5.4 Things I Might Have Said

And probably should have said in class.

However,

(This aptly explains the entirety of my feelings on public speaking.)

So I write things down--so, here are written things concerning the Google advert discussed in tooth-hurty today.

The Google Parisian commercial was a cute and fuzzy sort of thing. First impression: aw, that's charming. But I don't know that google can guide your life like that. There is some misrepresentation, or potential for misinterpretation at the very least. Google does not play that big or that sort of role; it is likely not the catalyst to meeting a girl in France, to marrying her, to having kids. Oversimplification, sir, just a tad. But then, it's a commercial.

And simple things are pleasing. There was no talking; just music and words, actions--and it is pleasing to think of Google as sort of seamlessly being incorporated into your life, superimposed like a slightly opaque, guiding hand.

I do like this commercial, though, because it shows a thought process I'm very fond of. Google, Wikipedia, and Google images are the main places I hit when I'm writing a story about shit I don't know nothin' 'bout. What's this? What's that? How does it work? Gimmie some terminology I can work into my dialogue, some scaffolding, some bones. It's very good for this sort of thing. But irl? How does it stack up to experience? That link he clicked--How to Impress a French Woman--is that really going to work? Rly? And if it does, is it because of that webpage, or something he already has, already is? What difference would it make to go out and blindly experience everything instead of all this preemptive steadying, this research, this rehearsal? If we are rehearsing now, are we acting later?

If the French girl to be wooed is getting her answers from Google as well, ("How to charm an American man," "How to tell him I'm pregnant"), then wait--what's going on here? Things get strange, that's what. If one or the other does it, it is endearing to the audience--we identify with things that need a little help every now and then, a little Google here and there. But if both of them are being helped, are being aided, are almost playing each other with identical goals--what is this? What is going on here? Deja vu: who does she love, anyway? That dashing American man, the clever googling machine inside him, or the Google machine outside?
Google squats on their relationship--makes it pleasant, makes it right, but something's strange, something's off. Perhaps Google has taken something for its own.


I think it was Jesse who brought up that nobody focuses entirely on a commercial when they're watching it on tv, during the super bowl. All there's time for is the logo and a warm, fuzzy feeling. Google's advert does not yell it's message, as loud as it can. But I don't think it means to.
Maybe the advert isn't really about what Google can do for you. Too much work. A movie, or a whole pamphlet--not a commercial. Maybe all we really get out of this, while waiting for the game to come back on and grabbing some chips and keeping the bowl away from the dog and making sure that wag-wagging tail doesn't slap your drink right off the table, is "Google good, Google good." It doesn't need to yell; it's Google. It just has to say enough to keep its purchase on an already yielding surface. Reaffirmation.

Google, like a parasite, has to give a good story to stay. But the story is not a real one--it is amusement. A divertimento. Something to endear the parasite to the host. Perhaps that is the primary purpose of the parasite's story. it is useful to the host second; first and foremost, it must secure its position, its own life, its own survival.

But shouldn't these two things go hand in hand? Doesn't the parasite endear itself by offering a service? That story? Yes, but the story is different--it is the foot in the door. it must be stronger than the later service--it is more difficult to attach than to stay attached. Something must decisively, artfully break through the host's skin. After that? Cake walk.

Anywho--enough of that. Here's a happy Cake Dance for reading (or jumping to the end lulz).

Seadragons later, maybe. I'm trying to blog shorter. And less.