Pushing the Anthodites

Don't watch this youtube clip. This is another thing that's just for McNeil. It's Jerry Lewis guest-hosting THE TONIGHT SHOW with Bob Hope as his guest. It will just confirm all your worst feelings if that is your inclination. Shame on you! Bob makes a bunch of awful ethnic jokes about the Italians and Irish then he makes an off-color remark about Ed Sullivan and then Bob and Jerry have some reactionary banter about "the young people today." It's 1970! Bob is wearing a striped jacket and what I think might be a powder-blue silk shirt. The commercials are included! One is for "wild blueberry" flavored cigars! An antiperspirant commercial shows us a new direction - understated, semi-documentary, almost like Godard shot it, it reminded me of MASCULIN-FEMININ. Edit out a few seconds here and there and it could be an indictment of pop consumerism. Repressive desublimation? No! But it used "revolutionary" techniques to sell antiperspirant. It really does stick out in the clutter. Don Draper probably thought of it. And of course you can see right there the world passing Bob and Jerry by. Then there's a charming local ad for Skyline Caverns, just a photo of two nice women standing in some caverns, I guess. (Not the photo presented here, obviously, but something similar.) And the announcer plays up the "anthodites" they have in the caverns. And when I looked at the present-day homepage for Skyline Caverns, well, they are still pushing those anthodites pretty hard! When we get back to the show, there's a lot of underlying hostility between Bob and Jerry, I think, some muttering about an incident in their past I couldn't quite make out. They're muttering at and over each other on television! Or maybe my hearing is going. Something about Bing Crosby. (A late addendum! Here ["click"] is some info about when Bing Crosby got scared that Jerry Lewis was going to pull off his hairpiece. Also - ironically, given how the times seem to have rushed past Bob and Jerry - a brash, pitiless, hilarious and supremely energetic young Jerry is giving Bing [by implication] a bunch of stuff about being old and passe.) Then when Bob leaves THE TONIGHT SHOW set, a big bunch of pencils gets knocked off the desk. Freudian! And Ed McMahon subserviently bends over and picks up all Johnny's pencils (another telling gesture!) and praises Bob Hope in a way that makes Jerry jokingly - but also not jokingly - prickly and defensive. Maybe all this helps confirm a bunch of scintillating analysis McNeil and I recently did of Bob and Jerry. My attention wandered so I may have missed a few things. Jerry asks Bob how much time Bob would give him on Bob's new special and Bob says "Thirty seconds" and Jerry says something and Bob says, "You bow for thirty seconds." Zing! It sounded like an ad-lib. A hostile ad-lib! But I don't know. And once Bob has gone, Jerry says a bunch of passive-aggressive stuff about how he admires the way Bob puts himself out there as a product. Anyway, why are you still here?

Money Is Poop

I watched THE WHEELER DEALERS the other night and immediately realized I had nothing to say about it. So here goes. It had Freud and expressionist art in it like so many 1960s romantic comedies. (See also.) Louis Nye rode a tricycle with paint on the tires over a large canvas on the floor, a half-remembered scene alluded to in one of my books. Why are 60s comedies always sticking it to psychiatrists and artists? It's not repressive desublimation (see also). It has something to do with the essentially conservative nature (?) of romantic comedy. Maybe. I don't care. "You know what Freud said about money. It's refuse! It's dirt!" cried one character primed for our scorn. I believe Freud actually said that money is poop. He really did. You know, I could have just skipped writing this one.

Effie Klinker

Having read (I assume) my "posts" about Zeno Klinker and his wife Sugar Klinker, Phil (natch) wrote to remind me that Edgar Bergen had a dummy named Effie Klinker. Phil attached a 1944 TIME magazine article about Effie Klinker, but I couldn't read the whole thing because I don't subscribe. Phil quoted the article as saying that Effie Klinker has a "spry libido." By gritting my teeth and googling the phrases "effie klinker" + "spry libido" I was able to find a reprint of the entire article, which indeed contains the not-stellar sentence, "Inside her prim decor lurks a spry libido." A good subject for study might be "Why are ventriloquist's dummies always so interested in sex?" I think I know the answer! And it has to do with repressive desublimation. In other news, McNeil has now watched WAKE ME WHEN IT'S OVER, ha ha ha, sucker! He notes that Ernie Kovacs wears his tropical shirt at one point "tied up around his belly button like a pin-up girl might." Yes, that's true, I forgot to mention that.

A Chicken Coop

Last time I was in Atlanta I saw what looked like a little house on top of Manuel's Tavern. Like a place where pixies might live! I put it out of my mind, I guess, as a possible hallucination. But today my brother-in-law writes to tell me it is a chicken coop. A chicken coop on top of Manuel's Tavern! He sent a corroborative "link" but you're just going to have to take my word for it. Just wait until Kent hears about this! Kent tried to spread the word about "The Oatmeal Selfie Initiative" and was shocked! - shocked! - that I have not yet been drowned in photos of people eating oatmeal. "It takes time to make the oatmeal," Steve Wolfhard said consolingly in yesterday's ADVENTURE TIME meeting. Tom Herpich and I talked briefly about twitter as a tool of repressive desublimation. McNeil sent me an email about a guy he saw picking his nose. The rest of the day is a blur.

No Comment, The Hulk

Are you tired of reading about me reading old comic books? Too bad. This is your life now. So I was reading this Metal Men comic book and it sure looks like that by 1968 DC's normally carefree and goofy Metal Men were trying to get all dark and broody and "relevant" like the X-Men and other Marvel characters. (Yesterday I read a 1970 Marvel comic in which the Hulk decides to battle some young protesters on a college campus. My favorite panel shows the Hulk smashing his way through a concrete wall as he shouts, "THE ONES CALLED -- STUDENTS! THEY ARE THE ENEMY THAT HULK WANTS TO CRUSH!" Ha ha! No comment, Hulk. When the leader of the student protesters hears that the Hulk is approaching, he says, "I'M TELLIN' YOU, PEOPLE -- IF THE HULK IS HEADED THIS WAY, IT'S GOTTA BE TO JOIN OUR PROTEST! THAT GREEN BROTHER'S AS MUCH ANTI-ESTABLISHMENT AS ANY OF US!" Then the Hulk lands and he quickly changes his mind. "THAT'S RIGHT -- RUN! RUN LIKE ANTS -- LIKE SCARED RABBITS!" suggests the Hulk.) Anyway, in a Marvel-like twist, the cops are after the Metal Men! Orders come over the police radio: "IF YOU FIND OUT HOW TO KILL A ROBOT -- SHOOT TO KILL!" And in the end, after the Metal Men save the city from a giant fly (!) whose weapon is flypaper (!!) - sort of a counterintuitive approach for a giant fly - everyone still hates them! The robot named Tin, who is made of Tin, says, "L-LOOK! EVEN THE CATS OF THE CITY H-H-HAVE TURNED AGAINST US!" Sure enough, a cat in an alleyway where the Metal Men are hiding hisses like so: "PHFSSSSTT" and the end of the story has our heroes backed up against a brick wall. "THE PEOPLE STILL DON'T TRUST US!" says Lead, who is made of lead. "THEIR SUSPICIOUS EYES HURT WORSE THAN BULLETS!" says Mercury, which seems out of character for him (he was always the grouchy one). By the way, look, I took this picture for you (above) - it's Lead saying, "STOP FIRIN', GUYS! I'M THE SAME LEAD YOU LET YOUR KIDS PLAY WITH --!" ha ha, is that funny? I don't know.

Of Beards and Dolphins

So when the satellite died we lost all our dvr'd movies. Am I sad? I don't know. I guess that depends on whether you think anything matters. Probably not. I lost SOME KIND OF A NUT, which had repressive desublimation written all over it. It's about Dick van Dyke REFUSING TO SHAVE HIS BEARD! It starts from a bee's point of view, sloppily... I mean, it's sometimes the bee's point of view, sometimes almost the bee's point of view, sometimes not at all the bee's point of view, but you get the distinct and troubling impression that the director THINKS he's in the bee's point of view. That's as far as I got. And now Dick van Dyke and his controversial beard are gone! Gone forever! I wanted to watch THE DAY OF THE DOLPHIN, to see if it matched up with my childhood memories. I recall being in a hotel, the first hotel I ever encountered that was running recent theatrical releases on a special channel, and they just showed THE DAY OF THE DOLPHIN over and over. MOVIE CHANNELS WERE A MIND-BLOWING NOVELTY, Y'ALL. Now they're just dirt to us. As I recall, I didn't want to go outside, wherever we were on vacation. I just wanted to sit in the room and watch THE DAY OF THE DOLPHIN as many times as possible, and I think I did. It's a talking dolphin movie from screenwriter Buck Henry and director Mike Nichols, that's right, the team behind THE GRADUATE, natch! Of course, I didn't know that at the time. I just knew my eyes were secretly welling up with tears when the dolphin, whose name, I think, was "Pha," said to George C. Scott: "Pha LOVE Pa!" The dolphin called George C. Scott "Pa" because George C. Scott had taught him to talk! So George C. Scott was the dolphin's father figure! I guess! Well, anyway, it's erased, zapped, along with 60 other movies. And I never got around to it. And really, who cares? Ward McCarthy also has fond memories of THE DAY OF THE DOLPHIN and mentioned he might try showing it to his kids. I had to remind him that - spoiler alert! - something horrible happens to the dolphins at the end, I am almost certain. As Dr. Theresa would say, and often does, "That's the 1970s for ya!"

My Life in the Arts

The satellite receiver fizzled out and died so I watched some of EIGHT ON THE LAM on the "streaming video" last night. You remember when Phyllis Diller squirted mustard on some cops, don't you? Well, this time she fed an unsuspecting cop some dog food! Wow! I didn't know Phyllis Diller hated cops so much. Somebody should write an academic paper about it. (Cops were referred to as "fuzz" here, just as in the previous [?] Hope/Diller vehicle BOY, DID I GET A WRONG NUMBER. There was a distasteful and protracted joke in EIGHT ON THE LAM - I sort of couldn't believe what I was seeing - when a baby tries rather forcefully to nurse on Phyllis Diller [!], causing her to exclaim, "Boy, did YOU get a wrong number!" An almost Cronenberg-like, uh, I don't know what I'm talking about.) The dog-food-eating cop, her love interest, was played by Jonathan Winters. EIGHT ON THE LAM is not a fitting tribute to Winters, who died the other day. He never appeared in a film role worthy of his genius. EIGHT ON THE LAM is a "family picture," I guess. There's this one tyke who looks so proud of himself for remembering his lines. He's kind of cute about it so it's hard to begrudge him. He'll say, for example, "Ooh, you said a dirty word!" And then the camera lingers while he kind of smirks because he knows he really delivered the goods. I couldn't help but notice that one of the kids listed in the opening credits was played by "Robert Hope," who must be Bob Hope's son, right? I tried to figure out which one he was. I looked for telltale signs of the famous "Hope nose" to no avail. I suppose this is something I could "google" if I weren't so weary of life all the time. What else? I saw Joe York yesterday. He mentioned reading TREASURE ISLAND on an airplane. SUDDENLY MY PROBLEMS WERE SOLVED BY JOE YORK! Somehow I have never read TREASURE ISLAND and I have been trying to think of something to read on the airplane. I was thinking of picking up VILLETTE again, but I was also resisting that idea. I had such a good time reading JANE EYRE on an airplane, but I feel that VILLETTE might be setting me up for airplane disappointment reminiscent of the second lobster scene in ANNIE HALL. I believe Jimmy once called TREASURE ISLAND his favorite book... did he say Stevenson should have cut the last page? Last paragraph? Or did he love the last paragraph? I can't remember. Gosh, this is boring. I am boring myself typing it. I would like to excuse myself from my own company. So let's liven things up. Remember when Blair Hobbs made Dr. Theresa a Lizzie Borden-themed cheese ball to celebrate her doctorate? Just feast your eyes on this Cheese Jake she made to celebrate the recent visit of the ADVENTURE TIME boys! "I know he doesn't have hair, but I thought he needed some," she said. "Plus, I like chow mein noodles." Late in the evening, she took what was left of Jake and remolded him into a snarling, demonic unicorn. At least that's the way I remember it. Exciting! (Photo by Pendleton Ward.)

Even Their Virtues Were Being Burned Away

Glum chat with my sister about the Oscars. Neither of us is feeling it. How will I crush and utterly defeat my little sister in our annual Oscar prediction battle under these pitiful circumstances? I never really enjoy the Oscars. I can't go to your "Oscar party." Watching the Oscars is something that should be done alone, a shameful duty, like pooping. Even Dr. Theresa, who PROMISED to stick by me "for better and for worse" goes in the other room at some (early) point. She usually ends up watching a Steven Seagal movie (for example) while I continue torturing myself. Sensible, I call her! Pre-Oscar depression is a serious disease that afflicts millions of idiots each year. But this is the first year in memory I almost don't feel like watching the Oscars at all, not even out of dull habit. Can I blame the Family Guy, who is hosting the show? I kind of want to. But then again, I don't "like" to see Billy Crystal scampering around and capering about and pulling funny faces like a sad old fool either. When I'm watching the Oscars I'm cringing all the time and looking away in keen embarrassment as they do their little skits and weep openly. I feel sorry for those millionaires! So am I anticipating the frustration I expect to feel when the Family Guy thinks he is making me cringe on purpose? And yet at heart he is nothing but a Billy Crystal. AND HE KNOWS IT! Maybe that's what bugs me: that he thinks "knowing it" makes it better. Is that what he thinks? I have no insights into the workings of his mind. Okay, I do feel pretty safe in saying that he secretly thinks things like this all the time while he looks in the mirror: "At heart I am just an old-fashioned song-and-dance man!" or some equally horrific thought. And maybe he will turn out to be the greatest Oscars host ever. Hmm. That puts me in mind of the revelation that concludes Flannery O'Connor's story "Revelation": Mrs. Turpin sees "a vast swinging bridge" leading to heaven "through a field of living fire," with "battalions of freaks and lunatics shouting and clapping and leaping like frogs" on it. And behind them, some respectable people are going to heaven too, "Yet she could see by their shocked and altered faces that even their virtues were being burned away." I think what Flannery O'Connor was trying to say is that the worst Oscar host ever and the best Oscar host ever WILL BE IDENTICAL. So is it the repressive desublimation getting me down? Do I want a host who is sincerely bad instead of "ironically" bad? Should I speak to a psychiatrist? Where am I?

They Came to Burgle Carnegie Hall

They were showing a movie called THEY CAME TO ROB LAS VEGAS on TCM last night and I was tickled because it made me think of my favorite fake movie title from THE SIMPSONS, which also furnishes the title of this "post." But I got into THEY CAME TO ROB LAS VEGAS 30 minutes late because first I had to watch George Saunders on THE COLBERT REPORT. So when I switched over to THEY CAME TO ROB LAS VEGAS, some dude was saying to Elke Sommer, "Honey, there's nothing harder to get into than another man's robe," and it was said with such dull authority that it depressed me, one of those lines that only wants to sound like it means something but it maybe probably doesn't mean anything and it doesn't care. It would rather sound tough than be tough. Right away the movie seemed too solemn and proud of itself, or proud of its supposed hipness, or something, and I didn't watch the rest, no, you couldn't even call it repressive desublimation, whatever was going on there. There was a sour feeling. What's wrong with me? I'm basing all this on one line, I didn't give THEY CAME TO ROB LAS VEGAS a fair shake! Last time I saw George Saunders, less than a week ago, he recommended Kerouac's VISIONS OF GERARD, which by coincidence I had just recently purchased at Square Books, so I'm reading it now and here's a fragment I enjoyed: "people may count themselves higher than pigs, and walk proudly down country roads; geniuses may look out of windows and count themselves higher than louts..." (He's on the side of the pigs and louts.) Also "teaching" ON THE ROAD and I forgot that near the end they have a big party in a castle! "and Charity creeping around upstairs in her nightgown with a flashlight."

Blue Nail Polish

Hey I saw two different TV shows last night in which characters were wearing blue nail polish. That's not very interesting! But anytime I see two of anything I have to "blog" about it. One blue nail polish wearer was Ersatz Rory from the shoe factory show. I guess this might smack of repressive desublimation, I don't know, I'll have to think about it, no I won't, let's take a nap.

Dance Craze

Watching part of a movie called THE COOL ONES on TCM. It's mostly Roddy McDowall in lots of paisley ascots and sunglasses and convertibles and tight suits, and what's wrong with that? (See also.) He's the millionaire manager (I think) of a band who sings the dance craze hit "Have a Tantrum." When the music stops, everybody freezes. The singers then advise them to "have a tantrum." When the music starts back up, everybody "has a tantrum," shaking and quaking and such. When the music pauses once more, they freeze anew, awaiting the repeated instruction to "have a tantrum," which they obey once more. And so on. Can there be any neater example of repressive desublimation? I think not! Like, you know, is dance itself the very primeval essence of repressive desublimation? All that dangerous potential energy expended in a regimented way, according to explicit instruction from an approved intermediary of the powers that be, as represented, in this case, by Roddy McDowall? Do you care? I find that difficult to believe. Yet here we are.

Adventures in the Library

All this ghost talk made me nostalgic for the weird sections of the library, so I poked around in there the other day and found a book called MAGIC, WITCHCRAFT, AND GHOSTS IN THE GREEK AND ROMAN WORLDS. It's a collection of excerpts from "literary and documentary sources," 776 BC-476 AD. So expect some exciting public domain stories of people in togas running away from ghosts! I also stopped by the periodicals room to read THE NEW YORKER magazine, in which Gay Talese was reporting on Lady Gaga, meaning everything I predicted HAS COME TRUE. This has reached beyond repressive desublimation and into an area I just made up called desublimated petrification! Sad news from the library: the shabby coffee shop that used to be stocked with a supply of bizarre free books has been converted into a shiny Starbucks with "lite jazz" coming out of it and no free anything for anybody ever.

The Long Pole

I am sure you recall when the Doomed Book Club read the autobiography of Mack Sennett. What? You don't? It's kind of hazy for me, too. In case you are interested, which you are not, the TCM "blog" has a nice introduction to Mack Sennett's oeuvre, which is a word I enjoy typing. So many vowels! Here is the way the author sums up the subtlety of the man's style: "if you hold a long pole horizontally, it will wallop people in the head." Ah! But he goes on: "if you do the same joke over and over for 10 minutes, it becomes something superlative." As you know, that is also my theory of writing (substitute "200 pages" for "10 minutes"), but sadly the publishing industry does not agree with me. Fools! Finally, if you read carefully, which I know you love to do, you will see that the author (without using our pet term) argues for silent film comedy as a major vehicle for repressive desublimation. So that's always loads of fun! Wow, it's like I've taken everything you don't care about and put it into one "post." You're welcome! (Pictured, my author photo.)

Sad Snackers

I am deeply troubled by the commercial for a new (?) product called "Hot Pockets Snackers." Several "cool" young people are sitting in an apartment just relaxing and enjoying some "Hot Pockets Snackers." You can tell they are cool because they have a guitar and a bicycle in their apartment, and one of them is wearing a knit cap indoors. The announcer suggests that the "Hot Pockets Snackers" are so much like restaurant food that they should "come with an annoying waitress." Then suddenly by magic an "annoying waitress" appears and "annoys" everyone by being cheerful and doing a little dance. The cool people look on in mute horror (we must assume) with their cool blank faces which cannot express emotion. Part of the heartbreak is thinking of the big wigs in the "Hot Pockets Snackers" corporate boardroom getting excited about how much the cool kids with guitars and bicycles are going to love their "Hot Pockets Snackers" and how they will really "relate" to this commercial that speaks their language of wearing knit caps indoors, opening up the whole "Hot Pockets Snackers" experience to a brand new demographic. The executive officers of "Hot Pockets Snackers" just want to be loved! The other sad part is about the working woman who tries to be upbeat and is implicitly mocked and scorned by the makers of the "Hot Pockets Snackers." This "annoying waitress" who has to go out and make a living probably has little time for cooking and might be forced at some point into a gruesome situation when all she has time for before heading out the door is a bag of "Hot Pockets Snackers." (Note: I couldn't find an actual image of the commercial, but I think this "beatnik" gets the feeling across.)

Fuzz Mustard

Over on the "blog" of James Wolcott I see Jim Jarmusch quoted thusly: "I reach for my revolver when I hear the word quirky. Or edgy. These words are now becoming labels that are slapped on products to sell them." To which I would only respond, "Now? How about forever? What about what happened to the beatniks, for example? Or when BONNIE AND CLYDE made people put rebellious banjo music in car commercials?" But that reminds me: Our Year of Repressive Desublimation is coming to a close. Let's think back over some of the highlights of repressive desublimation we have enjoyed together in 2010, The Year of Repressive Desublimation. What about when Phyllis Diller squirted mustard at the "fuzz"? Or the time the UTNE READER decided to reprint part of a column I wrote that MIGHT be about repressive desublimation for all I know? Let us reflect also on the piece of candy that has its own twitter account. And don't forget double reverse repressive desublimation, perhaps the most characteristic variety of our wonderful new era! And there were so many more examples we fondly enjoyed together. Why not send your favorite piece of repressive desublimation to "Repressive Desublimation" c/o "Writer" Oxford, MS 38655?

Many Ubiquitous Everywhere

Hey, speaking of all my many ubiquitous columns which are everywhere, THE UTNE READER has asked to reprint an excerpt from my recent Oxford American column about Lady Gaga. And I was like, "Go for it, UTNE READER!" I would just like to point out that my Lady Gaga observations are even truer than when I first wrote them. For example, I recently watched two sitcoms in a row in which characters were dressed up as Lady Gaga for humorous reasons. If you read my column, you will understand what this means socially, politically, cosmically, etc. Think repressive desublimation!

Nothing to Nothing

Repressive desublimation is back, and Anthony Braxton's got it! Only he calls it "spectacle diversion syndrome." What's spectacle diversion syndrome? I'm mighty glad you asked! Here is how it is summarized by Graham Lock, author of FORCES IN MOTION: THE MUSIC AND THOUGHTS OF ANTHONY BRAXTON: "the chief means by which alternative or protest movements (like the beatniks and the hippies) are turned into fads and so absorbed into mainstream culture; it creates the illusion of change (fashion) so as to prevent real, fundamental change taking place. It represents the constant movement of 'nothing to nothing.'" Bye! PS Anthony Braxton is against it, of course! Okay, bye!

So Many Columns

I have two columns out today. Who cares? Shut up! There are so many columns around here it's starting to look like ancient Greece. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Because they had lots of columns. In the OXFORD AMERICAN I am explaining how Larry King, the Family Guy, Jay Leno, and Lady Gaga are THE SAME PERSON. Does it have something to do with repressive desublimation? Maybe! Sure. Why not? I don't know. Probably not. Sort of. I just write 'em, I don't know what they mean. Meanwhile in THE BELIEVER it's a look at my rock collection with a typically wonderful Jason Polan illustration of my rock collection. Won't you glut yourself on my verbose mannerisms today?

Fie, Tattered Maltin

Just watched BOY, DID I GET A WRONG NUMBER on TCM, thanks to a tip from Brian Z. Why does everybody hate it so much? My tattered Maltin assigns it one of its numerous pious "BOMB"s. I can imagine Godard loving this movie. For me, it's the kind of repressive desublimation we can all get behind: the harmlessly transparent and superficial kind. Like, Bob Hope refers to policemen as "fuzz," as in, "I've got more fuzz on my tail than a French poodle" (the line quoted to me by McNeil when he called - of course - to discuss the movie a few minutes ago). And Phyllis Diller, riding a motorcycle, squirts mustard into the faces of hapless "fuzz" through their driver's side windows, causing them to crash, which makes her cackle as she anarchically squirts more mustard onto the road. If I am recalling correctly, and I almost certainly am, my ex-boss Lisa once told me that Phyllis Diller on a motorcycle was one of the iconic images of her youth. Yet I searched the entire "internet" and couldn't find a still of it. So here's Elke Sommer holding an apple. See? Doesn't it remind you of CONTEMPT?

Self-Expression!

I was at the movies yesterday, and you know how they show regular commercials before movies in our strange modern times? I was surprised to learn - though I shouldn't have been - that with a completely straight face they still make that commercial, you know the one: the one where there is an "adult" with neatly combed hair and a suit and glasses, and he is utterly befuddled by the "hep" stuff some "cool kids" are throwing down, such as wearing cool hats and prancing about with blatant disregard for authority. And he, the "adult," puts his ear to the wall and smushes his face up against a small window trying in vain to figure out what these antiestablishment type kids are up to (spoiler alert - turns out they are modeling clothes from JC Penney!), and his demeanor becomes increasingly frazzled because he is so uptight. Yes, they are still making that commercial. Hey, wow, look, I just found a press release with the headline, "JCPenney's 'New Look. New Year. Who Knew!' Back-to-School Campaign Features Cutting Edge, Creative Marketing Aimed at Teens" and it has this line in it: "'Personalization and self-expression are important to teens and they want their look to reflect their unique personalities and style. And for teens, there is no better time to put their best fashion forward than Back-to-School,' said Mike Boylson, executive vice president and chief marketing officer for JCPenney." We could hardly hope for a more clear-cut statement of intent regarding repressive desublimation. (In fact, I am thrilled to report that the press release's Orwellian subhead reads "Campaign Encourages Teens to Take Control.") Ah, heavenly. This takes me back to the halcyon days of the Hawaiian Punch FAQ.