Okay.
I came here to write something.
I didn’t really have anything to say, life’s kind of non-narrateable right now, but I thought, go to the page and something to write will come.
Sometimes it does.
So I was staring blankly at the blank page and nothing was coming.
Oh, come on, I thought. There’s got to be something to say - a whine, a rant, a mind-numbing retelling of a currently uneventful life.
But no…
So then, I was about to close the page and move on from this non-event back into my river of non-eventfulness.
I would have gone, almost had, save for the ad that caught my eye.
The picture was a tad disturbing, as it was obviously meant to be, and it did the trick it was intended, getting me to look at the wide-eyed woman with the scary hypodermic needle poised just millimeters away from the seriously not in need of tightening underside of one of her eyes. The text read, “She’s 53, But Looks 23.”
Huh.
All right, let’s go there.
- She’s not 53. That is all there is to it. She’s a twenty-something that the injectable elixir’s manufacturer is using to try to get fifty-somethings to look at and believe that, if they bought the magic (and most probably incredibly expensive) elixir and had it painfully injected into their faces, they could look like their best photoshopped selves of thirty years gone by.
The model looks 23 because she probably is 23. The 50-something looking at the ad looks 53, or in my case 54, because she’s got more than a half a century of living etched into her face, the harder the life, the deeper the etching. No amount of money or bogus cures is going to change that.
Somewhere along the internet line, my age got attached to me and that, obviously, is why this particular age-specific ad was displayed on my screen. I get that. They’re a few months behind on their info, I turned the calendar back in January, but they’re close enough.
And I also understand the banner ad trying to interest me in “Top Selling Electric Hybrid Cars for Less.” I was looking up info on Prius maintenance the other day and ended up pretend pricing a 2015 top-of-the-line Prius for fun. (Yep. Brand new car is not something I need, want, or will ever be able to afford again - unless that powerball thing ever pans out.) (Come on Hell, freeze over!)
The ad on the page that has me confused, though, is the one or Amazon. I’ve bought things from Amazon, who hasn’t, and even been an Amazon Prime member. They have a list of past purchases and perusals, from books to cat toys to hair pieces, so it makes no sense to me that they’re trying to pique my interest with a picture of a shiny silver object that I could only identify after I read the text.
I have no idea why Amazon would think I’d drool and rush to their site to purchase a commercial door closer, no matter how sleek and shiny the pic.
Honestly, the ways of cookie and algorithm are strange indeed.
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