Being a new journalism major this semester, I'm beginning to understand the things about media that I do and do not like. One thing that I don't like, that I probably could have guessed about before I ever considered a major in journalism, is TV advertising.
I don't hate the people who do it'not at all. I may myself have to do it one day.
It's just a sad fact that commercials came in response to humans' inability to behave rationally. The same failure is behind such other disasters as the Edsel, USA Today, Starbucks, Jesse Helms and Creed. I just hate that our shortcomings allow these things to exist.
And more so, I hate that sometimes ads don't bother to pay even a modicum of attention to logic.
I saw a Gatorade commercial last year that particularly tried my patience. It involved athletes in motion, in various logo-less uniforms, sweating out beads of iridescent fluid (presumably Gatorade). The voice-over was the alarming part of the ad. It stated, simply and seriously, something like, \You can't predict dehydration.""
It was one of those moments when you aren't sure if the TV is making fun of itself, or if it has actually devolved that far. It's like watching ""Larry King Live"" and thinking Larry's just a hyper-advanced satirical robot sent from the future to make fun of idiot talk show hosts.
Dehydration, for Pete's sake, is the one thing you can predict. Here, I'll give you two scenarios:
Scenario No. 1: You are exercising. It is hot. You have had no fluids.
Scenario No. 2: You are not exercising. It is not hot. You have drunk fluids.
If you can't figure out which situation will dehydrate you, go get some Gatorade, because I'm coming over to make you put on a gorilla suit and carry me on your back.
This is Darwin's world, and if you don't understand dehydration, nature isn't going to select you, bud.
I'm not sure why I'm still stewing about ads, since I figured them out a long time ago.
When I was four, my mom took my brother and me to our local Pizza Pit to be in a TV commercial.
Ideally, the producer would ask each child ""What's you favorite kind of Pizza?"" and the child would shriek ""PIZZA PIT"" with all the self-restraint and dignity of the Cocoa Puffs Bird. Notice I said ""ideally.""
That's just how it went until it came my turn to testify.
""What's your favorite kind of Pizza?"" the man asked, unaware that I had spent all of my rehearsal time engaged in other business.
I answered him in the only way that seemed fit: A resounding ""TOMBSTONE!"" Certainly, this was an error on my part, but there was real logic in my answer.
I liked Tombstone Pizza better. It wasn't so much that Tombstone Pizzas were better than Pizza Pit's, but that I enjoyed eating Tombstone with my family, in the comfort of my own home, far away from sweater vested local TV producers.
At four, my answer, even if it was derived from childish stupidity, was better than the one they gave me because I believed in it. That's how you fool the advertisers.
You just have to listen to the part of you that hasn't been conditioned to believe advertising. It's the logical, thinking part ad execs try to kill before you turn five. That part knows what it likes; you just have to know when to let it talk.
