mr. zilla goes to town

Friday, September 26, 2003

And then I saw her head

now I'm a Believer...

For the bargain basement price of my imaginary neighbour's marketing demographics, Wednesday night I got stuck into a bunch of (new! amazing! widgeted!) bottles of draught Guinness at a promo function held down at ESPNZone.

Of course it wasn't really that cheap, we the (inebriated) people had to sit very still and behave and not go to the bar during a twenty minute promo cheer from a 'Guinness Ambassador', who preached to us about how the mighty G was in fact the perfect beer to drink while sitting on a beach, at a picnic, while dining with the Queen, indeed whenever and wherever, all year around!

How terribly tragic it was to then discover that to sell beer -- any kind of beer, even a stout -- in this overweighty country you also have to convince all Guinness drinkers that it is "less filling" and has less calories than seventeen different other brands of broadly brewed barf. One would think that's an angle at the skirty but there were a lot of chaps getting excited by the idea at my table. I think the issue is that there is a serious lack of prepackaged pop-alcohol here - the vodka cruisers, the bacardi breezers and so on. I guess there's something to be said for Australian alcohol conglomerates with their fingers in every slice of fourteen flavours of market pie. Here, Beer Must Be Everything To Everyone... perhaps because the wine is genuinely shithouse and folks are twice shy to drink anything but?

I guess its time to re-orient the image of this black gold in case the word gets out that
drinking Guinness does not connect one to Irish culture, because Guinness is not Irish. From the original brewer, Arthur Guinness, to the current owner, the Diageo Corporate group, to the policies that have affected the workforce, it is quite clear that Guinness is not, nor has it ever been, Irish.
I bet the harps on all the cans and bottles are put together by five year old indentured child labourers in Pakistan, too.


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