Accismus

In matters of grooming and dress, I am sometimes stylish, but rarely fashionable. I hope the same holds true for my creative output, but unfortunately, I fear the opposite is frequently the case for my ideas.

As this article points out:

There is a vast gap between fashion and style. Fashion is about clothes and their relationship to the moment. Style is about you and your relationship to yourself.

And

Style is also one part personality: spirit, verve, attitude, wit, inventiveness. It demands the desire and confidence to express whatever mood one wishes. Such variability is not only necessary but a reflection of a person’s unique complexity as a human being. People want to be themselves and to be seen as themselves. In order to work, style must reflect the real self, the character and personality of the individual; anything less appears to be a costume.

As anyone who’s ever tried to wear something too advanced for them knows, you can’t fake style that doesn’t belong to you. Nothing looks sillier than a person dressed in a way that makes them self-conscious and uncomfortable. I knew early on that I would not do well in outfits that needed to be managed, and in shoes that required an adjustment in pace. I might look silly wearing flip-flops with a cocktail dress, but believe me, I look far stupider trying to mince around in heels like I mean it.

Having recently moved into a new apartment, I’ve been setting up my room, and it occurred to me that, with each move over the years, the way I design my living and working space has more and more conformed to a certain, specific style, regardless of the differences in the actual rooms themselves (which differences have been vast). I like clean surfaces, a good deal of floor space, blues and greens, and stacks of things. I do not like anything small, decorative or incidental. I don’t have knick-knacks, or pictures on the walls.  There is almost nothing in my room that doesn’t have a daily, utilitarian purpose. It’s fascist-chic.  But at the same time, I do choose my useful objects with aesthetic qualities in mind.

Here’s designer Nikolay Saveliev (via Kottke):

 I like the idea of a consolidated aesthetic totality; what you make looks like what you listen to, sounds like what you wear, and speaks like what you believe in. In simpler terms, my girlfriend might look like she’s in a band I’d listen to, my haircut looks like it belongs in the chair I’m sitting in, and the work I’m designing might be written about in a book that I would read. Even my cat has to figure in there somehow. It’s a meticulous thing to maintain, but probably comes from the fact that I’ve discovered mostly everything through music, whether it’s ideologies, writers, artists, designers, cultures, subcultures, or other music. So it’s easy to tie things back into your work, as long as you keep your eyes and ears open, and maintain a healthy dose of critical thought.

Um, okay.  But actually, I think that many of us structure our lives this way to some extent, without being fully conscious of it. You design a personality in the same way you design your look. You pick and choose your political and religious philosophies. Choosing not to decorate a room can be as much a nod to one’s style as decorating it. I design my eating habits to match whatever goals I’m working on at any given time. I live in Williamsburg, land of dressing the part: you can’t be a starving artist if you look flush and fed, so everyone wears rags that accentuate their willful anorexia. Their slight waistlines reflect their genius (possibly in a more literal way than they’d prefer).

One big benefit to creating and adhering to a fully defined personal style is that it helps us easily weed through the massive amount of options that are available to us in every respect. Walking into a department store can be a dizzying horror of over-stimulation . . . unless you know you only wear black shift dresses, or only wear certain labels, or have a system whereby you purchase one kicky garment per month for the precise amount left over after you’ve met your expenses. Picking a book can be overwhelming, unless you narrow your interests to World War II and Catherine the Great, or vow never to read literature by contemporary authors, or only read comedies or mysteries. Style works as a sorting mechanism. If someone refuses to read Harry Potter no matter how much you assure them they’ll love it if they just give it a chance, it’s because it’s not a part of their self-defined style. It doesn’t fit.  Maybe they’ve decided they don’t do children’s literature, or fantasies, or anything that everybody’s currently into, and if they admit the possibility of liking this one exception, they have to alter their entire criteria, and that’s a whole big thing. 

We all enjoy constant and easy access to such an abundance of information and culture now. The challenge today is choosing what to consume and what to skip. All Them often say that the population is getting stupider, but I think the opposite is true, and, as this (cheering, if long) article proposes, the level of the dialogue has really gone up:

In most rich countries, the old distinction between high and popular culture is breaking down. . . . Millions more people are going to museums, literary festivals and operas; millions more watch demanding television programmes or download serious-minded podcasts. Not all these activities count as mind-stretching, of course. Some are downright fluffy. But, says Donna Renney, the chief executive of the Cheltenham Festivals, audiences increasingly want “the buzz you get from working that little bit harder”. This is a dramatic yet often unrecognised development. “When people talk and write about culture,” says Ira Glass, the creator of the riveting public-radio show “This American Life”, “it’s apocalyptic. We tell ourselves that everything is in bad shape. But the opposite is true. There’s an abundance of really interesting things going on all around us.”

I read an article (somewhere, some time ago..in The New Yorker, maybe?) that discussed how much more sophisticated television shows have gotten. Sure, there are a number of dumb ones, and quite a lot of formulaic ones, as well, but shows such as The Sopranos, Lost, Deadwood, etc. are unprecedented in their complexity, requiring viewers to retain and recall a great number of fully-developed characters enacting multiple storylines, which proceed at differing paces and occasionally overlap and inform each other in complicated ways.

I don’t know why it’s so often said that the web is making people stupider. I can hardly see how people in general can help but grow more and more sophisticated as we all have greater and greater exposure to…well, everything.

Sort of.

But then again, perhaps we’re all generalists, dabblers and fakes. Whereas there used to (by which I mean, you know, back then) be fewer intellectuals (by which I mean people who spent a good deal of their time reading, thinking and writing), those intellectuals really dug in. They were all equally familiar with an agreed-upon canon, they had classical educations. Maybe now there are more people who are somewhat interested and a little bit knowledgeable about a great many things, but the standards of deep and specific scholarship have declined, along with the number of serious scholars. Or not – I’m not basing any of this on actual data.

Here’s one challenge to the above article:

Yes, I believe that society is consuming more high culture, but why? Is it because we desire to learn, or because we want to appear that we’ve learned-that we’re cultured, intelligent, and eclectic? Since, particularly due the hipster oeuvre, intelligence is the new chic.

Chic, and easy to attain. Learn to pronounce Foucault, drop a well-placed Freaks and Geeks reference, read a few Great Books, subscribe to HBO and the Economist, mix in a little ironic Lil Wayne appreciation, and suddenly, you’ve got class, intelligence, and culture. And everyone perusing your Facebook knows it. Appearance, not reality.

(via Readerville)

I’m not one of those cheerleaders that believe reading in itself is somehow a wonderful intellectual activity, regardless of the literary content of the material. Is reading the back of a Cheerios box a more intellectual task than watching Citizen Kane? Likewise, I wouldn’t say that reading (or watching or listening to) something you’re completely unable to truly comprehend is a worthwhile way to spend your time. I remember reading Animal Farm in ninth grade, before I had any knowledge whatsoever of political theory or Stalinist Russia (although not all of my classmates were so woefully ignorant), and I got nothing out of it at the time, even though I was able to successfully fake comprehension.

But at the same time, intellectual curiosity is desirable in and of itself, and if that intellectual curiosity is only born of social trends, well, so much the better. If society is making it trendy to be smart, well-read and verbose, isn’t that preferable to honoring thinness, stupidity and purchasing power? And if most people don’t possess a great amount of in-depth knowledge about very many things, isn’t it better to know something about some things than nothing about anything?

I hope so.  If not, I should really stop writing this blog.

Okay, that’s it: I am not hanging out with the turtles this week. No matter how lonely I get. I need to spur myself to make some other friends, and yes, to meet some men. I am never going to meet anybody hanging out in the sewer all the time. I’m going to sit here, and I’m going to just be alone. I’m going to feel this loneliness and acknowledge it, and not run away from it. This is your life, April. Own up to it.

–

Alright, so I went over to the lair last night. I know I have to stop spending so much time over there. But the turtles are so much fun! We just mess around; it’s so easy to hang out with them. Last night, Michelangelo and Donatello both wanted the last piece of pizza, and they were really starting to fight about it, and then, like, this sai comes flying down in the middle of the last piece, and Raph’s just sitting there – it was really funny. And Splinter was all, ‘kids!’ I love those guys. But seriously. I was there until three in the morning, and I was wrecked today. It’s fine for them. They’re turtles; they never sleep. But my work’s starting to suffer – I’m not getting much reporting done anymore. And too, all these kidnappings are really getting in the way.

–

Went out with Irma after work today. We went to some bar, and a couple guys bought us a round, but then when we tried to talk to them, they kept making jokes about me. ‘So, you like being kidnapped, huh? You like the freaky stuff? You want to see my turtle?’ That kind of bullshit. These are the only kind of sick jerks I ever meet. When I meet anybody at all, that is. I guess that, as a high-profile news anchor in a major metropolis, people just find me unapproachable. It’s amazing to me that I can be known by everyone, and still so lonely.

–

Had disturbing dream. All four of them. And the rat. That’s it. I have to start hanging out with people.

–

Kidnapped again. Got a little nervous this time, waiting for the turtles. The Shredder going through his usual monologue. But, just as Beebop and Rocksteady started closing in ominously, they came in through the windows on their ropes. It’s embarrassing to admit, but no matter how many times it happens, I still get a thrill out of it. It’s so exciting, and at the same time, I feel so safe. Really, what girl doesn’t want to be rescued?

Now, if only some human man would rescue me from hanging out with turtles all the time.

–

Extremely uncomfortable in the lair tonight, and started to wonder – is this less about me being a woman, and more about them being turtles? Do I assume, just because I’m alone with four turtles in their prime that something will happen to me? Would I be this uncomfortable if I were alone in the sewers with, say, four male colleagues I’m slightly attracted to?

….Actually, probably.

–

Hung out with Irma and Vernon last night. We went bowling. I should just date Vernon. He’s arrogant and boring, but at least he’s a man. But it’s just…there’s no click, no spark. After a strike, I screamed, ‘Cowabunga!’ And they just stared at me. Was so depressed, I went over to the lair after. Only one up was Raph. We had a long talk about life and expectations, and how no matter how boxed into your own patterns you might feel, each new day is a chance to bust out of them. We talked until the sun came up. Raph is so insightful, and I really admire the way he transcends his own fate. It’s like…he’s decided to see the man-half of himself as a gift, rather than see the turtle-half as a curse. The more I get to know him, the more I respect him.

…Oh, April, what the hell are you thinking?

–

Sometimes I wonder about Splinter. He’s by himself way too much. And I think he drinks. And last night, I noticed some weird marks on his wrists, which he quickly pulled into his robe when he saw me looking. Tried to mention it to Leonardo, but he snapped at me that turtles respect each other’s privacy. And that of rats.

–

Seriously, though…what would it even be like? Not that I’m considering it, but with the shell and everything…is this even a possibility? Google really isn’t helping – I tried everything: turtle sex, sex with turtles, women having sex with turtles, sex with an anthropomorphic turtle, turtles + radioactive slime = genitals? I’ve learned some things, but none of them are particularly specific to my situation. God. I’m so annoyed I can’t just ask! You know? Because surely it’s occurred to them, that it might be something that could conceivably come up. Not that I think about it that much, but of course, I’m going to wonder. Who wouldn’t wonder? Which makes me think that it must not be possible, or surely one of them would have made a joke about it, you know, casually, to clue me in that if I was up for it… Everything’s always implied with them about the whole transformation, and the turtle thing. I don’t feel like it’s my place to ask probing questions about their situation at all, much less about something so private. I’m not that kind of reporter.

…Oh, I’m sure it’s not possible. Not that it matters.

…It’s not even possible, April! Stop thinking about it, freak!

–

Brought Irma over to the lair last night. I was nervous to introduce her to the turtles, but I wanted another woman’s opinion about the whole situation. Well, she had a blast! She freaking loved the turtles! She and the guys all played flip cup and got totally shitfaced. And she and Donatello totally hit it off! He took her number, and she’s all, ‘I really hope he calls! He’s so hot – totally ripped. How come you never introduced me before?’ On and on. Which made me feel like a total ass for being ashamed of my own friends and so worried to introduce them to other people, when clearly, I’m the one with a problem. I over-think things too much. Why can’t I just relax and let go?

At one point last night, Michelangelo said it was so great to have another woman around, one who wasn’t dressed like a giant banana. He was just teasing, and it wasn’t really mean…but it’s jokes like that that make me wonder: is that all I am to them?

–

Went over to the lair last night. Wore a dress, and got all kinds of teased about it. I could just be imagining it, but I felt like Raph looked…smug. I just felt like wearing something other than my jumpsuit for a change! It has nothing to do with the turtles. I don’t care what they think.

You know what, fuck them. They’re just a bunch of turtles.

–

Ok, so, I made out with Raph. It was…hot. But I realized…I mean, he’s a turtle. A turtle, you know? And also, even though he doesn’t seem that young, he is a teenager. And I’m a grown woman. With a job and an apartment, and I’m not getting any younger. It just wouldn’t work. And so I told him that our friendship means more to me than anything, and I’d rather do anything than hurt him, and I just thought we should be friends. He said he understood. But he wouldn’t look at me.

I feel awful.

–

Kidnapped again. Only Leonardo bothered to come save me. I like him least of all of them, too. He’s oh, so put-upon, total martyr. He seemed really annoyed with me the whole time we were running back to the lair, with me slung over his shoulder. I tried to make jokes, and he just rolled his eyes. When we got to the lair, everybody was just laying around. Irma was there with Donatello; they were messing around with some old broken radio. I felt ignored, and just generally awkward and uncomfortable, so I just went home.

–

Haven’t talked to the turtles in over a week. I miss them, but I’m not going to call. I want to know if they’d even miss me if I didn’t come around. Let them call for a change.

–

Ran into Splinter today when I was reporting on a burst water main. He was all, ‘hi, stranger, we’ve not seen you in many moons,’ like there was nothing weird. I straight up asked him if everybody was pissed at me, and said I didn’t think I deserved that. He was just like ‘teenagers will be teenagers.’

‘Well, I’m not a teenager,’ I said. ‘I’m an adult, and I’m too old for this bullshit.’

He just nodded sagely; I wanted to punch him. He looked healthier, though. I’m glad he was out getting some sun.

–

Kidnapped again. They didn’t come. After two days, The Shredder just let me go. “I guess you’re not the turtles’ greatest weakness anymore,” he said. Irma wasn’t at work today.

I guess there’s a window for these things, and then it closes, and that’s that.

Not making a choice is still a choice, April. That’s what you should take away from this.

Bitch Ph.D. explains The Bechdel Rule:

The rule is that movies should have 1) at least two women, 2) who talk to each other, 3) about something other than a man.

. . . Few movies pass the Bechdel test–most of the dialogue happens between men, or between men and one woman. Most movies who have extended conversations between women tend to be under the umbrella of “chick flicks,” or the newly-minted term, “RomComs.” But even those movies don’t pass the Bechdel test; not only are the conversations about men, the movies are driven by what men do or don’t do, what they want or don’t want, even when all the principal characters are women.

Movies, yes, and television, and this rule should also really be applied to plays. I mean, it is just incredible how few women are in anything, and how little they do when they’re there. What they mostly do is (a) be all about the men in the thing, and (b) be the one to blame for everything that goes wrong. Women are almost always the “out” for why there’s a problem – it’s the mom’s fault because she tries to smother everyone because she’s timid, controlling and Puritanical. Or, it’s the girlfriend’s fault because she tries to smother her boyfriend because she’s controlling, domineering, bitchy and usually whorish. Or whatever. When the question is, what’s wrong with this swell male protagonist’s life, the answer is almost always a hysterical, shrewish, controlling woman.

The amazing thing is, you can point this out to men who write or do comedy, and they’ll agree with you and talk about how they are very careful not to do that, and really enjoy writing strong, sympathetic female characters, and then you read their stuff…and the women are all hysterical, shrewish, controlling bitches (I’m sure that the writers of Everybody Loves Raymond fully believe that the characters of Deborah and Marie are sympathetic, whereas to me, that show is a perfect example, among many, of women being horrid, unreasonable, humorless nags for no reason).

Obviously, until women start writing everything, we’re going to be stuck playing unreasonable, stupid, evil bitches on the one hand, or boring, sweet, ever-affectionate straight-men on the other.

I’ve been watching DVDs of ‘It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia’ lately (which is hilarious), and I just watched a special features short where the cast was talking about casting Kaitlin Olson as Sweet D, and what they mostly talk about is how these three guys had written this show, and all the one female character did in it was be like, ‘You guys!’ all the time. And they didn’t like that, and Olson wouldn’t take the part if it was like that. It took them awhile to convince her to take the job. On her final audition, she read a hilarious scene and decided to do it, because she had so much fun at that audition. Except, she found out at the bar later that the scene was actually between two of the male characters – they were all like, ‘oh, well, yeah, we didn’t have anything interesting written for Sweet D to audition you with, so we had you read a guy part. But you won’t be doing that in the actual show.’

Eventually, however, they did make an effort to write that part in a more comedic way – in large part, I’m sure, because it’s obvious Olson is not at all afraid to say what she thinks about things, and she seems to flat out refuse to be pushed into a boring, supporting role, which is awesome. She’s one of my heroes now.

Women are used to being interested in movies, books, plays and so forth that are by men, starring men and all about men. I love all kinds of culture that’s aimed at men and meant to appeal to them. All women can get into dude-flicks or dude-lit (oops, there’s no equivalent condescending term to use), and even patiently overlook the blatant misogyny it almost always contains. But just hint to a guy that he try watching, reading or enjoying anything at all that is written by, staring and/or primarily about women (whether it’s truly silly and superficial on its own merits, or merely automatically dismissed as silly just because it’s concerned with women), and he’ll immediately dismiss it on all levels and call you a fool for liking it yourself.

Because women are niche. Even though we constitute the majority of the population.

–

Oh, and while I’m on this subject Estelle Getty has died.  Here’s Feministe on Golden Girls:

Where else have you seen a popular sitcom (or any show) that revolves around women who actually kind of look like average women, who aren’t young and fabulous and beautiful, who have interests other than finding male companionship, who put their female friendships first, and who have sex after menopause? More to the point, where can you find a TV show or movie that revolves around women like that, and those women aren’t the butt of the joke?

It’s certainly a rarity, and Golden Girls remains a bright spot in TV history. Estelle Getty was a class act.

Remember what I had to say about those stupid Yoplait ads?

Well, this hilarious video says it all much better.

Obviously, the big news in Olive Garden advertising lately is that one of their spots features a man saying, “I’m in the mood for something different,” to his Olive Garden server. Which is rather like moving into a gated subdivision because you want to live in a diverse community. But less frequently remarked upon is an earlier spot for the same restaurant, in which a server asks a customer, “How was that?” And he replies, “It really hit the spot.” And everyone at the table bursts into laughter, as if he’d made a joke. But “it really hit the spot” is not a joke on any level. It’s just a comment.

This is actually what I like to refer to as ‘secretary humor,’ because it’s the type of humor largely occurring in office environments among bored and excruciatingly polite administrative professionals, where somebody will make some banal observation and everyone will burst into forced laughter as if it had, in fact, been a witticism. “That donut was so good, maybe I’ll eat two!” Bwaggh-har-har-har!!! “Maybe I just won’t come in on Monday.” Waaaaa-haaa-haaa!!!! “What if I took a little nap in my chair here?” Girl, you are a SCREAM!!! Or the ever popular, “You are Too Funny,” response, which works after anything at all:

“Oh, I didn’t pick up the phone in time.”
“You are Too Funny.”

“It’s only three o’clock?”
“You are Too Funny.”

“Wait, what was I in the middle of?”
“You are TOO FUNNY!!!!!”

Obviously, “You are Too Funny,” is code for “Please, God, just kill me where I stand.”

Speaking of humor that is not, NYC is plastered with posters promoting some movie that feature in large type, the sentence, “You DO look fat in those jeans, Sarah Marshall.” Now. I understand that at one time, some dude first made the observation that frequently, women will ask their boyfriends if they look fat in a pair of jeans. This is meant to be humorous, because, no matter what the accurate answer to that question is, the fellow so addressed can only reply, “no.” Or, less charitably, it is meant to be humorous because the woman looks fat not because of the jeans, but because she is fat. While this observation might have been marginally amusing the first time or two that it was pointed out (which is debatable), surely endless reiteration in everything from Twix ads to sitcoms to stand-up routines and on and on and on has long since wrung from this “joke” whatever comedic potential it originally possessed.

Yet somehow, some film that is obviously spending a shit ton on marketing believes not only that this “joke” is hilarious, but that it is so universally and unceasingly hilarious that prominent featuring of it alone is enough to attract all and sundry to their movie in droves. This blows my mind.

Moving on, in the category of ads that dispense with reality altogether, we have the Walmart ad, in which a lot of Walmart employees open a store at something like 4 a.m., dancing and singing in their pristine big box environment to the strains of “Dancing in the Moonlight,” and a voiceover explains that while you sleep cozily in your beds, underpaid and uninsured Walmart employees are cheerily preparing for your arrival by mopping, stocking and Windexing the entire store predawn, and Could Not Be More Thrilled About It. On the other side of the economic gap, we have the Audi ad, where the voiceover discusses privilege burnout: “You will grow up in this mansion, you will go to one of these three schools (Harvard, Yale or Princeton), you will own homes on these two coasts, Yawn – AUDI!! Consider the cycle broken! …Not the cycle of inherited wealth, of course. But the cycle of spending Daddy’s money on cars other than Audi.”

Speaking of over-consumption, I love the McDonald’s ad where the voiceover talks about how a certain burger is so big that, while the man consuming it will still be able to cram a super-sized fries and Coke in on top of it, he’ll have to stop at one ketchup packet. You can almost hear the tortured pitch meeting that came up with this ad: “How do we emphasize that this burger is monstrously huge, but not suggest that the person forgo spending money on a couple thousand more fried calories on the side? Hey, condiments are free…” Meanwhile, in the McD ads for Girls, lithesome women cavort ecstatically over some sad, wilted little salads. McDonald’s really has all its bases covered.

Which brings us back to my favorite refrain: the stupidity of women’s advertisements. This month, there’s yet another ridiculous birth control pill ad out. I speak of the ad in which the pharmacist tells a woman – after he’s already filled her prescription – that she might have to get a blood test to use that pill. The woman’s face falls in dismay, and an adjacent birth-control-buying customer reacts in shock and indignation as well. They both just can’t freaking believe this. No matter that she already has the damn prescription in her hands, so unless a miniature doctor pops out of the bag and demands to do the procedure before he hands over the dial, she’s probably in the clear. No matter that the pharmacist doesn’t in any way explain why she might need one, or when, or under what circumstances. She is simply shocked – SHOCKED – to hear that in some undefined scenario for some unspecific reason having vaguely to do with a prescription she’s already filled, somebody in the medical field might at some point advise her to have a blood test. Which is OUTRAGEOUS.

And while I can’t think of an appropriate segue, let me just say that Kohler is becoming for me the new Twix, in that it is currently running a series of ads aimed entirely at men by running down women for no reason whatsoever. Witness the ad wherein a man observes a hot lady plumber (because those exist, right?) and immediately proceeds to throw all manner of things into his toilet to plug it up, so he’ll get to meet her. Which is fine. But then, just before we see the logo, his wife walks by and looks at him funny. OH! He’s a married man who wants to hit on the sexy plumber! Now, there’s really no reason for him to be a married man for the commercial to work – he could just be a single guy. But why stop at merely amusing when with one simple beat more you can reach full out offensive, right Kohler? Well done.

–

More:

I Hate Ads V

I Hate Ads IV

I Hate Ads III

I Hate Ads II

I Hate Ads

–

WARNING: Feminist Digression!!!

Incidentally, this post perfectly sums up a sentiment I’ve been trying and failing to articulate ever since I turned 12 years old:

Femininity, in fact, can’t even be practiced without stuff (which is one way of debunking the argument that it is an inherited sex trait). It is simply not possible for a woman without makeup and deodorant and lingerie and kitten heels and diet pills and clothes without pockets and anti-wrinkle cream that promises “glowing skin” and self-help books explaining the best ways to suck up to men and jewelry and razors and tweezers and lemon-scented cleaning products and boxes of Lean Cuisine in the freezer — all stuff that must be bought — to be fully feminine.

If you’re a woman, you’re a woman, and that’s that. You can’t be less of a woman because you don’t buy enough shit to trick yourself out in. While it might sound shocking today, men were in fact able to ID a woman as such way back when both sexes were costumed in identical bits of animal hide. Otherwise, none of us would be here today. So relax, ladies, and spend your hard-earned pennies on travel and theatre tickets.

I recently learned that a friend of mine from Chicago is keeping a blog about a fascinating project she’s doing: she has pledged to take all of Oprah’s advice for one full year. Check it out – it’s both hilarious, and really interesting.

(Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda meet on Charlotte’s back patio for iced tea, while their children play in the yard.)

Carrie: Boy, let me tell you girls, this weather is beautiful!

Charlotte: Yes, it’s such lovely weather for March. Warm.

Samantha: But not too warm!

Miranda: Yes, just warm enough. Good for health, children, and the economy.

Carrie: Here, here.

Samantha: I think this warm weather makes Smith more attentive to his…marital duties.

Charlotte: Oh, dear!

Carrie: My!

Miranda: Gracious!

Carrie: I must say, Samantha, the things that come out of your mouth.

Samantha: I can’t help it, girls! I positively enjoy being a woman and a wife, and everything that goes along with that.

Miranda: Really?

Carrie: How is that possible?

Charlotte: Ladies, I’m extremely uncomfortable with this entire conversation. Not to mention, the children are within earshot.

(A long, awkward pause. Samantha looks depressed.)

Samantha: I’m sorry, girls. I’m going to leave now. I have a headache. Come, children!

(Samantha leaves.)

Carrie: She drinks, you know.

Charlotte: I’ve never heard such talk!

Miranda: Yes, it was very inappropriate.

Carrie: Still, it makes you wonder…

Charlotte: Not me.

(A long pause, during which they all smile pleasantly at each other.)

Miranda: I know it sounds nuts, but sometimes I declare I almost miss the war.

Charlotte: I don’t know what you saw in that factory work.

Miranda: It was something to do.

Carrie: Oh, shoot. I believe I’m expecting again. Well!

Charlotte: This weather is fantastic!

Miranda: Yes.

Carrie: And how.

(Another long pause, during which they all smile pleasantly at the sky.)

Next Week:

Carrie admits to Big she is not entirely pleased to have yet another baby (but quickly reconciles herself to the idea)!

Miranda asks Steve if she might reenter the workforce part-time (but agrees to take pills instead)!

Samantha brazenly initiates marital relations (frightening Smith, who insists they meet with the Reverend)!

Charlotte asks Harry for a bigger allowance (and receives a lecture about the importance of economizing)!

With the holidays and now Valentine’s Day, we’re being treated to the usual explosion of Kay’s and Jared’s ads. There is really nothing creepier than these ads, which illustrate relationships between the sexes as ventures in which the entire families of middle-aged women (who still inexplicably seem to live at home) wait with baited breath (usually in their suburban split-levels) for timid men to show up and present unattractive diamonds purchased at mall chain stores as tokens of their esteem. I wish these retailers would launch a more realistic ad campaign in which men ‘go to Jared’ for disinterested, manipulative strippers, and resentful, kept mistresses. Along the same lines, we have an ad where a man and woman are driving around in a Lexis or something, holding hands all lovey-dovey, and then the guy slips a diamond pendant into the woman’s hand. Well, that’s fine, but there’s something crass about the way he does it, and I’m not sure what exactly makes it that way. Maybe it’s that he turns a gesture of casual affection into a commercial transaction (which is really what all these ads do), but I just keep thinking that if a guy slipped a diamond into my hand like that, I’d probably feel I’d been insulted.

Continuing on with fashion-based materialism, I think it’s odd that ads for Old Navy and Kohl’s have gotten so sexy. When most clothing ads seem to be swinging towards featuring real people with real bodies wearing clothes in real-life situations (and I’m thrilled about that, by the way), the ads for these two retailers are getting ever more old school, with attractive, stick-thin people in their early 20s cavorting around in pristine environments. It’s especially strange, because these two retailers are budget chains aimed at families – the most “real people”-directed of all the retailers advertising right now.

Another new trend in advertising: viewers being asked to identify with total jerks. Two ads in this category include the freecreditreport.com ad in which what appears to be an 18-year-old boy sings a crappy jingle, about how his new 18-year-old girl-bride turned out to have bad credit and now he wishes he had stayed single. He sings this in a mocking tone right in front of her and some friend of theirs, while she stomps around and tries to ignore his immature baiting. What a dick! The other one is the anti-drug ad in which a young girl does a little rap about how this one dude in her neighborhood just sits on the stoop and smokes weed all day, and will probably amount to nothing. “I wonder if he’ll ever leave?” she concludes, standing right in front of him. “I wonder if you’ll ever shut the hell up,” I keep waiting for him to scream.

Speaking of annoying people, I often think to myself when I watch ads featuring children that there is just a hopeless divide between people who find certain things children do adorable, and people who find those same things obnoxious as all get-out. I really don’t understand what some people find cute or winning. If, for example, I were the woman shopping with the small girl in the PediaSure ad who keeps saying, ‘I don’t like broccoli, I don’t like chicken,’ with a whiny little puss on her face, my reaction would almost certainly be, ‘Well, I don’t like YOU, stupid, but you don’t hear me going on about it!’ While it’s possible that motherhood would suddenly cause me to find such childish displays irresistible, still I like to think I’d always recognize good reason for a smack when I saw it.

Two other quick things: first of all – boy, let’s all avoid the warm, sexual taste of Disaronno! Everything about this ad is both hilarious and deeply unsettling. Unsettling because, is it just me, or do both the man and woman in this ad slightly miss being actually attractive because there’s something a little bit off about their appearances? Almost like they’re both in drag. …Whoa. If that’s actually true, this is the most ingenious ad I’ve ever seen, and I apologize for not getting it before. (And while I’m on the topic of comically overt liquor ads: Come on, Bacardi. Enough with the mortar and pestle already – are you serious?)

And secondly, “use your period for good,” is a really, really unfortunate tagline that creates a most unpleasant mental image. I sincerely hope that no one is ever actually moved to “use their period” for anything at all.

–

More:

I Hate Ads VI

I Hate Ads IV

I Hate Ads III

I Hate Ads II

I Hate Ads

Calista: Well, so I’ve been talking to Peter, and I have to say, I think that my salary should be higher. Because-

Producer 1: –Calista, let me interrupt you right there. Listen, we need to talk about Ally’s weight.

Calista: Again?

Producer 1: Well, the problem is, Ally McBeal is the titular character. And as such, she needs to have the best body of anyone in the regular cast. And now Lucy Liu is a permanent cast member…

Calista: Oh. Well, I’ve been working out a lot, and I don’t-

Producer 2: –We’re not saying that you’re heavy, not at all.

Producer 1: No.

Producer 2: No, no. You’re just heavier than her.

Calista: Really?

Producer 1: Oh, yeah. So, we need to fix that.

Producer 2: Think of your salary as inversely proportional to your weight.

Producer 1: You know who’s really thin? Portia.

Producer 2: Oh, yeah. She’s really naturally quite thin.

Calista: You know what? I’m the title character! If I were to leave the show, you wouldn’t even-

Producer 1: –Have to worry about your weight gain anymore? That’s true. Let’s be honest, Calista: the title character is Ally McBeal, not Ally McDonald’s.

Producer 2: You know, when David initially conceived the show, he wanted Courtney in the lead role. But I went to bat for you, Calista. Don’t prove me wrong.

–

Gil: Did you review my demands?

Producer 1: Hell, yes, Gil! We’ll see your salary request, and raise you eighty billion!

Producer 2: You’re the man, Gil! We love you!

Producer 1: Would you like a butter-drenched Porterhouse steak and a bottle of single-malt Scotch?

Gil: Well, I’ve been putting on a few-

Producer 1: –Who the hell cares? You’re an actor, not a model!

Gil: You’re right! I am an awesome sexy God, with or without hair! Life is sweet!

All: Mwa-ha-ha-ha!

–

Producer 1: Listen, Portia. Before we talk turkey, we need to discuss the fact that you were seen eating a banana the other day.

Portia: Oh. Well, yeah. I was just really hungry. I ran an extra two hours before work, and I hadn’t really eaten in three days, and the banana was just sitting there, and-

Producer 2: –I understand. We can all be weak. However, it’s your job to maintain your figure, Portia. We need to really believe that Peter’s character would be interested in yours.

Portia: Well, Peter’s not exactly Brad Pitt.

Producer 1: He doesn’t need to be. He’s funny.

Producer 2: Look, Portia, we need you to be a little more serious about your job. I know you’re new to acting.

Producer 1: You know who’s a consummate professional? Calista.

Producer 2: Oh, yeah. And – funny unrelated trivia – she’s so wee, she has to shop at The Children’s Place.

Producer 1: That’s true. She’s a very serious actress.

Portia: Yeah. She’s great.

Producer 2: You know what your goal for this year should be, Portia? Try to be more womanly. By which I mean, thinner. Try and look like you give a shit. You don’t want people thinking you’re a lesbian, do you?

Portia: I guess not.

Producer 1: Of course you don’t.

–

Greg: Hiya, fellows!

Producers 1 and 2: FISH! The Fish Man!

Producer 1: What do you want this year, Greg? Anything you like, it’s yours.

Producer 2: You’re a beautiful man, Greg! Your acne scars are even more loveable than Ray Liotta’s!

Producer 1: I second that! What are your demands, Greg?

Greg: I’d like a swimming pool filled with money, my own private army, and a stable full of catamites!

Producers: Done! Now come and dance with us!

All: La, la, la, la, la!!!

–

Courtney: So, I’m here for my-

Producer 1: –Jeez, fatty, you’ve got a lot of nerve.

Producer 2: If you want to keep your job, thunder thighs, you’d best start begging.

Courtney: Please! Give me one more shot! I’ll work for free! I’ll pay you!

Producer 1: Hmmm…well, we’ll think about it.

Courtney: Oh, thank you! You won’t be sorry. I-

Producer 1: Woops. She passed out again.

Producer 2: What a fool. I’ll pitch her out the door.

Producers: Rawr, har, har, har!

A woman finds that she has turned into a Christmas ornament on a tree. Finds love with an adjacent ornament.

–

A woman finds that she has fallen in love with a Christmas ornament. Christmas ornament becomes real man.

–

A family man finds that he has fallen in love with a real woman, who has become a Christmas ornament, who has fallen in love with family man, who owns Christmas tree. Man divorces wife and marries Christmas ornament. Christmas ornament turns back into real-life woman.

–

Dog eats Christmas ornament. Christmas ornament lives in dog’s stomach, converses with other small, anthropomorphic, holiday-themed items dog has eaten.

–

Dogs, cats, and other anthropomorphic animals reenact the nativity.

–

A woman, watching an animal reenactment of the nativity, falls in love with the male director of the nativity. The animals all talk, and plot ways to set the man up with this woman.

–

A woman and man are estranged, and an anthropomorphic dog who loves Christmas brings them back together.

–

An anthropomorphic dog hates Christmas, but is taught to love it again by a talking baby.

–

A talking baby wants its lonely mother to meet a man for Christmas. Talking baby makes this happen, with the help of an anthropomorphic hamster.

–

A talking baby consumes an anthropomorphic hamster over Christmas, and is brought to the hospital by its lonely mother on Christmas, and its mother falls in love with the lonely, grouchy, career-obsessed E.R. doctor.

–

A teenager, who has to miss Christmas to go to the hospital when her infant sister consumes an anthropomorphic hamster, finds love with a boy from the wrong side of the tracks, who is spending Christmas in the E.R. because it is a warm place to sleep.

–

A boy from the wrong side of the tracks learns the true spirit of Christmas when, going to the E.R. for a warm place to sleep, he is forced to pitch in with several touching emergency cases.

–

A boy from the wrong side of the tracks spends Christmas in an abandoned subway tunnel with a mangy, anthropomorphic dog. Boy and dog discover the joys of Christmas, and fall in love with a reformed prostitute and anthropomorphic female dog respectively.

–

A Grinchlike madam and her employees learn the true meaning of Christmas when one of the women gives birth to a talking baby. Is the baby in fact Jesus? The whorehouse becomes a convent, and there is a musical number.

–

A talking baby plays Jesus in a nativity scene. (Also, the baby can and does talk to hamsters.) One year, the baby becomes too old to play Jesus. The baby (now a toddler) prepares to throw himself off the Brooklyn bridge. An angel comes and tells the baby that he (the baby) really has been Jesus the whole time. It wasn’t acting at all!

–

An angel is lonely. Talking birds help the angel meet a lonely woman for Christmas.

–

An orphan child accidentally shoots an angel, then shoots self in remorse. The dead orphan child becomes an angel, and helps all orphans enjoy Christmas.

–

A widower is lost late at night; hits an angel with his car. The man brings the maimed angel home for Christmas. The man’s talking baby helps the angel and the man fall in love, and all three ascend into heaven.

–

A talking baby is distressed about poverty in Africa. With the help of many anthropomorphic animals, the talking baby convinces America’s financial upper class that he (the baby) is in fact Jesus, and that a massive redistribution of wealth is required for Christmas, or all will go to hell. World peace and happiness ensue, until God smites the baby for blasphemy. Angels forcibly reinstate the status quo.

I finished another (short) spell of working yesterday, so it is now time to park it in front of the television and bitch about stupid ads again.

First up is an ad I haven’t seen in awhile, but loved so much I just have to mention it: the Smuckers jam ad, where two little boys in some podunk town wander through an orchard.

‘Why doesn’t anyone ever ask me what I want to be when I grow up?’ muses one child.

‘Because your name’s Smuckers,’ explains his friend. ‘So, everyone knows what you’re going to do: you’re going to make jam.’

‘I love jam,’ the first child murmurs, resignedly.

And the voiceover explains that when you live in Podunk and your last name is Smuckers, you have no choice in the matter and no options at all. You’re going to make jam all your life, and that’s it.

I don’t think the creators of this ad meant for it to leave the viewer feeling terribly depressed for the Smuckers boy, but then again, maybe it’s a really effective ad: I sort of want to go buy a caseload of jam out of pity. Maybe if we all buy enough jam, Smuckers can retire early enough to finally fulfill his childhood dream of being an archaeologist.

Sort of similar to this ad is one for a Thomas the Tank Engine board game. The ad depicts a plastic Thomas the Tank being manipulated by a small boy. All the time, Thomas’s recorded voice comments helplessly on his total lack of control over (or understanding of) his own life: ‘I’m going through a tunnel. Oh, no, I’m not. I’m going backwards. What? Why am I going backwards? Into the station again. No, out of the station. Oh, hell, I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m just circling and circling, controlled by some unseen hand from above. I have no free will and no say in the matter. I’m doomed to fruitlessly circle this track for all eternity, never reaching any destination! God is surely some sadistic toddler.’

Poor, poor Thomas the Fatalist Tank Engine.

In the category of imprecisely or arbitrarily worded ads, we have the Betty Crocker warm delights ads, in which the voiceover declares, ‘Chocolate is the eighth wonder, warm chocolate the ninth!’ What? The eighth wonder of what? Now, it is true that we’re all familiar with the phrase ‘the seven wonders of the world.’ But only within the context of those seven wonders being fascinating man-made or natural structures from various epochs (ancient, modern, etc.). What the hell does that have to do with chocolate? Did they just pick some random phrase that would sound familiar, regardless of context? In that case, why not ‘if nice guys finish last, chocolate finishes first,’ or ‘ready, aim, chocolate,’ or ‘chocolate is the eighth day of the week, warm chocolate the ninth.’ What would have made infinitely more sense is, ‘chocolate is the eighth deadly sin, warm chocolate the ninth.’ This would have kept the “8″ and “9″ theme that the advertisers seem (for some reason) attached to, but worked much better, because chocolate is often described by people as sinful or indulgent, whereas it is absolutely never described as architecturally impressive.

On to the CiCi’s buffet ad, where a pinched-looking woman is shown eyeing the pizza buffet, and the voiceover says something like, ‘The CiCi’s pizza buffet: a decadent world of gastronomic delight. But not for you. You shower with a loofah. Your indulgence: the salad bar.’

Okay. I get that the loofah line is thrown in there to illustrate that this woman is an obsessively self-controlled, disciplined person, who would never cut loose and go hog wild on some pizza. But it doesn’t work for two reasons, the first being that showering with a loofah is not a stereotypical example of being way Type A. Using a loofah just means you want soft elbows. A better example would be, ‘You dust behind the sofa,’ or ‘You floss twice a day,’ or ‘You always wear your seatbelt/organize your sock drawer/color-code your groceries/file all your receipts,’ and on and on and on.

The other problem with the loofah example is that it is only one example, making it sound less like an example, and more like a direct cause. If you say, ‘You shower with a loofah, pay your bills promptly and always tuck in your shirt. Your indulgence: the salad bar.’ That means, ‘You are an uptight control freak. You wouldn’t let yourself eat much more than salad.’ But if you stop with the loofah example, that sounds more like, ‘You shower with a loofah, and so you are unable to eat pizza, because a known side-effect of loofah-use is an allergic reaction to cheese.’

Finally, one last thing, for the holiday season:

‘Raise your hand if you think we should pick out a few more toys!’

Raise your hand if you think this kid should spend Christmas volunteering at a Thai orphanage!

–

More:

I Hate Ads VI

I Hate Ads V

I Hate Ads III

I Hate Ads II

I Hate Ads

When it comes to ads for women’s products, just in general, this is how I picture the creative team’s meeting:

“Okay. We need this spot to appeal to women. Does anyone have any theories about what women might do?”

“Uh, sit around and talk to each other?”

“Shop?”

“Date men?”

“Okay, great ideas, everyone. I, too, think women must do these sorts of things. Does anyone have any clue as to what women might talk about when they are together?”

“I think they mostly must talk about the fact that they’re women.”

“And that they wear women’s clothes, and use women’s products!”

“And men.”

“Great! Yes, I also assume that women mostly discuss the fact that they are women. I know that if I were a woman, I would never get over the shock of it, and would talk about it all the damn time. Let’s make this ad be women sitting around talking about that they’re women, and so they are able to wear women’s things and also sleep with men.”

Because that’s the only possible explanation I can think of for women’s ads:

“You’re women, girls! You like feminine things for women! Like these razors! Which are pink, and are not razors for men! Let’s see what these women have to say:

‘It’s great! It’s a razor for women! And I am a woman! Awesome!’

Yep, these are women’s razors, ladies. And you, as women, deserve them. Don’t let your boyfriend steal your pink razor, because this razor is for you! And will give you smooth legs. For him.”

One ad in this category is the Yoplait ad in which two young women at a wedding discuss how good the yogurt is. I have a theory about how this ad was written. Here’s the ad in its original form:

“This yogurt is like cute best man good.”

“No, it’s like pretty dress good.”

“No, it’s like spike heels good.”

“No, it’s like catching the bouquet good.”

Then, someone at the meeting said, “oh, but we’re trying to cater to today’s young independent women. You know, they’re not really into getting married, and would probably discuss something other than that.”

And so they rewrote the ad as follows:

“This yogurt is like cute best man good.”

“No, it’s like burning this dress good.”

“No, it’s like getting these shoes off good.”

“No, it’s like not catching the bouquet good.”

Done!

There is one ad out there right now that goes in entirely the opposite direction. It’s a brief ad for a pregnancy test, and the focus is entirely on the pregnancy test wand looming out of a chrome-background, with slanted lighting and a symphonic build-up in the score, and a (male!) voiceover says something like, “Introducing…the most effective pregnancy yadda-yah in blah.” The pregnancy test could just as easily be a screwdriver or a Mach-III razor, or a cell phone. The ad is really jarring when you realize that it is, in fact, a pregnancy test, because everything about it is so completely unfeminine. And for that, I love it.

[Incidentally, I have so, so many ideas for utterly inappropriate, yet freaking awesome birth control advertisements, and I really wish that someone would hire me to make them, because all current ads for birth control just could not be more terrible (Yaz). Like, the ad would feature women being really disgusted and annoyed by screaming babies on the subway, or having to hold their friend's baby, or whatever, and the birth control box is pictured, and it has a picture of a baby with an X over it, and the tagline could be, "Make sure it never happens to you."]

To be fair, lately there have been more and more ads for men’s products that are chiefly about men being men and not women, but in addition, these ads mostly include the assumption that men would not use women’s products, because women are freaking retarded and no guy in his right mind would touch anything a stupid woman might like. The most obvious example of this is that (admittedly very old) Burger King ad, where a throng of men stride around in the street, doing manly things like throwing a truck off a bridge, ripping their underwear right out of their pants, and singing about how they wouldn’t settle for “chick food.” I was actually unaware that there even was sex-specific “women’s food.” I’ve just been eating non-gender-specific food all this time. I hope I don’t die.

And now, here’s this Centrum vitamin ad, in which a voiceover says something like, “If you’re a man over 50, do you think you should be taking the same multivitamin as a woman takes?”

“I don’t think so!” replies a graying fellow on a golf course, before thwacking a ball in self-satisfaction. I have not heard many 50+ men speak of women in general with such knee-jerk distaste, that reaction being more common in boys of twelve. Presumably, the man is a confirmed bachelor and is golfing at a men’s only club, which features a big sign on the front gate reading, ‘No Girlz Alowed!’

[Since writing this, I've seen the companion ad, in which an older woman is asked if she thinks she should be taking the same multivitamin as a man. "Do I have a choice?" she replies, nervously chewing her lip.]

I don’t understand why advertisements for gender-specific products think the only way to appeal to possible consumers is by denigrating whatever sex the product is not for, but let’s just assume for the sake of argument, that that’s the only way it’s done. Fine. But it’s one thing to appeal to men by running down women if you only want men to buy your product. If I’m alienated by an ad, I just think, ‘well, they’re not advertising to me. They don’t want my money, so I won’t spend it on them.’ I feel this way about Twix, which has just thrown up a ton of ads in which eating Twix saves some cheating guy from being busted by his girlfriend, and other things about how men are scamps and need Twix’s help to hide this from their significant others. “Need a moment (to think up a good lie)? Twix! The adultery-masker!” I assume that Twix has done its market research and has determined that men are their most important consumers, and that they can afford to lose the business of whatever women are buying Twix. Beer companies have always assumed that they could sacrifice any money women might be spending on beer, and their advertisements entirely appeal to men (again, almost exclusively by objectifying and degrading women, because how else could you possibly appeal to a man other than by running down women, right?). Or perhaps they gauged (in my case, correctly) that beer is so important to women that they’ll buy it anyway, no matter how offensive to them the advertising is.

But what really gets me is when a company runs some ads insulting women, and other ads catering to them. Burger King used to run an ad all about their grilled chicken sandwich and so forth, and how some woman wanted to go there on a date for that. I don’t really remember; I just recall the ad was aimed at “chicks.” And now they’ve got this ad where a giant, anthropomorphic chicken sandwich is a sort of Lothario, seducing all the women in an unfortunate anthropomorphic burger’s life, including his preteen daughter. The ad is clearly aimed at men, but it’s about how women like chicken (because one thing that fast food companies all seem to believe wholeheartedly is that chicken is for women and beef is for men, just as pink is for girls and blue is for boys). Does Burger King really think that women are so stupid that they won’t notice that the same company that’s begging for their business in certain spots is insulting them in others (or doing both simultaneously in the same ad)?

Miller Lite might get away with this, but a chicken sandwich doesn’t get you drunk. Screw you, Burger King.

–

More:

I Hate Ads VI

I Hate Ads V

I Hate Ads IV

I Hate Ads II

I Hate Ads

Ad Spot #5:

(Valerie is canoodling with her new boyfriend. The doorbell rings. Valerie answers the door to see Kirstie standing there. Even though they are face-to-face, the ad is still shot in split-screen, because otherwise it is all too obvious that Kirstie weighs far more than Valerie. Hopefully, it looks like some sort of artistic choice.)

Valerie: Uh…hi, Kirstie. I didn’t expect you to drop by.

Kirstie: Hi Valerie! It’s me, Kirstie! I haven’t heard from you for awhile! I wondered how you’re doing, and if you’ve reached your goal weight yet!

Valerie: Oh, sure. Yeah, I lost the weight. Oh…this is Joaquin. Joaquin, Kirstie. Um…we’re just having a quiet night in, Kirstie.

Kirstie: Awesome! I brought Jenny Donut-O’s!

Valerie: To be honest, Kirstie, we weren’t really expecting company tonight. Call first next time.

Kirstie: Oh. I see. Sorry to intrude.

Valerie: No problem. Night-night.

Ad Spot #6:

(Kirstie and Valerie sit at a table. Kirstie eats a sandwich, and Valerie drinks black coffee. Although they are seated across from each other, they are still shot in split-screen. Hopefully, it symbolizes the growing rift between them.)

Kirstie: Hi Valerie! It’s me, Kirstie! I’m so glad you were able to finally meet me for lunch! Glad you could fit me in to your packed schedule!

Valerie: Oh, sure. Me too. What’s new with you these days?

Kirstie: Still losing weight with Jenny! You know, this sandwich is delicious and Jenny-approved! You should try one!

Valerie: Yeah, honestly, Jenny really helped me get the bulk of my weight off, but now that I’m quite thin again, I’m back to good, old-fashioned not eating. It’s cheaper and more effective.

Kirstie: Oh. Yeah. You’re really small.

Valerie: Well, you look great, too. We all have different bodies.

Kirstie: Mmm.

Valerie: Soooo…well, I guess I need to get going. It was good to catch up! Let’s try and keep in touch.

Kirstie: Totally! What are you doing this weekend?

Valerie: Oh, I think I have to go to the East coast. But, um, I’ll call you when I get back.

Ad Spot #7:

(Kirstie, drunk, lies around her apartment in a negligee, eating Edy’s light ice cream out of the tub. Each of her body parts are shot in split-screen. She dials the phone.)

Valerie’s recorded voice: Hi, it’s Valerie, and you’ve reached my voicemail. Please leave a message.

Kirstie: Hi, Valerie. It’s me, Kirstie! Again! Have you called Kirstie yet? No, you haven’t! Because you’re a fucking skinny bitch from hell!

Ad Spot #8:

(Montage of Kirstie, Delta Burke, Elizabeth Taylor and Liza Minnelli toilet papering Valerie’s mansion, while Kelis’s Milkshake plays. Laughing hysterically, they pile into a limo and squeal off into the night.)

Who were the people in the focus groups who told advertisers that they really love the word “snack?” This freaking word is being used and used and used and used, snapped out of the spokespersons’ mouths as precisely and repeatedly as possible. “Snack. Snack snack snack snack snack.” It’s driving me mad, the way Hobbes’s repetition of “smock” did Calvin. “When kids love a ‘snack,’ you know it.” “With ice-cold skim milk, it’s a healthy ‘snack’ that….” “Don’t let your ‘snacks’ define you.” “I just need a ‘snack!’ Just a healthy….” ARGH! STOP SAYING SNACK!

That last quote, incidentally, is from a Soy Joy ad, and Soy Joy is leading a spate of new products, in which health food is marketed to look as unappetizing as possible. Soy Joy ads feature bland women speaking to a webcam about how annoyed they are by tasty, appetizing food, and how they just want something all-natural and boring. And then the Soy Joy bar is pictured, looking like a beige wad of masking tape. I don’t get this new health-food pitch. If you want to market healthy foods, you have to make the health food look really appealing (or at least make the people eating it look glamorous, wealthy and thin), not show it looking utterly boring next to really appealing foods.

There’s some ad – I think it’s for a Special K red vitamin water, but I can’t really remember – where these people at a meeting get a tray of frapuccinos, and this girl declines her frapuccino in favor of a bottle of red water. But they make the frapuccinos look utterly delicious! They’re all perfect and chocolaty, with the whipped cream and sprinkles puffy and attractive, and with perky purple straws. And the vitamin water looks like hell next to them; the ad leaves me very depressed and really craving a frapuccino. If you’re going to do an ad like that, you have to make the frapuccinos look all melted and sticky and syrupy and gross, and have a bunch of fat, ugly, sad office drones sucking them down noisily. And then you make the red water look refreshing and clean, and have some chic girl in a nice dress at a futuristically pristine desk pouring it into a fluted glass, and when she takes a sip, giant animated strawberries in a stream of crystal water splash around her thin, perfect calves. That’s how you make people want to drink your crappy vitamin water. Like that ad for a water I can’t remember, where a bitchy-looking anorexic teenager is utterly nauseated by a nasty old lunch-lady displaying vat after vat of fried, gray food, and so the skinny teenager jumps into a giant bottle of the water and curls into the fetal position (“find your refuge,” says the voiceover). The ad makes you realize that food is a disgusting thing from which you must escape, and only giant pigs would be interested in it. All the desirable, young people just drink water. See? Effective.

Another ad in this category is the A&W root beer float ad, in which a boy drinks a plain-looking root beer float, and says something like, ‘Isn’t this better than a jamocha-chip mint-frizzle frappe-whoo-ha thing?’ where he points at his friend, who is drinking THE COOLEST LOOKING DRINK I’VE EVER SEEN. You’re meant to think the friend’s drink looks absurd and overly perplexing next to the boring old root beer float, but the friend’s drink has whipped cream and sprinkles and a curly straw, and all I can think is, ‘where can I get one of those?!’ The root beer float drinker goes on to talk about how his float is really American (read: dull as nails and utterly unchallenging). Which is funny because, other than that whole let’s-not-buy-anything-French craze back when Chirac didn’t want to support the Iraq invasion, I didn’t realize that even the most apple-pie neocons required all of their foods to somehow be labeled “American.” Cars or T-shirts, maybe…but food? I don’t think anyone really wants to live on hot dogs and processed cheese, but if they do, I guess they can wash them down with root beer.

Incidentally, a lot of food companies apparently really think that viewers will empathize with their utter disdain for the lengthy names of Starbucks milkshakes. That whole ‘jamocha-chip-frizzle’ riff is in a lot of ads now (including one of the Soy Joy ads, in fact). Somebody somewhere decided that this was advertising gold. And granted, the long names are a little silly, but I don’t really think American consumers are losing sleep because of mocha chip frapuccino-generated rage quite at the rate advertisers seem to think they are.

And along with this, who decided that a really great way to tap into American food-based alienation was to repeat variations on ‘if you can’t pronounce the ingredients, don’t eat it’? This sentiment is always put forth as if it were sheer, undeniable common sense: “why on Earth would you be so insane as to eat something if you can’t pronounce all of the ingredients?”

What? Do people really hold up a box of cereal and worry about the fact that they can’t orally recite the ingredient list? And if that is the case, shouldn’t children, who can’t read or pronounce anything at all, be denied all food? Health-food makers are declaring this all over the place lately; from a Soy Joy ad, to the copy on the back of my box of Back to Nature crackers (and now that I think about it, in the same A&W ad just under discussion), I’m told that if I am too stupid to parse out a multi-syllabic word, then I ought to stick to foods that won’t attempt to challenge me in this way. Really, I’d love to see all advertising continue along in this vein: ‘If you can’t pronounce it, why would you upload it to your hard drive?’ ‘If you’ve never tried it before, why would you go near it now?’ ‘If you’ve never been to a country, why would you use any product from there?’ And so forth.

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More:

I Hate Ads VI

I Hate Ads V

I Hate Ads IV

I Hate Ads III

I Hate Ads

For several years, I did not have a television. I wish I still didn’t, but I live with people, so I have one, and because I have one, I watch it more frequently than I really should. TV shows these days seem to mainly function as short blips to pad out the advertising, and the more ads I watch, the more interested I become in what makes a good, creative ad, and what makes a terrible one. Some ads just bother me. I mean, just annoy the ever living shit out of me, until I start screaming in rage and throwing things at the television set. And wake up in the night, ranting about their horrible writing and inconsistent themes. And finally, blog about them. To wit:

First of all, the sour Skittles ad, where a man is being milked by a milking machine. Now, my objection to this is not, as you might think, that this ad is totally disgusting. Rather, it is because of the imprecise way in which the ad is worded. Next to misogyny, this sort of careless, nonsensical language use is my biggest pet peeve in advertising. It would be bad enough if an advertising agency merely pitched such an ad, but on top of that, when you think of all the work that is done on an ad, all the reviewing and rewriting and shooting and focus group testing, and so forth…when you think that throughout that long, expensive process in which the ad is discussed and worked on by dozens and dozens of people, that not one of those people ever said, ‘you know, this phrasing doesn’t make a damn bit of sense,’ well, that is a very disheartening thought to me, to say the least.

In the sour Skittles ad, the farmer comes in and angrily says to the man being milked, “I’m just saying that maybe if you didn’t eat so many sour Skittles, I wouldn’t have sour milk!”

And the man being milked replies, “Well. That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

What? No risk was introduced! That makes no sense at all! If the farmer had said, “I’m just saying, if you keep on eating those sour Skittles, I’m going to kick your ass,” the man’s response would have made sense. Or, if the farmer’s dialogue was the same, the man could have said, “Well. That’s a theory I’m not prepared to test.” If anything, assuming that the “risk” is producing non-sour milk by curbing the consumption of sour Skittles, the man being milked has agreed to take that risk! Which would mean he won’t be eating sour Skittles anymore, but we are clearly meant to understand that he is disagreeing with the farmer, and will continue to eat the sour Skittles (and in fact, he does so immediately after delivering his ludicrous reply). So, the risk must be an implied, unspoken risk that the farmer might possibly visit some harm upon the man if he does not agree to test the farmer’s theory, and lay off the sour Skittles. The man has replied to something that the farmer has not actually said.

It’s especially disappointing that this clunker comes from Skittles, as they have had some of my favorite ads in the past: the ‘Taste the Rainbow’ ads, with their beautiful, surreal visuals, and that yodeling rabbit ad.

Another ad in this category is the Kia sales event ad, where a man says to a coworker, after the coworker finishes a presentation:

“Man, you were on fire up there! Tell me, did you ever study karate?”

“No,” replies the coworker. “But I did get a kickin’ deal at the Kia sales event!”

What? What does karate have to do with anything? Especially after the guy led into it with all his emphasis on fire. It might have made marginally more sense if he’d said, “Man, you were on fire up there! Tell me, did you ever escape from a burning building?” And then the coworker replies, “No, but I did get a smokin’ deal at the Kia sales event!”

Okay, that still would have made no sense, but at least it would have made consistently no sense all the way through, for the same general reason. Or, the guy could have said, “Man, you were so focused and aggressive up there! Tell me, did you ever study karate?” Or even, “Man, you were throwing some heat up there! Tell me, did you ever study karate?” I could do this all day.

The other problem with Kia’s ad is that the premise of the ad has nothing at all to do with the product, and could just as easily be applied to any good or service. Another perfect example of this type of ad is the Holiday Inn Express ad where some daredevil in the desert decides at the last minute not to ride a motorcycle through a flaming hoop (or something like that). A reporter asks, ‘What happened? Did you suddenly wise up?’ (Or something like that.)

And the man replies, ‘No. But I did stay at the Holiday Inn Express last night.’

He could just as easily say, ‘No. But I did drink a Yoplait Smoothie.’ Or, ‘No. But I did call Ace Car Service.’ Or, ‘No. But I did just switch to Geico.’ Or, ‘No. But I did just eat a Big Mac.’ Or ANYTHING AT ALL.

I imagine that advertising companies must just have a giant drawer full of such fill-in-the-blanks ads for whenever they either can’t think of a custom-made ad from some client, or aren’t being paid enough to bother.

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More:

I Hate Ads VI

I Hate Ads V

I Hate Ads IV

I Hate Ads III

I Hate Ads II

Identification: Please identify and state the news or historical significance of the following:

1. Name the Mayor of New York City

As a (however recently arrived) local, I understand and support that the first question in this series should touch on New York City governance. NYC is the primary place of “news or historical significance” in the U.S. The answer is Michael Bloomberg. I know this, because you can’t wait tables in NYC (as I do) without every single last one of your tables requesting ‘Bloomberg’s finest,’ as if it were the grandest and most original joke ever to be made about tap water.

2. Karl Rove

Karl Rove was Bush’s evil right-hand man for awhile, who looked like a cross between Ralphie in A Christmas Carol and Phillip Seymour Hoffman in Capote. He stepped down during that whole Plame thing, and I haven’t heard much about him recently, except that Sheryl Crow lit into him about the environment at the White House Correspondents’ dinner not too long ago.

3. Bernard Law

I have two men in my mind: one is a dyspeptic-looking black man, and the other is a flabby-faced Brit. But now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure the Brit is actually Bernard from Lost (who isn’t even British, ha ha). So I’m gonna go with…the black guy?

4. Brown vs. Board of Education

This was a landmark court case that said there shouldn’t be racial segregation in public schooling. I guess it must have been overturned later on or something.

5. Tony Soprano

A cuddly, teddy bear of a murdering misogynist. I downloaded the theme song for this show onto my ipod, and there’s about four minutes of syncopated talking before the part you hear on the show actually starts. I wish I’d spent my $.99 on that Maroon Five song I pretend that I hate.

6. Donald Rumsfeld

You know, asking these open-ended questions about such major players is really tough, Columbia. I mean, Rove, Rumsfeld…how am I supposed to define these people in a mere three sentences? He’s Bush’s ex-Secretary of Defense, and Maureen Dowd calls him Rummy. There.

7. The Freedom of Information Act (significance?)

FOIA!!!!!!!!!!!!! Fun to say. I’m constantly torn between not wanting the government to intrude on my private affairs, and really wishing my private affairs were of interest to the government.

8. The Gulf of Tonkin (historical & current significance?)

The Bay of Pigs was an incident in which President Kennedy funded rebels in Cuba to overthrow Castro, but it didn’t work, and then things got worse. It is currently significant because Cuba is still there, although no one is really sure if Castro is or not.

9. Eminem

Eminem? Seriously? Is he even still recording? Okay, well, he’s a white rapper, father of Haley Ja— Wait a minute, Columbia. Is this one of those things where I’m supposed to not know this question? Like, I’m supposed to know about FOIA and Rummy and so forth, but I’m supposed to have no clue who Tony Soprano or Eminem are? I’m onto you, you tricky journalism school, you.

10. Lee Bollinger

Bernard Law’s fat-faced British cousin.

11. Bill Frist

He’s from Tennessee and so am I! I would not let him operate on me.

12. Name 6 of the 15 countries that are members of the United Nations Security Council as of January 1, 2003.

John Roberts, Clarence Thomas, Anthony Kennedy, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Antonin Scalia and Stephen Breyer. I can name the rest, too!

13. Lance Armstrong

He rode a bike, had cancer and was married to Sheryl Crow. That’s the second time Sheryl Crow has come up in this practice test! I’m pretty sure she had cancer, too, but Lance’s cancer is more popular, because his was featured on a bracelet. Lance and Sheryl have since divorced, and now Lance is running around everywhere with Matthew McConnahey and acting like a total jackass.

14. Francis Crick & James Watson

Famous bank robbers.

15. Ramadan

Festival involving stampedes. Westerners should not backpack in predominantly Muslim countries during it.

16. Hugo Chavez

Went all over South America on a motorcycle, before becoming a popular T-shirt.

17. Frida Kahlo

The only woman mentioned in Columbia School of Journalism’s practice test. I’m just sayin’. Was more of a successful personality than a good artist, in my opinion, but then, who am I to say? Since we’re discussing Frida Kahlo, I should also mention her personal life and how hard it was being married to Diego. But if you’d asked about Diego, we’d just talk about his work.

18. Hans Blix

UN weapons inspector with emo glasses who reminded me of a mole, which was especially funny since his job was digging up weapons. That weren’t there.

19. Saddam Hussein

I have never heard of this person, and I’m pretty sure that’s a made-up name.

20. Gerhard Schroeder

He was the Chancellor of Germany back when we wanted to go to war in Iraq, but now it’s Angela Merkel, and I prefer her because of that whole Bush-giving-her-a-massage thing, which was hilarious. I can’t remember Schroeder ever doing anything funny.

Done! So…scholarship?

This post is not strictly within the scope of this blog, but I happened to read several articles today that really did a great job of articulating various gripes I’ve been nursing lately, such as:

“the ‘indie-rockization’ of the comedy audience”

Why the hell does everyone want to read non-fiction memoirs anyway?

So…is deconstruction bullshit, or not?

(Linked to the last two from The Morning News.)

And last, but not least:

Oh, my blood pressure went down just watching this. This made me feel all calm and warm inside.

(Linked to from East Village Idiot.)

Clearly, I’ve got oodles of time on my hands these days, what with the injury and all. The only hard and fast appointments I have are with various television programs (next: Arrested Development rerun at 2:30 p.m.). Shut up. It’s raining out.

…like when you discover all of the ads you hate are actually created by the same company.

• Claire moves into the others’ suburban community so that she can finally obtain and enforce a restraining order against Charlie.




• Desmond hits on Claire. When she rebuffs him, he reminds her that he can see the future, and thus her eventual submission is a foregone conclusion. She figures, what the hell. Their super hot accents make them a hit at the others’ cocktail parties.




• Juliette becomes repulsed by Jack’s growing facial bloat. She and Kate bond one drunken night, giggling about how Jack is totally the type of guy who’s really hot for the first month you know him, but becomes steadily less attractive the longer you are acquainted.




• Jack claims he doesn’t care about all that anyway, because he has come up with a plan to save everyone by sitting alone in a tiny, bug-infested cave, fasting and meditating until they are rescued. No one takes notice of his self-martyrdom. Jack drunk dials Bai Ling.




• Sayid reveals that he is actually Indian and not Iraqi at all. In his flashbacks, he explains, he’s really ‘torturing Pakis and,’ he declares, he’s ‘not sorry and would do it again in a New York minute.’ This announcement is followed by a long, awkward silence. Charlie takes Sayid aside and explains that racist sentiment is only adorable when it comes from Sawyer.




• The polar bear finally tells its side of the story. Everyone agrees that it is indeed no easy thing being a polar bear on a tropical island, and they promise to forgive and forget that whole Mr. Echo incident.




• Kate finally acheives her goal of having bigger biceps than Sawyer, but loses his affections in the process. To make him jealous, she has sex with Jack in a big cage. On camera.




• Someone wonders whatever happened to Rose, and we discover that she and Bernard flagged down a boat and left the island weeks ago. They returned to America, where they met up with Michael and Walt. Walt cured Rose’s cancer with his unspecified magical powers. Meanwhile, Michael discovers that Rose is actually his long-lost mother. The four are sitting in their living room, looking out the sliding glass doors, when the seagull Claire tagged flies smack into the doors and is instantly killed. ‘I saw that coming,’ says Walt, and they all laugh and laugh.




• The ghosts of Shannon and Boone appear to Jack and Claire and inform them that they are half-siblings. Based on their own sibling experience, Shannon and Boone suggest that Jack and Claire celebrate by getting it on. In a cage.




• Jin’s backstory reveals that, prior to meeting Sun, he did a stint in a traveling circus, appearing as the world’s only ripped Asian man. Sun is angry at his having kept this a secret, but after he smacks her around a little, she is attracted to him once again.




• Charlie violates Claire’s restraining order for the twentieth time, and is thrown into a cage. Where he has sex with Sawyer on camera.




• Hurley hits it off with Alex and her boyfriend, and the three of them, plus that dude with the eyepatch, start spending all their time riding around the island in Hurley’s van, drinking decades-old beer and burning through Mr. Echo’s heroin stash.




• Ben reveals that the common thread that summoned all of them to the island is clearly that they all had dead-beat dads (many of whom are inexplicably also on the island). Ben, himself a bad dad, further reveals that the evil black column of smoke is the manifested toxic hatred of bad dads everywhere. Ben leads everyone in couseling sessions, and they learn to live and let go. But first, they torture and kill Locke’s dad.




• Alex discovers her mother is still alive. Unfortunately, she discovers this by stumbling upon a video feed of Danielle having sex with Sawyer in a cage. Even Ben agrees that they really ought to shut off that camera.




• In the season finale, we see shots of Sawyer reading Lord of the Flies while wearing his girlie reading glasses. He comes up with a plan to sacrifice Hurley, and the group votes to go forward with that plan. Hurley is a good sport about it. Upon his death, the curse is lifted and everyone is immediately transported to their countries of origin.




• At this point, John Locke wakes up, and realizes that the entire Lost series has been his dream. However, this includes the John Locke backstory. The (fictional) real-life John Locke is actually a thirty-year-old record store clerk in Lansing, Michigan. Even more mind-blowingly, the (fictional) real-life John Locke was the basis for Nick Hornby’s fictional protagonist in High Fidelity. Lost fans everywhere admit they did not see that one coming.