Sadvertising

Yes, I realize the socially acceptable time to dissect advertising is the day after the Super Bowl, but in my book, it's never the wrong time for a stupidtervention. Although as a public relations person, I probably am more judgmental of anything I see on TV than is Joe Six-Pack (too soon to revive that without tripping anyone's gag reflex?), I feel sometimes everyone wonders if the "gurus" who came up with these concepts were the same people to green-light "Mars Attacks." Now, some companies do advertising right: they pick a feature people actually care about, then find a memorable way to tie it in with their organization. Geico, for example, has made the bold - and brilliant - move of running three entirely distinct and disgustingly catchy ad campaigns (gecko, cavemen, money with googly eyes). You may roll your eyes at them, but it's impossible not to know that Geico can save you 15% in 15 minutes. Done deal.

Now, enter the stupid.

Unlike a memorable, related image - such as the Geico gecko - erectile dysfunction drug Cialis has chosen... old people sitting in antique bathtubs on a beach. No, seriously: www.cialis.com. True, I don't necessarily want to think about what Cialis IS for, so perhaps I should write their agency a heartfelt thank you, but isn't that the point of a commercial? Not to make one wonder a) Are those bathtubs filled with salt water? b) That must be itchy! and c) Two words: sand fleas. Because a bathtub built for one, laboriously dragged out to a foreign environment in which it probably will sink (Ever tried to stand still in the surf?) just screams sexy spontaneity!

Equally infuriating, if less incomprehensible, are the new Zyrtec ads. Supposedly, we should all switch from Claritin to Zyrtec because the latter starts working two hours faster on allergy symptoms. Now, here's the kicker: they're both 24-hour meds. Think about it. If you're on Claritin, getting 24-hour relief, then stopping that medicine to switch to Zyrtec to "save" two hours means you actually have the brain of a sea monkey. One that didn't hatch.

With TiVo and DVR on the rise, some may argue that TV commercials are becoming obsolete, but that's all the more reason to make them better, not to slap random bathroom appliances on a page and call it a day. What if ads were so good year-round that people watched every program for the commercials, not just one football game a year? It's crappy advertising that birthed a means to dispose of itself, not the other way around.

Curses

Nothing makes you realize you don't know your own strength quite like trying gently to push open the tab holder on a cereal box.

Targeting Nincompoops

Let's just clear the air: I love Target. No other store lets me assuage my financial and environmental consciences by occasionally purchasing Method hand soap on a clearance end cap. Nevertheless, sometimes one has to take a stand. An I-love-you-man,-but-your-girlfriend's-a-raging-bitch stand. I reach that point approximately once a month (no, not then), when I return to my local Target on a pilgrimage for Clear Care contact solution. Now, let's ignore for a moment that I have to use prissy eye drops to keep myself from looking as though I've smoked two joints after having double black eyes for breakfast. I may be prissy, but I'm no dumbass. Sadly, it seems the entire staff of the Target pharmacy cannot make a similar claim, being that for months, they have sold one 12-oz. bottle of Clear Care + one contact case for $6.99, while simultaneously advertising a "Value Pack" of two 12-oz. bottles + one contact case for $13.99. That's right, kids: for the privilege of getting one fewer contact cases than you would if you purchased two bottles separately, you can get the great "Value" of paying one cent more for your solution! $6.99 + $6.99 = $13.98, you fools! Sure, there's not much you can buy with a penny besides a night with Lindsay Lohan, but that doesn't stop the "Value Pack" label from being as irksome as she is. Grr, corporate America. Grr.

Saving Private Writing

Writing, like flossing, is best done in private. Jane Austen, for example, was known never to answer the door without first slipping her manuscripts into the locked drawer of her parlor desk. Never mind that this forced her to write some of the greatest works in English literature in fifteen-minute increments: any true Austen fan knows that unattended text lies in grave danger of being discovered by the most unfortunate possible party. Virginia Woolf, Austen’s literary opposite, nevertheless agreed with her. The premise of A Room of One’s Own is, in fact, that “a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.” Having someone rifle through one’s unpolished ideas elicits much the same warm fuzzy feeling as showing up to work having forgotten to put on both makeup and undergarments. Well, welcome to my bare-bottomed lack of eye shadow. So sit back, relax, and remember to keep in mind one question: Is it drafty in here, or is it just me?