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Good advertising, poor advertising …

We’ve done this once before but as Chuckles points out, “Ah, but these are in a single convenient pack,” and that is so:




Suppose it’s just the old snake oil again.  It’s not the lack of realism – this one is lightyears from reality:

… but most owned at the time it was good. So what makes a good ad? For me, 1. the product is good and sells itself and 2. the company is known for clever and/or humorous ads. Sure I’d buy.


… but I’d make sure below that I caught the name and then avoid whatever it was like the plague – there’s something coercive in it which has me going the other way:


There’s a difference between truly clever and “clever clogs”. We’re probably also speaking of reasonable places to advertise, for example not on the white lines of a zebra crossing but yes, on a bench or bus.…

Sagas – the ultimate cure for insomnia

Erik Njorl, son of Frothgar, leaves his home to seek Hangar the Elder at the home of Thorvald Nlodvisson, the son of Gudleif, half brother of Thorgier, the priest of Ljosa water, who took to wife Thurunn, the mother of Thorkel Braggart, the slayer of Cudround the powerful, who knew Howal, son of Geernon, son of Erik from Valdalesc, son of Arval Gristlebeard, son of Harken, who killed Bjortguaard in Sochnadale in Norway over Cudreed, daughter of Thorkel Long, the son of Kettle-Trout, the half son of Harviyoun Half-troll, father of Ingbare the Brave, who with Isenbert of Gottenberg the daughter of Hangbard the Fierce …

There is such a thing as too ethnic, even when applied to us.…

Eleanor Powell

eleanor powellThe real issue with the “modern” dysfunctional British or American women is that there is a constant stream of them.  Even this morning there were those involved in the banning of International Men’s Day.

Therefore it’s important to hold up women from the past who were functional, were awesome, were ladies, were everything one can admire.

One such woman was Eleanor Powell.

“5 feet 5 1/4 inches; chestnut hair and blue eyes; weight 122 pounds”

The sayings of Alfred E. Neuman [1]

… eleven at a time:

obama-alfred-e-neuman“Smoking helps you lose weight — one lung at a time!”

“Today, if you ask a car dealer to let you see something for 10 grand, he’ll show you the door!”

“Medical insurance is what allows people to be ill at ease!”

“Prison inmates are treated to cable TV, hot meals and a college education, while on the outside some people can only
afford these things through a life of crime!”

“Thanks to the new welfare bill, the question “Paper or plastic?” now refers to many American’s sleeping arrangements!”…

Broccoli the journeywoman

I wept only with frustration: Spectre reviewed [Deborah Ross, Spectator]

Your humble blogger is stuck for words, tongue-tied, he can’t rattle off clever phrases, he’s in deep shock at society and it’s allegory, its metaphor, its analogy, whatever, which the demise of the Bond franchise represents.…

The extravaganza

Oh dear, bit of a problem with demi-dresses – where to place the hands?  Still, Ms Seydoux is known for her affection for other women:

where can the hands go

There’s a logic behind fawning over stories of James Bond, Pippa, whatever’s going in the old, pre-invasion Britain – it’s ours, it’s our pap, our gaucheness, our Z lister celeb red carpet, our way of all lining up so that the designated braless royals can walk past being oh so jolly interested in it all.…

Bond, James Bond

bond, bellucci

The Mail most certainly has a place – in its photo spreads, in it’s outing of humbug … and in its unapologetic fawning over a new James Bond film.

Have you ever hated yourself for your weakness?  Here is your humble blogger, liking to think he’s capable of thought, of at least some discernment … and here he is avidly following Rossa’s links to voraciously read as much as he can about this new Bond flick.…

Vive nos différences!

It’s under threat:

The song is “when the town sleeps” and that could be an analogy for what is happening now as the country sleeps. Our yobs are wrecking French society:

[This was] the scene early yesterday morning was more reminiscent of a British town centre at closing time. The air was thick with confrontations, arguments and expletives. Welcome to late-night drinking culture, Paris-style .

“The French kids are the worst because they want to be Anglo-Saxons,” said Jean-Christophe, a waiter, shaking his head in front of the Saint Michel archangel fountain, which dominates the square and is currently full of white bath foam and at least one mooning reveller.

“They start knocking back the strong beers early on and then move on to shots, often without eating,” Jean-Christophe said, as if describing a sacrilegious act. “They know it’s what the English do, and they think it’s cool to be boisterous.

Svetlana Alexievich

svetlana alexievich

The Nobel prize winner for literature seems to have had a tragic time of it:

The pathos of Alexievich’s situation is that, while some of her books have been successful—War’s Unwomanly Face reportedly sold two million copies—today, the humanist writer is nearly unknown in her dehumanizing homeland, and is of little interest to its people. Her print runs are modest.