Posts Tagged ‘advertising

22
May
25

Good Music Is Doomed to Drug Ads?

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Concerns and Alerts and Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

***

We have to stop the drug ads, especially the ones with familiar songs turned into craptacular jingles. If we don’t stop them, all good music is going to be eliminated from our minds, from our pleasure centers. We will cease to know good vibes if we let drug companies turn our treasured songs into pitch trash.

There. I said it. Now, get on with your lives, like the actors in those commercials, people who are definitely not taking pills.

‘Stupid drug ads. Go take your own damn pill and disappear.

14
Aug
24

The World DID End in 2012, as Told Aug. 14, 2024 Edition

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Concerns and Alerts and Uncategorized
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****

And, I’m a lone, confused survivor, getting by in the hot mess that is unfolding. I feel like Sarah Connor in those Terminator movies and the spinoff TV series. Play the drums and hand me my assault rifle, with a grenade launcher and flamethrower. Let me put on my aviator sunglasses. Hasta la vista, humanity.

What is happening here?

It really sounds like the end of the world described in the Bible. Fires and conflicts everywhere. Riots in the streets. Mass assaults no one seems able to prevent. Political leadership in question and doubt.

On that note, let me talk about voting in the USA. No, there won’t be any national secrets unleashed, you hackers out there. I’m just talking about the basic system at hand…and only the basics of it. Voting is gradually making less and less sense. And, jokes are being made about uneducated voters. Lately, I’d say all voters who don’t interview the candidates themselves are uneducated. And, voting seems very unintelligent in more ways than one.

Recently, a “primary” vote was cast/called for which limited voters to two choices, even though the ballots had multiple choices on them.

Now, unless I’ve just walked into a crazy dimension where the old rules don’t apply and madness rules, a primary has always been a vote, before the final vote cycle, in which parties (Democratic and Republican) filtered out the candidates that were not popular for each position. You had the complex task of learning about every candidate (or just wildly picking…or basing your decisions upon which party you think has more sense, thus pegging the other party as the enemy, even though both parties have to somehow work together to include everybody in a UNITED country). Then you had to pick which candidate you favored for each job category. So, maybe you like this one blue guy for senator and this one red gal for district leader in that one part of town. You broke down the options before the final vote, which typically happens in November. There have also been primaries for each party, so you could breathe a little easier and only pick your favorites (or least hated, if you are so inclined to favor only one party/side) from each side before deciding who gets the final votes.

Apparently, this recent primary eliminated most of the “confusion” and difficulty by giving voters, essentially, one choice. [Just like my family only gives me one choice when attempting to have a discussion; either I agree with what they are thrusting in my face or they ignore an badger me.]

There were multiple items and people to vote for on both the Democratic and Republican side. But, there was a hitch, a trick. And, if you didn’t listen, your vote did nothing. The trick was you had to pick all blue or all red choices; no mixing. Strangely, while you could go down the page and pick out individuals you liked (or hated less than others), you were limited to one color, one side; and if you didn’t like someone on that one color’s side…well, tough.

Just push one button, and you’re done (but look at all of the details you don’t want to read because their are choices you are making with that one choice which you cannot alter if you are a true believer of democracy and would like to be fair to both parties). And, by that, I mean there could be good candidates in both parties, people who could work the two sides together in harmony…but voting is ruling that kind of thinking out. You either are blue or red. [There is no Pokémon-game-version mixing here; no trading version exclusives.]

Well, that sounds as simple as you can get, but where is the fairness to both sides? And, how can choosing one option, one side, one color, also impact other decisions that affect vital rule-setting documents? [Talk about some mad villain’s plot to dangle the hero over a dooming device. Will you the voter survive this dastardly scheme or will you face The End?]

Not only are the candidate choices limited to a pick of color, but, apparently, there is an inclusion about how the very US Constitution could be altered, like a sneaky clause by the line you sign on a contract with some evil entity after your soul. So, pick what party you favor…and decide your constitution’s fate, as well?

[This reminds me of something I experienced on a rare cruise I took. There was a certain expectation about tipping which was discussed prior to the trip, but there was, later, a mandated document that listed other expectations of tips. I didn’t have much choice but also didn’t have much money to just start passing around like I had a cigar in my mouth and a ten-gallon cowboy hat on my rich-Texan head. Suffice to say, I was a bit irate, not knowing the document mandate was going to appear in my room like a silent threat from the maid.]

I guess we have come to a time in history when voting is more hazardous than smoking and drinking and when both sides might be holding a gun to the head of the nation’s rulebook. That’s insane. So much talk about hacking and rigged elections; how does anyone feel sensible placing a vote? And, they have been doing far more pushing for multiple votes, too. Primaries used to be sort of slighted in favor of the final votes. But, now, they’re finding new ways to jab them at people and make threatening comments about the fate of the country.

[I feel like every vote includes the leader of some terrorist army talking in a monotone voice on TV; he’s making a mandate for all of the USA to hand over their assets unless they submit to a decision he is making. That or it’s John Cleese in the movie Rat Race, betting on what moves I make, along with a few dozen other wealthy jerks.]

So, there’s this question. If I don’t vote, what kind of citizen am I? And, if I do vote, am I just going along with a hazardous scheme, playing a tiny part in some madman’s game? Is voting now Jumanji or die?

Let me take a step back and talk about something I think is important for voting: being educated before you vote.

Well, only true extroverts like seeing politicians show up at their door (because they can’t get enough socializing). So, I guess politicians aren’t doing that as much as they used to, now that more people are turning introverted and anti-social, relying on radiating devices in their hands to do everything for them, which is why we are doing the crazy stuff like calling the devices smart and the voters stupid.

The internet is dismissed and questioned. Fake news is a popular term. You can’t trust the internet, they say. Well, if everyone’s being drawn to it like a bug to the flame, what sense does this make? It does not make sense.

Newspapers are now dinosaur fossils, not the flags people used to raise overhead and flash some headline about what’s happening in the world. [How many ancient photographs have I seen of people holding up newpapers to display big, bold era-shifting headlines?] Online newspapers are not papers…they’re ad-injected, seemingly limited pockets of cyberspace which cannot be held, folded or flapped and may require you to deal with cookies and pop-ups and frustrating searches to get the whole stories, which are not as satisfying as the old ones were (to me), even though I’m not much of a reader.

So, we’re not entertaining people at our door (while, instead, dealing with porch pirates–yar) and we’re glued to the internet but not believing what we supposedly need to read, instead mindlessly scrolling for bits of entertainment and trends to follow. Good talk. Communication fail. People stop socializing; that’s a good sign…not.

Celebrities are pitching everything under the sun, even when they seem to be sounding like they are supporting humankind. Nice try, artificially generated and highly filtered aging faces we know. But, I don’t think I’ve seen any celebrities (from movies and TV) pitching for political candidates…yet. I just hope we’re not voting for an AI or Amazon or Tesla or Disney or Mr. Monopoly takeover.

Now that you’re educated…sort of…you have to know where and how to vote. Unfortunately, this year, there’s added confusion to that little detail. They call it redistricting, or the new mapping of where certain residents must vote. So, imagine playing a game of Twister while trying to decide the fate of your government. Yep. Imagine going to vote and finding yourself at the wrong pit stop. Oops. Now, you’re out of time, too. Rats. And, you made these changes in an important election year. Way to go.

Will there be any confusion counting ballots? Of course there will. You made the process a three-ring circus, including a crass lion and a laughing (or waltzing) hyena. Spare me the daily reports of recounts and candidates arguing how the contest was hacked and/or rigged. Just blame Chad…not the country, that guy over there.

[I find myself drifting back to a previous election in which “chads” were all the rage for weeks upon weeks of news coverage. Those were the days…when I wanted to puke my guts out and scream at the stars.]

And, breathe.

Even if the system has been turned into a hot mess…and even if the impending decision seems easy, because Option T sounds more hazardous than Option K…I think voting has become a game of Three-Card Monty. You see two sides of the situation (and both are colored a certain way to evoke response rather than be absolutely honest and thorough), but there’s a third element you seem to perpetually miss which will take you by surprise once it’s in power. So, Option T puts on a good show to get you riled up, and Option K offers a fire extinguisher in your time of need. But, what about that card still sitting face-down?

As Sarah Connors had to cope, I am thinking I cannot change or impact the vote, even if I try. So, perhaps, no matter the decision, I just have to stay armed and ready to fight for myself, come what may (Moulin Rouge). You want my vote? Come and get me. I wouldn’t want to be guilty of voting for a nuclear bomb or “the machine.”

So…yea…I think the Mayans were right. The world DID end in 2012. At least, the world as I knew it. And, I’m not fine with that, REM. Population–BOOM!

23
May
24

Something Is Wrong With You If You Watch (Broadcast) TV.

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Uncategorized
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You’re watching television? What’s wrong with you?

There has to be something wrong. People without problems don’t watch TV. They have active, working, social lives. They are out there, in that big scary world, living…well, life.

But, you are not. You are watching TV. Or, worse, you are at WordPress reading a post on a “free player’s” blog. Something is definitely wrong with you. Maybe you have AIDS or shingles or some kind of nagging depression that can only be worsened by the side-effects of medication that will keep you up at night with other thoughts than the ones currently troubling you, provided your genitals don’t decompose or turn a different color shortly before you die. Maybe you are due to appear in parent court, expecting someone to slap you with charges for neglect. Maybe you are a helpless drunk who needs a lawyer, a lawyer who cannot get enough of himself until he treats you to images of puppies and kittens. Something is definitely wrong with you. And, if it’s not health-related, then you’re probably just old enough to remember what shows like The Benny Hill Show^^ and Green Acres (shows that probably cost nothing to air because the casts are either dead or on life support) are.

^^I recall my grandmother, who was already at least seventy years old, at the time, enjoying Benny Hill when I was a kid. That’s how old this modern broadcast television is. They could bring back shows that I actually enjoyed as a kid. But, instead, they air shows that made little sense to me then, make little sense to me now and make me feel older than my grandparents, who are now all deceased.

[Try chewing a piece of gum until it loses its flavor, saving it for sixty years and then chewing it, again. That’s what modern television (and, sadly, most of the recent films remaking and milking old franchises just with new heaps of Hemsworth and whatever actress we can grab from the latest satellite-TV craze) has become, worn out ABC gum. Now, I guess, it’s more “hip” to PAY for your canned laughter and wannabe-legendary-actor-injected crap with scripts written on drug trips, when it used to be so, so carefree and fed with ads for all sorts of silly merchandise and food-like products. It’s cool to go see a movie that’s recycled plot infused with faces I “follow” and swoon over, just because. Just look at how many celebrities, with that term becoming more and more loose by definition as the years fly by, are in this silly family-targeted summer film. They are known for doing more unsettling adult films, but now they can show something to their grandkids. I laugh at this cartoon because the main voice actor was in something that was popular, once, and I am totally high…because I am shamed by my health and supposed to be taking one of the drugs advertised during this horrible show.]

Why do I say this?…more than once. Well, if you do dare to watch “free” TV, lately, and not on some “binge” in which you can skip commercials, I’d say 95 to 99 percent of the ads you may be forced to sit through are related to some kind of mental, medical or physical problem. The rest are repeating fast food and pizza ads just to drive you off the cliff of sanity into a food coma. You might as well call the EMTs and tell them to pick up a large soda on the way over to your home.

Television used to sadly be a friend of mine, when I was a kid. Now, it’s just sad. And, when I find myself trying to watch anything on TV, I feel the urge to vomit and claw at my skin, as if television has become the torment of lost souls in some flaming, desolate underworld where people push boulders up slopes to nowhere.

No longer is television what you watch with the family** in a shared room. It’s what you download or look up online to binge to your heart’s content, provided you have the keys to the proper “channel.” No longer can you flip through channels to find something you like. Now, just about every channel has some crap on it, overlapping with other crap. And, the good pickings are slim. Most of what is considered entertainment seems more like forced trends for watercooler discussions. Pretty soon, you’re sucking on a digital feeding tube just to get a tiny buzz and ask the vegetable next to you if they’re getting anything out of their “feed.”

**What is family? Do you know? If you do, you’re not watching TV; you’re in a happier place with people who live in different parts of the world and come together for reunions at tropical resorts. Otherwise, you don’t talk to your family; you hardly know or value them. And, quite likely, no one is bailing you out of trouble unless forced to do so. Most likely, if you’re reading this, you live in a social media bubble; family is a foreign language.

So, if you are able to avoid all of that, you must be living the life and not reading this post of mine. I can only imagine what that is like.

Now, in the time it took you to read what I just wrote, I saved you maybe thirty seconds to three minutes of commercial crapper time. You’re welcome. Enjoy those brain cells.

13
Oct
23

WHAT IS THIS AMAZON.COM SHAT?!! LINKING TO MY BLOG?!

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Concerns and Alerts
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

***

Okay.  It’s one thing to get people “following” my blog who run businesses of their own and have shady accounts with smiling faces snatched from free photo spaces for profile images, to look “legit.”  These “businesses” claim to be following blogs to get little links at the bottom of their web pages, some sort of content supplying they need to do for some ad-space reason?  I don’t know.

It’s a whole other thing for some Amazon.com source to start flooding my blog with “follows” from people with pictures and links that merely suck you into sale pages for whatever they are selling.  I don’t think the links even correspond to the people in the profile photos.  Again, they are just photos taken from some free space online to represent people of some kind.

WordPress!

Get it together, or I am pulling the plug on this blog.  And, you can take your 33 percent of the internet to the MySpace graveyard!!  And, I feel sorry for anyone else who is going through this crap.  Probably because we are not paying to use our space and get “premium” support.  Whatever.

Are you going to come out and say it?  Are you?  Are we saying it?  Are we saying the age of free internet anything is over?  It’s all paid and basic labeled premium, while the real premium is some inside-trading secret for those with more resources and status?  Just say it then.

Ya know.  Not everyone online is running a business out of their spare room.  Not everyone has an Etsy shop or boutique.  Not everyone has sold their soul to the big merch’ monopoly of this world.  SOME OF US blog for more carefree, personal reasons.  And, if we have to pay to do that, to share our thoughts and stories from home, well, I think we can find better ways to use that energy and thought process.  [Suddenly, a paper journal doesn’t sound so lame…even if it’s just screaming into a pillow instead of group therapy.]  And, obviously, charity is an endangered species, along with human kindness.  Though, freebies sure find their way to get around, often to those who don’t care or need them.  And, the landfills aren’t getting any thinner.

Is this just one more voice in the world telling me I am wasting my time here?  No, not here, son.  You can’t be your creative self here.  It’s not the place or time.  It’s sell or be sold.

To borrow a page from a followed blogger’s book, insanity bites.  There.  I said it.

This is starting to peeve me off.

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18
Aug
23

One-Trick Ad Ponies; Annoying, Repetitive Ads Kill Brain Cells and Interest in Products and Services

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

***

I know times are tough, writers are on strike (still?) and technology is bent on skipping commercials. But, advertisers need to step up out of their slumps and get back to diversifying better than I do in certain areas. In short, commercials, lately, are plaaaaayed out! They’re tired. They’re annoyingly repetitive at every commercial break!

Considering how few ads feature products other than experimental drugs with countless side effects, I should be grateful. But, I’m not. Few ads are entertaining and/or helpful sales tools. Actually, I don’t think any commercials other than pizza and iced coffee ads have any effect on me. Taco Bell ads are usually gross, getting closeups of people’s nose hairs as they bite oozing foods. Arby’s ads are about as dry as their roast-beef sandwiches without a heap of sauce (and not that horrid horseradish they give away). I could go on…but I won’t.

What sparked this post was the repetition of allergy relief ads. These companies used to put out at least two or three variations of the same sales pitches. Instead, now, I see the same one, over and over and over…and over and over and over again. It’s insane. You’re making me hate Christmas music, you damn “most wonderful time of the year” crap-shooters! And, I am extremely sick of seeing the older scooter rider who can’t keep his hand to himself before touching the token gay Asian man’s dog. I’m sick of it!
And, please replace the flip-phone group of young women who have horrid hairstyles and taste in jewelry, as you get extreme closeups and play chilling music. While you’re at it, hand a bomb to the guy in the pink suit who flaunts his accent and jumps out from behind a dummy made of ropes. If you don’t, I will destroy him. That ad, anyway…unless you have something better than cut-rate protection to stop mayhem, like me. [See what I did there?]

Don’t get me started on World Cup 2023 ads.  You don’t want to stoke my current anger for Megan Rapinoe and her extremely, obnoxiously overplayed ad for some cellphone with amazing selfie-taking powers.  Can we see her on the treadmill, one more time?  I didn’t know she used a treadmill.  Let’s roll the treadmill footage, again.  Can she score her only penalty kick at the most crucial moment?  Nope.  Enjoy retirement!  Say hi to the girlfriend for me.  [Pardon my bitter tone, but excessive advertising and lacking performance…just…feel…wrong.]

EHem.

Rant complete.

Carry on…making a variety of ads, not replaying one every ten minutes!! Broadcast TV is not YouTube. Not everyone has DVRs and cable TV with skipping technology. [I’m a TV dinosaur from the Jurassic period.]

 

18
Aug
23

Women’s World Cup (Soccer) 2023; Why Do My Favorites Keep Losing?!

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

*****

So, I’ve been sucked into another World Cup.  I watched the men’s whenever that last aired…last summer?  I was excited by the slick animation someone made for Team USA…and I wish someone could point me to it!  I want a link, a copy, something!  It was very cool, very Marvel’s Avengers.  It rocked.  But…I don’t think the USA rocked…did they?  I forget, already.  [I could look it up.  Sure.  But, not right now.]

Back on point…

Now, it’s the women’s turn.  And, while I previously slighted the lovely Alexandra Morgan, from Team USA, I wish to amend that, now.  Miss Morgan, you are, by far, the prettiest member of your team.  And, it’s unfortunate you did not get to shine, this tournament.

But…to be fair…none of your team really achieved much…did they?  ‘Eliminated so early.  Why?

I have a theory.  Actually, I have two.

  1.  Advertising kills luck.  Your team had SO many commercials, especially retiring Megan R., that you looked boastful, cocky and foolish.  Alexandra, however, you had at least one touching ad which spoke to me.  But, the other ads…not necessary.  Silly.  I really think it’s not smart to advertise before you prove yourselves.  Win, then gloat or show off.  Don’t pitch invincibility and then fail; that crushes dreams.
  2.  Some cosmic force is out to upset me!!  I have had the worst luck with television and rooting for people I suddenly feel for, lately.  And, in this World Cup, every time I stay up late to watch a game, the team I want to win LOSES.  When I cannot stay up to watch, the team I want to win LOSES.  [So, maybe I’m not cursed?  Or, is it my choices that are cursed?  By rooting for a team, I curse them?]  I think the only decent game I saw was Japan beating somebody I already forgot…and, man, were they fierce players!  But, then, I couldn’t watch the following game…and Japan lost!  I was stunned, to say the least.

However…

As with the men’s World Cup, the USA women had one stellar animated ad!…for Megan Rapinoe, who quickly got on my nerves with her “heart-felt” training and selfie ad; you know the one.  But, the animated ad…the one that looks like an awesome cartoon from the 1980s, the one that screams Silverhawks….THAT is an amazing tribute (for someone who failed to impress!)!  And, I want a link, a copy…you know the drill.  Hook me up, readers!  It’s just so slick.  I want to contact who made it and work with them.  Urgh!  Just so dazzling and slick.

[As a consolation prize to seeing USA fall so quickly, I started looking at other teams and picking out who has the prettiest players.  More on that, later, maybe.]

14
Feb
23

Anyone Wanna Talk About the Latest Super Bowl?

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Uncategorized
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***

What number Super Bowl was this? I don’t really care. And, if you’re feeling like me, after this latest game, you’d say the same.

This is my personal outlook on the latest Super Bowl, between the Kansas City Chiefs and the Philadelphia Eagles. If you didn’t have a cluster of friends beside you during the game and your share of commentary, this review is for you, you anti-social and/or introverted folks. I need to vent. So, here I go.

It fell flat. All of it. It fell flat, like a lousy soda, like a lame beer. There was no call for champagne. No bubbly.

Why?

1) Advertising. Super Bowl commercials are often legendary. This year? I think I enjoyed movie trailers more than most of the ads. Oh, like last year, there were a few chuckles. The refrigerator gags were like weak attempts at knock-knock jokes that looked funny but didn’t really earn a laugh. [Oh. There’s so-in-so; this is supposed to be funny. So, why am I not laughing?] But, every time I saw someone post a QR code, I wanted to hurl and scream. Is that the future of advertising? QR codes to steer you somewhere else, away from the TV? Go on telling me how expensive Super Bowl ads are. Whatever. I’ll just play the tiny violin. You are BS. This year’s commercials fell flat. I fell for the hype and was disappointed. Who’s the parrot? Who gives a crap. I don’t know enough sports players to get excited when I see one come out of a costume. I don’t care who they are.

Yay for women getting to knock themselves as senseless as the men in sports. And, yay for African Americans in advertising. Meh.

2) The ever-so-anticipated Rihanna half-time show. Again. Hype. The reality? It went flat. It was a dazzling display of suspended cellphones and waaaay too many people dressed in the same white duds, moving in what seemed like perfect coordination. And, there were pointless fireworks thrown in to generate cheap oohs and aahs. Lame sauce.

I adore Rihanna. But, her outfit was tacky and blinding. It wasn’t anything like the one they kept showing her in before the show, the fuzzy green thing with her hair done up like a mess of vines in the air. Where was that? Oh. She was pregnant…again? I didn’t even notice. On my TV, all I saw was a blinding wash of reddish pink. News reports say she flashed her baby bump. ‘Guess I missed that.

No collaboration? Well, that would be fine if she did at least one outfit change or had bands of back-up dancers with various colors/costumes. But, no. None of that. Just a straight-up, cut-short concert with a Target or T-Mobile color scheme. Psh. Weak. Disappointing. ‘Not a halftime show but a CD sampler for some streaming service; if you like what you hear, scan the QR code to buy digital copies (not hard copies) of her tracks. I thought, for a moment, she was performing in a virtual stadium/studio, projecting images over the stadium for TV viewers (and on screens for those in the stadium).

3) A tie game that ends on a shady technicality. There was no pride in that State-Farm win. The Chiefs were handed the trophy in a stadium sponsored by the insurance company with their quarterback in the pocket of wealthy men. This was not a game won at the last second. This was not a game won with effort. It was won by a bad call followed by the draining of the clock and an easy field goal. Strategy? Sure. Whoever screwed the Eagles for calling holding on a guy who just grazed the back of a Chief. That was enough to shut the Eagles down, ay? Bull crap.

So, enjoy your stolen victory, ya ‘Homes. You’re not my ‘Homes, right now. I’m sore, to be honest. I’m not proud of your win, Chiefs. You could have done better. You easily could have gotten one more touchdown and let the Eagles have a shot at something, even if it meant overtime. But, to win on a bad call. That’s just wrong.

I guess State Farm really was there to ensure the Chiefs won…in their stadium…with billionaires in attendance. Sniff-sniff. ‘Smells like the Cowboys dynasty to me; all diamonds and cash flow, without a trace of human decency.

[I realize the Chiefs couldn’t exactly reverse the penalty to give the Eagles a chance. But, some jerk pushed that button to get the call. And, I have a baseball bat waiting for him.]

03
Feb
23

Troop Support and My Family’s Obsession with Perfection

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

***

I’ve got a few axes to grind, so to speak, if that’s the right old choice of phrase. I’ve got bones to pick…issues…with certain matters that keep upsetting my life, including my TV time.

First on the list should be my own family…but I’ve already pecked at that one a few times in previous posts.

So, let’s start with “supporting the troops” who “gave so much for our freedom.”

I’ve been over this, before. I understand the hardships many troops must face. I also suspect some troops do just fine and become merchants of war surplus or go back to school and get those golden degrees that open the world to them. I’m sure some medical officers secretly become makers of modern pills that they then give to hired foot soldiers to distribute to lab specimens, aka low-income humans. But, countless commercials and other appearances suggest the majority of U.S. troops are in bad shape, suffering and in desperate need of money from everyone else. They’re not making a concentrated effort to reach out to people with actual gold mines of resources; they’re slapping every lowly, common TV viewer in the face with sad stories and pleas for money. I highly doubt people who could easily donate those funds are watching the commercials. I seriously doubt it. So, instead, people “getting by” are subject to the advertising much the way they are likely subject to sub-standard health care.

I also see it like this. Those troops sign contracts to submit themselves to the service of their country. That’s basically donating your body and soul to science. You signed your death warrant. Now, you somehow survive whatever horror you didn’t expect to face and survive, only to come back in less than fully functional condition, mentally and physically.

[If you donate a kidney, you don’t go around begging for a new one. YOU donated YOUR kidney. And, if you sign a slip that says you’re donating your body to science (when you die)…but you somehow come back from the dead to go on living as some sort of incomplete undead freak of nature, you don’t reach out to the public for brain or other body-part donations.]

And, some organization, which may not even be legitimate or legal and fair in all aspects, is doing the work of getting money…supposedly…for you broken soldiers. [Again, why aren’t these agents of mercy addressing wealthy individuals and organizations that probably contribute to the wars/conflicts, either intentionally or consequentially. [In case the meaning behind those words eludes you, that means people who contribute to either causing/starting a war/conflict or do business as a result of the war/conflict. Some people/businesses supply the troops going into a conflict. Others provide goods/services as part of the “clean-up” period after the conflict is supposedly resolved.]

So…

Support the troops? Get off my TV and go find those war enthusiasts and materialistic folks who contribute to and/or profit from your choice of sacrifice. I don’t think anyone’s freedom is dependent upon constant warfare. And, if it does, then we all deserve to get blown off this messed up planet because too many idiots want to fight over land we need to share, not claim and dominate as countless past generations have tried and wasted their time pursuing.

Don’t peck at my skull with your sad stories. Like any charity, you could take all my money and leave me worse off than you’ll likely ever be, because I’m sure many if not most of you have better families who could, at least, offer emotional support. And, if not, well, then, no offense, but you probably wanted to die in battle, with honor. The resources my poor ass could afford won’t replace the emotional support you (and I) direly need.

Now, I am sure there’s something else to address here, but I cannot think of it at the moment. So, I’ll go back to snarling at my own family.

Perfectionism. My family is a walking disaster waiting to happen because of, in part, perfectionism. It’s a key contributor to excess stress, distress, panic, etc. My family, most of them, anyway, refuse to give it up. I don’t know who started the hot mess, but I know my parents have been a blazing force of excess distress which has impacted me and my siblings, crippling us to some degree.

Currently, as it crops up just about every winter, it’s snow that divides us. Every year, when the worst of winter sets in, the cold and snow sap patience and understanding like a vampire draining a body. It’s vital to clear the snow away from the home to make safe walking paths and prevent roof/property damage (from freezing and melting cycles which can really tear a building apart, over time). But, no one says you have to scrape every damn inch of snow off of every surface until it looks as clean as it would in springtime! And, you don’t have to look down at a perfectly chiseled wall of snow at the edge of your property, either. And, if you lack upper-body strength and think there may be another way to attack a mound of snow in your way, you shouldn’t have to tackle the task the way someone else insists is better, when it just seems harder on the body and a waste of gas (if you use a snowblower).

[On the matter of snowblowers, you need to invest in and maintain a good one to be effective. But, in my family, it’s too easy to either spend a fortune and wreck something good or spend too little and struggle with a failing machine every year. Both paths lead to madness. And, madness, it seems, defines the “majority” of my family (the “louder” members, anyway). I’ve never been good with maintenance, for various reasons; so I tend to favor relying on physical ability, rather than any machine. If I cannot clear the snow, I’m likely to work around it (or submit) rather than worry about the cost factors and maintaining a machine. Also, even if I did invest in a machine, other members of my family have a horrible way of getting into my business and making personal property a source of unnecessary distress; they’re like flies on rotting meat, some days! ‘Just gotta find something to attack and fuss about. And, here I am, fussing about them.]

But, that’s just MY opinion, which holds no water (ha) with the more outspoken and flaunting members of the family. Softspoken, moderate folks, like myself, just get trampled, every year. So, I tend to learn very little, achieve very little and go away feeling not so good. Kind of like supporting the troops, if I cannot wrap my head around the matter and contribute, I’ll just have to accept the consequences, whatever they may be. In this case, if my perfection-seeking family members kill themselves from laboring too hard, I have to live with the loss…which may sound harsh. But, that’s just reality. I cannot save every member who decides good isn’t enough. I cannot even save one because all refuse to compromise. We’re a hard-beaked lot, apparently.

Just when I thought it was just my branch, I find other relatives experiencing similar mental and emotional difficulties. It’s not just me or my siblings or my parents…it’s the whole damn family tree! It’s riddled with this torment like a tree with rotting leaves still on the branches. It’s a disease, an ailment like blood pressure. And, rather than reaching out to others for support, the worst of the lot would rather go down in their own flames; I cannot even seem to reach out, myself, without encountering difficulty. I’m trying to stay connected and help others (and myself), and I’m being “roadblocked.”

Sometimes, it’s a stupid eight-year family feud that gets in the way of everything; sometimes, certain members of the family refuse to meet/speak with each other for nearly a decade just because they had a difference of opinion. Who needs the on-going quarrels between political parties when I have my own divided people?

I grew up to become a suicidal perfectionist, thanks to my naive and in-denial parents. And, the only way I could save my own life–because they were doing a horrible job of that–was to stop being perfect, to accept less-than and do less work than maybe some would like. It’s not being lazy or incompetent. It’s more like what Scrooge McDuck says in the cartoon series Duck Tales; work smarter, not harder. I am not entirely opposed to hard or long hours of work/labor. [If I see the work is for a good reason/cause, am working with people I can trust and feel up to the task, I’m all in and might work until I collapse or my eyes cannot see clearly any longer (because they’re bone dry).] But, I’d rather do what I feel is only necessary to achieve a reasonable goal/purpose than toil away for perfection until my body collapses under me. I know my limits. I know when I’m starting to falter. And, if whoever I am working with cannot cope with or understand that, they can screw themselves into the grave.

But, that’s too often too easy to say. I cannot just walk away from some work/projects because that comes with threats and penalties. I could lose my job. I could lose sleep, food and the liberties to cleanse myself just because I reach an impass with family (or a boss/coworker). And, that’s just one case in which life sucks, when I feel I, as usual, it seems, with me, have no control over my life. So, when people wonder why I struggle with making decisions…I’d like to confess this. It’s because too often I don’t seem to have a say. Or, my opinion is unwanted, not respected and overthrown by a “higher authority.” So, when am I supposed to feel in control of and direct myself to do anything other than maybe pick a place to rest or pee?

I start to wonder about the point, the value, of life. And, if I can manage it, I vow to die making peace with nature, not some man-made organization or financially-driven institution, not the IRS or any other tax collector. I don’t want to die feeling I am in financial debt to any file-collecting monster; nor do I want to die from working my body too hard just to fall short of pleasing some mad individual who is never satisfied and too quick to gather and replace slaves. I will not be laying my life down to military service unless I am dying right next to a fellow human being who I value as much as myself if not more, someone I consider a trusted friend/lover. I will not sacrifice myself to any cause that isn’t sound in my soul.

And, if that’s too imperfect for your vision, go get some freakin’ eyeglasses to correct yourself. [That’s a metaphor if you’re too stupid to see through my words.]

03
Sep
22

The Electronic Enemy of My Mental Enemy Is My…

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Concerns and Alerts, Confessions of the Rabbit Kind and Uncategorized
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****

Don’t ask me why, but I’m hearing Warren Beaty deliver that line from Dick Tracy, when he says, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” And, then he goes on to rattle off a few other possible combinations to the lock rattling in his detective brain.

You may have heard the expression, before, too.

Well, I’m starting to think that line is key to my relationship with television. [Or, maybe, I already started to have this feeling, years ago, and just need to scratch the itchy matter, again.]

When I was a child, TV was forced to be my best friend. I wasn’t a very socially liberated kid. I had a mother who kept me on a very short leash and a father who had no patience after a long day at work to be the sympathetic mentor I desperately needed. Neither gave me confidence to interact with other kids. So, I was “permitted” to sit in front of a damaged family TV and keep myself out of my parents’ way. And, for a while, that was just fine…until I spent so much time in front of the TV that my mother insisted I needed to mind the electricity bill and go outside, once in a while…but don’t go so far that she can no longer detect my presence with her surreal psychic power of awareness (which apparently has a limit of one suburban block).

In short, my youth was a colorful, wild ride of promotional animation, shows bent deceptively selling toys and comic books. There were also the occasional “adult” shows which prompted my “early maturity,” though I remained smaller than most kids in my class until I was just about a legal adult.

There were a few incidents, typically involving my older brother, in which TV became a nightmare. I’d been exposed to a few things definitely unfit for children with active imaginations. Scary clowns, dolls with eyes that glowed red, a madman chasing his wife and son with an axe, a kid opening a drawer of knives before stabbing his mother to death, a famous musician turning toward the TV to reveal scary eyes and cackle, young men drinking blood and eating maggots, etc.

My brother’s failing memory claims I used to laugh at scary movies; if that were true, I must have been wearing a monkey mask and defending myself against the true terror on that screen. But, the way I remember it…I was so terrified by blood-thirsty man-eating fish that I couldn’t cross a blue rug in my own bedroom (a rug I was forced to keep in place to cover a burn which my parents would repeatedly use to confirm their right to be angry and not trust me). I had to have my brother lift me into bed to avoid being devoured by what surely lurked in that rug.

During some of my most traumatic years, my high school disaster, television left me feeling like a troubled drug addict. I was losing sleep and unable to concentrate on schoolwork. I tried my best to continue enjoying my “friend,” especially when I continued to fail at establishing good friendships at school and couldn’t talk to my family about the problem…because they were either never quite “available” to talk or claimed/proved they could not relate. When family conflicts arose or school gave me a panic attack, turning to TV felt like popping open a bottle of pills and gulping them down or jabbing myself with a needle just to release the “pain.” I began to feel guilty (like Adam and Eve taking the forbidden fruit) when I turned to TV.

As adulthood was finally opened to me…at least, according to law (not necessarily in the minds of my restriction-crazed parents)…television became an increasingly hazardous drug addiction. While others turn to alcohol or any number of other recreational (and typically illegal) substances, I clasped onto TV for dear life. I practically prayed to the TV to spare my sanity from the family that refused to understand and respect me as a person and as an adult not nearly ready to take off on his own (for obvious reasons). And, the more I tried to continue enjoying TV, the more I was made to feel like a junkie and a freak.

[There’s more to this second chapter of the story, but it’s a bit of a touchy subject. In short, I was trying to also protect my investments much the way I was told to respect the investments of my family…family who now thought they were free to treat my investments any way they chose, even when I wasn’t home to see what they did. Had I done that as a kid, I’d have a permanent tan on my bottom; enough said.]

I didn’t notice much of a change in the quality of television, between youth and adulthood. Commercials changed a bit. I was able to watch more adult programs without missing the jokes; I could finally understand most of the humor used by Bugs Bunny and his pals (comments that made no sense to me as a kid). But, in general, TV was still the same influence it was in my youth, an inspirational friend. [Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Yada yada.]

And then, IT happened. 9/11. It might as well have been D-Day at Pearl Harbor. Something definitely changed. Heck, the whole world started to change…and seems to keep changing after that event, not for the better.

Actually, TV in the USA didn’t drastically change until 2008, when “antenna TV” got an eviction notice and was replaced (to some extent) by “signal boxes.” [Pardon me if I turn into a conspiracy nut at the thought and wonder if shady military operations are not involved.] But, it’s quite likely 9/11 was the flip of a crucial switch in the hands of those who hold the most power/control.

After 2008, television not only started to lose its charm, replacing “live studio audiences” and laugh-track-nonsense with “reality TV,” it started to lose its voice, completely. When “rabbit ears” and dials were all I had to tune a TV, you could put up with a little static noise and fuzzy picture. But, with the new “signal boxes,” suddenly I had to put up with losing even more of the picture and hearing either nothing or horribly broken sounds.

Imagine having a real, human friend who suddenly could not speak clearly with you, as if they suffered a horrible brain/physical jaw injury. That’s what my relationship with TV had become, living with a horribly handicapped friend. [Some improvement (I say sarcastically, in case you cannot hear the tone).]

Around 2009, coworkers started saying they no longer looked at commercials; they relied on their DVRs to skip the ads. You can imagine the panic advertising agencies must have felt (and still feel, if they still exist), knowing the growing audience was no longer interested in watching their work. So, it seems reasonable–yet tragic–for commercials to dwindle and falter into repetitive cycles of maddening proportions. Just as just about every fun treat in the world gets reduced at inflated cost, what were once cute, colorful ads in a wide variety (though dominated by one monopoly of a brand) become a handful of concepts no one needs to see a thousand times a day.

But, the true ugliness didn’t become apparent until after 2012 (when the Mayan calendar says the world supposedly ends). It was around then that drug ads became more common than ones for toilet paper and restaurants. And, the restaurant ads that remained dwindled in variety, becoming what they are today. I think I can count on one hand how many restaurants still air ads on broadcast TV. [On cable TV, I see more ads for the shows on those channels than anything else, and even those repeat until you want to scream.]

[On that note, I’m about one step from strangling certain ad voices on sight, if the voice talents are ever so unfortunate to cross my path. Papa-John-Cee-Lo (or whoever that voice is) is marked for getting a pepperoni fist shoved down his throat; he can rot with a certain lisping lawyer who refuses to shut up and who plasters his face on every channel, every hour of the day. If a scummy lawyer can afford that, what does it say about the cost of airtime and whoever controls commercial breaks? Not to mention…why is the scummy lawyer allowed to be a “proud investor” in so many companies? If I was a company of any sort, I’d refuse his investment; he’s annoying and unsettling.]

So, lately, television, if I can still enjoy any of it, is like picking fruit from a questionable tree. Pick at the wrong time from the wrong place, and I’ll get stuck with something sour and/or otherwise unpleasant. And, even if I pick a good “fruit,” something typically spoils the moment…family, signal loss, annoying visuals…take your pick.

Don’t get me started on game shows. Okay. Too late; I’m starting. Game shows used to bewilder me, as a kid. I couldn’t understand how all the flashing lights and rotating platforms actually changed people’s lives. But, there was magic in play. And, the winners certainly looked happy. Microphones were–and still are–a bit of a mystery. [I’m still curious about them.] But, as an adult, most game shows become more and more dumb and foolish wastes of time with contracts and clauses that make you wonder how much joy really comes from winning. When I was a kid, I’d dream of being on a game show and winning some amazing prize or trip around the world. As an adult, people will tell me I should go on a game show…and I pause to question the idea. Sure, I might win something because I’d like to think–and they think–I would perform well on the show. But, during my pause, I start to wonder if there’s more to winning than meets the eye…because there surely is; it’s not as simple as turning on the TV and standing by a colorful wheel. You don’t just win a car and drive it home; you sign papers and accept the terms that come with collecting said prize(s). You probably have to pay taxes on your winnings; all of those other factors take a little bite out of the excitement (unless you’re oblivious, a “housewife” and/or already exceptionally wealthy).

All of the trips the game shows give away seem like restricted passes to visit locations reserved for those shows, as if you’d go on the trip and deal solely with people wearing the show’s logo, lest you step outside the permitted perimeter of what was awarded to you. [Oh, no. Don’t step across that line; you’ll have to pay separately for that.] The inflated prices (prize values) cover the excessively intensive private service you’re supposed to receive, if you like that sort of constant pampering/attention (whether or not you actually respect the staff) but probably don’t cover the tips that staff will surely still desire (unless tips are worked into the price of the trip…and then you might still feel awkward around the staff).

[I could just as well spend a fraction of the cost, go without the pampering and find something to do with my time rather than lounge around, stuff my face, get drunk and maybe “dance the night away” at some crowded, noisy club (or gamble). I’d rather explore wilderness, isolated beaches and ruins with a trusted companion than be pampered, return to a life without pampering and feel like I lost something when I supposedly won. If you already live a pampered life and win one of those trips…what’s the point? You are ensured an oxygen tank to keep you alive when you get there? There is no break from being pampered?]

I have never been a fan of “local news” or world news, for that matter. I’ve been more like a big kid most of my life, bent on cheerful entertainment, adding a little “adult edge” as I “mature.” But, as I…get older…sigh…I start to notice the news, more often, and see only horrible crime stories (unless there is a festival in town). So, as soon as I become aware of…that…I change the channel or tune out, completely. I don’t need to know about every shooting, bombing, killing or suicide around the world. But, apparently, my family does. Isn’t that…sweet; one more reason to spend less time with family.

Sigh. What happened to my “old” friend?

[And, without a good family relationship…or other friends…who am I left with other than myself? ‘Not a good situation to be in, people. If anyone says the word “therapist,” I’ll just bristle and tell you to zip it. Your therapist is never going to be a wingman (or friend who isn’t restricted to a schedule and price).]

I begin to wonder if, all along, TV was like the tree of forbidden fruit or the temptation that led me to taking the trouble-causing “bite.” Was it ever my friend? Or, was everything I thought good about TV just an illusion?

“The television dreams of tomorrow; we’re not the ones who are meant to follow, for that’s enough to irk you.” [Could wiser words have ever been sung?]

[And then, I think about all of the famous faces (actors, actresses and professional athletes, including those who compete repeatedly just to have a chance at the Olympics, which only gives them a brief window of fame…and fortune…tied to other hands all wanting their pieces) who have come and gone…people risking their lives just to avoid “labor,” some committing suicide when they can no longer take what that lifestyle choice gives them. So many souls throwing themselves into the hope of entertaining someone only to put on masks and pretend everything is “amazing” when some idiot is pressed to interview them, when the truth is anything but “amazing.”]

What are we doing, people? What are we all doing? [As Jerry Seinfeld once said, “We’re not men.” We’re (dumb) animals, no better than the sparrows in the bush, no matter what texts like the Bible say.] I’m both full of words and without words. I think we all need to go back to farming and cultivate our planet so we can live off the land without fear of competition fueled by the currently (and continually) failing government and economy. Forget TV and become real good friends (not reality-TV friends).

OR…we scrap the whole current mess and start from scratch. Tear down the dinosaur entertainment system and build something new yet appealing with a certain familiarity, so we aren’t traumatized by the change in temperature or water quality. Scrap commercials, lest they rear their ugly heads, again, like weeds…as tempting as it may be to apply my creativity to some really amusing ads. No more cartoons built around toy lines just to fill wish lists, auction websites and landfills with yesterday’s craze. Burn all laugh tracks and anything remotely artificial, other than special effects, which could still be used to dazzle and enhance programming. [And, remain cautious about falsifying reality, lest all minds become so warped that they can no longer grasp what exists around them…yet not so “pious” that we come out with another “comics code authority”/FCC to white-wash and pigeon-hole entertainment.]

17
Aug
22

The Wong Place and Time for Me to Care

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Uncategorized
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****

So, I’m interested in the new (The) She-Hulk: Attorney at Law TV series. Suffice to say, the character is a bit of an obsession for me, even though certain artists have cast her as a rather…casually sexual explorer. But, I don’t expect much from what’s already a Disney disaster in the making.

[I mean…the lead actress had to alter her hair to match Mark’s (Bruce Banner/Hulk), when I just saw her with blonde hair, looking, actually, fit to play a blonde Jen Walters. She had the perfect ponytail to match the look of brown-haired Jen on some of the covers I’ve seen. Is it so wrong for a guy’s COUSIN to have different hair or even ethnicity? I have cousins with every color hair in the book; why can’t Jen have straight blonde hair even if Bruce has curly salt-and-pepper hair? The original “Savage” Jen had blonde hair (while Bruce had brown hair). That’s not a racial issue or even a question of family ties.]

[And, you know what Disney is likely to do to retain the interest of disenchanted fans? ‘Probably put out a ton of merchandising and ads for products like Tide detergent, featuring She-Hulk, just because they can afford to pump the masses and feed the landfills of the what’s-next, instant-gratification, never-satisfied-with-the-current-speed-only-because-advertising-says-so generation that’s taking control. And, if I crumble just to grab a She-Hulk T-shirt, coffee mug or figurine from the latest cattle trough, I deserve to die, not when I’m used up and a spotted prune but right here and now. Just get it over with, already. Hit me. If I see another “Funko Pop” with eerie, death-like button eyes, I’ll…well, I just won’t wasted my energy on a reaction. But, I’ll tear the place apart when I find them in the landfills…because that’s where all the “merch” is headed, until the planet can’t house or recycle anymore, and everyone who’s rich and privileged gets a one-way ticket to Mars.]

Let’s look at past “hits” from the latest Marvel-Disney releases.

Moon Knight? I watched a good chunk of it. It was more mad than good, overall. But, sure, good on Oscar Isaac for playing a crazy man so well. The villain role is well played, as well; actually the villain outshines the hero…or, heroes, considering we have to add an ethnic-representative and female hero (heroine) to the cast, these days. And, special effects?…spare no expense, par for the Disney Empire.

Wanda Vision? I enjoyed the timely TV settings and humorous touches. But, the story sort of turned into a bad cup of tea with a dark finish, supposedly prodding viewers to watch for a movie…which just happens to involve Dr. Strange and his persistent assistant, Wong. [Also, I am not a big fan of the casting for Wanda/the Scarlet Witch, nor the let’s-try-to-stay-original new costume design, when the 1980s comic-book version, which made an appearance in the mini-series as a “gag costume,” looked great.]

Loki? I liked the female Loki. I liked some of the other Loki variants, for as long as they lasted, just to appear as brief jokes or inspirations. The original Loki was…well, the same sort of guy he has been in all of his appearances, just handed a job and a shirt and too depressed to be wicked. I liked the suggestive secretiveness of the mini-series, the hints of things to come…yet, by the end of the first “season,” I felt more lost than entertained. I felt like I’d wasted my time.

I’m initially uneasy about casting for the new She-Hulk series. I heard one name I knew that I thought would be interesting to see…haven’t seen her in any of the ads run, so far. So, what happened there?

And, just recently, I see Wong, that ever-present sidekick of Dr. Strange, opening a portal to the series. Pardon my cursing (expletive…expletive…major, scorching, Mount-Olympus-sent expletive), but why does a show about Hulk’s cousin need to be linked to the “madness” of Dr. Strange? And, why do I get the feeling this is all building to some team-up movie with Dr. Sherlock Strange…or maybe just Wong…as the leading role? Heaven forbid Jen Walters/She-Hulk is reduced to a minor role in her first film appearance, like a Mantis or Nebula.

I know from recent comics (well, recent if we go back to 2008) that She-Hulk was doing more legal work than she’s ever done in her pre-2000 history (so many years being listed as a lawyer, rarely if ever appearing in a courtroom). I know she was handling cases for a wide variety of bizarre clients. But, there ARE other ways to get those clients than having some wizard-monk play special-delivery guy. Ya know, spaceships DO travel to Earth. Aliens DO open their own portals, as they did in the first Avengers film. And, gosh darn it, there are plenty of mad folks on She-Hulk’s home planet who provide clients from mad experiments gone wrong. She could use her powerful legs to get around, once in a while. Or, here’s a novel idea, hire a cab…board a plane.

Wong signed on with Tide detergent, and suddenly he’s a household name like Mr. Clean? I don’t wash my clothes with P and G. And, I don’t mix my laundry with Wong’s.

Clearly, I’m already tired of Wong. And, I haven’t even been bombarded with ads for his own feature movie/series, yet. I’m sure that’s on the way, along with more from the “Ten Rings” franchise (which didn’t impress me, much, either). [I can just see the writers clawing at their foreheads, right now, trying to develop a script that won’t be utter crap, pandering to the racial circus that’s still assembling.] It’s not a racial matter for me…though it’s clearly a racial matter for those who make movies in the Disney Empire. It’s a lacking interest in a particular character who’s being milked for his ethnic roots (meaning his physical appearance, not where he was born, necessarily). Heck, they turn the male mystical master into a pasty woman with an accent, and I’d rather watch more of her than Wong, and that’s just wrong.

So, if I see more of Wong, I’m going to tune out. I just am. Because I’m tired. I’m sure he’s a really nice guy and a loyal sidekick, for what that’s worth before some evil presence or broken promise turns another hero into a villain. But, I just don’t care about him that much; and you cannot make me.

Actually, you COULD have made me interested…if he had his own story/show WITHOUT invading the homes of every other character in the Marvel Universe. You might as well reboot Seinfeld and stick him and Cumberpatch in that. [You could do that, right, Disney? You have the resources. Just buy Jerry Seinfeld, like Baltic Avenue in Monopoly, and turn a DC/Superman fan into a Marvel-Disney minion. While you’re at it, buy Hulu; then you could bump off the second “U” to add or insert a “K” and call it the Hulk or Hulku channel, just to further promote your Hulk/She-Hulk programs. I mean, Hulu has a green logo; how perfect would that be for a Hulk channel?]

If you stuck She-Hulk in other Marvel series, I would complain less…much less if the appearance made sense and if I genuinely liked the actress playing her. But, she’s a character I’ve grown to like…like…a lot. It’s a fairly easy win (which I would not be surprised to see tossed in the dumpster by poor writing).

Instead, you slap Wong on everything as if he was (baby) Yoda or Harry Potter, and even they don’t cross over into anything else; they just gain popularity from their original, singular source. It reminds me of some old comic books in/on which ads would appear for other comics or toys I had little to no interest in owning. I sort of dismissed all of that as a kid, focusing on the pages that featured characters and artwork that meant something to me, as a budding artist. But, thinking back, it was just another phase of what’s happening now.

Comic books might have been magazines for kids, heaps of advertising injected with small stories about beloved (and some dreaded) characters, celebrities for those who don’t look at or care much about real, living people who somehow acquire fame and riches. All I cared about was the artwork, seeing characters I liked looking good and performing deeds I could respect, occasionally being witty. I didn’t need a cardboard airplane stamped with the face of Captain America, weight-lifting hoop dreams or a joy buzzer from some dial-up service offering novelty madness.

If I want to read a comic book about another character or group of characters, I’ll be drawn to its cover at the comic-book store. I’ll be seduced or excited by an artist’s creation and give it a try. I don’t need it thrown in my face while I’m currently interested in the story I just cradled in my delicate hands. That’s like pop-up ads on commonly viewed online “entertainment.” Except, the ads were on paper.

It’s one thing to insert an asterisk and a hint about a “crossover event” regarding another series (as the comics of my youth would often do to let me know the current story extends into another character’s series). It’s one thing to include something (new) of equal interest. But, when there is no relevant connection to the feature, or when the advertised content is stomach-turning, it’s just a senseless waste of space and my money…and time. You might gain a few new fans, but you might upset far more people who have no interest and don’t want that mess in their investments.

[Imagine picking up a Harry Potter book and finding three pages dedicated to cigarettes and/or a movie about a scary clown. Do you want that sitting on your library shelf? Do you want to pick up that old friend and revisit those horrors? Oh, it’s a wonderful story…and just ignore the dated ads in the middle.]

As soon as you tell me the story gets a mad, mind-bending twist and/or a “representing” character (or a “diverse” cast for the sake of being diverse, even when the original concept had no such diversity, not because the artist was racist but because those were the people they knew), I zone out like I did with Inception. Now and then, I just like a nice, straight-forward story to unfold; it begins, it ends…it sparks a sequel, a next chapter. It’s entertaining and makes me want to cherish the story (whether that is an original story or one that respectfully represents a previous work of art), not look online or at some salivating YouTube-er, who babbles on and on about what every little detail means and what I missed, for clarity.

My sister will likely sigh and say, “That’s just how things are, these days.” As if I’m supposed to just accept whatever is dumped on some “feed” for the masses to feed like mindless vegetables; get real (and not reality TV). Just suck it up, accept it and keep swallowing senseless crap. So what if every female character I grew up liking and every new one to spark my interest gets turned into a lesbian. Moo.

I will not be so naive or blind. Whether it’s a racial/LGBT drought or a racial/LGBT flood, it’s no good. And, not every ethnic actor needs to come with a damn British accent! Can’t you even get actors and actresses from the native lands you attempt to represent?…not southern California or South Africa or Wales or the British-dominated hunk of India.

‘You mess with the She-Hulk, you mess with me. But, then again, why bother getting upset? Maybe Sis is half-right. It’s just how things are going, after Stan Lee handed the keys of his bankrupted Porsche to Disney. He might as well have handed them to Google or Musk or Starbucks.

Fun-size everything and just about every glimmer of joy in the world is being downsized into oblivion and despair. You can’t even enjoy a popsicle from your youth, anymore, without being subject to shrinkage. It’s a depressing world, all around. Local news has boiled down to futile political disagreements over wealth and violent, death-dealing crimes. Reruns of shows long-ago departed quickly lose their charm…when you think about how much time you already spent watching them when they previously were reruns and before you invested in DVD collections.

So, why expect any genuine joy from a new TV series? Heck, when’s the last time I enjoyed a commercial break? I cannot even remember. Ads have gone to heck in a handbasket, too.

‘Sucks. Sorry, Jen. Maybe I just won’t look…then I won’t get disappointed. I’d rather forget you than watch you be mistreated. It was a good run, back in the Savage days, when your costume made itself iconic; though it made little sense, just like Bruce’s shorts…purple pants.

But, this…crisis…is bigger than Wong. And, he’s smaller than She-Hulk.

Whoever said all good things must come to an end is a jinx, a pox, a virus to us all, the ultimate Debbie Downer. There’s a prevailing evil force growing around the world, and there aren’t enough real heroes and heroines, it seems, to repel it. The evil isn’t racial/gender deprivation. It’s the twisting of truth (to get your own way) and what is sacred to artists, their original work and creativity. Books don’t translate into movies. Books get pushed to the publishers like cattle to the slaughter before they’re warped into movies that don’t match the text. And, I’ve already seen more books in the past decade than I’ve read in the rest of my lifetime; just about every single one contained some typo. How does that happen? How does a book that’s intended to be cherished and added to some bookworm’s favorites list permitted to slip by without proper editing and get stamped with that damn New-York-Times-bestseller label?

Joys of the past are being twisted and depleted. This affects everyone, not just a particular race or gender. That’s a major villain, people; though he doesn’t come with a particularly apparent costume.

We need more heroes and heroines, and I don’t mean costumed wanderers at some comic-book convention. Who’s with me? Avengers, assemble. [Why do I hear crickets?]

[I say that when I’m a total Tony Stark (minus the alcoholism, though I may have other budding addictions), who is not the best at joining/leading causes/teams, feeling more comfortable working solo though it sucks to be alone, after a while.]

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