This blog cut its teeth on criticizing commercials, and quite frankly, I think I ought to get back to my roots. I don't watch as much tv now as I did in school, so it's going to be harder to actually manage. Now that football has started, and Dr. Sighted is inconsolable because UGa is behind by 2 TDs right now to Boise, we are seeing and will continue to be seeing more commercials. She did a better job during the first half of the Clemson game when we looked like injured garbage. Adjusting to marriage is hard.
Dick's (the sporting goods store) has a fun campaign where they have professional athletes giving instruction to people buying apparel and explaining why they need it and how it will make them perform better. A few memorable ones were Darelle Revis selling shoes or shorts or whatever and talking about going to his island -- Revis Island -- only to find out that his protege is named Gilligan. There is another one involving Ndomakong Suh (best name ever) hunting quarterbacks selling whatever Revis wasn't There is a good one now with Steven Jackson (not the basketball player) moving in slow motion. There is one, however, that goes over dumber than Kris Humphries answer inevitably will the first time Kim Kardashian asks, "Does this make my butt look big?"
Clay Matthews is the go to guy after the Packers won the Super Bowl, because he looks like a mutant Midwestern wrestler with hair like the cute blonde in your sophomore biology class. He is selling shorts or shoes or whatever in this commercial and it's just him running into stuff in the store. No clever comment from the store, they try to be funny with the family blocking him, except there's nothing going on that they are blocking. There's nothing to blow up! There should have been cowboys robbing a train or a caped man with a handlebar mustache kidnapping Song Girls (Clay went to USC, you see [the real one in LA, not the fake one in Columbia, SC] and the Song Girls are the best thing about the school) that he could blow up. Right now, it just feels like build up with now release. No snap, no crackle, no pop!
The wasted opportunity of the situation is what gets me most. Bad commercials are a dime a dozen -- just ask Taco Bell. But bad commercials with potential to be great? They are the ones that make us feel like we did when Utah State choked away the Auburn game today.
Showing posts with label thinly veiled homoeroticism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label thinly veiled homoeroticism. Show all posts
Saturday, September 03, 2011
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Man I Miss Video Cameras: So You Think You Can Write?
I don't know if you knew this about me, but I used to write movies in college. Actually, all of you probably knew that already, since most of you were there. Well, I miss it. I wish I had a camera so I could talk my friends into making fools themselves and broadcasting it on the internet via something along the lines of youtube. Although, if I continue to generate the sorts of media I am like this blog and newspaper articles and (soon) movies, then maybe it should be time to invest in an actual domain of my own. I just need you people to tell your friends so I can make money off this endeavor. I know you are probably thinking, "Why should we do that?" For two reasons: you have nothing better to do at work and I would be happy to buy you a drink if I were making money off of this.
This isn't quite a whole movie, but it's a sort of preview. This will probably be the longest entry I've posted, but you might find yourself reading more things written in the style of a screenplay more often.
This isn't quite a whole movie, but it's a sort of preview. This will probably be the longest entry I've posted, but you might find yourself reading more things written in the style of a screenplay more often.
So U Think U Can Write?
[Fade in]
[Crowd of 20 somethings shown sitting in a classroom, writing in notebooks.]
NARRATOR
[in voice over]
In a class of some of the best young writers in
[Fade out]
[Fade into an office with STAN and an older person, INSTRUCTOR. STAN is seated, while the INSTRUCTOR is standing and reading from a notebook.]
INSTRUCTOR
[yelling]
You think this is good? You waste my time with this… this garbage? You’ll never get published with that. Do you even want this? You have to want this. Do you want this…?
[Fade out]
[Fade into a bookstore coffee shop. STAN is seated at a table by himself, three other 20 somethings are together, with coffee drinks.]
[ANGLE ON bookstore façade. QUICK CUT to STAN.]
NARRATOR
Where the only thing that flashes as bright as the talent…
[ANGLE ON ERIN, TOM and VICKY. ERIN and TOM are clearly together.]
[looking at STAN]
He writes so well, but with his reckless attitude, he’ll never last in this career.
TOM
Some people just aren’t cut out for this.
VICKY
I think you’re jealous, Tom.
[Fade out]
[Fade in.
NARRATOR
…are the egos.
[ANGLE ON TOM, ERIN and VICKY at the bar of the coffee shop.]
TOM
I killed! It was perfect.
[kissing Tom on the cheek]
Wonderful job, Tom.
[STAN approaches to pick up a tea and cookie.]
What did you think, Stan?
STAN
I really liked it. It was a little heavy on alliteration, though.
[TOM aggressively knocks the mug out of STAN’s hand.]
TOM
Too much alliteration? I didn’t see you up there, Tennessee Williams. You want a go, with me Oscar Wilde? I’m gonna shove your head so far up your ass you’ll be a walking enjambment!
Guys, no! Don’t hurt him Tom!
[Fade out.]
[
NARRATOR
This is the time…
[ANGLE ON VICKY talking to STAN]
VICKY
You know she loves you, right?
STAN
Why should I care about that? She’s with Tom now.
VICKY
Yeah, well she shouldn’t be. He’s a jerk. And he’s been saying that he doesn’t think you’ll ever get published. He said he’s not even sure you should call yourself a writer anymore. Are you gonna let him talk about you like that and get the girl?
STAN
Give me a damn pen.
[Fade out]
[ANGLE ON ERIN and STAN]
NARRATOR
…when you have to ask yourself…
We shouldn’t.
STAN
I know.
[They go in to kiss but fades out in a way to make it seem unclear if they actually do.]
[Fade out]
[ANGLE ON TOM, VICKY, ERIN and STAN in the coffee shop.]
NARRATOR
One simple question:
TOM
[yelling at STAN]
I know about you two! This should be settled the way men do this! On paper! See you Friday at the reading you lousy pulp writer!
[Fade out to title: So You Think You Can Write?]
NARRATOR
So You Think You Can Write?
[End scene.]
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
The last line only works if you know I'm a boy.
I started this post when I saw a commercial with Elvis Costello in it. In fact, this is as far as I got before I saw a way better commercial: I just saw a commercial with Elvis Costello sitting in a Lexus. I like a few Elvis Costello songs, I don't think I know what they mean, but I like a few of them anyway. He seems like an interesting fellow.
The commercial was for Good Morning America, and Dina McGreevey is going to appear on it in an interview. If you don't remember, she was the wife of that governor from New Jersey who publicly announced that he was gay and having an affair with a man, but wouldn't resign just yet. He eventually did, but well, that's not the important part. The important part is that his wife is on Good Morning America.
I know what you're asking yourself. It's going to be some variation, "In this day and age, where homosexuals are making such progress entering the mainstream, would I give a damn what this woman has to say?" The answer, of course, is because she wants you to buy her book. Now I haven't read it, but I'm pretty sure the ending is that her husband is gay.
The best part of the commercial, though, was the voice over narration, you know the one -- it makes things like "kitten caught in tree, firemen narrowly escape injury" sound like the Doolittle Raid. In this particular case, though, the intense voice over was, "Could your husband be gay?" Honestly, I don't know how that could be funnier. Because, if you think about it, it's really kind of a trap question for have the population already. "Do your parents know you're a pedophile?" Well, gee, I don't know, I don't think so? I'm pretty sure my husband is straight... or is he?
The commercial was for Good Morning America, and Dina McGreevey is going to appear on it in an interview. If you don't remember, she was the wife of that governor from New Jersey who publicly announced that he was gay and having an affair with a man, but wouldn't resign just yet. He eventually did, but well, that's not the important part. The important part is that his wife is on Good Morning America.
I know what you're asking yourself. It's going to be some variation, "In this day and age, where homosexuals are making such progress entering the mainstream, would I give a damn what this woman has to say?" The answer, of course, is because she wants you to buy her book. Now I haven't read it, but I'm pretty sure the ending is that her husband is gay.
The best part of the commercial, though, was the voice over narration, you know the one -- it makes things like "kitten caught in tree, firemen narrowly escape injury" sound like the Doolittle Raid. In this particular case, though, the intense voice over was, "Could your husband be gay?" Honestly, I don't know how that could be funnier. Because, if you think about it, it's really kind of a trap question for have the population already. "Do your parents know you're a pedophile?" Well, gee, I don't know, I don't think so? I'm pretty sure my husband is straight... or is he?
Sunday, April 29, 2007
It's a little drafty in here.
So, I watched most of the NFL draft yesterday, and I cannot begin with the complaints about the talk about Brady Quinn until I post my excitement about Gaines Adams, Defensive End from Clemson University going to Tampa Bay. I might have to purchase a jersey, and from what I hear I'm not really the sort to buy jerseys. This isn't a sports blog, I realize, so I'll try to lay off the sports heavy material and only focus on the general complaints of the viewing experience.
First, the NFL can never ever allow the draft to go as long as it did yesterday. That is, if it expects to keep viewers. It was the longest first round in the history of the draft, which means it was like 1.25 times more boring than usual. I understand it takes a certain kind of fan to watch the draft (of which I am one), and if it's like this again next year they can count me out. 15 minutes is the amount of time between picks, and typically, only bastard teams use all 15 of those minutes. Most of them did this year, because of that bastard quarterback Brady Quinn.
I want to quote one of the soulless commentators (I don't remember which one, but none of them have souls), who has obviously lost touch with what it means to be an actual person: "I'm starting to feel bad for Brady Quinn." For those of you who don't know, Brady Quinn was the quarterback for Notre Dame, which is a school in Indiana that has an inexplicably large amount of attention paid to it. He had an average career with very impressive statistics. The kid was going to a very prestigious and expensive private school for free, and as the starting QB for ND gets on TV every Saturday. As a result, girls will, inevitably, want to sleep with him. It doesn't hurt that he is going to be a professional football player and make in the tens of millions of dollars. The reason that the soulless TV guy felt bad for him was because the difference between the #10 pick, where he might have gone, and the #22 pick, where he did go, is like $25 million.
Sure, it sounds like a lot of money, and it is. But he's 22 years old. If he's any good (which he may or may not be), that amount that he lost in the first contract will be about as insignificant as Joe Biden in the presidential race. He's a college graduate now, and he's falling into this job. It's hard, really, to sympathize about him losing $25 million in four hours. Yes, it's a little traumatic to watch as they show this kid on the screen, but he's going to be a millionaire. Like next week. For sports fans, it's more aggravating than people who pronounce "ASAP" because we've been hearing about this slightly above average quarterback non-stop for like two years now. I know that it's never really a good idea to enjoy somebody else's misfortune, but I think it's ok when that misfortune is a kid who's younger than me getting a $15 million contract to throw a ball.
First, the NFL can never ever allow the draft to go as long as it did yesterday. That is, if it expects to keep viewers. It was the longest first round in the history of the draft, which means it was like 1.25 times more boring than usual. I understand it takes a certain kind of fan to watch the draft (of which I am one), and if it's like this again next year they can count me out. 15 minutes is the amount of time between picks, and typically, only bastard teams use all 15 of those minutes. Most of them did this year, because of that bastard quarterback Brady Quinn.
I want to quote one of the soulless commentators (I don't remember which one, but none of them have souls), who has obviously lost touch with what it means to be an actual person: "I'm starting to feel bad for Brady Quinn." For those of you who don't know, Brady Quinn was the quarterback for Notre Dame, which is a school in Indiana that has an inexplicably large amount of attention paid to it. He had an average career with very impressive statistics. The kid was going to a very prestigious and expensive private school for free, and as the starting QB for ND gets on TV every Saturday. As a result, girls will, inevitably, want to sleep with him. It doesn't hurt that he is going to be a professional football player and make in the tens of millions of dollars. The reason that the soulless TV guy felt bad for him was because the difference between the #10 pick, where he might have gone, and the #22 pick, where he did go, is like $25 million.
Sure, it sounds like a lot of money, and it is. But he's 22 years old. If he's any good (which he may or may not be), that amount that he lost in the first contract will be about as insignificant as Joe Biden in the presidential race. He's a college graduate now, and he's falling into this job. It's hard, really, to sympathize about him losing $25 million in four hours. Yes, it's a little traumatic to watch as they show this kid on the screen, but he's going to be a millionaire. Like next week. For sports fans, it's more aggravating than people who pronounce "ASAP" because we've been hearing about this slightly above average quarterback non-stop for like two years now. I know that it's never really a good idea to enjoy somebody else's misfortune, but I think it's ok when that misfortune is a kid who's younger than me getting a $15 million contract to throw a ball.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Don't cross the [weak] streams
I think I need to mention one of my favorite commercials. Actually, I hate it, but you know what I mean. You have probably seen it, but you may have missed to good parts, since it's a pharmaceutical ad, and people usually pay as much attention to them as they do interest rates by the Federal Reserve. The wonderdrug at hand, though, is Flomax. This is one doubles your pleasure because there are two comercials: one in a Mustang and one in a sportfisherman. Flomax is a treatment to improve urination. (Hence the name - Flomax. Get it?)
Now, the good parts of this are that they talk about how men want to do take long drives without taking too many pit stops and do manly things like fight kingfish, then they go ahead and show four men in like a 1965 Mustang. If you don't know what that's funny, you have never been inside a Mustang -- four guys seated in one is, well, a little gay. Especially when they are 50 something men who all have urinary troubles as a common bond. As is the lusty look one gives another while fly fishing, or the fellow who wraps his arm, lovingly, around his "friend" after a nice golf shot at the end. That's not really a huge deal, but it's an odd sell when manliness is so central to the campaign.
Here are the symptoms Flomax will treat: Going often, strainging, going urgently, stopping and starting, weak stream, incomplete emptying, or waking up to go. My favorite of this list has to be weak stream, because I can only imagine some seventy year old man saying to his urologist, "Hell no there's nothing wrong with it. It all comes out fine, it just takes 17 minutes for me to piss." Notice how when I mention numbers, I spell them in words, but when old men do, they write them as numerals. The same thing happens in person, too.
The side effects were lowered blood pressure, to the point of fainting when standing up suddenly. But I would imagine that this problem is counteracted with an appropriate dose of Viagra. Considering the trouble region, it doesn't seem such a stretch to think some of the same blokes may be in the market for both Flomax and Viagra. After thinking about this, I hope this drug is for real, because with this application and a name like Flomax, it really could be a big joke they're playing on me.
Now, the good parts of this are that they talk about how men want to do take long drives without taking too many pit stops and do manly things like fight kingfish, then they go ahead and show four men in like a 1965 Mustang. If you don't know what that's funny, you have never been inside a Mustang -- four guys seated in one is, well, a little gay. Especially when they are 50 something men who all have urinary troubles as a common bond. As is the lusty look one gives another while fly fishing, or the fellow who wraps his arm, lovingly, around his "friend" after a nice golf shot at the end. That's not really a huge deal, but it's an odd sell when manliness is so central to the campaign.
Here are the symptoms Flomax will treat: Going often, strainging, going urgently, stopping and starting, weak stream, incomplete emptying, or waking up to go. My favorite of this list has to be weak stream, because I can only imagine some seventy year old man saying to his urologist, "Hell no there's nothing wrong with it. It all comes out fine, it just takes 17 minutes for me to piss." Notice how when I mention numbers, I spell them in words, but when old men do, they write them as numerals. The same thing happens in person, too.
The side effects were lowered blood pressure, to the point of fainting when standing up suddenly. But I would imagine that this problem is counteracted with an appropriate dose of Viagra. Considering the trouble region, it doesn't seem such a stretch to think some of the same blokes may be in the market for both Flomax and Viagra. After thinking about this, I hope this drug is for real, because with this application and a name like Flomax, it really could be a big joke they're playing on me.
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