My favourite commercial circulating right now is the Snickers ad where Marsha Brady becomes actor Danny Trejo due to hunger and not being herself when hungry. Trejo is often portrayed as a mean, harsh-faced, Harley-riding, bandito gangster in many of his roles, often found downing a tequila in a seedy Mexican bar. He is the oxymoron of wholesome American sweetheart, Marsha Brady. The clincher in the commercial is when Jan Brady becomes actor Steve Buscemi due to hunger. Buscemi is often portrayed as a slimy, sleazeball in many roles. Again, the polar opposite of bouncy, innocent, braced-faced Jan Brady. I love when Steve takes a hissy fit, and stomps away in a flouncing tantrum, proclaiming that famous line. “It’s always about Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!”
If you haven’t seen the latest Snickers ad, take a look:
This ad got me thinking. Who do I become when I am famished? Who do I capriciously morph into? I don’t think I become a cantankerous grouch, or anything close. I do think I become a pestilence. I could easily be compared to the chubby dalmatian puppy, Rolly, in 101 Dalmatians. This chubster was constantly sniffing around saying, “I’m hungry mother. I’m hungry.” Without stopping! Imagine how annoying that would be to a mom. Well, that’s me when hunger strikes without a doubt.
I remember when I was around eighteen years old or so. I went on some crazy diet/fast where all I was allowed to eat were pears and carrot sticks. Of course I did so in secret, and explained my way out of eating at home. I didn’t want anyone giving me flack, and discouraging my goal of losing twenty pounds. Around this time, we went out to celebrate my granny’s birthday at a restaurant called Little Bo Peep’s. As I watched granny take the stash of salt, sugar, ketchup and mustard satchels and slickly put them in her purse and shut the clasp of her bag, I felt that I was about to faint with hunger. I started to whine and complain. “I’m hungry. Where is the waitress with our food. I’m so hungry. I’m hungry mother!” I could feel the dalmatian spots begin to appear as my family watched me with odd expressions. I wanted to grab those satchels out of granny’s purse, rip them open with my teeth, and suck them back. When the waitress brought my pasta, I think I scoffed it down in record time and was whining for dessert in true Rolly style.
Hence the reason I don’t fast, diet or implement restrictive deprivation in my life. It doesn’t feel natural to me. I need nutrients. I need sustenance. Ah, the crazy thinking of my youth. Now, I feel my spots beginning to appear as we approach the dinner hour.
“I’m hungry mother. I’m hungry….”
Who do you become when you’re hungry?