I am being overdosed by commercials.
Over the years, business large and small has spread its wings to capture every conceivable space for advertising copy.Aside from the traditional billboards, they have erected the world famous neon signs of Times Square and the Ginza. They also have taken over New York subway cars and station walls, and commuter rail and bus lines (in the latter case, sometimes both inside and outside). Taxicabs also are adorned with messages, including, thankfully, only for a short time, battery-operated signs inside. (Those in New York City cabs couldn't be turned off without ripping out the wires.)
Then there are the advertisements in newspapers and magazines, the latter lately including special advertisement sections on the "wonders" of certain nations.
Radio and television are replete with commercials. With shorter commercials, more products can be hawked in a given time. Even public television has inched - or been pushed - toward commercials, and some cable television stations are devoted entirely to carrying nothing but ads - sort of a combination "Sears" catalog and "want ads" of the air.
Advertisers also have taken to the sky with skywriting, airplane-towed signs, and more and more with blimps - electric rotating signs and all.
For years, the back of my car has carried the name of the dealer and the manufacturer (and in some cases the firms around the license plate was a fillip for them.
Recently, my college-daughter added to the signage by affixing to the bumpers (and the rear window, as well) of our family car signs broadcasting the name of the university she attends. (Just think, I spend $12,000 a year in tuition so the school can use my car as a moving billboard.)
My ties, sport shirts, tee shirts - and in some cases dress shirts - jeans, underwear and dress and sports jackets, all carry someone else's name, as does my windbreaker.
I haven't received a dime for the use of all this space. The old-time ''sandwich-board-man" made a few dollars marching around to exhort passersby to "Eat at Joe's." And, the political placardist gets psychic satisfaction, at least, from his or her sign.
Even the standard black umbrella seems to be going the way of the buggy whip as a result of Madison Avenue. In their place are colorful umbrellas with corporate logos, names, symbols and/or colors.
Moreover, I have yet to mention "junk mail," lamp-post stickers and wrap-around placards, and the flyers stuffed into my mailbox or placed on my auto windshield by local businesses and the kid down the block who wants to mow my lawn for more than my monthly mortgage payment.
To the best of my knowledge, about the only place ads aren't incorporated are in the ubiquitous audio tapes carried by virtually every person in this country, most of Europe, and Japan, between the age of 10 and 40.
Oh no, stop the presses, you're giving away my refuge!