All posts by Matthew Callan

Seasonal Fare, Self-Righteous Rants

Bah Humbug ’07! AND THERE WERE SQUIRRELS

Three years ago, I used this space to rail against “The Little Drummer Boy.” It still ranks as my all-time most hated Christmas song, because it is an enormous steaming log of bullshit drenched in sticky-sweet sentimental syrup. It’s a holiday song for the same kind of people who believe in angels: they want something quasi-religious that doesn’t ask you to actually believe in anything (except kindly, poor drum-playing shepherds).

Two years ago, I took “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” to task for being misguided, self-congratulatory, and ultimately mean spirited. “Thank god it’s them instead of you”?! Go fuck yourselves, British do-gooders.

Last year, I was too busy changing diapers to get too upset about Xmas music. This year, I don’t have any specific song to lambaste (although if you’re in that kinda mood, I recommend Patton Oswalt’s takedown of “Christmas Shoes”). [New site update 12.21.08: There used to be a video of this on YouTube, but it has sadly passed into the Intertubes Graveyard.] But there is a genre of Christmas songs I despise, one whose ranks have been swelling in recent years. If I could somehow give these songs to life, I would, just so I could give each of them a debilitating case of food poisoning.

I’m talking about the rocking and/or soulful Christmas song. I suppose there is no reason why a Christmas song can’t rock or have soul, although scientists have yet to confirm his hypothesis.

Continue reading Bah Humbug ’07! AND THERE WERE SQUIRRELS →

Baseball

Take Your Medicine

Fellow baseball fans, I say this with love: grow the fuck up.

If you think the Mitchell Report is the worst thing to ever happen to baseball, that tells me two things about you.

(1) You have not even skimmed the report, because if you had, you’d know that it hardly names any major player we didn’t already know about. Aside from Roger Clemens and Andy Pettite–and if you had two eyes and an ear for gossip, you’d have known about them already, too.

(2) You know nothing about the history of baseball.

Continue reading Take Your Medicine →

Adtacular, Seasonal Fare

Die Die Die: Lexus Performs the Collected Works of John Cheever

I don’t have a problem with the commercialization of Christmas. Or at least I think it’s pointless to rail against it. Christmas is a holiday whose main purpose is to buy presents for other people. In other words, commercialization is built right in. You might as well hop in the ocean and complain about how wet it is. “What the hell–this ocean is full of water!” You know when Christmas wasn’t commercialized? Never. Don’t like it? Deal with it, Linus Van Pelt.

What I do find gross at this time of year is commercials that equate Spending A Lot Of Money with A Demonstration Of Love. There have been many offenders in this category over the years, but my least favorites have to be the Lexus Christmas ads. These spots return every December, a lot like the old Norelco ad. But rather than show Santa tooling around in an Electric Shaver/Sled, these ads want you to drop 80 grand on a luxury sedan.

The commercials vary slightly every year, but they follow a basic formula: One family member–almost always a father/husband–uses a clever means to reveal his purchase of a Lexus to its lucky recipient. Sometimes, children are involved. Sometimes, carolers are put to work. Whatever ruse is employed, it’s twee and precious and ends with the revelation of a brand new Lexus in the driveway, topped with an enormous red bow.

As with many ads that infuriate me, I don’t understand what audience this commercial is pitching to. If you’re rich enough to swing a Lexus, you buy one, end of story. The Rich don’t need a holiday as an excuse to treat themselves to a brand new automobile. And they don’t need to be enticed with the oily aromas of Dealer Incentives and Year End Rebates.

If you’re waiting around for an Annual Sales Drive or Factory Surplus to buy a Lexus, guess what? You can’t afford one. Putting these commercials on the air, at this time of year, is just a slap in the face to every Working Schmuck laboring under a mountain of debt and expectations.

Continue reading Die Die Die: Lexus Performs the Collected Works of John Cheever →