Unsolicited Concepts For Donovan McNabb and Alexander Ovechkin's Capital One Ads

CONCEPT 1: Donovan is leaving Fed Ex Field after a particularly tough defeat. Alex pulls up in his whip for their Sunday visit to Dairy Queen (a dietary indulgence that each man can afford once a week at most).

"I'm am sorry Donovan," says Alex. "That was a truly heartbreaker."

"Thanks, man," Donovan replies. Then: "Oh SHIT! I had to pay the pool guy to fish out that dead squirrel right before the game, I'm out of cash!"

Suddenly, like a lightbulb: "Capital One Bank," says Alex. "They're everwhere."

"Oh man, you're right Ovie!" Donovan is effervescent. "When we get to DQ, I'm treating you to a chili dog and a Blizzard!"


CONCEPT 2: Alex is spotting Donovan as he works on his bench press. Donovan finishes his set, grabs a towel.

"Whew!" he exclaims.

"Make sure you always are locking it out," Alex reminds him. "That last set was not looking so good."

Donovan concurs. "You're right man. It's just, I feel like I'm not getting the kind of pump I need from my supplements. I'm worn out lately!"

"I know of a guy," Alex offers. "He is super underground, only having the shit that is not in the Vitamin Shoppes yet. However he is taking cash only."

"Hell man, I don't feel like driving across town to BB&T just to get some cash," Donovan replies.

Alex grabs Donovan by the shirt collar and pulls him Eskimo-kiss close, staring unblinking into his eyes. "Capital One Bank," he hisses. "They're everywhere."

Donovan is nonplussed.


CONCEPT 3: Donovan is trying to book a seat on a flight to Saint-Tropez five minutes before it departs National Airport. His credit card is declined.

"I'm terribly sorry Mr. McNabb," the firm but accommodating young lady at the ticket counter tells him.

"No, no, it's fine," he replies. "Damn! I knew I shouldn't have put all those cases of Orca caviar on that card right before this trip! Orcas don't even lay eggs!"

Almost before he can finish the sentence, an enormous hirsute hand floats before his face, clutching a freshly minted American Express black card, issued by...

"Capital One Bank," says Alex. "They're everywhere."

"Alex!" Donovan exclaims, dumbfounded. "You're a lifesaver! But aren't you supposed to be playing a game right now?"

"Yes." Alex gestures to a nearby airport bar, which is broadcasting a live feed of a Caps-Sharks game in the first period. Alex has already scored twice and is attempting a penalty shot.

"Woooowww," Donovan says. "You really are something else, man!"

"I got to go," Alex says.

Hells Yeah

Xtranormal is fun

330,003 Structural and Hygiene Issues From Beyond The Rig Veda

Does it count as schadenfreude if I'm merely impressed that so much could go so thoroughly wrong?

Unsolicited Catty Remarks for US Weekly's "Fashion Police"

Looks like Jessica's taking fashion tips from her man Tony Romo!


Ri Ri needs to learn that there's a fine line between hippie chic and hippie FREAK!


Sorry Lady Dada, Slipknot auditions were last week!


Belly button rings are SO over!


She went for Betty Boop, but ended up making Harvey Keitel turn to drink in "Bad Lieutenant"!


Johnny Depp is a true fashion original and can do no wrong in our eyes.

Kate Hudson Has One More Oscar On Her Shelf Than You Losers

If you're ever at a loss as to what to make the premise of your latest rom com, just remember you always have "assuming custody of your dead friend/sibling's child" to go to in a pinch.

Unsolicited Pieces for Pitchfork's "Top 200 Tracks of the 1990's"

94. Puff Daddy - Come With Me
What does it mean when such bold, genre-defying music is used to accompany such unadulterated schlock entertainment? Can we shake the fetid memory of the 247th godawful CGI retread stomping the shit out of NYC and focus solely on Puff's unfuckwithable flow, reminding ourselves that the phrase "from and inspired by" is merely a sly marketing ploy? Or do we just accept that it is impossible to remove the presence of Godzilla from what is otherwise one of the freshest hip-hop tracks of the last 20 years, and appreciate the dichotomy contained therein? All I know is that when the "BMM-KCH-BAH" beat kicks in on top of that HUGE violin riff, all considerations of pop vs. art, real vs. fake, whether or not that really is Puff in that Fine Young Cannibals video, go out the window like yesterday's molted lizard skin. In the words of Matthew Broderick, "Holy shit!"

176. Seven Mary Three - Cumbersome
Seven Mary Three are often dismissed as being merely Puddle of Mudd in chrysalis, but listen again to that chorus: "I have become cumbersome/To my girl". What always set frontman Jason Ross apart from the rest of his post-grunge peers was his sometimes shocking vulnerability, and it's never more apparent than in this track. The really incredible part, though, is that he has a crack band willing to follow him into the abyss. As the chugging guitar of the verse snags and hangs over the lyrics like an unanswered question and Ross lays bare his (really, all of our) emotional trials and tribs, you can feel it: something's about to drop.

26. Everclear - Heroin Girl
Props if you can make it through this one: picking up where Lou and Neil left off, Everclear mastermind Art Alexakis crafts one of the most harrowing drug yarns in recent memory. Even if you're not chasing the dragon (I've never sampled the stuff myself), you'll still feel drowsy and incoherent when the Black Flag-caliber punk evisceration has whirled you through every minute, wrenching detail of the lives a long-gone chick and a guy who didn't see the future coming. Everclear: pure, undiluted, straight to the gut.

2. Marcy Playground - Sex And Candy

Kurt Cobain. Mulder. Beck. Samuel L. Jackson in "Pulp Fiction." Stephen Malkmus. Not even one of those icons (or, shit, all of them combined) could step to the nonchalant shrug that this song dropped on our collective consciousness circa '98. MP's John Wozniak (this is before his solo outing as 5pyramidz, remember, he was still John Wozniak back then people) couldn't even be bothered to SING the damn thing. It's a testament to the ethos of a decade now long past that people would positively CRANK this shit like it was Daddy Yankee.

It does make some weird sort of sense: everyone knows the '90s were the most chilled out decade ever. We had a pothead for a president, Nintendo 64 had just come out, 9/11 and the Iraq and Afghanistan wars were just a twinkle in Dick Cheney's penile implant. A lot of people wouldn't rank this song as high as it is on our list (hell, "Save Tonight" only clocked in at number 41), but it can't be denied that in some way, at a remote but cherished time in our lives, this track spoke for a part of all of us. All together now: "Hangin' round/Downtown by myself/And I've had too much caffeine/And I've been thinkin' bout myself." Mama this surely is a dream, indeed.

Predictions for the Series Finale of "Mad Men"

Following the dissolution of his third marriage to reality TV starlet Kim "$o Hood" Schleidenbach, Don retreats to Bobby(now Robert Francis)'s McMansion in the Atlanta suburbs. Desolate and beyond redemption, he pilots his son's Lincoln Navigator into a river and drowns laughing after seeing this commercial in hi-def:

Souleyman in the Citay

When Omar Souleyman strode onstage at Issue Project Room in Brooklyn on a crushingly hot June 27, he was flanked by at least two official videographers, along with a hype man who hovered about the stage continually snapping photos with an iPhone, often directly over Souleyman's shoulder. The internationally celebrated purveyor of hyperspeed Dabke seemed utterly unfazed by the bordering-on-overbearing presence of these documentarians; in fact, the impression conveyed by this performance was that Omar Souleyman was, is, and shall remain utterly unfazed by anything at all.

Coolly, purposefully prowling the stage, Souleyman wasted no time with superfluous gestures, pausing only to make measured exhorting signals to the gesticulators below, or to receive lyrical coaching from his onstage adviser (the guy with the iPhone). Decked out as he was in full-body thawb and keffiyeh in the oppressive heat, not one bead of sweat manifested itself anywhere on Souleyman's visage for the entire performance.

Souleyman is a consummate entertainer, and every aspect of the show from the circling cameras to the cool-customer nonchalance was carefully calibrated to project the idea of capital O capital S Omar Souleyman; the unflappable, deeply intense figure hailing from a place utterly remote to most Westerners, a man who clearly lives to engage and entertain but who remains to a large extent mysterious and unknowable.

This is not to imply a cynically calculated approach on the part of Souleyman or his musicians and handlers. Of course, one must be familiar with Souleyman's music to really get the full complexity and character of this concert. For the unschooled: it basically sounds like Excepter at triple speed played on pitch-shifting keyboards while Souleyman intones Syrian poetry and candy coated digitized Oud flies in from the top of the Burj Khalifa here just watch this and this. Basically, it's really intense and out-there. Souleyman's impenetrable attitude onstage actually served to heighten the intensity; since he stayed so reserved for the lion's share of the show, the moments in which he really threw himself into a phrase or lyric (especially when he was met by an immense shifting wall of psych Korg)were genuinely transporting.

But that's all just so much talk. I guess that what I'm ultimately trying to express is that of the two concerts this past weekend at which an iPhone played a crucial role, I think I chose the right one to attend.

Unsolicited Suggestions for Nicholas Sparks

Missed Connection: A recent divorcee strikes up a steamy romance with a human rights lawyer turned Zen Buddhist practitioner when he sells his grandfather’s mahogany armoire over Craigslist in an attempt to rid himself of earthly constraints. They must struggle to balance their love against the demands of her newly-opened bakery and his duties running a Northern California Zen monastery. Soul-searching trips to wine country abound until he is killed in a helicopter accident.

Mystery Fax: A harried travel agent and single mother starts receiving strange faxes at her Cape Cod office. At first she believes they are solicitations or a wrong number, but then discovers they are desperate dispatches from a brave handsome journalist held captive by FARC guerillas in Colombia. They continue to exchange messages through this rapidly-disappearing form of communication; non-platonic feelings erupt. Finally, with the help of her ex-husband David Morse, she goes to South America to attempt to rescue him. He is tragically killed after eating a poisonous jungle plant but not before giving our heroine the courage she needs to open the tearoom of which she had always dreamed.

Texts from Ocracoke: A 40-something CPA and recent divorcee is taking some time to herself on the Outer Banks when she meets and falls in love with a ruggedly handsome pediatrician who had his larynx torn out by a leopard while working in Namibia for Doctors Without Borders. Since he has lost the ability to speak, they communicate with each other largely through text messages. She must overcome her long-standing technophobia (“I never use anything fancier than an adding machine,” she admits at one point) so that love can blossom in this coastal paradise, and so they can open a rare book shop together, thus fulfilling her lifelong dream. Tragically, though, he is killed when a really heavy book falls on him.

Coo-Coo for You: A young American doughboy fighting in World War I meets a beautiful French village girl while AWOL from this horrible, pointless fighting that is tearing this world apart. He is eventually found and brought back to the line, but continues to send poetry and communiqués to her via passenger pigeon. Cruel fate conspires to make it impossible for them to reunite after the war, but they meet again in Paris when they are both 120 years old and he happens to walk into her granddaughter’s créperie. They live happily ever after but passenger pigeons go extinct because of their overuse in wars.

Happy Birthday: Das Vidanya

Das Vidanya marked its one-year anniversary a few days ago. What has changed since April 3, 2009? Let's run this down in bullet form, but with dashes:

-Posts are generally shorter: It's hard for me to believe that I was able to write posts longer than four paragraphs towards the beginning of this blog's history. These days, Das Vidanya topics rarely gestate in my mind long enough to be crafted into posts, and those that do are ineffable and fleeting at best. Erring towards short and sweet has kind of become a thing with Das Vidanya.

-More erratic posting: Boy, I sure was a Talkative Terrence last spring, eh? Yeah, not no more. I'll refer you to the explanation above: Topics - ineffable! fleeting!

-More embedded videos: Everyone knows that it is important to utilize visual aids when dissecting important topics e.g. L'il Wayne. More videos! Plus you can call your friends around to watch them and when they ask "Dude what the hell blog is this" you can say "I dunno". Increased video embeds should in no way lead you to infer laziness on my part.

-I moved back to Northern Virginia: I don't want to talk about it.

Thanks again for your loyal readership and let's make this next year the specialest one of all!

Fancy

"You know how L'il Wayne came up with saying 'no homo' when you do [gay] stuff like that?" said the man at the gym a couple days ago. "Well, my whole life is no homo."

All I Do Is Kill Nazis Of You The Whole Night Thru

Oscar weekend is here, and there are those who believe that Inglorious Basterds is likely to become your 2009 Best Picture recipient. I don't think that this will happen, but I fervently hope that it does.

Basterds was my second-favorite movie of 2009 (after this masterpiece). Here's my third grade book report version of why:

I thought Inglorious Basterds was a good movie because it was really fun and awesome. The main themes were revenge and Nazis. The main Nazi was really scary and the actor playing him was really good. The plot did not make a lot of sense sometimes but that was okay because it was very hilarious and I had a great time at the movies.

Listen, everyone: that is the only appropriate reaction to have after seeing Inglorious Basterds. It defies any trenchant analysis and is pure entertainment. It is an utter mess of a movie, which is quite common, but also a completely and purely entertaining mess in which a famous director follows his various unique obsessions down their respective rabbit holes for no real reason at all and is hugely successful, which is not as common.

To be honest, though, the movie could have been an absolute pile and I would still be rooting for it to win the Oscar, if only to demonstrate that the movie industry is so narrow-minded and bankrupt of all original thought that they will literally hand out an award to anything with a Nazi in it. Hell, they gave one out last year to Kate Winslet for jackbooting up after she and Ricky Gervais mocked the very concept mercilessly.

So at this year's Oscar party, tell your friends to root for the coronation of ludicrousness, and remind them that The Hurt Locker didn't have even one single Mexican standoff.

Secret Grilled Cheese Party

Like it or not, Being a Man in the 21st Century means living in paralyzing fear of being emasculated in any and every situation. It should be accepted as fact that if you are a heterosexual male between the ages of oh let's say 18 and 35, day-to-day life is a constant process of shoring up your defenses against threats to your power, virility, and unassailable dudeitude.

That being said, the ad snippet that I'm about to foist upon you made me drop my Axe can mid-spray and pause 300 right at the good part:



Is nothing sacred? Now I'm halfway between a mincing fairy and a cringe-inducing manchild if I order a grilled cheese sandwich?

The people at Hardee's (Carl's Jr. on the west coast) have obviously never been in any sort of dire financial situation. They can't even fathom the enormous bite that six 24 DVD sets and a full tank of gas for an all-black Hemi V8 Dodge Charger can take out of a Man's budget. Thus, they clearly do not realize that when dining out, a delicious and cost-effective grilled cheese is often the best option.

That being said, I can't fault Hardee's for their incredibly simple solution to the problem of having your identity called into question by a sandwich. To wit: PUT A BURGER IN THE MIDDLE OF IT

Raquetball, Tennis, Pool, Whatever

Forgot to mention Wooooo threw my wigged out letter up onto their blog a few weeks back. There's a link in there you can follow back to this blog, which you can use as a jumping-off point to go back to the Wooooo post, then back to this blog again.

Get well soon Guru

Cakes In The Home

Crash Course In Science!

Day of the Dead (Malls)

What is it that's so addictive about Labelscar and its attendant Flickr page, and by extension the drive to track down and document dead malls across the nation/world for the public record?

Going beyond a retail history, socioeconomic, or even an architectural standpoint, there is something charged and visceral about viewing and obsessively cataolguing these rotting cathedrals slashed across our landscape. The "living time capsule" aspect is surely a huge part of it. "What transpired in this place ten, fifteen, twenty years ago?" we ask ourselves. "Who tried on clothes under these light fixtures, amidst this stucco and wood paneling? Who cried during their smoke break on this loading dock, now overgrown with weeds? What Sophoclean dramas played themselves out in this food court?"

For this blogger, though, the most enthralling aspect of the dead mall sites is the way in which they reveal and obsessively elaborate on hideous emptiness. An abandoned mall suggests something more than a mere ghost town. A bright, loud, exapansive enclosure catered entirely to the needs and desires of the American human being that has been cast aside and left to decay is both pitiable and frightening. "Please enter us," these malls said before they were shuttered. "We can give you so much, we want only to help and serve you, we can make you happy"; shadows of echoes from the past, now, that are sucked into a yawning void.

Outrage!

It's an old cliche that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but I regret to report that after much soul-searching, I can find nothing in myself but disgust and indignation at the usurpation of my nom d'URL by the dream pop band "Beach House."

I understand that, as artists, Beach House probably find the fact that they must put any effort into labeling the utmost expression of their very souls to be unnecessary and superfluous, even perverse; the name of the band itself attests to this fact. But to appropriate the name of their favorite blog without so much as a word of notice to its creator is really beyond the pale. While I'm glad that you enjoy reading this site, guy and girl from Beach House, I must express my disappointment that you could not even acknowledge me in the Thank Yous section of your album's liner notes.

In short: :(