One ad and two other things
The funniest Australian beer ad in a while, a guy running in LA and a perfect short story
The ad: Pure Blonde, From a Place Purer Than Yours (2024)
A workmate showed this to me the other day and my first reaction was ‘are you sure this isn’t from 2009?’ Aussie beer ads haven’t been funny since craft beer entered mainstream consciousness. But then I watched it again and found no traces of 00s-era homophobia, misogyny or body shaming — and then I didn’t know what to think.
That’s to say I enjoyed it a lot. If you need a character that audiences enjoy watching suffer, a white guy in pastel chino shorts won’t let you down.
Thing 1: I Think I Saw You On My Run Today
This five minute film - technically branded content for the French fashion-meets-running brand, Satisfy - is just a guy running through LA with remarkable ease. As someone who has identified as a runner at various points, I found it aspirational and mesmerising. It doesn’t hurt that the Los Angeles light reminds me a bit of my hometown, Sydney. Or that the soundtrack is Red Eyes by The War On Drugs - a perfect roadtrip/being in motion song.
Thing 2: Sticks, a very short story by George Saunders
Around 10 years ago we went to a party at our friends’ Kate and Rohan’s old flat near Kings Cross in London. When we arrived, Kate pulled a book - Tenth of December: a short story collection by George Saunders - from the shelf, opened it to this story and handed it to me. I read it, then kept reading it over and over and over again. I’d never read anything that was so short but so massive. An entire universe in under 400 words.
I was thought of Sticks again after posting last week’s newsletter, which reminded me just how much this story has influenced the way I used to (and still try to) write.
The story is available on this odd University of New Mexico link but, as it’s so short, I hope George’s publishers don’t mind me just including the text below here:
Every year Thanksgiving night we flocked out behind Dad as he dragged the Santa suit to the road and draped it over a kind of crucifix he'd built out of metal pole in the yard. Super Bowl week the pole was dressed in a jersey and Rod's helmet and Rod had to clear it with Dad if he wanted to take the helmet off. On the Fourth of July the pole was Uncle Sam, on Veteran’s Day a soldier, on Halloween a ghost. The pole was Dad's only concession to glee. We were allowed a single Crayola from the box at a time. One Christmas Eve he shrieked at Kimmie for wasting an apple slice. He hovered over us as we poured ketchup saying: good enough good enough good enough. Birthday parties consisted of cupcakes, no ice cream. The first time I brought a date over she said: what's with your dad and that pole? and I sat there blinking.
We left home, married, had children of our own, found the seeds of meanness blooming also within us. Dad began dressing the pole with more complexity and less discernible logic. He draped some kind of fur over it on Groundhog Day and lugged out a floodlight to ensure a shadow. When an earthquake struck Chile he lay the pole on its side and spray painted a rift in the earth. Mom died and he dressed the pole as Death and hung from the crossbar photos of Mom as a baby. We'd stop by and find odd talismans from his youth arranged around the base: army medals, theater tickets, old sweatshirts, tubes of Mom's makeup. One autumn he painted the pole bright yellow. He covered it with cotton swabs that winter for warmth and provided offspring by hammering in six no crossed sticks around the yard. He ran lengths of string between the pole and the sticks, and taped to the string letters of apology, admissions of error, pleas for understanding, all written in a frantic hand on index cards. He painted a sign saying LOVE and hung it from the pole and another that said FORGIVE? and then he died in the hall with the radio on and we sold the house to a young couple who yanked out the pole and the sticks and left them by the road on garbage day.
💔