Psychopathic Advertising II: Lawyers

     I collect weird advertising.  

     I seldom go out of my way to look for it–weird advertising is so ubiquitous that come across it whenever I bother to pay attention.

      Bigtime corporate advertising is usually the most insidious of the genre.  When it fucks up and gets weird, the results are usually spectacular, because you’re looking at a fuckup that cost tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars to produce and was conceived and executed by dozens of highly trained professionals.  
    
      Like this one: 

  

      I’ve posted it before, but I can’t get over it.  It’s a total head-scratcher.  How on earth did anyone think that this ad would go over well?  Think of all the people who had to green-light this thing!  And Burger King paid for the ad! 

      I feel kinda bad for the model.  Everyone’s got to make a living, but if I was her, I’d leave this one off of my resume.  

      But I digress…

      Corporate advertising is usually at the cutting edge of psychopathic propaganda and weirdness.  Without a doubt.  However, we should not neglect the humble advertisements of local small businesses and self-employed professionals.  They might not have the sophistication and high-end production values of the ads of multinational corporations, but they can still be very weird.  Very weird indeed!  And they have a sort of rustic charm to them–a wacky quality one never sees in, say, commercials for Apple or Nike.  

       Take lawyers.

       Now, when I think of lawyer commercials, I think of a guy in a conservative suit seated in front of bookcases full of law books, speaking solemnly into the camera.  

       But did you know that there is a shitload of cheesy, hilarious, cornball lawyer commercials out there…?!  

      Maybe you did, gentle reader, because you’re not an eccentric wackadoodle recluse like myself.  Maybe you knew, but I didn’t know.  I just discovered these ads this morning, when I woke up at 4 AM and couldn’t get back to sleep.

      This one is my favorite!  Berger & Greene pulled out the Special FX for this one!  I was so distracted by the flames, explosions, and mayhem in the background that I missed the message the first time around.  Jesus.  Makes me want to buy life insurance.  

   
 Next: J. Michael Gallagher wants to represent you during your divorce.   Divorce is notorious for bringing out the worst in people, and I guess Gallagher just decided to drop the fig leaf of decency and offer his clients what they really want: revenge!  Who needs dignity when you can ruin your spouse’s holiday?  Deliberately making your divorce as hostile and antagonistic as possible–what could go wrong? 


 

      Silver-tongued charmer Steven Miller, of Divorce E-Z, went into law after failing to realize a career in foreign diplomacy (joke).  Call him if you want to get rid of that vermin you call a spouse!

      Next: Spencer & Associates wants to turn your pain into rain!  I guess the “rain” is a rain of cash, I dunno.  This commercial is problematical for several reasons, but I am oddly hung up on the way that the judge pounds his gavel onto a book of post-its.  


Notes on Thanksgiving

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      Notes on Thanksgiving:

     I had the misfortune of squandering almost three hours of my life watching the new movie Lincoln with my mother and her friend.  I am only telling you this because I want you to avoid making the same mistake that I did, gentle reader.  May you never have to endure what I endured.   

      I will not torture you with a full review.  Suffice it to say that the film was cloyingly sentimental, transparently manipulative, and historically inaccurate all at once. I knew it was going to be bad five minutes in, when star-struck army soldiers meet Lincoln after a battle and start reciting The Gettysburg Address by heart. 

      Nobody liked that speech when he made it!  They thought it was a snoozer!  The newspapers hardly even commented on it!  What the fuck?  

      I am done with Steven Spielberg, man. Munich cannot absolve him of his many crimes against his audience.  Done, done, done. 

       If you want to see Lincoln, do yourself a favor and just watch Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln, the anamatronic ride at Disneyland:


     The best part of going to the movies that day was seeing the enormous boxes of movie popcorn “butter” being stocked in the supply closet after the show.  I thought that was so gross and funny that I took a photo of it:

“Butter”

     My mother got a new dog–a dachshund puppy!  She hasn’t had a dog since our old one, Pepper, died a few years ago.  This new one is probably the cutest puppy in North America.  I usually prefer somewhat larger dogs–whippets and sighthounds, in particular–but this dog is so lovable that I wanted to steal her and take her home with me in my suitcase (joke).  She’s calm and quiet for a dachshund, too.  All she wants to do is snuggle and play with her stuffed toys.  She has silky fur and the cutest little face! 

      I’d post a photo, but I don’t want to invade my mother’s privacy on this blog.  Here’s a stock photo of a dog that looks kinda like Mom’s:

Yes, I am the cutest dog in the world!

      Here’s the apple pie I made for Thanksgiving (Mom made the pumpkin).  The picture doesn’t do it justice.  It turned out perfectly.  I cooked the apples in brown sugar and butter before I baked them in the crust.  The pie was devoured within 48 hours.  I regret to report that I ate more of it than I should have.  


      I found these paintings for sale in airport gallery during my layover.  For some reason, I thought they were weird.  Tell me: who would buy an oil painting of The Lion King?  It’s well-executed, I guess, but what the heck are you going to do with it?  Display it in your living room?  

     
        Little Mermaid fans need not despair!

    
        I wonder: do you think the artist paints these things just to pay the bills, or do you think he (or she) is painting the rainbow there in the Little Mermaid piece and going “I’m brilliant!  It’s my masterpiece!”  

       Speaking of art, I’m reading a new book: Caravaggio, a Life Sacred and Profane, by Andrew Graham-Dixon


      I finished a third of it on the airplane.  It’s pretty good and I’m learning a lot about the artist and his time (the history actually interests me more than the biographical content, and the author does an excellent job putting Caravaggio’s life into context).  

       I always appreciated Caravaggio, but I was never a huge fan.  Interestingly, I couldn’t put my finger on why, because the subject matter of his art is right up my ally.  The man goes big, he doesn’t mess around.  But it’s not that he’s too melodramatic for me…there’s something about his technique.  It’s almost too smooth.

       Here is a painting of Caravaggio’s that I like called The Cardsharps  1594 (click to enlarge):


          What makes this so fascinating to me is the tension between the two hustlers.  The young one is concentrating hard, tightly wound, but it’s the older one is back, with the torn glove, who is really interesting.  If you enlarge the picture, you can see the touch of desperation in his eyes.  These two are not cheating just for fun–they really need to win.  The wealthy youth they’re trying to fleece will go home broke and wiser, but otherwise none worse for wear.  The cheaters are playing for much higher stakes.  

       What do you think about it?

       That’s all for now–time the bake cookies and go to my Sunday AA meeting!  

    P.S.  I had a moment of not-serenity at a meeting recently over–get this–my coffee.  I have a service commitment to make coffee, right?  So I got everything ready and laid out the cups and milk and sugar and everything. I was waiting for the machine to get the water hot enough so that I could brew the coffee.  

     The woman comes up to me.  “Are you the person doing the coffee?”

      “Yes.  Sorry, it’s not ready.  It has to finish getting hot.”

       She looked at me like I was speaking Esperanto.  “It’s not hot yet?”

      “No, sorry.  Five more minutes.”  

       “Is it turned on?”

       “Yes, I turned it on twenty minutes ago.  It’s not ready.”

       Woman moves past me and pushes the “BREW” button.  Then she says, “There!  Now it’s on!  I told you it wasn’t on!” 

       Dude, I am trying not to be territorial of a goddamn coffee machine–it’s not MY machine–but for christ’s sake…!

      “You can’t brew it yet!  The water’s not hot!”  I had to unplug the machine to keep it from brewing lukewarm coffee.  

      The woman just stood there, like I was imposing on her.  “I don’t understand why the water’s not hot.”  

      ARRRRRGHHH!!!!  What is there to understand?  The water’s not hot because the machine hasn’t heated it sufficiently!  What else is there?  

     In retrospect, it was kinda funny.
       

THANKSGIVING

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HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!

I just put an apple pie in the oven.  I hope the crust turns out okay.  My crusts are always too crumbly.  

Soon I am going to jump in the shower.  Then we are going to try to fry the turkey!  

No time to really write a post (though I do have something hilarious to write about soon)…in the meantime, here are some random recent phone pics:

Parrot flew into my room while I was taking a nap to say HI!!!

     You thought the Surgeon was OCD…?  Check out this crazy shit.  My mother turns the cushins of her leather sofa upside-down so that they will “wear evenly” and piles her best pillows on the top of the sofa so that nobody will rest on them and mess them up.  Yeah, I grew up in this house.  

The chair: pristine after 8 years

The Surgeon would approve.  However, he would at least change it before guests came over.  We wouldn’t want anything to think we were CRAZY, after all!

           The last time the Mathematician came over to my apartment, he brought me a case of Diet Coke.  

         Less than 36 hours later:

all gone

        

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!!



Before Thanksgiving

      The Surgeon came to see me.  He marked my skin badly enough that I had to terminate a late-evening appointment.  I can’t show up like this. 

     The Surgeon’s in crisis.  The storm destroyed a property and various things are up in the air.  He’s working his ass off.  He is not a balanced individual with a healthy support network.  He’s emotionally isolated.  He’s a frantic, deranged rat in a wheel.  

      He is getting too thin.  I like slim men, but I’m telling you, he still has muscle on him, but he’s getting too thin.  I say, “You have to eat more, Surgeon.”  He says, “How much weight have you lost?”

The Men of Craigslist: Huh?

     I feel much better today!  Yesterday I was a bit blue and I had no idea why (aside from the unresolved relationship tension).  Muh feelings!  Muh feelings!  Fuck feelings.  They suck. 

      Much better today.  Maybe the stack of sweaty, crumpled $20 bills sitting here on my desk has something to do with it.  It looks like he must have pulled the money from its hiding place in his mattress.  $400 last night to kick a wackadoodle around my apartment (I covered the bird cages so that they wouldn’t see and get traumatized).  The guy was pretty weird, but nice enough.  He was a film geek.

       “You mean you haven’t seen The Umbrella?”  

       I shook my head, sitting next to him on my sofa. I was wearing a fascimile of a Catholic schoolgirl uniform, and my hair was in braids.  I felt silly, but whatever.  It was his dime.  

       “I can’t believe you’ve never seen The Umbrella!”  He wailed, as if I’d said that I’d never seen Forrest Gump or something.  

        Moving on…..

      I think almost all of my 8 readers are men.  I base this on the fact that almost all the people who ever leave comments are men, but I don’t really know.  In any event, I hope that I don’t alienate my male readership with the following:

     Men are fucking crazy, and they are even crazier when sex and hormones are involved, and they think they might be anonymous.  

     I spent half an hour this morning browsing the Craigslist personals ads.  I wasn’t looking for a connection, I was just looking for entertainment.  As usual, Craigslist didn’t disappoint.  

      Want to look at some ads…?  OF COURSE YOU DO!  

       First, we have a banana clip fetishist.  That’s a new one to me, which is saying a lot: 

Do you have long hair and wear banana clips? – 37


Date: 2012-11-18, 10:28PM EST
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


I love how long hair looks up in a banana clip. Drop me a line if you rock them. I’m an attractive, fit, professional, SWM. Please be intelligent, fit, and attractive.

 

Next: home repair in exchange for handjobs.  This guy actually doesn’t sound so loony-toons.  He seems earnest and sincere.  It wouldn’t be such a bad idea, except for the fact that I can’t imagine any woman, anywhere, taking him up on it.  Am I wrong?  Do you think this fellow has a chance…?  

HOME REPAIRS FOR WOMEN – 50 ( L I & QUEENS)


Date: 2012-11-19, 10:02AM EST


GOOD LOOKING PROFESSIONAL TRADESMAN OFFERS FREE HANDYMAN SERVICES IN YOUR HOME OR APARTMENT FOR WOMEN ONLY. THERE IS NO CHARGE FOR MY WORK BUT YOU MUST BE WILLING TO STROKE ME . I DO ALL TYPES OF SMALL REPAIRS ASSEMBLY FURNITURE INSTALL SHELVES HANG PICTURES OR INSTALL FLATSCREEN TELEVISIONS. THIS IS A GOOD OPPORTUNITY FOR WOMEN WHO NEED HELP AROUND THE HOUSE BY A SAFE DISCREET GENTLEMAN.

Finally: garden-variety exhibitionist perv.  For mysterious reasons, he felt compelled to list his profession in his weird sex ad, as if being a banker was in any way germane to the topic.  And check out that photo!  Girls don’t act that way of their own accord, you silly goose!  How can you see that as sexy, and not completely contrived?  Bet your ass those models laughed their heads off when they went out for a cigarette break after the photo shoot!

  Is that really what goes through your head all day?

Watch This Tall, Lean Exhibitionist Banker Show off – m4w – 26 (East Village)


Date: 2012-11-17, 11:48PM EST


Tall, lean investment banker here who LOVES to show off – imagine we meet, and I slowly strip and start playing with myself until I am rock hard. I tease you as I stroke back and forth, and after a great show I explode.

Anyone interested? Some pics below give you an idea of what I am looking for. Can host or travel.

Feelin’ Sleazy (plus a Creeper)

 What a week.

    I lost two weeks of work because of Hurricane Sandy, so I’ve been hustling trying to make up for it because I won’t be able to work when I visit the family for Thanksgiving, either.  

      I had two appointments lined up for tomorrow afternoon, but the Surgeon wants to see me tomorrow afternoon before I leave town, so I had to reschedule them.  It’s a pain.  I could have used the money.  

      I went to see Skyfall with the Mathematician on Friday.  It was both very entertaining and forgettable.  It’s only been two days and I can hardly remember any of it.  Daniel Craig is a fun James Bond, but I think he looks like a chimpanzee in a suit:

       I’m sorry.  For some reason, I’m just not motivate to write right now.  I have to do some stepwork with my Sponsor, bake brownies for the meeting, and then I have an appointment with a new guy tonight, which always makes me nervous.  I’m going to meet him in a coffee shop first and see if he creeps me out.  

      Then I have to see the Surgeon tomorrow afternoon.  He told me that he felt like I was avoiding him, which I have been.  I feel like I’ve been kinda sneaking around on him, which doesn’t exactly make me feel very good about myself.  The Mathematician is still paying me and I haven’t had sex with him, but let’s cut the horseshit here:  if the Surgeon knew about him, he wouldn’t approve.  So the situation isn’t quite sleazy yet, but it’s getting pretty close.  Or maybe it is sleazy and I’m just in denial.  In any event, I hate to feel sleazy.  

       Finally, a client I got a little too friendly with last summer and haven’t seen in a while is pulling some bizarre, sketchy shit for reasons I absolutely cannot explain.  Like, he emails me pretending to be someone he’s not, asking me questions and trying to set up an appointment.  It’s weird and a little creepy.  Why would someone do that?  

      Okay, I need to do something to cheer myself up!  Brownies!  Gym!  Sponsor!  

Miss Margo: Girlfriend…?

       So.  I have a situation here.  

       The Mathematician saw me three times this week and invited me to watch him play squash on Thursday.  

       This is getting way too intimate.  We spend a lot of time together.  He is always texting me and talking about his life and he does lovey-dovey shit like petting my hair and holding my hand.  He brings me little presents, like a Starbucks card, and he e-mails pictures of his pets.  Last night when he came to my apartment, he voluntarily changed two burned-out lightbulbs.

       After he left last night–we’d spent about three hours together–he texted me from the train and then sent me a link to this video.  Too funny!  I thought you would like it!  It reminded me of you! he says. 

       

      Well, I don’t drink beer, so it has to be the hawk.  I told him about my Vermont falconry vacation over a month ago.  Know what that means?  It means that the man is actually listening to the words that are coming out of my mouth, and not just waiting to get the sexual attention he’s paying me for.  

      I was describing it to a friend at the Studio: “I think he has a crush on me.”

      “Sounds like a lot more than a crush, Margo.  You think a client  invites you to a squash game where you are going to meet his friends?”  

      “My shrink says that he didn’t pressure me for sex when I spent the night because he’s repressed.”

      “He didn’t pressure you for sex because he respects you and he’s not an asshole.  And yeah, he’s probably a little scared.  He gets a hot chick like you in bed and he doesn’t want to blow it.  And it’s not like you’re some tease who is stringing him along for kicks and trying to hustle him for money.”        
       
      But here’s the thing: he’s still paying me.  

       I called up my friend, V., in Jersey.  She is also a domme and she’s older than me and has a lot of experience with men.  

      “If you like him, fire him as a client!  Tell him ‘Session’s over, math geek!’ and go have dinner and have sex with him!  You don’t need him as a client.  There’re always more clients.”

      “No man wants a dominatrix for a girlfriend!  No man is going to put up with that!” I wailed.

      “That’s how he met you.  If he holds it against you, it would be the very definition of hypocrisy.”

       (Here, gentle reader, do you know what just happened?  Literally, just now?  Mathematician texts me to ask if I want to go see the new James Bond film with him!  ARRRGH!)

      Look, I don’t know him well enough to know if things would work out between us.  But I do know that I’m attracted to him and I like him a lot.  I also know that, objectively, he has everything I want in a partner.  He does have kids, and that kinda sucks, but they’re mostly grown and don’t live with him, so it’s not a deal-breaker.  

      But…it’s the same damn conundrum I’ve been writing about since I started this blog: I cannot have a loving relationship with a healthy man and live the way that I do.  

      And I still owe the Surgeon money.  

     I have to change.  I’m going to have to do it sooner or later–why not sooner?  Because the way that I live is unsustainable.  

      Maybe things wouldn’t work out with the Mathematician.  Couldn’t I at least try?  

      “I think that I have a lot of love to give to someone,” I told my shrink.  

      “Yes.  But I think it is more important that you experience being loved.”

      That made me cry and I don’t know why.