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Showing posts with the label advertising

How to beat the ads

My brown dress shoes didn’t quite survive the wedding we attended a few weeks ago. So, I’ve been glued to the computer, looking at new shoes.

I haven’t bought any. But the happy result is that now, all of my browser’s banner ads show pictures of elegant, brown, leather or faux-leather shoes. This is more pleasing to have in the background than the usual eye-popping fare.

It also has sparked an idea for making the web advertisements on one’s computer less painful to view – assuming, of course, that one’s ad-blocker doesn’t already keep everything out.

(1) One should choose something nice to look at.

(2) It has to be something one could buy (not, e.g., a fawn or Mt. Fuji).

But:

(3) It should be something that one has almost no desire to buy, so that it won’t distract one (much).

(4) Any specimen should look like any other.

(5) Corollary: the object should come in a standard color. And this color must be muted, not garish.

(6) Ideally, it should be a natural object. (Not a box of Brillo pads. Not a jug of laundry detergent. A transparent, full milk jug is better but not ideal; see, above, the third point.)

(This sixth point will be qualified later.)

(7) One should visit lots of merchant’s websites and click on pictures of the object. One should do this for several days.

(8) Voilà. This pleasant object, and nothing else, will appear where garish things once did.

I suggest looking at lots of merchant’s pictures of unadorned blue spruce Christmas trees. After a few days, your screen will be flanked by a lovely forest rather than by the Las Vegas Strip. If you can’t stomach anything to do with Christmas, browse cacti or cilantro or firewood instead. You get the idea.

Now I’ll qualify (6). You can get away with looking at artificial Christmas trees because they resemble the natural ones. Not all merchandise has this characteristic, however.

Body-text fonts, pt. 49: ITC Garamond

The Iranians are trying to have their World Cup games moved from the U.S. to Mexico.

Good. Luck.

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Six-year-old Samuel, whom we don’t allow to use social media, has been talking about giving up social media for a week. 🙄

Not for Lent’s sake. For a Klondike bar. (“What would you do for a Klondike bar?”)

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Chubby ITC Garamond is this month’s typeface. (This link is to the darker version, and this link is to the lighter version.)


My children are less “Charlie Bucket,” more “Mike Teavee.”

Ads, memes, R.I.P.s

An email I received: “Join the DoorDash Community Today.”

The word “community” is overused.

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The loan officer in charge of our mortgage already sends us Christmas cards and fridge magnets. Recently, he’s begun sending postcards advertising U.S. national parks.

What’s his angle? I asked Karin, who works in banking.

He wants us to take a vacation so we’ll borrow more money from him.

Seriously?

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This has been making the rounds:


The meme varies: 35 years, 30 years.

Masculinity, smoking meats, and WW2 are constants. So is woeful grammar.

But the sociology is sound. As it happens, I’m reading three books about WW2. I also read about that war in December, January, and February; and I expect to do so again next month.

As for smoking meats: the closest thing I do is to boil scraps of leftover KFC, with other ingredients, in the rice cooker.

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I was saddened to read of the death of burger restauranteur “Rusty” Miller, beloved by Quito’s U.S. expatriates. This nice obit gets a detail wrong: it says “Rusty” closed his stores in 1985, but I’m sure I ate in one, just east of La Carolina, in the late ’80s. (I would’ve been very young if it was in ’85.) I knew the mustaches but not the man. I never knew that “Rusty” returned to Ecuador in the 2000s.

R.I.P. Miss Hultberg, school librarian and Minnesotan who loved cows.

R.I.P. Gene Hackman, his wife, and their dog, whose unusual deaths kept fans in suspense for days. Hackman was iconic, all right. Apart from other oldsters like Eastwood, Nicholson, De Niro, and Pacino, there is no comparable living U.S. actor. Cage, perhaps. Cruise is monumental but altogether different from Hackman. (Funny that The Firm, which features both of them, is so ho-hum.) My favorite Hackman performances are in Hoosiers and Night Moves.

Karin’s quiet birthday; a mermaid; return to Puffin Rock

Happy birthday to Karin: treasured wife, adored mother, possessor of immeasurable intrinsic value. Witty, dreamy, pretty, kind.

Somehow, Etsy knows that it’s Karin’s birthday and that I’m married to her.

Here, have some ads in your email.

Thanks, Etsy.

Curiously, a lot of the ads have to do with the Zodiac. But the ads don’t seem to know what Karin’s sign is. I don’t think she’s one for embroideries and wall hangings of Scorpio the scorpion.

It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate kitsch. She bought me this skeleton of a mermaid, for the Halloween season.


Tonight, we watched the final episode of Cat Hospital, and then Karin put on Puffin Rock for Samuel (and for the rest of us; we needed a change from Samuel’s YouTube videos). It’s been many months since Samuel watched this show, which used to be his favorite. He seems to have forgotten a lot of it. He resisted it at first, but now he’s deeply invested in the story. He supplies a running commentary.

Oona is so bad!

No, Sammy, Oona is good.

Oona is good. Mossy is so bad!

No, he’s just silly. And hungry.

Mossy is so silly!

Yes.

So, this bodes well. Lately, he’s been downright distressed when we’ve played his old shows or read his old books. He seems to have intense, nostalgic, none-too-happy reactions to things from his past.

But we need him to come to terms with the past, because soon it’ll be time for Daniel to be exposed to these shows and books.

Last night, I went out to buy milk; when I returned, Daniel had learned to raise himself into a sitting position. Since then, he has been practicing sitting up, and tipping himself over onto the floor. Thunk! His poor little head!

Umbrella; vermin; children; Heineken

Rihanna: “ … under my um-bar-
ella, -ella, -ella,
eh, eh.”

Samuel: “Hahahahahahahahahaha.”

A timely song, what with all the drizzle. Summer appears to be winding down. We’ve had our first notable cooling, and leaves have been peppering the ground. This is a “false fall”; but tell that to the mice, who’ve again infiltrated our mud-room: we’ve found little mounds of dirt where they’ve been tunneling. We’ve left no food for them. They must simply be sheltering from the cold.

Daniel, who seems constitutionally squirmier than Samuel (and he is plenty squirmy), has been hurtling himself out of his chair and slithering over the ground, either backwards until he gets stuck or, like a hurricane, in a spiral pattern. He leaves little spiral-paths of puke. Or he stays in his chair and rocks his legs so vigorously that it lurches, a foot at a time, across the room.

Samuel leaves out uncapped dry-erase markers, and Daniel sucks them.

I’m gradually weaning the children off YouTube, to interest them in soccer (which will be necessary for them when the World Cup is played). It helps that on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, ViX broadcasts Champions League matches. Samuel is familiar with the halftime commercials. “Drink responsibly,” he says when he hears strains of Handel, who composed the Champions League refrain.

That awful Pepsi ad with Kendall Jenner


… which was torn apart on Saturday Night Live


… was anticipated over fifteen years ago in a music video by the Chemical Brothers.