"Spill? What Spill?"

Here's more evidence of the accuracy of the theory that if you give people enough money, you can get them to say and do whatever you want.

On April 20, 2010 an explosion on an oil rig owned by British Petroleum killed eleven men and inaugurated the worst man-made environmental disaster in history. By the time the gushing undersea oil well had been successfully capped three months later, hundreds of millions of barrels of oil had been released into the ocean, doing severe and lasting damage to the Gulf's delicate ecosystem and paralyzing the sea-based economy of five US States. We all got to learn new terms like "oil plumes," so I guess it was educational, anyway.

To "disperse" the massive oil slick, tons of chemicals were poured into the ocean. The effect of all these chemicals was to push the slick to depths at which it could not be easily detected from the surface. Where it could no further harm, based on what I believe is Isaac Newton's Third Principle Governing Royal Corporate F-Ups: "Out of Sight, Out of Mind."

And now the real nastiness arrives, far oilier and less palatable than even the spill itself. Prompted by infusions of cash from British Petroleum, small business owners and the Gulf Coast tourism industry line up to sell their souls, grinning like marionettes as they extol the virtues of a vacation down South. Visit our many restaurants, featuring Now Practically Dispersant and Oil Free seafood! Check out our hundreds of miles of Now Virtually Clear of Softball-sized oil globules beaches- and if you take a dip on our Looks Blue Which Means It's Clean Gulf Waters, that sticky feeling is suntan lotion residue, honest!

Yes, all these industries are now partners with the company whose failure to invest in automatic shutoff valves and something more substantial than Grade D cement killed eleven men- husbands, fathers, brothers, sons- and drove any number of fishermen out of business. Now it's all smiles and hugs and "Come visit us, we're awesome again!" public service announcements financed by British Petroleum. All is forgiven, apparently.

I'm sorry, but this is kind of like the American government working in partnership with the Japanese to produce "Visit Beautiful Hiroshima!" commercials in 1947. British Petroleum can pay off the corporate voices of the Gulf (turns out that it's surprisingly easy) but that doesn't change the fact that BP's carelessness, callousness and penny-pinching attitude (thoroughly corporate and Capitalist in the truest sense of those words) wrecked havoc on the environment which may take a century to repair. All sacrificed in the sacred pursuit of the almighty buck.

Just like the dignity of the people in these ads.

Unfortunately, the Acting and Story are still very much One-Dimensional

I just saw a trailer for another 3D film due out soon- "Wrath of the Titans." One of the characters says "this is the end of the world."

Well, I'm pretty sure that if the end of the world really was coming, the re-issue of "The Phantom Menace," George Lucas's middle finger to the millions of fans of the original Star Wars series, would be one of the indicators of impending doom.

Yes, soon we will be able to experience all of the horrendous non-acting, all of the chase scenes, and the demystifying of the light saber (watch it get used to melt a door! Yay!) in fabulous 3D!

Thought you loved the stunningly wooden performances of Natalie Portman, Liam Neeson, and Ewan McGregor the first time you sat through this mess? Just wait until they are muttering their hysterically bland lines right in front of you. Remember that kid who played "Annie" who mentioned Pod Racing roughly twenty times in his first ten minutes of screen time (George Lucas, master of the art of foreshadowing)? Remember how you wished you could just reach out and punch him in the nose? Well, now you can!

And oh, that Pod Race. Remember how you compared it to your last visit to the dentist- and found yourself reminiscing fondly about having your teeth scraped? Well, just wait until you see the flagrant Ben-Hur ripoff coming right at you! Won't that be awesome!?

And don't forget the kingdom of the giant drooling frogs, or the seemingly endless scenes featuring morose, apparently valium-impaired Jedi Knights, including Samuel L Jackson looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else (we can so relate!) sitting in circles wondering what to do next!

And don't tell me that you aren't champing at the bit to see the amazing climax, when Annie accidentally pushes a series of buttons, makes a few more awesome quips, and manages to blow up The Ship That Controls Everything ( a scene which takes place in at least four of the six films; Gilligan's Island was less predictable) without even really trying!

And just think- there can hardly be any doubt that next summer we will be treated to a 3D version of "The Clone Wars." And that in 2014 we are going to get another helping of "Revenge of the Sith." I mean, if you thought Hayden Christensen was the worst actor of all time, wait till you see him in 3D!

If you haven't been convinced yet to pray that the Mayans are right, and that maybe the world will come to a crashing end before this rewarmed garbage is served up at a theater near you, I have three more words for your consideration: Jar Jar Binks.

In 3D.

I apologize in advance for any nightmares this post may have caused.

A point of personal privilege, re: Joe Paterno

First, let me say this: I did not watch this tribute video. My gag reflex is way too strong for that. I just thought that it was a good example of how twisted our values have become that hours after this wretched waste of a life died, there were SEVERAL of these video tributes available on YouTube.

Now, to the point of this post. Considering that for the better part of the last decade, Joe Paterno's contributions to Penn State Games consisted of sitting in a booth (the University President' box) behind darkened privacy glass while someone else did the job he was being paid to do and took credit for, it's not at all surprising to me that this guy died on the morning before the AFC and NFC title games, and before each network ran out its litany of current events (read: politics, politics and more politics) Sunday morning talk shows. His ability to insert himself into the spotlight was not, in the end, hampered by his illness, clearly.

Because he died when he did, I get to hear the hosts of CNN, Fox News Sunday, ABC's This Week, etc. etc. give their little speeches about what an iconic figure Paterno was- "he was known as 'JoePa' (only in the last few years, when dumbing down the names of people connected to sports became a fad) and was like a father to his players....he leaves a void which cannot be filled...." and similar treacle. And when the NFL championship games start, I can be sure that the broadcasters will fall all over themselves telling their audiences what a Giant of a Man this guy was, how he was One of the Kind (jesus, let's hope so) and how it's such a Tragedy that his name will always be connected to the term Child Molestation. Yes, that's the real tragedy- not the damage done to the kids, but the damage done to "JoePa's" reputation. Groan.

I'll be very clear about my opinion on this. Does the fact that Paterno did not take swift action to stop the molestation of children by his assistance erase a brilliant, title-winning, sixty years of scandal-free coaching?

You God Damned right it does.

Paterno saw a vicious crime of violence being committed against a child by a member of his staff. With his own eyes. His response was to mention it to a superior. And then drop it. And keep the man he SAW committing these acts of violence on his staff. And, apparently, never mention it again.

I don't care how many games this guy won. I don't care how many titles he won. I don't care how many young men he inspired to give their best on the field for six decades. And I don't care that Penn State will certainly, once it seems "safe," erect a freaking statue dedicated to this evil old man. An Evil Old Man is what he was, and as he ought to be remembered.

And I don't want to hear any more crap about what an icon this nasty, self-absorbed creep was. I only wish he had been twenty years younger and thirty years healthier, so he could have suffered the legal consequences that ought to come crashing down on ANYONE (yes, even Living Saints like "JoePa") who sees a child being assaulted- and looks the other way. So I guess I'll be watching at least part of today's games with the mute button on.

Ok, I'm done. Thanks for your indulgence. Back to commercials in the future, I promise.

Tyson: Childhood Obesity, served up with a smile

"The Bottomless Pit." "The Vacuum."

We've run out of ideas, so the nickname of the last kid is simply "Meat." Um, whatever, Tyson.

Point is, here's another example of a parent who looks perfectly capable, budget-wise, of providing healthy snacks for her teenaged kid and his starving friends after school. Correct me if I'm mistaken, but that looks like your typical suburban palace with included massive kitchen to me. The place looks Cleaning-Lady or Stay At Home Mom-spotless, too. So money is not a problem with this family.

But instead of providing big bowls of fruit, raisins, granola, popcorn, or any number of healthy (but often pricey) snack choices, this "adult" goes for the fatty, salty, calorie-laden, nutrition-deficient alternative. When I was growing up, it was something called Pizza Rolls. If it was the AM, it was Pop Tarts. Neither ever made an appearance at my house, but I saw them when I went to visit friends. I've eaten both, too, and understand their appeal to kids. Now it's Tyson Frozen Bird Parts Dipped in Batter. Yum.

I don't have any kids, so maybe I'm totally off-base here, but it seems to me that unless you are really tight with a buck, there's no way you should see crap like this as an acceptable "snack" choice to tide kids over till dinner (which will consist, no doubt, of Hamburger Helper or Kraft Mac'n Cheese. I mean, if you'll serve this for a snack, all bets are off, right? And clearly, neither mom nor dad is all that interested in providing anything approaching "nutrition" here.) Fresh fruit costs more than this junk, but at least you can feel legitimately good about your kids- and your neighbor's kids- eating it. The mom in this ad seems to have no problem with her kid and his friends popping greasy fried chicken parts- she seems to think she's done them a favor. Kind of sick, really.

Can someone tell me why anyone would go through the hassle of having children, only to serve them garbage like this? Is there a certain level of hostility involved- "you bastards robbed me of my figure, now I am going to rob you of yours?" Or is it more subtle- "look, I like you guys ok, but you aren't really worth a major investment when it comes to food. So eat this- it's cheap?"

Oh, and- "Spicy Sweet and Sour Chunks." No mention of chicken or any other animal. Well, at least you can't accuse Tyson of false advertising here. I do think it might be less cruel for the "parents" in these ads to just tell their kids "dinner's ready in an hour, there are children starving in China you know" than to hand them a bowl of this garbage. There are worse things than hunger between meals. This is one of them.

We've come a long way since "Look for the Union Label." Unfortunately, in the wrong direction.

When I first viewed this commercial, I actually thought it was a put-on. Maybe a Saturday Night Live skit, or an Onion Parody.

By the time it was (mercifully) over, I had come to the realization that the people who put together this awful, sleazy, manipulative, and downright Un-American plate of steaming tripe are one hundred percent serious in their "Unions are Evil" message.

It seems that we are supposed to believe that Unions are the reason why even working people are suffering these days. You see, workers are forced to join these associations (probably through intimidation- harassing phone calls, cold shoulders from fellow employees, a brick through the window, etc.) which suck money out of their already-meagre paycheck. To what end? Why, to make Hot Shot Corrupt Union Bosses richer, of course. Isn't that just like a Union-interfering with the God-endorsed right of workers to negotiate their own wages and working hours and safety standards on a level playing field with their employers. Insisting on decent wages, health care coverage, non-draconian hours, sick days, paternity leave, fire escapes and all of those luxuries which have made it Impossible For The Most Productive to Create Jobs In This Country. Damn them.

If only these vicious Unions, and their pot-bellied, cigar-chomping, suspender-wearing bosses (did I miss any cliches? Oh yes, limousine-riding! Sorry!) would just get out of the way, the Successful Amongst Us would be free to wipe unemployment off the map. They'd go right back to providing those awesome 60 hour work weeks in factories spewing lovely black ooze into the air and turning our rivers a gorgeous shade of gray. And believe you me, they can't WAIT to hand our children all the work they want, too!

Oh, and did I mention we'd save money as well? Because no more unions doesn't just mean no more sexual harassment laws, no more job security, no more worker's comp and no more weekends with the family. It also means no more Union Dues, which means no more fat, corrupt Union Bosses! Yay!

Equal Opportunity Racism from the Golden Corral?

y

Take your pick:

1. White people are pretentious blabbermouths who love to hang out with black couples, especially when they can double date at very expensive restaurants famous for their "very limited $20 entree menus." White people appreciate Quality over Quantity, or at least don't mind paying premium prices for atmosphere. White WOMEN especially like to obsess over the food at these very expensive restaurants by praising them in annoying chirpy voices that would probably convince ME to jump from a moving automobile rather than tolerate it. Oh, those wacky white people! OR,

2. Black people are cheap gluttons who will always value Quantity over Quality. To black people, the idea of spending $20 on an entree which must then be (gasp) shared with your date is unbearable; SO unbearable, in fact, that it's worth risking major injury by hurling oneself out of a moving vehicle in order to avoid it. Black people prefer eating the kind of cheap junk they serve up at America's favorite feed bin, The Golden Corral. Maybe it's that glorious chocolate fountain- excuse me, "Wonderfall." Or maybe we should just take the guy's word for it- "I'm not paying $20 for an entree." Classy.

I have to say that, as a white person, I was much more offended at the sight of the black couple freeing themselves from the horrors of a double date at a fancy restaurant where, sorry, you are NOT allowed unlimited access to mountains of fatty crap kept warm by steam troughs than I was at the depiction of white people as spendthrifts. Apparently The Golden Corral thinks that black people are so tight with a buck- and so bereft of taste- that they'd rather spend an evening stuffing themselves with meatloaf, Grade B steak and Rice Crispy treats soaked in Hershey syrup than have a decent meal in a restaurant that doesn't advertise itself with huge glowing sign and isn't populated by double-chinned yokels wearing Nikes, pajama jeans and Packers jerseys.

In my experience, tasteless hicks who like to jam heart-damaging crud down their cake holes come in all colors. I thought that The Golden Corral agreed- but after this ad, I'm not so sure.

What's missing in these commercials?

Sometimes I think that the people hired to write Viagra commercials are all frustrated poets or painters. They always present us with this "clever" imagery that is supposed to make us nod and think "yep, that's a super awesome way of presenting erectile disfunction in a commercial which can be broadcast during football games." Overheated cars. Trucks stuck in the mud, rendering the vehicles impotent (get it? GET IT?) Spinning tires, going nowhere. (GET IT?)

They also appeal to your average couch-potato slob who likes to take breaks from imagining himself to be a lightning-fast wide receiver to imagining himself to be the kind of rugged outdoorsman who spends his weekends hauling thoroughbreds or cruising along in a sailboat or doing any number of those rugged outdoorsy things which don't include guzzling beer or using the dust buster to vacuum chips off your stomach at halftime.

What I don't get is that none of these Viagra ads ever include men interacting with women. So they are sexually excited because- they are driving trucks? Because they are in sports cars? Because they are doing something involving dirt, other guys, and horses? What?

Hey guys- maybe the reason you are having-- umm, disfunctions-- is because you constantly find yourselves doing things that aren't at all erotic. Maybe you just might consider spending more time around actual females? Think that might help?

Also, notice how the strongly implied message in all of these ads is that the men featured in them can have sex at the drop of the hat, any time they want- as long as it's physically possible for them? There's always the trucker pulling up to the lonely, dark farmhouse with the super-confident look on his face. "When the time is right" seems to mean "when you get home, because the time is always right for the little lady." Very nice.

Anyway, I don't post on a lot of these commercials because I find them so terribly distasteful. I don't get how there could be a single male left in this country who isn't aware of Viagra and needs to be prompted to Ask His Doctor about it. These are kind of like ads for McDonalds or toilet paper- yes, we know it's out there. We know how to get it if we need it. Now please, stay off our televisions, ok? This is not stuff we want to think about while watching football, or any other time for that matter.