A can of worms

It's hard to know what's more depressing about the Heinz ad gay kiss fracas: the fact that people actually felt strongly enough to complain, or the fact that the ad was taken off the air by Heinz. We're talking about the least sexy man-on-man kiss in the history of television. Anyone who found this offensive is an obvious lunatic.

But, digging deeper, there's a curried bean in this somewhere that burns my ass.

200 complainants is quite a lot by ASA standards but, if the ASA choose to investigate, I'll bet they find nothing "inappropriate" or "offensive" in the ad's content. How could they? It's entertaining but ultimately banal. So, an appropriate response to the complaints about the ad would've been Heinz saying, "Get the fuck over it." The fact that they went all "gay" about it, apologising for causing offence, is bad enough because this smacks of homophobia in itself. But there's something inauthentic about the whole story that has the cynic in me smell a rat in this kitchen, and it makes the whole thing a measure more insidious yet.

This is the very first TV commercial produced for Heinz by their new ad agency, AMV BBDO, which took over the company's £10 million contract recently. I wonder if there's any coincidence here.

It seems to me that the creatives at AMV BBDO are pretty clever: create a minor furore over some mild gay content in a "family" ad; then, create massive brand awareness by removing the ad with much fanfare and apology, declaring it the response of a company "that listens" - suddenly, everyone will look at the ad on the internet, and all those thousands of people who never even heard of Deli Mayo before (which - say it out loud - sounds uncannily, almost poetically, like a certain newspaper) will now be familiar with your product, plus you'll generate a bit of a debate because plenty of people will kick up a fuss about that fact that there's not very much to make a fuss about. Hey presto. Most successful advertorial concept of the year.

Maybe I'm overthinking it but it makes sense to me that good ad companies get millions of pounds for shit like this.

Sad thing is, this withdrawal method is not gonna be too great for the self-esteem of gay kids, or the kids of gay parents, who are gonna be extremely sensitive to the idea that their existence is a justifiable source of shame - it's just such an idea that this entire hullabaloo inflates. And therein lies the fucking rub. And it's why Stonewall are up in arms, and Gaydar are encouraging a boycott of Heinz products, and there's a Facebook group campaigning to bring the ad back. Wow. That's a lot of publicity right there.

Whether this situation has been engineered by cynical creatives, or blown out of proportion by a company of such flimsy mettle that it bows to the pressure of an ultra-conservative minority, Heinz and their ad bods are obviously doing something so wrong it's weirdly right. They even made it onto my blog. Clever cunts.

Flexi-time

That was a nice message. I could reply to it right away. So, I'll reply ... mm ... later. First, I'll have a cup of tea and read that article that caught my eye on my RSS feed.

While I wait for the kettle to boil, perhaps I could put some washing in the machine. No, by the time I've sorted out my colours, the water won't be BOILING hot anymore and I'll have to boil it all over again. Forget that. I could ... I need a pee, I'll pee.

I've had a pee, the kettle's just boiled. Well done. Perhaps some chocolate to go with that tea. Hm. Nice. Now a cigarette. Better go into the garden for that; don't want to stink out the living room, flatmates won't be chuffed.

Now, what was I going to do? Oh, the article. Ah, the computer's indoors. Hm. Must fill the moments. Maybe I'll call someone. Who can I call? Who can I call? Who can I call? Who do I feel like calling?

Those weeds are ridiculous. We've got such a big garden, so much potential. We could have a Vogue Ball out here, that's one hell of a runway. Nextdoor have barbecues. We should have barbecues. But the council will have to fix that drain.

I can't believe that drain. I can't believe they only unblocked it three weeks ago. What keeps blocking it? It's un-believeable. I'll bet them upstairs are pouring fats down the plughole. I bet that's what it is. I've a good mind to go upstairs and say, "What are you pouring down the plug? It's blocking the drain and we've got scum all over our runway. We need you to stop pouring fats down the drain else it'll ruin our Vogue Ball."

But it might not be the flat directly above. It might be the one above that, or the one above that, or the one above that. I'm not going to knock on all the doors. I'll get a reputation for being the curmudgeonly little fart on the ground floor. They'll end up pouring fats down the drain just to spite me.

Why am I back at the kettle? I'll have another cup of tea since I'm here. This is way too much caffeine. Now, who was I going to call?

I wonder if any of those boys nextdoor are a bit gay or if they're just Italian.

I must renew my gym membership. I'm gonna turn into a blimp. Hm. But I'm not in bad shape. I might not be a cover boy, but... Oh, for heaven's sake, who wants to be a cover boy, anyway? I've got more important things to do with my time than spend all my time down the gym.

There might be a dead rat in the drain.

But I must renew that membership. And those library books are way late. Where are they, even, anyway? If a complete stranger walked into my bedroom they'd think I was somehow dysfunctional.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Let's read that article. Then, we'll work on some music.

I'll just check my messages first.

Pigeon Shit

Ding dong, darlings.

You may, if you've been rigorous in your consumption of online current affairs (i.e. following FaceFuck updates), already be aware - so apologies for repetition - that a pigeon shat on my head outside Starbucks on Friday 13th. Apparently, this was "lucky".

Not so lucky for the environment since I immediately developed a cosmic resentment and, when I got home, decided to boil the kettle repeatedly for the sheer helluvit and get my own back on the universe.

Which, since I'm on a meter, then bounced back on me just as I found some decent porn on Xtube in the middle of the night, and the leccy clicked off. Let it be a lesson.

By the time I made it back from the 24-hour shop to top up the key, I was no longer bothered about a wank so just sat on the edge of my bed, half-thinking about not-very-much, for a drawn-out period of very downtime. Asking myself questions like why do pigeons always have such last-minute reactions when I'm riding at speed on my bike? The number of times I've slammed on the brakes....

Pigeons are shit. Unless used in magic.


Pigeon Magic - The funniest home videos are here