The below advertisement for Oscar Mayer Selects Angus Beef Franks contains TEN unanswerable questions that should've been addressed by someone within the marketing department.
How many can you find?
"What's wrong with the black guy's face?" -- The upper three-quarters of this ad are clean and uncluttered, yet entirely dominated by one man's wince. It appears to be the sexual vowel-evolution of "the 'O' face" -- call it "the 'E' face". There is not a single climactic moment in any major American sport that could cause someone to make this face. It is commonly seen in foreign sports, though.
"What IS the black guy wearing?" -- Cargo shorts that ride up mid-thigh? Form-fitting polo shirt? This was unoriginal, African-American comic fodder twenty years ago.
"What kind of hot dog buns are those?" -- And, why do they look like they cost more than the hot dogs?
"Why are the one guy's feet on the couch?" -- One of the first social rules taught to African-Americans at an early age is to not put your feet (shoes) on the couch. This is so embedded within our collective psyches -- usually through our collective backsides -- that we notice when someone else does it. Even if it is his house and his couch, I'd reprimand him, reflexively. My seven-year-old son is still recovering from the simultaneous scolding my wife and I unleashed when he propped up his baseball cleats on our love seat.
"Where are the coasters?" -- I get the point of the ad's scenery. Maybe it's a man cave-basement thing or intentionally done up to raise awareness for big, bad wolf-proofing one's walls. I get it. But, if my wife walked into this scene, her head would explode. I never owned or used coasters in my home...before I met Mrs. Bootleg. And, her little black woman's wrath. To alleviate any absentmindedness on my part, I make sure my post-work bottle of beer never leaves my side -- living room, dining room, kitchen, garage or front porch. A flawless plan.*
* -- This past Friday, my son Jalen knocked over my beer. I was sitting in the living room and it spilled all over the carpet. Even though it was CLEARLY Jalen's fault -- indoors, he stumbles around with a cinematic inelegance -- Mrs. Bootleg blamed me! Betrayal! Comparable only to this!
"Where did the guy in the middle get that commemorative, combined 1993 Colorado Rockies/Florida Marlins flannel shirt?" -- He's missing the matching helmet!
"Who eats in the middle of a big play?" -- The guy on the left is clearly not a sports fan. If he were, he'd be too anxious to eat during what's obviously a Hail Mary pass or a game-saving catch against the outfield fence or a half-court buzzer-beating heave that's airing on the unseen TV. And, his hot dog eating etiquette leaves something to be desired. It's grotesque enough to earn him an appearance on ESPN.
"Who eats crunchy bagged pretzels as a salty side dish?" -- Potato chips are an acceptable barbecue accompaniment. Pretzels are the uninteresting descendants of saltine crackers. Too many potato chips are bad for you, which -- by definition -- means they're delicious. Most bagged pretzels are fat-free, which -- by definition -- means they're not delicious. The first potato chips were made in Saratoga Springs, New York. The muddled origin of the first pretzel traces back to Italy or Greece or Germany -- two-thirds of the Axis Powers during World War II! Potato chips are this. Pretzels are that.
"Why is there a pickle on one of the plates when the hot dog on that same plate is already topped with relish?" -- If I've learned nothing else from my NEW favorite food show, it's that culinary redundancies are a damnable offense. (By the way, how great is Chopped? 20-30 minutes to prepare intricate courses from the ingredients inside eclectic "mystery baskets". Thanks to the time constraints, someone is sure to cut their finger deeply with a cleaver at least once every three episodes. And, I love how the judges have to pretend to enjoy the mishmash meals ("I've prepared an exotic seafood entree with a Fruit Roll-Up reduction!")).
"Where's the beer?" -- On Sunday morning, I took Jalen to the small market down the hill from our house. They've got a great beer selection and as I walked the aisles, Jalen casually remarked, "Daddy, if you don't drink beer for a whole week you'll lose weight and be healthier!" I believe the absence of beer in a magazine advertisement for hot dogs is a problem. It's too late for me, son.
One of the benefits of avoiding almost any and all political discourse is that I was able to successfully ignore last week's ridiculous Republican-driven controversy over Common's appearance at the White House. Unfortunately, this non-story took attention away from a MUCH more newsworthy issue involving a rap artist in the waning days of his fame.
Ice Cube's evolution from gangsta rapper to family-friendly actor/director/producer is one of the more fascinating transitions in the recent history of entertainment. This is a man who rose to fame in the late 1980s with N.W.A. and famously attracted the attention of the FBI with incendiary tracks such as "F*** the Police". Cube went on to a successful solo career, but the misogyny, violence and rage contained within such seminal albums as AmeriKKKa's Most Wanted, Death Certificate and The Predator didn't exactly endear him to Middle America (or, at least not to the parents of the suburban kids who were excitedly scooping up Cube's CDs).
To his credit, Cube has successfully reconstructed his image over the past decade or so. He served as executive producer on the lucrative Barbershop and Are We There Yet? movie franchises, spinning them off into a pair of cable television series. Now, in his early 40s, Ice Cube has become positively cuddly -- lampooning his cartoonish tough guy persona in films like The Longshots and Lottery Ticket.
This is exactly what Ice Cube is doing in the above Coors Light commercial. So, why doesn't it work?
Well, on a personal level, it's still oddly jarring for me to see light beer commercials actively targeting African-Americans.* In my lifetime, the light beer companies never took their eyes off of their core demographics: working-class white males and young white women hitting the club. Ten years ago, Coors Light aired a pair of spots with rapper/producer Dr. Dre, but scrapped the ad campaign fairly quickly.
* -- One could argue that Ice Cube's commercial appeal -- at the absolute apex of his rap career and not unlike most rappers from his era -- came mostly from white, well-to-do consumers. This Coors Light ad is clearly not after that audience.
Looking at it from the perspective of my mostly unused marketing degree from San Diego State University; the commercial clumsily stumbles from silly to Ludacris ludicrous. Ice Cube is just fine -- his scowl perfected, eyebrows perpetually arched in mock anger. But, who makes up his audience these days? Blacks or whites? Twenty-something fans who've never owned one of his albums or thirty-somethings who may have forgotten him?
Those muddled marketing waters still make a lot more sense when compared to Coors Light's "super cold" concept. In the pantheon of superfluous emphasis, "super cold" sits alongside triple dog dare and the defense strenuously objects.
Lisa Simpson: "Wait! Don't be fooled! She's just a regular 'Malibu Stacy' with a stupid cheap hat! She still embodies ALL the awful stereotypes she did before!"
As I've mentioned more than once in this space; I have a degree in marketing from San Diego State University. My career in marketing, however, was the rough equivalent of just one calendar year. Ironically, most of that work came while I was still an undergraduate.
January 1997 – May 1997 -- For a marketing research class, my five-person group was tasked with preparing a critical analysis on a new phenomenon called "online banking". We worked with a local Wells Fargo bank, interviewed a few corporate suits and prepared/administered customer surveys that measured awareness, acceptance and/or resistance throughout a representative public cross-sample.
In hindsight, the one-hour oral presentation of our findings inadvertently served as the perfect time capsule. We included quotes from a San Diego bank executive who called the internet -- not just online banking, but the ENTIRE internet -- a "fad" that would pass before anyone in our group graduated. Also cited were several independent surveys that showed a 90% favorability rating from customers towards the banking industry. It's possible only Puff Daddy was more inexplicably beloved in 1997.
June 1997 – August 1997 -- During the summer, I took another single project-based class. This time, my group was paired with a small local business and tasked with creating its marketing plan. At the end of the 10-week session, our group made a formal pitch to the owner of Fleur De Tea (nope, not another Simpsons reference...that was the actual name of the loose-leaf tea shoppe we were assigned). Our presentation was flawless. As a group, we were committed to providing our client with a quality, credible product. We met daily -- including weekends -- and pulled several all-nighters. The only person on earth more dedicated than us that summer? It's a tie for first.
August 1997 – December 1997 -- My last semester in college included an advanced advertising course in which I directed the entire class in a series of marketing and ad promotions. We conceived ad copy for a local car dealership and wrote two commercials that aired on a San Diego radio station. We promoted a men's and women's college basketball doubleheader -- the first official sporting events at the newly-opened on-campus Cox Arena. And, we put together almost all of the local promotion for a late October taping of WCW Monday Nitro at SDSU. And, yes, I do still include this work on my resume -- which I'm occasionally required to submit as part of defense contract proposal packages at my current job. I'll put my 1997 up against Sean Combs' 1997 anytime.
14(!) years later, Taco Bell has introduced a pair of "new" menu items that remind me of the "Malibu Stacy" approach to marketing.
The first is the Pacific Shrimp Burrito. TB describes it as "a warm, soft flour tortilla filled with six succulent shrimp, marinated in spices, crisp shredded lettuce, creamy avocado ranch, fiesta salsa, a three-cheese blend and crispy red tortilla strips." Last year, TB debuted the Pacific Shrimp Taco. The description on their website read:
"A warm, soft flour tortilla filled with six succulent shrimp marinated in a mix of spices, then topped with crisp shredded lettuce, fiesta salsa, and avocado ranch sauce."
For those of you who've ever wondered, the difference between burritos and tacos is apparently a three-cheese blend and crispy red tortilla strips. And, all kidding aside, why is Taco Bell playing up the number of shrimp in the Pacific Shrimp Burrito? By the Americanized Mexican food standards that the chain has solidly established over the decades, shouldn't burritos be bigger than tacos? Six shrimp in a taco seems about right. Six shrimp in a burrito seems a little short.
I actually ordered the Pacific Shrimp Burrito with a Pacific Shrimp Taco and, honestly, couldn't tell the difference. The cheese in the burrito was sparse and overwhelmed by a river of avocado ranch sauce. The tortilla strips provided some nice texture, but not enough to differentiate from the taco -- which scored a 3 out of 5 on my "TBG Eats" scale last year. The shrimp is still nicely seasoned and all the flavors still don't quite come together.
Taco Bell has also (temporarily) added an 89-cent Cheesy Double Decker Taco to their "Why Pay More?" value menu. TB's Double Decker Tacos have been around for more than 15 years. But, now a hearty smear of nacho cheese sauce is added to the refried bean spread on the soft tortilla before it's wrapped around a regular crispy taco. As a longtime fan of the original Double Decker Taco, the nacho cheese sauce probably adds another half-point in scoring on taste. It's ooey. It's gooey. And, if you've had it once... Great value here, though, as two of these are surprisingly filling.
In just a little over 48 hours, advertisements for male enhancement and light beer will reclaim the radio and television airwaves of America. Soon, across the country, junk mail numbers will infinitesimally dip. Our long national nightmare is almost over, as the end of mid-term election season is right around the corner.
2010 had its usual array of good and bad political ads. And, while I like to have some self-deprecating amusement with my mostly-unused marketing degree, I do remember enough from college to offer some non-partisan opinions on three campaign commercials that caught my eye.
Linda McMahon -- "Lunchbox"
"A lot of people ask me why I'm running for Senate...here's why: this lunchbox." In this 30-second spot, McMahon uses roughly a quarter of the commercial's run time to set up a nonsensical analogy as a means of explaining her motivation. She spends the remainder of her time explaining the analogy in greater detail, at the expense of any substance. Whoever advised the former CEO of World Wrestling Entertainment that dehumanizing her potential constituency was a good idea probably had a hand in this.
Meg Whitman -- "I'm Ready"
"...and a billionaire with no government experience..." In the interest of full disclosure, I probably should mention that I won't be voting for either choice in California's gubernatorial election. According to the phenomenally prescient polling site, 538.com, Whitman's chances on Election Day are slim. She's run a curious campaign with its major flaw exposed in the spot above. Until two weeks ago, Whitman made little effort to "introduce" herself and/or her family to voters. Say what you will about her opponent -- former California Governor Jerry Brown -- but, voters know him. Warts and all. Here, Whitman shoots herself in the foot by acknowledging -- and giving credence to -- her perceived disconnect with the working class and her empty political resume. Whitman should've been running these ads six months ago, so that she could better control the public narrative. Now, it looks like a reach for "sensitive extremism".
Christine O'Donnell -- "I'm You"
O'Donnell released this ad in response to recently-publicized comments she made on Bill Maher's Politically Incorrect talk show in 1999. I'm no political adviser, but addressing the "witchcraft" controversy head-on was the only way to go. The problem, though, is O'Donnell's staggering lack of comfort in front of the camera. She only spends five seconds on the witch stuff, before artificially injecting some venom into her delivery for the "spending, trading favors..." part. And, what's with the "I'm you" addendum at the end? It comes across as a desperate catchphrase.
I'm admittedly late in bringing this to the attention of the blogosphere, so you'll have to forgive me. It's just that I was a BIG fan of HBO's hour-long prison drama Oz. The series -- set within the fictitious confines of the Oswald State Correctional Facility -- ran from 1998 through 2003. During the early years of my weekly music news column, Oz was one of the first pop culture references I ran into the ground through overuse and repetition -- right up there with Lil' Kim and the multi-hued Huxtable kids.
After Oz ended, several of the show's stars moved on to even more prominent television roles. Harold Perrineau was an important cog in the mythology of Lost -- for awhile. Chris Meloni manages to maintain a straight face throughout every ridiculous plot twist of Law & Order: SVU. And, Edie Falco completed her cable television trifecta with critically-acclaimed turns on The Sopranos and Nurse Jackie.
Dean Winters played sh*t-stirring inmate Ryan O'Reily.
JK Simmons played neo-Nazi prisoner Vern Schillinger.
The below clip features both characters, but before you watch, keep in mind (1) the acting was frequently uneven and/or over-the-top -- without making Oz any less entertaining and (2) NSFW:
These days, Winters -- who landed post-Oz gigs on Rescue Me, Life on Mars and a well-received recurring role on 30 Rock -- can be found in commercials for Allstate Insurance:
I like these commercials. Really, I do.
But, the origins of this lightly-read blog lie within Oz character landmarks like Adebisi's teeny knit hat and Jaz Hoyt's enormous...uh, enormity. I don't want them selling me insurance.
JK Simmons has coincidentally landed an equally irreverent ad campaign for insurance. Schillinger! He played J. Jonah Jameson in the Spider-Man movies and appeared regularly on the Law & Order franchise and TNT's The Closer. Now, Farmers wants me to "come study with Professor Nathaniel Burke"?
In conjunction with the start of Major League Baseball's postseason, Taco Bell introduced a new ad campaign for their XXL Chalupa. Most of you have probably seen the spot featuring New York Yankees manager Joe Girardi and closer Mariano Rivera:
As with everything else in the internet age, America couldn't wait to share its collective opinion of this commercial with the world. My unsophisticated five-minute web search has determined that you guys think (1) Rivera is a terrible actor and (2) the staid Yankees tradition was somehow "above" shilling for cheap eats.
Of course, the second point couldn'tbe morepreposterous. As for the Panama-born Rivera, it seems a little silly to criticize the stiffly-delivered English of someone who doesn't use it as his primary language.
Since my marketing degree from San Diego State University is valid for a few more weeks, I'll offer that – by the admittedly low-standard of celebrity advertisements – Taco Bell's is reasonably effective. The celebrity should never overshadow the product. Fortunately, the casual recognition gap between shortstop Derek Jeter and the rest of the team's current roster is undeniably wide. By my unofficial stopwatch, Girardi and Rivera are onscreen for less than half of the 30-second runtime.
The commercial hits its target audience (men) and gently twists our inherent competitive dials by implying weakness if you can't finish a XXL Chalupa.
"But, I'd NEVER eat at Taco Bell", you rudely respond. And, since this is ostensibly a super-size version of a long-established menu item, you're NOT in the target audience, I'd politely retort.
For those of you who aren't sold on my half-ass advertisement analysis, let's be honest: this isn't anywhere NEAR the worst Taco Bell commercials featuring professional athletes.
Not long after Shaquille O'Neal signed a multi-million dollar free agent contract with the Los Angeles Lakers – and a few months before unleashing Steel on an unsuspecting public – he teamed with Taco Bell for the infamous "Taco Neck" ad campaign:
More recently, everyone's favorite unfunny, quasi-controversial, Teflon NBA talking head dropped this abominable spot during last year's Super Bowl:
In both cases, there's too much celebrity, while the products are an afterthought.
Now, before y'all can say the same about this review, let's get into it. From Taco Bell's website:
An XXL-sized crispy Chalupa shell packed with seasoned ground beef, crispy lettuce, fiesta salsa, a blend of three cheeses–cheddar, pepper jack and mozzarella–and nacho cheese sauce, red strips and topped with reduced-fat sour cream.
After opening the enormous box, the first thing I noticed was the Chalupa shell, itself. It curves upward at the ends which make the XXL Chalupa look like a chewy refugee boat. It also leads to a challenging first bite, as deep-fried crispiness fills your mouth well before the filling can find its way in.
Beyond that, if you've ever indulged with multiple Chalupas in a single sitting, then you won't be overly surprised by the size here. The ground beef and nacho cheese sauce is the same as it always was – solid enough, if overly familiar. The shredded cheeses and fiesta salsa make for a decent blend of tastes and textures with the greasy pillow enveloping the ingredients within.
The notion that it's too big is a bit of a fallacy, though. I ordered one along with a platter of Volcano Nachos and – in a fit of TBGluttony – crushed them both. That's gotta be the equivalent of a 10-inning complete game, Girardi.
You know the Yankees haven't had an emaciated innings-eater like me in their rotation for 20 years.
When I was a kid, the best commercials were the beer ads that aired during the infrequent nationally-televised sporting event on ABC, CBS or NBC. Back in the 1980s, baseball games were seen on Saturdays, basketball ran on Sundays and pro football was still strengthening its Sunday/Monday stranglehold.
Miller Lite's seminal "Less Filling, Tastes Great" campaign was a veritable advertising clinic. It reached the 35-54 demographic through the use of recently-retired professional athletes in its print and TV spots. The commercials were sophomorically over-the-top in hopes of establishing product loyalty and potential purchases from young men who may be up to a decade away from legally buying beer. And, most importantly, the catchphrase never overshadowed the product.
My favorite two things about this spot: (1) The involvement of avowed alcoholic baseball manager Billy Martin and (2) Football broadcaster John Madden's self-parodying performance that became the template for John Madden's self-parodying broadcasts two decades later.
Bud Light's "Gimme a Light" ads weren't clever, but were kind of catchy. Dig the brutha's especially ethnic intonation of "Buuuud" and the shrieking harpy who ruins this ad with her laugh.
A dog named "Spuds McKenzie" was a brief pop culture icon thanks to several 1980s beer ads. But, since we already addressed Bud Light, let's give "Alex" from Stroh's some love. Remember, morons: "...with 30 packs, you get MORE beer!"
In 2010, commercials for the major American beer companies try too hard to be cute. Budweiser's "It's What We Do" campaign juxtaposes their domestic suds with "real-life" scenarios. This one tackles the "crowded bar conundrum".
Budweiser should've used its 30 seconds to focus on the opening line ("...where boldness is rewarded and the meek go thirsty.") Instead, we get an array of intentionally ridiculous "signals" that aren't amusing in any way.
Are you trying to get the bartender's attention at an SRO watering hole? Stand by the cash register -- which is almost always just around the corner from the "bar" part of the bar. Get your drink(s) and THEN move over to the elongated section where the beautiful people are still pig-piling for their long-awaited refills.
Afterwards, be sure to take as much pride in outsmarting a beer commercial as I do.
I graduated from San Diego State University with a marketing degree in 1997. As television and movies have taught us on countless occasions; the most unforgettable college professors are eccentric, unconventional loons whose enthusiasm is inversely proportional to their hygiene.
One of my favorite professors from SDSU was an excitable, unwashed woman who inexplicably -- albeit seamlessly -- blended oral case studies with outlandish conspiracy theories and urban legends.
She taught us, among other things, that: (1) The fast food industry was colluding to keep inner city residents economically repressed and in poor physical health. (2) Coca-Cola, undeterred from the infamous failure of "New Coke", was in the middle of a 20-year plan to gradually change its original formula to...New Coke. (3) Bill Gates would own Apple Computer, Inc. by the end of 1998.
That last one didn't seem entirely inconceivable at the time.
In the mid-90s, Apple was reeling from several failed product lines and turmoil within the upper echelons of management. Of course, the company completely recovered (introducing the iMac in...1998) and turned a profit of $3.3 billion in the first quarter of this year.
Did you have to cast Frederick Douglass as the grandfather, Apple? My grandfather is 84 years old, shaves every day and wears his hair as short as I do. Most black men don't want to look like Questlove's eventual corpse, y'know.
This couple is obviously not married. Mrs. Bootleg has mastered that marital mindf*ck in which she gets her hair done, doesn't mention it and expects me to notice. In baseball parlance, my .275 average would be perfectly respectable.
Pfft. Here's how I found out that Mrs. Bootleg was pregnant with Jalen: It was a Sunday morning and I was on the can, reading the sports section. Mrs. Bootleg broke down the door, shoved a plastic pee stick in my face and frantically translated the results. Our story's better, Apple.
Is there still a stigma attached to braces? I've heard more than a handful of older friends and co-workers tell me that their kids want braces to correct some imaginary crookedness or simply because one of their classmates has them. I'm eagerly waiting for the day when asthma ascends to the same level of acceptance.
Comedian Larry Miller has a bit where he explains the difference between the way a man leers at a woman and how a woman ogles a man:
"It's the difference between shooting a gun and throwing a bullet."
Mrs. Bootleg, however, can be quite lecherous when she wants. Hers is a tempered lust that – to the best of my knowledge – only manifests itself with celebrities she can't have.
In recent years, she's directed her fantasy affection towards…
Torii Hunter -- Much like the residents of Orange County, my wife had never heard of Hunter until he signed with the Los Angeles Angels as a free agent a few years ago. Hey, I'll admit it: he's one of baseball's most photogenic faces. Mrs. Bootleg will knock her own son out of the way if he's blocking the TV during one of Hunter's at-bats or interrupting Professor Hunter's latest sociological dissertation.
The Rock -- This one's pretty easy to understand as Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson and I have more in common than you might think. We're both of mixed race ancestry that blessed us with confectionery complexions (him, peanut butter…me, caramel). And, we both became infinitely more popular when we cut our outdated 'dos down by a few feet. Here's his and here's mine:
Isaiah Mustafa -- Otherwise known as "The Old Spice Guy", Mrs. Bootleg gets positively ooey and gooey whenever one of his new spots premieres. She breathlessly called me at work to relay news of his newly-signed talent deal with NBC. (As African-Americans, we're obligated to call one another when Jackie Robinson gets called up to the Brooklyn Dodgers or when some guy from commercials might have a pilot written around him that might be picked up as a mid-season replacement, someday.) His Old Spice commercials are undeniably catchy and clever, though.
Terry Crews' Old Spice commercials are neither catchy nor clever. Yeah, he's the other black guy is some recent Old Spice ads. This one's just really f***ing loud.
His "Stuart Scott" shouting, gross lumpy muscles and talking abdominals only succeed in blocking any of the product's brand recognition amongst the audience. But, it's still better than this one that sounds an awful lot like "BLACK! BLACK! BLACK! BLACK!" after the first few seconds:
In this final spot, I can only assume Old Spice is overtly marketing to geeks who think Old Spice 16-Hour Body Wash can turn our planet into…Tatooine?
Crews captured a stern, but earnest "John Amos" vibe in his role as family patriarch on the UPN/CW sitcom Everybody Hates Chris.
His new juiced-up "Jimmie Walker" act should've been left in the '70s.
Christmas 2008. That was the last time I commandeered the kitchen inside Stately Bootleg Manor for the purposes of baking. And, honestly, any recipe this easy should be cooked inside an age-appropriate appliance.
Earlier this week, my six-year-old son Jalen volunteered me to bake two Tollhouse pies for his school's annual summer sleepover next Friday. Jalen's generosity with my free time was mined for several minutes of comic fodder amongst the faculty when I dropped him off this morning. But, I know my way around a kitchen and Tollhouse pie doesn't exactly require the skilled hands one would need for preparing, say, fugu.
Flashback to Father's Day weekend. I'm watching the St. Louis feed of the A's v. Cardinals series, as this commercial aired several times during the Sunday afternoon game.
NASCAR trash talking? It seems like there'd be less material for mocking here than there is between rival fans from Ohio State/Michigan or New York/Boston, but whatever.
An African-American NASCAR fan? Uh, yeah…let's just move on, longtime readers. Let's just move on.
Why does everyone in the room seem so surprised when the biscuits are brought in? Are they suffering from four simultaneous sinus infections? Is that why these guys can't pick up the scent of biscuits baking, along with traditional Midwestern summer aromas like Anheuser-Busch, barbecues and Nelly videos?
And, the most unrealistic moment? There isn't a black man on earth who'd let antiquated gender roles get between him and a good-ass biscuit.
Guys DO bake, Hardee's. I'm genuinely offended at your stereotypical ad campaign.
Tell you what: All is forgiven if you start selling the Chicken Biscuit at your Carl's Jr. sister restaurants here on the west coast.
In the interest of full disclosure, I should note that I've never seen an episode of the Denis Leary drama Rescue Me. I've got nothing against Leary.
I dug his early '90s Nike commercials (which have seemingly disappeared from every inch of the internet). His abbreviated appearance as Smalls' stepdad in 1993's The Sandlot is one of the most underrated examples of spectacular miscasting in recent cinematic history. And, his turn as "Edgar Friendly" in the uproariously awful Demolition Man is one of the film's few saving graces (along with the notion that EVERY restaurant is a Taco Bell in the year 2032).
I also have nothing against Derek Jeter. This is actually a classy move on my part, seeing as Jeter's a career .308 hitter against my Oakland A's and single-handedly (literally) obliterated the best A's team of the last decade with his iconic "flip" to Jorge Posada in the 2001 ALDS. I'm not linking to it. If you're one of the three people who've never seen it, find it your damn self.
With that out of the way, can I ask what the point is for this promo hyping the new season of Rescue Me?
More specifically, does this spot tell us anything we didn't already know?
Derek Jeter has been America's moral compass since birth and everyone else is a lecherous cad who gets off on golden showers and almost accosting cheerleaders. Baseball players are the real heroes and...wait! That's a look of helplessness mixed with admiration on Jeter's mug, isn't it? Right there at the 0:54 mark! Turns out firefighters are the real heroes. Who knew?
Also, it appears that Jeter's REAL father is...current New Orleans Saints RB Reggie Bush (0:08)?
It was "date night" for me and Mrs. Bootleg last Saturday. My mother was in town for Jalen's kindergarten graduation ceremony, so the two of them spent the evening together while the wife and I saw Get Him to the Greek. Here are the night's highlights in chronological order:
5:30 PM - After a long, long day, Jalen "got sick" in our living room. For the past two or three years -- once or twice a year -- Jalen has dropped an uncontrollable, out-of-nowhere hurl after looking and sounding perfectly fine immediately leading up to it. A year ago, we were at Petco Park watching our A's play the Padres when it happened. He's an intermittent vomit time bomb. Mrs. Bootleg and I were upstairs when it happened, so my mother called upon her assortment of hasty cleaning skills in an unsuccessful attempt to cover up Jalen's assault on our upholstery. As my mom explained, "I didn't want you to worry and decide not to go out." As my wife replied, "Oh, we still going out." (That's not a typo, y'all.)
6:00 PM - The last time my mother babysat Jalen; I had to go back into the house for something after I'd already walked to the garage and started the car. Mrs. Bootleg and I hadn't been gone for 30 seconds when I returned to find my mom standing on one of Jalen's old kiddie stepstools reaching towards the open cupboard above the pantry for my Patròn. As we pulled out of the garage this time, I'm just going to assume...
6:30 PM - At some point, my mom made dinner for Jalen. When I asked my son -- the following morning -- what his grandma had cooked, he excitedly replied, "Cookies!" You had cookies for dinner, J? "Yep!" As my mother later explained, "When I asked him what he wanted for dinner, he said, 'cookies'." OK, then.
9:00 PM - I think I liked Get Him to the Greek a little bit more than Mrs. Bootleg. It was a bit uneven and several scenes seemed to run 30 seconds too long, but there were a few uproarious moments and Sean "Diddy" Combs seemed to be having a blast skewering himself as a sleazeball music promoter. I never saw Forgetting Sarah Marshall, so I missed whatever continuity there was with Russell Brand's "Aldous Snow" character. And, embarrassingly, a LOT of the current pop culture gags went right over my receding hairline. Sigh.
Before the movie began, a 60-second spot for the Kia Soul aired:
Most of you probably aren't old enough to share my kinda-sorta outrage. (Hell, Mrs. Bootleg IS old enough and she LIKED the ad.) Black Sheep was like a lot of early 1990s rap acts that toed the line between "commercial" and "alternative". They weren't media-labeled militants like Public Enemy and they weren't 3rd Bass-labeled minstrels like Vanilla Ice. But, Black Sheep made solidly progressive (for the time) music that deserved better than an Alvin and the Chipmunks homage.
It's the name of the product that ruins this Frank Thomas spot. Maybe it's not "iPad" bad, but anything that evokes the tired slang of Snoop Dogg (by way of E-40, by way of Frankie Smith) can't be marketable.
Canseco = credible. Also, chicks with a six-pack = eww.
The transparent arrogance given off by Reggie here is off the charts. And, he probably dialed it up a notch for the cameras.
It's easy to hate today's athletes. But, back in the day, ballplayers had to work double-time to be as despised as Gary Carter was in and out of the game. Quit trying so hard to be liked!
Music never meant as much to me as it did during the five-year stretch from 1992 to 1996. It was the apex of West Coast rap and the East Coast's celebrated return to lyricism. Pop stars reflected the times -- optimistic and colorful early in the decade, cynical and grittier by the middle of the '90s.
Let's not rewrite history, though. Some of the music was good and has held up just fine. Some of the music wasn't that good to begin with.
I'll leave it to y'all to decide where the work of Digable Planets falls within this spectrum. In many ways, for me, they represented the best and worst aspects of the era. This is why I was so disheartened to hear "Rebirth of Slick (Cool Like Dat)" used to sell Tide detergent.
I'd argue that 1987-1991 was the last golden era for African-Americans within entertainment and pop culture, before commercialism and changing times hastened today's bojanglin' age. With one 30-second spot, Tide takes me on a 20-year ride that reminds me of the good, but leaves me feeling bad.
Despite the overwhelming acceptance and embrace of hip hop culture worldwide, the genre is still an awkward marketing conundrum for Madison Avenue. It's been a quarter-century since rap music really hit the mainstream and big business could be forgiven for their initial exploitative attempts to cash in on the "fad". I mean, really, who could stay mad at this:
Celebrity endorsements were inevitable and by the early 1990s, corporate America anointed MC Hammer as the next non-threatening Negro pitchman of the minute. Rap music, however, was still in its relative infancy as a hot commodity. Consequently, the inherent fluidity of the genre's popular themes and subject matter meant that the shelf life of yesterday's multi-platinum act lasted only as long as it took some other guy to rap about a "G Thang" or wear a shiny suit or afford an Auto-Tune.
In the case of Hammer, by the time his 30-second fast food spots were rolled out, the national Hammer backlash was in full swing. It's been nearly 20 years and I'm still mad at this:
And, so it goes.
McDonald's has been airing a new commercial during Sunday NFL games and popular primetime telecasts. Sadly, Mickey D's still doesn't get it. While I applaud the spirit behind the ad campaign, the execution is abysmal.
Who is McDonald's audience here? If it's African-Americans…trust me: most of us can appreciate pandering when we see it. If it's poor Black folk…I read, wrote about and discussed the alarming attraction of low-income minorities to the fast food industry in the mid-1990s while I was in college. I'm going to guess that a complete societal reversal has not yet occurred.
And, if the target audience is supposed to be fans of underground rap and the genre's roots, then Joya Bravo sold it all out for a dollar (menu). But, based on her look and flow, that might be enough to buy the rest of her J.J. Fad starter kit off lay-a-way.
I haven't eaten at Pizza Hut in close to 15 years.
For those of you who would NEVAH eat "chain pizza", the previous sentence doesn't mean much. But, if you'd told me in 1995 – when I was living alone, getting by on $8.00/hour and subsisting off of whatever nonfat frozen yogurt I could smuggle from Heidi's Frozen Yogurt Shoppe in Long Beach (where I managed eight or nine well-to-do high school kids who'd never before known a Black guy) – that me and Pizza Hut would go our separate ways, I wouldn't have believed you.
Growing up, they were the first pizza brand that my family was loyal to – which is to say Pizza Hut must've printed tons of coupons because my mother didn't buy anything unless she had a coupon for it. In the early 1990s, my friends and I discovered Pizza Hut's all-you-can-eat lunch buffets, systematically bankrupting one franchisee after another.
A few years later, one of my friends began delivering for Pizza Hut. I lived two blocks away, so he'd bring over unwanted "mistake" pies (pepperoni, pineapple and jalapeño!) or just, uhh…"smuggle" out orders, pick up a six-pack and kick it with me at my place while he was supposed to be working.
In 1995, Pizza Hut introduced Stuffed Crust Pizza nationally. Cheese and pepperoni baked into the crust?! This kind of crazy-talk needed a pitchman who was universally loved and could relate to the working class need for inexpensive, low-quality meals:
Anyways, my friend got fired from his delivery gig after a month or so. Here in 2009, I am pretty much burned out on ALL pizza – good and bad, mom n' pop or chain. This will happen to all of you when you have kids and they eat it at every meal.
In the past week, pizza and I have gone from simply "not dating" to outright hatred. Have you seen Pizza Hut's "JACKPOT" spot featuring SNL alum Jim Breuer?
Who carts around an entire pizza box to a basketball game? And, flaunts it between two anorexic TV extras, no less?
Who above the age of eight gathers their friends over for "pizza night"? And, what kind of DJ (wait, a girl DJ?!) would spin music with one hand and a slice in the other?
Who gets THIS excited over pizza? I mean, really…no one on the set thought of telling Jimbo to take it down a notch or four? No one?
Full disclosure: I've spent almost 30 minutes re-watching the commercial and pausing it right in the middle of each "JACKPOT" line. This kills me for some reason. He looks so silly. Try it!
"How come you never review anything from McDonald's for your TBG Eats features?"
Don't make me rescind your "longtime" merit badge, son. It's been awhile, but I covered McDonald's Chicken Biscuit in May 2008. Before that, "TBG ate" their Angus Third-Pound Burger and breakfast burrito. Hell, when The Cam Fam did Hawaii, I ate Mickey D's Spam and eggs. None of this rings a bell? I'm a two-time writer of the year, Eric and you're telling me the 700 hastily-written posts here at TBG don't stay with you?
Anyways, to answer your question: (1) Stately Bootleg Manor is about a mile from Taco Bell, Burger King, Carl's Jr., Jack in the Box and several smaller chain or family-owned hole-in-the-wall restaurants. The nearest McDonald's is a 15 minute drive from my house. (2) Every burger at McDonald's tastes the same, regardless of toppings.
I'll give the Golden Arches props for the ridiculously delicious Sausage McGriddle, but it's rare that I eat more than a cereal bar for breakfast these days. As a result, I only write about McDonald's when they introduce a relatively daring new menu item…or when they've produced another entry for AiAA – Adventures in Awful Advertising!
Everyone – except Eric – might remember that a McDonald's spot inspired the first AiAA post. Glad to see the brand back with such a vengeful annoyance.
An apology up front for the lousy sound, but it's the only version of the commercial I could find. In just 30 seconds, these two irritating guys manage to overshadow the most commercially successful fast food name on earth with their ridiculous bickering.
This one hits home with me, since I know so many people, similar to the "hunger pains" imbecile, who say things like "I could care less" when it's "I couldn't care less" or invent words such as "irregardless". Conversely, the know-it-all who tries to correct his friend in this ad reminds me of…me. Am I really THAT big of douchebag when I'm attempting to constructively criticize someone's syntax with the hope of making him or her a better speaker?
Probably not, but the question does give me pause for thought.
"Hey, ZZ [sic]…" Honestly, I could watch this commercial a million times and never tire of it. New York's pair of preeminent pitching talents admiring the majesty of two foot-long phallic symbols…and, that's just scratching the surface.
Santana's stilted Skinemax delivery just kills me. Why did the producers even bother to cast Sabathia? Please tell me Johan Santana does regular local commercial work and/or bad 10-second promos for drive-time New York sports radio.
It's too bad CC Sabathia couldn't mimic Santana's pretend passion. Listen to the fat man's "Yeah, it's 'playing-in-the-Majors' big" line. It comes off like a question delivered by someone who's half-asleep. Let's hope he's not mailing in performances like this during the Yanks' pennant drive.
Finally, whoever wrote the "…beating you-know-who" lines…I mean, really. It's safe to say your blood feud rivalry has become a two-team caricature of itself when used to move mediocre fast food. And, what team could Santana possibly be talking about? Atlanta? Philadelphia? Do the Mets even have a mortal enemy? 20 years ago, their biggest rival was the Pittsburgh Pirates. Are those two teams cool with each other now?
We'll forgo the usual 700-word set-up and leave it at this: Am I the only one who is ridiculously creeped out by this whole "Buzzed Driving…" ad campaign?
It was 93 degrees here in San Diego today. After getting up at 4:00 AM to go into the office and continue work on the largest proposal effort I'll touch in 2009, I came home to spend time with my son, Jalen.
He and I watched the A's/Rays game, a little bit of the Padres/Giants tilt (San Diego got a hit, Vig! I think they won the game!) and then, after a father and son road trip to 7-11 for a nutritious Wild Cherry Slurpee and a Nestle's chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwich, we went outside and actually played some baseball.
Jalen likes to pretend he's the Oakland A's. He'll hit right-handed like Matt Holliday or left-handed like Jack Cust and he even strikes out like everyone else in our goddam lineup. Meanwhile, I have to be whatever team pops into his head. Today, for example, he insisted I play the role of the National League All-Star team. I am not making this up.
The point, again, is that is was 93 DEGREES outside. We were out there for 90 minutes as I tried to remember my imaginary National League All-Star team batting order by the third or fourth "inning". But, whatever…I indulge his fantasy because it's baseball and we've been doing this every Sunday for several months. Even though, he NEVER lets ME be the A's.
I was feeling pretty proud of myself – mostly for the 10 pounds I sweated away this afternoon – but, partially in appreciation of being a parent. I looked forward to settling in for the evening, when I walked in on Jalen watching the below commercial:
When it ended, Jalen turned towards me, cackled manically and punched me in the stomach as hard as he could while reciting butchering the ad's tagline. It was a testament to my physical superiority over the boy that his punch only dropped me to one knee.
Homer Simpson (calling into the nuclear plant): "You heard me, I won't be in for the rest of the week. I told you! My baby beat me up! No, it is NOT the worst excuse I ever thought up."
