this nonsense really qualify as a "story?" The parents in this family buy Camrys and then pass them on to the kids. Not exactly as complicated as your average Dickens novel. We GET IT.
Second, I'm trying to picture the kind of person who would go online to see how this "story turns out." All I can get is an image of the Most Boring Person Who Has Ever Lived. I mean, if you find yourself actually researching one family's car ownership history, you are probably beyond being told to get a life. BTW, this part is also funnier on the radio- I don't know why, but there's something unintentionally chuckle-worthy about a sober, serious announcer intoning "for more of this story, go to...."
I wonder if their server ever crashes from the surge in traffic after these ads.
Friday, September 17, 2010
State Farm's creepy eyeless wonder is back to tell us all about saving money, something he openly mocked not all that long ago in another ad. This time he's at Fenway, trying to sell us some line about saving being "America's Real National Pasttime."
Ok, hold it right there, buddy. Saving is "America's Real National Pasttime?" Really? Since when? The last time I checked, Americans were actually running a negative savings rate, regularly spending MORE THAN THEY MAKE. Not their fault in most cases- something to do with stagnant wage growth not matching a steady rise in the cost of living- but a fact just the same. Americans don't save a whole hell of a lot of money these days. In fact, Americans don't save ANY money these days. "National Pasttime?" Please.
This guy's lame pitch is given a boost from "random" passerbys, one of which is entertaining his friend with how he's been bringing his lunch to work every day and "fifty extra dollars, IN my pocket." Again- this is the kind of frugality that State Farm, with the help of this same spokeschoad, had fun ridiculing in a previous ad. Remember "what some people won't do to save money?" Sorry, buddy- you fail. This is not the way to save money, just the way to earn sneers from State Farm.
A woman walks up to our favorite Dick Tracy Villain (who was that- "BB eyes," right?) and declares "I save money by being accident free!" as if she's seeking approval from her dad. "See? I save money in an insurance-related manner. That makes me better, right? Right?"
In the end, we are told that if we REALLY want to save money, we need to stop the nickle-and-diming crap and give State Farm a call. Instead of sending this perpetually squinting creep with his smarmy grin around to mock us for our doomed efforts to save money without the help of his All-Wise Insurance Company, maybe they ought to offer to stop inflicting him on us innocent television viewers, who after all are just trying to relax after a long day of Saving.
And if they refuse, maybe we should give Flo over at Progressive another look. I mean, even her freakishly pale perkiness isn't as insufferable as State Farm's cheerfully condescending stalker.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
All of the NFL Direct Commercials have one thing in common: they all suggest that football fans are narrow-minded pigs who are so bigoted against people who dare root for a team other than their own, they are willing to commit acts of almost insane stupidity, cruelty or lawlessness against the "offenders."
I could do an entire month just on these commercials. In one, which I may use later if I find myself in pinch, a police officer "hilariously" (according to the drooling choad who posted it to YouTube) tazers a guy on his fantasy football team as "payback" for daring to use the advantage of DirectTV. Haha, what's funnier than police brutality?
This one, however, beats it out as the most sickening episode I've seen so far. A thoroughly evil waitress is so damned bitter than a group of slackers is rooting for another team that when (admittedly rudely) asked for more iced tea, she actually wrings out her filthy dishrag into their drinks and stirs them with her finger. Oh, how delightful. This is high comedy in trailer parks and among 13-year old boys, neither of whom you'd think would be likely customers for a high-end cable service. How a thinking adult could react with anything but disgust for the ad writers and repulsion for the company which insists on bludgeoning us with one of these pointless, loathsome piles of crud after another is, I admit, beyond me. That being said, I imagine I'll get getting a lot of "OH LITEN UP ITS FUNNY LOL" responses.
Here's the only way this commercial falls just short of horrifyingly repulsive: Each of the worthless jackanapes about to consume dishwater with their tea is watching the football game on their own personal electronic devices- I guess there's a cell phone in there, and an I-Pad, and maybe a FloTV, I don't recognize each device. Maybe they've been there for hours, have long since paid for their lunches, and continue to squat at their table only occasionally demanding refills but otherwise just taking up space and refusing to exit and make room for other paying customers. I can see the waitress becoming frustrated that they've decided to treat the restaurant like it's someone's living room, while "treating" the other patrons to the noise from their little tv-toys as well as their "intelligent" comments concerning the game. I can see the anger and impatience rising in this woman, as she watches other people come and go but these losers who have apparently been exiled from Hooters, the local tavern, and all the other places real people go to watch football sit and sit and demand one free refill after another....
All that being said, it's still pretty darned disgusting, and I'm sorry- but if you think this commercial is funny, please don't bother to let me know. There is something really, really wrong with you.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Is it this guy, with his hang-dog look, his greasy hair, and his total inability to stick up for himself and tell this wretched woman what he thinks of her "its not like you are a human being or anything" attitude? I mean, can we all agree that a glass of cold water to the face would be a perfectly appropriate response to the look she gives him in the ad's final seconds?
Is it this woman, who we can easily imagine spent each moment of every date consulting her Facebook page, tweeting, texting, and otherwise treating the guy she was with like a worthless piece of crap who only existed to pick up the check at the end of the evening? Is she really such a prize that guys are likely to instantly note her "single" status and start calling her asking for an opportunity to take her and her phone out for a nice dinner and get treated like a pile of shit for their efforts?
The answer is really None of the Above. Yes, these people are both really pathetic losers. The guy has no spine and no dignity, the woman probably once had a soul, but it's been exchanged for a Social Network, and all that's left behind is a hollow shell which, sorry, does not have the surface attraction to pull off this level of cruelty for very long. But in a way, they are also winners- they are both getting out of what was probably a miserable non-relationship anyway, not that they are likely to provide warmth and a level of happiness to anyone else in the near future. Or ever.
So, who are the real losers? The answer is actually pretty obvious: the real losers are the other people sitting down for dinner at what looks to be a pretty nice restaurant, because they get to hear these two disfunctional knobs "communicate" with each other through their cell phones, which at LEAST are on vibrate (but anyone who has ever been in a confined place near a person with a constantly-vibrating cell phone knows that this is only a small comfort.) Never mind the glass of water to the face of the woman in this commercial- I think that the other customers would be more than justified in ganging up on these two insufferable twits and cracking their skulls together if they won't turn off their damned phones and just TALK TO EACH OTHER. It's not like they were using the contents anyway.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
The narrator of this commercial is so happy. I mean, she just got married to the Perfect Guy.
Except that he's got horrible taste, and no way is she tolerating it. Dogs Playing Poker poster? Got to go. Beer can collection? Not in HER house.
And except that he acted like a total baby when he learned that the equation is (OUR stuff= MY stuff -HIS stuff.)
That's ok, he'll grow up quick under this woman's thumb. I mean, it's not like she's demanding that he throw it away. She'd never be that unreasonable. She just wants it packed away where she will never, ever see it again, or be reminded of the time when he was a bachelor or had an identity beyond Her Husband.
So everything this guy has ever prized, everything he ever treasured, is packed away in a U Store It, locked up nice and tight, and for a few dollars a month, it will stay there. Probably not too many months though- I mean, really, how long can it be before this woman decides that her husband's crap isn't worth those few dollars a month, and decides to hold an impromptu yard sale? (I bet her husband acts like a baby when THAT happens, too.)
Message received and processed: Marriages aren't about respect or compromise. They are about one person getting what she wants, and the other person getting the hell out of the way. Lovely.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
"Mom, do you remember the day I was born?"
"Boy, do I ever! I had come in for my 41-week check, and the doctor decided to induce me."
"Do you remember how you felt when you realized you were going to have me?"
"I remember the doctor was impatient, I guess I took longer than he expected, because I distinctly recall that he looked at his watch over and over again."
"Weren't you thinking about me coming out, how you'd hold me and..."
"Sure, sure. I also remember how the nurse kept trying to distract me by getting me to 'breathe' or something. Oh, and then the doctor left, and I made a mental note- between gasps of air- of the clothes he was wearing."
"Um....but then you called Dad, right? Wasn't he there when you..."
"After I made the mental note that the doctor was wearing tennis shoes as he was leaving, all I could think was 'wait till I get home and get online, I'm going right to Angie's List!"
"I bet you were so happy when you brought me home..did you love me even then?"
"Sure, sure. When I got home I went to Angie's List right away- I had to tell my story and nail that doctor, what a jerk.."
"But you brought home a healthy baby, everything went great, you brought me, a new life, into the world..."
"The guy left early. And he was wearing TENNIS SHOES. TENNIS SHOES!! I'll never forget it!"
"So when you think about the day I was born, you think about..."
"TENNIS SHOES! I mean, can you believe it?"
Sure, I believe it. Especially if this is the same woman as the one who starts her nag with "I was tired of cleaning my house" (oh you poor baby, I know exactly how you feel) and ends by bitching about how the otherwise-perfect wage slave she hired annoyed her with her whistling. What is it about Angie's List that breeds obnoxious, whiny, demanding, ungrateful, anal-retentive idiots?
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Here’s another one of those commercials that only “work” if the people in them agree to act like disfunctional morons who think something incredibly ordinary is incredibly extraordinary. Oh, and it also helps if you think puns- ANY puns- are worth telling. “No Weigh?” Yes, I get it. No, it’s not worth getting.
Speaking of something worth getting....
I’m only including it in this blog because I’m pissed at the US Postal “Service” right now. Seems my new Kindle “left seller facility and is in transit” on August 29. Estimated delivery date: September 7.
On September 1, the package arrived at Martinsburg West Virginia. Only a couple hundred miles from here, but for some reason, the estimated delivery date is still September 7. Ah well, must the be Labor Day rush or something.
On September 2, an “Arrival Scan” is performed on the package. Where did it arrive? None of my business, I guess. Estimated Delivery Date is still September 7.
On September 8, at 10:05 AM, my package goes through another “Arrival Scan” in Silver Spring, MD- the delivery address is in the same town, only a matter of time now, right? Estimated Delivery Date is still September 7.
It’s Wednesday Evening, September 8, and no sign of my Kindle. Estimated Delivery Date: September 7. And yes, it does say September 7 2010.
Thanks, US Postal “Service.” Oh well, I guess you can’t do everything right. Maybe you can’t move a 1 lb. package from West Virginia to Maryland inside of a week, but at least you make really great commercials......
(Update: Just received an E-Mail telling me that my Kindle was delivered to my place of work at 12:05 PM-- I get this email at after 8 PM, when the Post Office is of course closed, and I can't call to tell someone that no, it was NOT delivered at 12:05 PM because I was there at that time, and I don't have my Kindle...again, thanks EVER SO MUCH, United States Postal "Service.")
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Remember when you were five?
Remember when you were five, and your imagination hadn't been burned out of your skull by the branding iron of crappy tv and instant-gratification media?
Remember when you were five, and you couldn't imagine that you'd grow up to be a greasy, hairy loser spending your days sitting on a bench looking for inspiration from a little glowing toy in your hand?
Remember when you were five, and the world looked magical because you could look at a building and imagine a monster, when you could look at clouds and imagine ice cream castles everywhere (imagery by Judy Collins)?
Well, now that you are a dull-witted, brain-dead techno-addict adult, clouds only block the sun, and rain and snow on everyone, but the latest must-see time-consuming life-sucking garbage is only a few clicks away on your cell phone. And as you sit there on your bench, so immersed in numbing pointless bullshit that you don't notice that your "life" is ebbing away all around you, you might take a moment to pretend you are five years old again. That is, you can pretend that you are five years old again if, when you were five years old, you had the imagination and energy of a rotting zucchini.
Remember when you read Brave New World, and you thought that Huxley was prophetic when he foretold a time when people would pop pleasure contained in a pill? Now we know that Huxley was far off the mark- the drug of choice for the people of the future would not be Soma, but cell phones. The "cure" for social isolation would not be Free Love, but fantasy friends on Facebook. I wonder if Huxley's prophecy was more stark than our reality.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Let's see- Fairbanks Alaska has been co-opted by Prilosec, so where can we find another town filled with overweight, pasty, cold white people eager to mug for the cameras?
Hey, how about St. Cloud, Minnesota? It looks every bit as frozen and boring and desperate for attention as Fairbanks, and as an added bonus, we can make some silly wordplay with the name, getting each and every member of it's population of "no really we love living here" losers to make a reference to "sleeping on a CLOUD" and that will be clever and cute and funny because REMEMBER this is St. CLOUD Minnesota, get it? GET IT?
So here we go, roughly half a minute of watching fat choads who might as well have been bused in from Fairbanks making total asses of themselves, bleating bad one-liners as they drape their flannel-wrapped, overfed carcasses across mattresses.
"Ask me about sleeping on a cloud!" enthuses one particularly loathsome old bat. Because you'd know all about that, living in St. Cloud Minnesota. This makes no sense, but it doesn't matter, because how could we go about "talking to you" about it anyway? Never mind.
We even have one guy give his testimony standing on a hockey rink- LA must have been suffering from a heat wave when the Prilosec and Tempur-Pedic contracts were signed, to make the agencies want to rush off to the most God-foresaken tundras they could find to film these ridiculously cheesy ads.
Can someone please take a camera crew to Hell, Michigan to ask people how they deal with horrible, cloying, overly-cutesy, witlessly stupid commercials?
Saturday, September 4, 2010
There is just so much to love here, staring from the opening bell. The narrator tells us that his name is Jason, that he lives in Fairbanks, Alaska- a bleak, dark, lifeless tundra bathed in a gloomy twilight- and then gives us the hilarious line "you don't come here to stay indoors." Say no more, Jason! I mean, the pictures tell it all- when I see endless fields of ice barely illuminated by a weak sun and imagine subzero temps, the first thing that I think is "Wow, I'm heading outside!"
"There's snow machining...sit on your buttcheeks (I'm pretty sure this is what he says) ice-fishing....." let me finish your thought for you, Jason. "There's drinking, there's bowling, there's hockey, there's drinking, there's......ice fishing. Drinking. Bowling. Did I mention drinking?"
There's also watching the Travel Channel, and pretending you live somewhere, anywhere else....
And then we get to Jason's "passion," Curling, and the point of this overlong ad. Jason tells us that he's suffered from heartburn in the past, which prevented him from "concentrating" on "the task at hand"- at this point, forgive me for mistaking this commercial for an Onion News Parody the first time I saw it. "The Task At Hand?" It involves doing something on a slab of ice. Just like everything else one does in Fairbanks, Alaska, I suppose, including ice fishing, drinking, hockey, drinking....
It's Day Seven of Jason's new life on Prilosec OTC. Unfortunately for him, it's Day God Knows How Many But It Feels Like Eternity of Jason's old life in Fairbanks, Alaska, a place one does not go unless one wants to be outside, for obvious reasons I don't feel the need to repeat here.
One more point I'd like to make about this ad- I'm always impressed at the ability of agencies to convince clients to spend money traveling to out of the way places to film a commercial which could just as easily been thrown together using people living right down the street from the studio. How did these guys sell Prilosec on the idea of flying a camera crew to Fairbanks, Alaska? That being asked, why Fairbanks, Alaska? Is there something about the cold and dark that aggravates heart burn symptoms?
If not, why didn't the agency scour the letters for a heartburn sufferer from Jamaica, or Paris, or Australia, or some other cool place that one might spend a few days? You know, someplace not populated by bored out of their minds overweight dopes who are trying to convince themselves that they like the cold and dark and that Curling is a "task" that needs to be performed well, or is worth performing at all?
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
First, this lunatic throws herself at the viewer, clearly infatuated with herself, her dress, the fact that she's getting married, her teeth....
Her teeth? OH NOES, her teeth don't match her freaking dress! Everyone will notice, of course, because her obvious intention is to spend the entire reception holding her frigging veil against her face and grinning like an insane person.
What can she do? I mean, she CAN'T get married if her pearlies don't match the shade of her blindingly white dress! What would people think? It's not as if anyone is going to be looking at anything but her damned glowing teeth, right?
Crest 3D White Strips to the rescue. Quick, put these sticky, nasty little pieces of plastic in your mouth and keep them there until the naturally not-ivory color of your teeth is bleached out and replaced by an almost supernaturally artificial white glow! (Oh, and be sure to get yourself a rich, deep tan, so as to exaggerate the whiteness of your chompers. Nice try, Crest.)
Yay, now her teeth are as white as her dress! Now she can spend hour after hour flinging herself around the room awkwardly daring her guests to count every single one of her ridiculously white teeth! And when it's all over, everyone will walk away talking about how beautiful the bride was, how lovely the dress was, and boy she sure is proud of those teeth, isn't she?
Or maybe she's just insane?