It speaks volumes that what seemed like the absolute nadir of popular culture back in November 2007 appears rather commonplace now. How low can it go?
A New Low in Commercial Barrel-Scraping
It’s rare that I’m lost for words, but my internal dialogue was momentarily stunned into silence when I was walking through town yesterday. I think it’s bad enough that it’s impossible to move for all things Christmas – and that it’s been that way for several weeks now – and it’s only just November, and I’m not even going to start on the commercialised consumerfest that Christmas is, because I simply don’t feel the need... but really, what I saw as I passed one particular shop marked, without question, a new low in attempts to cash in. It’s quite reasonable to have a calendar: in fact, a calendar is a very useful thing to have in the house. There’s one in the bedroom and another in the living room here chez Nosnibor. And a lunar calendar here in the office. But we tend to avoid the trashy horrible photo calendars in favour of ones that are a) more tasteful b) more functional, i.e. the ones that have proper space to write for each day. We do have lives, after all: places to go, etc., etc. it’s what calendars were invented for. But no matter: I can see why some people would want an ‘eye-candy’ calendar to have next to their desk or in their toilet or whatever, so while Kylie or whichever pop fluff or film fluff floats yer boat might not be my bag, I can see why there’s a market for such product, namely teenage boys and sad older wankers who haven’t realised they’re no longer teenage boys (and wonder why they’re still single). Similarly, calendars of George Clooney or some footballer or whatever for the girls have their place, and at a push I can see why teenage girls might like even a weedy scrote like Timberlake – although how anyone could consider Wayne Rooney a pin-up is quite beyond me. But Wayne Rooney’s ugly Neanderthal mug pales beside the image I saw leering out of the shop window I found myself passing – yes, a 13-month 2008 calendar of Russell Brand. Russell fucking Brand! I ask you, what demographic is that aimed at? One for the housewives? The spinster aunts? Surely not, but then I can’t really imagine many of the nation’s schoolgirls going moist at the sight of that dishevelled unfunny twat.* So I wonder if this blatant attempt to cash in on the ‘celebrity’ of yet another waste of space may yet backfire. It certainly deserves to... but on the other hand, I don’t particularly want my raiding of the sales in January to be marred by piles of calendars with his gurning mush spilling over all of the reduced bins... It’s a lose-lose situation, really. Oh well.
* Granted, it’s probably best that I don’t imagine the nation’s schoolgirls going moist at all.