So I changed the blog name, still working out the kinks, have patience with the newbie please. I now present you with a post that I could continue ad infinitum. I will break it up into chunks so as not to overwhelm…Things that bug me (part I).
I was not a business major so I don’t know the official term for this. I’m going to call it over-marketing. I first noticed over-marketing earlier this summer around the time Cars 2 was released. Seems like an innocent enough kids movie, right? WRONG! This movie has actually become a type of torture device which nearly prevents me from being able to go out in public with my 2-year-old. Really it is not the movie itself that is the true source of terror, rather the products that are emblazoned with the main characters’ likenesses.
OK, Mater is sweet and all. And thinking of Owen Wilson with his cute lil’ crooked nose hiding behind McQueen’s cool-guy exterior is kinda hot. But it is simply not necessary to see their car-faces on everything from cereal bars to juice boxes to paper towels to body wash to balloons half the size of New Mexico!
Do the demons behind this nonsense not have children? Do they realize what impact their nearly criminal actions have on innocent parents trying to get a bit of grocery shopping done? The average Publix trip goes something like this:
Aisle 1: “Cars, Cars, CARS MOMMY!!!!” (Here’s where the mild glances from strangers begin. To cope, I grab whatever the kid is pointing out simply to hush him up).
Aisle 2: “CARS MOMMY!! Tow-Mater! Juice! Need juice!” (Needed juice boxes anyway so pay the extra $1 for the privilege of making eye contact with Mater every time I open the fridge).
Aisle 3: “McQueen! Mater! McQueen! Mater! Mommy, look!! Cereal!!” (I don’t even think this child eats, maybe this will do the trick?).
Aisle 4: “MOMMY! IT”S MATER AND McQUEEN!!” (This is getting old quick. My reaction at this point? “No shit, kid.”)
And so it continues until check-out at which point I am forced to pull out my Superhero-like powers. Thank heavens 2-year-olds are more distractable than Charlie Sheen at a strip club. Once I say the magic word “gum” and then produce my boy’s chewable form of crack cocaine, he doesn’t even notice as I empty half the cart of Cars-emblazoned products on the floor behind the register.
I’m guessing the cashier did, though…Sorry! I promise I’ll try to get a different cashier next week.