Tangled Up In A Twist Of Fate 20/ An uninspected mind
Posted on December 10, 2012
Here’s one that’s filed under It Wouldn’t Work Even If He Were White: Toyota Hybrid has a TV spot that features a Black nerd playing an electric guitar while hot women gyrate in the car. The women get out and boogie down to the music. Now I knew Black nerds in High School and college. They were no different from the White and Hispanic nerds. They got great grades, asked obtuse questions and generally screwed up the grading curve. He drives a hybrid, kind of hard to swallow but I’m okay with that. He could drive a used Kia, but he’s got a hybrid. He’s trying to save the Earth. There’s hot chicks inside the car and they’re getting down to the music. No, they’d be with the stars of the seasonal team. Why? They want this guy to
help them do their homework. They’re more interested in the music than the guy. He’s strumming away, putting out a rock/soul tune and seems happy with the way things have worked out. If the guy were White, he’d be a crew cut, acned, pocket protector wearing outcast. The women would be cute nerdettes but they would hang out with the cool guys helping them doing their homework. They are smart enough to know the president of the Computer Chess Team isn’t going to get them any smooth loving. The nerd would be a stereotype. He’d play an accordion. He’d be rocking out Stairway To Heaven on the squeeze box and the women would maybe gyrate just enough to earn scale and then they’d wander off to the library or to the seasonal sport’s heroes. This nerd would own a hybrid. He’d tell everyone how he’s saving the planet and spending $5 a week on gas. He’d also spend a lot of time escaping beatings by seasonal sports heroes who are getting helped by the nerdettes. The commercial as it was run was hard to believe. With a White guy pretty much the same. Nerds don’t waste time getting information from TV. They research the problem and come up with a viable solution. A side note: The nerd is going to plot out a stock trading strategy, get rich off it and sell it to some Wall Street type for a million or more. He’ll scrap the hybrid, buy a Ferrari and hook up with the hot women in the first commercial. He’ll live happily ever after or until he comes up with another plan to make money and the seasonal sports heroes, now looking for retirement money, track him down and beat him up.
I’m a fan of old radio programs. Why? Because the humor was topical and the stars were stars. Right now, I’m listening to Jack Benny. ( For those of you who don’t kn ow him, we’ll wait while you Google him. Back? Okay,) The shows were transcribed and the commercials were left in. Jack Benny had Lucky Strike as a sponsor. One of the short bits that were done before the show proper began extolled the merits of Luckies and how they would pick you up when you were down and calm you when you were tense. Maybe it worked, in the movies a tense moment usually brought out a cigarette or two. The American Tobacco Co. told people to light up and be their “Level best”. We’re lucky we don’t have commercials telling us that there’s some product that can relieve depression or ease anxiety. Oh, we do? They advertize prescription drugs on the TV. Only now we have to convince a doctor that we’re too tense or depressed. A cigarette would’ve cured both. Now we talk to the doctor, convince him, go to the pharmacy, pick up the pills and bring them home. If there are kids around you’ve got to lock those suckers up. And if you have kids, on those rare nights you can escape you’ve got to keep them out of the hands of the babysitter or her boyfriend. Your significant other has to be watched. You never know, you’re previous symptoms might drive him or her to self medicate. Or you might decide to. A coup;e little blue pills with a glass of Merlot can just hit the spot. Ya never know.
Is it too freakin’ early to start showing those God awful seasonal movies. An Engagement for Christmas, Love Under the Christmas Tree, Santa Finds True Love, and the eternally crappy The Miracle on 34th Street. My Sunday night go-to is running the latter as we speak. I like the holidays and anyone who gets all joyful when they hear Little Drummer Boy in Wal-Mart is entitled to their
fetish seasonal likes. I don’t want Joy To The World jammed down my throat. This is bad, but the true evil awaits. When your favorite radio station stops running oldies, emo, hard rock and jazz and switches to All Christmas All The Time. We’ll be inundated. The Bill O’Reillys of the world will have won the battle for freedom to ignore Christmas by forcing us to listen to Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer thirty-seven times between seven am and three pm. All the while cheered on by an over-caffinated DJ whose stuck in Connecticut for the holidays. Rise up! Don’t submit to the forced celebration of a holiday that’s driving us close to bankruptcy. Call the stations and request Free Bird or Highway To Hell. Make it an interesting holiday.
I had radio closure on Saturday. That’s when you start and end your day on the same song. It’s rare, but it happens. The first step came as I pulled into the Stop and Shop parking lot. The station I listen to 105.9 The River played Sister Christian by Night Ranger. I spent the day tuning in and out as TV, books and weekend activities moved along. By 2am I was ready to crash. I played a Goon Show CD and when it ran out I turned on the radio. I listened to the usual music, (They Play Everything) hearing We Are The Champions followed by Crazy Train. I was just nodding off when, you know it, Sister Christian came on. A complete circle. It’s something big when your life is as exciting as mine.
Oh yeah, Jane Fonda is hot. Some things improve with age. She’s 74.
See you on Wednesday.