The Sound of Indolence

I'm getting pretty tired of apathetic singing. I guess it was tolerable at the end of Juno, but my opinion on this changes depending on my mood (sidenote: I was voted my family's moodiest member back in '05.) But now Comcast seems to think that their prime potential subscribers are viewers just a couple of mumbled lyrics away from slipping into an emotional coma. This is evidenced by their recent string of commercials, which bombard my daily pop-culture education sessions (referred to by my laymanandwife parents as "TV watching.")

On the whole, I'm going to say that I don't really like song commercials, simply because they're evil. Forget embedded texts, I think catchy jingles are the ultimate subliminal messages. "1-800-54-Giant" could easily make it onto the radio-hits-of-my-childhood playlist. I consider the "only at mattress Giant, oooh ahhh" songline to be one of my earliest lessons in sexual education.

Perhaps the most evil thing about jingle-based commercials is that I instinctively sing them, both as I watch them and while I go about my life away from the TV. This is embarrassing, because any witness to my commercial crooning--especially when done sing-along style--immediately realizes that I watch an inappropriate amount of television.

It is for this reason that I try to resist my urge to join in when watching TV with my parents. After all, one of my father's favorite self-given nicknames/alter egos is "The Tele-ban," and involves wrapping a throw-blanket around his head as a makeshift turban, holding the remote hostage, and laughing maniacally. It's extremely offensive to me and my TV-loving siblings, and maybe even to other people too?

However, when an irresistible song comes on like FreeCreditReport.com's "well I married my dream girl, I married my dream girl, but she didn't tell me her credit was bad..." I can't always hold back. 

As I give into the siren song, I watch my parents' eyes dart from me, to my stained sweatsuit, to the pile of food wrappers next to "my couch," and so I purposely flub a few lyrics in hopes that they won't connect the three ever-expanding blob-like dots and put parental codes on every channel.

"Yes, that'll do the trick,"

I think to myself, and pad off to the kitchen for another pudding cup.

And then I think we all share the same thought. I need to get a job.