Do you see ads for television shows and wonder, “What possessed them?” No, really, what were they thinking, or probably not? Do they see themselves in these ads and think, “I nailed that”? It doesn’t matter how much money they were paid, it’s not nearly enough to cover the enormous embarrassment they should rightfully be feeling, and the derision the rest of us feel for them.
Let’s start with the merchants that make their own commercials. This is primarily folks selling cars and furniture. Like Her Ladyship’s cards that she should be giving out but never does to people in restaurants, airports, and other public places, where their outfits are unspeakable, that say, “I can help you. Please call me.” I just want to reach out to these television ad people and say, “First, we’re switching to decaf because misdirected energy is doing nothing for you, and then we’ll work on your delivery.” The only possible upside to their rapid-fire speech patterns is that it’s less time we have to listen to them.
There’s a little guy around here that sells cars. He has a shaved head and a big, bushy beard. He looks too much like the garden gnome from Travelocity, minus the hat. Even the tag line, something about “awesome” misses the mark by a country mile. It feels like a refugee from “That 70’s Show.” There are two salespeople, two gentlemen from another local dealership that keep repeating each other in mindless banter, with inane grins on their faces. Why put yourself through that? Just hire professionals. Another dealership has a cute little boy, maybe about three, that yells the dealer’s name at the end. It was adorable the first few dozen times we heard it, progressively less so each time after, and now we just avert our eyes and mute the tv. We’ve had a couple of larger furniture chains, obviously family owned, that started out with the parents, then the children appeared. Somehow, in their minds, they are legends of advertising. To the viewing population, however, it screams, “We were too cheap to hire someone to do this well.” On some level, the owners must think that there is a link to them personally, and that’s a marketing plus. We, their viewing public, in contrast just think that they lack self-awareness. Similarly, there has been in recent years a husband / wife team promoting their discount furniture. Not only are they appearing in their own ads, but they’ve obviously written the scripts too. In recent updates, the husband appears as a cartoon character. Sadly, the two are almost interchangeable.
I’m always curious about news stories, or as we now call them, “breaking news”, where live, on-the-spot reporters find the folks they choose to interview on camera. Do they knock on every neighbors’ doors before they find someone suitably inarticulate? Is that person walking haplessly down the street and the reporting crews spring out from behind a fence and thrust a microphone in their faces before they’ve had a chance to compose themselves? The mouth seems to respond well before the brain clicks on. There should be a strict five-day waiting period rule about interviews with relatives or close friends of the victim. I know that doesn’t make for timely reporting, but before that, they’re just too emotional to speak, and rightfully so.
The next level is that group that are, for lack of a better phrase, are a “hot mess”. What I call the “Honey Boo Boo” people. This is the television equivalent of watching a pileup out on the interstate or a tornado sweeping through a town in the Midwest. You hear “teasers” like “Mama June is at the crisis point.” OK, that rowboat slipped away from the dock ages ago and is now out in the middle of the lake. The main question that I have at this point is this. How in the blue Pacific did these people even get a tv contract in the first place? And what caliber of television producer thought this would make interesting viewing? When Newton Minow referred to television some years ago as “a vast wasteland”, he clearly didn’t foresee the advent of reality television. Somehow, it’s managed to dig deeper, and viewers have gone with it. While I never watched the actual show, I could hazard a guess that “Bridezillas” certainly opened a door to unacceptable people behaving unacceptably on camera. Unless these couples are making obscene amounts of money to appear, the grooms involved should be making travel plans and updating their passports as quickly as possible. The ‘star’, truly a hot mess, that said openly, “I’ve talked about people for years, and now they’re talking about me.” Whoa. There’s a revelation. Who could possibly have foreseen that reversal of fortune? For some reason, dysfunctional people have become trendy, like hardwood floors and green kitchen cabinets. I’d really like to have a few moments with the developers of “90 Day Fiance”, just to ask them what in the world they were thinking. It’s almost cruel to have some of those folks on camera and opening their mouths. “Married At First Sight” is another pioneering bit of wasteland television. The sad part is that sequels will be springing up like mushrooms in the meadow. “Where are they now?” which will either feature court tv, with a Judge Judy-like person passing out divorces and annulments like parking tickets, or a slew of true crime series digging up the bodies. Then there are the shows like “Temptation Island”, successors to shows like “Real World”. Put a bunch of people together in an apartment and see what happens. It won’t be good. In the newest incarnations, there are simple sets – the beach, a tropical island, or a large hot tub – in which young people in swimsuits cavort about until they ultimately proclaim that their lives are ruined and they shouldn’t have come. I’m not sure exactly what their expectations were. Again, hope it paid well because these people have all come off looking like idiots. I doubt that their next employment opportunity will be highly paid executive position.
Finally, we turn to the fine folks appearing on competition shows like “Survivor”. The people that are smiling, brimming with confidence upon arrival at the unspeakably remote location, are often blubbering masses of protoplasm by the third competition. After that, when asked who will “sit out”, they’re the first to agree. You have to ask yourself, “Have they never seen this show before?” Did they imagine they’d fine a lucky charm on the first day that would shield them from further competitions, so they could just sit and build sand castles while their team did the heavy lifting? The other competition show that we watch is “Amazing Race”. I watch primarily because the locations are fascinating, but so too are the contestants. Some couples yell at each other and basically fight their way around the world until the final meltdown comes in Borneo or Tanzania, when they’re the last to arrive. Then come the tears and recriminations, often intermingled with endearments about how much they mean to each other, and how this experience has brought them closer together. Really? Not from my wing chair, it didn’t. The trip they won by default on the second leg should be really interesting. Send a film crew with them if you want to see something resembling “Real Housewives of Alcatraz”. There should be, in the qualifying round for the show, at the very least a test to see if they can drive a car with manual transmission. The car dealers will have to do a complete rebuild after these couples have ground their way around Bavaria or Singapore. Putting people through this ordeal is painful, but subjecting innocent machinery to that abuse is totally inexcusable.
Finally, I have to address those people that film the truly stupid things they invent, and then send the films to shows like “America’s Funniest . . . .” Is there truly a “I don’t know what happened – I really thought I could ride my bike across that pond” mindset? Or, “they told me in the store that this skateboard could fly, so I thought going over the barn wouldn’t be a problem.” Oh well, at least they’re keeping the insurance industry humming.
All of this leads into upcoming blogs about people doing stupid things – such as the lady that was stockpiling gasoline in anticipation of a shortage. She chose as her container, however, plastic trash bags. I know, not the best for liquids. Or the man that filled up his Hummer with gas cans, then got in and lit a cigarette. You know where that’s going. Stupidity Marches On. John Philip Sousa could have written something suitable. It could lead into an orchestral suite titled, “I’m Thinking . . . . . . Really, NO!”
I'm Thinking...No! 