I guess it's never too early to start learning your place, "Todd"

Beautiful women manipulate men to get what they want, reducing said men to pathetic, whiny, desperate dishrags at their beck and call. Doofus, overweight, loser men live in constant terror of ticking off beautiful women, and have not the slightest clue how to avoid doing it- and if two beautiful women are involved, well, Doofus Overweight Loser might as well just call it a day. All this equals just another day in TV Land. I get it. Nothing new to see here.

Except....who told the geniuses at Subway that children sound like they spend the day breathing in helium? These "kids" don't sound like anyone I know- and I'm a teacher. I wonder- does anyone at this advertising agency ever spend time with real, actual kids? Because there's no evidence here that they do- OR, if they do, they really, really hate those kids.

And based on these "funny" commercials, they aren't that thrilled about adults, either.

Am I just the Savage who refuses to take his Soma like a good boy?

Here's a woman whose entire "life" consists of playing with her cell phone. And I mean her ENTIRE life- from the moment she wakes, she's on that phone, transmitting "data" (that's an important-sounding word which now generally means nothing more than sending people "LOL" and "N PRK NOW SO BORED U?" messages,) watching movies, and "downloading an App....and another App...and another App...." (The narrator uses the term "status updates," which I think is just hilarious, since the only thing this woman needs to "update" concerning her "status" is where she is currently wasting her "life" staring at her freaking phone.)

And this is just how far we've gone as a nation in our goal to achieve a total state of societal torpor- not only is what this woman is "doing" described as normal ("you'd be shocked at how much data you use in a month..") but any problems she may seem to have to us sane, not-as-yet-assimilated humans (disconnectedness, addiction, severe crick in neck, eye strain) are presented as perfectly solvable- with Unlimited Data.

Oh, thank goodness- because for a very brief moment at the very end of this ad, it does appear as if this woman is actually going to have to try to find something to do other than play with her electronic security blanket. She proves her ability to Look Up. But the look on her face is really more than a little depressing- she's not noticing the rest of the world for the first time that day. Instead, she seems to be in quiet, brief reflection of the Wonder that is Unlimited Data. VERY brief, because now it's back to that phone. And downloading another App.

This is a picture of the world as our wonderful cell phone companies would like it to be- and as it's rapidly becoming. Everyone sitting or walking or (more and more frequently) driving around in their own little worlds, their electronic cocoons, pretending that they are somehow staying in contact with the Great Big World out there through their manipulation of tiny glowing screens (and Apps.) I feel more and more like a voice in the wilderness here, but help me understand- why would anyone want to live like this? When are we going to have an Emperor Has No Clothes moment with these damn things?

I nominate "Dinosaur! Ball! Dinosaur! Ball!" as the first great Catchphrase of 2012

Man, I love these cheap, late night, amateurish advertisements for "miracle" junk. Eagle Eye Sunglasses, Food Choppers, Magic Jacks, Snuggies- they are all so awesome in their brilliant awfulness, I almost hate to snark on them. But hey, I've got a job to do here, so....

Can we start with those kids, who for some reason are planted like stereo speakers on either side of I Swear I Am This Close To Getting Out The Gun dad, inexplicably screaming "Dinosaur!" "Ball!" "Dinosaur!" "Ball!" (What IS that argument about, anyway? One kid has a dinosaur, the other kid has a ball. What is the freaking problem? Maybe it's a contest- "let's see how long we have to keep this up before dad snaps and kills us?") We have to love these kids- they've been given one line each, and they are making the most of it.

Let's continue on to Nagging Wife in Bed, who once again reminds Daddy that he's living in a house with other people, and simply can't blast the television at the volume he'd like (a volume which may allow him to briefly forget that he's living in a house with other people?) Dad needs to explain to Mom that he's just trying to avoid the creation of any more offspring, because God Damn It if he has to listen to "Dinosaur!" "Ball!" "Glow Worm!" he really IS going to start hurting people.

The answer to this guy's horrible dilemma is a pair of headphones which allow him to drown out the world around him with the roar of the wonderful television. When he's wearing these amazing, Get An Extra Pair Just Pay Separate Shipping and Handling headphones, he can pretend the family he woke up and found himself with does not exist. Maybe he can forget- again- about that appointment his wife made to have his freaking hearing checked.

The point is that for Only $19.99 (Plus Shipping and Handling, and don't think you are getting off the phone without ordering that "free" extra pair) you can keep your sanity by escaping from your dismal existence for a while- and nobody has to get hurt. Sounds like a bargain to me.

Aimed right at the 1%, and we know where the rest of us can go

For years and years (but not for quite some time now) getting a new car for Christmas, regardless of Make and Model, was presented as a pretty darned big deal, even in No Wish Is Too Big Land, also known as Television.

Starting around 2002, giving your overindulged, pampered, suburban princess/husband/purchased sex partner a Lexus was where it was at- oh, and that Lexus had to come wrapped in a big bow.

Last year, Lexus raised the bar again- now, it's really not enough that you give the person who shares your bank account a Lexus, or even that it has a bow on it. Now it had to be wrapped in a big, home-made gift box, or a giant stocking. Or it had to be magically parked next to the fireplace in your all-marble home. Sick- but surely, that was as bad it was going to get, right?

Nope. Starting this year, anyone with the means to buy the person they are sleeping with a Lexus had better come up with some kind of cutsey, adorable way of hinting about it first. This means accessing the Lexus December To Remember Jingle- if you live in a freaking Penthouse, you arrange to have it played in the elevator on the way to the lobby, where the doorman has been tipped to keep the 99% from tearing it into spare parts. If you live in a weirdly glowing-white palace, you let the skinny, unshaven yuppie scum hedge fund manager you've sold yourself to listen to the jingle on your I Phone. In short, you had better add some imagination to make the presentation of a gleaming, 2012 Lexus an enjoyable experience- because the fact that it's a FREAKING BRAND NEW LEXUS just isn't going to cut it anymore.

Can I find the words to describe how much I loathe these ads? Here we are, just trying to live in a society in which 9 percent unemployment, stagnant wages, and growing holes in the safety net seem to be the New Normal. It's hard enough without being assaulted with these clips from Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. Make that Rich, Famous, and Oblivious to the fact that the world economy is falling apart outside of their gated communities. Can Lexus please stop pretending it's the 1980s, or even the 1990s? I know you've got a product to sell, but come on- just a LITTLE sensitivity? PLEASE?

Oh, who am I kidding? Next year we'll see one of these super-privileged walking bags of refuse arranging for John Williams to perform the Lexus Jingle in the park across the street as Eternally Lucky, All-Deserving Recipient arrives home to discover that the missing element in his life has been provided for. And we'll be expected to be happy about it. That is, if we still have a television to watch it on.

Wanting a meteor to crash down and kill everyone in this commercial? So three minutes ago

There's not much I can say about his truly hate-inspiring 31 seconds of putrid, festering rubbish. Fat, unshaven zombies slouching in folding chairs at a tailgating party, staring at their cell phones, looking as if they'd lost their will to live quite some time ago and are just waiting for the inevitable pizza-induced heart attack to put them out of their misery (ours, too.) Not even looking up when new people arrive to make comments or ask questions- no, any response must be made in a muttered monotone which does not distract from gazing at those god damned screens. And of course we get the obligatory "of course we can do that pointless bullshit techno-crap (in this case, posting videos on Facebook)" scene, again delivered in a deadpan "this stopped being interesting or fun So Four Cell Phone Updates Ago" bleat.

Wow, turns out that I had more to say than I thought I did. Anyway, I really, really hate this ad, these actors, and everyone who had anything to do with this film. Maybe in the remake of "Public Citizen," Gerard Butler's character can track them all down and kill them in amazingly entertaining, gruesome and satisfying ways. Especially the dicks who responded to a question by videoing the questioner and posting it on Facebook- because respect for privacy was So Three Years Ago.

Never mind, I can't wait. Just bring on the meteor, please.

What year does Tide think this is?

Sometimes I think that the advertising agency hired by Tide Detergent only just recently emerged from a bomb shelter after forty years, ala Brendon Fraser in "Blast from the Past." How else can one explain these "laundry is the natural domain of Women, so let's shock and amuse the audience by showing men doing it" commercials?

This guy prattles on and on about what most of us guys who live in the real world already know- that men are perfectly capable of adding detergent, moving the wash to the dryer, and ultimately folding it properly- hey, some of us even manage to put it away in the proper drawers without setting the house on fire, no fooling!! The vibe I get is that he expects some kind of freaking medal- or, at least, is trying really hard to convince us that he's still a Man ("I'm going to do crunches in the other room") despite the fact that he's doing "women's" work.

Seriously, Tide? Could you be just a LITTLE more condescending, insulting, and retrograde? I do laundry. I also vacuum and cook (and by "cook," I don't mean stir up a pot of Kraft Mac' n Cheese, either.) I don't have any kids- but if I did, I wouldn't refer to myself as a "Mom Dad" (I really want to hurt the dickweed who came up with that one) because "Dad" would work just fine. Probably because I wouldn't feel insecure about DOING MY SHARE. Ugh.

You know, it's easy to imagine the fungus down at the neighborhood bar reminding Mom Dad of the fact that he folded laundry and referring to it as the "second unmanly thing" he did that day. I'd hope he would respond with a not very polite rejoinder before getting back to his family- but judging from this guy's defensiveness, he'd probably just order a Miller Lite.

You'd think Tide would invest a few dollars in field research before approving junk like this- and "field research" does NOT include screening "Mr. Mom." I'd settle for the ad men who threw together this tepid mess crawling back into their bomb shelter. You won't be missed, guys- and I suspect that sentiment is shared by the women in your lives.

Tells us everything we need to know about the last forty years

Once upon a time (the Seventies, I think,) there was this nice-looking guy named Peter who found himself far from home on the holidays. Peter, you see, was working his butt off studying Medieval English Literature up at State University, and his job soliciting money for Clean Water Action just didn't bring in enough spare cash to pay for a plane ticket. However, at the last minute, and thanks to a Need A Ride post on the Student Union bulletin board, Peter got a ride to his front door in a rolling icebox with wheels (or what they used to call a Volkswagen Bug- what regular readers of this blog know was my very first car, btw) on Christmas Eve. It was a miracle worthy of a Hallmark Holiday Movie.

Peter was very quiet as he walked into the house, knowing that it was very, very early, but Cindy Lou Who heard him come in, and she came down to let him know that "everyone's asleep." Peter isn't all that interested in just crashing on the couch until Mom, Dad, Brother and Sister in Law (this is how I always saw it, anyway) want to get up, so he opens a can of really awful coffee and gets the automatic drip machine going. Showing very little common sense, he puts the lid-less glass carafe and cups out to get cold in roughly three minutes, but never mind. Everyone smells the coffee and gets up. Mom exclaims "Peter!," handshakes and hugs are passed around, yay Christmas.

Flash forward to 2011. The Volkswagen Bug has been banned for manufacture in the United States, so some overindulged choad gets to show up in plenty of time for the festivities in his new, $60,000 Audi. He pulls up to Mom and Dad's palatial winter palace. Instead of getting a greeting and a hug as he enters the house he grew up in, he finds that Mom and Dad have sneaked out behind him and stolen his car. Son is left standing in an empty living room, asking if anyone is home, while Mom and Dad are off on a freaking joy ride in Son's vanity purchase. Oh the joy. Oh the hilarity.

I'm really hoping that his next step is to call the police. When Mom and Dad are hauled in, he denies the relationship and files full charges. He spends the holidays at Mom and Dad's house, cranking the thermostat to 85 and leaving beer cans everywhere. When Mom and Dad are released on bail, he heads back to his brick townhouse in his Audi and changes his last name.

Oh, and then everyone associated with this commercial dies. Because this is not progress. This is just gross. We used to be kind of sweet, in a saccharine, cloying sort of way. What the hell happened to us?