A few months ago I was reading a magazine - yes, an actual magazine, glossy pages and all - and saw this:
Yup, that’s Snoop Dogg. Selling Skechers. The official sneaker of getting to the airport three hours early.
It got me thinking: What would be the equivalent endorsement for me? What’s the most ridiculous thing a balding, middle-aged white dude from the suburbs could shill?
Then it hit me:
Henny for Hennessy.
That is indeed a Hennessy hat. Why do I have a Hennessey hat? That’s a question for another day.
This is how I’d imagine the commercial shoot at my house would unfold:
Director: Picture this: Midnight in your basement, the party’s just getting started.
Me: Why?
Director: What do you mean, why?
Me: What were we doing from seven to midnight?
Director: Hennessy is about nightlife. Anything can happen.
Me: Not a party that starts at midnight.
Discussing how many guests are coming to the party:
Me: How many people are we talking?
Director: Numbers don’t matter. It’s a vibes thing.
Me: Tell that to my wife.
Director: There isn’t an actual guest list.
Me: Okay, but whoever comes needs to pull all the way up in the driveway. We can fit three cars if everyone parks properly.
Director (checks notes): Let’s forget the party for a minute and focus on you. Look around, puff out your chest - act like you own the place.
Me: I do own it. Well, not technically yet, but at 2.8 percent we’d be stupid to pay it off now.
Director: Just project confidence.
Me: I mean, you’ll never see that rate again. 30-year fixed rates are at like 7% these days.
How to be a Hennessy man:
Director: Think of yourself as a man who knows what he wants. A guy who isn’t afraid to take a stand.
Me: Like I did with our bed pillows?
Director: Uh, maybe something a little -
Me: We each had two. Kim wanted to get a third. Like three for each of us! I said, “No. Absolutely not. That’s ridiculous.”
Director: Okay. There’s the attitude. Hold on to that.
Me: Then she asked me why, and I’m like, I dunno, that many pillows just bothers me. She said, “Well, you leave your shit all over the house, and that bothers me. We can stick with two pillows if you start picking up your shit.”
Director: And?
Me: Let’s move on.
While he reconsidered his next scene, I got up and turned off the kitchen lights.
Director: Why’d you do that?
Me: There’s nobody in there.
Director: Yeah but they were lighting our background.
Me: The background isn’t doing anything.
Director: It helps create atmosphere.
Me: Atmosphere doesn’t pay my utility bill.
Director: We’re leaving the lights on.
Me: Whatever. I’m itemizing these expenses.
Then he asked if we could try filming in the master bedroom. Something about that being “where the magic happens.” I’d forgotten he was once a producer on MTV Cribs.
Director: Now we’re talking. Hennessy is about appreciating the finer things.
Me: We have a duvet.
Director: Good. Luxury. Comfort.
Me: And a duvet cover.
Director: Sure.
Me: And now a blanket over the duvet cover.
Director: Uh, why?
Me: To keep the duvet cover clean.
Director: Isn’t that what the duvet cover is for?
Me: No, that keeps the duvet clean. The blanket keeps the duvet cover clean. Try to keep up.
Director: What’s getting it dirty?
Me: The dogs drool on it. Occasionally somebody drags an ass across it.
Director: One of the dogs?
Me: Sure.
For the last scene he wanted a shot in the basement.
Director: We’re going to keep this very simple. No party. No bedroom. Just you, the hat, and the bottle. All you have to say is “Hennything is possible.”
Me: I can handle that.
Director: Great. Look into the camera.
Me: Ready.
Director: And… hold on.
Me: What?
Director: Are we finished upstairs?
Me: I think so.
Director: Then why are the lights on up there?
I looked directly into the camera.
“Hennything is possible.”
This week’s book recommendation is David Sedaris’s Happy-Go-Lucky. That signed copy? I had to pick it up week’s after the signing he had years ago in Milwaukee because I was unable to attend. From what I heard he took my absence in stride.
This week’s piece made me think of the way Sedaris writes about his family…I still wonder why any of them still tell him anything. If I were related to him, I’d spend Thanksgiving dinner discussing the weather. And then I’d still probably wind up in his next book as the asshole who wouldn’t stop talking about the weather.
Yup. Same here. Except it’s a small party of six. And it’s over at 6pm. Food served on the deck Table because our dining room is smaller than our bathroom which is a water closet. We do have an extra toilet in the yard. A doodie bucket and a bush.
Priceless! 😂