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It wasn't too long ago that rumours had Coca Cola planning to advertise on the moon. Today I think the company of choice for the lunar marketing theorists is Google. They can probably afford it and I imagine that they've got the relevant maps to ensure that the pieces of the advert all go in the correct positions. It would certainly make for an interesting few evenings as the moon waxes and wanes; we would get to see "ogle" after a week and then "Goo" a couple of weeks after that. Ah, the inherent humour in celestial advertising.

These rumours aside, it's no surprise that you get the impression that they're running out of original places to advertise down here. You can't walk a hundred yards without the sun being eclipsed by a billboard or a Foxtons Mini running you down (yes, they have them here too). Just last month a squadron of planes (sponsored by Geico) flew round and round the island skytyping adverts into the blue in what can only be called a "cloud font".

I don't appear to be able to go through a website at the moment without a voice congratulating me on 'winning' a new iPhone. Incidentally, if anyone wants one I've won, like, 40 so far. Google and Yahoo! are just two companies that intelligently track the sites you visit and products you view in order to provide targeted advertising relevant to your tastes. Shocked? I can almost hear George Orwell applauding in his grave.

And there's no escape at home. A "half-hour" TV show is actually only 22 minutes in duration in order that we get 8 minutes of commercial conditioning. Even the closed captioning (subtitles) are "brought to you by...". What's next? Seeing-eye dogs being enticed into stores with wafts of chopped liver? [copyright ummit sethi, 2007]

I know all of this is a part of everyday life now, particularly in a big city. So it's all the more reason that when I want 'to get away from it all' for an afternoon I should be allowed to do just that. What better place than the beach? It's a regular favourite with the locals and hardly surprising since New York is close to some remarkably beautiful stretches of coastline out on Long Island and across in New Jersey. Protected dunes, conservation areas, beautiful small seaside villages, not an advert in site.

11.00 - arrive beach
11.10 - lie on beach
11.12 - propeller plane flies over beach pulling advert for Coors Lite Beer.
11.14 - 3 propeller planes fly over advertising Die Hard 4. Fortunately the famous tagline, "Yippee ki yay motherf---" appears to have been printed on a banner that was 5 letters too short for the job.
11.16 - propeller plane flies over pulling advert for breast enhancement surgery...I kid you not. Want a perfect rack? Call Dr Rac-anelli.

...and on it went. By 6pm I was so brainwashed that I was sitting in a cinema drinking cans of lager while adjusting the bra on my new set of D-cups.

Sweating Under The Lights

Perhaps you're getting a little bored with reading my rambles formulated from a series of questions and answers in my head, after all, it has been going on for over a year now.

Example:
Me: What's the weather been like?
Me: Hot. Bloody hot. And humid. Hot wet blanket humid.

Me: What gripe do you have with New York today?
Me: The stinky piles of rubbish bags left out on the side of the street to stew in this heat. And they wonder why we're only ever six-feet away from a rat.

Me: What are the city going to do about it?
Me: How the hell should I know? Leave me alone you schizophrenic loon, I'm hot and bothered.

Etc....
You get the point. I can be quite tedious sometimes.

SO! Here's a little treat for you. I was recently interviewed by this smart little 9 year old called Matthew. He posed far more interesting questions to me. I still gave back tedious answers but at least it's a 50% improvement for you. He's looking to interview 100 people as part of a project and as of today he's still looking for volunteers. As readers of my blog I know you must be full of kindness so sign up and help him out...

Here's the interview.

Brain Melt

I know I've been a bit useless on here lately but it's not because I don't care. I assure you that you're the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing before I go to sleep; but you must understand that summer is here and between life in the sunshine and the general exhaustion from life in the sunshine it's been difficult engaging the third of my brain dedicated to writing. The heat and humidity also seem to be affecting New Yorkers' brains too. Two events lead me to this conclusion. Last Sunday I sat in a bar and watched a less than sober patron thrown from the premises, as he landed in the street he promptly righted himself and proceeded to hurl his body at the locked door. It's a scene I've observed in London a few times, I think with the limited drinking hours there everyone tends to go a bit doo lally squeezing in their drinks before the 11pm cut-off. Here, though, it was a new experience and the second time I've seen the inebriated cross the line since the temperature ticked over 85degF. Not content with putting dents into his shoulder the chap took one look at the large plate glass window and, after a good little run up, placed his size 9 through it showering yours truly and friends with glass.

The second logic-less act came yesterday. There's a spot in the city famed for its burgers, fries, shakes, basically anything that can put a stop to your heart. It's a little shack in the middle of one of the parks and appropriately enough it's called "The Shake Shack". Now, when I say that this place is 'famed', I'm serious. We're talking regular queues from 11am to 11pm for its delights. Quite sensibly they've got a double queuing system in place. A "B-line" exists for orders of "Cones, Floats and Beverages"; for everything else you've got to stand in line with the other 63 people.

With the mercury touching 220 degrees and the humidity causing localised showers around your head it's a shake or nothing for me. Through the B-line I went.

Next in the B-line!" the teller shouts. That'll be me then.
"A chocolate shake please."
"This line is only for cones, floats and beverages. You need to get in the other one."
"A milkshake is a beverage though."
"Next in B-line!"
And that was it, I was cast to one side. I had a good look around but sadly there was no glass window to put my size 8 1/2 through.

American Heritage Dictionary
milkshake n.
A beverage made of milk, flavoring, and ice cream, shaken or whipped until foamy. Also called shake; also called regionally cabinet, frappe, velvet.

--I'll take that back with me next time. I'm sure they'll be happy to debate this one out.