Commercials, lately - how gross can you get?

By Denise Hart

I admit, I’m just back in the swim of the commercial sea, after having been too poor and too proud to have cable for the past six years.

I was shocked at how easily I fell into the reality TV pit - I’m finding that there is practically no show too stupid or banal to mesmerize me:  Real Housewives of Virtually Any Town, “Hoarders” (although I could not watch the one where the guy bred the pet rats and there were literally thousands in the house), “Top Chef” (kind of an upper echelon reality, so there!), even, God help me, those Bethenny shows where it’s really just one long episodic swilling of her low-cal tequila cocktail mix.

What can I say - I love her baby’s Dominican nanny, Gina - Gina is sick. 

I choose to watch those silly shows - I find them funny and über relaxing.

OK, almost coma-inducing.  But the commercials are so disgusting I can hardly sit them out.  The worst offenders, for me, are the toilet paper and floor-wipe categories.

I’ve never liked the commercials where the bears poop in the woods and leave their used (though amazingly soft!) toilet paper behind. Although I see recently they’ve been upgraded to a house.

Somehow, the new toilet paper issue has become the pieces of lint from the paper that might stick to your ass after wiping.  I’ve never had that particular problem.  I’ve almost always lived in an old house with bad plumbing that could barely handle paper at all.

So it’s always been slick paper Scott for me—no lint, no butthole mess.

But now, we’ve got to look at the baby bear’s bum when he comes out of the bathroom.  Yep, lint and pieces of paper all over it.  Gah!

There’s another t.p. product where (although I wouldn’t swear to this) there are some middle class women having tea and this issue comes up.  The tagline is “Enjoy the Go.”  Gag.

The floor-wipe commercials are not the only ones guilty of this putrid sell move: close-ups of dirt and microbes that they wipe up from our floors.

Toothpaste and mouthwashes use this tool, too; but somehow the floor-wipe ones get to me more.

I don’t mind the microbes so much, actually, because they’re more like little cartoons.

But the dirt and hair and lint shots, to quote Roseanne Roseannadanna, “Mek me SICK!”  (I just realized hardly anyone recalls Ms. Roseannadanna anymore.  In addition to having a sensitive gag reflex, I’m getting old.)

There are cuter ones now, showing dirt and mud characters all dolled up waiting for a date only to connect with the soft attractions of the floor-wipe, but damned if they don’t show the close-up dirt shots too.  For some reason, the same one that makes me incapable of emptying the sink drainer thing myself (that’s Paul’s job), this kind of thing makes me want to hurl.

Oh, there are other puke-inducing ads out there.

One is a cartoon of babies trying to get their diapers full—the fullest one wins.

And silly ones—the one advertising bikini razors that has women striding by differently shaped bushes makes me laugh.

I am aware that I really need to turn off the sound or walk away—but I’m often in some Bravo induced state of watching.

Watching.

Watching.

Watching other people live their lives.

Watching these damn commercials.

Somebody throw me a line!  I need help, I think.

(Denise Hart is a writer in Minnesota.)

Amanda's Musings: Dear Janice Dickinson

Janice Dickinson - Pirates 3 Premier - Disneyland, originally uploaded by ~nico~.

For some reason, I can’t take my eyes off you. And it isn’t because you are the self-proclaimed super model. And it isn’t because of your emaciated, corpse-esque physique.

It is because you are certifiably ca-razy.

Your body is an enigma, though, my dead friend. With the majority of your weight derived from silicone implants and other plastic bodily adjustments, I can’t understand how your collection of cosmetic procedures could make you look a solid 35 years older than you are.

As a testament to the trashy television shows that so enrapture me, I have been watching your latest venture “I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here.” I have also watched “The Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency” and even got my work out on while watching the train wreck that was a “behind the headlines” account of your rise to fame.

From those viewing experiences, I gleaned a few things about you:

1. You are undoubtedly one of the reasons why young women puke up their dinners and work out until they pass out.
2. You are not anywhere near as attractive as you once were (or remotely as hot as you believe you are at this point in your waning career).
3. You are a loud-mouthed, aggressive woman who was inevitably kicked in the teeth and discouraged as a youth. I can only imagine that’s why you treat other human beings like they were put on this earth to give you an impromptu pedicure should such a procedure be so desired.

But girlfriend, I won’t lie: That overzealous, I-could-give-two-craps attitude is the reason why I kept watching. There is a small sliver of my heart that emotes a great love for people like you … people who exude so much confidence that they can’t possible understand how someone could possible be offended.

That sliver went into cardiac arrest last night, though, Janice. As sad as I was to see you get voted out of the jungle in your quest to fight it out with other B-list (or C or D-list) “celebrities,” I think it might be the best thing for you.

As the other “stars” go on to compete in asinine stunts to win food and immunity – and ultimately a sizable donation to the cause of their choice – you will be back in the States, criticizing fatties at your modeling agency (you know, those heifers who can’t fit into a size 2 mini) and berating any number of poor schleps over any number of small gaffs.

I just hope that part of your homecoming plans include a trip to a certified therapist to deal with some issues I’m not even sure you are aware of, one of which must be a deep neurosis.

I’m not a psychologist, but I do have some expertise in the matter. I am crazy myself. The only difference, darlin’, is I’m medicated.

So from one looney toon to another: In the name of all that is holy, please invest what you will spend on your next Botox injection for some mood stabilizing drugs.

Warmest Regards,

Amanda “Thank you, Effexor!” Gillooly