Getting "Progressive"ly More Annoying

It's no big secret that I'm perturbed by the fact that I'm not a paid writer in some capacity. I'm not saying that I'm the greatest writer who ever walked the face of the Earth...heaven knows I'm not even in the stratosphere...but I don't think I'd end up in the "bottom 100", either.

And one of the things which always irks me - is the advertising industry. I watch commercials on television...I hear them on the radio...and I sit here in astonishing amazement over the wanton lack of creative ability...over and over and over again.

Surely some advertising firm out there knows these commercials are utter crap...and their ad execs have got to be laughing and laughing...all the way to the bank.

What absolute morons they must think the company heads are...to actually approve the inane pabulum they lay out before them...and gobble up.

And again I sit...knowing full well I can write better ad material, better scripts, better movies, better dialogue, better...well, "stuff" in general. Yes, I'm whining...get used to it...I do it well...and since I'm a year older as of the 15th, I'm entitled to be a bit curmudgeonish...hell, someone pays Andy Rooney to do just that! And, yes, I wish they'd pay me, too.

And, as if it weren't bad enough, the commercials have writing which makes my whole body cringe...they employ the most annoying people to get their message across. Case in point, as was pointed out to me today...the "Progressive Insurance" chick.

Now, I must have voiced my displeasure about this topic before here on my blog or in a comment...as, well, it's another tidbit which I've told to practically everyone: I abhor those commercials. I hate them with every fiber of my being...and I hate this "chick" with every neuron in that fiber.

I dislike her so much...I'm just going to refer to her as "chick"...and, yes, it's with derogatory contempt...unlike saying, "I'm a chick from Jersey"...just so those of you who think I think all "chicks" are thought of in a derisive manner...they aren't. Just this one.

Okay...and a few others...but that's not my point. My point is...she annoys the bejeebies out of me.

"But, Mariann, I like her."

You, good sir or madam, are whack.

Plus, you aren't me - and I'm the one writing this...you can voice your opinion by commenting...and then I will say something like, "Is, too" to your "Is not"...and we will go back and forth in a pointless "for/against Obamaesque" diatribe until finally...one of us ceases to do so.

First off, I know advertising which gets on your last nerve serves a purpose. If something is very irritating you tend to remember it...and what is the main point of advertising: getting your product remembered.

Now, you can get it remembered by having a catchy jingle, "I'd like to buy the world a Coke...and keep it company...", a catchy slogan, "Please don't squeeze the Charmin", a shocking slogan, "Nothing comes between me and my Calvins", a celebrity endorsement, "I'm Tiger Woods for Viagra" (oh, c'mon it COULD happen), or a myriad of other things...ranging from cutesy to bizarre. But the powers that be over at "Progressive Insurance" - decided glaring stark white interiors with an obnoxious raven-haired banshee was the way to go.

The contrast alone between the clinically white surroundings...which, ironically match her skin tone...and her dark hair and that candy-apple red gobhole of hers which never ceases to shut...well, makes me almost want to walk up to the television and adjust the brightness knob. But by the time it would take me to find it in the inner workings of my remote...the commercial is over. The only proof I have that I've seen it - is the reverse image colouration of retinal fatigue when I look on a blank white wall (green...where did green come from?) and the droning on and on of her grating voice piercing deep into my cerebellum or cortex...or wherever something that annoying goes to when it burns into your brain...so you can conjure images of it back up again when you need a trigger for that "fight or flight" reaction one day.

Oh...geez...can you tell that commercial leaves a bad taste in my mouth? And I think that taste is bile.

Furthermore, I think some watchdog site should investigate...because if "Progressive Insurance" is also the same entity that sells "Bumpits"...well, things like this should not be allowed to happen in these United States.

And people thought Billy Mays was annoying...

...but, hey, for the right amount of cash, I'd be more than willing to come up with the next odious script for her to read.

(This blog was specifically written in response to a comment on my last blog at the Montgomery Advertiser...someone asked if I was ever going to get around to do the "Progressive Insurance" blog...so I did.)

Things Are Going From Bad to Worst...

Well, it's been a very bad couple weeks in the entertainment industry...Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, and now Billy Mays. Very sad indeed.

So, I thought a little levity might be in order. But, be forewarned...these are really bad. In fact, they are amongst the worst out there...and therein lies the rub: they are SUPPOSED to be.

Imagine sitting at your desk in school when you were young...and the teacher just told you to write a story about summer vacation. If you were like me...it was an exercise in futility, imagination, and worst of all...getting it all started. The dreaded opening sentence. It all hinged on that. Once you got your story started...it usually came easier after. But...oh...that "starting off" point.

There's a myriad of ways to start off any story. Now, granted, first grade English class compositions probably weren't exactly going to garner you any movie deals. The number of screenwriters who struck it big at seven...well, you can probably count them on any cartoon character's hand (bear in mind...cartoon characters typically only have four fingers...or, three fingers and a thumb, if you prefer). In other words...there probably aren't many. But even at the tender age of seven...you came to realize just how detrimental the wording of that opening line is...and how hard it is to just...well...start...period.

And the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest capitalizes on just that. Period. Yes, up until that dreaded period...you can string words together any way you like...all forms of time-honoured punctuation is accepted...except the period. Once you place that dot at the end. That's it. That's all folks...that's all you get...that's all she (or he) wrote.

So, Professor of English, Scott Rice, started this contest way back in 1982 - as a lesson of sorts I figure...highlighting the pros and cons of opening sentence structure. It goes something like this:

Good: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." -- Opening line to A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens.

Bad: "Me and Mommy and Daddy went to Disneyworld and we rode the rides and then we got popcorn and then my brother, Timmy, threw up, and the lady had to clean it, and then we went back to our room." -- Opening line reminiscent of countless children's' essays (around the world) the first day of school.

Worst: "It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness." -- Opening line by Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, Paul Clifford.

Do you see where this is headed?

Well, perhaps Professor Rice didn't either...but from a small beginning with, I believe, three whole entries...from his English class the first year...to what it has become: A literary legend. To win this prize is [almost] akin to the Nobel Prize, the Pulitzer AND the Oscar...rolled into one. It has ballooned into the juggernaut that it is now.

And how do I know this?

I won it back in 2003...but you can read all about that in a blog I wrote back in 2006.

But back to the winner at hand, David McKenzie, of Federal Way, Washington, who won with this flowing refuse of writing:

"Folks say that if you listen real close at the height of the full moon, when the wind is blowin' off Nantucket Sound from the nor' east and the dogs are howlin' for no earthly reason, you can hear the awful screams of the crew of the "Ellie May," a sturdy whaler Captained by John McTavish; for it was on just such a night when the rum was flowin' and, Davey Jones be damned, big John brought his men on deck for the first of several screaming contests."

Bravo, David. Bravo, everyone else who won sub-categories and got mentioned...but most of all, bravo, Professor Scott Rice...for your monumental contribution to [would-be] writers everywhere.