The people on the commercials are usually pretty invisible - people like the underwear models in the newspapers and catalogs who are unknown except to their friends and families.
Family: (reading newspaper) Goodgawdawwmighty! What in tarnation is Myrtle doing in the paper? Near nekkid!
Myrtle: (entering room) I am NOT near-nekkid! I'm wearing a Belissimo Fashion Bra, $19.95 - now through Sunday at Dillards.
Family: But that's ALL you're wearing! What if people SEE you?
Myrtle: You forget it's PRINT advertising. Who reads anymore?
From my spot on the couch in front of the television, I didn't recognize the middle-aged woman smiling and promoting her favorite brand of toothpaste. Obviously, the ad agency was a little nervous about that too, and put her name in the lower corner of the screen.
BROOKE SHIELDS, actress.
What? Brooke Shields, hawking toothpaste?
Not only do we have to be reminded who she is, but what she does for a living. When did Brooke Shields, Child Star, become middle-aged? Who has the time? Who reads anymore? (Obviously, not Brooke Shields when it comes to scripts. Has she appeared in anything since Blue Lagoon?)
Honestly, the first thing that came to mind when the ad came on, was - that looks like Kathy. The attractive neighbor lady.
We're all mixed up in our priorities. You see, Kathy-the-neighbor may or may not know that she looks just like the lost twin of Brooke Shields, but she digs in the dirt and paints the house trim, and sells fundraiser cookbooks down the block. If the subject of toothpaste came up in conversation and she mentioned a preference for Colgate - I might be inclined to try it. But this woman on TV who claims to be Brooke Shields, I just don't know about. They're just paying her to say that.
Why do they?
Why not pay Kathy-the-neighbor, the lost twin, who could then return to her garden and forget the fundraiser cookbooks.
Unless . . . this whole Brooke Shields persona is just a scam, and it's been my neighbor all along. Oooh. My head is hurting.
I'd better lay back down on the couch until this thinking episode goes away.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Monday, June 18, 2007
The E-word
I'm sitting here listening to NPR's latest focus on words we are not supposed to focus on -- you know the list. The F-word, the B-word, the N-word. In truth, I'm not listening anymore. I've exercised the R-word, which would be my Right, I suppose, to change the station, and this jazz is infinitely more suited to the bookstore environment anyway.
For some reason, the topic always makes me think of Cameron - probably in first or second grade at the time - having just learned that the word fart described that particular event that has kept humanity in stitches since the days of the Caveman Comic, that Neanderthal nucklehead who slipped a hairy hand into his armpit and started flapping his arm. Humans have been laughing ever since.
I'm not really sure why.
Cameron, of course, realizing that it was one of those words, immediately began running around the living room in circles, saying it. It wasn't in context, or the punchline to a joke. Just the word. He sensed the power of the fart and immediately put it to good use.
NPR works along those same lines. On an almost daily basis, we are treated to clips of movies, tv programs, and music recordings, in which the majority of the presentation has to be censored by the busy man at the BLEEP button. Terry Gross (her real name) and her interview program FRESH AIR might be the chief purveyors, but the tendancy to air these Juicy Bits is rampant in the media, and I suppose to be fair, the reviewers and interviewers are only presenting what is appearing UNbleeped elsewhere.
Terry Gross (excited voice): Let's hear a clip from the show.
Clip: You BLEEP son of a BLEEP! Can't you BLEEP see that I'm trying to BLEEP here? Are you BLEEP nuts? BLEEP you! I'll BLEEP say whatever I BLEEP want, you dumb BLEEP!
Terry Gross (impressed): Wow. I could really sense the emotion there.
Radio Censor: Yeah. BLEEP great, wasn't it? My best BLEEP ever. And the actor wasn't bad either.
Just like children acquiring and trying the vocabulary of the world, there is a human need to push the envelope, cross the line in the sand, pass in the no-passing zone. We've got to speed, man. I'll park there if I want. Who says I can't say it? Nyah, nyah, nyah. There. I said it. Now what are you gonna do?
They are, after all, just words. (George Carlin pointed that out years ago.) What is the fascination with some examples over others? How come preachers can say fornicate but not BLEEP? (Wow. I could really sense the emotion there.) Why only certain bodily functions? I mean, ear wax is pretty gross, too. You wouldn't want a little pill of it there on the plate next to your french fries. Don't tell me you waxing would, you waxing liar. Wax you!
The E-word is Enough. Couldn't our time be better spent on some other topic? No?
I didn't waxing think so.
For some reason, the topic always makes me think of Cameron - probably in first or second grade at the time - having just learned that the word fart described that particular event that has kept humanity in stitches since the days of the Caveman Comic, that Neanderthal nucklehead who slipped a hairy hand into his armpit and started flapping his arm. Humans have been laughing ever since.
I'm not really sure why.
Cameron, of course, realizing that it was one of those words, immediately began running around the living room in circles, saying it. It wasn't in context, or the punchline to a joke. Just the word. He sensed the power of the fart and immediately put it to good use.
NPR works along those same lines. On an almost daily basis, we are treated to clips of movies, tv programs, and music recordings, in which the majority of the presentation has to be censored by the busy man at the BLEEP button. Terry Gross (her real name) and her interview program FRESH AIR might be the chief purveyors, but the tendancy to air these Juicy Bits is rampant in the media, and I suppose to be fair, the reviewers and interviewers are only presenting what is appearing UNbleeped elsewhere.
Terry Gross (excited voice): Let's hear a clip from the show.
Clip: You BLEEP son of a BLEEP! Can't you BLEEP see that I'm trying to BLEEP here? Are you BLEEP nuts? BLEEP you! I'll BLEEP say whatever I BLEEP want, you dumb BLEEP!
Terry Gross (impressed): Wow. I could really sense the emotion there.
Radio Censor: Yeah. BLEEP great, wasn't it? My best BLEEP ever. And the actor wasn't bad either.
Just like children acquiring and trying the vocabulary of the world, there is a human need to push the envelope, cross the line in the sand, pass in the no-passing zone. We've got to speed, man. I'll park there if I want. Who says I can't say it? Nyah, nyah, nyah. There. I said it. Now what are you gonna do?
They are, after all, just words. (George Carlin pointed that out years ago.) What is the fascination with some examples over others? How come preachers can say fornicate but not BLEEP? (Wow. I could really sense the emotion there.) Why only certain bodily functions? I mean, ear wax is pretty gross, too. You wouldn't want a little pill of it there on the plate next to your french fries. Don't tell me you waxing would, you waxing liar. Wax you!
The E-word is Enough. Couldn't our time be better spent on some other topic? No?
I didn't waxing think so.
Friday, June 15, 2007
If I Could Save Time in a Capsule
With apologies to Jim Croce (who sang about saving Time in a Bottle), I'll pause to note the reclamation of the 1957 Plymouth Belvedere that was buried in that year in downtown Tulsa. It was during a celebration called Tulsarama! (Back when putting 'rama on the end of words made them celebratory.) Tulsarama! was to mark the 50 years that had passed since statehood.
'57 was still close enough to the Big War that people were still a little jumpy -- looking over their collective shoulders and dreading the spectre of the Atomic Bomb. Technology was new and scary. Toasters had multiple settings. Chrysler had just introduced their Highway Hi-Fi, allowing drivers to play vinyl records on record players under the dashboard (and we consider skipping CD's a distraction!) . With those, and other signs of the impending apocolypse, there came a rush of spirit that spoke to the nature of survival, hope for the species, and optimism for all living things. That spirit said: Bury things in the ground!
'57 was still close enough to the Big War that people were still a little jumpy -- looking over their collective shoulders and dreading the spectre of the Atomic Bomb. Technology was new and scary. Toasters had multiple settings. Chrysler had just introduced their Highway Hi-Fi, allowing drivers to play vinyl records on record players under the dashboard (and we consider skipping CD's a distraction!) . With those, and other signs of the impending apocolypse, there came a rush of spirit that spoke to the nature of survival, hope for the species, and optimism for all living things. That spirit said: Bury things in the ground!
Put things in a container and we'll call it a Time Capsule, and it will explain to the survivors of the Cold War Meltdown what it was like before the human race wiped itself out with bombs and marathon sock-hops. With shovels and grit, Boy Scouts, Chambers of Commerce, Little Leagues, and Career Criminals all took to the dirt, burying bits of the present (and Joey the Snitch) to be uncovered later, as evidence of the living past.Unfortunately, the millenium was just too far away, and the Gloomy-Gus mentality of the Nation caused most of the instructions and maps about the time capsules to be lost. Who would be around, if that far-off millenium finally did arrive?
Well, it did come around, and humans still abound, still worrying about the big, important, life-changing things - like buried gas-guzzlers. And Tulsa kept its map to the buried car.
Today, they dug it up.
A crowd watched the lifting by crane of the enormous bagged automobile, having gathered from the far corners of the world, for the opening of a fifty-year old time capsule. No fooling. They came from countries like Mexico, Norway, Canada, and California (right...like California ISN'T its own country out there!). People drove in from all directions of the compass. Luckily, the Tulsarama! folks buried a filled gas can, which they can auction off, or put on display as the last example of gasoline at 19¢ per gallon.
In 1957, the revolutionary way to wrap a sandwich for the lunchbox was that new-fangled wax paper, and regretably, that's sort of what they used to hermetically seal the Belvedere. Anyone who has ever crept down into a gloomy cellar recognizes that mildewy, musty smell is the dank air, caused by dank water, which travels the earth's geography looking for basements, cellars, and burial crypts to fill. There are indications the water completely covered the car at times, and while digging up a car is reason enough for a party, it has to be admitted that burying a brand new car in the ground is NOT the best way to preserve it for posterity.
They could have disassembled it and put it in my sock drawer. I've got several pairs dating back to that era, still holding up pretty well.
Well, it did come around, and humans still abound, still worrying about the big, important, life-changing things - like buried gas-guzzlers. And Tulsa kept its map to the buried car.
Today, they dug it up.
A crowd watched the lifting by crane of the enormous bagged automobile, having gathered from the far corners of the world, for the opening of a fifty-year old time capsule. No fooling. They came from countries like Mexico, Norway, Canada, and California (right...like California ISN'T its own country out there!). People drove in from all directions of the compass. Luckily, the Tulsarama! folks buried a filled gas can, which they can auction off, or put on display as the last example of gasoline at 19¢ per gallon.
In 1957, the revolutionary way to wrap a sandwich for the lunchbox was that new-fangled wax paper, and regretably, that's sort of what they used to hermetically seal the Belvedere. Anyone who has ever crept down into a gloomy cellar recognizes that mildewy, musty smell is the dank air, caused by dank water, which travels the earth's geography looking for basements, cellars, and burial crypts to fill. There are indications the water completely covered the car at times, and while digging up a car is reason enough for a party, it has to be admitted that burying a brand new car in the ground is NOT the best way to preserve it for posterity.
They could have disassembled it and put it in my sock drawer. I've got several pairs dating back to that era, still holding up pretty well.
Saturday, June 9, 2007
On 24
What???!! Something good on television?
Scandalous!
It's easier to pick on TV than picking your own nose (picking someone else's nose is difficult enough to be an Olympic event). Once you get started picking (on TV, that is) it's easy to keep using the same broad brush once it becomes comfortable. (Then again, there is something deeply satisfying - so to speak - about nosepicking, too.)
I've never subscribed to the TV = Vast Wasteland theory, but I have subscribed to HBO and others since they first became available. Having uncut movies available to me makes the whole television experience a little more palatable. Some of you are already thinking - what rot!
Me: There are a couple of good shows on television, with sophisticated plotlines and three dimensional characters.
Some of you: What rot!
Me: Oops, my bad. I was watching the shows on DVD courtesy of Netflix. Technically, not TV.
The Fox Network show 24, which - as pointed out to me by Dustin - is riddled with graphic violence, came in the mail this week. (Of course, I had to see it, once I realized it was a TV bad-boy.) Season one, Disk one. Raring to rip. I'm not claiming it to be high art like Shakespeare or Larry the Cable Guy, but it IS pretty gripping, as TV shows go.
Quick thoughts...
1 . I told someone (several people actually) that I think I would actually VOTE for the Allstate Insurance pitchman, if he would run for president. Something about his on-screen presence exudes ability, confidence, and trust (probably required in actor contracts with Allstate), with the hint of scandal-possibility (probably required in politician contracts with America). Ironically - in 24 - Dennis Haysbert plays a senator running for president. All through the show, I had to fight an urge to locate a voting booth.
2. Television still doesn't have the big-movie budget. Bad-Guy-Teenager gets shot at near point-blank range, but he doesn't bleed. (Not that I'm looking for that, or needing it - I just thought every current show had to have the CSI gross-out factor.)
3. Bad-guy-teenager-with-a-heart (Bad-Guy-Teenager's sidekick) could bust into a whole new line of work, if he could just get out from under the thumb of his Big-Baddie-Boss. Big-Baddie orders Teen-Heart (What? You think I'm going to memorize all their names?) to bury his buddy, and tosses him a shovel and a one-liner.
Big-Baddie (tossing shovel): By the time I get back, you'd better have him buried.
Teen-Heart: Where?
Big-Baddie (with sarcastic snarl): In the ground.
Teen-Heart (doing a 3-Stooges finger-roll): Nyuck! Nyuck! Nyuck! (actually, Linda - that last line is made up...)
4. Since Big-Baddie has already shot his buddy, you'd think Teen-Heart would opt for the Crime Standard "shallow grave" - but NO! Working at a furious pace (except when he stops to smoke drugs), Teen-Heart digs the most beautiful square-cornered, six-feet-under, final resting spot - since Tales from the Crypt. The amazing part is how he does it without breaking a sweat or getting dirty.
5. Later, when Jack Bauer follows orders (against his will) and has to shoot his co-worker, he does it at the edge of a cliff, and the co-worker takes four or five shots to the brassiered chest before tumbling down the ravine. Luckily, he outfitted her with a flak-jacket first, which is probably why she didn't get too emotional at the moment of her impending demise.
Or maybe she saw the same trick pulled on the show Alias, the only other series I've received from Netflix.
Maybe it's a one-plot fits all World, after all.
Scandalous!
It's easier to pick on TV than picking your own nose (picking someone else's nose is difficult enough to be an Olympic event). Once you get started picking (on TV, that is) it's easy to keep using the same broad brush once it becomes comfortable. (Then again, there is something deeply satisfying - so to speak - about nosepicking, too.)
I've never subscribed to the TV = Vast Wasteland theory, but I have subscribed to HBO and others since they first became available. Having uncut movies available to me makes the whole television experience a little more palatable. Some of you are already thinking - what rot!
Me: There are a couple of good shows on television, with sophisticated plotlines and three dimensional characters.
Some of you: What rot!
Me: Oops, my bad. I was watching the shows on DVD courtesy of Netflix. Technically, not TV.
The Fox Network show 24, which - as pointed out to me by Dustin - is riddled with graphic violence, came in the mail this week. (Of course, I had to see it, once I realized it was a TV bad-boy.) Season one, Disk one. Raring to rip. I'm not claiming it to be high art like Shakespeare or Larry the Cable Guy, but it IS pretty gripping, as TV shows go.
Quick thoughts...
1 . I told someone (several people actually) that I think I would actually VOTE for the Allstate Insurance pitchman, if he would run for president. Something about his on-screen presence exudes ability, confidence, and trust (probably required in actor contracts with Allstate), with the hint of scandal-possibility (probably required in politician contracts with America). Ironically - in 24 - Dennis Haysbert plays a senator running for president. All through the show, I had to fight an urge to locate a voting booth.
2. Television still doesn't have the big-movie budget. Bad-Guy-Teenager gets shot at near point-blank range, but he doesn't bleed. (Not that I'm looking for that, or needing it - I just thought every current show had to have the CSI gross-out factor.)
3. Bad-guy-teenager-with-a-heart (Bad-Guy-Teenager's sidekick) could bust into a whole new line of work, if he could just get out from under the thumb of his Big-Baddie-Boss. Big-Baddie orders Teen-Heart (What? You think I'm going to memorize all their names?) to bury his buddy, and tosses him a shovel and a one-liner.
Big-Baddie (tossing shovel): By the time I get back, you'd better have him buried.
Teen-Heart: Where?
Big-Baddie (with sarcastic snarl): In the ground.
Teen-Heart (doing a 3-Stooges finger-roll): Nyuck! Nyuck! Nyuck! (actually, Linda - that last line is made up...)
4. Since Big-Baddie has already shot his buddy, you'd think Teen-Heart would opt for the Crime Standard "shallow grave" - but NO! Working at a furious pace (except when he stops to smoke drugs), Teen-Heart digs the most beautiful square-cornered, six-feet-under, final resting spot - since Tales from the Crypt. The amazing part is how he does it without breaking a sweat or getting dirty.
5. Later, when Jack Bauer follows orders (against his will) and has to shoot his co-worker, he does it at the edge of a cliff, and the co-worker takes four or five shots to the brassiered chest before tumbling down the ravine. Luckily, he outfitted her with a flak-jacket first, which is probably why she didn't get too emotional at the moment of her impending demise.
Or maybe she saw the same trick pulled on the show Alias, the only other series I've received from Netflix.
Maybe it's a one-plot fits all World, after all.
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