The promo is about "Jan" who had a cozy *ahem* relationship with her dad, and who went from pert college student to 35 year old, frustrated, husk. Once she was a man-magnet, but awareness of her own advancing age, and social failure, left her depressed, prematurely aged, and desiring to look older and less sexy than Ellen Corby. The narrative goes on to explain how Valium, and therapy, can work wonders for all the "Jans" of the world. The line about "never found a man who could measure up to her father" makes me flinch every time.
>And, having raised the spectacle of it myself, I'm also having a hard time getting out of my head the possibilities for fiasco in 2012.
Fiasco is the ONLY reason I'd go! You know, just as I do, that this is going to be in excruciatingly poor taste, but wearing a mask of reverence.... a situation which is ALWAYS rife for parody amongst those who get the joke, so to speak. You just KNOW that there will be a 'come as your favorite passenger' costume party as you sail towards the spot where that person most likely died or was widowed. And a Last Supper recreation. And, most likely, a really bad commemorative poem, in the delightful A-A-A-A-B-A-A-A-A-A-C configuration, read at some point on the 15th. And, yes, loudspeakers playing "Nearer My God to Thee" (If I may ask, what does that MEAN? MY God implies, of course, that it is not YOUR god, or thine god, approaching. Is that a subtle Protestant/Catholic jab, or Christian/pagan? Either way, God is never supposed to be "my," which indicates personal possession, but is properly addressed only as "God" or "Our God" on party invitations and the like... he gets really huffy otherwise, and spends the afternoon raining plagues down upon children... but I digress; it's a fairly insipid hymn in any case) out of sync is guaranteed, with a poorly timed fade-to-moment-of-silence that sounds like... well, actually is, a radio hastily being turned down.
Yet, as fun as this all seems, my inclination is to spend April 15, 2012 somewhere on shore....
Ernie, Paul's sense of direction (let alone navigation) was never up to much, so he'll be hanging around in Southampton Water till the convoy sets out and following behind at periscope depth. If he loses sight of them after dark he'll use the snorkel and his legendary ability to detect and home in on even the faintest whiff of the scent of lager.
So that's what happened to Tammy Marihugh! Jim, she looks like she's quietened down in that last pic, and I'm willing to give it a go. Do you happen to have her phone number? Do you think she'll be more relaxed if I turn up with an oxy-acetylene rig?
Well Jim et al, I expect quite a few people are fairly relieved to be able to figure out exactly which Board members will be staying home in 2012. Mind you, I might go yet, if I can only secure the on-board floristry concession.
Ah, Bob. I had no idea the entire, sad, decline of Jan was available online. "Bunny," her 1966 flame, looks JUST like serial killer John Wayne Gacy in his oft-reprinted 1960s wedding photo!
I like the disclaimer about Valium and children under the age of six months. And remain intrigued by how, in 1970, 35= life is over you shriveled husk of an old maid.
> Jim, she looks like she's quietened down in that last pic, and I'm willing to give it a go. Do you happen to have her phone number?
Yes, I have Jan's phone number. But keep in mind that, at age 75, she STILL hasn't found a man to *eccch* measure up to her dad, and subconsciously sabotages every relationship she is in. Back when she was a Valium addict, in the late 1970s, she was part of the swinger scene and sublimated her feelings of self loathing (which were only MASKED by tranquilizers) through epic promiscuity... some of which was filmed, and can still be found on video. One evening in 1987, zonked on nine Valium, which by then was the minimum dose she had to take for the drug to be effective, she either failed to hear (or respond to, if she did hear, there is some question) her father's multiple calls for help from the bathroom floor. By the time she became aware that something was awry (the tidal wave from the still-running bath water pouring out from under the door and down the stairs was her first clue) it was far too late. It took two years to wean her off the stuff and, from what I'm told, she was addicted to ether in 1992.
But, she's swell NOW, so if you want to call, just email me for the number.
>Well Jim et al, I expect quite a few people are fairly relieved to be able to figure out exactly which Board members will be staying home in 2012
I travel incognito. Even my harshest critics have not known me as I've stood beside them, snickering. You recall my disguise from the QE2, and how neither you nor Bob knew who I was until I gave the pre-arranged password.
You even mis-captioned my photo in your digital, as this file you sent shows...
Well, Jim, your own powers of observation leave something to be desired. You spent two hours talking to this couple before you realised you were in the wrong pub. In your defence, though, we must admit that the resemblance to Mon and myself is uncanny. Except that they have more teeth.
Tim's disguise was subtle. He came dressed as a flight attendant which, of course, was naught but the truth, yet none of those who sought to assasinate my traveling companion along with myself saw thru the clever ruse and the voyage was most unremarkable in that regard:
Women, and "stewardesses" (as female flight attendants were then called) HATED this ad campaign. National Airlines gave each of its planes a female name, emblazoned in a cutesy little heart logo, and used the intro slogan "I'm Margie: Fly Me" and the outro "I'm Going to Fly You Like You've Never Been Flown Before" in its adverts. It lasted a few seasons.
Thanks so much for supplying us with 'Jan'. I've duly forwarded her on to an assortment of single girl friends (only the most desperate cases, mind you). Tragic twenty-somethings, all across London, will be blessing the name of Valium tonight.
Are all of your girlfriends single and desperate, Martin? What you need is a change of image, and you could make a start by purchasing an outfit like the one above (easily obtained from any Oxfam shop). You'll then attract a better class of totty. Guaranteed.
I remember the "Fly me" campaigns, and didn't see anything objectionable about them at the time, sad to say. It obviously took feminists a couple of decades to raise my torpid consciousness. But I know when the worm began to turn.
When I was a student they held a Girl Auction in Rag Week. The men banded into syndicates to bid for girls who were paraded singly on stage to whoops or jeers, depending on their attractiveness. The syndicate then drew lots for the prize, which was the girl and £5 to take her out for an evening (dinner was donated by a high-minded Italian pizza place - well, it was all for charity). Pretty girls all went in for it to see if they could fetch a better price than the others. Dowdy and serious-minded female Student Union officials were sternly told it was their duty to enter, and endured silence and sniggers from the audience when nobody bid for them. I have never seen a more humiliating spectacle in my life. If Jan had been subjected to that, she'd have most certainly needed her Valium.
Tell your girl friends about this, Martin, and they'll cheer up instantly. At least they've never had to endure anything remotely similar.
Two thirds of the way down the dreadful slope that culminates in 35? Peering over the edge, into the abyss which awaits any woman who isn't married by her mid thirties; sensible shoes, boxy coat, "I've given up" hairstyle and the onset of the screaming voices that only YOU can hear, which shriek and jibber "FAILURE!"
Jan is the star of my collection of weird female-oriented graphics from the 60s and 70s. Although, in truth, I prefer the TV ads centered around women, beautifully coiffed suburbanite women, successful in ways that Jan could NEVER be, who blow up like impeccable volcanos and verbally abuse their husbands and children until... guilt... sends them to the aspirin bottle and a blessed return to sanity. Invariably hilarious, in an unintentional way: "Mommy, mommy look what I drew" "WILL YOU PLEASE SHUT UP! I"M BUSY" they can serve as either promos for Valium or cautionary films as to wehat WILL happen when mom hits the bottom of the prescription bottle five days before it can be renewed- there are only so many times you can tell the doctor your prescription fell into the toilet before he begins to refuse to refill it prematurely. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-dXcimQ0QTs
Well, Bob, even though the pizza was paid for, it was a big event - well, the blokes hoped so, though I think they were entirely wrong 95% of the time. There was the taxi, the orchid, the chocolates, the pre-dinner drinks .... do you mean to tell me you didn't do all this? Plus ca change, indeed!
Orchids? Chocs? No, I wasn't into foreplay. Pre-dinner drinks? Well, I generally provided instead-of-dinner drinks. Plus a bag of chips on special dates. Front row for the flics, back row for the theatre. Two quid easy.