I went to lunch with The Wife the other day. We're both (kinda) still on vacation, and decided to burn a gift card to one of those national eatery chains. Food was good, but one thing nearly ruined the experience: the menu. It was a large spiral-bound number with laminated pages, but only two-thirds or so of those pages described the eating
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~M~
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I visited Maine awhile back and rode along the coast from Portland to Acadia, and it was wonderful. No billboards are allowed along the freeway. I was surprised by how much more enjoyment one gets without these unnatural distractions and mood disturbances. Sadly, this haven may soon disappear.
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I am not a consumer, I'm a citizen, damnit. Advertising bugs the socks off of me, and I won't willingly expose myself to more of it than I have to (which is quite a lot already, thank you very much). When I see ads for other things than the dessert trolley, I immediately think of Pohn and Kornbluth's "Space Merchants", where the Fowler-Schocken advertising agency invents the spherical trust. One advertiser's products creates a craving for another advertiser's products, which in turn sets off a craving for a third...
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He gets it in one!
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Me? I decided I needed a stock answer I could whip out if confronted by a TV crew on the street: "Cattle are branded. I am not."
I might make it a T-shirt.
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