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Danica Patrick SuperBowl Ads for GoDaddy.com = EPIC FAIL

I really hate football, so I always look forward to the SuperBowl commercials as a way to get me through what would otherwise be four hours of sheer boredom. Last night, however, I was more disgusted than entertained, especially by the GoDaddy.com commercials featuring Indy Racing League driver Danica Patrick. I hate that I’m even giving GoDaddy any press by writing this post, but I just can’t keep quiet. The ads were racy and one featured some gooberish college guys ogling Danica in the shower (you could only see her head & shoulders but STILL. It was inferred that the goobers were getting the whole picture.) The other ad was also in poor taste, and both offered viewers a chance to see the “unrated” conclusions online. I am sure the unrated conclusions are probably soft p*rn or worse, but I’m not going to find out for myself.

C’mon, Danica! You’ve shattered barriers for women by becoming the first successful female IRL driver, why are you taking such a giant step back in participating in ads that are demeaning to your gender? Do you REALLY need the money that badly? Because personally, I don’t think it’s worth it, and judging from all the tweets I saw about you and your poor-taste ads last night on Twitter, I’m not in the minority. (Do a Twitter search for Danica Patrick and you’ll see what I mean.)

The whole thing left me feeling pretty yucky – how about you? Am I overreacting or has Danica shelved her self-respect?

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Ok this is Emily jumping in here. Jenny unwittingly handed me my soapbox this morning, so I’m going to jump on it.

Danica Patrick has had a successful racing career, and she has broken barriers. There were, however, women who went before her. Janet Guthrie drove in the Indy 500 five years before Danica was even born. Lyn St. James won “Rookie of the Year” at Indy in 1992. Sarah Fisher drove along side Danica from 2000-2004.

She wasn’t the first… she was (and is) the most marketable.

It’s ok for a female to be a strong contender in a male dominated sport, if – and this is a big if – said female is hot.

Hot and heterosexual. Years ago, I was just as hot under the hood as Jenny is today when I saw a life-sized cardboard cut out of Danica advertising pepsi products. She was in her racing gear, she wasn’t wearing anything provocative… it was her wedding ring that made my blood boil. The folks at Pepsi had worked really hard to make Danica’s ring blatantly obvious – somehow they made the silver dollar-sized cardboard diamond shimmer. They might has well have tattooed “Don’t worry, I am not a lesbian!” on her forehead. In addition to her hotness, this fact is also key in her marketability.

But, let me play devil’s advocate for a moment, too. As quick as we are to find distaste for Danica using her sexuality to sell domain names (I haven’t quite figured out that connection yet), did we have that strong a reaction when Michael Jordan walked around in his Hanes? I doubt it. Why is it less of an issue for a man to be seen on TV in his skivvies?

What about when the ooglers were women taking a Diet Coke break?

And what if Danica did the commercial just to make money? Have you seen the advertisements splashed all over race cars? Their outfits? Their helmets? Obviously car racing is expensive, and sponsorship is big business. Are we offended by the giant Viagra car zooming around the track? (Yes, I am, actually, but it doesn’t seem to be a hot topic on Twitter).

Women have come so far in sports in the 30-some years since Title IX was inacted, but sexism and inequity are still very real. And while I could go on all day, I won’t… but I’ll bring it back to Jenny’s original question:

Are we over-reacting?

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Ok, it’s Jenny again. Now for shameless self-promotion: I am guest posting at the Crocs blog today and I promise I didn’t do anything demeaning to myself or my gender over there! Please go check it out!

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Vandalizing Innocence

Driving home from a quick trip to the bank last week, we stopped, as we always do, at a stop sign that guards the corner of a side street and our street, which is a busy “main drag.” As I looked back and forth in preparation for my left turn that would lead us home, Joshua piped up from the back seat, “Mom, why is there a word on the stop sign?” I hadn’t even really looked at the stop sign, I mean, I know it’s there, and I stopped without actually looking at it (’cause dudes, I cannot afford another ticket!) As I raised my eyes to see what Joshua was talking about, I saw that below the word “stop” someone had painted with white spray paint, a hate word. One that starts with an F and rhymes with bag and hag and rag.

“What is that word, mom?”

Cars were coming each direction. I couldn’t turn left. I was stuck with hateful graffiti and an inquisitive four-year-old.

“It’s not a nice word, honey. So I’m not going to tell you what it is.”

“F*g? F*g isn’t a nice word?”

Did I mention my inquisitive four-year-old can already read? Hearing him say that word made me want to vomit.

“No, honey, it’s not a nice word, and not something we should ever say.”

Finally, my chance to turn left came. I turned and then made a quick right into our driveway, half a block and yet worlds away from that stop sign.

“Why did someone write that word on the stop sign?”

“I don’t know, baby, but it wasn’t a nice thing to do. It was a wrong choice. And you may never say that word, okay?”

“Okay. I didn’t write it.”

“I know, honey.”

“Did Daddy do it?”

“No, baby, your daddy would never do something wrong or mean like that.”

With that, I got out of the car, got the kids out, and we headed inside. I went through the motions of a normal afternoon, but inside I was simmering with anger. Why did some idiot have to paint a word like that on our corner? We live in the city – but seriously – that corner is home to a house and a church on one side and a body shop on the other. So why? I don’t know, but I’d like to take that can of spray paint and shove it down their throat, nozzle engaged. No, that isn’t very Christian of me, but hearing the word “f*g” come out of your four-year-old’s mouth will do things to a woman. Even if it’s said in the most innocent of ways, just knowing that the word exists has taken some of that innocence away – my child’s innocence. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the existence of a kind of person that would do such a thing – Did Daddy do it?– he can’t even picture the perpetrator, and for that I am grateful. He doesn’t know anyone mean, or bad, or hateful. But I know it won’t always be that way and it just makes me want to build the child a cocoon, or go live in a holler (like the one from whence I came) or dag-nabbit, maybe just blindfold him whenever we leave the house. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Blindfold Joshua and make sure Sophie never learns how to read!

All right, I’m getting a little crazy here. But seriously, mommies, does that not just make you wince?

We stopped at that corner again yesterday, and the word had been painted over. “Look mommy, the bad word isn’t there anymore!” Joshua yelled triumphantly.

He was happy that it had been set right. He hadn’t forgotten that there was wrong done in that place, but I am hoping this incident fades from his memory soon.

I know it won’t soon fade from mine.

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Put This in Your Teapot and Brew It!

The mountain top spot we’ve been visiting this week is near the quaint, historic town of Lexington,Virginia, home to Virginia Military Institute, Washington and Lee University and the Stonewall Jackson Museum and Tomb, among other historic sites. The downtown area has many cute antique and gift shops, so yesterday my BFF Luanne and her daughter and friend headed out sans babies and males to do some window shopping. We hit some bookstores, a coffee shop, and some gift shops and then wandered into an antique shop on Washington St. where a certain teapot caught Luanne’s eye.

“How much do you want for this teapot?” she innocently asked the man behind the counter.

“What?” he shot back sharply.

“Um…the teapot? How much do you want for it?”

He gave her a hard look, and then said, in the most pompous voice, “A lot of money.” (As in, “you couldn’t afford it so get out of my shop and quit wasting my time”.)

Rightfully offended, Lu said, “Well, how much is ‘a lot of money’?”

“A hundred and twenty-five dollars.”

He then started blowing some steam about the history of the teapot, but seriously, all Luanne could do was think of things to say to him that she is too nice to say.

After we quickly left the shop, she said, “I thought he was going to tell me seven or eight hundred dollars. I mean I assumed the thing was going to be over a hundred dollars! Do I look like I couldn’t give him $125??”

“No, you look totally HAWT and totally loaded,” I said, “he’s just a jerk.”

So, Mr. Antique-loving-Yankee-woman-hating-condescending-jerk, way to NOT sell yourself a teapot. Instead of making $125 yesterday, you lost a few customers with big mouths and a blog. I don’t know if you’re just emotionally attached to the teapot and want to snuggle up with it in your bed at night, or if you just hate people, or what, but I suggest you find a career that is not in retail (although I imagine you only get about five customers a day anyways). Maybe try eBay, where you don’t have to deal with customers face-to-face, or better yet, just build yourself a lean-to on the mountain and hermit up!

We’re gonna go hit the Hallmark next door and blow $125 on Webkinz and Yankee Candles. Smell ya later!

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