Commercially Yours

In light of the Super Bowl and its legendary commercials, I figured today’s topic was timely. Now that I have Netflix, I have grown accustomed to commercial free viewing when I watch series television. While I don’t have a DVR, I still find myself trying to pause live TV, a habit I developed from watching Netflix and DVD’s.

I must admit I was a little perplexed when I stumbled across Alexandra Wentworth’s comedy series “Head Case.” The first episode I watched was 11 minutes long. The length perplexed me since TV shows are formatted to be a half hour, an hour, or a movie length of 2 hours. When you watch an hour-long drama without commercials, they tend to be between 40 and 42 minutes long. This means an hour-long TV show will have anywhere from 18 to 20 minutes of commercials. This is one-third of the viewing time spent watching commercials. If this formula were used for a half-hour show, you would expect there to be roughly 10 minutes of commercial viewing and 20 minutes of the actual show. Once again, the 11-minute length of Head Case confused me. If this was a true time frame, it meant two-thirds of the viewing time was dedicated to commercials while only a third of the time slot was dedicated to the actual show. Huh?

As it turns out, “Head Case” was developed for the Starz cable network. From what I can gather, Starz doesn’t have commercials, which explains the 11-minute format. With that said, I still wonder how the show will be syndicated. Perhaps, they will double up on episodes, although some of the later episodes actually did approach roughly 20-minutes. I guess we’ll have to wait and see how that plays out.

Noticing these discrepancies brought a larger question to mind. Is it the intention of the television networks that we watch their shows or the commercials that are interspersed between them? Back when my mom was alive and we were both in California, I would visit each Saturday. I still remember her muting the television during commercial breaks because in her words, “The commercials drive me crazy”.

In the past year, I confess I have begun to do the same thing, muting the television each time commercials appear. I am often fascinated by the synchronicity of the networks. More often than not, if you change the channel during a commercial, you land on another commercial. How do they manage to do this so consistently? Truthfully, I know the answer to this question. For the most part, TV shows are similarly structured into six acts. As such, the commercials will tend to occur simultaneously across all of the networks.

Most of us find this aspect of television annoying, which is why the DVR’s arrival has been a particular challenge to advertisers and networks. When we record our shows, we can easily zip through commercial breaks. Advertisers deplore this idea. In the old days, we would run to the bathroom or get snacks during commercials. This is the reason the volume blares much higher at these times. You can still hear the name of the product or catchy lyrics that you will hopefully remember while you are in the grocery store or shopping for some other product.

I still recall how absurd I thought “The Running Man” was with Arnold Schwarzenegger. While it was released in the late 80’s, it was a portrait of a futuristic world overrun by edgy, life threatening game shows and corporate advertisers. At the time, I thought it a far-fetched concept but in many ways it has come to fruition. Shows like Fear Factor, The Amazing Race and Survivor flood the airwaves with a slue of commercials and infomercials, brainwashing us to consume. Today, I write only to reflect. Is it the commercials or the shows being sold to us? Do we go out and consume what we want, what we need, or the things advertisers tell us we need? Hm.... Happy Super Bowl everybody!

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Sugar Plums, Laughter and Tears

A few days ago, my friend Andrea emailed me and inquired if I would be okay this weekend. To be honest, I read the message a few times because I didn’t fully understand why I was being asked the question. And then it clicked in that this weekend is Mother’s Day. Ironically, just today my cousin Jean asked the same question. “Will I be okay?”

Losing my mom was without a doubt the most difficult adversity I’ve ever suffered. So of course the question was valid. But here’s the thing, the challenge of living in her absence has been present every day since her passing but through God’s and her grace I cope.

I remember in grade school when I was rude and defiant to my teachers, which was rare, but when it did occur I always feared the repercussions at home. At the time I didn’t fully comprehend why, but my mother always sided with me, even when I was in the wrong.

Rather inappropriately I once stormed out of a high school teacher’s class. The following day, he called me to the front of the room and asked why I left, to which I responded, “You were getting on my nerves.” Needless to say my answer didn’t go over well. Instead of teaching, he spent ten minutes constructing a letter to the principal demanding that a parent-teacher conference be arranged. I knew such a meeting wouldn’t bode well for me and was shocked when my mother reported back. She told me she’d apologized profusely explaining that I would never behave in such a way again. To my astonishment, she continued to tell me how teachers often power tripped due to a deep-seated need for control. Her speech about me hadn’t come from a true sense of culpability about my actions but rather she had endeavored to reestablish the peace between me and this teacher. A teacher herself, she knew what she was talking about. The plan worked seamlessly and I never had (or caused) trouble with that teacher again. In some ways that was my first glimpse into the deepest depths of her love for me. She always saw a light in me even when I was in the wrong.

In the immediate days after her passing, I felt a huge disconnect with everything around me. She had literally been the conduit through which I arrived in this world. And my first taste of nourishment had come at her hand. On my first day of pre-school she was there. The first clothes I wore she purchased. Later when I was choosing a boarding school and even when I chose my college, she visited the campuses with me. She bought plants for my first apartment and explained how to prepare my first Thanksgiving dinner away from home.

My entire life had been colored by her presence and then suddenly and unexpectedly, she was gone. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t consider the enormous loss I feel. On some days, the sense of anguish alleviates, but it is never gone. In that regard, the arrival of Mother’s Day will hardly deviate from the other 364 days of the year. I miss her today, as I will tomorrow and for all the remaining days of my life. But there is beauty in my sorrow. The depth of emotion I feel stems from the joy of having been blessed with a mother who could show me true examples of undying and unconditional love. To my mom and to all mothers I bid you a Happy Mother’s Day.

Invasion of the Fun Snatchers

Does anyone feel like the excitement has been taken out of things? Yesterday, I walked to my mailbox and I can’t describe the disappointment I felt when I opened it to find two stacks of mailers. It was coupons and promotions for just about everything you can imagine from carpet cleaning, window replacements, tires, pizzerias and so on. I thought of the numerous stacks of paper that go directly from my mailbox to the trashcan. This can’t be an environmentally safe practice, can it?

As I walked back to the house, I remembered my childhood. I used to truly be excited about the mail. Each time I arrived home from school, if the mail hadn’t been checked, I would race out to see what was in the box. Somehow, it felt vaguely like Christmas not knowing what was going to be delivered that day. Even if there was nothing for me, I would shuffle through each envelope, excited just to see what was there. I also remember my first pen pal, which was organized by the school I was attending at the time. Once we began corresponding, it left me with a certain anticipation. After I had mailed a letter, I would anxiously await a response, diligently checking the mail until I received one.

Today, the fun and excitement I used to feel has completely disappeared. My mailbox seems to be a marketing tool, more useful to direct mailers than it is to me. Now when I check the mail, I pray the box is empty. In a year of deliveries, probably sixty percent of it is junk -- coupons and mailers that I have never used. And when I say never, I mean exactly that. I have no memory of having ever used a coupon or a promotion that was sent to my house. Still, each week I throw out stacks and stacks of improperly used paper. In addition to the junk I receive, I probably have about thirty-five percent of my mail, which is bills or someone asking for money. And then in the remaining five percent, perhaps half is desired correspondence, just as it used to be in the good old days. I’m talking birthday cards, Christmas cards, or an occasional letter. But still, the thrill of receiving mail is gone, lost to the commercialization of direct marketing.

Last month, while in New York, some friends and I went out for a Friday night on the town. One of our stops was 230 5th Avenue, which features a rooftop bar with a fantastic view. As we arrived, there was a small line to enter. When we got to the front of the queue, the trendily dressed doorman asked if we were on *The List.* I immediately smiled because I knew what this meant. My friend Alessandro (who hails from Milan, Italy) answered “no” and confirmed that we weren’t on any list. The doorman proceeded to explain that it was customary for people who weren’t on the list to purchase a bottle of champagne for a mere $250. But because we were *nice,* we would only be asked to pay $125 for the four of us. What a bargain I thought, but not one I felt inclined to pay for.

By now, Alessandro was miffed. He had been to this bar several times and had never been asked to purchase champagne. He turned to his wife, Deborah (also Italian) and began discussing whether or not we should pay in their native tongue. The doorman’s boss, an older Mafioso looking gentleman, immediately changed his posture when he heard native Italian speakers. With a wave of his hand, we were rushed into the building with no further talk of champagne.

But for me, the fun had already been ruined. All of us would have been amenable to paying a reasonable cover charge for the privilege of buying expensive alcohol on the roof of this building. But instead a foolish game had been played. The entire conversation felt like junk mail in the box. I remembered what fun it had been in the good old days when I entered a club, but this time it was more nostalgia that I felt than anything else. I longed for the old excitement that I used to share, that anticipation of something good to come. After leaving 230 5th Avenue, all of us boogied down to the Beauty Bar [see photo] where no champagne was required. It was interesting to learn that Beauty Bar was actually a hair and nail salon by day, and a bar and dance club by night.

The time has come for a shift in focus. For centuries, the goal has been “How do we make money,” which explains why I have stacks of coupons and promotions in my mailbox, which explains why if I’m not deemed “trendy” enough, attempts are made to dupe me into buying $250 bottles of champagne. But the truth of the matter is all of it is just junk and the junk takes the fun out of it.