It was...fun. Oh, my...

To paraphrase General Douglas MacArthur: "Old advertising mascots never die; they just fade away". The life of an advertising icon is an unpredictable one; some continue to live on as the indelible (somewhat racist) face of a national brand for well over a century, others are over used and worn out into total irreverence, while others flop right out of the gate into obscurity. Occasionally a mascot may get discontinued, only to find unexpected new life decades later. One thing mascots hardly ever do, however, is actually get killed.

It is an exceedingly rare and bold move on the part of a brand when they decide to go for the nuclear option of putting in the effort to deliberately and publicly eliminate their mascot in an advertisement. The only other example I can think of is the heroic death of Segata Sanshiro, the star of a series of brilliantly insane Sega Saturn ads in Japan from the late 90s that I would need to devote an entire entry to properly cover; he had by far the most epic death for an advertising mascot. I do recall the Budweiser frogs were the victims of an assassination attempt in 1997 by some vindictive Italian-American lizards and their hired ferret associate, which did leave one of them traumatized.

The public executing of a mascot is the ultimate expression on the company's part that they are going in a totally new direction and leaving the past completely behind. If a company takes the time and spends the money on a proper end for their character, I suppose it either means that they: (a) have grown to absolutely despise the character and want to be as public with their disapproval as possible or (b) have so much respect for the character that they want to give them the dignity of a big finale rather than just quietly phasing them out.

In the case of Priceline.com's decision this week to kill their longtime spokesman, the legendary William "The Negotiator" Shatner, it is definitely more the latter reason. Priceline, which somehow managed to survive the dot.com bubble and (to my continuing surprise) manages to thrive today as a travel website, has finally decided to drop its silly "name your price" feature, which never really worked that well, and has finally become a straight travel discount site like all the others. This end of the need for price negotiation obviously means the end of the "The Negotiator". It appears that the war had ended and apparently fixed prices have won.

So after 14 years of loyal, price slashing service from the quirky concert sets of the late 90s, to his epic showdown with Leonard Nemoy, to his latter day role as "The Negotiator " (with occasional help from the Big Deal), the people at Priceline decided give Shatner a final act on par with the passing of his other famous character. Looking at the two deaths there is an odd similarity between them. Both instances involved a large explosion on a vast cliff, a fearless act of heroism that saved many lives (and in the case of the commercial, also money), and a sort of symbolic passing of the torch to a new generation. As commercial mascot deaths go, I think it was a fine way to close the chapter and turn the page.

Farewell Negotiator, I hope you're in a better, more affordably priced place.

Wikineedia

As you may have noticed from your friends facebook statuses and from visiting many of your favorite websites, yesterday was official SOPA/PIPA protest day on the Internet or, as I will remember it as, the day Wikipedia didn't work. Now I'm all for an unfettered, free Internet (you may have noticed my blog has been preemptively protesting SOPA/PIPA by not contributing an entry since last Wednesday). From what information I've skimmed both proposed pieces of legislation appear unduly restrictive and would cause more harm than the proposed good (although I do feel all I've been getting is the anti-legislation viewpoint; where can I get some pro-SOPA information? The RIAA website? A brief chat with Chris Dodd?). I for one though am not too worried that these laws might pass, there appears to be such a negative majority reaction to it and (although no one is really publicly stating it) there is no way modern American society will allow anything that would hinder or burden the free flow of easy access, streaming, pornography. With that said, the real lesson I learned on Jan. 18th was how important wikipedia was to my everyday life.

Not to get all former communications major on everyone but Wikipedia has to be one of the few completely beneficial things to have come out of the Internet. It's one of those innovations that the Internet was created for (along with of course the free flow of easy access, streaming, pornography): a constantly updating collaborative compendium of human knowledge that's standardized and summarized and freely available for the masses; an amazing achievement that could not be done in any other medium. Aside from the participation and scale of the project, the really great thing about wikipedia has been its democratization of information. Without the burdens of physical media along with the accessibility for anyone to contribute an entry, all information, regardless of importance or cultural significance is included and treated the same way. An article detailing the WWE/WCW Monday Night Wars is covered and treated with the same standards as World War II; you won't get that from Encarta 98.

Being suddenly denied daily access to this diverse, dynamic source of information made me realize how much it had become my daily fact checker and reference guide for the mindless minutiae in my life from petty disputes in conversations, random connections, forgotten facts, to fleeting obsessions. It was downright frustrating how I found myself being denied quick and easy facts about all the random topics that flew into the scattered brain. Ten things off the top of my head I couldn't look up or had to consult inferior sources yesterday:

• Microsoft Encarta
• Rod Hull and Emu
• "You Have Been Watching" Episode Guide
  
• Patrick Leahy
• SOPA (a bit ironic I suppose)
  
• Boris Johnson
  
• Almond Milk
• The Bob Newhart Show
  
• Dierks Bentley
• Dikembe Mutombo

I think I'll go click on one of those ubiquitous banners and donate a fiver.

Inanimated Or: Why I Am Crazy

We had to throw out our old home toaster recently. Something went wrong with the internal coils and it just started burning one side of the bread to a crisp while leaving the other side untouched. Looking back over its life, I would conclude it had a pretty impressive run. Seven plus years of flawless service is quite an achievement for a low end, no frills, white plastic outer shell, Hamilton Beech toaster. Had it held out for a little while longer it might have even outlasted the Kmart where I think it was originally bought. I'm sure whatever toaster we get to replace it will be just as unremarkably reliable at it's singular, specialized task of warming up slices of bread, with the occasional bagel thrown in. I really shouldn't pay this mundane domestic non-story any mind and give it about as much remembrance as a replaced light bulb or a tossed dull shaving razor. Unfortunately, as you can see I cannot, since I am part of the generation cursed to have grown up with "The Brave Little Toaster"

For myself (and I suspect more than a few other of my peers), that exciting animated adventure tale featuring a plucky little toaster and his misfit cadre of animate home appliances (Radio, Lampy, Blanky, and Kirby the vacuum) faithfully seeking to reunite with their beloved owner who was forced to abandon them years ago has instilled a sort of irrational attachment and nostalgia for the inanimate objects, particularly of my childhood. The film and its sequels (including one where they somehow end up on Mars!) combined with the movie's obvious progeny, the even more sentimental, emotionally loaded, "Toy Story" films (interestingly enough many original Pixar members worked on "Toaster") is likely responsible for cultivating more than a fair share of hoarders within my generation.

Of course we all have our mementos, heirlooms, and souvenirs that we all hang onto and which keep us connected to the past and fond memories; and there are times when a vintage item is actually better than a modern day version, but there are clearly limits. If an object has outlived its usefulness and a replacement is available, you should replace it without affording it the empathy reserved for a human being. I shouldn't feel a twinge of sadness as I see my broken toaster looking solitary and out of place in the outside trash bin. I shouldn't think it lies awake at night, shivering in the cold, staring at the empty sky, grimly pondering why it has been suddenly abandoned. I shouldn't imagine all the other kitchen appliances having melancholy conversations about their lost comrade and morbidly considering their own mortality. The new replacement toaster should not be characterized as an arrogant villain just because it happens to be newer and more advanced than the old toaster.

Whenever I start to get irrationally sentimental like this, I think back to one of my all time favorite TV adverts: the series of Ikea commercials from the 90s where the viewer is manipulated into feeling bad about the unfortunate fate of a household object and it then abruptly told by stern looking Swede that we are crazy for thinking that and you are better off replacing old, tacky items with new ones. It is true, I am crazy and Disney and Pixar are highly irresponsible for peddling such entertaining and memorable messages of consumer goods animism to kids at such impressionable ages. I should enjoy my new toaster, guilt free and perhaps buy a new floor lamp from Ikea.

For next week, in my continuing series examining the influence of animated films of my childhood in my adult life, I'll tackle the deep theological issues of mortality, the afterlife, and the existence of the soul raised by "All Dogs Go To Heaven".

Odds - Future

Counting this article (and I guess barring any sudden uncontrollable compulsions to update in the next four or so hours) my final year end tally for entries on "Victor Sells Out" will top out at 52. It averages out to about a post a week, a pretty modest number for a supposedly active personal blog; additionally I'm not even factoring in the actual quality of these 52 posts. Of the five years (feeling so, so old) since I started the blog proper, it'll rank right in the middle as my third most productive year (if I remember my middle school math that will make it the "median"). It's nowhere near my prolific 130 from 2008 (I really should have been studying a lot more that first year of law school) and almost double my pathetic 27 from 2010 (I really should have written more since I was unemployed for most of that year).

My ideal target since I started this blog has been to average 10 posts a month for 120 on the year. The only year I actually matched (and surprisingly surpassed) it was my magical 2008. Since it is the end of 2011 and the promise of a fresh new 2012 with seemingly limitless possibilities looms ahead (and seeing as I needed one more entry to make things an even 52) I figured I would publicly set an official post goal to keep me accountable for the upcoming year; although truth be told there are no real consequences for me if I miss this number aside from mild disappointment. It'll also give something for you compulsive types to wager on. After some consideration I will officially set my target goal for the coming year at: 100 Posts.

Now having told you that my ideal number of posts every year is 120, it may seem a bit defeatist to set it well below my defined standard for success. However, aside from being a nice looking round number to set a milestone towards, I like to think 100 posts is a tempered, realistic goal and a admirable step towards gradually achieving an output of 120. Also, I'm a massive pessimist. Do you know anything about me? Have you ever read anything here?

Of course, this target number will be null and void if the world comes to an end as supposedly the Mayans and "The X-Files" predicted. Happy New Year Everybody.

Keep The Change

It may not be all that apparent from the look of the posts but this new Blogger interface that has finally been forced upon me...SUUUUUCKS!!

Now I'm sure like every other form of initially jarring interface change I've ever encountered on my favorite internet sites and applications (new blogger, new gmail, new facebook, etc.), I will eventually get used to it and, who knows, may even find it superior to the way things used to be. For now though, all I know is it took me about 15 frustrating minutes to get the proper formatting done to make my latest Lockhorn vs. Lockhorn update conform with the rest of the site. Normally it takes me about a minute to put up a post. This is the complete opposite of progress.

Are people really calling for all these websites to overhaul their setups? Or is this superfluous change for the sake of change? I for one had absolutely no problem with gmail and the old blogger and was particularly miffed at the shuffle. I know I'll probably hate timeline, but I'm actually getting a little ignored that the folks at facebook haven't even pushed it upon me yet. There are clearly websites that are asking for an overhaul (my yahoo mail account for one kinda blows), but why change a site that the overwhelming majority agree is fine the way it is?

In the end I suppose there's just no use fighting progress. I just wish my blog margins and line spacing stayed consistent.

Two Tragic, Yet Fascinatingly Freakish Stories I Read On Yahoo! News That Tangentially Reminded Me Of Scenes From Famous 80s Action Movies

No doubt the first in a series...

Couple Badly Injured After Bodybuilder Attack

Your clothes. Give them to me. Now.

Model Loses Hand In Plane Propeller Accident

Unfortunately I couldn't find a good copy of the original scene so I had to go with the crude Lego reenactment; but you all know how it goes.

Now if only there was an article about a distinguished Detroit cop who was left in critical condition after a gang shooting or a group of terrorists taking over a Los Angeles office building and holding its residents hostage.

Ain't No Cure For The Sunday Night Blues

For me the one downside of having an extended weekend is the extended cases of the blues I get at the end of it on Sunday night when the prospect of the work week ahead looms overhead. It's really not the work itself that I dislike, it's that it's just so damn time consuming. Those daylight hours that I'm squandering at work are my prime, most promising hours of my waking life; the high ceiling hours with the highest potential chance (as objectively remote as they may be) that I do something life changingly awesome. There's got to be a better use for them (I mean look at the proliferation of posts over just these four days!). The idea that this wonderful string of leisure filled, responsibility-less free days may actually come to an end starts to drip into my awareness as early as Saturday night, but once Sunday afternoon rolls around and everything starts to take on a dim golden light I'm already dreading that moment Monday morning when I sit at my desk and realize I have a whole day of this nonsense ahead. As the last thing I usually see before going to sleep, NBC's Sunday Night Football, has now perversely become this depressing funeral for the weekend; with Tony Dungy, Dan Patrick, and the rest of the studio team serving as awkwardly bantering pallbearers.

While I thought that this Sunday melancholy was just a label for the personal complaints of slackers and people who don't like their jobs, according to Wikipedia (which we all know is the universal arbiter of ultimate legitimacy) it is a real medical condition known as "Sunday night blues". Who knows how many untold millions are quietly suffering from this terrible affliction? Forget restless less syndrome meds and boner drugs, if someone could crack the Sunday night blues, and invent a pill that will make you think you'll be going on a beach vacation on Monday, they'll be bigger than penicillin (currently the closest thing to an available cure is having an extended boozy Sunday brunch). I will admit that the actual page for Sunday night blues (or SNB as I will now call it on my workers comp forms) is quite sparse and lightly researched and is probably headed towards deletion without any further intervention; but until that happens I have a new semi-legitimate medical excuse in my pocket for missing work on Mondays.