A few ponderables from the world of television advertisement.
Please Go, All Ye Faithful
I didn't see this entire commercial, but it appeared to be for a tape or DVD that tells the glorious Christmas story in all it's miraculous technicolor, featuring singing by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. The soothing voice-over suggested I "ask my Mormon neighbor" for a copy.
My Mormon neighbor? Oh please. These are my neighbors:
1. The Clampets. Their sole purpose for living during the month of December is to audition their house for the Disney Electric Light Parade -- Hillbilly style.
2. The nice next-door neighbors. We don't see too much of them in the winter, but we're always extra nice because they own the snowblower.
3. Mrs. Grouchy next-door neighbor. I actually saw her weed her garden once and throw the weeds over the fence into the adjoining yard, AKA my yard. I'm quite certain she doesn't own a video tape espousing the Joy of anything.
Bet the Body, Munchkin Style
In the midst of my crime infested Monday evening Law-and-Order-Lenny-Briscoe-Forever marathon, TBS keeps cutting in to tell me to watch that beloved family classic (their words, not mine), The Wizard of Oz. What is up with this? TBS has been spraying Wizard of Oz ads over the airwaves with more gusto than Ron Popeil sprays hair out of a can. Is there someone, somewhere over the rainbow who hasn't seen The Wizard of Oz? And, if such a person existed, do they really feel that flying monkeys share the same demographics as Sam Waterston? Please. Just return me to L&O so I can bet the body. I guess in the alley, under a house. With stripedy socks and sparkly red shoes.
Speaking of Bodies
I've long since accepted the fact that commercials relating to medications or bodily functions are, more likely than not, a bit wonky, to say the least. I've seen daisies made of panty liners. I've seen tampons serve as a boat repair. I've seen heartburn sufferers contemplate drinking nails. I've seen animated monsters crawl up toenails, and set up a lovely house in Phlegmland, located somewhere in my chest.
But what is it lately with the stomach? No longer just a receptacle for Sunday night dinner, the stomach has morphed into both advertiser and advertisee. First came the stomach bloating commercials featuring a bunch of women who so helpfully lifted up their shirt to show us both their malady and the product information written on their stomach. Not to be outdone, there was also the kicky Pepto-Bismol Macarena. Oh, to have been a fly on the wall during THOSE auditions. How exactly might this be listed on a resume? Diarrhea Dancer? What a proud moment it must have been to be the one who wins the coveted role of firmly plastering both hands across their backsides in an effort to stem the tide, so to speak.
Lastly, but I'm certain not leastly, the latest commercial really brought home the horrors of diarrhea. I learned, courtesy of movie that was playing on the abs of a beautiful young bikini-clad woman lounging gracefully on a beach chair whilst sunning herself at some exotic tropical location that when she has diarrhea, it's like GODZILLA DESTROYING CIVILIZATION AS WE KNOW IT! Fortunately something (I can't even remember which product, not that I cared) cured both diarrhea and giant green monsters, and Godzilla headed back out to sea. Another crisis diverted.
Still in all, I suppose I should be grateful. Despite the increased use of the stomach-cam to illustrate gastrointestinal maladies, at least Viagra ads haven't used the same tactics.