Hitting the target

You're probably already familiar with targeted marketing. You might have also heard it referred to by that other name the monumental douchewhistles running Facebook and Instagram give it: relevant ads. You know, ads you'll appreciate interrupting your otherwise perfectly good scroll.

These are those creepy ads that appear within five minutes of you talking about something that interests you while you're in earshot of your iPhone, Alexa, Google Home, Apple Homepod or other digital assistant. Devices that listen in on your conversations even though at the same time the companies that make them are paying for ads and running interviews everywhere telling you about their committment to privacy.

I hate 'em as much as the next guy. But I have to admit, I'm at a meth-laced crossroads when it comes to this little number that popped up in my inbox.

If you've followed this blog at all, and with all that pandemic time on your hands you have no excuse if you haven't, you know I'm a fairly hardcore Breaking Bad fan. The fact I've binged it fourteen times was probably your first clue.

So a few months ago when Omaze was runnng a contest to have Bryan Cranston and Aaron Paul cook breakfast for me and a friend in the RV they cooked meth in on the show, it's safe to assume I entered. Several times. And then a few more for good measure.

But did I win? No I did not. Apparently Elissa and Heidi got to enjoy the breakfast that was meant for me. Apparently they forgot I am the one who knocks!

I may have gotten off track here. Anyway those nice folks (algorithims) at Omaze remembered and sent me the personalized invite to their latest contest to spend a little time with Walt and Jesse.

Now I'm not naive enough to think I'm the only one who got the invite. I'm sure everyone who entered the breakfast contest (and lost to Elissa and Heidi) received one as well. But it does make me reconsider my take on targeted marketing.

I guess the bottom line is I'm good with it as long as the ads are Breaking Bad, Springsteen or sushi related.

"I couldn't pick it up"

I started thinking about my life today. I know, I probably should've put some thought into it earlier, but we are where we are. And let me give you some advice: there's no percentage in it. Introspection, highly overrated. Like someone said, ignorance is bliss (see the irony?).

Anyway, as anyone who knows me will tell you, I much prefer floating aimlessly from one experience, one job, one car to another, and not trying to add up what they all mean or say about me as person.

I may have gotten off track here. In fact, forget I said anything.

But while I was in deep thought about my life, I was also finishing up the latest Stephen King scarefest, The Outsider. I highly recommend reading the first 400 pages anytime, and only reading the rest in the daytime. I was looking at the blurbs for the book on the jacket, and thinking what would the blurbs be about me, my life and my career (laughing hysterically for using the word "career").

And while I can't reach out to all any of the people I'd like to and ask for a blurb, I have a fairly good idea how they might go.

"I'm a master of horror, but nothing scares me as much as Jeff's writing. And not in a good way." - Stephen King

"He's always been there for me and the band, no matter how much we charged for tickets. There's one born to run every minute."- Bruce Springsteen

"Actually no one ever saw the show. Our ratings were so high cause Jeff binged it nine times. Might've been ten." - Bryan Cranston

"He likes the salmon very much." — Taka San, Koi sushi chef

My hat's off

I suppose it'd be easy to think this is another post about Breaking Bad, what with the picture of Walter White, er, Heisenberg. That and the fact I'm the one writing it.

But it's not. It's actually about the hat.

On one of my Breaking Bad binges, I've lost count (9), I started falling in love with his Pork pie hat and wondering how it'd look on me. It was a rhetorical question, because the truth of the matter is no hat looks good on me.

For starters, there's the problem of finding hats that even fit me given the rather large noggin I use as a carrying case for my oversized brain.

Then there's the douche factor: I think 99.9% of guys in Pork pie hats—unless they're Justin Timberlake, Bryan Cranston, Buster Keaton or Gene Hackman in The French Connection—look like they go to eleven on the Douche-O-Meter.

My infatuation with the hat I'll never wear comes from my desire to have a style to call my own. Any style, I'm not particular. But I don't have one, and whichever one I eventually land on may not require a hat. Also, the "style to call my own" part wouldn't really apply since so many hats are being worn by guys in their own little fantasy world, where the Douche-O-Meter doesn't exist.

I think baseball caps are an exception. For starters, one size fits all. Even me. And it's considered, you know, a baseball cap—not a fashion statement (usually). Almost anyone can pull off wearing a baseball cap.

The point of all this is I've come to the realization, begrudgingly, that I'm going to have to put the Pork pie hat on my long list of things I wish I could do, but know I can't.

Of course I might have to binge Breaking Bad a tenth time to make sure.

Breaking Dad

This is a picture of Bryan Cranston as Walter White. It's also pretty much the same position I've been in for the last ten days, minus the stacks of cash and plastic storage containers full of 99.1% pure blue meth. For the record, I also had an open laptop in front of me.

The reason is that after several conversations with extremely insistent friends who wouldn't take no for an answer, and a Twitter feed that was on fire as the series finale approached, I finally jumped on the Breaking Bad train. And it was every bit the wild ride everyone promised it would be.

I'd heard of the show of course, but frankly - what with Homeland, Dexter, Person of Interest, Modern Family (which one of these is not like the other?) - I felt I already had enough tv show commitments.

Besides - FIRST WORLD PROBLEM ALERT! - recording everything in HD only leaves so much room on the DVR.

But once I saw the opening scene from the first episode, I was - pun intended - hooked.

Fortunately I wasn't working the last couple weeks so I had the time to devote to it. I sat in my chair, streaming seasons 1 through 5 on Netflix. Season 5 has 16 episodes, broken into two parts. Netflix has the first 8, and I had to pay to download the rest from iTunes. Money extremely well spent.

I would watch in the day, the night, late at night, middle of the night and early in the morning. My daughter said it should be called Breaking Dad because I was neglecting pretty much everything and everyone to get through this extraordinary show.

A little OCD sometimes? Perhaps. And check again to make sure that door's locked on your way out.

The beauty of it was no commercials, so instead of a full hour each episode was around 45 minutes give or take. I went through all 62 of them, many of them twice because I couldn't believe how great they were.

As far as series endings go, it was genius. Every loose end was tied up, every question answered. And it all made perfect sense and felt right. It was brilliant.

The downside is now, unsurprisingly, I'm experiencing severe withdrawal. Going through all 5 seasons in less than 10 days didn't give me nearly the fix I need. But thanks to iTunes, season 5 is on my laptop and I can revisit it whenever I want.

You should know you can't immerse yourself in the meth world for such a concentrated period of time without lingering after effects. For example, I now recognize every RV on the road as a mobile meth lab. I use the phrases "Tread lightly" "I am the danger" and "Say my name" almost daily. I'm suspicious of fried chicken restaurants.

And worst of all, I like a Badfinger song.