Paris Hilton: Carl's Jr.'s Private Dancer

~
"Let's get the obvious stuff out of the way first: Paris Hilton's TV commercial for the Carl's Jr. fast-food chain, now being downloaded at a computer near you, is a shoddy, shameless, plainly outrageous publicity stunt that all decent, right-thinking people will condemn.

"Yes, it's that good."

-- "Mama Warned Us about Fast Food and Fast Women" by Paul Farhi for The Washington Post

One was trying to resist the urge, but we may as well get the story down on this blog. The Paris Hilton commercial has been enjoying some nice media buzz lately. Mr. Farhi's piece is fun, and we will get a couple of the highlights. First, Monk was not aware of the earlier advertising campaigns by Carl's Jr. and they sound fun:

'In fact, Carl's has tried generic exploitation in the past, to limited effect. Its most recent commercial showed a young woman gyrating on a mechanical bull while eating a burger; in another, young men take bets on whether an attractive woman will splatter some of the contents of her juicy burger on her blouse. Its slogan: "If it doesn't get all over the place, it doesn't belong in your face."'

But the prize has to go to Mr. Farhi's characterization of Ms. Hilton:

'Hilton is a remarkable creation: a young woman (she's 24) with a famous last name (she is the great-granddaughter of hotel magnate Conrad Hilton) and no visible talent other than an uncanny ability to keep attracting attention. Unlike fellow blondes Jessica Simpson, who play-acts at being ditsy, or Pamela Anderson, who seems terribly calculating and obvious, Hilton seems to come by her dimness the honest, natural way. On her reality show, "The Simple Life"; on Letterman and Leno's couch she comes off as something uncontrived, even genuine -- a rich, good-time gal without a complicated thought in her head. Her infamous "private" sex tape that appeared all over the Internet did nothing to harm her party-hearty cred.

'Maybe it's an act, like Madonna's clever media manipulations of years ago, but it's an act -- and an image -- Hilton controls awfully well.

'Hilton's emptiness, in fact, makes her a kind of iconic figure (she wisely doesn't utter a single word in the Carl's Jr. ad). She's in many ways a sleazier version of Vanna White, who never said much in all those years of turning letters on "Wheel of Fortune." That's why White was strangely beloved. By never revealing anything specific about herself, White became to many observers the perfect "empty vessel" onto which any narrative could be plausibly pasted. Was she the girl next door? The hot babe? The adoring wife? The perfect daughter or granddaughter?

'Yes. No. Maybe. Whatever.'

One just thinks it is nice that there is still some life after the Superbowl's Nipplegate scandal of Janet Jackson. You may be able to repress the human spirit and the penis, but you cannot break it and keep it down forever!

Paris Hilton: Carl's Jr.'s Private Dancer

~
"Let's get the obvious stuff out of the way first: Paris Hilton's TV commercial for the Carl's Jr. fast-food chain, now being downloaded at a computer near you, is a shoddy, shameless, plainly outrageous publicity stunt that all decent, right-thinking people will condemn.

"Yes, it's that good."

-- "Mama Warned Us about Fast Food and Fast Women" by Paul Farhi for The Washington Post

One was trying to resist the urge, but we may as well get the story down on this blog. The Paris Hilton commercial has been enjoying some nice media buzz lately. Mr. Farhi's piece is fun, and we will get a couple of the highlights. First, Monk was not aware of the earlier advertising campaigns by Carl's Jr. and they sound fun:

'In fact, Carl's has tried generic exploitation in the past, to limited effect. Its most recent commercial showed a young woman gyrating on a mechanical bull while eating a burger; in another, young men take bets on whether an attractive woman will splatter some of the contents of her juicy burger on her blouse. Its slogan: "If it doesn't get all over the place, it doesn't belong in your face."'

But the prize has to go to Mr. Farhi's characterization of Ms. Hilton:

'Hilton is a remarkable creation: a young woman (she's 24) with a famous last name (she is the great-granddaughter of hotel magnate Conrad Hilton) and no visible talent other than an uncanny ability to keep attracting attention. Unlike fellow blondes Jessica Simpson, who play-acts at being ditsy, or Pamela Anderson, who seems terribly calculating and obvious, Hilton seems to come by her dimness the honest, natural way. On her reality show, "The Simple Life"; on Letterman and Leno's couch she comes off as something uncontrived, even genuine -- a rich, good-time gal without a complicated thought in her head. Her infamous "private" sex tape that appeared all over the Internet did nothing to harm her party-hearty cred.

'Maybe it's an act, like Madonna's clever media manipulations of years ago, but it's an act -- and an image -- Hilton controls awfully well.

'Hilton's emptiness, in fact, makes her a kind of iconic figure (she wisely doesn't utter a single word in the Carl's Jr. ad). She's in many ways a sleazier version of Vanna White, who never said much in all those years of turning letters on "Wheel of Fortune." That's why White was strangely beloved. By never revealing anything specific about herself, White became to many observers the perfect "empty vessel" onto which any narrative could be plausibly pasted. Was she the girl next door? The hot babe? The adoring wife? The perfect daughter or granddaughter?

'Yes. No. Maybe. Whatever.'

One just thinks it is nice that there is still some life after the Superbowl's Nipplegate scandal of Janet Jackson. You may be able to repress the human spirit and the penis, but you cannot break it and keep it down forever!

Massaging Meredith

~
Meredith said that she needs to cut down on her calls, holding off on the weekdays until after nine, the bargain hours. Monk is happy to see that she has to struggle a bit with this as she calls him a few times in the morning and noon. He bemoans the need to cut down, "You have me hooked on you, you are my drug." She says that he needs to get disability and buy Cingular cellphone service, so that he can talk to her for free and unlimited.

After her Memorial weekend of rock concerts, including Santana last night, she groans over the phone, more that usual, feeling the aches and pains of her hectic social life. Monk takes up the line about how it is too bad that nobody can give her a massage, with the suggestion that he wishes he could massage her. The idea appeals to her.

After the morning call, Monk enjoys a daydream in which he buys a massage book, and when he takes a trip to visit Meredith this summer, he surprises her with a competent and soothing massage. She likes it so much that she jumps on Monk's idea of having him instruct John in how to massage her. In addition to giving her the well-read book, he has John learning while doing by taking turns massaging her while he instructs him. As Monk massages her, he tells John that it is like making love platonically.

During the last call, while Monk is making his lunch, in a bid to further discussion, in light of his teasing of her reading of true crime books, he relates that Victor is also reading a true crime book. It turns out to be the same book that she has been trying to read, Murdered Innocents. Monk is stunned and bemused.

Today's calls were again on the cool side, but Monk still loves the connection and she is still calling. Romance and sex may not be a real possibility, but she fills some of the void of his life and it feels so damn good. The way he jumps and runs to the phone when it rings is poignantly comic - the puppet to the puppet master.

Massaging Meredith

~
Meredith said that she needs to cut down on her calls, holding off on the weekdays until after nine, the bargain hours. Monk is happy to see that she has to struggle a bit with this as she calls him a few times in the morning and noon. He bemoans the need to cut down, "You have me hooked on you, you are my drug." She says that he needs to get disability and buy Cingular cellphone service, so that he can talk to her for free and unlimited.

After her Memorial weekend of rock concerts, including Santana last night, she groans over the phone, more that usual, feeling the aches and pains of her hectic social life. Monk takes up the line about how it is too bad that nobody can give her a massage, with the suggestion that he wishes he could massage her. The idea appeals to her.

After the morning call, Monk enjoys a daydream in which he buys a massage book, and when he takes a trip to visit Meredith this summer, he surprises her with a competent and soothing massage. She likes it so much that she jumps on Monk's idea of having him instruct John in how to massage her. In addition to giving her the well-read book, he has John learning while doing by taking turns massaging her while he instructs him. As Monk massages her, he tells John that it is like making love platonically.

During the last call, while Monk is making his lunch, in a bid to further discussion, in light of his teasing of her reading of true crime books, he relates that Victor is also reading a true crime book. It turns out to be the same book that she has been trying to read, Murdered Innocents. Monk is stunned and bemused.

Today's calls were again on the cool side, but Monk still loves the connection and she is still calling. Romance and sex may not be a real possibility, but she fills some of the void of his life and it feels so damn good. The way he jumps and runs to the phone when it rings is poignantly comic - the puppet to the puppet master.