Category: No Politics Friday

Do you ever feel like ordinary soft drinks aren't edgy enough for your cynical, Gen-X lifestyle? Oh, how you must yearn for that brief period in the mid-90s during which, in select and appropriately edgy test cities, you could enjoy an OK Soda.

In 1994 the marketing team at the Coca-Cola company, presumably wrapped in flannel and rocking out to Candlebox, decided to release a new beverage targeted specifically at teen angst and the rapidly fading popularity of I'm-so-jaded alternative rock.

Their plan was to out-jade the jaded, cynical youth demographic with a marketing campaign that amounted to a (slick, corporate) postmodern take on marketing campaigns. Daniel Clowes was hired to design bleak, dreary cans (not at all like the bright, eye-catching designs a corporation would use!). The ad campaign consisted of angry phone messages left by hip young consumers on the company's 1-800-I-FEEL-OK hotline. The logo was a white square with "OK." in plain black text. The keystone of the marketing campaign, though, was a ten-point "OK Manifesto" which was a combination of deliberately silly platitudes ("OK Soda emphatically rejects anything that is not OK, and fully supports anything that is."), calculated cynicism ("What's the point of OK? Well, what's the point of anything?"), and faux-earnest admissions that the soda really isn't that great ("Never overestimate the remarkable abilities of "OK" brand soda.")

The self-deprecating beverage was tested in appropriately edgy places like Seattle and Austin with expectations that it would soon be on the lips of every grunge-rocking young whippersnapper in America. Unfortunately the soda tasted like a bile-flavored wine cooler and The Kids were predictably unimpressed by a brutal multinational corporation's clumsy attempt at targeted marketing. Apparently winking and nudging about the vapidity of marketing campaigns and the lameness of the product does not make an effective marketing campaign (although it worked quite well for VW in the 1960s, if we recall its seminal DDB ad campaign). Maybe it just doesn't work if the company behind it is so goddamn obvious about trying to be Young and Edgy. The product was quietly euthanized in less than a year.
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The few people who mourn OK's demise recommend, or so the internet tells me, the following recipe to make your own: 75% flat Coke, 25% orange soda, and a "splash" of Dr. Pepper. Note that neither ginandtacos.com nor its parent corporation, Nordyne Defense Dynamics, recommend that you try this or accept liability if you do.

Ironically – and certainly the marketing wizards would appreciate that! – Coca-Cola succeeded in failure. OK Soda has something of a cult following among the hipsters to whom the original product was targeted more than a decade ago. The contemporary fad for all things kitschy has elevated OK's marketing campaign to cult status, a beloved example of the hilariously bad. What delicious irony that jaded young people are now enjoying the product exactly as intended.
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Or perhaps it is metacommentary so multi-layered that I can't even keep up with who's sarcastically enjoying whom in this situation.

"Are you being sarcastic, dude?"

"I don't even know anymore."

Fortunately, not knowing is OK.^tm

I'm tired of making fun of Objectivists. Let's make fun of Burning Man.

Having known of the existence of this "event" for decades, I never paid the slightest bit of attention to it. My knowledge of its workings was limited to the idea that it's a bunch of people getting stoned to the tits, listening to horrendous music, and watching something burn in effigy. Then, upon learning that someone I once knew is willingly attending this spectacle, I devoted five minutes to learning more about the event.

Holy shit.

I have seen dumber things and I have seen bigger wastes of time, but never have I seen a stronger, more desperate effort to dress up selfishness in the language of nobility. It actually calls itself "an experiment in radical self-reliance.
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" If that is not enough to make you wish that everyone involved had one face and you were punching it, let's look at their idea of self-reliance and environmental responsibility.

First, the event is held in the middle of a pristine desert, one that certainly benefits from having a few thousand people drive into it, burn a lot of stuff, and camp there. But everyone packs out their own litter, so it's all OK! (note: every year there's a mountain of litter left behind). Second, it emphasizes its ecological responsibility by banning driving – which, you know, is kind of pointless since there's no need to drive once your there.

And people drive hundreds of thousands of miles (collectively) to get there. So, yeah, after you drive 1500 miles to get there from Kentucky, no driving. Give Momma Earth a hug.

You know what else Momma likes? Gigantic wood fires. Those are environmentally friendly. Or the "artwork" created in 2007 which burned 900 gallons of jet fuel and 2000 gallons of propane to shoot flames everywhere. Even for hippies, watching this and talking about environmental responsibility is impressively stupid.

And now the best part.

The event is also an experiment in "decommodification", i.e. no cash transactions. Oddly enough this noble policy does not extend to the $300 admission fee. Cash is OK for that. At the event, though, in lieu of cash participants are encouraged to participate in a "gifting economy." Without saying so explicitly, I can think of no more obvious sign that you are going to end up blowing some guy named Chad for shrooms. Saying that the event's "economy" is based on "favors" is about as subtle as that massage parlor on the highway that offers "full service" massages.

People think I'm prudish when I go on this kind of rant but I should emphasize that I don't have a single critical thing to say about people going to the middle of nowhere, listening to godawful jam band shit, getting higher than Jesus, and circulating herpes. If that's what you want to do, by all means do it. What I find offensive are efforts to dress up such behavior in the pseudointellectual language of social consciousness. Burning Man attendees are no more going to the event to experiment with radical decommodification than sorority girls are going to Cancun Spring Break to experience foreign cultures. You are not being environmentally friendly or in any way making a political statement – you are going on an expensive vacation to do lots of drugs and blow strangers. That's great. Embrace it. Stop trying to assuage your consciences by pretending that it's a spiritual quest or a social experiment. Experiencing decommodification does not cost 300 good ol' American dollars and driving a thousand miles to watch an enormous open fire is not saving the environment.

If you gave a shit about either of those issues you'd stay home.

But therein lies the rub. At home, who would be watching to validate what a good, crunchy progressive you are?
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I bet the proud sailors of the United States Navy dislike the fact that their service is virtually synonymous with, as Winston Churchill put it, "rum, sodomy, and the lash." Being obsessed with World War II era propaganda, though, I am starting to think the Navy has done things to encourage this line of thought. Not encourage it explicitly, of course, but some of their propaganda did little to dissuade the public perception that naval service was mostly about glistening, shirtless Seamen ramming long, stiff objects into appropriately-sized holes.

To wit (and these are all real, courtesy the National Archives, and not modern faux-vintage snark), here is a composition entitled Man the Guns:

Let's give the Navy every benefit of the doubt here.

Yes, it was very hot in the Pacific Theater and God knows how hot the decks were with all that burning gunpowder, so perhaps work was best done without a shirt. And, well, that long, rock hard, and round-tipped artillery shell certainly needed to be thrust into the cannon's magazine. Otherwise the cannon would not be able to have an explosion and cover the face of the Earth with American firepower.

But I have to say, U.S. Navy, that this is kinda gay. I'm sure that my creative imagination running away with things.

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OK. Navy, maybe you should think about this a little more.
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The message communicated by this poster is supposed to be "Stop Accidents." But what it's really saying is "Stop Accidents – or else." While threats can sometimes be good motivators, why is the Seamen A) shirtless yet again and B) threatening the viewer with the omnipresent penis-shell, held here at a semi-threatening, semi-aroused angle? And as far as intimidating our enemies, well, all I have to say is watch your cornhole, Tojo. OK, Navy? Good talk. I feel like you understand my concerns. Back to work.

Oh, for fuck's sake!

The webmaster of BillKristol.net, who frequents the comments here as Evan, received the following solicitation via email:

Dear Mr. Kristol,

We are pleased to attach herewith a report on our innovative technology “generation of Hydrogen-fuel by catalytic splitting of water,” for your information, kind consideration and perusal. All we need at this time is a few thousand dollars for the next phase, which Is optimization of the process for both as a proof of the concept and to collect data for scale-up purpose.

If you are interested in financing this phase of the project, either from your foundation or from your own private sources, please let us know. We will be pleased to submit a Test Plan along with a budget estimate for your review and approval, ASAP. Attached herewith are my RESUME and a summary of my EXPERIENCE for your information ONLY. For more information about Overseas Consultants, please visit our World Wide Web Site at : http://www.overseasconsultants.us.

If you have any question(s) or need more information, please do not hesitate to call us at 814-262-7489 (Office) or at 814-2701422 (Mobile). Thanking you in anticipation and hoping to hear from you soon.

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NOTE: You could loan us a small amount of money, few thousand dollars, that you can afford, on an interest FREE basis, or as an investment in our company based on mutual trust. We will acknowledge receipt of the same. If our technology takes off, we promise to pay back ten (10) times that amount of money to your good self for your favorite charity, God willing.

Being a man who recognizes both cutting edge technologies and good investment opportunities when he sees them, Evan responded thusly:

Dear Dr. Qazi,

Our webmaster, Mr. Brin, was kind enough to forward me your E-mail. Having read your report, we at billkristol.net are very excited for the new technological breakthroughs. Given that your original message was addressed to Mr. Kristol himself—and given the sensitive nature of this matter—we suggest that you contact him directly. He can be E-mailed through the following web page:

http://www.nytimes.com/gst/emailus.html?author=WILLIAM%20KRISTOL&recipient=reporter

Very truly yours,
H. Yalincak
Head of Accounting

I mean, really…what else does Bill Kristol have to do these days? Maybe this will pan out for him.

First, I would like to apologize. I have a job interview coming up which has preoccupied me, and I feel like this week sucked.

Second, Bobby Jindal's performance on Tuesday evening reminded me so much of a ShamWow infomercial that I decided to do a post on the ShamWow Guy. I should begin by noting that his name is Vince Offer. He came out of the damn womb cleaning himself off with a ShamWow and ready to film an infomercial.
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You know all about the ShamWow ad by now, that magical German-made towel that can absorb anything. Never mind that it's really a big scam – the towel's "absorbent powers" are the product of clever editing. Perhaps you're also familiar with his new project, the Slap Chop, which he sells with the delightful, subtle, and delightfully subtle double entendre "You're gonna love my nuts." Oh, Vince. You whip.

Apparently Vince is an ex-Scientologist who has successfully sued the "church." This makes Mr. Offer remarkably OK in my book no matter how much of a barnacle he is on America's ass. Unfortunately long before he sued Scientology or slapped his nuts on national TV he also starred in and directed a film called Underground Comedy Movie. The New York Post called it the worst film ever made, while the New York Times noted that it "stands as a monument to ineptitude and self-delusion." The film is a series of unrelated, scatalogical skits starring Offer, Joey Buttafuoco, and Gina Lee Nolin (whose skit consists of her loudly defecating).
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And. AND. Michael Clarke Duncan, who apparently has never said "no" to anything. Offer sued the Farrelly Brothers for "stealing" his idea in There's Something About Mary and Anna Nicole Smith for $4 million for backing out of the film in a rare show of taste.

After making (possibly) the worst movie ever, the entreprenurial Mr.
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Offer reinvented himself as a pitchman when he discovered the towel that would become ShamWow at a flea market. I have to imagine that this guy hangs out at a lot of flea markets. You know, scouting for new products. And peddling meth. Congratulations, Vince Offer. I don't know how a no-talent troll like him managed to do it, but he is a household name – the Ron Popeil of the Aughts. With a headset. And more jokes about his ballsack.

I am not sure I can make it three more weeks until Watchmen is released. I know that I'm supposed to be jaded and getting ready to indignantly complain about all the ways in which the film adaptation insults the novel, but I'm really looking forward to it.

The big red flag, of course, is having Zack "300" Snyder direct it. This is a cause for tremendous skepticism.

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The trailers, in fact, depict an alarming amount of slow-motion (as did about 97% of the running time for 300). Directors who make a living solely directing action and horror films are rarely able to make good films of any kind. Apparently nothing has been learned from the stark differences between Joel Schumaker Batman vs the Christopher Nolan version. To be fair, Darren Aronofsky was signed to direct this in 2004 and backed out, but I'm not sure why they had to make the leap from him to Mr.
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300.

The second obstacle is the fact that, when I first read this story as a younger man and when I re-read it today, it strikes me as essentially unfilmable – especially the Dr. Manhattan sequences and their time-has-no-meaning narration jumping among past, present, and future. I know that the screenplay makes some changes to the ending, to great wailing and gnashing of teeth from fanboys everywhere. Frankly I found (find) the ending neither confusing enough to require clarification nor good enough to get upset about changes. Let's face it, as much as people heap praise on the novel, the idea of three major characters (spoiler) deciding within a span of three panels to keep quiet about the plot is lame. Nobody wanted to think it over?

To argue about it? To digest this whole scheme that had just been laid before them? They just say "Yeah, I guess you're right, I'm in!?" Come on. So I think the ending was flawed enough that I don't care that the film intends to make some changes.

Bracing for this to be bad, hoping it's as good as the novel deserves. Basically if they nail Rorschach the movie will be fine. Other characters get more ink in the story and play a bigger role in its climax, but Rorschach is the key. Having confirmed that the "I'm not in here with you, you're in here with me" scene is included I'm not sure how I can be disappointed. It would be unfair to say that there was a time in my early 20s when I wanted to be Rorschach because let's be honest, I kinda still do.

If you did not notice during the Super Bowl halftime show last Sunday, please treat yourself to Mr. Springsteen teabagging America. Nay, teabagging the world. Had the final play of the first half not been the most brutal of the game I might have been better able to enjoy the show.

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Including, but not limited to, The Boss's taint.

Well, I'm off to Tampa. I may even visit Clearwater to get audited by the Scientology Mothership.

I feel strange and conflicted about this experience. After 30 years of being essentially the only Cardinals fan on Earth I dislike the feeling that I have to share this with 100 million viewers around the globe. One of my favorite parts of the playoffs this year is listening to the national media (who have obviously never paid two seconds of attention to the team) saying things like "Wow, this Fitzgerald fellow is pretty good!" Thanks for the scoop, guys. Yeah, he's pretty much the best football player on this, and I assume any other, planet. We've known that for five years. It's cute that you're surprised.

Now the secret is out. A lot of people have gotten to see that, yes, guys like Fitzgerald, Boldin, and Adrian Wilson will do things on a weekly basis that the human body should not be capable of doing. I hope the team does itself proud even if it loses.

I wonder how I am going to feel if they lose given A) the obscene cost of this endeavor and B) the fact that it'll probably be 60 years until they get another shot at the title.

I have serious doubts about their ability to beat Pittsburgh. The Steelers might just be too damn good defensively. But if we score 35 on everyone, maybe that means we can at least hang 17 or 21 on Pitt and hope our defense, which is far better than anyone realizes, can have the game of its life.

I went to my first Cardinals game in 1987.
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When they were still in St. Louis. I've been to a couple in Arizona and plenty of midwestern road games. I don't think I've missed more than 5 or 10 games on TV since 1995 (when DirecTV debuted). Before that, my dad and I used to drive into the middle of nowhere (between Kankakee and Urbana) to pick up the faint signal of KMOX St. Louis and follow the games on the radio.

We're a little hardcore. There will be a lot of happy Arizonans if they win, but deep down I'm going to feel a lot more payoff than the average bandwagon-hopping Phoenician.
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That's human nature, isn't it? Everyone likes to point at the band and say "I heard of them first. Liked 'em way before they were popular." So be it.

If nothing else, like the White Sox World Series run in 2005 this is a welcome diversion from the glum reality of the job market, politics, and the economy.