Crankster

Monday, November 27, 2006

Homemade Advertisements

Okay, today I'm making two embarassing admissions. First, I mallwalk. Yes, it's shameful, but true--in an attempt to lose some of the weight that I gained after quitting smoking, I wander aimlessly around the mall, making friends with the octegenarians who, inevitably, outpace me as I push my daughter's stroller around. Don't you dare judge me...

The second admission is that my local shopping center, the New River Valley Mall, is a little run-down. It contains a lot of locally-owned non-franchise businesses. In fact, the devotee of Mallrats might refer to it as "the dirt mall." Still, I like it, and the locally-owned businesses make for some interesting advertisements.


The local pretzel store, Pretzels Plus, is a small chain. Most of their advertisements seem like something right out of the 1970's. They're badly arranged, the colors on the photographs are off, and the slogans are cheesy. In an attempt to enter the 1990's, Pretzels Plus is now selling an iced-coffee beverage, that they advertise in bright blue tones. While I admire their attempts to diversify, I have to note that "Ice Rage" sounds like something that happened to the Donner party, not something that you'd want to put in your mouth.

Across from Pretzels Plus, there's a nail salon. I like it alot, particularly given the amazing amount of character that it displays. It's run by a Vietnamese family that has a flair for Buddha-influenced interior design and a laissez-faire approach to the English language. Outside the store, the neon sign reads "Nail Trix":


Of course, on the window to the left of the entrance, it reads "Nails Trix":




Inside, age and an unwillingness to pay for replacement letters has produced this interpretation of the word:




The overall effect is stunning:





The local martial-arts studio specializes in self-defense in real-life situations. They have a nice term for it:




You just keep fighting reality, boys.

Finally, one local kiosk has chosen a pretty impressive name for itself:



Not to be a prick (I know--too late), but is there anything less "stylin" than the word "stylin"? Of course it doesn't help that this is a cell-phone cover store:



And one last image for you:



I try to avoid mocking the mall people because, well, it isn't nice. But this is a special circumstance. In case you can't read it, the man in this picture is playing "Silent Scope." This is a particularly fun, and realistic, first-person shooter game. In it, one shoots various enemies with the help of a scoped sniper's rifle.

I love this game, and don't have any problems with people playing it. But take another look at this man. No jewelry. Woodland camouflage. Relaxed posture.

He's not playing. He's practicing.

And on that note, I bid you a good evening.

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Sunday, November 26, 2006

Contrarian


My wife and I have discovered a new nemesis: the lotion people.

In the mall, there's a cart that sells lotion--it's called mystic flame, or eternal spark, or something like that. At any rate, it seems to be peopled by low-paid exchange students with bright, shiny personalities. Seriously, these kids have the kind of creepy, in your face happiness that one usually expects from Mormons and Hare Krishnas. They're like Moonies, but they aren't selling god, and I can't understand how they can be so buoyant when they're just foisting lotion on total strangers.


Actually, I don't mind the over-the-top, saccharine happiness all that much. What I really hate is the fact that they feel obliged to attack passers by with lotion and the exact same sales pitch:

Bright-faced young person from Latin America or Eastern Europe: "Excuse me, Sir, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

Me: "No, go ahead."

Bright-faced young person from Latin America or Eastern Europe: "Have you finished your Christmas shopping yet?"

Me: "Not completely."

Bright-faced young person from Latin America or Eastern Europe: "Good, because you might want to try our new...blah, blah, blah...made with cow placenta...yackety-shmackety...incredibly rich...yadda, yadda, yadda...would bring Lenin himself back from the dead..."


The other possibility is that the smiling young moisturizer zombie approaches me with an open tube of lotion, asking if I want to try a free sample. Of course, I wouldn't mind lotion, but I have absolutely no intention of buying a tube of the crap. More to the point, I feel a little weird about people entering into my comfort zone with what is, essentially, lube. I know that this is probably my problem, but it doesn't change my irritation. What I REALLY want to do is make an incredibly rude suggestion, in the hopes that the kids will take their lotion elsewhere. However, my wife keeps telling me that unzipping my fly and shouting "Grease it up, Svetlana!" will probably get me kicked out of the mall and possibly arrested.


These kids have turned the middle of the mall into an official no-fly zone. I now find myself staring at walls, the floor, ANYTHING, in order to avoid eye contact. I'm not sure how, but this live-action Bennetton ad has made me feel like I'm wandering through a tent village, circa 1933. I don't want to make eye-contact, lest they ask me if I've got a dime. Ugh.


Manufactured emotion tends to affect me this way. When I listen to Christmas Carols, I can't help it--I have to critique the orchestration, the singing, and the questionable lyrics. When I see frighteningly earnest, disturbingly cheery kids, I immediately think about cults. When I see inspirational posters, my mind travels to Despair, Inc. It's not that I'm opposed to inspiration, or honesty, or Christmas Carols. Rather, I just get an itchy feeling in my colon when someone tries to manipulate my emotions. It ends up making me behave poorly, which makes me resentful.

Mostly, I just wish the little bastards would keep their lotion to themselves.

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