How Eve Will Destroy The USA
(8/9/11) If your significant other, your cuddle-buddy, your orgasm provider is a female, you don't want to take a chance she'll find out you read this article because if she finds out, you might not get laid tonight, or this week, or this year, or maybe never again. That's because this article proves how the unfettered will to power of American women will destroy the United States of America unless they are put in their place immediately if not sooner. If you even give a hint that such blasphemous information as this article contains has accosted your neural synapses, you might as well become a eunuch for the kingdom of heaven's sake because you will be effectively castrati by the overwhelming legions of American women, regardless of the flavor of religion they prefer. In summary, all you have to do to avoid that feeling of lightness below your peeder is flee these words like they are a powerful IED you've just discovered on the side of the road. Or conversely, if your mind simply cannot tolerate the idea that you're a wuss who will ignore information germane to the survival of the USA, read the article, but never, ever, I mean never ever, tell Eve you read it: your orgasm jones depends on it.
The enormously popular television series "Mad Men" set in the fifties and early sixties only hints at the role women are to play in advertising in the 1970's. It takes a history of Madison Avenue in the 1970's to get the nation-changing power of Mad Women in focus.
For readers of the New Yorker (and what cosmopolitan Manhattenite isn't) Malcolm Gladwell (make of that name what you will) has been one of the best known writers for the "New Yorker" magazine for decades. Few New Yorkers can claim the heights of all-knowing sophistication as well as Mr. Gladwell. So when he explains women by analyzing the role advertising for women has played in the evolution of American society, nothing nearer to the moment lightning brings Frankenstein to life is likely to occur.
Mr. Gladwell in his New Yorker article, "True Colors: the Hidden History of Postwar America" begins, "In 1956, when Shirley Polykoff was a junior copywriter at Foote, Cone & Belding, she was given the Clairol account. The product the company was launching was Miss Clairol, the first hair-color bath that made it possible to lighten, tint, condition, and shampoo at home, in a single step — to take, say, Topaz (for a champagne blond) or Moon Gold (for a medium ash), apply it in a peroxide solution directly to the hair, and get results in twenty minutes. When the Clairol sales team demonstrated their new product at the International Beauty Show, in the old Statler Hotel, across from Madison Square Garden, thousands of assembled beauticians jammed the hall and watched, openmouthed, demonstration after demonstration. 'They were astonished,' recalls Bruce Gelb, who ran Clairol for years, along with his father, Lawrence, and his brother Richard. 'This was to the world of hair color what computers were to the world of adding machines. The sales guys had to bring buckets of water and do the rinsing off in front of everyone, because the hairdressers in the crowd were convinced we were doing something to the models behind the scenes.'”
Mr. Gladwell continued, "Miss Clairol gave American women the ability, for the first time, to color their hair quickly and easily at home. But there was still the stigma — the prospect of the disapproving mother-in-law. Shirley Polykoff knew immediately what she wanted to say, because if she believed that a woman had a right to be a blonde, she also believed that a woman ought to be able to exercise that right with discretion. 'Does she or doesn’t she?' she wrote, translating from the Yiddish to the English. 'Only her hairdresser knows for sure.' Clairol bought thirteen ad pages in Life in the fall of 1956, and Miss Clairol took off like a bird. That was the beginning. For Nice ’n Easy, Clairol’s breakthrough shampoo-in hair color, she wrote, 'The closer he gets, the better you look.' For Lady Clairol, the cream-and-bleach combination that brought silver and platinum shades to Middle America, she wrote, 'Is it true blondes have more fun?' and then, even more memorably, 'If I’ve only one life, let me live it as a blonde!' (In the summer of 1962, just before The Feminine Mystique was published, Betty Friedan was, in the words of her biographer, so 'bewitched' by that phrase that she bleached her hair.) Shirley Polykoff wrote the lines; Clairol perfected the product. And from the fifties to the seventies, when Polykoff gave up the account, the number of American women coloring their hair rose from 7 percent to more than 40 percent."
"Today, when women go from brown to blond to red to black and back again without blinking, we think of hair-color products the way we think of lipstick. On drugstore shelves there are bottles and bottles of hair-color products with names like Hydrience and Excellence and Preference and Natural Instincts and Loving Care and Nice ’n Easy, and so on, each in dozens of different shades. Feria, the new, youth-oriented brand from L’Oréal, comes in Chocolate Cherry and Champagne Cocktail — colors that don’t ask 'Does she or doesn’t she?' but blithely assume 'Yes, she does.' Hair dye is now a billion-dollar-a-year commodity."
And here is Mr. Gladwell's world changing conclusion, "Yet there was a time, not so long ago — between, roughly speaking, the start of Eisenhower’s administration and the end of Carter’s — when hair color meant something. Lines like 'Does she or doesn’t she?' or the famous 1973 slogan for L’Oréal’s Preference — 'Because I’m worth it' — were as instantly memorable as 'Winston tastes good like a cigarette should' or 'Things go better with Coke.' They lingered long after advertising usually does and entered the language; they somehow managed to take on meanings well outside their stated intention. Between the fifties and the seventies, women entered the workplace, fought for social emancipation, got the Pill, and changed what they did with their hair. To examine the hair-color campaigns of the period is to see, quite unexpectedly, all these things as bound up together, the profound with the seemingly trivial. In writing the history of women in the postwar era, did we forget something important? Did we leave out hair?," Mr. Gladwell concluded.
"Did we indeed?" Did we leave out understanding the connection between the declaration made by women, "Because I'm Worth It!", and the "It" that women were demanding they receive because they were "worth it"?
Like the cartoon where the light bulb goes on, when this light bulb lit up, it was America itself that was illuminated.
What was the "It" the ad declared women were worth?
I contend "it" was the survival of the United States of America. I contend as vociferously as I know how that when women demanded the pill and legalized abortion (after all, abortion is just the pill in a more obviously lethal form, the United States of America underwent a Revolution. Where before we were a nation that granted The Creator the Right under Law to be the One who made decisions about who lives and who dies in this nation, with the demand of Women to be seen to be worth whatever they demanded, we literally destroyed the Will of the Creator as the decisive agent for Life in this nation.
Without being conscious of what was happening, we all--virtually every citizen of the USA--were finessed by advertising to abandon the "common sense" about God that had nurtured not only the USA but western civilization itself and replace it with a "common sense" that accepted legalized abortion and the Pill like mom and apple pie.
Listen to Mr. Gladwell explain how it was done, "The model had to be a Doris Day type — not a Jayne Mansfield — because the idea was to make hair color as respectable and mainstream as possible. One of the earliest “Does she or doesn’t she?” television commercials featured a housewife in the kitchen preparing hors d’oeuvres for a party. She is slender and pretty and wearing a black cocktail dress and an apron. Her husband comes in, kisses her on the lips, approvingly pats her very blond hair, then holds the kitchen door for her as she takes the tray of hors d’oeuvres out for her guests. It is an exquisitely choreographed domestic tableau, down to the little dip the housewife performs as she hits the kitchen light switch with her elbow on her way out the door. In one of the early print ads — which were shot by Richard Avedon and then by Irving Penn — a woman with strawberry-blond hair is lying on the grass, holding a dandelion between her fingers, and lying next to her is a girl of about eight or nine. What’s striking is that the little girl’s hair is the same shade of blond as her mother’s. The “Does she or doesn’t she?” print ads always included a child with the mother to undercut the sexual undertones of the slogan — to make it clear that mothers were using Miss Clairol, and not just “fast” women — and, most of all, to provide a precise color match. Who could ever guess, given the comparison, that Mom’s shade came out of a bottle?"
"The Polykoff campaigns were a sensation. Letters poured in to Clairol. “Thank you for changing my life,” read one, which was circulated around the company and used as the theme for a national sales meeting. “My boyfriend, Harold, and I were keeping company for five years but he never wanted to set a date. This made me very nervous. I am twenty-eight and my mother kept saying soon it would be too late for me.” Then, the letter writer said, she saw a Clairol ad in the subway. She dyed her hair blond, and “that is how I am in Bermuda now on my honeymoon with Harold.” Polykoff was sent a copy with a memo: “It’s almost too good to be true!” With her sentimental idyll of blond mother and child, Shirley Polykoff had created something iconic."
But It Was L'oreal That Nailed The Change
Mr. Gladwell captures the events that changed America: "At McCann, Ilon Specht was working with L’Oréal, a French company that was trying to challenge Clairol’s dominance in the American hair-color market..."
"Ilon Specht has long, thick black hair, held in a loose knot at the top of her head, and lipstick the color of maraschino cherries. She talks fast and loud, and swivels in her chair as she speaks, and when people walk by her office they sometimes bang on her door, as if the best way to get her attention is to be as loud and emphatic as she is. Reminiscing not long ago about the seventies, she spoke about the strangeness of corporate clients in shiny suits who would say that all the women in the office looked like models. She spoke about what it meant to be young in a business dominated by older men, and about what it felt like to write a line of copy that used the word woman and have someone cross it out and write girl."
“'I was a twenty-three-year-old girl — a woman,' she said. 'What would my state of mind have been? I could just see that they had this traditional view of women, and my feeling was that I’m not writing an ad about looking good for men, which is what it seems to me that they were doing. I just thought, Fuck you. I sat down and did it, in five minutes. It was very personal. I can recite to you the whole commercial, because I was so angry when I wrote it.'”
"Specht sat stock still and lowered her voice: 'I use the most expensive hair color in the world. Preference, by L’Oréal. It’s not that I care about money. It’s that I care about my hair. It’s not just the color. I expect great color. What’s worth more to me is the way my hair feels. Smooth and silky but with body. It feels good against my neck. Actually, I don’t mind spending more for L’Oréal. Because I’m” — and here Specht took her fist and struck her chest — “worth it.'”
"The power of the commercial was originally thought to lie in its subtle justification of the fact that Preference cost ten cents more than Nice ’n Easy. But it quickly became obvious that the last line was the one that counted. On the strength of “Because I’m worth it,” Preference began stealing market share from Clairol. In the 1980s, Preference surpassed Nice ’n Easy as the leading hair-color brand in the country, and in 1997 L’Oréal took the phrase and made it the slogan for the whole company. An astonishing 71 percent of American women can now identify that phrase as the L’Oréal signature, which, for a slogan — as opposed to a brand name — is almost without precedent."
"Because I'm worth it" replaced "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy" as the phrase that defined the "common sense" of women in the USA. From being a whiny pseudo-blackmail attempt to cooperate with women's happiness or else the whole environment is unhappy, women literally demanded not just equality, but dominance "BECAUSE I'M WORTH IT."
What's worth it? Is it the contribution women make to the body politic? Their unerring instinct for wisdom and truth and that inevitable path toward survival?
Not likely. What women have that makes them worth men tolerating their bizarre demands for dominance is their ability to satisfy the male libido. Even in a world where homosexuals are raised up to some pedastal only women once occupied, women still have a monopoly on the vaginal vortex spinning like some sub atomic particle accelerator or an F-gazillion tornado.
Couple the power of the vaginal vortex with one other factor and you've got a world changing idea.
Mr. Gladwell saw the real power of advertising: "You could use the techniques of healing to figure out the secrets of selling. “Does she or doesn’t she?” and “Because I’m worth it” did the same thing: they not only carried a powerful and redemptive message, but — and this was their real triumph — they succeeded in attaching that message to a five-dollar bottle of hair dye. The lasting contribution of motivational research to Madison Avenue was to prove that you could do this for just about anything — that the products and the commercial messages with which we surround ourselves are as much a part of the psychological furniture of our lives as the relationships and emotions and experiences that are normally the subject of psychoanalytic inquiry."
"This notion of household products as psychological furniture is, when you think about it, a radical idea. When we give an account of how we got to where we are, we’re inclined to credit the philosophical over the physical, and the products of art over the products of commerce...'Because I’m worth it' and 'Does she or doesn’t she?' were powerful, then, precisely because they were commercials, for commercials come with products attached, and products offer something that songs and poems and political movements and radical ideologies do not, which is an immediate and affordable means of transformation. “We discovered in the first few years of the ‘Because I’m worth it’ campaign that we were getting more than our fair share of new users to the category — women who were just beginning to color their hair,” Sennott told me. “And within that group we were getting those undergoing life changes, which usually meant divorce. We had far more women who were getting divorced than Clairol had. Their children had grown, and something had happened, and they were reinventing themselves.” They felt different, and Ilon Specht gave them the means to look different — and do we really know which came first, or even how to separate the two? They changed their lives and their hair. But it wasn’t one thing or the other. It was both."
They changed their lives. Who? Women, that's who. Where before no respectable woman would show her leg above the knee, much less her panties, all that changed.
Where before women would view themselves as people willing to give their lives in defense of their children, it came to pass that women decided to give their children's lives rather than risk their lives being inconvenienced.
Why? "Because I'm Worth It."
"...one way to understand the Madison Avenue revolution of the postwar era is as a collective attempt to define and extend that genre [motivational advertising]. The revolution was led by a handful of social scientists, chief among whom was an elegant, Viennese-trained psychologist by the name of Herta Herzog. What did Herta Herzog know? She knew — or, at least, she thought she knew — the theory behind the success of slogans like “Does she or doesn’t she?” and “Because I’m worth it,” and that makes Herta Herzog, in the end, every bit as important as Shirley Polykoff and Ilon Specht."
"Herzog worked at a small advertising agency called Jack Tinker & Partners, and people who were in the business in those days speak of Tinker the way baseball fans talk about the 1927 Yankees. Tinker was the brainchild of the legendary adman Marion Harper, who came to believe that the agency he was running, McCann- Erickson, was too big and unwieldy to be able to consider things properly. His solution was to pluck a handful of the very best and brightest from McCann and set them up, first in the Waldorf Towers (in the suite directly below the Duke and Duchess of Windsor’s and directly above General Douglas MacArthur’s) and then, more permanently, in the Dorset Hotel, on West Fifty-fourth Street, overlooking the Museum of Modern Art. The Tinker Group rented the penthouse, complete with a huge terrace, Venetian-tiled floors, a double-height living room, an antique French polished-pewter bar, a marble fireplace, spectacular skyline views, and a rotating exhibit of modern art (hung by the partners for motivational purposes), with everything — walls, carpets, ceilings, furnishings — a bright, dazzling white. It was supposed to be a think tank, but Tinker was so successful so fast that clients were soon lined up outside the door. When Buick wanted a name for its new luxury coupe, the Tinker Group came up with Riviera. When Bulova wanted a name for its new quartz watch, Tinker suggested Accutron. Tinker also worked with Coca-Cola and Exxon and Westinghouse and countless others, whose names — according to the strict standards of secrecy observed by the group — they would not divulge. Tinker started with four partners and a single phone. But by the end of the sixties it had taken over eight floors of the Dorset."
"What distinguished Tinker was its particular reliance on the methodology known as motivational research, which was brought to Madison Avenue in the 1940s by a cadre of European intellectuals trained at the University of Vienna. Advertising research up until that point had been concerned with counting heads — with recording who was buying what. But the motivational researchers were concerned with why: Why do people buy what they do? What motivates them when they shop? The researchers devised surveys, with hundreds of questions, based on Freudian dynamic psychology. They used hypnosis, the Rosenzweig Picture-Frustration Study, role-playing, and Rorschach blots, and they invented what we now call the focus group. There was Paul Lazarsfeld, one of the giants of twentieth-century sociology, who devised something called the Lazarsfeld-Stanton Program Analyzer, a little device with buttons to record precisely the emotional responses of research subjects. There was Hans Zeisel, who had been a patient of Alfred Adler’s in Vienna and went to work at McCann-Erickson. There was Ernest Dichter, who had studied under Lazarsfeld at the Psychological Institute in Vienna and who did consulting for hundreds of the major corporations of the day. And there was Tinker’s Herta Herzog, perhaps the most accomplished motivational researcher of all, who trained dozens of interviewers in the Viennese method and sent them out to analyze the psyche of the American consumer," Gladwell told us.
Motivational Advertising has led to this nation today, a nation that is teaching the world that there is no Creator out there who has the Right to be the only voice in the universe that decides when a person is created, who decides whether or not a person is to be born alive.
Coitus Without Conception
"When the truth is found To be lies,
And all the joy within you dies.
Don't you want somebody to love,
Don't you need somebody to love
Wouldn't you love somebody to love
You better find somebody to love."
Except what we called love wasn't love, it wasn't making love, it was fucking, it was orgasm therapy for the habitually horny, it was the abandonment of love replaced by lust for a generation who knew only one thing: truth had been found to be lies: Marijuana was less harmful than alcohol, sex could be had without consequences, the War could be ended, God had deserted the USA.
I was there that day when Alan Ginsberg from the lotus position on the same trailer where the Airplane had flown told us to turn to the setting sun and go toward it to gather together at the ocean on the other end of the Golden Gate. Except I didn't go. A ballerina came and took me by the arm--so stoned that I obviously couldn't look after myself--and said she'd look after me.
No ballerinas offer to look after me now, these 40 some odd years later, as I stumble the streets of America like a homeless derelict muttering about the coming destruction, muttering about the dead canary in the mine.
It's easy to blame it on Eve, but even the Bible does not do that. Had Adam not eaten of the forbidden fruit, Eve's surrender to temptation would not have been sufficient to bring death to all the children of Adam and Eve. Our corporate sin, the eating of our forbidden fruit, the true revolution this nation has participated in, occurred when Americans, both men and women, decided they had the right to sexual intercourse without thinking about children.
And it was not just hippy flower children who decided that. America did.
The Pill gave us the way, if we'd just use it. And we did.
The Creator of the Pill
From "The New Yorker" Malcolm Gladwell article entitled "John Rock's Error."
"John Rock was christened in 1890 at the Church of the Immaculate Conception in Marlborough, Massachusetts, and married by Cardinal William O’Connell, of Boston. He had five children and nineteen grandchildren. A crucifix hung above his desk, and nearly every day of his adult life he attended the 7 a.m. Mass at St. Mary’s in Brookline. Rock, his friends would say, was in love with his church. He was also one of the inventors of the birth-control pill, and it was his conviction that his faith and his vocation were perfectly compatible. To anyone who disagreed he would simply repeat the words spoken to him as a child by his hometown priest: “John, always stick to your conscience. Never let anyone else keep it for you. And I mean anyone else.” Even when Monsignor Francis W. Carney, of Cleveland, called him a “moral rapist,” and when Frederick Good, the longtime head of obstetrics at Boston City Hospital, went to Boston’s Cardinal Richard Cushing to have Rock excommunicated, Rock was unmoved. “You should be afraid to meet your Maker,” one angry woman wrote to him, soon after the Pill was approved. “My dear madam,” Rock wrote back, “in my faith, we are taught that the Lord is with us always. When my time comes, there will be no need for introductions.'”
"In the years immediately after the Pill was approved by the FDA, in 1960, Rock was everywhere. He appeared in interviews and documentaries on CBS and NBC, in Time, Newsweek, Life, The Saturday Evening Post. He toured the country tirelessly. He wrote a widely discussed book, The Time Has Come: A Catholic Doctor’s Proposals to End the Battle over Birth Control, which was translated into French, German, and Dutch. Rock was six feet three and rail-thin, with impeccable manners; he held doors open for his patients and addressed them as “Mrs.” or “Miss.” His mere association with the Pill helped make it seem respectable. “He was a man of great dignity,” Dr. Sheldon J. Segal, of the Population Council, recalls. “Even if the occasion called for an open collar, you’d never find him without an ascot. He had the shock of white hair to go along with that. And posture, straight as an arrow, even to his last year.” At Harvard Medical School, he was a giant, teaching obstetrics for more than three decades. He was a pioneer in in-vitro fertilization and the freezing of sperm cells, and was the first to extract an intact fertilized egg. The Pill was his crowning achievement. His two collaborators, Gregory Pincus and Min-Cheuh Chang, worked out the mechanism. He shepherded the drug through its clinical trials. “It was his name and his reputation that gave ultimate validity to the claims that the pill would protect women against unwanted pregnancy,” Loretta McLaughlin writes in her marvelous 1982 biography of Rock. Not long before the Pill’s approval, Rock traveled to Washington to testify before the FDA about the drug’s safety. The agency examiner, Pasquale DeFelice, was a Catholic obstetrician from Georgetown University, and at one point, the story goes, DeFelice suggested the unthinkable — that the Catholic Church would never approve of the birth-control pill. “I can still see Rock standing there, his face composed, his eyes riveted on DeFelice,” a colleague recalled years later, “and then, in a voice that would congeal your soul, he said, ‘Young man, don’t you sell my church short.’ ”
Near the end of his life, Rock's interviewer, the writer Sara Davidson, asked him whether he still believed in an afterlife.
“Of course I don’t,” Rock answered abruptly. “Heaven and Hell, Rome, all the Church stuff — that’s for the solace of the multitude,” Rock said. He had only a year to live. “I was an ardent practicing Catholic for a long time, and I really believed it all then, you see.”
"Once, John Rock had gone to seven-o’clock Mass every morning and kept a crucifix above his desk...In the end, of course, John Rock’s church disappointed him. In 1968, in the encyclical “Humanae Vitae,” Pope Paul VI outlawed oral contraceptives and all other “artificial” methods of birth control. The passion and urgency that animated the birth-control debates of the sixties are now a memory. John Rock still matters, though, for the simple reason that in the course of reconciling his church and his work he made an error. It was not a deliberate error. It became manifest only after his death, and through scientific advances he could not have anticipated. But because that mistake shaped the way he thought about the Pill — about what it was, and how it worked, and most of all what it meant — and because John Rock was one of those responsible for the way the Pill came into the world, his error has colored the way people have thought about contraception ever since," Malcolm Bagwell concluded.
To see what Bagwell thought was John Rock's Error, you'll need to read the New Yorker article. Suffice it to say, it was not the sin I am discussing. Because any fool can see that the Pope's outlawing birth control pills was the most meaningless action ever taken in the history of the churches that call themselves Christian.
In fact, the decision to use the Pill might be the Rubicon that, once crossed, meant the idea of the Will of God was no more than an abstraction, an empty thought with nothing behind it. That's because the decision to use the Pill was really a decision to allow the will of man to overrule the Will of God in the matter of the conception of another human being. In a choice between the Pill and abstinance, a choice for the Pill destroyed the Will of God.
See why. Once there was a pre-Pill foolproof method for determining a child would not be conceived. Keep the peeder out of the vagina, no insertum dinky in the winky. Humans throughout recorded history acknowledged this fool proof method. But it required wrestling with one of the strongest drives in man: Libido Dominandi. To win that wrestling match required not the will of man but the Will of God. To give up in that wrestling match meant the Will of God had been abandoned as the rule and guide for life.
Neither the Pope's restriction against the Pill, nor the Bible's restriction against fornication, sexual concupiscence, adultery, homosexuality, et al, could slow the ponderous juggernaut unleashed in San Francisco in the Summer of "Love". Even among Christians, abstinence became a joke. If common sense knew anything it was everybody, married or not married, was screwing like rabbits.
The idea that fornication was an attempt to impose the will of man over the will of God became almost, with the rare exceptions of articles like this, unthinkable. In time the will of God itself became an abstraction, nothing to be afraid of, just another nightmare among all the nightmares that could be shusshed from consciousness by the simple act of mental negation. Poof, refuse to believe, and the abstraction was not anywhere to be found in the universe.
Which, of course, left the Will of God anything but pleased with the Creatures created in His Image. He who had told us why He reserved to Himself the Right to choose the time and place every person was born, "Act 17:26 And hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth, and hath determined the times before appointed, and the bounds of their habitation;
Act 17:27 That they should seek the Lord, if haply they might feel after him, and find him, though he be not far from every one of us..." was now to allow us to choose the Pill over Him? Hardly.
Once it was known that if God gave the man and the woman the grace to keep the peeder out of the vagina, that was proof positive that God did not want to see a child created, at least in that moment in time. If the man could not keep the peeder out of the vagina, then marriage was mandatory, for, as the Apostle Paul summarized, "...it was better to marry than to burn."
But we the people have been brainwashed into believing the "Rights" of Women are more important the the Rights of The Creator. Why? "Because we are worth it."
The old man muttered as he picked through the garbage cans behind the buildings, "We must make our first priority to correct that lie, or this nation will be destroyed. Oblitefuckinrated."