I WANT MY OWN beer ad. I want a beer ad for me, or, more precisely, for someone like me. I want a beer ad for someone who is not a cowboy or an underwater diver, someone who does not work with horses or old planes or wild animals or out in the west. I want a beer commercial for people who work sitting down -- say, for an accountant.
You work all day over the ledgers. The numbers start to blur on you. Pretty soon it will be time for the audit. Have to hide the profits. Have to conceal the slush fund. Have to paper over the illegal political donations. Put it down as payments to consultants. There, done it. Now comes Miller Time.
What you see next is a bunch of pasty-faced men sitting around a table in a bar. They all are wearing thick glasses and they're balding. They seem to be waiting for someone. They turn around. In the door comes the first accountant we saw, the one who works over the books. They all lift their glasses in a toast to him. He shows them an envelope addressed to the IRS. He winks and his friends break out into wide grins and lift their glasses high. End of commercial.
That's the general idea. I might even want a beer commercial where the women speak, actually have something to say. In most of the ads, the women are like the bulldozers or whatever, props that indicate manliness. In some of them, for instance, the women either look at their men like they haven't seen a man (or maybe a beer) in years while in others they are just sort of present while the men celebrate male friendhip -- "Dolan, you're a genius."
I would love to see a beach party. The fire is glowing. Three men and three women walk down to the beach. Each of them is swaying from the weight of Lowenbrau which now, incidentally, is a great American beer like Mercedes, maybe, is a great American car. They make it to the blanket and all of them sit down.
"Hey," says one, "I thought you were going to serve dinner."
"It's right under you, you monkeys, and just as soon as we finish dinner Linda here is going to do something incredible. She's going to say something." There's a gasp and then cheering from everyone.
"Dolan," someone says, "you're a genius."
Now you will notice that no one in a beer commercial ever drinks the stuff. You see them pouring it and looking at it and lifting their glasses and smacking their lips, but drinking is forbidden. It's the code, the code of television advertisers. They are very moral and ethical people. They will not show anyone drinking beer, but they will show little kids almost naked to sell jeans and a male-chauvinist society that would be a bit too much even for Hemingway. The question is how come if they are so manly all they ever do is laugh and stare at their beers. I think there's something wrong here.
No matter. The commercials are evidently successful. But they are not for me. I would like one like this:
You spend your day filling cavities. The patients bite you. They complain about their bills and just today you got there cancellations that probably went to Dr. Moskowitz, the one who promises no pain and has the technician that works at night in a go-go joint. Still, you have to get this temporary bridge into place. It's almost in. Just a little bit more. There it goes! Now comes Miller Time.
Next you see the doctor to the bar swinging open. The dentist comes in, his uniform stained with blood. He sits down at a table full of other men, nods to the waitress and takes out a pamphlet on tax shelters. All of them laugh and pat the dentist on the back. The dentist throws his head back and laughs, too. He has some teeth missing. The waitress winks at him. He laughs. He ought to. He owns the bar.
"Rappaport, you're a genius," the waitress says.
"I know, I know," says the dentist, "but you think it makes me happy?"
Sometimes I think it would be wonderful to have a beer commercial for every line of work (You've shown your thousanths pair of shoes, you've waited on your thousanths customer. Is it your fault you don't stock Capezios?), but what I really want is to see my own life glorified in a beer commercial:
You have to get up in the morning. It is not easy getting up in the morning. In fact, it is tough getting up in the morning. There is no damned reason to get up in the morning. You're depressed. The world does not appreciate you. The kid is screaming. Your boss never says anything nice. You have nothing to wear. You have to go to the dentist. You have to see the accountant. You owe everyone money and soon you will have no teeth. It's time to get up anyway. Just a little at a time. One leg at a time. Just a little bit more. There, you've done it. Now comes Miller Time. Miller Time! It's not even eight? You go back to bed.
Cohen, you're a genius.