COMMERCIAL INTEREST

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (09-29-22)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     Sometimes I feel that Madison Avenue and myself are not on the same planet. I'm not criticizing the entire avenue, there are certain street corners that are entirely blameless. I'm talking about the Madison Avenue that used to be known as the advertising industry, which is probably not even Madison Avenue anymore anyway, but somebody's living room with a guy in shorts and a tee shirt. And that guy, wherever he is, is out of touch with my needs.

     He could very well be a "she." One very annoying lady who looks like she shot her entire commercial with a selfie-stick, proceeds to inventory all the human body parts that might create odor, and what she intends to do about it. Her face is in such a tight close up that no matter how far away I am from the screen she feels like she is invading my personal space, evaluating my odors. She seems like she is on a personal quest to remove any sense of mystery related to women. In order for there ever to be mystery again, a woman is going to have to kill me and leave very little evidence. Whenever I see a commercial like that I thank god that poets probably never watch television.

     Another overzealous pitchwoman is out to convince you that you have more bags under your eyes than the claim carousel at JFK, and she has the "hottest videos on social media" to prove it. Using only people who looked like they went to the trouble to escape from prison to test out this magic cream, she gleefully extols the virtues of a product called Plexaderm, which sounds like either a dinosaur or something that caused their extinction.

     Emeril is a television chef who is most famous for yelling the word "BAM!" while he's preparing dinner. My Mother-in-law was a great cook, but if I ever heard her yell "BAM!" from inside the kitchen I would begin to wonder if whatever she was cooking was even dead before she put it in the oven. Anyway, he's back on TV selling something called the French Door Air Fryer. It's a cooking device that has French doors, so that you can look inside from its balcony and see if the food is comfortable. If I peek in and see that my rump roast is not reclining on the cabriole sofa underneath the chandelier that I provided for it, I will be disappointed. Très contrarié.

     In another commercial a group of people at a grocery store have cornered an insurance salesman in the produce section. "You're Jonathan, from the TV commercials," they exclaim, giddy with the excitement that comes from being in the orbit of insurance salesmen. Soon, the entire clientele of the supermarket is firing questions at the poor guy from all sides abandoning any interest they once had in cauliflower. I've never actually felt sorry for an insurance salesman before, and it gave me a weird feeling inside, as if I may now start also having feelings of compassion towards television psychics and lawyers who have overestimated the amount of time I've spent at Camp LeJeune. I don't have the heart to tell my lawyer that when I was there I only drank bottled water ("You did WHAT?").

     Everyone is talking about nasal irrigation! At least that's what they're saying on the Navage commercial, and if true, is certainly no dumber than some of the other things I've heard everyone talking about. Did you know that germs and allergens can enter your body through your nose? Once you irrigate them with a nasal cleanser how can you be sure they won't grow and thrive like last year's avocado crop?

     Two-thirds of all automobiles sold in the United States will need a major repair during the first seven years of ownership. Ever since I made up that statistic I've been hearing noises coming from my engine. I don't think it's anything important but a light started flashing on my dashboard recently that says, "PURCHASE NEW CAR." Plus, every time I applied the brakes I heard a squealing sound (that turned out to be my wife; I was going a little fast). I was told by my mechanic that I needed a complete overhaul of my car's endocrine system. I asked him where exactly that was and he pointed in the general direction of my car. So, it's obvious that I should have gotten Car Shield after all.

     Maybe Madison Avenue does have my best interests at heart. Maybe I do need my car protected, my nose irrigated, my life insured, my air fried, my dark circles reduced and my odors neutralized. But I'm not going to get any of that done unless I ACT NOW. So if you see me later and wonder what exactly I'm doing, I'm acting.