“Head On…apply directly to the forehead! Head On…apply directly to the forehead! Head On…apply directly to the forehead!!!”
Yeah, I don’t get it either. This is a commercial that I see frequently for a product called (you guessed it) “Head On”. I’m not entirely sure but I think it’s for headache pain. It’s such a successful commercial campaign that I walk away not even knowing what the heck the product is used for. Go figure.
Still, I now walk around town and at random intervals a message surges through my brain waves like an emergency call: “Head On…apply directly to the forehead!!!” Now that’s what I call advertising power.
For example, I was just in Madison, WI, last weekend over 4th of July. I checked into a Super 8 Motel and noticed that the guy behind the desk had something stuck all over his hair. At first I thought that perhaps someone threw up on him but that didn’t seem quite right. Looking closer I could only guess that he shoved his head into a pile of lint, or perhaps he got into a fist fight with a rabid Dyson vacuum and evidently lost. In hindsight I should have asked, “Excuse me, sir, but what have you got all over your doo and what in heaven’s name were you doing?” I’m sure the answer would have been worth the asking. Instead, what does pulse through my head upon looking at him is: “Head On…apply directly to the forehead!” although I think this guy took the application a bit further than expected. On second thought, maybe I don’t want to know what it is in his hair. Ick.
Speaking of advertising, down the road from the hotel in Madison I saw the most insane, asinine, and hypocritical thing I’ve ever seen with my own two eyes and hopefully it’s not a trend. Are you ready for this? “Pizza Hut Italian Bistro”. No kidding, that’s what the sign said. It was an old style red roofed Pizza Hut with the added text “Italian Bistro” on the sign. Italian? Bistro??? Are these words that have ANY association whatsoever with the so called product that Pizza Hut sells? Someone clearly either a) was playing a practical joke, b) wanted to see if anyone at all ever looked at the sign (the first suggestion was to instead hang up “Ominous Shithole” but there were possible legal implications), or c) offered brownies with an added extra special ingredient to the owners of the establishment, causing them to first run around the neighborhood wearing nothing but a strategically placed bunch of Hostess products and suffer from delusions that their product actually has it’s roots in the Italian culture. No matter how you slice it (ha…a bit of pizza humor there), this is just wrong, wrong, wrong. It’s bad enough that Olive Garden was chosen “Best Italian Restaurant” in Phoenix for multiple years in a row but this just defies all taste and sensibility. Next thing you know Taco Bell will be a “Mexican Fusion Café”.
This leads me into my obsession with the Quizno’s cup. Yes, that’s right, here in Woodbury, standing on a street corner in the middle of suburbia is a larger than life size Quizno’s cup, you know, one of those grand ideas that a business owner gets to try and generate new business. Basically, he pays some young sap $5 an hour to stand outside in a large rubber suit mimicking a giant version of a Coca-Cola on the rocks while waving at the passing cars who clearly don’t give a damn one way or the other. Now, last time I checked Quizno’s was famous for their sandwiches so I’m not sure how the cup plays into it. I guess it didn’t seem politically correct to have a 10 foot ham on rye waving instead. Still, I have to admit that it’s better than the Santa Claus in Phoenix that stood outside in the middle of summer in east Mesa pointing towards the jewelry store. If you ask me he’s where they got the idea for the film “Bad Santa”. I wouldn’t sit on his lap if you paid me a million dollars.
I don’t like the Quizno’s cup. I’m not sure why but something about him makes me uncomfortable. Maybe I’m intimidated by large oversized soft drinks, I don’t know. I want to approach him, ask him if he’s ever applied anything directly to his forehead, and then run like heck, leaving him puzzled beyond belief. Or, I want to tip him a bit in order to see if I can hear the sound of fake ice cubes inside. Basically, I just want to mess with him. I know, how mean, right? Then again, he’s posing as an 8 ft. tall cup that’s not only waving at passersby but also dancing in the process, doing this interesting little spin that by rights and weight proportions should knock him on his arse in a matter of moments. Given that, still he spins and stays right side up. Damn, I don’t like the Quizno’s cup.
As a distraction, I just recently decided to take the leap and buy my first bicycle after not owning one for approximately 16 years. I live right in between two lakes and figured with all the paths running around the neighborhood that it was time to get out and explore. Also, after living in Phoenix, AZ, for 21 years, I realized that I had completely grown accustomed to never leaving the house due to the heat of the largest oven in the entire universe beating down upon me, otherwise known as the desert sun. It was time to attempt to break this habit. Thank the heavens for the simple invention called clouds.
The old saying goes that “it’s like riding a bicycle…you never forget how to do it.” For some reason, whenever I hear this phrase I can only think that it’s about having sex. I know, Freud would have a field day with this but so be it. I’m sure I’d puzzle him even more with the ink blot test, being the only poor sap that claims to see a large multicolored crab wearing a suit and sunglasses when it’s clearly a picture of an anxiety prone badger’s uterus.
I was shocked to see that I indeed hadn’t forgotten how to ride a bike although for a split second there clearly was panic on my part. I began exploring my neighborhood for the first time ever, riding the various paths and such that encircle the lake and stretch throughout the neighborhood in every direction possible. I found that more people walk the paths than ride them, and it wasn’t long before a couple not paying attention caused me to miss the path altogether and land in the trees, the couple looking at me in an unsure manner on whether they should laugh or perhaps call the authorities.
I also learned an interesting trick. Let’s say for some reason you’re short on cash and you’re skimping on food for a month. Never fear! Not wanting to eat Ramen noodle every day, if you own a bike, simply ride it quickly through the trees and your mouth will promptly fill up with every bug imaginable. One even flew up my nose and caused me to sneeze like an allergic in a feather factory. I sort of imagined that when I finally got to use a tissue that the bug would simply come flying out as if it was the most natural and efficient means of transport to come along yet. Worse yet, what if I met someone and started talking to them on the bike trail and it came flying out at random? I’m sure it’s a great way to meet women, let me tell ya. They don’t call me Mr. Charm for nothing.
I’ve since concocted a brilliant idea: I’m going to ride my bike over to the shopping center, and then nonchalantly with full force run smack into the Quizno’s cup. It would be worthy of a stunt from an episode of Jackass only I’d be doing the neighborhood a big favor. With a bit of luck perhaps after hitting him and being knocked over myself a bug might fly out of my left nostril. Can you think of anything more perfect than this? Anyone got a video camera???
But seriously, I’d never do anything to harm someone, let alone an 8 ft. tall Quizno’s cup. Heck, the guy’s got to be in pain enough wearing a large suit of rubber in the 85 degree heat with moderate humidity. If I was the Quizno’s cup I’d probably pass out within an hour, and kids in the backseat of something like a Dodge Caravan passing by would suddenly cry out, “Daddy!!! The Quizno’s cup just rolled into the street!” Due to the shape and size of the outfit I’d probably roll unconscious from heat exhaustion down the road and end up in the Mississippi River. With that being said, peace to you, Mr. Quizno’s cup. Long may you spin.
The moral of the story is that there’s clearly some highly interesting advertising tactics in our society these days. Some of these are brilliant while others need their originators to be beaten to a pulp with a steel plated super-sized Twinkie.
And, of course, when you’re giving them the beating they so richly deserve, don’t forget to apply it directly to the forehead.
