There are so many intelligent and articulate people covering the hard-hitting
issues in our country these days, that I felt it was my duty to cover the
rather inconsequential bullshit that tends to make up the vast majority of
our lives. Actually, I'll just be griping a lot which, if you weren't aware,
doubles as a synonym for complaining, and as a descriptor for
a sharp pain in the bowels.

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Chan[n]el No. 5

A little bit of
Brad Pitt
on a sign, a little bit of
at one time, a giant effing bus ad's what we need. Want to buy some Chanel? Plant the seed.

I'd pass the Knightley face above, daily (not Daley, I get off before that) on my walk from the train, and then on my walk to the train, and perhaps on my walk to and from seeking out some lunch. Recently she was replaced by old Brad up there, whose quizzical, far-off look can likely be accounted for by his confusion that a giant perfume bottle is super-imposed in front of him. "Do dudes even wear this?" Brad Pitt doesn't care. Hollywood, a couple of roles in some nutter films (Seven, 12 Monkeys), Gwyneth's head in a box only to discover you're still dating in real life, and then a female Jon Voight eventually on the scene, with a gaggle of children, adoptive and biological. Life's different for you, wear what you like.

In simply googling those images, there was a swath of articles (really, I chose swath?) describing these ads. People are confused they say, but it's attracting attention. It certainly is. It's just crazy enough to work. My fragrance use won't go beyond whatever scent my Old Spice deodorant happens to be, but this may very well chan[n]el in some new sales.

Welcome to November folks. Seven weeks left in the world.*

*some say


  1. hey! this is tiffany (give up the ghost)

    found you again.


  2. oh snap, open diary days. holler.


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