Talk of the Town - Celebrex good times November 11 2000

I can’t remember when I first saw a New Wave drug commercial, but its style has stayed with me. A gauzy, unnaturally blue, computer-generated sky. A casually dressed, yet stylish, person, walking around some pixel-perfect field or beach.
Cue the announcer, whose voice could give you diabetes: “The softness of a summer breeze. The sparkle of an autumn day. Ask your doctor about Xippyxac.”
The first few times this spot came on, I thought I had blundered into The Weather Channel, or contracted Attention Deficit Disorder, or both. Because it didn’t add up. Something was missing.
Then it became clear: They deliberately didn’t say what the drug did. Was I supposed to pick up the phone, buzz the sawbones and say, “Hey, Doc. I don’t know what in tarnation it’s for, but couldja gimme a shot of Xippyxac?”
That’s exactly what they want me to do. Because drug companies are now marketing directly to the consumer. They’re going right over the heads of the medical professionals, who we don’t trust anyway, and appealing to the trustworthy hypochondriac that rages in each of us.
I’m a barcaloungered duck for this stuff, because I watch the 7 o’clock nightly news. Demographic reports must tell advertisers that young, beautiful and healthy people do not watch the news. Because every commercial shown involves the collapse of the human body. Denture cleaners, hemorrhoid ointment, get-the-gray-out-of-your-thinning-hair-naturally-in-five-seconds formula: it’s all up there. And now these new drug pitches.
Still and all, there was skepticism. Because I’m not that adventurous. I grew up watching drug commercials that were very specific, with little animated arrows and lightning bolts pointing directly to the afflicted area. You got a headache? Take Excedrin for fast, fast, fast relief. A burning belly? Reach for soothing, double-coating-action Pepto-Bismol.
But this modern generation of pharmaceuticals was a mystery. Not for long, though. A week after the first promotion, another Xippyxac commercial aired. This time, it became evident that the drug was an antidepressant. You’d need one after hearing about the side effects.
“Symptoms resulting from ingestion of Xippyxac may include, but are not limited to, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, cramps, decreased appetite, a headache that makes you think it’s raining manhole covers, and the violent urge to do an impression of Ethel Merman singing, ‘There’s No Business Like Show Business.’”
Plus depression. Why is it that a possible side effect of any drug is the exact opposite of what it’s supposed to do? Sleeping pills may cause sleeplessness. Cough medicine can trigger hacking and wheezing. And antidepressants might leave you tickling your wrists with a Ginsu knife.
Of course, the makers of antidepressants don’t call them that. Too obvious. Right now, I’m looking at a two-page magazine ad for something that’s supposed to cure social anxiety disorder, an affliction I’ve suffered from almost every day of my life.
Are you afraid of being judged? Worried about being embarrassed? Have you ever avoided a social situation because it might be uncomfortable? When y’all get done saying, “Sure!” take heart — not heart medication, that’s something else — and know that a drug now exists to stop you from ever feeling humanly fallible.
The alternative is too awful to contemplate.
“Those who suffer from social anxiety disorder,” warns the pharmaceutical proclamation, “may blush, sweat, shake, or even experience a pounding heart.” Gee, those were the same symptoms I had asking Beverly Malmborg to the sophomore semi-formal. They seemed kind of exciting at the time.
Over the last few weeks I’ve seen and heard ads for prescription drugs designed to curb your appetite, lower blood pressure, decrease cholesterol, protect eyesight, improve memory, cut down on hot flashes by 56 percent, enhance your mood and, possibly, cause you to perspire in a way that replicates the scent of hollyhocks in May.
None of it appealed. I think it’s because many medication names start with the letter “Z.” Check your literature since the beginning of time, especially science fiction. You’ll find that “Z” names are the domain of galaxy-class evildoers. Call me prejudiced, but every time the crew from ‘Star Trek’ went to a place called Zarko-59, there was trouble.
But then I found a drug name with pizzazz. It’s called Celebrex. Now that’s a concept I can appreciate. Because I could use a celebration. The traffic is bad, the work week long and the days increasingly short. Those people on the Celebrex commercials — man, do they look happy! They’re running, they’re leaping, they’re raising their arms to the computer-generated sky like it’s an outdoor revival meeting.
I wanted in, so I called the doc.
“I want Celebrex!” I shouted into the phone.
“Do you have arthritis?” he wanted to know.
No.
Ouch.
I’m sorry, but somebody slipped up at the pharmaceutical house. Celebrex should be the name of an antidepressent. If you’re going to cure arthritis, come up with a name that gets down to cases: Destifftox maybe, or Creakaway. Yeah, that’s it.
Now, get to work on those side effects.
Glen Slattery is taking a double dose of Alpharettatrex. E-mail gmslattery@aol.com .