Cannibalism and Self-Destruction Ads

I'm getting weirder in my older age and considering going back to complete vegetarianism. My subject today is not a new trend--it's been around for a long time--but it just really annoys me, and I notice a couple of ads circulating right now that especially get my goat. GOAT! Get it?

Saturday Night Live has, for ages, done various parodies of restaurants that specialize in selling meals such as, say, chicken, or rabbit, or pork, and they've made fake ads in which the persuasive ad "character" is the animal that is on the menu. Those are kind of funny in a disturbing way. But the real commercials that currently bother me are about a cereal family, a child in a play portraying a sandwich, a talking chicken, and a fish.

First, the cereal family. They are a brand of shredded wheat squares. The parents are large squares; the children are little squares. The ad depicts the cereal family at home, with a traditional dad in his easy chair after work and the little kid square putting on the dad's big shoes. The gist is that the kid square thinks he "has big shoes to fill" if he's going to be like his dad. But the dad tells junior that he need not get as big as his parental unit. In fact, kid square is just the right size to be eaten by human kids! Such cheery news! Here's a dad pimping out his own son for human consumption! This is just so . . . not right.

Second is the school play with the sandwich. Child is dressed in a sesame-seed bun as a sloppy joe, the contents of which come from a can. The purpose of the ad is to convince consumers that this brand of pre-made sloppy joe contains "a full serving of vegetables." The bun-portraying kid taunts other vegetables on stage, namely the corn, for being a grain and not a vegetable. Do give me a break. To add insult, the second scene of the ad shows the kid's family at the dinner table with the kid still in costume eating sloppy joes. So, the kid is eating herself for dinner. That's so . . . not right!

Third, the chicken--not a costume chicken, but a real chicken--is apparently lobbying her famous-name, mega-poultry-company CEO for unhealthy food. He talks about how all their chickens only get the best feed. Then he upbraids the hen, "And no candy, Gladys," and she clucks sadly, "Uh-oh." She stars in an ad for people to eat her. Darnit. This is what she has to look forward to, and she doesn't even get to indulge herself in a little candy? Not fair! Find the peanut M & Ms and pig out, Gladys. Go for it before the guillotine gets you!

Finally, the fish. it's one of those artificial taxidermied singing plaques.

. In everyday life, I have a morbid fascination for those awful fake singing fish. If I had a really obscure basement that hadn't been renovated into a nice walk-out suite, I might actually have such a plaque, because I get guilty and shameful pleasure out of the kind of kitsch that just makes you say, "Huh?" Or "That is SO TACKY!" It's morbid fascination for the hopelessly unwanted and non-artistic. This is why I own a bunch of silly animal figures that started with a white-elephant party when I was a child. My first idiotic animal was a ceramic dish in the form of a turtle rolling around on its back with a lid made of its plastron and a way too-long tail that curled up over its tummy and its insanely smiling head curling up to stare at the tail--it just looked WRONG, and so it was hilarious. I don't even tell people I enjoy these kitschy things; friends just sense it in me and give me embarrassing stupid animal gifts. My kitchen is filled with them. I even have a braless mermaid and a wooden trout hanging in the window. And then there's e-Claire, the cast-iron cow, whom I found in Deerfield, Massachusetts, and Cam the Ram, her cast-iron counterpart, whom I use to hold open cookbooks. And Curtis, my furry buffalo statue, a gift from my husband who knows I had a childhood fear of bison. One of my dear friends calls my unnatural interest "whimsy," and brought me a solid glass turtle paperweight from Finland whom she appropriately named "Finn." He greets people in the entry hall.

Anyway, as usual I digress beyond recognition. Back to our ad's scaly friend, the fish. He sings, "Give me that fillet of fish! Give me back that fish!" And he's singing about the contents of his own body, which has been put into a sandwich. Eeeewwwww! He's wagging his fish tale while the guys who bought him in a sandwich are eating him on camera! That's . . . not right!

And another stupid ad

Some time ago I posted about a particular pregnancy test that seemed to me completely inappropriate. I don't think pregnancy tests themselves are inappropriate--in fact, until finishing menopause (hooray!) I found them pretty handy. But this same company now has an ad, narrated inexplicably by a man (why does he get more credibility than a woman who would be the expert and marketing target?) which claims, "One out of four women can misread a pregnancy test."

First, stop the fear mongering. Of course they don't. They're terrified of the answer either way, so 100% of them are certainly jittery but not too dumb to figure out the result. You'd be surprised how that hightened awareness can focus one's mind on making sure she understands the results of a pregnancy test.

Second, hell's bells. What kind of idiotic spawn are we turning out if one quarter of women are so stupid that they can't read a plus sign for positive or a minus sign as a negative? Duh? They have to have whole words to explain it to them? If they can't read a single sign, how can they read a whole word?

If this claim is true--and I don't think it is--I suspect rampant illiterate texting and IMing, combined with ignoring reading and any other sort of homework, may be a contributor.

Next they'll come up with a test that talks to you after you pee on it ("Yes, you are pregnant!" "No, you are not pregnant!"), because the manufacturers assume that the women are so challenged they can't read at all.

Seafood

Gosh.

Another dumb ad.

Sorry, but I can't help it.

This one is for a national seafood chain that starts with "red." You know what it is.

The announcer says the name of the chain, then says, "where the shrimp are endless!"

Well, I hope so; if I'm paying that kind of money for a meal, I hope they're shelling the shrimp and taking the tails off.

Silly Snippets, More Dumb Ads

1) Just saw an unintentionally funny quick clip news ad on our local NBC tv. The marketers' INTENTION was to get viewers to capture news on video and send it in to them as front-liners so that then the station can chase the story.

But the graphics text and voice-over on the ad was, "See it! Shoot it! Send it!" They have NO idea what they just said . . . too funny.

Well, maybe they should be careful what they ask for!

You ought to do that with the next snake or rabid coon you kill. I had more deer on my property eating lilies and groundcover today. Had I had time and the deer not been so quick, I'd have dragged my archery kit out of the attic and taken aim at what I saw, then sent it to them all wrapped up in a big box with a nice ribbon. As for the news station, won't they be surprised what people send to them? They'll have a whole new set of stories to tell!

2) Elder kid, who will return to school Monday after having barely finished his summer AP homework by the skin of his teeth (and not very deeply), has spent much of the week with girlfriend at her beach cottage. He's been in the sun and in boats, in water and sand. He is, effectively, braindead. We had a complicated family weekend and Dad and Tyke were going to a separate beach gathering in the next town over from where elder kid was staying. But girlfriend's family were not scheduled to come back this week because girlfriend goes to a different school and doesn't start as early as Monday. So we had to set up logistics for Dad and Tyke to swing by and pick up elder on their way back.

That was a long preamble to what I'm planning to say: I had to have several phone conversations with elder. But he was so touched by the sun and salt or perhaps chemicals in Long Island Sound that he could not speak a single coherent sentence. Every time we talked, he hung up without saying goodbye, and just left me hanging on a logical cliff. Each time I was stranded, thinking, "Did we communicate anything there?" It was exactly like the Saturday Night Live "revolutionary" character on the Weekend Update segment who wears a jacket from the Army/Navy surplus and tries to argue against newspaper headlines, but never has anything to say. Elder's typical side of the "conversation" was:

Elder kid: They. Like. You know. So they're not. I mean. (five minute pause, during which I'm waiting for more information, or should I say any information at all)(sentence starts up again after I've forgotten what he already DIDN'T say in the first half . . . ) So, coming back, no, uh. Like. I think. So. Can you. I mean. [people are talking animatedly in the background, and he's listening to them, not me] I start to say something, and he immediately starts talking right over me.

Me: Elder, will you stop talking over me and listen to what I have to say, please???!!

Elder: Uh, oh. Yeah. But.

Me: Go away and think. Call me back when you can express what you think you need in a complete sentence! [click]

3) Tyke, having just finished a grueling week of USAA swim clinics, seems to have been affected by the chlorine (this is not the first time). He's lounging around on the comfy chair. We were watching some show on tv whereon the actress Calista Flockhart was a guest. I said, "Tyke. Do you know who that woman in the turquoise dress is?" He said, "No." Then I went on to explain that she is a long-time partner of Harrison Ford.

Tyke looked at me, and then his expression turned to pain and consternation. He said, "Wait! That's impossible! He's like, way DEAD, isn't he?"

At first, I thought to myself, "Oh, because he's so young, he just thinks Harrison Ford is dead because relatively speaking, he's an old guy."

Then Tyke said, "But, Mom, the guy invented the automobile assembly line a bazillion years ago! How could he still be alive?"

Of course I cracked up. I said, "Tyke! I didn't say HENRY Ford! Don't you know who Harrison Ford is?"

He said, "Uhhhh . . . no."

"The guy in Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Presumed Innocent, and Witness."

Then he started laughing and said, "Oh, yeah! But, he is kinda old, though."

4) There's a new dumb ad. Not sure how new it is, actually; I generally tune these things out. I don't buy or use many "beauty" products except my same old shampoo, conditioner, MAC foundation, eyeliner, the fabulous Revlon Colorstay Overtime, and a single coat of Orly nail lacquer (I've used the same stuff for years, though I do toss out and refresh it from time to time).

ANYHOO, this ad is for some company (couldn't determine what it is, and wouldn't hawk it anyway) for an "EYE ROLLER." Its purpose is to tighten up the wrinkly skin around your eyes. PREPOSTEROUS! I am perfectly capable of rolling my eyes without an implement, thank you!

5) Then, finally, this, which has nothing to do with anything else I said, but which fills me with absolute wonder and admiration and happiness nevertheless--SWING it, Temptations! I haven't learned how to embed a video, haven't had time or inclination to learn it until now. Sorry.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4GniJYzGa8

Reprise: Dumb Ads

My old bugbear is back. I just can't shake these things. While they may stick in my mind, they're completely ineffective as marketing tools. But perhaps I'm just an unusually discriminating, tough market.

First, I should again freely admit that I watch too much TV. But I do like it, especially since the advent of DVRs.

Second, there's a new smackdown child smarting off to parents in an ad. This is where our kids get a lot of ideas (ideas that don't fly in our house any more than pigs with wings). SMACK! DOWN! Last time it was the child who would consume nothing but liquid nutritional supplement. This time the winner is the fish-stick girl. She's no older than three, but she harangues her mother about feeding her "minced fish." She rolls her eyes and snottily corrects her mother (help me?) by saying something like, "Do you seriously think I'm gonna eat minced fish?" Or, "Did you ever try eating minced fish?" Mom looks crestfallen and afraid, and immediately produces something else. Instantly. The child rules her world. Are you effing kidding me? Then the child says something like, "That's more like it. Crunchy and tasty." As usual, I won't name the brand because I don't want to give it any credit in my column inches. But, mind, this is a three-year-old child and the items on her plate are no bigger than her little finger and almost entirely breading. To parody another, ancient ad, "Where's the fish?" Reminds me of the joke, "Mommy, mommy, I don't like little brother!" And Mommy says, "Shut up, Susie, and eat what's on your plate!"

Third, the "royal" fast-food joint has gone way too far with the Halloween mask character. They are paying an actor under there, but they have to add a molded plastic face? And they have a huge adult in costume riding around on a pocket bike? What's the intended audience? I am waiting for this chain to go bankrupt from bad advertising. The day can't be far away.

Fourth, another repeat offender: Charmin (R). Please, Mr. Whipple, come back to life! I'm not sure if I reported this particular "episode" earlier, but the bears are back from their nasty, water-fouling, urgent potty romp on the beach, and this time the baby bear requires help from parent bear with the toilet paper again. This time it's not about using too much paper. Oh, no. It's about the lint on the child's rear end. I think the parent chases the child to vacuum the lint (can't exactly remember), butt what I noticed was that lint was ABOVE the child's tail, not below it. That is not a vacuuming problem. And just between us, I don't carry a DustBuster or corded vacuum when I'm in the woods.

On the same subject, there's another--the bear family go driving into the woods. Is that environmentally sound? They stop the car, pile out and, you know, do what bears do in the woods. I just can't stand this campaign.

Fifth, and another SMACK! DOWN! is the screaming guy who does laundry detergent ads. Some random weird guy thinking it's okay for him to enter my family room and yell. Every time he comes on, everyone in the whole house starts screaming. "Mom! Why is this guy screaming?" And I reply, "Kids, I DON'T KNOW WHY THIS GUY IS SCREAMING!" Even so, I will avoid any such product like the plague. I will never, ever try it.

However, on the other side of the coin, there are some current ads I really like.

I love the PBS ad in which a frustrated composer is sitting at his piano, trying to write something, and looks out the window to see birds on wires that form the treble clef. He writes the notes as the birds are configured, and comes up with the PBS theme.

I like the series with the PC guy and the Apple guy.

An ad for a carpet-cleaning company shows a little boy upbraiding his Bassett hound for making a mess on the floor, lecturing him that he's not going to take the blame again.

I think the Windex birds are hilarious, leading the homeowner to smack himself into glass doors. Of course, this would not be funny in the least if it were real, but it's pretty amusing when you think of it as birds conspiring vengeance on humans for having clean windows. I must say that with people, at our house, such a thing would never happen. The windows are WAYYYY too dirty for anyone not to notice a barrier. We don't have any sliding doors, either; and because the house is on a hill, the big windows are almost three stories up--so people are pretty careful near them. Our house is in the woods, and despite the dirty windows, birds regularly kill themselves on windows too often, and it's very disturbing.

Then there's the Cheerios ad with Steve and his wife. This is one of the most honest, real home-life conversations I've ever seen in an ad. Steve stupidly says, "Are you trying to lose weight?" or "Are you watching your weight?" Wife is deeply offended. She stops eating, and says, "No. Why?" He says, "Nothing. It's just that the box says it has xxx calories." She says something like, "Do you think I need to lose weight?" He replies, "No, it's just the box." Finally she asks, "What else does the box say?" He says, dutifully, "The box says, 'Shut up, Steve.'" The wife beams at him.

Finally, I really enjoy the nerdy Jimmy Dean ads with the sun making breakfast, and the sun helping the moon be full (that's the cutest one), and the sun feeding all the planets so that they all become awesome. They're dopey and cute at the same time. Alas, I do not eat sausage, but the breakfasts look good--like your entire day's calories good!

Be Careful How It Sounds

So we are watching TV the other evening, and I am in the kitchen cooking while the others are in the adjoining family room (open floor plan). An ad comes on for a new acid-reflux disease drug. And I hear the name of it and yell, "Are you kidding me? You're kidding me, right? Did they just say A$$ Effects?!!?"

And the others responded, "Mooooommmmmm! Don't talk like that!" And I ran into the room so that I could see the text on the TV, and it turned out that the drug is called Aciphex. Ac-i-phex. To the eye, this is all right. But NOT to the EAR without the eye!!

I wondered: What company in its right mind would permit its branding team to name something Ass Effects? Honestly. Sounds like a, uh, quick-release suppository to me, not a GERD medicine. I'm really good at naming, and they need my services. (Really! I used to win prizes for product names.) Anyway I was so incredulous I had to look online. Turns out that this medicine is manufactured by a Japanese pharmaceutical company, who probably understood English only well enough to know "acid" and "-ex" or "effects" would sound logical and alluring together. But they didn't know enough English to think about the genuine connotation. Oh, I love this kind of stuff. It makes my day. And they are stuck in perpetuity with this name until the patent runs out! Ha! I can't wait to see if it turns out to be a big seller in the English speaking world or not. "Our market research tells us that Aciphex is not well received in English-speaking countries because . . . people say the name is offensive. We are unable to determine why."

A$$ EFFECTS, that's why!

And another ad . . .

Thanks to a comment from Nance, whose blog I read regularly and admire, I've remembered another ad that drives me crazy (see preceding post). Nance took me down a notch for not just coming out and saying VAGINA, instead using the jejune, not-even-properly-euphemistic "va-jay-jay." Well played, Nance. But I just wanted to try it for once. So I did, and now I'm over it.

Onward. In thinking about "vagina," I remembered a pregnancy-test ad that rankles me. And not a moment after I remembered it, I heard that very ad as I prepared my morning coffee. It was scary, really, as if Big Brother had detected my thought and plotted vengeance! I am, however, proud to state that I do not know what brand name it promotes (because the main gist of the ad is just too ugly to stick; in fact, it splashes off). The pregnancy test stick is shown against a solid black background, and flies through apparent space like the Starship Enterprise. It even has a shuttle-like separation as the cap disengages. Then an imposing MALE voice states something like, "It's the most state-of-the-art piece of technology you'll ever pee on."

Heaven help us. When I had cats, they used to like to pee on technology (old-timey technology, like LP record albums and phonographs, a VCR, and the sacred portable "word processing" typewriter. They would pee on anything that took my attention away from them--The New Yorker, textbooks, the Sunday Times.) That is, until I had them NEUTERED. That nipped the habit in the bud post-haste. While I'm all for snarkiness and sarcasm and cynicism and cattiness, this ad steps over the line of decency. I don't want a man talking to me about my pregnancy test. Someone who might be a real user is much more credible. Stupid announcer! Spare us, and do not "boldly go where no man has gone before." Oh, and that's a whole other irritation--the famous split infinitive, "to boldly go." Going on a piece of technology. No, thanks to toilet humor!

I'm Back . . . for A Moment . . . About Dumb Ads

I abandoned this blog quite a while ago. I was just tired of it and was in a slump, and when I'm in a slump nothing particularly strikes me as blogworthy. I felt like a child on Ritalin needing a long drug holiday, so I took it. Not Ritalin--the holiday.

And as I return, it doesn't shame me to say that my mood swings are getting pretty wide these days owing to the beginning of menopause. I'm happy to report that I don't give a damn, and I've quit being all polite, and it feels really good to be unapologetically crotchety.

Of course I will start by admitting that I watch too much television and that it has rotted my brain so that it probably looks as though I have bovine spongiform encephalitis. Even my use of the BSE term is proof that I have a problem, because it's only the animal form that has that name. I think the human manifestation of the disease is CJD ( Creusfeldt-Jakob disease). Such forgetfulness is a symptom of the "m" word. Anyway, for a few months now, I have been harboring resentment against some ads that finally coalesced into a critical mass, making me want to stick my spongy head in the sink and flip the garbage disposal switch. But of course I'm not a pinhead, and I'm not going to waste myself over TV ads.

However, as a critical reader, writer, and viewer I do notice everything about the ads. Would I buy this product? In the following cases, I proclaim a resounding "No!"

First, I want to lambaste the big pharmaceutical companies. Now, first of all, I have to issue the disclaimer that I know Big Pharma has kept me alive against astounding odds. For that I'm truly grateful. As a lifelong severe asthmatic, I've had many, many near-death asthmatic experiences. Some people have occupational hazards; I have none (as a writer and editor who works from home, what could happen? I guess I could trip over my computer cord, or an irate client could murder me for not getting published). But I sure do have chronic existential hazards. Maintaining existence has been pretty had for me. Anyway, as thankful as I am for [some of] the medications that have been made available during my lifetime, I'm healthily skeptical of some others. For years the "rage" medications' side effects rendered me ill, jittery, nauseous, moody, and insomniac. They caused headaches so bad I had to decide between the headache and the asthma, and frequently I chose to tolerate the asthma just to get relief from the headaches. These days I'm seeing infuriating "la-la-la" happy ads about miracle medications. There's one with a carefree woman who looks like Gwyneth Paltrow riding along in a convertible and claiming that previously she thought she had been "in control" of her asthma, but wasn't really, until she found this new drug. I want to slap her face. I have been on that drug and every other "state-of-the-art" asthma medicine, and I follow my regimen religiously. It seems to reduce exacerbations. But never, not once in my entire life, have I been "in control of my asthma." I can't make plans; any day is a potential heyday for an attack. I just want to slap these people silly for suggesting predictable "control" is possible. Of course, most of the time I'm too wheezy to manage the exertion required to slap someone silly.

Enough about the pharmas. Another irritating ad is a little old, and disappeared so long ago that I had gratefully forgotten about it. Unfortunately, it has inexplicably resurfaced with great vigor and repetition, and makes me want to go on a rampage. A mom in a grocery store is pushing her evil, spoiled little girl around in the shopping cart. You know the type of kid I mean. Spawn of Satan. The child seems to have sprung from a Stephen King novel, from "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory," or from one of the old Billy Mumy episodes of "The Twilight Zone." She's utterly manipulative, controls her mother, and knows she can win every time. The mom needs parenting classes, stat.

"Broccoli," the mom says as she reaches for some. "I don't LIKE broccoli," the smirking child says. "Some chickennnnnn," the mom says. "I DON'T LIKE chicken," says the girl, very self-satisfied. "Waffles," the mom says. "I don't think I LIKE waffles," the mini-vixen says, as if there's a kid in the whole wide world who doesn't like waffles. Then the mom picks up a multi-pack of Pediasure(R). This is Mom's big mistake. The little girl's face shows the barest hint of insincere, ingratiating approval. The final scene takes place at home, where the brat is shown happily sucking down the Pediasure(R) and rewarding Mom with a smile. Stupid mom. She's already allowed this young child to develop an eating disorder.

Now, I don't know about you, but I think this ad should be rewritten to go a little more like this. I know this is how my own mother would have handled it if I'd tried to pull such a stunt. First of all, except for her spoiled baby attitude, the girl is much too big to sit in the shopping-cart baby seat. That's Mom's initial error. Mom should rip her right out of there and make her walk on her own two perfectly good legs. Let her see how weak and sore her stupid legs are when she refuses to eat right and develops rickets! Second, when the impudent juvenile turd says she doesn't like everything, the mom should knock her upside the head, purchase the broccoli, chicken and waffles, drag the kid out to the car, strap her up uncomfortably in her car seat and take her straight home. This way, the Pediasure(R) will never get purchased, and Mom will get daughter to eat normal people food like broccoli, chicken and waffles, or else let the little bitch starve until she decides she will consume more than an unvaried, ridiculously expensive liquid diet. Of course, the problem with this revision is that it isn't going to sell much Pediasure(R). But honest to God. Even my dad wouldn't drink his "Geriatrisure" (not the product's real name), and he was dying and hungry. Apparently there's a reason this company needs desperate and terrible advertising. Their product sucks. That's a little joke.

Next on my list of heinous ads is the latest series for Pepto Bismol(R). What idiot(s) decided graphic depictions of the disgusting symptoms that might call for Pepto Bismol(R) were a good idea? The very thought of giant Godzilla having upset stomach, heartburn, or godforbid, diarrhea (!) is enough to make me rush to the toilet to vomit. The ads inspire the need for the product. But the company didn't stop there. Now there's an even more ludicrous ad purporting (and I say "purporting" because I refuse to believe the phenomenon's real) to show strange global auditions for the "roles" of heartburn, upset stomach, diarrhea, etc. The auditioners look, sound and act like mental hospital escapees. I can only imagine, and hope, that this ad campaign sets Pepto(R) sales well behind--no pun intended--and they will have to spend a lot of additional ad money catching up after this disaster.

Then there's the recent Monistat(R) ad for yeast infection medication (miconazole nitrate). The main element of the cure is a vaginal suppository they call an "ovule." As you'd well expect, it's egg-shaped. An ovule is an unfertilized seed. I am sorry, but I do not get the backwards logic in the marketing here. No matter how desperate the infectious circumstances, I am not going to shove an egg up my va-jay-jay. I am full of eggs already, and at this age would kill myself if another one EVER managed to get fertilized. By biological law, eggs are only supposed to come OUT, not go in! What were they thinking?! Furthermore, I am pleased as punch that my eggs have nearly stopped doing anything whatsoever except, perhaps, shriveling up. Good riddance.

The Chunky ChipsAhoy(R) ads, featuring animated chocolate chip cookies that inexplicably stand vertically on their own and can speak, sing, and dance, really upset me. They just make me sad. In this case, it's not that I'm repulsed, but that I feel bad for the cookies, and specifically because of this campaign, I will never buy and eat them. For me, it's a reverse ad campaign. It's not funny to me that the cookies facilitate their own demise. The ads flop because their emotional appeal goes not to my mean-spirited side, but to my sympathetic side. "Today is the first day of the rest of my life"--boom, gone! It's tragic. Car ride with "Don't You Want Me Baby?"--four of them snatched up in a heartbeat. I have always wondered what happens to the car after the driver gets eaten. Does it crash into other vehicles, killing their passengers as well? The "If You Want My Body" one, where the bachelor cookie briefly entertains a date, is just sick. Not only because the bachelor cookie gets grabbed right out of an embarrassing intimate moment, but that after he's devoured, the dumb blonde date looks up and says, (desperate), "Call me?" worst of all is the eulogy ad, in which two cookies fondly remember one of their recently departed cronies. In the very moment of their grief, they're pilfered right out of the funeral home. Is nothing sacred? Ick. I do think the ads are kind of funny, but for me in terms of selling a product, this series operates like aversion therapy.

Finally, there's the egregious campaign for Charmin(R) toilet paper. (Yessiree-Bob, there's actually a website for Charmin(R), complete with a section on "toilet paper history"! Sheesh. Are we not above potty jokes?) Why did good ol' Mr. Whipple have to up and die on us? Bring him back, please! He's been replaced by a stupid family of bears. That's right. Bears. Because the company apparently thought it would be clever to allude to the figure of speech, "Does a bear $h^t in the woods?" And that's just what the animated bears do. They try to make the bears cute and appealing, but puhh-leeze. There are a couple of ads in which little bear and parent bear are in the woods, and little bear goes behind a tree and uses Charmin(R). Because heaven knows bears use toilet paper when they $h^t in the woods. (Where do they put the discarded paper? Is this environmentally responsible? Let's not think about that.) It's not any more attractive that the ads are animations. Under no circumstances do I want to think about bears $h^tting in the woods. Nada. Zip. There's another ad highlighting the availability of two types of Charmin(R), distinguished by two different bears, one blue and one red. I do not like blue bears or red bears. They don't really mean anything to me. And I dislike witnessing the moment that they both have urgent elimination needs while on the BEACH, and race like crazy for the public outhouses. That's their private "business," and I do not care to share it. Henceforth I will have a hard time at my favorite place, the beach, because now I'll associate it with pooping bears. Thanks, Charmin(R), for ruining idyllic beach thoughts for me. I pretty much find toilet paper ads of any sort offensive. It's rather personal. It's not a product that requires advertising; it's the sort of basic staple that everyone needs anyway. Why underscore the obvious with an expensive campaign in very bad taste?

Perhaps this cynicism and refusal to believe in the public's gullibility are why I did not last long in the advertising industry.

Taste

Yes, I believe words have flavor. Here I go again, watching the gol-durned corruption-box TV. I just heard a commercial for some sort of fiber product that you stir into a glass of water. They claim it's clear and

tasteless.

I remember the last time we heard that word used in an ad, and all of us laughed. #1 Son said, "How can a product like that be 'tasteless'? It's not kitschy or anything. Don't they mean, 'flavorless'?"

I think it's tasteless to talk about fiber and bowel functions on TV. But consider the source: I was also raised in a family where no one was ever allowed to fart except in the bathroom, and people certainly did not discuss such matters except in hushed tones and in extreme confidence. We were, uh, anal about it all. (Look at that, Mom and Dad and Grandma Sylvia! I said FART and ANAL on the world-wide internet and used them in conjunction with your names!) No, I'm okay. They won't beat me out the screen door with brooms or anything. But that's only because they're all dead.

Although my Oxford American Dictionary and Language Guide does list "lacking flavor" as its first definition for the word "tasteless," and the first definition is usually the "preferred" definition, here at Chez Laugh About Language we take exception to that definition. It would be tasteless to poison someone with something flavorless. I don't want to consume anything that's tasteless, unless I bought it on purpose because I was charmed by its tackiness. I have a number of objects that attest to my lack of taste. For instance, I just bought a pair of UCLA Crocs in Bruin colors, bright blue and yellow. They are really ugly, and I just love them. They pamper my heel spur while at the same time looking like football helmets for feet. My son says, "Mom, those are shoes with a message, and the message is, 'trailer trash!'" They were a tasteless choice.

Anyway, my point? I don't like the usage of "tasteless" meaning "flavorless," because in my family it was never used. "Tasteless" always meant "in bad taste." If we meant "without flavor," we said "flavorless." In addition, we had a little rule that if you ran across a usage that resulted in some form of ambiguity or could be easily misconstrued, you simply said what you wanted to say a different way so as to avoid the ambiguity or misconstruction.

On to the next thing. On the local news the other night, "two men were seen to flee the scene." I might save that for a poem I'll write later. But it sounded stupid at the time. It looks better than it sounds, like "He just wants to get you a loan."

Which reminds me of one that has bothered me for years and which I hear on the news all the time:

A [insert age of person or vehicle here] was found (or discovered) missing.

No. It/s/he decidedly was not found or discovered. That's why they're referred to as missing.

Of course I wonder if there's an official linguistic term for such a construction. I guess it's a whole different sort of oxymoron. A verbal oxymoron? Usually oxymorons are modifier-noun constructions: "jumbo shrimp"; "government intelligence." This is a past-present participle construction. I can't think of any other examples of that, and I'm making my own brain tired trying to think. It doesn't get a lot of exercise. (Sometimes I am my own peeve.) "Dried sprinkling" or something like that. Oh, shut up and go do something else, sputnik! End of post.

Foot in Mouth Again

There's a huge regional discount furniture chain here. The owners started out as average joes, broke and small. Over the span of 15 years, they've made it remarkably big. They now give back generously to the community and occasionally incorporate their charitable work into their ads. For example, they'll donate a percentage of their proceeds over a stated period of time to their current cause. They've recently been giving to a charity whose purpose is preventing premature births.

Throughout their entire series of homegrown ads, the owners do not strike me as particularly well spoken people. That's why I called them "joes," which was fairly rude of me. Recently I heard a new ad for the first time. It starts like this:

Mrs. Furniture [sitting on a Mr. & Mrs. Furniture bed with two babies]: Looking at Suzie and Johnny here, you might find it inconceivable that these twins were born.

Mr. Furniture: That's right. They were premature.

Foot in Mouth

Pre-emptive notice: Before anyone goes off and comments that I should just turn off my radio or tv and get a da&#ed life, I already know that, but I'm still very sensitive to those things I do hear. (Also, my devilish aspect, which I'm very much in daily touch with, delights in skewering people about language.) But there are many times when I just want to crawl under a rock with thick wads of cotton stuck in my ears. Recently I posted about hearing a local car dealer's ad that makes my kids and me crazy and always results in snorting laughter. But, on the more serious side, it truly worries me that people's ability to logically analyze, pre-screen and edit what they say has diminished to such a lamentable degree. Americans' brains' evolution seems to have reversed. Our brains are rapidly shrinking back into mere stems.*

Today's post is about some law ads. You'd think language and its impact would be carefully considered by law firms. It is, after all, largely a combination of linguistic acuity and verbal gymnastics that earn firms their substantial bread and butter. Anyway, a big local firm is spending wads of settlement money on sucky television advertisements. (I suspect, IMHO but I'm not making a direct accusation, that they are of the "ambulance chaser" variety.) I won't reveal their specific title, but it's a double-up of a single surname, similar to "Italiano & Italiano."

The attorney after whom the firm is named is a laconic, completely unemotional guy who, in my opinion, is probably a complete introvert in real life. Introversion is fine--I express that gene to a pathological degree and won't fault him for that at all. But despite his best attempts in front of the camera, Italiano #1 just can't even pretend to inspire any feeling in an audience other than a shred of embarrassed pity. You can tell he hates being recorded. He'd rather have his nose behind his books, and I'll bet his time spent there would probably be more productive than his time spent making ads. He's not cut out for this work; he's just a real fellow who's an alarmingly unconvincing actor. It seems a cruel joke on both the audience and on him that he is required to appear in ads just because it's cheaper than it would be to hire a professional. It's just mean all around.

So.

Close-up, Mr. DeMille!

Head of firm, sitting solo in the usual setting (bookshelves behind him to impart an aura of scholarly veracity) says in a deadpan, robotic voice,

I know from experience that when something bad happens to you if you or a loved one is hurt in an accident it can just [very slight hesitation as if fishing for the right words] cut the legs out from under you. We at I. & I. understand how you feel . . .

Ooohhh, kaaayyy. Might his copywriters have thought a moment before using those particular words? Might Mr. I. himself have considered their meaning and possible connotation? Because, I dunno, it seems to me that there's just something about the word choice that's infelicitous given the context. Even if they had used a similar figure such as, "it can pull the rug right out from under you," it would still have been wrong, wrong, wrong and ended up with someone being gravely injured. It's so not witty as well as (unintentionally?) ironic. Might as well say, "it can shoot the friggin' kneecaps right off of you."

As usual, I'm overreacting. I find this guy stunningly inadequate as an advertiser. In the firm's preceding ad, he unsuccessfully tried to pull the target audience's heartstrings by recounting the story of his own accident. Tiny violins! It was an affecting ad--I mean "affect" in the sense of this spokesperson pretending or assuming a pose that wasn't working. And its effect on us was the opposite of what they wanted: it made us laugh because despite his claims, it was devoid of feeling. The following excerpts are not verbatim quotes, but they're close enough to accurately represent the language and emotional gist. Mr. Cardboard says in monotone with no punctuation,

I was in a motorcycle accident You know it's a sport And maybe you're gonna get hurt Both I and my lovely wife were thrown from the vehicle of course the first thing I did was ask my lovely wife are you okay she said she was but we were very fortunate it could have been much worse so I tell people that I know what it's like to have a moment that can change your life it's my mission to fight for those people

Mr. I., I'm so glad nothing bad happened to you and your lovely wife. I mean, heck, wasn't it even scary? Don't you still shiver every time you think about it? No?

Here's to his lovely wife for listening to the way he speaks year after monotonous year. Lovely she must be to tolerate that. Or maybe a previous, unmentioned motorcycle accident resulted in unintentional dueling lobotomies and they both thought they came out okay and that's why they get along just fine.

Then there's the third ad, even older, in which Mr. I. explains,

Bad things happen in my lifetime I lost two of my brothers and that was a very difficult experience to go through [photo of the "happy" family with brothers pops up, but you can't tell the people in the photo are related to this guy] Nothing can prepare you for that kind of devastation but it helps you bond with the people you're trying to help when you understand their pain it makes you passionate about fighting to get them justice

I feel for ya I really do and I'm so convinced you're passionate every injured party should hire your firm

NO! There's the Bob's Dodge ad again! He just wants to get me alone! Oh, shut up, sputnik! You're in an orbiting rant again. Just turn off the tv.


*For proof, all you have to do is look at who the people of the country supposedly elected as The Decider, a guy who cannot even successfully eat a pretzel.

Sales Pitch

A few weeks ago a new local car-dealership ad started coming on during daytime TV. Typical of local, low-budget ads, it is loud and unconvincing. This one has a twist, however--and it's a pitch I've never heard from a boorish car salesman before. At the end of the ad, an irritating woman, clearly not a professional ad person, appears as narrator and says, or reads,

Come on down to Bob's Dodge. He just wants to get you a loan.

I was not looking at the screen the first time I heard this. So, to me, just listening, it sounded like, "He just wants to get you alone!" The next time the ad came on, I saw that the words were printed. But, still. Like I'm gonna run on down to Bob's Dodge so he can get me alone.