Me: The word consumerism has a derogatory ring. But in a land overflowing with goods and services addressing every need from abdominal gas relief to zero-emissions, it's only natural for a person to fall under the spell of the advertising mantra - or should I say, jingle. As a youngster, I used to love to turn the pages of my Sears catalogue and eye the team jerseys. I would imagine myself in those jerseys, looking so good and smelling like ink. And I would dream of outfitting an army of boys in the logo of my team, with matching North Star sneakers. And we would have wars with other boys in different jerseys and sneakers. And we would win because they didn't look as cool as we did. I've long outgrown my sports jerseys, but I still can't overcome my passion for those white leather North Star sneakers with the blue stripes. Kicking off tonight's program is a woman who may be able to tell me just how hopelessly enslaved I am to my childhood programming. She's a marketing analyst with a prominent advertising firm, Doctor Penelope Brainstorm!
(Applause. Enter Brainstorm.)
Me: Give it to me straight, Doctor. Am I doomed?
Brainstorm: If you're referring to the programming that you received in your childhood, I'm afraid it went in deep.
Me: So I'm always going to be a 70's kid? There's no way out of it?
Brainstorm: That's how you were moulded.
Me: Phew! What a relief! I'm safe inside my little world of eight-track cassettes and laughably oversized, gas-guzzling vehicles.
Brainstorm: Well, not entirely. There are some mitigating factors in your case.
Me: Oh-oh. Like what?
Brainstorm: Well, of course, your personality was forged through the mid-to-late 1960's, which was a time of tremendous social upheaval, when resistance to the mainstream was pioneered by popular artists, musicians, and activists. Then in the years that followed, comprising of your earliest memories, non-conformity itself became the mainstream.
Me: And the music rocked. But if everyone is a non-conformist, doesn't that still hold them together in an exploitable group?
Brainstorm: It does, but we don't want our consumers thinking too independently.
Me: Gotcha. But people still went out and bought a lot of useless junk like they were supposed to.
Brainstorm: Yes. They simply questioned their decision before they bought it.
Me: Is that all I need to worry about?
Brainstorm: No. The other barrier to your programming is your creativity. You're an artist, which means that your mind does not respond to commercials in the anticipated way.
Me:Â I think I know what you mean. I used to get Big Mac attacks from watching Sesame Street. Those life-sized muppets made me think of H.R. Puffinstuff, which, in turn, made me think of Mayor MacCheese and the Hamburgler.
Brainstorm: Actually, that's what was supposed to happen.
Me: It was?
Brainstorm: Yes. That's a normal association. But as you know, I'm friends with your sister-in-law, and she will never forget how you went crazy at the age of six from the sound of her wedding guests tapping their wine glasses with their spoons. She said you even assaulted one of her guests.
Me: So? I just don't like it is all.
Brainstorm: Why?
Me: It sounds... stupid.
Brainstorm: Really. That's very interesting. (She produces a wine glass and a stainless steel spoon.)
Me: What have you got there? (She starts tapping the glass with the spoon.) Don't do that! (She persists.) Stop! That's enough, now! (More tapping.) I said that's enough! (With an anguished cry, I spring from my desk, pounce on a cameraman, and start slapping him out.) You son of a bitch! I'll kill you!
Cameraman: Help!
(Brainstorm stops tapping and I cease hostilities.)
Me: What happened? Sid! Are you all right?
Brainstorm: Fascinating.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Commercial: Save Dave
(Me in 2008. I take the stage and start performing my song, Free. A few bars into it an audience member nods to the sound man. The sound man returns the nod, flicks a switch, and my music falls silent. I continue playing, looking like a fool, as the onlookers boo me.)
Announcer: When they pulled the plug on Dave, they didn't just clear the way for a bunch of unworthy shams to take his place; they turned him off of performing.
(A venue. A couple watch King Shit rattling off words to the predictable rhythm of a drum machine.)
King Shit: I'm the king of the shits! I'm full of myself! And nothing's more cool than my fame and wealth! And if you don't care to be in my place, I'll flush myself all over your face!
Man: Who did he say he was?
Woman: I don't know. But he looks like someone who can't sing, can't play a musical instrument, and probably can't draw or write comedy either.
Man: You're right. Let's go home and put on some Dave videos. Maybe he's even posted a blog with more than ten percent content that hasn't already been squeezed dry by television and advertising behind his back.
(The couple at home, listening to Free.)
Woman: That sounds so much better than that band. Why won't he get up and play? Lack of confidence?
Man: Dave faced the world with his own work, unlike those superstars who needed to steal from him.
Woman: Then why?
Man: Because the show biz racket won't let him. Not only did they punish him unjustly, they left him unpaid, so that he probably now feels like he'd only be condoning their mistreatment of him by going out and performing.
Woman: Well isn't there something we can do about it?
Announcer: Yes, there is! (Stop music. The couple turn their heads to the camera in amazement.)
Man & Woman: (in unison) Tell us, mystery voice.
Announcer: First you need to go to the grocery store and stock up on vegetables...
(The venue. Same performer.)
King Shit: I'm the king of the shits and I got the groove to get your blocked up colon on the move...
(The woman nods to the sound man. He returns the nod and cuts King Shit's sound.)
Woman: (reaching into a grocery bag) Get off the stage, you arrogant little shit! (She pulls out a tomato and fires it at the performer. It misses.)
Man: Yeah! Clear the way for a real artist! (reaching into the bag) We want Dave! (An egg is pulled out and drilled at King Shit's head, forcing him to duck.)
Patron: Hey, that looks like fun. Can I try?
Woman: Help yourself. (She holds open the bag and the patron pulls out a can of tomato soup.)
Patron: We want Dave! (She launches the soup can, hitting the performer in the leg and causing him to howl in pain. Other patrons join in and drive him from the stage with a hail of groceries and angry shouts of 'We want Dave!')
Venue Owner: (shaking his head) Looks like we're not going to make it without Dave.
(The venue. I complete the last few bars of Free and the audience cheers.)
Announcer: Throw your support behind Dave - by throwing something at someone else. Brought to you by the Foundation to Save Dave, in conjunction with Lucky Food Stores.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Me: My next guest is a consumer advocate who fears that commercial advertising is atomizing the population along the lines of self-interest. Paul Warner!
(Applause. Enter Warner.)
Me: Mister Warner, I'm delighted to have you here. I've seen every one of your interviews.
Warner: You mean where I plug my books? Have you read any of my work?
Me: I got the gist of them from the interviews. I'm sure they're brilliant. Now why do you have such a problem with an atomized population? It seems to run smoothly enough.
Warner: Because it gives power the option of acting irresponsibly without fear of effective reprisals. Everyone is trapped in their own little world and no one can gather more than a few dozen people to their cause.
Me: But I regularly see public protests over this or that in the news.
Warner: And they are generally unpopular because they obstruct the traffic of consumers who are trying to pay for their cars and homes and God knows what else.
Me: But isn't this atomization a necessary compromise for our high standard of living?
Warner: What do you mean?
Me: I mean that where there is wealth, there is division. Why take a crowded bus to work if you can take your own car?
Warner: I suppose the buses can get crowded, but look at road rage. Catering to self-interest is getting out of hand. If it continues at the rate it's going, it will destroy us all.
Me: And you blame advertising.
Warner: I do. Much of a modern consumer's world is made up of unscrupulous advertisements, I'm afraid.
Me: You're right. Pitiful. I'm just glad to be standing outside of this evil mindset.
Warner: You? (chuckling) That's a laugh.
Me: What's so funny?
Warner: I saw that commercial on the monitor before I came out here. The Foundation to Save Dave? You must be joking.
Me: That happens to be a non-profit organization.
Warner: Dave, don't bullshit me, all right? Never in all my years have I seen such flagrant self-aggrandizement.
Me: Well then maybe this next commercial will be more to your liking. Paul Warner, everyone. He might care about social justice, but he sure doesn't care about Dave.
(Applause. Commercial.)
Me: She's a woman who knows what she wants, and you better not be standing in front of her when she's trying to get it. Mrs Penny Farthington!
(Applause. Enter Farthington.)
Me: Mrs Farthington, you are prolific shopper. They have a plaque devoted to you down at the mall.
Farthington: I try to do my part.
Me: Why do you love shopping so much?
Farthington: It gives me a purpose in life. And its fun!
Me: And you never return items for refund, I'm told.
Farthington: Why buy it if you're just going to take it back?
Me: But how can you be so sure of your decision before you've had a chance to take your purchase home and try it out?
Farthington: That's easy. The voices.
Me: The voices? Whose voices?
Farthington: From the products, silly!
Me: The products talk to you? What do they say?
Farthington: They usually just say 'Buy me.' But if I come across something good, it'll say 'Take me home, Penny Farthington!'
Me: The items in the store don't really talk to you out loud.
Farthington: Yes they do. Why don't you believe me?
Me: Oh I don't know. Because they don't have mouths?
Farthington: They don't need mouths. They have ESP.
Me: Of course. Well thanks for being here, but I can barely hear the muffled voice of my guest chair telling me that it's quitting time. Penny Farthington, folks! And you'll be hearing my voice singing a song for you - right after this.
No comments:
Post a Comment