Category Archives: Advertising

Get well soon.

Posted on by

6


Keep in mind it hovers somewhere between 90 degrees and “Holy shit it’s hot!” here in sunny South Florida during the summer months.  I was curled up on the couch, wearing two sweatshirts, three pairs of socks, and some track pants I can assure you have never been near a track.  I don’t know why I have these pants, you may have noticed…I’m no Flo Jo.  I like to look as unattractive as humanly possible when I’m not feeling well…the pièce de résistance is the ill-fitting, sagging in the ass, navy “exercise” pants, with the racing stripes down the sides.  They scream “speed” as I assume the fetal position and pray for death.

“Mommy, are you sick?” I managed to respond with something other than a guttural noise, “yep”.  “Can we go to the park?”.  “No park”. “Scooter walk?”… “No scooter walk”. “Pool?”. “Arrgh! No, I’m not leaving the couch.  Please, find something to do and find it in your room!”.  At this point I was experiencing all of the pleasantries of the flu:  high fever, chills, sweating, aches, vomiting, runny nose, sore throat, and coughing up a yellowish/greyish/greenish substance reminiscent of alien afterbirth. Plus, I was wearing the pants.  The boy knew there was no chance of fun, but he wasn’t going down without a fight. “CanIhavesome chocolatemilk?”.

“Everything in my room is boring.  I want to watch Monster Trucks or torque trucks…in the mud on the internet.  T-O-R-Q-U-E…see?  If I can spell it I can watch it”.  I hate when he uses my words against me, especially when my words involve education.  I really just didn’t want to move.  He was doing his little spelling dance,  which is a variation of my little spelling dance.  I started doing it to keep him focused on me when I was trying to teach him how to spell his name.  Now, it would seem that I am unable to spell anything without it’s assistance. It’s much cuter when he does it, trust me.  There is nothing charming about a 30-something year old women marching in place and gesticulating like a Mouseketeer while trying to spell “acetaminophen”.  I didn’t have the energy to argue,  I turned on video of a truck pull and tried to pretend that I didn’t just willingly expose my child to the youTube ramblings of some inbred cousin-fucker at the county fair who thinks pulling stuff with a vehicle specifically designed to pull stuff is a spectator sport.  It makes no sense to me, none at all.

I debated leaving the couch for the comfort of my bed…but I knew that this would only result in the boy running into my room every six seconds to give me a report on the truck videos.  It’s nice to be needed, but…you know…not all the time.   If I weren’t sick he wouldn’t want anything to do with me, somehow, the first signs of a cold triggers his need to be an inch from my face.

“I’ll just get myself some chocolatemilk,” he chirped as he bounced into the kitchen.  I have been encouraging independence, but cleaning up a gallon of milk and store-brand chocolate syrup off of the kitchen floor was not on my list of things to do.  “I’ll get it,” I wheezed as I tried to beat him to the fridge. In addition to the possibiliy of a milk tsunami,  I didn’t want him to see that his favorite beverage was now being made with something other than Hershey’s.  He’s been consuming a lot of store-brand food as of late, so far he has not caught on to my clever ruse.  Much like every child in America with access to a television…he prefers to dine on cuisine that has a commercial featuring a cartoon character, a catchy jingle, and a ridiculously high retail price.  He’s been eating knock-off Lucky Charms…I think they’re called Happy Stars or something like that…for about a week.  What they really should be called is marshmallows, monosodium glutamate, and crack.

I got to the fridge before my son, threw open the door, and cracked a little smile.  The contents of our refrigerator is starting to resemble one of an actual family and not the cooling receptacle of a bachelor.  We finally have more than coffee creamer, beer, and a jar of pickles being kept at a consistent temperature.  We moved about a month ago, we’re no longer living with my folks.  I envisioned the sweet sound of independence to sound more like birds singing…and not a persistent cough, sporadic puking, and whining of a bored child…but whatever, I’ll take what I can get.

About these ads

Baby Walrus, it’s what’s for dinner.

Posted on by

2


Have you ever really watched a commercial? I mean…really focused on what you’re seeing?  Last night I was seated on my boyfriend’s incredibly comfy couch.  It’s so comfortable…it’s past ridiculous and moved in to full-blown ludicrous.  This couch is actually one of the reasons I decided I liked him in the first place.  In the fledgling stages of our relationship, when I would visit his apartment, I would think “now here’s a guy with a knack for relaxing. I’m intrigued. I must know more.”  True story.  He’s very proud of this couch, we’ve actually sat together on other couches and he’s looked at me and said: “It’s comfortable, but it ain’t like my couch. Right, baby?” I can’t help but agree with him.  This sitting apparatus should be in the Furniture Hall of Fame, if there were such a thing.  I bet if there was; it’d be located in Ohio…because Ohio is where all Hall of Fames of great importance are built.  Ft. Lauderdale is home to the Swimming Hall of Fame. I bet you didn’t know that and I bet you don’t care.  Ohio got the halls dedicated to Football and Rock and Roll, lucky bastards.

Anywho, back to the commercial thing…my boyfriend and his roommate were working on developing some phone app thing.  It’s something they do a lot; I don’t understand it, I just know it’s boring.  When they are involved in nerd-centered activities, I always put something incredibly stupid on TV.  Why do I do this?  I don’t know, I guess I figure it will level out the intelligence floating around the room…and save me from learning something.  I usually watch a reality show about weddings or prisons, you’d be surprised at how many glaring similarities there are in these kinds of programming.  Last night, I couldn’t find any vapid entertainment about incarceration.  I tried to watch something about Polar Bears, but had to turn it off when they started showing footage of the bear eating a baby walrus.  I don’t need to see that.  I know it’s part of the circle of life.  Everything has to eat.  But, Polar Bears don’t sit around watching me grocery shop, so I’m not going to watch them pick out what’s for dinner, especially if it’s cute and makes horrific squeaking noises when it’s being eaten. 

I put on the Kardashian’s, they were just what I needed.  It’s amazing how stupid they are, except the big one…she’s cool.  Even if she is kinda bitchy, she’s in your face about it.  There’s nothing passive/aggressive about her, I respect that.  I might even voluntarily watch her eat a baby walrus.  So, while the big-assed, make-up addicted, morons proved how useless they are; I noticed there were an abundance of hair product commercials flashing across the screen.  There’s a definite theme going on in them, lots of grown women sitting on swings, shiny long hair flapping in the breeze.  There’s also lots of “group spinning” in fields.  I have a small child, I swing and spin on a regular basis, not because I want to…but it comes with the territory.  There is a swing and an open field behind my house, as a matter of fact. I can swing and spin any time I want. I may just be bragging here, but stick with me.  When I am involved in these activities, I don’t worry about what my hair looks like.  I’m with my son, trying to entertain him…because after you reach an age over seven there is nothing fun about swinging or spinning.  My hair is pulled back, because I don’t want run the risk of inhaling it and I’m trying to camouflage the peanut butter or finger paint that may or may not be hiding in my locks.  I’m not with a group of my girlfriend’s jumping around a field like a moron; when we get together we drink and tell inappropriate stories.  Film that, assholes.

While I find these commercials to be utterly ridiculous, they are the standard of how advertisers display the products.  This must be the best way to show hair in all its flowing, shiny glory.  I normally tune this swill out.  I doesn’t matter how much twirling they do, unless it’s on sale, they can spin until they puke…I won’t be buying it.  Then, a hair color commercial came on…the one with Andie MacDowell in it.  I expected there to more swinging and twirling, which there was.  But, there was something different about this one.  It was so strange that I actually stopped watching the show and waited, with my ass glued to the couch, to see it again.    L’Oreal must pay a lot of cheddar for all the advertising they do on the E! Channel, because I didn’t have to wait long to verify what I had just seen. 

The commercial starts off with Andie, lounging fully clothed in a bathtub filled with rose petals.  After I get my hair colored I always lay around in tub with flowers in it. It’s actually one of the instructions on the box. It says test for allergies, find a well ventilated area, and then directs the user to put on their nicest outfit and locate an unoccupied washbasin for horizontal marinating in the petals of their choice.  They recommend pink roses, but I find tulips to be more invigorating.  It helps tame the follicles. 

The camera then focuses on Andie seated on a swing.  Predictable.  Close-ups of face and hair follow shortly thereafter, while she says something about hair color solution in a slow, sultry voice.  This is just stupid. There is nothing sexy about hair color solution.  Have you ever smelled this shit?  If you haven’t, I’m going to need you to reach under your kitchen sink and grab something with ammonia in it.  If you don’t have anything with ammonia in it, find someone who owns a cat and ask for a tour of his or her dirty litter box.  I’ll wait. Ready?  Ok, open the container near your face or place your nose as close to the shit box as possible.  Now, inhale deeply through your nostrils and then shove a lit candle up your nose, for added effect. Yeah, that charming aroma screams sexy.  I don’t care if they add fruit extracts and virgin unicorn piss; it still smells like a chemical burn waiting to happen. 

The scene quickly switches to her PLAYING FOOSBALL with a dude dressed like a mime…really? Foosball?  What the fuck does foosball have to do with hair?  Andie must be a much better actress than she gets credit for, because she doesn’t seem to be the least bit puzzled by what she’s being asked to do.  If I was in this commercial, there would be footage of me beating the director over the head with the foosball table and then being lead off the set in handcuffs, with my shiny hair glimmering behind me.  Who comes up with this crap?  Did someone really say “we need a new way to make her look glamorous and sexy.  I know…get me a foosball table!”?  While they were at it, they should have thrown in a black guy playing the bagpipes.  That’s something you never see in hair commercials or anywhere else, for that matter…because it doesn’t fucking exist.  And it also has nothing to do with hair. 

I don’t mind that advertising companies think they need to depict women involved in childlike activities to get me to buy their crap.  It makes my life easier, because men also see these scenes.  Subconsciously, I think it makes them think of women as stupid, fragile woodland creatures, which makes them easier to take advantage of.  Now, it you need me I’ll be in the backyard…swinging and spinning…only I’ll be doing it with a cold glass of Scotch and a box of Marlboro Lights.