Camel: Helping Kids Smoke Their Way to Coolness Since 1913

Holy crap, Campaign for Tobacco Free Kids, thanks for giving me all the information I needed about Camel's latest branding campaign, including showing me all the images you are trying to ban!

In case you live under a rock, or have been too drunk off Four Loko in the past week to catch the news, Camel has unveiled a brand new marketing campaign geared at the hip, young, anti-mainstream demographic.

[Redacted: 5,000 word rant about the futility of marketing to anything hip, young, or anti-mainstream]

The campaign is a basic redesign of Camel's classic cancer stick packaging, turbo-powered with a social media concept that will actually work on a maybe young, probably not hip, blinded by the mainstream demographic.

The campaign goes like this: Camel's gonna give you 10 clues about 10 cities as it goes around the country showing you how cool it is! Guess the city and you can win some shit!

Apparently these are the best places to smoke cigarettes in America:

Austin. Out of all the cities on the list, Austin is the most likely to have people showing off these packs without a drop of irony.

Bonneville Salt Flats.  Is this even a place? Moot.

The Haight San Francisco. I bet California is really, really pissed about this.

New Orleans. These people have been shit on by natural disasters and not-so-natural disasters.  Let them have their cigarettes.

Route 66? That's either a major shun to a city along Route 66, or living proof we need more maps and such.

Seattle. Yeah, yeah. Kurt Cobain.

Sturgis SD. At least they specified the state here, Bonneville.

Vegas. The hookers are gonna be so psyched!

Williamsburg.  Ok.  Ok. .... Okay. This is the only one I can really talk about with indefatigable truth.  But it's not worth it, man. It's just not fucking worth it.

Winston-Salem. Duh

 If this campaign is really targeted toward the 20-somethings of Williamsburg, The Haight, New Orleans, etc. then it's just pitiful.  In trying to express their fear of this campaign, CTFK is marketing these cigarettes to me way more effectively than Camel ever will.  At first, this makes me think it's time for R.J. Reynolds to find a new marketing team.  But then I stop for like two seconds and think about Billy the 16-year-old bass player who just started to get his brother to buy him Natty Lights. He wants to smoke Camels so, so bad now. R.J. Reynolds, you are an evil genius.

Obviously, there is some uproar. All the politicians and public health officials in of each of these perfectly respectable party cities are pissed to admit their hood is a great place to get really drunk and chain smoke in. 

But in the grand scheme of R.J. Reynolds' schemes, it's really not that bad.  It's not like they're sending promotional packages filled with 5-shot drink recipes and coasters that say "Layer it on, go 'til daybreak."  That was so 2005. 

In some ways, R.J. Reynolds is kind of like North Korea. No matter how many sanctions they get, they're going to shoot off some missiles now and again. And you can't let an ad campaign lead to nuclear warfare. I say we all just sit back, relax, take a deep carcinogen-filled breath and let Camel have their little ads.  Everyone knows the cool kids are smoking American Spirits and rollies anyway.

Clam Jam #5

Remember all that business and busy-ness I was talking about?  It's still happening.  But it's ok. I'm coolin out.... yo.

And I'm about to get really really really fat. It's gonna be the coolest.

I Looove Goooold

Today, National Geographic Channel introduced me to the personal title, Local Metal Detecting Enthusiast.

You see, there is this field in Litchfield, England that has been farmed "for centuries," according to the show, Lost Gold of the Dark Ages, and there is sure to be mad loot under there.

With mad loot comes mad metal detecting, and that is where you find Local Metal Detecting Enthusiasts. They are often, coincidentally, also harmonica enthusiasts and late night whiskey drinking enthusiasts. They might even be really enthusiastic about brushing their teeth after lunch. Who knows. 

But seriously, do you know how cool it is to go metal detecting and find gold and garnet relics from centuries of yore? Do you understand?! It's enough to make a girl buy a metal detector and head straight to the hills of Litchfield.

To put my enthusiasm in perspective, I have watched a feature length History Channel documentary about the Dark Ages (complete with dramatic reenactments) twice in the past two weeks, and ordered an A&E documentary about the plague from Netflix.  It had to go in my queue and get mailed to me. Moving on.

When you do a Google search for "Metal Detecting Enthusiast" you get this:

I caught this guy from so many angles; he's like the world's most ardent metal detecting enthusiast ever. Also, that looks like some really cool shit.

Go forth and metal detect!

Hey, Kids! We're Going to Cupcake Land!

I don't know if you guys know this yet, but a whole new world has opened up right around the corner from my apartment. You could say, according to current scientific theory, that it's a black hole portal opening up into an entire new universe.  That universe... is filled with cupcakes. 

The brand new establishment is actually, factually called Cupcake Land.  Yeah, it's precious.

These cupcakes in Cupcake Land put all other baked goods to shame. There is literally no way to describe how the flavors are so... flavory... so infused into the frosting... so perfectly textured.  (I won't say moist, because fuck that word.) I bet the rulers of Cupcake Land, who undoubtedly hide in the back covered in flour and giggles, look something like this:

(By the way, when you're used to using Photoshop at work, and then you get home and all you have to work with is MS Paint, it's like going from being a healthy, normal person -- maybe someone who runs track--to a paraplegic with Alzheimer's and Autism. It's just that bad. Anyways, apologies for the appearance of King and Queen cupcake. In real life their cupcake tank tops are much, much cooler.)

If I used Four Square, I would dedicate my life to becoming mayor of Cupcake Land.  It would make me the happiest girl in New York, and also quite possibly the fattest.  Even without Four Square I get myself over to this land of joy, this refuge for all things that must immediately go into my mouth, with shocking frequency.

The menu is so intense.  I can't go in without ordering 4 flavors, and it's a problem. 

Clearly, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday is where it's at, but I don't know... that carrot one is pretty good too. And so basically I'm going every day.  The first week it opened I spent $25 on cupcakes. I haven't spent that much money on a pair of pants in like seven years.

When I told the owner that her sugary delights were my guilty pleasure/fierce addiction, she kindly told me how wrong I was  ("Not guilty! These are good for you!  It's cream cheese!"), and informed me the strawberry shortcake was only 200 calories. Having interpreted the Cupcake Land website, I realize this whole "It's good for you" act is just a sinister cover-up for what she really thinks: "Cupcakeland - bakery that will make you high on sugar." I'm pretty sure my favorite flavor -- the peanut butter -- is hovering around 1,478 calories, but I'm totally cool with that. 

I'm also alright with how disgustingly cute and perfect it is inside. 

These pictures are admittedly awful (probably something to do with me scratching at my neck and blindly fiending for frosting),, but I think you can still get a sense of it.  It's sort of like Barbie and Martha Stewart had a baby that grew up in Paris.  It doesn't get much better than that.

And thus, my ode to Cupcake Land must end.  I'll see you soon, my love.

The Wild and Wonderful West Virginia Drinking Game

I just discovered the greatest documentary I have ever seen -- aside from Jonestown, of course. That's the greatest movie I have ever seen, and maybe just the greatest thing I've ever seen, in general, ever in life. Anyway, let's not let Jim Jones run yet another show. This moment is all about

THE WILD AND WONDERFUL WHITES OF WEST VIRGINIA

Alirght, if you haven't figured it out yet from the trailer, this family is filled with the most badass, hilarious, lawless, backwoods, tragically depressed people on the planet. To quote Hank Williams III, "They are the true rebels of the south."

You're gonna laugh and you're gonna cry, but mostly, you're gonna drank. Because I just made a drankin' game.  (Warning: the first few minutes are going to do you in, but it's to prepare you for the rest of the film.)

To play, you will need:

• A pack of cigarettes
• A pint of whiskey 
• A 30-rack of Budweiser Original

Optional: a couple xanny bars, some crack and/or PCP, and a penchant for murder.

Drink every time:

• You see a tap dancer
• There is a reference to murder
• You are confused by someone’s gender, based on their voice
• Something really inappropriate is said around Tylor, and yet he’s blissfully playing with weird toys
• You see a cigarette within five feet of a child (and finish your beer when a child actually smokes one)
• You see a panniculus

Smoke a cigarette every time:

• Someone gets a tattoo in their own kitchen
• Someone does drugs off a toilet

Take a shot:

• For Bertie Mae's 84th birthday
• When you see tits

Pour out one for the homies when:

• You feel really, really bad for that baby 

Fortunately, this video is streaming on Netflix, so if you have a membership, which I'm pretty sure is everyone by now, you can start the fun right away! Yee haw!

Also good to know -- the movie has a perfectly perfect website. 

Clam Jam #4

Forget jam #3. Just forget it. THIS:

Despite how terrible my recent Four Loko night was, this song makes me want to do it again -- and maybe use a fake I.D. to buy it. Also, I'm thrilled me and this G can agree Cranberry Lemonade is where it's AT.

(Thanks to Karen for pointing out this major, major gem.)

Clam Jam #3

So it was a rainy poop day, huh? It was cold. It was windy. It was cloudy. Plus now apparently it gets dark at, like, noon. And here I thought I was all psyched for November. Until I have a giant turkey/cranberry sauce/stuffing Thanksgiving leftover sandwich resting on my stomach while I lean back in fullness and despair, and then just eat it all -- sandwich, despair and all -- in blissful hibernative delight (made it up), my opinion of November is going to remain about as low as my opinion for Keith Urban, and kids who shop at Hot Topic.

Anyway, days like this require a very special kind of music. First of all, you need a fucking pick me up. Second of all, you need to wallow in your gloomy melancholy, and snarl at the city a little, and get pissed at the wind a little -- which, I guess, isn't so melancholy after all. It's a pretty tough conundrum, a melancholic pick me up.

You know who can do it? Broken Social Scene.