What dad SHOULD have told you

Here's another car commercial which I guess is supposed to be a cute and cloying slice of life, but which leaves cold, cynical jerks like me inspired to type things which would NOT win kudos for the advertising team which was paid real money to write this dreck.

The cutesy is supposed to be delivered with the "clever" cutaways of Father and Son exhibiting the same nervous ticks and mannerisms as they drive their cars.  They both scratch the backs of their necks.  They both drink beverages as they drive.  They both tap their fingers against the steering wheel. Wow, it's like they are mentally linked, like E.T. and that stupid Eliot kid.  Except- who doesn't do all this stuff? 

"My dad told me to get a Subaru.  But I'm nothing like him."  Hey, calm down, buddy.  Advice from Dad doesn't normally mean that he's trying to treat you like a clone of himself.  This isn't exactly like the father in Dead Poet's Society obsessively insisting that his son become a doctor until that son finally kills himself.  Throttle down the angst, ok?  Nobody thinks that you are like your dad, even though you end up basically doing what he said, and even choosing the same color (which is supposed to be the visual punchline, but isn't.)

At the ad's conclusion we learn that, indeed, this guy is nothing like his father.  His father, after all, managed to purchase a substantial house in the suburbs with a huge driveway.  The son?  He still lives with his Dad.  Nope, they aren't alike at all.

Maybe Dad's advice to Son should have been "learn the bus and train schedules until you've earned enough money to buy a car AND pay rent in your own damned apartment."  That's what I would have told him.  But like I said at the beginning, I'm just a cold and cynical jerk, after all.

"Brand New" being a very relative term here

Groan.  Where to start.

Ok, first off- hey TBS, guess what?  When comedy shows are actually, genuinely funny, we don't need to be served up the tagline "Very Funny" with every commercial for the Very Funny Comedy Show.  In fact, "Very Funny" sounds more like a desperate "no, really, you'll like this one, we promise, it's not like the others we said and continue to say are 'Very Funny.'  This time we mean it!"  We viewers are really good at deciding what is Very Funny and what isn't- which explains why TBS's ratings are consistently in the toilet, and why you don't hear much about the Very Funny Frank Caliendo show anymore.

In fact, if any of the tripe you shovel into your prime time slots were at All Funny, let alone Very Funny, they would have been picked up by one of the real networks- ABC, CBS, NBC or (sort of) FOX.   Don't believe me?  Well, check out all those comedies you run during the day.  See what they all have in common?  That's right- they are all major network comedies which have gone into Syndication.  (You didn't mean for us to think that you were responsible for Friends, Seinfeld or Family Guy, did you?)

Here's another tip- there's nothing new or funny or fresh about a comedy featuring four scruffy guys and their women issues.*  How on Earth anyone thinks that they can get away with rewarming the same old dreck and calling it new is just beyond me.  It's pretty obvious that TBS's "new" venture will include all the stale, rehashed Men Are Sex-Obsessed Pigs Who Have No Idea What 'Sensitivity Training' Means jokes we've seen a thousand times on a thousand other sitcoms, none of which qualifies as Very Funny, either.

I'll wrap this up with a few more Sledgehammers of Truth for you, TBS.  Conan O'Brien is not funny.  George Lopez is pretty much the opposite of funny.  And "comedies" featuring sassy black kids and their sassy black mothers and their clueless, bumbling black fathers have never been funny.  EVER.

I'm sorry I had to break the news to you, and maybe I was a bit abrupt, but consider this intervention an act of love.  By someone who really hates your crappy, rerun-dependent channel.

*who mysteriously manage to meet and date gorgeous, 100 percent available models working as waitresses, secretaries etc. every. Single. Week.  Because every sitcom is a peek into the fantasy world of male "comedy" writers. 

It's like Corona has a camera in my house!

This happens to me so often, I'm almost tempted to join one of those PeaPod programs and just have my groceries delivered to my door.

I mean, pretty much every time I go to the store, I'm stalked by gorgeous women who are irresistibly attracted to me- or, at least, attracted to that case of Corona I'm carrying around under my arm.  Naw, I'm sure it's me.

Of course, they may just be curious to know why I've decided to pick up the case of beer before moving on to the produce section; doesn't seem to make much sense to carry that case around with me when I'm still shopping, unless I expect a rush of beer drinkers with bad taste to strip the store of it's supply of Corona while I'm looking for Just the Right Melon.  Naw, I'm sure it's me.

Anyway, while I always walk into a store alone, I never, ever walk out that way.  Nope- every single time I run to the store for beer, I end up coming home with a leggy, hot brunette eager to use her Passport to join me on whatever trip I've won this month from Corona.  Almost makes the fact that I have to drink Corona worth it.   Almost.

The thing is, I didn't know that this was a common enough experience to use in an actual commercial.  I know that being stalked by hot girls in grocery stores who say "hi" to me as if they are delighted to meet me and my beer (Naw, I'm sure it's just me, and the beer is strictly incidental) as I'm walking out is an everyday occurrence in MY life, but I thought it was because I'm exceptionally hot, not to mention an awesome listener with a great sense of humor.  Not everyone fits that description.  So what's the deal?

Corona just decided one day to take a routine episode of my life and turn it into a commercial?  Without even asking me first?  Well, that's fine I guess- I'd just hate to see Lesser Guys get their hopes up and rush out to the store, thinking this might happen to them.  Because after all, They are not Me.

It's the end of the economy as we know it

Yes, this is EXACTLY what our debt-ridden, impulse-buying society needs: A way to use our credit card to buy ANYTHING, ANY TIME we want to.

Remember back in the old days (also known as "yesterday") when you actually needed money to buy stuff?  When you realized you hadn't brought enough cash with you, so you put off buying that soda you didn't really need anyway?  Or when you saved up that fifty bucks you owed a friend by skimping on movies and meals for a while?

Remember when you told your friend that hey, sorry, I don't have that fifty bucks right now, but catch me next payday, ok?

Well, those days are gone forever.  Next time you pull that "hey, I'm short of cash at the moment" BS, your "friend" will pull out his phone, insert a little box into the headphone jack, and demand that you pull out your credit or debit card.  No kidding.  As this dopey woman tells us (when she isn't lunging at the camera- really, what the hell is that all about?) this box thing "makes us all merchants."  Oh joy.

A few questions- first, where is all the wonderful information concerning the transactions made with this device stored?  Can I assume that a copy is available to the IRS, which will eventually come knocking to ask why I didn't pay tax on that $1 can of soda I bought from a "friend?"  Second, how hard is it for someone to intercept these transactions and collect credit card numbers through them?

Finally- how FUCKING STUPID ARE WE ANYWAY???  Do we REALLY need another gizmo which encourages us to spend money we don't have simply because it's EASY?   Exactly HOW MANY TIMES do we have to blow up the economy before we figure out that what we really need is a device that encourages us to SAVE  (but really, where's the money in that?)

I understand the temptation, but I'm in horror at the idea of people actually trying this

When I was 14, I got braces.  Back then, they seemed to come with the territory- you went to High School, you got your driver's permit, and you spent an afternoon in the chair of an overpaid sadist who took his sweet time attaching pieces of barbed wire to your teeth.  Barbed wire which broke into razor-sharp shards on occasion.  Shards which would hook on to your tongue and the side of your mouth.  Usually on Friday afternoons, so you'd have to wait more than two days to go in for what was euphemistically called an "adjustment."

When the braces worked "well," you just had the constant pain and the hassle of rubber bands which took forever to get on, but seemed to break within moments after being set in place.  You learned how to smile so the railroad tracks running across your teeth didn't show (not that you smiled very often, anyway.)  And you dreamed of the day when the damned things, which surely were popularized during the Spanish Inquisition, would finally be removed from your teeth.  For me, that day was almost four years after they were put on, and about a year before I left for college.  I can still remember rubbing my tongue along my teeth, and what a simple pleasure that was. 

I hated having braces (I've never met anyone who enjoyed the experience, and I'm sure I don't want to.)  But even when I was a kid, I understood that they were a necessary evil for me, and that Good Things come to those who wait.  Which is what really creeps me out about this commercial.  Braces have been part of the popular culture for quite some time; there's nothing mysterious about them or what they do.  So why would ANYONE believe that gaps between teeth is something that can be "fixed" with the application of a few tight rubber bands?

Is it the "well, it makes sense so it must be true" theory?  I mean, I get the concept- your teeth are too far apart.  So just apply a small band between two teeth, and over time the gap will be closed as the teeth are inexorably drawn together.  So simple, so easy to understand.

Except-- please.  Your teeth are resting on gums which are not made out of spongy pudding.   I know that pressure applied over YEARS will draw teeth together, because I lived it.  Two weeks?  Jeesh, why not claim it only takes two hours, so the image of blood flying from crushed gums as the teeth are forced together can be included in the cool graphics?

And I love the "OraBands come in two sizes" line- wow, two sizes, they MUST work.  Because teeth and gums and mouths only come in two sizes, right? 

It's one thing to get conned into believing that you can save money growing your own bananas or fixing your own flat tires- is anyone really going to risk their health and their looks because they think that thousands of dollars in oral surgery can be replaced by two $20 rubber bands?  I mean, they don't even come with Miracle Sunglasses or that stuff that removes the gunk from your headlights.

Just another day for Stepford Mom

Here's another "women exist to pop out kids, raise those kids, keep the house clean, and put dinner on the table for hubby" commercials we are subjected to pretty much every day of the year.  The frequency just seems to intensify around Mother's Day.   That's the day set aside to give Hubby an opportunity to thank Mommy for providing thousands of dollars in sex, child care and catering services by handing her a trinket and hoping she keeps on doing what she's doing- trading in any chance of a life of her own for the white picket fence, the big house and Hubby's last name.

The extra conceit in the "SuperMom" meme is that doing all this stuff in our mad world of traffic backups, supermarkets and SUVs requires some kind of extraordinary talent women should be lauded for demonstrating on a day to day basis.  Yeah, sure- you ladies are all modern Joan D'Arcs, martyred in the service of your husband and your kids.  You could be doing So Much More if you had taken another path, and we should be grateful you made the "sacrifice."  "We" being your husband and your kids, of course.  Because the rest of us- well, frankly, we just want you to stop digging for coupons and letting your idiot spawn f--k around with the scanner at the grocery store. 

Oh, and it would be nice if you could squeeze that monstrosity on wheels which you "need" now that you've "sacrificed" and successfully incubated a few offspring into ONE parking space instead of straddling two or three.  Only if it's not too inconvenient, of course- I don't want to get in the way of your Superhero-level agenda.

Every time I see one of these grinning idiots I just have to shake my head and wonder what the attraction is.  The guy found out what her price was, and paid it.  The girl sold herself cheap.  The kids came along for the ride.  The package included a minivan, a lot of diapers, a vacation here and there, and a few baubles that say "thanks for playing."

What I don't get is this: Who are these ads supposed to appeal to?  Pea-brained girls who are afraid of the Big Bad World and want nothing more than the shelter of a house provided by Somebody Else and to change their last names?  Guys who want to know what Middle Class Conformity Complete With Perpetually Delighted Wife and 2.5 children is going for these days?   Because it seems to me the tagline should simply be "Assimilate, Consume, Reproduce."  Is that all there is?

Oh yeah, and "here's a piece of rock.  That ought to shut you up until next holiday, SuperMommy."

Ford presents Overcompensation 101, the Suburban Poser Edition

Hey, look- it's another gang of Incredibly Masculine Men standing around a fricking mountain of a truck, trying to explain to us why they "need" a monstrosity like this, and ignoring the fact that pretty much no one else on the planet actually uses any vehicle to do one-tenth the stuff these guys seem to do on a regular basis.

For one thing, these manly men really love the chrome.  And the rims.  What any of this has to do with the utility of what looks like a six-ton monster with wheels (unless these guys are each four feet tall, MAN this thing is blatantly huge!) we aren't told.  I guess the message here is "ok, first the soft sell- this is why the truck will look great in your driveway.")

But the Men aren't ready to regale us with stories of constant heavy lifting, despite the fact that they were introduced as guys who "aren't afraid of hard work" (seriously, f-- you, Mr. Hooked-Thumbs Truck Pimp.)  Instead they continue with the soft sell, showing us the rear view camera (one of them says he wants the camera for "the next time my wife swears at me."  Later, another guy giggles that he saw his two friends "on the rear view camera" as they did something or another near the back of the truck.  I really don't want to know.)  The "Eco-Boost" (are we sure it's not "Ego Boost") technology is a big selling point, and no, I don't have the slightest idea why.  The voice-activated phone and music system scores big time with these guys, too. I'm still waiting for the "hard work" to get started, because I'm twenty seconds in and all I've learned so far is that this thing is shiny and has all the electronics of an Audi, which is another car I don't need to go heavily into debt for so I can show well for the neighbors.

Then we get "this thing tows my boat much better than my Silverado," which really gets the hate rising nicely.  Hey, that's awesome news, guy.  Really happy for you.  Still waiting for evidence that you guys "aren't afraid of hard work," unless we are supposed to buy that owning a f---ing boat is "hard work."

FINALLY, we get scenes of cement and appliances and all kinds of other Big, Heavy Things that Real Men spend their lives tossing into the backs of Big Rugged Trucks like this Ford F-150.  'Cause remember, these guys aren't afraid of Hard Work.  Especially when they can do it in a car with soft heated seats and more electronic bells and whistles than the freaking space shuttle.

In a slightly longer version of this ad, one of the guy wraps by saying "I get a lot of street cred with this sitting in my driveway."  I'm not kidding.  "Street Cred."  Because nothing yells "Credibility" louder than parking a truck which is larger than my apartment (and has a better sound system) in some lily white upper middle class neighborhood.   I'm irritated that I couldn't find that slightly longer version, because that was my favorite part of the commercial ("favorite part" meaning "part which really made me want to punch the speaker in the face.")  But I can't spend all day looking for the full version, after all- it's the weekend, which means that when I'm not grilling up 24-ounce steaks, guzzling the correct Light Beer and pumping Round Up on to the weeds sticking out of my cracked driveway, I'm tossing big bags of Something Dirty into the back of my pickup.  Stopping to hook my thumbs to my belt now and then, of course.   I've got things to do, you know.

(Of course, shaving isn't one of them.  I'm a suburban American male, after all.)