I am amazed at how stupid commercials can be. Or maybe they think we are that stupid? Like the one for Boniva. Sally Fields says, "My friend tells me she has to set aside time once a week to take her [bone strengthening medicine.]" (I put the brackets because I don't remember her exact words at that point, but that was the meaning.)
And I think, oh my goodness! How much time does it take to pop a pill?
Of course, Boniva's draw is that you only have to take it once a month. Let me tell you, I'm so impressed by the benefit of having to take a pill once a month rather than once a week. I could save at least four minutes. Enough time to . . . oh, I don't know, hang up my jacket -- which I haven't been able to do for months, because the truth is, I have to set aside time every day to take my vitamins. Wow, if I had Boniva, my jacket wouldn't have all this cat hair on it. Think I'll go to my doctor and ask for this wonderful medicine.
But what really gets me is how much this commercial probably cost. It was clearly professionally done, and with Sally Fields -- well, sure, as an aging star, she's available, but I doubt she's cheap -- the commercial probably cost several thousand dollars to create. And then how much it costs to run on cable/satellite shows is -- wow, I just don't know. But I do know that Sally Fields gets paid royalty every time it shows on TV.
With that much money put into it, you would think the creators would make something much more clever and creative, and you would think the executives of the company that sells Boniva wouldn't sign off on this drivel. It's no Superbowl commercial.
Showing posts with label time. Show all posts
Showing posts with label time. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Friday, March 9, 2007
Twenty-three Hour Day
I need a 23-hour day. I'm really better off with 7 to 7 1/2 hours of sleep than 8 hours. (It's in that last 30 minutes that I have all the dreams, so I'm really ready to wake up.) When I go to bed at 7 or 7:30, I am ready to wake up around 2:30-3:00. I have my alarm set for 3:30, so I usually make myself stay in bed for the last half hour.
Why not just get up and get things done, you ask? (Yeah, right.) Most people would actually ask why don't you just go to bed later? The answer for both questions is the same. Because I'm so d---n tired in the evening that I'm just waiting around to go to bed. I try. I tell myself if I can just make it to 8:00 (for example) on a Friday night, I can watch the new episode of Monk. And I've actually stayed up that late (!) but couldn't last through Monk (much as I like the show.)
Of course, the fact that I am virtually alone most evenings (no one but my cats and dogs around) doesn't help. I can't think well enough to write -- my mind is just all anumb. I tried getting on here and writing my blog last night, but just didn't feel like writing. And if I can't think well enough to write, you bet I can't grade papers. I straighten up the kitchen, but don't do any heavy labor. I feed and water the cats and dogs and clean up any messes. And that's about it.
So there I am -- half interested in whatever show is on, unable to get myself interested in reading a book at this point, just waiting to go to bed! I hate waiting.
As a kid, I hated Sunday afternoons. Those were when all the adults took a nap, and we kids had to be quiet. (We were supposed to be taking a nap, too, but whether we actually slept or not was up to us.) It was just wait and bide my time. Wait and wait and wait.
I've had many episodes in my life like that. I remember counting the slats on the side of my grandparents' car port in Mesa, Arizona. My sister and I lived with our grandparents at the time. But at their house, a kid couldn't really play. My grandma had plastic covering her living room furniture, for Pete's sake! And we could sit on it only on Sundays. Even outside, the grass was neatly manicured and the flower beds leaf perfect. Granny had some snapdragons and I snapped them until they lost their snap and just dangled. So finally, I divised this "game" of counting the slats. I'd walk along and touch each one as I counted. And when I got to the end, I'd turn around and keep counting, going back and forth for hours.
The point is sleep became my sweet relief. The evenings here aren't nearly as bad as my childhood, but that's because I'm an adult and can do what I want! And often what I want is to just go to bed. So I did last night -- BEFORE 7:00! And darn it, I was ready to go this morning at 2:50. This is just weird.
It makes parties difficult to go to -- or anything in the evenings. But then I'm not much of a party person, so -- oh well.
Why not just get up and get things done, you ask? (Yeah, right.) Most people would actually ask why don't you just go to bed later? The answer for both questions is the same. Because I'm so d---n tired in the evening that I'm just waiting around to go to bed. I try. I tell myself if I can just make it to 8:00 (for example) on a Friday night, I can watch the new episode of Monk. And I've actually stayed up that late (!) but couldn't last through Monk (much as I like the show.)
Of course, the fact that I am virtually alone most evenings (no one but my cats and dogs around) doesn't help. I can't think well enough to write -- my mind is just all anumb. I tried getting on here and writing my blog last night, but just didn't feel like writing. And if I can't think well enough to write, you bet I can't grade papers. I straighten up the kitchen, but don't do any heavy labor. I feed and water the cats and dogs and clean up any messes. And that's about it.
So there I am -- half interested in whatever show is on, unable to get myself interested in reading a book at this point, just waiting to go to bed! I hate waiting.
As a kid, I hated Sunday afternoons. Those were when all the adults took a nap, and we kids had to be quiet. (We were supposed to be taking a nap, too, but whether we actually slept or not was up to us.) It was just wait and bide my time. Wait and wait and wait.
I've had many episodes in my life like that. I remember counting the slats on the side of my grandparents' car port in Mesa, Arizona. My sister and I lived with our grandparents at the time. But at their house, a kid couldn't really play. My grandma had plastic covering her living room furniture, for Pete's sake! And we could sit on it only on Sundays. Even outside, the grass was neatly manicured and the flower beds leaf perfect. Granny had some snapdragons and I snapped them until they lost their snap and just dangled. So finally, I divised this "game" of counting the slats. I'd walk along and touch each one as I counted. And when I got to the end, I'd turn around and keep counting, going back and forth for hours.
The point is sleep became my sweet relief. The evenings here aren't nearly as bad as my childhood, but that's because I'm an adult and can do what I want! And often what I want is to just go to bed. So I did last night -- BEFORE 7:00! And darn it, I was ready to go this morning at 2:50. This is just weird.
It makes parties difficult to go to -- or anything in the evenings. But then I'm not much of a party person, so -- oh well.
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