As though the content of the evening televised news broadcasts isn't depressing in and of themselves, the intervening commercials offer a poorly veiled message that we dedicated viewers as a general rule are literally falling apart at the seams. Madison Avenue has targeted a specific demographic to hawk their products and it ain't the same folks who get their daily dose of pop culture from such dubious outlets as MTV and E! News. The collective bulls eye has been painted squarely on the backs of we "baby boomers," products ourselves of our parent's amorous trysts between the years of 1945 and 1957. Estimated to number in the broad neighborhood of 76 million, this age group that comprises roughly 20% of our country's population is generally defined as any person who has obtained a chronological age between 44 and 62. At 59 I'm squarely in the middle of this inclusive definition and Madison Avenue, especially those of the pharmaceutical persuasion, have apparently got their eye on me.
If, as it has been widely touted in recent years (probably by those who have obtained that milestone), that "60 is the new 30," why is it that aside from the occasional automotive commercial all the other advertisements generally include the admonishment to "ask you doctor if you are a candidate" to include product x, y, or z in your daily assortment of prescriptions de jour? Within the span of the thirty-minute news broadcast, every conceivable malady known to mankind has a specific commercial aimed to address and remedy that particular physical deficiency. Gastric-intestinal afflictions seems to have a predominate role. There are those cartoon characters comprised of plumbing accouterments that walk up-right, suggesting that blockage of any type ain't a good thing. Draino comes to mind as a remedy, but I don't think that's what they have in mind. Are you belching up the remnants of last evening's sausage and onion sandwich? There's a pill for that. Can't sleep? Poor thing. Take two of these and sleep the sleep of the dead. Are you just sitting on your recliner minding your own business and suddenly notice that your legs are twitching like they have been connected to an electrical transformer? Take heart...amputation need not be necessary...take a half-dozen of these capsules and "you're good to go!" I am so thankful that my late Grandmother Brown isn't alive at this time to be exposed to all of these type of commercials. Her hypochondria heart would never have withstood the strain.
Ah, and then there is the granddaddy of all personal maladies, especially among the male population, ED. I remember when it wasn't even permissible to say the words "toilet paper" on television for fear that sensibilities would be adversely affected. Now one can't go fifteen minutes without hearing on the airwaves the phrase, "If you have an erection for more than four hours, consult your doctor." No kidding Sherlock! I would think so! And let's not discount the looming side effects that may result from consuming those little blue pills, always explained very quickly toward the end of the commercial in very hushed tones. Kind of like the fine print that appears at the bottom of a consumer product that in essence says that once you remove the purchased product from its packaging, "You're on your own." "The most common side effects? Headache, facial flushing, upset stomach, with the added joys of perhaps experiencing blurred vision, chest pains, nausea, and, if you are taking any type of heart medication, the old ticker could just say, "Turn out the lights, the party's over!" Thankfully I'm not at the stage in my life where I require any type of pharmaceutical boost to consummate marital bliss and thus run the risk of becoming an emergency room statistic. Were that not the case, I'm not sure that I wouldn't first give serious consideration to opt for a good book and glass of Chardonnay instead.
And I cannot end this observation without also commenting on the latest commercials hawking their particular brands of ED medications. There are several. Cialis has a man and woman reposing in two separate bathtubs perched on a high bluff or by the ocean, holding hands and staring off into the sunset. Is this suppose to depict the "before" or the "after? " One is left to wonder. "See Alice...I believe we have lift off! " Another has the couple cooing amorously at each other as they unlock the door to their home only to discover awaiting for them inside is a gaggle of house guests yelling, "Surprise!!" I'll let you add your own punch line to this unfortunate turn of events. And finally Viagra has a collection of presumably middle-aged minstrels sequestered in a backwoods cabin playing a variety of musical instruments and singing about how they can't wait to get home to their lady fairs. "Viva Viagra!" they sing with great gusto before hardily slapping each other on the back and go roaring off in and on their various modes of macho transportation. My mind is awash with all the possibilities of why these six guys were up there in the woods to begin with.
I guess it is a sign of the times, at least for we aging baby boomers. Madison Avenue is bent on convincing we members of this august age group that if indeed "60 is the new 30," it can only be so if we have an ample stock of medications on hand to placate our longing to stave off the steady advances of growing older. To date I have managed to avoid the lure of a better life through chemistry. Although these constant leg twitchings are really beginning to get on my nerves!
As though the content of the evening televised news broadcasts isn't depressing in and of themselves, the intervening commercials offer a poorly veiled message that we dedicated viewers as a general rule are literally falling apart at the seams. Madison Avenue has targeted a specific demographic to hawk their products and it ain't the same folks who get their daily dose of pop culture from such dubious outlets as MTV and E! News. The collective bulls eye has been painted squarely on the backs of we "baby boomers," products ourselves of our parent's amorous trysts between the years of 1945 and 1957. Estimated to number in the broad neighborhood of 76 million, this age group that comprises roughly 20% of our country's population is generally defined as any person who has obtained a chronological age between 44 and 62. At 59 I'm squarely in the middle of this inclusive definition and Madison Avenue, especially those of the pharmaceutical persuasion, have apparently got their eye on me.
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