The Bing Crosby Earworm
Preface: I saw this at Trader Joe’s the other day:
It stopped me in my tracks. I have no interest in the wreaths that were in the box, but I stopped. I suppose that makes it a marketing success. But it broke my brain a little.
I know that someone had to run this through a bunch of focus groups, and other procedural hoops, to see what the consensus was. And I guess this would fill the marketing bingo card: Xmas Festive, Play on words, Pop culture references, Targets middle aged bread winners, Alludes to an easier time in their lives, Retro speech bubble, Inoffensive type font…
But of all of the pitches that were made… this is the one that made the cut?
I mean, I’ll take it, because Holiday Advertising campaigns usually feel more like this:
And I’d love to tell the marketing world where they can stick that campaign. But I also know what they’re trying to do with it, so keeping a safe distance is still probably safer.
So there I was, trying to reconcile the two lunatics of Kurt Cobain and Christmas Cheer, while both of them escaped into in the mosh pit of my ADHD brain. But it was such a non-sequitur: Nirvana started out as angry punk-metal, and literally went out with a Bang. (I know, I know.) I supposed in a sense, it could work, there had been a Church of Kurt Cobain for a while, so maybe there was a religious angle. But still, I just couldn’t quite get there.
Well, I got most of the way there. Bad Santa is still the only holiday movie I’ll willingly watch, because it almost guarantees that I’ll be left alone, and not have to get caught up in any more holiday nonsense. Given that, some in-your-face, pugilistic attitude sounds like a great solution to a formal family dinner.
But as crazy as that box was, thinking about it too much gave me a horrible mash-up of an ear-worm: Punk music and holiday cheer finally combined, like Voltron, and I ended up with Bing Crosby’s voice in my head, singing “Haaaaave yourself… A Nihilistic Christmas…” And it wouldn’t go away for hours.
The only coherent thought that emerged was that marketing agencies must be like cages filled with Shakespeare monkeys. I imagine they spend all day throwing mashups and feces at each other. I’m sure that they hope to come up with the marketing equivalent of Romeo and Juliet: Whatever it is will be timeless, but endlessly recyclable. True love, gone awry, and gone forever… just like Kurt Cobain.
Well, maybe not gone forever. But at least until next year, when it’s time to Beat the Drum some more, and I can be glad that I married a Jew.
Green Spirit?!? Really?
Christmas wasn’t too hard to deal with as a kid: I got new toys, and a week or two off from school. But as I got older and started looking back at years gone by, all of the big holiday gatherings were basically governed by one principle:
This is IT. (finger jab for emphasis) This is the year. So help me God, we are finally going to love each other like a fucking family, and be grateful for each other, and all of that other sentimental shit that you see on TV. It’s going to be a perfect God Damn Charles Dickens Kodak Moment. And it had better be, too, because I only have 3 more pictures left on this roll of film, so quit screwing around during the Fucking Family Photo. We’re going to be a Loving, Supportive, Happy Family, without ANY of the bullshit, and if any of you FUCK THIS UP again, there’s going to be HELL TO PAY.
I can confidently report that a week or two of walking around on eggshells will take the cheer out of pretty much anyone. So, I know why I don’t like Christmas. But I also know it’s not just me. And maybe that’s the secret gag on the Trader Joe’s box:
Maybe the Marketing Monkeys had a moment, like the Christmas Truce of 1914. Maybe they all just stopped, without really knowing why. And they put their feces down for a second. And they took a breath.
And then another.
And they relaxed, for just a moment.
And then finally, one of them declared:
“This Holly Jolly Bullshit makes me want to blow my fucking brains out, ok! So let’s use Fucking Kurt Cobain!”
Smells like green spirit to me.
Some of you may read that and think I’m a misanthropic nincompoop. That’s ok. You all have your own stories, and I know from talking to some of you that the holidays mean something very different. Your families were different, your lives were different. The grass was acxtually greener. And many of you are the friends that folks like me need, just to have proof that it can be different. So this one’s not for you.
This one’s for the other people, with their own Holly Jolly battle scars:
You’re not alone.
This is bullshit.
But it’s also ok: In another month, we can all make a bunch of promises that we don’t expect to keep. The clock will ring, the ball will drop, and normal life will be visible again, just on the other side of that hangover.
Then we can get back to work, making slow steady progress for ourselves. And maybe even share it, as we welcome the rest of the world back in.