"If you don't think leaks can be a big problem, you've never taken a trip with your grandfather as he acts like a test pilot for adult diapers."
Old Man Voice: "(groaning) Houston....we have a problem!"
Ugh, ok, a couple of things straight off. First, are we supposed to be amused at the thought of grampa on a car trip, struggling with his own incontinence? Second- "Houston, we have a problem?" Next to "we're not in Kansas anymore," is there any hackneyed, long-since-ready-for-the-scrap-heap cliche out there? Does anyone actually make any effort at ALL when writing commercials, screenplays, etc. anymore?
But wait, it gets much worse. Turns out, this commercial has NOTHING to do with bladder problems, automobile trips, or dead-horse throwaway eye-rolling cliches. Because next thing we hear is "at Dura-Lite, we take leaks seriously. We are experts in providing Charge Air Coolers for all your trucking needs..."
Good freaking lord, I wish I was kidding. We got a lame joke and old man groaning that he's in the process of wetting himself as a set up for a product that (I guess) is used to stop leaking in your truck's air cooling unit. They both involve "leaking." Get it? GET IT?
Here's what I get: The makers of Dura-Lite either hired the "B" team to write this dreck, or they decided "hey, all commercials sound alike anyway, how hard can it be to write one?" and did it themselves. Either way, it was a bad decision, because what they end up with is a juvenile piece of rubbish that barely touches on the identity of the actual product (I had to look it up online, and after a quick glance at the website I'm STILL not quite certain what is being sold here.) If in fact the product stops air coolant leakage in trucks, that's fine- but how the hell does that rationally and logically connect to grampa wetting his pants in the car? I mean, is this really the best you can do?
If so- would you buy a "Charge Air Cooler" from people who listened to this commercial, said "yep, go with it, we want our product associated with this?"
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
It's not Delivery, as you'll realize the moment you take a bite
These "It's not Delivery, It's DiGiorno" ads have been around for a long, long time- over a decade, in fact- and they've always struck me as being a really pathetic attempt at brainwashing through repetition. As in, "if we tell people that this frozen pizza tastes like delivery pizza often enough, the stupid viewing public will actually start to buy it."
The commercials themselves have always veered from mildly stupid to just plain asinine. Some years back, we were "treated" to the sight of a half-naked loser singing the praises of his straight-from-the-freezer stuffed-crust pizza, only to be interrupted by his rightfully mortified wife- "the delivery guy didn't see you like that, did he?" More recently, we've seen a commercial featuring a guy and his friends watching a football game in the back yard. The guy calls inside the house and talks to his wife as if she's the local pizza place- she ultimately responds by turning the sprinklers on the jerkwad. Disfunctional families are ALWAYS funny, aren't they?
This most recent one might just represent the low point for the good people at DiGiorno, however. At a dinner party in what looks like a very upscale penthouse apartment, the host inexplicably prepares to present his guests with a pizza which, we are shown, is so heavy with toppings that when it's placed on the coffee table, the floor under the table collapses, dropping floor, table and pizza directly into the apartment below. The whole destructive mess lands neatly in front of two guys doing what two guys are always doing in apartments- sitting on a couch, staring straight ahead.
Please, save your questions until after class.
Totally nonplussed, the two guys instantly pick up slices of the pizza which has magically appeared before them, ignoring the pleadings of the pizza's owner, who is far more concerned about gettting his eight-dollar hors'deurves back than he is about the lease-smashing structural damage he's just inflicted on two apartments. Nor is the former owner of the pizza at all concerned that anyone has been hurt. Nor is he concerned that his guests have apparently only narrowly avoided death by either A) not happening to stand at the place where years of mold rot have given the floor the strength of a soggy graham cracker or B) collectively weighing less than a DiGiorno's pizza. Nope, he just wants his damned pizza back.
Ok, I get it. This is supposed to be a fun, exaggerated illustration of how superawesomely massive DiGiorno's pizza is. It doesn't work because the situtation is just TOO bizarre. the claim is just TOO overblown and, most of all, because I've eaten DiGiornio pizza and know that while as frozen pizzas go it's not half bad, if you can be tricked into thinking it's Delivery, you really need to stop ordering from Domino's.
The commercials themselves have always veered from mildly stupid to just plain asinine. Some years back, we were "treated" to the sight of a half-naked loser singing the praises of his straight-from-the-freezer stuffed-crust pizza, only to be interrupted by his rightfully mortified wife- "the delivery guy didn't see you like that, did he?" More recently, we've seen a commercial featuring a guy and his friends watching a football game in the back yard. The guy calls inside the house and talks to his wife as if she's the local pizza place- she ultimately responds by turning the sprinklers on the jerkwad. Disfunctional families are ALWAYS funny, aren't they?
This most recent one might just represent the low point for the good people at DiGiorno, however. At a dinner party in what looks like a very upscale penthouse apartment, the host inexplicably prepares to present his guests with a pizza which, we are shown, is so heavy with toppings that when it's placed on the coffee table, the floor under the table collapses, dropping floor, table and pizza directly into the apartment below. The whole destructive mess lands neatly in front of two guys doing what two guys are always doing in apartments- sitting on a couch, staring straight ahead.
Please, save your questions until after class.
Totally nonplussed, the two guys instantly pick up slices of the pizza which has magically appeared before them, ignoring the pleadings of the pizza's owner, who is far more concerned about gettting his eight-dollar hors'deurves back than he is about the lease-smashing structural damage he's just inflicted on two apartments. Nor is the former owner of the pizza at all concerned that anyone has been hurt. Nor is he concerned that his guests have apparently only narrowly avoided death by either A) not happening to stand at the place where years of mold rot have given the floor the strength of a soggy graham cracker or B) collectively weighing less than a DiGiorno's pizza. Nope, he just wants his damned pizza back.
Ok, I get it. This is supposed to be a fun, exaggerated illustration of how superawesomely massive DiGiorno's pizza is. It doesn't work because the situtation is just TOO bizarre. the claim is just TOO overblown and, most of all, because I've eaten DiGiornio pizza and know that while as frozen pizzas go it's not half bad, if you can be tricked into thinking it's Delivery, you really need to stop ordering from Domino's.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Flo-TV throws down the gauntlet
I was beginning to think that the makers of cell phones were going to be left to ravage society and destroy its last vestiges of decency all by themselves. I was beginning to think that when nothing was left of our civilization but a smoking crater, the vampires from Verizon, AT&T and Apple would be standing over our shattered remains, sharing the credit for the ruination of all that was once Good and Pure.
But then, I was blindsided by the sudden re-emergence of an almost-forgotten old-timer in the Hate Brigade, Television. It seems that TV has decided to invade the realm of the cell phone and take back some of the territory it once called exclusively its own. There's a New/Old Kid on the Block, and it's name is Flo-TV.
We see a very nice-looking, young mother of two handing her sweet little boy a glass of milk at the kitchen table, and giving her equally sweet-looking little girl a head rub. Suddenly she notices the time and realizes that hubby is about to come home from work (10:30 in the morning? Whatever...) and she turns into a modern version of Joan Crawford, knocking the glass of milk right into her son's face, dashing the toys on the kitchen table everywhere, and dumping a bag of flour over her kids. The look on her face tells us that she's roughly thirty seconds from dragging these kids to the bathtub and pulling an Andrea Yates.
Hubby walks in- suit, tie, briefcase (again, home from work at 10:30 AM.....sorry, I have a fixation on this.) He stops short and looks at the carnage.
"I just need an hour" moans his lunatic wife.
Next thing, we see Mommy Dearest sitting alone in a park, yelling "Oh Come ON!" at a little screen in her hand- a Flo-TV unit which is displaying a football game (Ok, so it's the West Coast, which would explain why there's a football game on in the morning. But that also means it's Saturday or Sunday, so why was hubby coming home from....oh, never mind.)
The hate just keeps coming, doesn't it? This woman has to scare her family and trash her kitchen-- to justify getting an hour to herself with a television? We've become so horrified by the thought of sharing space with people that we now need to run out and buy $249 television units and pay $14.95 per month to watch programs we can watch for a fraction of the cost in our living rooms (oh but ewww, there might be other people there...) The concept of "alone time" now means "time to watch television?" Wow, we've really advanced since the age of "TV dinners" and other excuses to sit in front of the boob tube, haven't we? Now we can take the tv with us- if only we can convince our spouses that we are on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
(Hopefully, Daddy will be spending that hour reassuring his children that while Mommy is sick, she's going to be getting help, and no matter how horrible she acts or how clearly she hates them, it's Not Their Fault. And now it's time to pack and take a fun trip to Grandma's house for an extended stay, because we love Grandma's house, don't we?)
(Ok, so on the fourth viewing, I now see that it's not 10:30, it's 5:50. That makes more sense. Doesn't explain the blazing sunlight streaming into the kitchen, though- or the fact that his woman then spends the next hour sitting outside in the sun.)
So take that, cell phone companies!! You aren't going to be allowed to destroy society all by yourselves after all! The glowing box that's been part of every American household since the 1950s is back and ready to take you on!
It's your move! I know you won't let me down.
But then, I was blindsided by the sudden re-emergence of an almost-forgotten old-timer in the Hate Brigade, Television. It seems that TV has decided to invade the realm of the cell phone and take back some of the territory it once called exclusively its own. There's a New/Old Kid on the Block, and it's name is Flo-TV.
We see a very nice-looking, young mother of two handing her sweet little boy a glass of milk at the kitchen table, and giving her equally sweet-looking little girl a head rub. Suddenly she notices the time and realizes that hubby is about to come home from work (10:30 in the morning? Whatever...) and she turns into a modern version of Joan Crawford, knocking the glass of milk right into her son's face, dashing the toys on the kitchen table everywhere, and dumping a bag of flour over her kids. The look on her face tells us that she's roughly thirty seconds from dragging these kids to the bathtub and pulling an Andrea Yates.
Hubby walks in- suit, tie, briefcase (again, home from work at 10:30 AM.....sorry, I have a fixation on this.) He stops short and looks at the carnage.
"I just need an hour" moans his lunatic wife.
Next thing, we see Mommy Dearest sitting alone in a park, yelling "Oh Come ON!" at a little screen in her hand- a Flo-TV unit which is displaying a football game (Ok, so it's the West Coast, which would explain why there's a football game on in the morning. But that also means it's Saturday or Sunday, so why was hubby coming home from....oh, never mind.)
The hate just keeps coming, doesn't it? This woman has to scare her family and trash her kitchen-- to justify getting an hour to herself with a television? We've become so horrified by the thought of sharing space with people that we now need to run out and buy $249 television units and pay $14.95 per month to watch programs we can watch for a fraction of the cost in our living rooms (oh but ewww, there might be other people there...) The concept of "alone time" now means "time to watch television?" Wow, we've really advanced since the age of "TV dinners" and other excuses to sit in front of the boob tube, haven't we? Now we can take the tv with us- if only we can convince our spouses that we are on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
(Hopefully, Daddy will be spending that hour reassuring his children that while Mommy is sick, she's going to be getting help, and no matter how horrible she acts or how clearly she hates them, it's Not Their Fault. And now it's time to pack and take a fun trip to Grandma's house for an extended stay, because we love Grandma's house, don't we?)
(Ok, so on the fourth viewing, I now see that it's not 10:30, it's 5:50. That makes more sense. Doesn't explain the blazing sunlight streaming into the kitchen, though- or the fact that his woman then spends the next hour sitting outside in the sun.)
So take that, cell phone companies!! You aren't going to be allowed to destroy society all by yourselves after all! The glowing box that's been part of every American household since the 1950s is back and ready to take you on!
It's your move! I know you won't let me down.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Only in your dreams, Toyota
How big and exciting is Toyota's latest new car deal? Why, its so exciting that Toyota has decided to recycle a commercial from last year which features a crowd of escaped lunatics knocking each other down as they race madly through a Showroom in a desperate attempt to claim "their" Toyota.
Here's a guy splayed all over the hood of a perfectly average-looking Corolla. Here's another clown, perhaps well-respected in his place of employ where his coworkers don't realize he's an insane ass incredibly susceptible to lame marketing gimmicks, entering his choice of vehicle via sunroof. Here's a woman hurling herself through the (unfortunately) open driver's side window of what looks to be a Tercel (seriously, though, what difference does it make? It's a Toyota) and then locking the door to prevent anyone else from "disputing her claim." I doubt that the Oklahoma Land Rush featured as much crazed mayhem.
At the close of the commercial, we see a single poor slob standing in the now-empty showroom, weakly raising a hand and announcing "um, I didn't get one?" A burly, "this is way too easy" salesman steps up and gives him a re-assuring touch on the shoulder. "We've got more" he confides, using his thumb to point off-screen (my guess is that he's pointing outside, to the dealership's lot. Why do I figure this? Well, maybe it's because that's where 99% of the cars offered for sale by every auto dealership in the United States can be found. )
This commercial features a theme which is all-too-standard in car ads: the drooling, way-too-eager customer whose only real concern is availability. We see these smiling, jumping-up-and-down-as-if-they-really-dropped-in-just-to-use-the-restroom doofuses leaping into cars and seeking out salesmen as if they aren't really the least bit interested in monthly payments and interest rates, just where they sign their names so they can drive off with their shiny new autos. None of the customers depicted resemble anyone I know, or anyone I've ever seen at a dealership, or anyone I would want to count as a friend, or anyone I wouldn't disown as a relative. Only in commercials are people thrilled out of their minds at the prospect of buying a car, and in constant terror that this month's "big sale" will "pass them by." The sensible people I know wouldn't think of walking into a dealership with anything more than a "I'm just looking, and may buy at a future date" attitude. Because nobody I know enjoys paying more than they need to.
And in the age of 10% unemployment (actually more like 17% if you count those who have simply stopped looking, or whose benefits have lapsed) there's something just a little gauche about showing starry-eyed morons knocking each other over to plant their flags on Toyotas.
If the way cars are purchased on television bore any resemblence to the way they are purchased in real life, I'd quit teaching and apply for a sales position tomorrow. Because it looks like the easiest job on Earth.
Here's a guy splayed all over the hood of a perfectly average-looking Corolla. Here's another clown, perhaps well-respected in his place of employ where his coworkers don't realize he's an insane ass incredibly susceptible to lame marketing gimmicks, entering his choice of vehicle via sunroof. Here's a woman hurling herself through the (unfortunately) open driver's side window of what looks to be a Tercel (seriously, though, what difference does it make? It's a Toyota) and then locking the door to prevent anyone else from "disputing her claim." I doubt that the Oklahoma Land Rush featured as much crazed mayhem.
At the close of the commercial, we see a single poor slob standing in the now-empty showroom, weakly raising a hand and announcing "um, I didn't get one?" A burly, "this is way too easy" salesman steps up and gives him a re-assuring touch on the shoulder. "We've got more" he confides, using his thumb to point off-screen (my guess is that he's pointing outside, to the dealership's lot. Why do I figure this? Well, maybe it's because that's where 99% of the cars offered for sale by every auto dealership in the United States can be found. )
This commercial features a theme which is all-too-standard in car ads: the drooling, way-too-eager customer whose only real concern is availability. We see these smiling, jumping-up-and-down-as-if-they-really-dropped-in-just-to-use-the-restroom doofuses leaping into cars and seeking out salesmen as if they aren't really the least bit interested in monthly payments and interest rates, just where they sign their names so they can drive off with their shiny new autos. None of the customers depicted resemble anyone I know, or anyone I've ever seen at a dealership, or anyone I would want to count as a friend, or anyone I wouldn't disown as a relative. Only in commercials are people thrilled out of their minds at the prospect of buying a car, and in constant terror that this month's "big sale" will "pass them by." The sensible people I know wouldn't think of walking into a dealership with anything more than a "I'm just looking, and may buy at a future date" attitude. Because nobody I know enjoys paying more than they need to.
And in the age of 10% unemployment (actually more like 17% if you count those who have simply stopped looking, or whose benefits have lapsed) there's something just a little gauche about showing starry-eyed morons knocking each other over to plant their flags on Toyotas.
If the way cars are purchased on television bore any resemblence to the way they are purchased in real life, I'd quit teaching and apply for a sales position tomorrow. Because it looks like the easiest job on Earth.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Just when you thought cell phone owners couldn't be more obnoxious
We're in the breakroom, and one employee who really ought to get his ass back to work announces to his coworkers "you really got to check out this new Avatar trailer!"
He then proceeds to project the trailer from his phone on to the break room wall. So now everyone in the break room can share this guy's pathetic, juvenile obsessions with A) his phone, B) Avatar, or C) All of the Above.
Whether they like it or not.
"There's no such thing as a Projector Phone" one of the retarded coworkers tells the guy who has just demonstrated the use of his projector phone. I have no response to this, except to say that the ensuing dialogue, which can be boiled down to "yes there is, no there isn't, yes there is" is worthy of any twenty-seconds-yet-still-way-too-long McDonald's ad in terms of intelligence level.
The absolute horror represented by this new phone is, I'll admit, well demonstrated by the commercial. Remember a few years ago, when if someone asked you "did you see that cool new trailer?" you could say "no" and that would be the end of it? Remember last year, when if someone asked you "did you see that cool new Wii commercial?" you could say "no," and if the idiot then offered to bring it up for you on his phone, you could say "pass," leaving other idiots to gather around and watch the commercial on his little glowing screen? Well, those days are gone- now if you say "no thank you" to anything anyone wants to show you on his phone, you'll have to see it anyway, because seconds later it will be projected onto the nearest wall, complete with LOUD music and dialogue.
Get ready to be forced to watch and listen to commercials, music videos, trailers, and entire television shows and movies projected on to the walls of buses, train cars, hallways-- hell, it's only a matter of time before you find yourself sitting in a theatre trying to watch a movie, and seeing another one being projected on the floor of the center aisle by some bored and brain-dead asshole who long ago decided to follow the lead of the tv commercials and simply stop being at all concerned about the needs and desires of the other carbon-based life forms on the planet.
The makers of the LG Projector Phone have had quite enough of us "I don't need a constant barrage of 'information' and entertainment, and instant gratification isn't all it's cracked up to be" non-conformists. We will be assimilated. We don't care to view the latest trailer? Tough shit- there it is, shining on the wall five feet away. Try to look away- you are only going to encounter a competing commercial, being projected by someone else.
"You've got to check out this new Avatar trailer." Yes, I do. Because saying "no" is simply not an option any more. And to think that, just a few years ago, I thought that those horrible chirping Nextel Direct phones were the pinnacle of asshattery.
He then proceeds to project the trailer from his phone on to the break room wall. So now everyone in the break room can share this guy's pathetic, juvenile obsessions with A) his phone, B) Avatar, or C) All of the Above.
Whether they like it or not.
"There's no such thing as a Projector Phone" one of the retarded coworkers tells the guy who has just demonstrated the use of his projector phone. I have no response to this, except to say that the ensuing dialogue, which can be boiled down to "yes there is, no there isn't, yes there is" is worthy of any twenty-seconds-yet-still-way-too-long McDonald's ad in terms of intelligence level.
The absolute horror represented by this new phone is, I'll admit, well demonstrated by the commercial. Remember a few years ago, when if someone asked you "did you see that cool new trailer?" you could say "no" and that would be the end of it? Remember last year, when if someone asked you "did you see that cool new Wii commercial?" you could say "no," and if the idiot then offered to bring it up for you on his phone, you could say "pass," leaving other idiots to gather around and watch the commercial on his little glowing screen? Well, those days are gone- now if you say "no thank you" to anything anyone wants to show you on his phone, you'll have to see it anyway, because seconds later it will be projected onto the nearest wall, complete with LOUD music and dialogue.
Get ready to be forced to watch and listen to commercials, music videos, trailers, and entire television shows and movies projected on to the walls of buses, train cars, hallways-- hell, it's only a matter of time before you find yourself sitting in a theatre trying to watch a movie, and seeing another one being projected on the floor of the center aisle by some bored and brain-dead asshole who long ago decided to follow the lead of the tv commercials and simply stop being at all concerned about the needs and desires of the other carbon-based life forms on the planet.
The makers of the LG Projector Phone have had quite enough of us "I don't need a constant barrage of 'information' and entertainment, and instant gratification isn't all it's cracked up to be" non-conformists. We will be assimilated. We don't care to view the latest trailer? Tough shit- there it is, shining on the wall five feet away. Try to look away- you are only going to encounter a competing commercial, being projected by someone else.
"You've got to check out this new Avatar trailer." Yes, I do. Because saying "no" is simply not an option any more. And to think that, just a few years ago, I thought that those horrible chirping Nextel Direct phones were the pinnacle of asshattery.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
I'd Celebrate the Appearence of a Napkin right about now
I'm way past getting pissed at the inevitable movie-fast food marketing tie-ins; I usually don't even notice them anymore, mainly because I don't eat fast food. But here's something that's always irritated me about commercials which try to convince us that eating a particular hamburger is just another way to enjoy the latest big-budget flick: it's the use of the word "Celebration" in reference to both experiences.
"Celebrate the film Avatar by eating a Big Mac..." Huh? I'm not a stockholder of the film company that produced this flick, which is apparently going to clear a billion dollars at the Box Office by this time next Thursday. I'm not the Producer or Director, and what is being put on film is not my vision, carried from studio to studio for twenty years before the funding could finally be put together. I didn't even spend three years reading whatever geeky Sci-fi magazines were used to build up interest in the film. So what am I "Celebrating?" Can't I just go see the damn movie without "Celebrating" it?
Here's another thing- two guys sitting in a movie theater, staring at the screen. One of them says "Since when can Mountains float?" and seconds later gasps in amazement at the action on the screen. Um, since they started making movies, dumbass. I wonder if this guy asked aloud "since when can people hover in mid-air?" while viewing The Matrix.
Here's a woman telling her friends "I've been waiting for this for a long time!" Is she talking about the movie, or a Big Mac? Who knows? Who cares? Here's a guy opening the cardboard container and gazing at his Big Mac on a bus. Ever used a municipal bus system that permitted eating on board? Me neither. What's this got to do with Avatar? Absolutely NOTHING.
But here's the worst part- we jump from a shot of a guy digging his fingernails into his seat while watching the film to another guy digging his fingernails into a Big Mac-- and then we get a lovely close-up of the latter taking a big bite out of his sandwich, leaving a glob of Special Sauce on the side of his mouth- just lovely.
This kind of crap really turns me off from going to movies at all (this, and seeing clueless asshats four rows down get bored with the film and flip open their cell phones halfway through.) I don't celebrate the opportunity to drop ten bucks to see a movie. Seeing movies doesn't make me want to stuff greasy, artery-hardening junk into my mouth. And watching people equate movies with junk food doesn't inspire me to partake of either.
(BTW, what is in these Big Macs anyway, which creates hallucinations that scenes from Avatar are taking place all around the consumer? In one commercial, a guy actually thinks he's being chased by a monster from the film after taking a bite of his sandwich. Again- there's no logical connection between the film and the food- no matter how many times I see these commercials, I am not going to hallucinate that I'm in the film if I ever eat a Big Mac.)
Please, MacDonalds, stop trying to glom on to the latest Hollywood hit- I can't imagine anything that has less to do with a Big Mac than Avatar. Stop trying to convince me that the release oa any particular film is something to be "celebrated." And stop showing people behaving like clueless airheads whose lives revolve around movies and junk food.
And please, hand that disgusting idiot in the final shot a napkin. Yuck.
"Celebrate the film Avatar by eating a Big Mac..." Huh? I'm not a stockholder of the film company that produced this flick, which is apparently going to clear a billion dollars at the Box Office by this time next Thursday. I'm not the Producer or Director, and what is being put on film is not my vision, carried from studio to studio for twenty years before the funding could finally be put together. I didn't even spend three years reading whatever geeky Sci-fi magazines were used to build up interest in the film. So what am I "Celebrating?" Can't I just go see the damn movie without "Celebrating" it?
Here's another thing- two guys sitting in a movie theater, staring at the screen. One of them says "Since when can Mountains float?" and seconds later gasps in amazement at the action on the screen. Um, since they started making movies, dumbass. I wonder if this guy asked aloud "since when can people hover in mid-air?" while viewing The Matrix.
Here's a woman telling her friends "I've been waiting for this for a long time!" Is she talking about the movie, or a Big Mac? Who knows? Who cares? Here's a guy opening the cardboard container and gazing at his Big Mac on a bus. Ever used a municipal bus system that permitted eating on board? Me neither. What's this got to do with Avatar? Absolutely NOTHING.
But here's the worst part- we jump from a shot of a guy digging his fingernails into his seat while watching the film to another guy digging his fingernails into a Big Mac-- and then we get a lovely close-up of the latter taking a big bite out of his sandwich, leaving a glob of Special Sauce on the side of his mouth- just lovely.
This kind of crap really turns me off from going to movies at all (this, and seeing clueless asshats four rows down get bored with the film and flip open their cell phones halfway through.) I don't celebrate the opportunity to drop ten bucks to see a movie. Seeing movies doesn't make me want to stuff greasy, artery-hardening junk into my mouth. And watching people equate movies with junk food doesn't inspire me to partake of either.
(BTW, what is in these Big Macs anyway, which creates hallucinations that scenes from Avatar are taking place all around the consumer? In one commercial, a guy actually thinks he's being chased by a monster from the film after taking a bite of his sandwich. Again- there's no logical connection between the film and the food- no matter how many times I see these commercials, I am not going to hallucinate that I'm in the film if I ever eat a Big Mac.)
Please, MacDonalds, stop trying to glom on to the latest Hollywood hit- I can't imagine anything that has less to do with a Big Mac than Avatar. Stop trying to convince me that the release oa any particular film is something to be "celebrated." And stop showing people behaving like clueless airheads whose lives revolve around movies and junk food.
And please, hand that disgusting idiot in the final shot a napkin. Yuck.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
7-11 Needs to be Introduced to the Concept of Target Marketing
I'm listening to a Christmas story narrated by a wonderful actor with a wonderful voice, the late Edward Arnold, on XM Classics Channel 164. It's kind of a holiday tradition- I sit at the kitchen table and prepare review sheets and midterm exams while my mom bakes, and we both enjoy the old radio shows provided to us by XM/Sirius. Today, however, we are in for an unpleasant surprise:
It's a commercial break, but instead of the usual "Easy Credit" and "Work from Home" and "Pay off your debt in 15 minutes" schemes, we get an absolutely horrible, nerve-grating, two-minute rap about how incredible 7-11 is. As near as I can tell, the "story" of the rap "song" is how the "singer" wins over this hot new girl in town by taking her down to the local 7-11 and buying her coffee. That might be totally inaccurate, however, since I was more interested in turning the volume down than paying attention to the actual "lyrics."
I do know that the "song" ended with the "singer" uttering the words "I'll take my coffee with a serving of HER." Clever, no? Well, no. But it's downright brilliant compared to the geniuses who sold this pile of obnoxious drivel to XM/Sirius and agreed to have it run on a channel marketed almost exclusively to people over the age of 65. Good call, 7-11-- I'm sure that if one of your stores was operating within a reasonable distance from my parents' house (we have our own version of 7-11 up here, called Cumberland Farms) this commercial would have sent them rushing to buy coffee, slurpees and heat-lamp hot dogs. I'm sure that it's because they don't want to be reminded of their lack of a 7-11 franchise they'll be rushing to the radio to hit the mute button whenever this steaming pile of excrement comes on. And not because their ears are bleeding.
Seriously, what were you guys at 7-11 thinking? Commercials featuring rap on Classic Radio? Do you think that the makers of Depends Undergarments buy commercial time on Radio Disney? Just brilliant.
It's a commercial break, but instead of the usual "Easy Credit" and "Work from Home" and "Pay off your debt in 15 minutes" schemes, we get an absolutely horrible, nerve-grating, two-minute rap about how incredible 7-11 is. As near as I can tell, the "story" of the rap "song" is how the "singer" wins over this hot new girl in town by taking her down to the local 7-11 and buying her coffee. That might be totally inaccurate, however, since I was more interested in turning the volume down than paying attention to the actual "lyrics."
I do know that the "song" ended with the "singer" uttering the words "I'll take my coffee with a serving of HER." Clever, no? Well, no. But it's downright brilliant compared to the geniuses who sold this pile of obnoxious drivel to XM/Sirius and agreed to have it run on a channel marketed almost exclusively to people over the age of 65. Good call, 7-11-- I'm sure that if one of your stores was operating within a reasonable distance from my parents' house (we have our own version of 7-11 up here, called Cumberland Farms) this commercial would have sent them rushing to buy coffee, slurpees and heat-lamp hot dogs. I'm sure that it's because they don't want to be reminded of their lack of a 7-11 franchise they'll be rushing to the radio to hit the mute button whenever this steaming pile of excrement comes on. And not because their ears are bleeding.
Seriously, what were you guys at 7-11 thinking? Commercials featuring rap on Classic Radio? Do you think that the makers of Depends Undergarments buy commercial time on Radio Disney? Just brilliant.
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