Demographics

The world of advertising-by-mail presents a complex mystery capable of stumping the most brilliant minds of our generation. Those crafty lords of adverts have created an invisible panopticon within and around America, and they see every website we visit, every store we frequent, and every piece of media we enjoy. (Deny this if you will, skeptics, but don’t come crying to me when you’re inundated with commercial propaganda so specifically tailored to your tastes that you start duct-taping black visquine over your windows in a vain attempt to regain your privacy.)

Sometimes, however, this vast, incalculably powerful system makes a misjudgment. Maybe there was a typo in the data they received about me recently, or perhaps they confused my identity with that of a snow-bird in Mesa, Arizona, but I now have definitive proof that this invisible yet tyrannical power is not flawless: Behold, The Vermont Country Store catalog.

I have received two in the mail thus far, and to save my life I cannot tell you how the publishers ever got my name. The Vermont Country Store proudly offers customers a range of age-specific products that have no relevance to me whatsoever: circulation hosiery, shingles ointment, varicose vein concealer, golfing visors, orthopedic shoes, and more muumuus than you can shake a stick at. If the products alone don’t make one feel young, the product descriptions blatantly trying to evoke sentimental feelings about the early 1960s will.

Between bouts of laughter, there were a few educational moments during my perusal. The greatest revelation occurred when I discovered that there existed in the 70s a shampoo called “Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific”. About 10 Mystery Science Theater jokes now make sense to me, thanks to this catalog (refer to the bus stop scene in episode 1001 – Soultaker, for an illustration).

While there was plenty of humorous material within the catalog itself, the very presence of the catalog buoyed my spirits. This proved to me that the iron grip of advertising is flawed, that they cannot see and know all. And if this is the case, my friends, then we can fight back! We can strike back at those who daily assault us with extreme color contrasts, commercially-driven sex appeal, and a disgusting overabundance of exclamation points!

Wait… wait a moment. Something has just occurred to me. I once used my credit card to pay for a meal at the Cracker Barrel (I only went there under duress, I tell you). Could it be? Could it be that there is some unholy alliance between this quaint, Southern, geriatrics-attractive restaurant chain and the equally quaint, Southern, geriatrics-attractive The Vermont Country Store? Could it be that the evil god of advertising really has no flaw, and we are rendered helpless before it? We’re too late! There is no escape!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!