While waiting to be flushed from my home by the now-annual turbostorm of the megacentury, I pondered my options for the time I had left. Viewing stock video footage farted out by the local electric company would only prompt me to think dark, socialist thoughts about nationalization of our utilities and railroads. Running the family through emergency drills would be needlessly alarmist, especially when our storm strategy rarely deviates from "avoid windows and eat cake." So I decided to spend my remaining non-damp hours the only way I know how: by watching overproduced videos showcasing personal electronic gadgetry.
There was some benign conflict when my wife and I went shopping for a dining room table the other day. As she ran through the options - weathered wood vs. veneery glaze, trestled bottom vs. traditional four-corner legs - I held my breath in the hope that I'd pass out and wake up in an environment devoid of purchasable furniture, like an ambulance. When this tactic failed, I decided to live dangerously (read: respond with full honesty), noting that my only requirement in a table - in a desk, cabinet, ottoman, settee or toilet-adjacent shelf, for that matter - is …
In recent days I've acted like a real inconsiderate jerkwad. I waited until the wet clothes grew mildew mustaches before transferring them to the dryer. I was slow with a handkerchief and a "gesundheit, my fellow traveler!" when a random elevator dude sneezed. I bought the reduced-sugar version of Frosted Flakes, depriving my infant child of the precious chemical stimulants he needs to run himself ragged at day care before crashing at night, when the stars of primetime come out to shine for his parents.
I have a theory that's kinda sorta gonna blow your mind, people, so try and stay with me as I lay it on you. It has to do with the preponderance of famous-type individuals ("celebrities") who are appearing in online videos ("online videos") nowadays. I hate to ascribe motive to anyone I don't know personally - that leads you down a slope as slippery as a slope coated with Teflon lube - but I'm starting to think it's because these celebrities are compensated for appearing in them, rather than because they're motivated by altruism or the chance to produce online …
Now that we're settled, then, it's on me to learn how to do good-neighbor-type stuff. So the arrival of Skinnygirl's latest how-to clip, the grammatically overengineered "How to Throw the Perfect Movie Night In," couldn't be more timely. Forget making enthusiastic small talk about the weather or keeping the lawn neatly mowed (mown? I'm new to this) - suburbia isn't about to throw its arms open wide until I prove my socialite bona fides by hosting a rockin' movie night for the local gals.
Produced by Forbes.com (motto: "slideshows is magics!!") as part of an advertorial/technology/branded contentificationism play I don't quite understand, the mellifluously titled "2012 Cartier Make Your Move, Jeremy Bloom and Ben Lerer" taps Bloom, a former Olympic skier and football star, for advice on skiing and football. No, check that - it asks him about founding an ad business, a task for which his special-teams play leaves him singularly qualified. This business has something to do with media consolidation via a single interface and "operational efficiency." The concept is more unique than salmon spawning behavior and Tom Waits' voice combined.
I have it on good authority that martinis are James Bond's drink of choice. In something like 258 different films and Ian Fleming novels, he either orders a martini or accepts one when it is proffered. He is very clear about this. Martinis are his drink. I bring this up in light of Heineken's persistent-to-the-point-of-mania attempts to bind its brand to the Bond franchise, which will (reportedly) culminate with great, character-defiling glory when 007 sips a Heineken in Skyfall, the franchise's 23rd installment.
I cannot imagine that there has been or will be a more inadvertently hilarious piece of narration in a clip this year than the one that serves as the statement of purpose in "The Things That Connect Us," Facebook's latest we-R-global-communitarians volley. The line, presented verbatim: "Chairs are for people - and that is why chairs are like Facebook."
"Falling For You," officially billed as "A Target Style Short Film" and "the first-ever shoppable movie," might raise the addled ante even higher. Sure, some product placement is to be expected - it's what all the cool kids are doing nowadays - but who would expect a literal product parade down the right side of the computer screen?