That was a long, long weekend. Monday didn't feel anything like Monday, because we didn't have anyone over, or go anywhere. Got that out of the way - er, enjoyed that delightful social experience on Sunday. The traditional End of Summer felt like nothing. It was cloudy. It was warm. It was a rote summer day with none of the bittersweet farewell you feel when you leave someone's house half an hour before sunset and tour the green streets before hanging it up and calling it quits.

I don't know why we feel so compelled to say it's OVER - or perhaps I should say I don't know why I feel like it's necessary to shut the door and spin the locks, but it's always been so. Then again, the messages are everywhere:


Get it out of here! Pumpkin Spice Rice Krispees due ANY MINUTE NOW!

If we didn't have Snap et al to tell us its done, would we know it was done? Of course. Two S-words, School and September. The latter plugs into our desire to see the year in chapter form. We like to think we're living a story.

Probably because we are. Too bad my latest entry into the thrilling tale of September consisted of ruthless file organization, but at least all the videos are done, the footage stored away in three backups, the EUROPE movie placed in the proper folder, and the THINGS TO FILE folder empty. I find all sorts of things I don't know why I saved, like this:

I don't know why I clipped this, except that it sums up so much of modern advertising. Here's your Male Archetype 2016: big hole in his ear, inked arm, curated beard, ineffably self-satisfied, involved in artisanal jams but yet bacon-aware because he's a Man, and concerned with sustainability because he wears only thrifted tees.

We're supposed to admire him but not really. He's a cliche, a laughable sort - but not really. Women are supposed to be impressed that he can get out a stain, and they'll say they wish more men could just . . . take care of themselves, you know? But tbh they're sorta messy themselves and can't do much in the way of domestic stuff either. It would be nice if a guy knew how to do that stuff. Some of it. Not all of it. And not if he, like, has lots of ideas about domestic stuff, and is always saying you're doing it wrong when you try to make a sandwich or lectures you for using Conflict Olive Oil. IT'S SO COMPLICATED

I was watching COPS on the Spike channel. It's aimed at men. Hence the curious selection of ads.

The Letgo ad. Man is stupid. Woman is wise.

Imagine an ad in which a cool, calm, collected, concerned, and decisive husband walked into closet in the spare room and snapped pictures of her shoes and said they have to go to make room for some emergency food supplies he's putting away. THE HORROR

Next: This is a Fondue Party, Mike

Hipster archetype, and bro archetype. Those are the choices. You must throw in with Bro because he is Chill. I guess.

Adults are fargin' stupid:

Description on YouTube:

While a girl is sitting in the gymnasium bleachers at school, her mom calls to ask her how to edit photos on the "chatsnap." The girl urges viewers to recognize that their kids will be the ones teaching them to use their smartphones and informs them of a BOGO Sprint offer. For a limited time, customers can buy one Samsung Galaxy S7 or Galaxy S7 edge phone and get one free. Before hanging up, the daughter teases her mom telling her not to forget to poke her friends on "bookface."

Then Dell, where an insincere man at a piano is apparently a preferable alternative to a hairy parody:

Here's the thing: people have thought men and adults were stupid in ads and TV for a long time. It's ridiculous today, but let's go back to the 50s:


This was 62 years ago. Now those look like the days of confident, wise dads.

I have no conclusion, except that if I was a young man today, I would probably go my own way like everyone else. When I was growing up the two archetypes were Hairy Macho Man and Sunken-Chested Sensitive Type. Neither were an option. And things worked out just fine.

Still doesn't mean those TV ads aren't horrible. Gah. Even the people they're aimed at probably hate them, because they think they're supposed to think they're cool.

We may be aware of the shows that lasted several seasons, but there was so much more. There were, for example, lots of shows that lasted several seasons - and no one remembers. December Bride, anyone?

It ran for five years. I will never forgive Spring Byington for coming back and pushing Ethel and Albert out of character. Peg's expression at :52 is priceless. Oh stow it, you old bat.


Anyway, if no one remembers "December Bride." they won't remember this:

You recognize Harry Morgan, of course. And you might know that he was a character on . . . December Bride. His character always mentioned his wife, but we never saw her. This show was a spin-off. Spun right off into oblivion.

We'll have more for the next few weeks. I find these fascinating. Don't you?

No? Oh shut up





Sometimes you just need to scan an ad and blow it up and let the story tell itself. We did that last week with the man whose friend had to get drunk to tell him about his horrible breath; now it's a look into the domestic travails - and joys - of the 30s.

Any heart. Even a baboon heart ripped from its chest in an unspeakable ceremony to placate the dark god Kali.


  You know this has nothing to do with personal accomplishments or delight for a child's success. You know it.
  Yes, it's the promise of a scrub-free life that's stimulated her infantile intellect.


Never have they been so close - because Mother understands well what this means.

I'm not downplaying the role these products had in reducing domestic drudgery, but they do seem a bit too flabbergasted by this total paradigm shift:

Four or FIVE shades. Never before! Never!


Works on filthy, soiled underwear AND your best plates! And doesn't leave your hands looking like pustulated lobster claws!

And it's NRA compliant, too. Until, as I noted before, the SCOTUS knocks that out, and then to hell with that eagle.

It's still made:

They make wood veneer too! Let's take a look at the picture on the right. go ahead: check the internet for the Howard theater.

You'll find nothing, because A) the only old pictures of the Howard don't have that W, and B) I don't think it's a theater. It's a store.


Does it matter? What counts is that this image exists, and wouldn't without advertising or Koroseal. It could be a piece of art. It is a piece of art.

Fall begins! Sort of. I don't believe it for a second.



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