Sprint is at war with society, and society is losing

Here's another nasty little dollup of ugliness from our friends at Sprint, who seem determined to sell us on the idea that the whole point of owning a cellphone with unlimited video streaming and text is to be the most self-absorbed choad imaginable for a reasonable monthly fee.

The football player in this ad- knee shattered, probably pumped full of pain-killers, nevertheless still holding on to his cell phone- receives an email from his "caregiver" (I use that term VERY loosely) letting him know that he's out for the season. That's right- the doctor is RIGHT THERE, but has adopted to modern technology so well that he finds it more convenient to send a text than to simply tell the patient with that hole located between the nose and chin.

"What does that mean?" the deeply concerned football player asks (give the guy props for asking the question orally rather than sending a reply email- though responding electronically might return a greater level of humanity than he gets from the Never Look Up bag of toxic waste sitting at his side.) "It means I'm dumping you from my fantasy team, that's for sure" the "doctor" replies (I cringe whenever I hear this, because I can imagine the thousands of mentally and emotionally retarded Barely Erect YouTubers LOLing and high-fiving each other at the awesome wittiness on display.)

As with all these commercials, the "funny" part comes from the fact that the Asshole With A Phone simply doesn't get that he's being an Asshole, and all he cares about is the fact that he's saving money. More- he assumes that the victim of his asshattery is actually concerned about his phone bill. So, you see, Sprint customers have brains stuffed with animal feces and the social consciences of rabid wolves. Bottom Line: You need to switch to Sprint.

At least, I'm pretty sure that's the message we are supposed to draw from these ads. Because I don't quite fit in, I'm certain that my reaction- that this football player should reach out, seize his "doctor's" phone, and apply it to his lungs via the rectum, is not a common one. This suspicion is confirmed over at YouTube, where I'm told that anyone who doesn't think these commercials are funny has no sense of humor. If I were willing to join YouTube, I'd reply that anyone who thinks that these commercials are funny has no sense of humor- or humanity, or basic decency. And probably should not be allowed objects as sharp as keyboards. But again- that's just me.

Have you heard about Larry the Lonesome Loser?

First, can this guy be a sadder, more delusional waste of space? "I don't talk to people at the game" (gee, big loss, I'm sure.) So you're so "focused on the game" that you don't want to be distracted by the other 70,000 people in attendance- why not just watch it on your flipping couch then, stupid?

Second- "the people I'm with call me Mr Excitement.." that would be the people you don't talk to, right? Makes a lot of sense, Larry. I'm guessing that those people don't notice you as much as you think they do.

Third- "Sixty thousand people want that ball to go through the goal posts..." (what happened to the other ten thousand?) Larry, please, think about this for a moment. There are two teams in competition on the field. If that ball goes through the goalposts, it benefits ONE team. It hurts the OTHER team. Following me so far, Larry? Are you saying that six out of seven people in the stands are rooting for whatever team happens to be making the field goal attempt? Or are you saying what I think you're saying- you don't give a flying crap about either team? You just like to see scoring? Find yourself distracted often by shiny things? You are quite the piece of work, Larry.

Fourth- "there are millions of people who WANT to be there." You really think so? Seriously? I bet a lot more people are perfectly happy at restaurants, taverns, and living rooms surrounded by friends and much better food than you are going to get at the sterile neutral site you are watching "the Big Game" at, dumbass. And when the game is over, they get to go home to their own beds. You get to hit the hotel and think about the trip to the airport. And how nobody is going to be there to meet you at the gate when you exit the plane, because....

Fifth- "I've missed weddings, I've missed babies being born, but I have never missed a Super Bowl." If that's not the definition of misplaced priorities, I don't know what is. Are you for real, Larry? You've skipped out on weddings and the BIRTH of FAMILY MEMBERS to go to a FUCKING FOOTBALL GAME which almost exclusively featured two teams you were NOT a fan of during the regular season? Well, gee- that certainly explains the divorce. And the lack of phone calls. And why you spend your holidays alone. But hey, you've got that one weekend a year where you get to play Supergeek with 70,000 strangers.

This isn't pleasant for me, Larry, because you are apparently a real person and not an invention of the NFL. That you exist is almost heartbreaking; that you are proud of your obsession with the Most Overrated Sporting Event That Is Not Scheduled For Qatar is way beyond pathetic.

That you are willing to share your "story" with the world? Well, I don't think they've invented a word that fits that level of obliviousness.

So I'll just come out and say it- Larry, I would not trade places with you for box seats at the 2011 Red Sox-Phillies World Series. That's baseball, Larry. A sport WORTH traveling great distances to watch. You can keep your Super Bowl tickets. I'm too polite to tell you WHERE you can keep them.

When "cute" runs headlong into "stupid"

Simply put: Would you buy a new car from this guy?

The car salesman spends every moment with the customer- the intro, the test drive, the (unseen) negotiations, the sign-on-the-dotted-line- doing some juvenile, obsessive pen twirl with his right hand. Apparently it's just part of the job, because his co-worker is doing the same thing.

This kind of shit would bother the hell out of me- if this guy is so good at twirling pens, he's got way too much down time at the dealership. I'd think he was trying to distract me from paying attention to the quality of the car's handling and the other features. Or I'd think he didn't give a damn about making the sale and would rather practice his idiot hobby. At any rate, three minutes with this guy would have me walking out the door in disgust, or at least asking if any grown-ups were on duty that I could talk to.

Oh, and if I actually hung around for the test drive and negotiations, and was on the verge of signing the contract- "where's my pen? Who would take my pen?" would be my final, Should-Not-Be-Required cue to get up and walk out.

I'm convinced that the people who make Volkswagen ads have never been in a showroom and have no real idea of what goes into selling a car. After all, over the past year their sales pitches have involved a talking VW Bug, people slamming their fists into each other and barking "black one!", and now salesmen doing annoying tricks with pens. Seriously- who the hell approves this crap? Can you imagine what they REJECTED?

No, I would not buy a car from a salesman who treated me with the dismissive contempt that this clown shows to his customer. Another fail added to a long and growing list of poor ad campaign choices, Volkswagen. I will say this- you do keep me on my toes. I'm always curious to see what pathetically stupid angle you'll try next.

Why don't you just kill him instead of talking him to death?

A long time ago, cell phone companies decided that it just wasn't worth it to fight the "our product turns people into insensitive, clueless assholes" criticism, and instead use that charge as the basis of their advertising campaigns. That's why pretty much every commercial for cell phones features their users acting like total dicks who are just begging to have their teeth jammed down their throat, ASAP.

In this charming, Holiday-themed installment, our mandatory drooling cell phone addict has decided to interrupt his neighbor's decorating by sending a mass text message to everyone he knows snarking on what an eyesore the neighbor's light display is. That he does this while standing directly in front of the offending display suggests that cell phones do, in fact, burn out brain cells, and owners don't just ACT as if they have suffered severe head injuries. That he sent this message to the target of his hateful little note demonstrates a significant level of poor judgment (or perhaps he's just too damned lazy to exclude him from the mailing.) That he sends this text instead of finding a tactful way of suggesting to the neighbor that he might want to tone it down a bit is just another example of how cell phones are contributing to society's decay- "Hey, I didn't care for something that you did, but instead of simply talking to you about it, I criticized you via text message to everyone I know."

Confronted with his stunning lack of sense, the cell phone wanker responds only with an empty grin (tell me you don't want to treat his head like a Gallagher prop by now) and an assurance that Don't Worry, treating you like a non-person with no rights or feelings isn't costing me a dime extra. I take it that this is supposed to be funny, because it's a punchline repeated in other ads by the same company.

And maybe it WOULD be funny, if it didn't look so damned familiar. The fact is, cell phones DO encourage assholes to share whatever witless, hateful thought that pops into their sawdust-stuffed heads without considering the consequences. The fact is, the companies that make these phones WANT you to use them constantly, without thinking, because their goal is to create a world in which you never, ever, EVER put that god damned thing down and reflect on what you might be pondering or wanting to say before letting anyone- let alone EVERYONE- know about it.

By the way, anyone want to explain to me why what happens in this commercial isn't cyber-bullying? Anyone want to explain to me why I would want to buy a product from a company that thinks trashing people electronically is not only funny, but a good marketing pitch?

Meanwhile, to the victim of this jerk's wireless missive: There's snow on the ground. That means you probably have a shovel nearby. I suggest you apply it to this guy's face. Repeatedly. Get your kid to record the incident on his phone, and YouTube it. "Hey, check out this guy's crushed skull- it's Ho Ho rendus!" Believe me, you'll get plenty of LOLs and Thumbs-Up by the juvenile knuckle-draggers who haunt that site.

Wrapping up the year with more Hate from Tide

It only makes sense that in a year where Idiot Dad was the star of roughly one out of every three commercials, my final post of 2010 would feature Cool Facebook Friend Mom outwitting doofus puritan Out of It dad and winning even more Favorite Parent Points from Daughter.

In this episode, Doofus Dad has greasy hands (from doing those mechanical Things Guys Do on the weekend, no doubt.) He notices from the clothesline that his leggy teenage daughter has taken to wearing underwear in lieu of shorts and decides that since he has no say in anything that happens in his own home, the only chance he has of preventing his daughter from being the neighborhood slut for even one day is to ruin this article of clothing with his oily hands.

Well, Daughter quickly discovers the short shorts in the hamper, and presents them to Mother with a "why the fuck did you marry that dick and ruin my life" expression of unlimited disgust. In return she gets a "this is the work of your worthless choad father, all right, but don't worry- Mom fix" nod, and Mom/BFF gets to work repairing the "damage" dad did on Daughter's favorite accessory.

In no time at all, Daughter is back in style- which is to say, she's ready to hit the tennis court and attract guys like moth to a flame with her barely-shorts. Mom heartily approves her daughter's efforts to get laid ASAP, Dad is beaten, yay team.

Message received: All advertising agencies hate men. Especially dads. But nobody hates dads like Tide. Tide wants no misunderstandings with it's commercials- Mom is every kid's best friend. She's also every kid's ally against The Enemy, which is Dad. Dad isn't satisfied to be a clueless slob. He wants to cramp your style. He Doesn't Get It. Thank God Mom Does.

Thanks for the final serving of Hate before we ring in the new year, Tide. Looking forward to seeing what level of family-unfriendly loathing you manage to reach in 2011.

I kept waiting for the laugh track

Honestly, when I first saw this commercial, I thought I had accidentally switched to Comedy Central and was watching an old Saturday Night Live faux ad. I mean, how on Earth do you expect to sell people on the idea that making your own soda is something that A) you'd want to do, and B) is some kind of magical "Experience of a Lifetime?"

This ad reminds me of one of my favorite old Bob and Ray radio shows: The guys interview a man for a show called "I Did It Myself," who built a 200-mile pipeline connecting his basement in Upstate New York to the Atlantic Ocean so that he could draw natural sea water into a makeshift lab and make his own Iodine. The punchline is that it ends up costing the guy roughly $5000 a bottle to make the stuff, but hey, "I Did It Myself."

With the new SodaStream System, there's no more lugging those Impossible to Carry, Burdensome, Incredibly Heavy 2-Liter bottles of soda home from the store. Now all you need is an $80 SodaStream System to make your own soda at home. And it couldn't be easier- all you need is a replaceable gas canister (which is good for about sixty uses before it's exhausted) which attaches to the back of the machine. Fill the included plastic bottle with regular tap water and attach it to the front of the machine. Push down the button on the top two or three times to add carbonation to the water.

Now, remove the carbonated water from the machine. Pour a medicine-cup measure of thick, concentrated soda syrup (available God Knows Where, $4.95 each) into the bottle of carbonated water. Shake GENTLY for a few seconds. And BINGO, you've got a bottle of soda- and You Did It Yourself!!

Yes, yes, yes, this is an eco-friendly way to provide your entire family with the soda they want and (according to Americans Against Food Taxes) deserve. Except for those plastic bottles of syrup, of course. But seriously, is anyone really interested in going through all this trouble to make SODA- which is very cheap all made and placed in convenient, recyclable packages for your convenience already? I mean, at least ice cream makers allow you to experiment with different flavors, cut back on sugar, and might provide a nice little activity for you and the kiddies. But making SODA?

What's next? A kit for making our own lightbulbs at home? How about shoelaces? I'd like a machine that allows me to mix chemicals and make my own laundry soap- is that on the way?

At best, this looks like another stupid, pointless toy for upscale dickweeds with too much money to stick next to their Latte machines and Brewbots. Actually- at best, this is a very clever joke masquerading as an advertisement, and a great tribute to Bob and Ray.

After all- "An Experience of a Lifetime?" Really? That is one sad life!

A day I'll never get back, courtesy of the American Commuter Rail System

What's the point of even HAVING a blog if you can't give in to a sleep deprivation-induced rant now and then?

My sister’s house in Barre, 4:30 AM, December 27- my nephews head to Washington DC by car in a blizzard which is forecast to only get worse as they travel south- they are going to drive right into the center of the storm, Springfield, Massachusetts, in a car without snow tires. They are insane. I go back to sleep- I’m the smart one in the family. I have a train ticket, purchased months earlier. Suckers. They’ll probably end up spending the day at the Fabulous Comfort Inn of Brattleboro. I’ll be living the high life in business class, gulping down complimentary sodas and coffee and watching movies on my laptop and reading my Kindle in comfort.


Montpelier-Barre, 9:30 AM for a scheduled 9:42 departure: “the train may be an hour late, it may be on time, don’t know yet” says the hobo who apparently lives in the 8x8 ‘station.’.” (snicker, bemused grin: I believe the Bemused Grin is the Official Facial Expression of Amtrak Employees. If I had seen it one more time before the end of my trip, I would have ended up on the Early Morning News.)

The train arrived five minutes late.

Hartford, Connecticut: We arrive exactly on time despite traveling through white-out conditions. Very impressive. Oddly enough, when we reach Hartford, no one considered that upon changing engines, the tracks would need to be cleared of snow. So we are stuck here for two hours as two guys with shovels clear the tracks and two other guys “try to unfreeze the locking system.” At this point, I think it’s fair to remind everyone that we are in the closing days of 2010, not the freaking Gilded Age.

(It’s around this time that I notice that I am no longer getting power from the AC plug, but my computer is being drained of battery life. Nowhere in business class is there a working power outlet. IN BUSINESS CLASS.)

New York: 8 PM. We are still only slightly behind schedule, but here’s where it all goes to hell in a handbasket. We are at Penn Station for two and a half hours because....well, the ‘because’ all depends on which Bemused Amtrak Employee you happen to ask. One guy tells me it’s because there are problems with the switching system south of the city (this is confirmed by a text from my niece in Vermont.) Another guy tells me that it’s another engine problem, and this is confirmed by repeated (I mean every four minutes or so) explanations and apologies broadcast over the intercom– “we’ve got mechanics coming to Look at It, and they’ll determine what to do next...” Several times we are told that there are MAJOR DELAYS IN LEAVING NEW YORK CITY, in a tone which suggests that we should have known this already, never mind that the only alerts I got from obsessively checking online and calling Amtrak four times in the hours before boarding were that trains were cancelled between Boston and New York and south of Washington, DC. So exactly WHEN were we supposed to get this info about MAJOR DELAYS IN LEAVING NEW YORK? WHERE was this info? On the televisions Amtrak doesn’t provide? I mean, this announcement was in the same tone as a pilot declaring “I’ll just remind you that we are flying at VERY HIGH ALTITUDES today, keep that in mind....”

We even get a “I guess No News is Good News” announcement, which is totally mystifiying to me, maybe because I once spent 24 hours on an Amtrak train in Springfield Mass waiting for the East Coast Blackout of 2004 to clear up, and never once got any kind of status update at all (when I called Amtrak several days later to get information getting a refund, the operator actually acted surprised.) only to have to return to Barre and start the trip all over again a few days later (that’s right- in August of 2004 I spent 36 hours on an Amtrak train, only to end up right where I started. I'd like to see the kid in this commercial play-act THAT eventuality. )

Several Amtrak Employees of Uncertain Duties are sitting in the dining car, ignoring their piercingly loud walkie-talkies as they smirk and giggle and speak in code about engines “blowing up” and “working 195" and “delivering 36" and how the train we’re on may or may not move south of Philadelphia, assuming it ever leaves Penn Station. They have a lot of questions, but no answers- in fact, they think that the idea they should have answers is kind of silly, and they let you know it.

New Carrollton, MD, 2:30 AM- for the first time EVER, I fall asleep on an Amtrak train. Naturally, I’m only 30 minutes from my destination, so I’m in the middle of a dream when I’m suddenly shaken awake by the conductor, who is anxious that I get off the train as soon as it pulls into the station, so I can begin to wait for the subway system to reopen as quickly as possible, I guess.

Washington, DC, 3 AM: 16.5 hours after I got on the train in Montpelier, I get off at Union Station. The subways are of course closed down until 5:20, so there’s nothing to do but sit at Au bon Pain and type. There aren’t even any Hot Spots available. I do get one more bit of amusement in checking the “Arrivals” board- it tells me that my train has Arrived, and the Arrival time is 10:40 PM. What Amtrak lacks in Honesty it makes up with Chutzpah, I guess.

Washington DC, 4:15 AM: Finishing up my little missive here at Au bon Pain, only an hour and a half away from being able to take the train to Takoma Park, then wait for a bus to my house. Estimated total trip time, from sister’s house to mine: 22.5 hours.

(I flew to San Francisco once- I got on the plane at Newark, sat on the tarmac for an hour, then had to exit the plane and wait six hours for another flight when it was discovered that some jackass had attempted to flush a disposable diaper down the plane’s one toilet, rendering the plumbing system useless. The airline gave me a $200 voucher for a future flight and $25 worth of food vouchers to use at the airport while I waited. Know what I’ll get from Amtrak for all my inconvenience? A 6-page survey asking me what I most enjoyed about my trip, and what suggestions I have to make future experiences more enjoyable.)

(I took Amtrak once while in college. I met a beautiful girl from Uruguay with whom I shared my Walkman. She fell asleep leaning her head against my shoulder for a few hours. Before I got off at my station, we exchanged addresses, and we wrote to each other for several years, though we never met again. Naturally, THAT trip featured zero delays. Hell, we probably got in early.)

My nephews, by the way, got in at 4:30 PM. They only beat me by about 14 hours. But if they drank soda and coffee on the way down, they had to pay for it. Suckers.

(POSTSCRIPT: Standing on the freezing platform at Union Station, waiting for the first Red Line train of the day to take me to Takoma. Sign says "ARR TIME 13 MINUTES." The time counts down. When the Arrival Time hits Zero, the sign lights up "BOARDING." Except that the train doesn't stop- "NO PASSENGERS." And now the sign reads "ARR TIME 20 MINUTES." I didn't know that the saying "you can't go home again" was meant to be taken literally. It would make a decent slogan for rail service in this country though.)