Dude. Or carnecito, if you wanna get all Latin aqui.

And I know you do. Because we’re simpatico, hombre. I feel the pain of desperately needing to jump up and down like Gabby Hayes in “Blazing Saddles” and scream at the top of your voice, “Hey, I’m Latino!” because you look so white that you can’t show up to your Tio Pancho’s bbq in shorts without sunscreen.

Sunscreen. How our ancestors weep in the afterlife.

And while you’re at a disadvantage with that giant head and neanderthal neck, at least you have a last name that is easily identifiable as non-white. Only fellow Mexicans (and, of course, Filipinos) recognize “Robles” as a Latin surname, and when they say it correctly (as opposed to rhyming it with “nobles”), it’s like a secret wink or code shared among conspirators.

But that wasn’t enough for you. You had to get all race-y. And now you’ve forced me to call you out on an issue that’s just as big an elephant in the room as race is in this country – dummies.

Sorry, man, but you’re a cretin. A dullard. A bombastic simpleton. Bumblefuck, buffoon, bonehead. Take your pick. Jon Stewart isn’t prejudiced against minorities, he’s prejudiced against dum-dums, and you’re their patron saint.

I’ll spare us both by not citing every single example where you’ve demonstrated a complete lack of intelligence or insight. This clip makes a pretty good summation:

What pisses me off most about this whole episode is that minorities have a higher standard to strive for than gringos, for reasons too sundry to name in this forum. But instead of reaching for the stars, you’ve boldly reached out for the lowest common denominator by not only proving yourself a piss-poor journalist, but a goddamn clown.

I mean, say what you will about Don Lemon, but at least the guy’s got too much smooth to let himself gets tased on-air. Just sayin’. Or what about your other former colleague, Soledad O’Brien? She’s not exactly Ted Koppel, but at least she carries herself with a modicum of dignity.

Oh, but then isn’t Koppel a JEW? Sorry, didn’t mean to rub it in.

In conclusion, I’d just like to say that whatever you end up doing with what’s left of your career, por favor, I beg you – either stop being an idiot or stop cloaking yourself in your cultural identity. You owe it to nuestro gente not to do both at the same time.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_lhOp1g8YRk

Here’s what I’d call an Arrested Development/”Afternoon Delight” moment in advertising. On first blush, LL Bean’s new ad, using what most will find a genial-sounding, happy, olde tyme-y, folk tune, to accompany the joys of growing up in a family where your parents listen to Ira Glass every weekend. (Mine listened to Vin Scully, but that’s another story … )

Problem is, were these parents to peel the skin off of this onion, they may start cryin’. Take a listen for yourself of the unabridged version of Harry McClintock’s “Big Rock Candy Mountain,” which some might remember from the Coen Brothers film “O Brother Where Art Thou?”

Here are some of my favorite lines:

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains,
There’s a land that’s fair and bright,
Where the handouts grow on bushes
And you sleep out every night.
Where the boxcars all are empty
And the sun shines every day
And the birds and the bees
And the cigarette trees
The lemonade springs
Where the bluebird sings
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains
You never change your socks
And the little streams of alcohol
Come trickling down the rocks
The brakemen have to tip their hats
And the railway bulls are blind
There’s a lake of stew
And of whiskey too
You can paddle all around it
In a big canoe
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

Wow. Yep, this is a drunken hobo song. Is this a liability for LL Bean? Doubt it. Just a big hunk o’ irony that the hero of the song is just the kind of person parents are likely to yank their kids’ arms to keep them away from. Homeless people are just so much easier to handle on “This American Life.”

Boy, you really have to admire Steve Balls Jobs. Check out what he had to say this morning at the launch of Apple’s new iPad device and how it manifests the company’s gentle foray into the land of e-books.

According to AppleInsider:

Also introduced was “iBooks,” Apple’s e-book reading application. Jobs credited Amazon with pioneering the e-book market with its Kindle, but said Apple intends to improve on that model.

“We’re going to stand on their shoulders and go a bit further,” he said.

Ha! Of course, this is Jobsspeak for “We’re going to stand on their shoulders and poop on their head. Just sayin’.”

Sascha Segan of PCMag wasted no time in writing the Kindle’s obituary:

The new Amazon Kindle DX has a few weeks to live—and the magazine and newspaper industries may not have much longer. As soon as Apple unleashes the rumored iPad, Amazon‘s attempt at hardware design will vanish quicker than Betamax.

He argues that Amazon doesn’t really want to be in the hardware game, and will continue to thrive by selling content which iPad users will still need.

For its part, Amazon argues that the Kindle will likely be vastly cheaper than the iPad, but the fact that cheap MP3 players litter the market without consuming a significant share of it (compared to the iPod) proves that economy can’t beat sexy.

Oh, please believe that I have a very sharp ideology-based opinion about both Tim Tebow’s anti-abortion ad and CBS’ decision to air it during the Super Bowl this year.

But I think I’ll avoid being Cap’n Obvious this time. If you’re familiar with this blog and my other work, your anticipatory assessment will suffice just fine.

What really matters is … why? And I’m arguing from a completely non-political position. Who thinks this is the appropriate venue for such an ad? Sure, proponents of the sentiment will crow that it’s as good as any. But what about the beer-suckin’, chili-chompin’, funny-ad-watchin’ fair weather fan driving the demo?

In other words, what about me, what do I get?

Bupkus. It’s just like last year, when they ran that Zoloft commercial. You know, the one with the sad little guy, the one that stops your Super Bowl party in its tracks? I mean, God forbid your team is getting its ass kicked when that one comes on, or you’ll be putting that nacho down and reaching for a gun.

Also, what about poor Coors Light or E-Trade or whatever advertiser unfortunate enough to get their hilarious spot (meant to launch an entire campaign and costing millions to produce and air) slotted next to the buzzkill ad of the century? Kinda dims the spotlight on your spot when some genius has just introduced the most divisive issue of our time into the collective American living room, right before yours with the talking monkey.

(And spare me with “That’s the point.” If you think valuable dialogue that moves us forward as a nation is gonna happen with bellies full of booze ‘n’ beanie weenies poised before a demonstration of both militaristic violence and supercondensed capitalism, I’ll assume punditry is not your profession.)

Oh well. Luckily, progress has provided a new tool in exercising democracy and speech equity – the DVR. Tebow is no match for Tivo.

However, if they run that ad during the Puppy Bowl, I’ll be REALLY upset.

One word: penis. Or rather, lack thereof.

I won’t pretend to know for sure the reason that women politicians don’t get caught up in this kind of nonsense. It’s not like women don’t cheat. But I can’t think of a single political sex scandal that involved a female politician.

Maybe there’s not the same kind of hubris brought into the, erm, position. Maybe women are too busy proving themselves on the job. Or maybe young men aren’t attracted to power in the same way young women are, these situations often revolving around the familiar power dynamic of older guys with younger women.

Whatever the reason, others like columnist Robert Scheer have riffed on this phenomenon of arrogance and abuse of power that seems, for now, to be distinctly male, and there could be something to it.

Anyway, what a sad waste. Edwards always seemed a bit slick to me (and that’s from someone who can easily tolerate Bill Clinton!), but he DID try to advance a populist agenda during his campaign, and his theme of two Americas was spot on.

Problem was, dude, just ‘cos there’s two Americas doesn’t mean double the hot young chicks. It’s pretty astounding that Edwards had the stones to do this smack dab in the middle of a presidential campaign. It’s kind of like winning the gold medal in the Scumbag Olympics.

And let this be a lesson to the rest of ya – the world is watching! (And by the world I mean the National Enquirer.)

Anyway, isn’t it time his website went the way of the dodo? Geez.

UPDATE: Jeff points out that there are exceptions to this rule, true true.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_o-wLpBQNlg

Oh, the challenges of being an assimilated half-breed Mexican. One must constantly deal with messages of racial insensitivity while bracing for inevitable cultural oversensitivity.

File this one under the latter.

How on earth anyone could construe Orbitz’ “Valet” ad as the former is beyond me. This is what counts for controversy these days? The source of the comedy is the GRINGO, mi gente. The Hernandez’ in question are obviously depicted as upper middle class at worst (they ARE at a place where valet parking is available, after all), and in manner and depiction are no different than gueros.

So where’s the controversy? I don’t know if the company was under external pressure to edit out the pluralization punch line, but edit it out it did, and AdFreak hit the nail on the head in terms of the marketing perspective and how it was a sucky decision. When you’re trying to do cool ads (and I’d argue these have been decent in pre-edit form), whatever cool quotient you gain is not only lost from such a over-reactionary decision, but you actually lose ground.

I think as racial relations and perceptions shift over time, and minorites become not-so-minorities, we need to be carefel not to create controversy just for the sake of it. This won’t be easy for organizations and institutions whose entire existence is owed to centuries of what might charitably be called intentional misrepresentation.

Nevertheless, when it gets to the point that gringos can’t even make jokes that most Mexicans find funny without hearing the same grousing and groaning that was relevant decades ago, those complaints become more oppressive than the assumed bias they seek to “expose.”

And if the best they can do is call out a commercial that shows two attractive Hispanics (hello, as commented on rather more coarsely in the YouTube comments section, Mrs. Hernandez is h-o-t!) acting totally normal, for better and for worse, we might be closer to that point than we know.

Noam Chomsky once noted that for one to be a great purveyor of propaganda, one must truly believe the spiel one is espousing.

If you attach this ethos to marketing, I must be great, based on my ability to be manipulated by an industry in which I’ve made a living.

Case in point: while staring at Jell-O’s new Mousse Temptations spot, I thought, “What a great idea. Yum.” Good job, Jell-O! Pavlovian response achieved, on a copywriter no less!

Moments later, I remembered my enthusiasm for Yoplait’s similar whipped yogurt line (yes, I guess I kind of like that fluffy style). Then I remembered a friend noting that it was a brilliant rip-off by Yoplait, in that all they did was pump a bunch of air into their existing product and sell it to you at a higher price per volume.

Drat! Foiled again!

But apart from the fluffy consistency of the new “mousses,” Jell-O is using a nutritionally responsible tack to position its new product line, tapping into the “Snackwells” market that’s actually thrived since even before my mom ate those unfortunately (in retrospect) named diet candies called Ayds back in the ’70s.

And is all this such a bad thing? Sure, if you’re a tub o’ lard hell-bent on inhaling the world one grocery aisle at a time (like I was most of my life, by the way), you’ll just eat twice as much of it. Jell-O can’t stop you, and they’d be wise not to try to, as you have great hunger, massive bulk, and sharp teeth.

But Americans want to do what they’re told when it comes to consumerism. And while this means they’ll unconsciously eat a bigger McValue meal just ‘cos they paid for it, it also means a cup of pudding is still a cup of pudding, regardless of what it weighs. And some won’t bother to break open a second cup. (A fridge too far!)

Maybe that’s as close to progressive social engineering as we should expect from Jell-O.

Domino’s Pizza is starting the new year with a rather startling ad campaign that confronts their greatest perceived weakness in the marketplace.

They suck, and always have.

After decades of providing an inferior product at low prices to great success, the chain’s new ads depict employees looking like they’ve been stabbed in the heart when greeted with the news that their crust is almost legendary in the American psyche for tasting like cardboard.

I’ve seen some bold rebranding efforts in my time (the little old lady blowing up the old Jack in the Box comes to mind), but I’m racking the old noggin to think of one like this, where the brand isn’t rebooted so much as the actual product line itself.

I’m kind of into it, and would have loved to have been a fly on the wall when Cripin Porter & Bogusky pitched the idea to the head muckety-mucks.

I guess because I worked for a company that followed an incomprehensible Dick Cheney model of marketing (“We know that YOU know that we don’t care, and we don’t care.”), but I like the straightforwardness of acknowledging your Achilles’ Hell and pledging to do something about instead of the silliness of pretending it doesn’t exist. Especially for such a well-known brand and such a well-known weakness.

Its competitors have basically had the luxury of running perpetual, decades-long campaign themes based on Domino’s well-earned reputation for crappiness. I haven’t tried the new recipe, but if the chain actually DID make a major improvement in quality, how on earth would Round Table position itself?

And if it doesn’t, at least they look like they’re not clueless about how they’re seen in the public and are attempting to do something about it.

Not that they have much of a choice, according to Forbes.

Domino’s has had its share of criticism this year. The ad effort is the largest from the company since two then-employees in Conover, N.C., filmed themselves preparing sandwiches for delivery. One employee put ingredients up his nose and nasal mucus on the sandwiches. It turned into a digital disaster for Domino’s. The video, which has since been removed from YouTube, attracted more than 1 million views and disgusted many consumers.

Apparently, the Booger Supreme didn’t exactly endear Domino’s to hungry sports fans, and Domino’s might not have a choice but to win over heart, minds, and bellies.

The San Francisco Chronicle/SFGate must be desperate, based on their willingness to let Mike Boehm write about Genesis’ recent induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and what it might mean for the genre of prog rock at large.

Not that I’m complaining! I was pleasantly surprised by the piece, but being the narcissist I am (and not having been turned to a flower), I have a couple of thoughts …

After soldiering on proggishly but not that successfully for a couple of albums after Gabriel’s departure in 1975, the remaining members cannily transmogrified (uncanny transmogrification having been a core theme of the band’s earlier music) into a cuddlesome, MTV-ready trio led by that endearing, nonthreatening chap Phil Collins.

To characterize Genesis as middling immediately following Peter Gabriel’s departure works great as a dramatic device, but it’s simply not true. Despite being completely dismissed by the press at the time, the band came out with a great record, “Trick of the Tail,” which was not only their most well-produced work to date, but an enduring fan favorite to this day. This was followed by the biggest shows in America of the band’s career.

Also, Gabriel left in 1975, nine years before there was the chance to BE “ready for MTV.” During that time, the band’s shift in sensibilities was far more subtle than is implied here. “Duke,” the record from which “Misunderstanding” is taken, centered around a proggy song cycle that is among their most ambitious work. Even “Invisible Touch” contained the epic “Domino.” So yay for oversimplification.

I get what Boehm is saying about Tull, though. “Thick as a Brick” may be a crowing achievement (and scathing indictment) in the world of prog, but that doesn’t make them a prog band any more than earning a Grammy for Heavy Metal performance in 1989 made them hair metal.

Oh, ELP. Unless you are just shamelessly devoted to prog, it’s hard to not have a love/hate relationship with them. I love “Brain Salad Surgery,” but I think I’d rather hear Jerry Lee Lewis interpret “Six Gnossiennes” than “Tarkus.”

Once during a road trip with some friends I was listening to “Tarkus” on satellite radio when my friend Charin leaned in from the back and simply said “This is the worst music I have ever heard.” I could crashed the car from laughing so hard.

I know why I love prog rock. But I also know why so many hate it. I’ll say this – when estimating “Tales from Topographic Oceans,” it’s better when you stare at the album art. On a REAL album.

I’m kind of disappointed Boehm has dismissed Kansas as an American prog rock band. He should know better, since I know plenty of people whose thoughts of Genesis go no further than “Tonight Tonight Tonight,” and associating Kansas only with their FM staple hits is just as myopic.

But moreover, what about our favorite tuque-wearing trio … RUSH?

I’ve been slightly obsessed with Christian cartoonist Jack Chick since before I can remember.

In my childhood, his ingenious combination of a fire-and-brimstone message and simple comic book graphics, spoke to me. Unfortunately for him, it spoke to me in a way that didn’t bring me into the flock so much as make me run screaming from it. It was pretty close to the reaction I had to my Uncle Roberto’s black velvet Jesus painting, which depicted Jesus bleeding from the crown of thorns and pleading to the heavens, “WHYYY?!” just like Kurt Russell’s Stuntman Mike in Quentin Tarantino’s “Death Proof.” (Except admittedly more legitimately so.)

Decades (ugh) later, I was walking down Mission Street with my friend Cara Bruce when I was handed a Chick tract by a Mexican who obviously didn’t realize he was betraying his Catholic roots by handing them out (Chick hates the Church, may God have pity on his soul).

But it wasn’t just any Chick tract – it was THE Chick tract. The Beast.

A coarse, vulgar, violent vision of the Book of Revelation that borders on pornographic in its exploitation. I still have that one on my coffee table, along with others, all handed to me by zealots (I shan’t buy them, heavens no).

So pair that sick obsession with what others might deem an equally sick obsession with Christmas, and voila!

Here’s how Chick the Man himself views the most wonderful time of the year. Strangely enough, one might argue that, between the two of us, his vision might be the more cynical. “People are emotionally vulnerable during the holidays … that’s when you STRIKE!”

Humbug, indeed.