Sunday, September 21, 2003

Just saw that new Dido music video, White Flag. I didn't care too much for the song (cavity-inducing music for the ears), but I did notice the celebrity-product placement. David Boreanaz? THE David Boreanaz of Buffy-fame? The David Boreanaz who married, then knocked up an ex-Playboy bunny (not necessarily in that order)? Oh, THAT David Boreanaz. For those of you who haven't seen the video, here's a synopsis:

Neon lights and flashing bulbs appear to inform us that Dido is a successful performer. But upon my first viewing, I was confused as to why there are scenes taken straight out of Thailand's red light district. Then I saw the PG-rated English that wasn't even the kind that said, "All welcome. Sexy water frying pan, immediate love from fresh popcorn machine. Deformed supermarket is my lover." printed outside a Japanese hair salon.

Dido now appears ... to be a brunette? Cue the sentimental "Dido from the block" feelings as she lays in bed, wearing a tracksuit. She's out to J. Lo-nquer the world in shimmery, glossy makeup and hoop earrings. Amen, girlfriend!

The next couple of scenes are just of Dido (who now looks blonde) and Boreanaz barely missing each other while engaged in activities ranging from:

*signing autographs on the street. (Do C-list actors have fans to sign autographs for? Or maybe she was hired to hand over useless sheets of paper for him to sign. Just like his lawyer used to do ... in his glorious B-list prime.)

to:

*stopping at the lights in their respectable bling-inspired rides. (How would you not recognize someone just because they're wearing a hairband? This is how Clark Kent also gets away with being Superman: by living in Idiotropolis. "Where 2+2 does not necessarily equal the obvious.")

But what ho! They do end up meeting, just like the sappy lyrics predicted. All the while, I couldn't help but stare at Mr. B's 'fro-in-waiting and rapist mustache. He's Jim Morrison, trying to sit at the cool kids' table. Janet Jackson, in her Rhythm Nation-years. The Reverend Al Sharpton, if he was born white ... and practiced pilates once in awhile.

But in the end, you realise both parties are One Hour Photo-inspired, creepy stalker-types who belong in jail ... or, at least, need a peephole through their shared wall.

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