Media X: From the Rear
Come on, write one of those posts that are off-topic, miss the point, or totally wrong. Correct my spelling. Criticize my profanity. I will cook you like a rat that's snuck up in my car engine, screaming in your squeaky rodent voice as your blood boils away.
Do I seem out of sorts? Well, I am. So much in our past-its-expiration-date modern world needs killing. And marketing, inevitably, is right in the thick of this noxious cultural soup.
First up is the modern youth market. My kid got his ass waxed on Saturday. The skinny girlfriend suggested it.
No, I am not kidding.
This is your most-coveted target, my poor, doomed little droogies. How do you activate with a straight face against a group that thinks getting its butt burnished is a good idea?
Secondly, next week we have the modern marketing equivalent of the hallucinogenic cannibal sex orgy at the end of "Conan the Barbarian," a.k.a. the Cannes International Advertising Festival.
Guess what the favorite is to win this year? Burger King.
No, I am not kidding.
It's official. Advertising is dead.
Thirdly, I've just been victimized by digital media's favorite way to say "screw you."
I get a ping on my personal email from a contact at a media agency. Subject line says "hi." I open it. It's spam written by someone for whom English is an adventure. I've been hacked. Everybody on my address list gets sent the spam.
Actually, this one was kind of ironic, because the agency source inadvertently sent me the spam in the first place. I loathe that person.
Then, there's the unholy union of buying overkill and under-production that creates one of the most pernicious aggravations of modern marketing. I speak of the Heineken commercial with the cabbie and his four fares singing along to a Biz Markie tune that was brought to you by the NBA Finals. I say the spot was the show, not the sponsor, because I saw the goddamn thing about 500 freaking times in five games.
No, I am not exaggerating.
Would it have bankrupted Heineken to shoot one more spot? Even the same crew and cab, just singing something different? "Mississippi Queen," perhaps. "Oh, baby, yooooo" can wait until hell freezes over before I buy your beer.
Finally, I've got a dinner date in Marina del Rey, so I Google the Cheesecake Factory at 4142 Via Marina and click on "street view." I see 4137 Via Marina. And 4145 Via Marina. I can pan all the way down the road. But I can't pan the other side of the street -- where the alleged Cheesecake Factory at 4142 Via Marina is supposed to be.
This is not augmented reality. This is why Nurse Jackie takes drugs.
Would it be too much to ask that marketers grant us escape from, rather than more exposure to, the irritants of modern life? Maybe then, I wouldn't have to blow off steam and could use this column for important discussions.
You know, like where to find a good ass wax.