Let's See if It Bakes...

I’m studying Sweden this week in my Western Europe travel class, and of all the wonderful things that should have stuck, like the cool Ice Hotel in the north, smorgasbords, the midnight sun, etc, all that I really retained is the tidbit that Volvo, which manufactures cars in Sweden, means "I roll" in Latin.

How random. But then I started thinking…my advertising muse began doing her thing…I see a new ad campaign...and it revolves around the tagline, “This is how I Volvo."

Guys, we can give Volvo a personality! Let’s Queer Eye its image from "safe, but boring", to "safe, fun, and quirky". Give the metaphorical charcoal suit a pink shirt and flamboyant tie, if you will.

So let’s put this in the oven and see if it bakes: Tinted black Volvo SUV blasting bass-heavy hip-hop. (How about that incessant earworm of a Flo-Rida song? Apple Bottom jeans…Low, low, low…) The car is stopped at a red light. Camera pans into the interior. We spy an unbelievably cuddly puppy and a couple of unbelievably cute kids wearing earphones asleep in the backseat, while their unbelievably young, gorgeous, and yuppie parents are bobbing their heads to the music. Tagline: "This is how I roll. This is how I Volvo."

Genius? Nah. But I like it. So I claim all creative ownership and copyrights and dibs and whatnot. As Daffy Duck would say, "Mine, mine, mine!" And if the commercial gets made, we'll know that it not only baked...but was stolen from the windowsill while it was cooling.

A Free Pass: Music Edition

Before my iPod, Minnie, died, er, went away to the gadget farm to roam and charge free among the apple and lemon trees (By the way, if you’ve recently upgraded, and are looking to unload an iPod, drop me a line…), if you had audited its contents, you would have found “Stars are Blind”, from the illustrious, heirhead ingénue chanteuse, Paris Hilton.

Yes, Paris Hilton. [Defiantly] So what? [Sullenly] What of it?

Oh hell, I know what of it. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have that track hidden in my Guilty Fluffy Playlist, which I have filed under the pseudonym “Audio-Books-Wealth of Nations”. I KNOW that listening to P.Hil is not cool…and that any of her merchandise, her pink, plastic, disposable merchandise, is cringe worthy. Girlfriend can’t sing. Girlfriend has a weak, thin voice begging for some fried chicken wings, gravy, and biscuits.

I KNOW this, intellectually, and was completely prepared to loathe her album…until I came across “Stars Are Blind”. It was a moment of weakness. A particularly cold, gray, rainy day, too much angst on my iPod, on the news…a part of me was drawn to the light, tinkly reggae beat, the undeniably catchy hook, and the premise of a fluffy fantasy land where only sand, surf, sun, and skin reigned.

But I’m making excuses. I like what I like, and dammit, I like this song. Yes, the lyrics are inane. Yes, she barely hits that high note near the end (“Let’s see what looove can dooo”), razor thin voice cracking dangerously close to the jugular. What can I say? It’s catchy. It’s mindless. It got me at a time when what I needed was light, inconsequential, feel-good fluff, and even when I run across it now, I still smile at the memory of that fluffy feeling. Perhaps mixed in with that fluffy, feel-goodness is a hint of “Oh, that Paris” indulgence…a hint of arch, knowing, superiority…the reminder that someone out there is more messed up and clueless than me.

So that concludes my appeal for a “Free Pass” in my music library. Please don’t reject my membership application for Kool and Snarky International. You know, we all need a free pass sometime. And yeah, even Paris.

The New TV Hearthrobs

The advent of Tivo (oh blessed magical box) has certainly enhanced our lives (we can watch that many more shows, and more efficiently, with no rewinding of VHS tapes and checking of schedules. And we get a cool peanut-shaped remote, to boot.) However, commercial watching has suffered, due to the fact that Tivo makes skipping commercials so much easier. Commercials, you scoff? Why the heck would we want to watch commercials?

My dear friends…there are two spokes models, heartthrobs, really, who light the commercial scene on fire. Advancing at triple-Tivo-speed past their commercials is a travesty! You would miss their wide, soulful eyes, their velvety, sensual voices, their charming European accents…I am talking, of course, of the sexiness that is the Geico Gecko and the Nasonex Bee.

The Geico Gecko (GG) has a sleek, lithely green body that can easily dance the Thriller dance, if he so chooses. (But why abase himself like those other lizards? He doesn’t need a Super Bowl spot, Naomi Campbell or Sobe Life Water to make him cool and sexay.) His huge eyes are endless pools of deep, gentle wisdom. His delicate hands and feet show his artistic sensitivity; his quirky smile hints at a wicked sense of humor. And his accent…what is it about a British cockney accent?! Plus he can dance the Robot! A truly well-rounded Gecko. Swoon. And I’ll take ten of whatever you’re selling. Which happens to be car insurance.

Then we have the fiery, passionate Nasonex Bee (NB), voiced by Antonio Banderas, who is nearly as attractive as the Bee, but lacks the (pardon the puns) sting and buzz. Nasonex Bee’s smooth Spanish accent, coupled with his wistful, watery eyes, crooked white smile, authoritatively stern eyebrows, and graceful, yet manly flitting, is the stuff of romance novel covers and legend. Yes, I will follow you to the garden; Yes, I will follow you into the woods. Yes, I will spray the stuff up my nose even though I don’t have allergies…anything for you Nason. Will you bee mine?

Mini Rant

What’s the perfect way to mock one as one exits from a stuffy, crowded, motion-sickness-inducing, “Oh the humanity…what’s that smell…I think I’m gonna toss my cookies” public transit ride?

Why, by papering the subway station with glossy, seductive “If you had me, you wouldn’t have just had to experience hell on rails” automobile advertisements, of course!

Imagine this: A woozy, vomit suppressing me riding the up escalator from the lower platform in the subway station, studiously trying to avoid looking at the huge “Juicy” emblazoned arse of the person in front of me, while simultaneously shifting subtly sideways so my own not-so-taut (but NOT Juicy emblazoned, mind you) arse isn’t in the face of the person behind me. Hey, stopping the escalator arse-face chain starts with you. Every time you are on an up escalator, by just maneuvering your body 90 degrees to the right, you can help make a person’s day Juicy arse-face free. Think about it. Do your part. Pay it forward…er, backward.

But I digress.

As I neared the top station level, what unfolds is a subway station completely dominated by glossy, aggressively gorgeous images of Mini Coopers. That abominably cute little car! It’s smiling at me, teasing me, flirting with me, begging me to adopt it…a “Zig” tagline for the classic Mini (my favorite), a “Zag” tagline for the Mini convertible (adorable, but not practical in the windy, hair conscious Bay Area)…then my eyes fall on a third billboard, showcasing the newest Mini, the Mini Clubman, under the tagline “Zug”. Zug. Is that short for ZUGLY? Holy schmokes what did they do?! This, this, this, Cooper has….an arse. A hugely disproportionate arse. All it needs is “Juicy” emblazoned on it.

What the hell were they thinking? They made the Mini Clubman longer and taller, and then added two doors to the rear, effectively turning it into a deformed station wagon. It’s like an adorable scamp of a child named Mini grew into an awkward, gangly, acne-addled, adolescent named Clubman. And Clubman has headgear. And a Juicy arse. Junk in the trunk, indeed. Blech. Maybe public transit ain’t so bad after all.