late-night commercial roundup

June 15, 2010

Because of some late nights working on “The Graveyard Shift Issue” of Cerebellum, I’ve been hanging out with the idiot box well into the AM range. And I’m really perplexed at some of the commercials lately. Musings and stories on two recent offenders.

Bud Light/Steel Panther

Nevermind the fact that whoever posted this commercial on Youtube was watching Eurotrip (as edited down for TBS). This shitty Bud Light commercial came on during the 1:30AM rerun of Colbert Report and gave me a major “I grew up in L.A.” moment. Remember when Steel Panther was called Metal Skool and they played at the Roxy and tickets were $15 and I always had the distinct feeling that even though they were a cover band, a lot of the people who went to their shows were seriously trying to re-channel the mise en scene of the Sunset Strip in the 80s? Somehow, we were on the list one night and there I was, just out of a hard day of ditching high school, learning to love butt rock from a bunch of regular dudes who like to play dress up and put on a comedy routine which happens to center around them being in a band that is an amalgam of Guns and Roses, Motley Crue and Cinderella. Once I grew up (slightly), I got a job at Starbucks in Studio City, and the singer came in out of costume one night, ordering a double macchiato in a very soft spoken voice and addressing his modestly-clad girlfriend in a respectful tone. The band soon changed their name to Steel Panther and they stopped playing at the Roxy. They moved their weekly shows to Riverside, Orange County and Vegas and apparently are now doing Bud Light commercials dressed as former version of their glam-mocking selves. In a media full of popular culture meta-perspectives, what does it mean when a cover band sells out?

Booty Pop!


This video was not only disturbing, but it was also 2 minutes long. It features a lot of white women looking disgruntled as they stare at their jeaned-up flat asses in the mirror, wishing they had “the perfect lifted booty” and then discovering the product–which is essentially a pair of granny panties with some foam sewn into it–and being interviewed about their need for a pant-filling “booty” (a word that seems to be as awkward to them as “for shizzle”). The overgeneralizations of “what women want” in this commercial are staggering because no one that I know is desperate enough for a “youthful, head-turning bootyliscious booty” that they would be caught dead wearing strategically placed pads shoved into their panties. In fact, my booty pops on its own and when I’m walking around downtown Long Beach and all the guys getting off the blue line start following me home making cat calls at my ass, I’d rather it didn’t.

So when all the Orange County moms are done trying to be black at their divorcee dance nights, I’ll be first in line for the Booty Un-Popper, for those that would like to draw less attention to their fat ass.

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