Open Letter Wednesday

The issue with which I take umbrage this week involves so many different people, I don't know who to address. Listen up ad agencies, this week's ire is directed at you...

To Whom It May Concern:

Y’all are starting get under my craw. Last night I endured a four commercial stretch so immeasurably terrible I nearly popped my eyes out with a grapefruit spoon. Each represented problems I’ve long had with ad agencies. Allow me, if you will, to play Joe Everyman and take you to task for ruining America.

Coors Light Code Blue kicked off the run like the tines of a fork on a ceramic plate. To summarize, man orders bucket of Coors Light, bottles are blue (signifying they are cold and ready to drink), man calls friends, friends drop everything and join him at the bar. My questions: Why is one guy ordering a bucket of beer in the middle of the day, and a work day at that? Why does everyone he calls beat feet to join him in his alcoholic afternoon? This brings up an important issue, that being the idea of drinking responsibly. How can Coors display the “Please Drink Responsibly” message with a straight face when everyone in the commercial is shirking responsibility to down some Rocky Mountain refreshment? It is patently absurd and a middle finger to the collective intelligence of the audience, though making a label that turns blue to tell the drinker his or her beer is cold enough takes care of that already.

Listen, I know Taco Bell can trot out any lame commercial and still sell the bejesus out of there Maybe Mexican. Hell, they could have Pol Pot, Stalin and the current line-up of “talent” on MTV kicking puppies and hawking the Cheesy Gordita Crunch and I’d buy one. However, the commercial for the new Bacon Club Chalupa is plain disturbing. Two attractive young women go to a bar and one is armed with said Chalupa in hopes of drawing the attention of a gentleman caller. Seriously? It used to be that a pretty young lovely with low self esteem could just spread her legs, now she has to provide snacks? What kind of message is this to girls in America? Sure, you might be beautiful and funny and intelligent and have a lot to offer in general. You might even put out. But bacon trumps all that, so plan accordingly.

Sex sells, period. In fact, I’ve written on the subject and the idea that it is as good a propaganda tool as there is. We’ve gotten to a point where everything is sexualized. Food porn is all the rage, and as somewhat of a foodie I can tolerate it when it appears where it belongs, i.e. Top Chef and other food related programming. I don’t want to see it in commercials for juice though. Of course I’m talking about the commercial for Tropicana Pure Valencia. Seductive voice over, extreme close-ups of perspiring fruit, pools of juice exploding with delight, you get the picture. Here is what I want to think while watching a juice commercial, “Mmm, juice. I bet that would be tasty with breakfast or after a long night of drinking.” Here is what I don’t want to think, “Oh man, I wanna fuck that juice.” See the difference? Is it wrong that I want my juice to be a thirst quencher and not a dirty whore?

Of all the commercial tactics that piss me off, using British actors for voice overs to convey luxury is my most hated. ALL BRITS ARE NOT SMARTER AND MORE DIGNIFIED THAN AMERICANS! They just aren’t. It is a stereotype that is pandered to far too often and could just as easily be turned on its head with the Brit-as-drunken-hooligan stereotype that doesn’t get as much play. Come to think of it, if some company were brave enough to hire that archetype to sell me a car I’d be signing papers today.

It is truly unfortunate you, advertising agencies on the whole, can’t evolve past the same styles on which you have relied for years. Some companies are so successful, I’m not sure why they even need to advertise, especially if they are going to continue to produce crap ads. Given that it has been this way since time immemorial, I should get used to the formulaic nature of the industry. But I don’t want to, and you, as advertisers, shouldn’t want to either. Sell me a car because I need to drive, juice and beer because I need to drink and Taco Bell because I’m stoned. Is that so much ask?

Ready to buy,

Brunswick P. Danforth

Open Letter Wednesday

It's Wednesday again and you know what that means. Yes, more mind-numbing hours of American Idol, but also another open letter. This weeks recipient, that fickle mistress, Mother Nature.

Mother Nature
8 Omnipresent Circle
Land-of-Whimsy, The Ether 10009

Dear Mom,

I don’t mean to be disrespectful, really I don’t, but you’re being a bitch. I don’t know why you and Father Time are fighting, but you have to figure something out for the sake of your children. If you had doubts about the marriage, you should have divorced a long time ago. Rarely does having another kid, let alone another billion, help the relationship.

The bickering has to stop. It’s April for crying out loud and I don’t know whether I’ll need a parka or UV protection on a day to day basis. I get it, you’re both stubborn and you don’t want to give in to him, but you need to pick your battles. The two of you need to decide a schedule and stick to it. It isn’t his fault he is tasked with overseeing a man-made creation, just as it isn’t yours that you are responsible for the weather on this crazy rock. The least you can do is compromise.

I’m confident we can reach a settlement that both parties are happy with considering no pre-nup was signed. Papa Time basically gives you all winter to go nuts as is, and March and April already have their own bonkers weather related –isms. All we, your spawn, are asking is for some consistency; we can handle the April showers, so long as they are of the rain, not snow, variety. And would more 65 degree days in April be too much to ask? It is spring after all. I won’t speak for all of us, but I’d be willing to allow more intense summer storms and would turn the other cheek to an occasional October cold spell, so long as you continue with an Indian summer day here and there.

You and dad got yourselves into this mess (with help from a quart of Mad Dog 20/20 and Springsteen’s sold out Asbury Park show in ’78) and it is up to you to come up with a resolution. We’re your kids, and we support you, but know that drawing this out isn’t doing us any favors. When most parents fight, they throw dishes; you’re dropping Connecticut-sized swaths of ice into the ocean. It’s excessive and a little scary. Make things right for the kids, always FTK.

Temperately confused,

Brunswick P. Danforth