So I open up my email from Costco, which, like my beloved SkyMall, is full of the most random assortment of products thrown together in no particular order. And I come across this little gem. The Trojan Pleasure Pack is on sale this week. Someone in the art department must have been concerned that the only product shot they had wouldn't scale up nicely. So what's an artist on deadline to do? Quickly! To the stock photography! Here's how I imagine the process went.- 2:37 PM - "OK, gotta get a picture for these sausage casings."
- 2:43 - "Too bland."
- 2:59 - "Too 70s."
- 3:12 - "Too many dudes."
- 3:38 - "Too much oil."
- 3:53 - "Legal might have to OK that one."
- 4:17 - "Oh God!! My eyes! It burns! It burns!"
- 4:42 - "Almost out of time. Gotta come up with sexy but not offensive."
- 4:59 - To boss: "I did not rush through this! That's a sexy laboratory, man."
- 5:01 - Unicorn Chaser
A decade ago I bought a new Honda Civic. The nice folks at the dealership still seem to labor under the misapprehension that I'll be able to buy a new car again at some point in my life. That's looking increasingly improbable. Hope springs eternal and whatnot, so they send me postcards and letters asking for my business. Indeed, I once received a mailer with an enticing scratch-off pad. You know, like on Lottery tickets? It was from their service department and under the metallic blot was my personal service discount! I pulled a coin out of the nearest child's hand and began scratching furiously. Would I get a free tune-up? Maybe half off a timing belt replacement!
But my enthusiasm was naive and misplaced. Much like Ralphie decoding Little Orphan Annie's secret message, I was playing the chump. My personal discount was for $2 off any service. That's two dollars off. At a freaking car dealership! Somewhere, in the quietest, most remote part of my brain, the last non-cynical cell in my body cried out: "Son of a bitch!"
Which leads us to Mr. Opportunity up there. Last summer I got another solicitation from the sales department. They managed to insult my intelligence by mistaking the plural for the possessive. There was no shock or hurt this time. I'm a lot tougher now. After a disdainful snort, I made a solemn vow to myself. If I had the money for a new car, I'd take my business elsewhere.
Dear friends, It's my sincere hope that you haven't personally suffered from the Lymes.
Even if you haven't, you surely know a friend, family member, or acquaintance who has endured the heartbreak of Lymes. That's why I'm asking you to look into your tick-bitten heart and reach into your wallet. Please help the neediest among us. Every $2,500 (plus tax) you donate buys an hour of hyperbaric therapy for some poor Lymer. And, if you donate today, we'll send you a free "I got pressured into hyperbaric therapy" t-shirt as our gift. So please, before my next boat payment comes due, won't you give to the Lymer fund?
Copyright 2007, 2008 Stuart Gripman. All rights reserved.
So I open up my email from Costco, which, like my beloved SkyMall, is full of the most random assortment of products thrown together in no particular order. And I come across this little gem. The Trojan Pleasure Pack is on sale this week. Someone in the art department must have been concerned that the only product shot they had wouldn't scale up nicely. So what's an artist on deadline to do? Quickly! To the stock photography! Here's how I imagine the process went.
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