Time Out (Because Growing Up Is For Stupids)

We interrupt this blog for a brief juvenile diversion. Sure, it's full of corn, but if you don't find anything amusing here, you're wound too tight.

The Lost Art of "Visiting"

Something has been lost in this world of ours. We like to talk about "conversation" as it pertains to brands, but we know little of it in the real world. We talk online. We "Like" this or that. Our "talk" is of a superficial nature. We all have Snooki and the State of the Union in common. We can gather with people we've never met for dinner or drinks in trendy restaurants and noisy bars and converse lightly, but we are there as much for the experience as we are there for each other.

Last Saturday evening, Mrs. Jetpacks and I stopped by my parents' place in Ormond Beach on the way home from an engagement in Jacksonville. My parents are of a generation that believe that the "living room" is a place to talk. Surely, there is a television in this room, but the room is set up in the manner of the old-world "parlour." There is a couch, a love seat and a couple of chairs, but they do not face the television; they face each other. In our home, the "living room" is really the "theatre," all seating arranged to engage the one thing in the room that could never engage us back - the TV. In the living room of my parents, the purpose proposed by the arrangement of the furniture is clear: we are here to talk.

The TV was never turned on in my parents' home last Saturday night. As we got settled, my parents informed us that some neighbors of theirs, Larry and Merry, would be stopping by, jokingly telling us that Larry and Merry thought that the tales of a son and daughter-in-law from Orlando were perhaps false, as they had never seen us.

Larry and Merry arrived in short order and pleasantries were exchanged. Before long, conversation flowed and familiarity was established. We certainly discussed TV and the personalities that drive it, but we never turned it on. We faced each other and talked.

It was to me a time traveling trip to another era, when the people of my parents' generation got together to visit, as I'm sure my parents must still do on a regular basis, judging from the ease with which they and their neighbors conducted themselves during our visit. For my wife and me, it was a bit of an exercise in learning to adapt to the old ways, when you looked one another in the eye, heard what the other had to say, tried to offer something reasonably relevant to the conversation, and hoped that you weren't making an ass of yourself. After a bit of practice, we found ourselves very much enjoying this old-school style of getting together.

It wasn't until long after we departed, perhaps the next day, that any of this even occurred to me. The arrangement of the room itself was the source of the preservation of a lost art; those seats facing each other, that TV purposely left off. We were six adults, two couples unfamiliar with one another, seated and engaged. No food to talk over, no waiter or waitress' service to critique, no wine to sniff and judge, no bill to fight over.

No doubt we are far removed from the courtly days of calling cards and parlour introductions, but something tells me that the simple rearrangement of the living room furnishings would go a long way toward regaining something that accidentally got replaced by the big screen plasma.

I'm going to suggest to my wife that we try to preserve this ancient culture, this dwindling tradition. It's time to invite the neighbors over to visit. Perhaps rearrange the furniture.

This is Why We Don't Care

Florida has a reputation throughout the rest of the country as being a home for inbreeding, trailer parks, old people and barefoot rednecks. Like most stereotypes, these notions are all based in some bit of truth. Just like we regard Northeasterners as loud, obnoxious and wearing knit caps like they all work at the docks; or how we regard Pacific Northwesterners as pot-smoking, scraggly bearded vegans; or how we think of people in Texas as dim-witted yahoos bent on drinking beer and having sexual relations with livestock. Pick any place, really, and there is a stereotype to go with it. England: bad teeth; Ireland; drunks; Italy or France; philanderers; Australia, criminals; Japan, sex-with-robots - the list goes on.

Of course none of these prejudices are true. And even if they are, here's why we don't care what you think down here in Florida, all you miserable snow-bound pasty cold people bundled up in fancy, expensive scarves and boots, reading your hipster blogs and thinking you're so much better than everybody else.

Immitation is the Sincerest Form of Admitting You've Got Nothing

A local Ford dealer has decided that copying a popular Geico campaign will help them sell cars and trucks. I think not. A forgettable, regrettable effort on the part of Tropical Ford, but so sad that I jumped up from a reclined position to find it on YouTube.

Dance With The One That Brung You

It's all over the news today; all the world all freaked out that Taco Bell's meat doesn't really qualify as meat, according to the U.S. Department of Agriculture.

This is not news. Nobody eats at Taco Bell imagining that the food is good for them. It's late night stoner food. It's fill-up-for-cheap-damn-the-intestinal-consequences food.

Hopefully, there won't be some stupid circling of the wagons at Taco Bell wherein some stupid flack comes out and issues a stupid, formal response to the stupid lawsuit brought by the stupid Alabama stupid law firm. And hopefully, they won't start a Twitter or Facebook "Brand Reputation Management" counter-assault. So far, they're doing exactly what they should be doing: ignoring it. It's business as usual on the Taco Bell Twitter feed, including retweeting @ShutTheFxckUpHo 's tweet, "I love Taco Bell with all my heart!"

Now if the shit-meat really starts to hit the fan and Taco Bell starts noticing people avoiding their stores, I urge them now to avoid the PR pimps and whores who will come running to offer their services. I urge them to resist the urge to apologize and to avoid the promises to make things better, "going forward."

Embrace who you are. Celebrate it. Flaunt it. Fuck 'em all. You're Taco Bell, damnit. You've got nothing to apologize for.

UPDATE: Too bad, Taco Bell looks like it's going the legal route. Spineless.

Forget Your Troubles

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Make Sure You Like Your Workplace on Facebook

Coffee With Jesus - No. 4

Click.

Coffee: Such a Hassle, Fuss, Inconvenience

Coffee to me is not a "fuss." I drop a pod in the Senseo, press the button and in 30 seconds I've got a hot, delicious Cup of Joe that accompanies me through my morning routine, which often includes searching YouTube for stupid commercials I saw last night. It's not just about the "wake-up." Drinking it is a ritual, a comfort thing. It's our national drug and it won't be replaced by a little red and yellow shot of whatever the hell this stuff is.

I see this crap in store displays everywhere, and someone must be buying it because they are saturating TV and radio with these dumb ads.

And the voiceover guy is probably what made me hate it more. Unconvincing dork.

Ken Fox - Brand Manager

Inspired by the true story of a very fine company I've done some work for that recently made a key personnel change at the company's headquarters.

Commercial of the Year Already

I hate when something has nearly 2 million views and I haven't seen it yet. Makes me feel like I'm not doing my job. This job that you don't pay me for, so shut up.

This is so good.

One Fine Day in Downtown Charlotte, North Carolina

If They Met in Real Life: My Playoff Picks

Since they say that "on any given Sunday" any team can beat any other team in the NFL, I will ignore the Vegas odds makers and other criminals of the gambling world and employ my own method of picking the winners of this weekend's playoff games. The premise is simple: What would happen if you pitted the two mascots against each other in the real world? For example: if a Colt met a Bronco, that could conceivably end in a tie, as they are both horses. However, a Colt is a baby horse, so you would have to assume the more experienced and wild Bronco would be the victor in that battle.

Are you ready for some stupid football? Let's go.

I liked Baltimore's quarterback better when he was an Austrian rapper back in the 80's. That aside, what is a raven other than a roadkill-eating symbol of mythology and folklore? Can it really do much damage against the hard-working American steelworker? These people deal with molten metal and giant beams of solid steel, sparks flying, risks at every turn. A garbage-scavenging bird is not much to them. One whack from Polamalu's steel forearm to one of Flacco's little bird arms and game over. Alles klar, Herr Kommissar?

The packer, in essence, is a butcher, a meat packer. He wields a cleaver. The falcon, a noble bird to be sure, can maybe peck at his eyes a little bit, perhaps scratch an arm or the back of the packer. But in the end, the dirty bird's head is removed with a swift motion, blood splattering the packer's white apron. He holds the still twitching and headless bird aloft and shouts, "WHO NEEDS BRETT FAVRE NOW!"

This one is silly and too easy. While it is natural for us to regard the patriot kindly, holding him in our national memory as a strong and worthy foe, he is really not much more than a dirt farmer in rags, armed with a mere muzzle-loading musket. Some may think he's a handsome man with flowing locks, but in reality, those locks were infested with fleas and lice. He can maybe get off three shots in a minute if he is really good, (and not cheating) and those old guns aren't known for their accuracy. Of course we don't know what kind of jet he is up against. Could be a Gulf Stream, a 787 or an F-18. Either way, it's a jet, and that little musket ball is going to ding off the side of the fuselage with a very sad sound. The jet swings around and sucks the pretty boy patriot into its engine, leaving nothing but a fine pink mist in its wake.

The seahawk dines on fish. Good fish. Sushi-grade stuff from the waters of the Pacific northwest. This is also one of the habitats of the bear, who is himself a connoisseur of the scaly delicacies of the local waters. If we were deciding who is the better fisherman, the battle would go to the bird. If we were deciding "who wins the fight over the fish that the bear caught," the bird still wins. Think about it: bear catches fish, hawk swoops low and scares the bear into dropping the fish, then grabs it and flies away. But we are talking about the seahawk against the bear in a battle to the death. You can't hurt a bear without a really good gun designed for the sole purpose of hurting bear. Eventually, in all his beast mode confidence, the seahawk flies too close on one swoop and the bear slices him open with his murderous claw.

There you have it. Likely to be proven as accurate as anyone's predictions, and based in reality.

Bleeding an Idea Dry: Coffee with Jesus #3

CYA

Just in case you were considering taking a refreshing dip in this gator-infested, weed-choked swamp of a canal, the HOA would like you to know that this is not a permitted activity.

They warned you. And now they're covered against all lawsuits.

Stupid, paranoid, litigious America.

A Little Less Vitriolic

I don't have much to add to the conversation on the events of this weekend, other than crazy people will find a way to be crazy, with or without "vitriolic political discourse" and with or without guns.

I'm no Gadsden Flag waver. I actually prefer the Washington's Cruisers design. But I might fly this new one I made for my countrymen prone to party in the tea way.

Originally posted at Radio Free Babylon, which may soon become the only place I blog.

The Return of "Coffee With Jesus"

Clickage recommended.

The Morning Tweet Stream - As a Collage

It gets so big if you click it.

For the PM version, substitute as follows:

Replace:
"breakfast" with "drinking"
"office" with "bar/pub"
"workout" with "TV shows"

"pets," "weather," and "commute" remain.

The Must-Have Voice of the Moment

I have listened to enough radio, TV and online commentary in the last week or so to know that I'm not the only voiceover artist who thinks Ted Williams is getting way too much work for very little effort. Spread it around a little, Ted. Help a brother out.

When We All Have Direct TV, Only Outlaws Will...

...or something, I don't know. Witness this world of chaos and mayhem because the superhero, O-Man, is too engrossed in all his TV watching options to get off the couch in his cool superhero apartment.

Vicious Circle

Google Street Scenes: Hittin' the Bricks

I've taken a new tack in letting agencies know I wouldn't mind talking to them about any opportunities they might have open for a guy like me. (Lord knows the traditional methods aren't working.)

I find their buildings on Google Street Views and post my mascot, Major Mike Adams, outside their places of business. Then I send them a note, usually though Twitter, letting them know I am stalking them virtually. I'm sure it creeps them out at first, but then hopefully they see the picture and say to themselves, "Well, never seen that before. This guy is thinking outside the box. I'll bet he'd fit quite well into our unique culture. He seems to be a platform agnostic thinker with an eye for strategy and creativity. And he's also kind of a dick for blogging about us this way."

Below are two "leading" Orlando agencies, or so their sites would have you believe - though I have my doubts about one of them, whose Twitter account hasn't been updated since October. You can't really talk about how adept you are in the "social media space" when you don't use it yourselves.

In the second photo, we seem to have caught a local resident on the way home from a sleepover at a friend's house, pillow under his arm. I also wonder how old that "For Lease" sign is and whether or not the agency still occupies this building. Might explain the dormant Twitter account.

Zombie Refs

Don't mind me. I'm just entertaining myself this morning.  
(Click for a bigger version.)

Women Laughing Alone With....

Oh, wait. That was earlier in the week. It's so damn hard to keep up anymore.

OK, here's Sad Woman Alone with Ice Cream.

More Dead Birds

The Susan Boyle of Voiceover

By now you know of the heartwarming story of Ted Williams, the Columbus, Ohio homeless man who became an overnight sensation and is now not only no longer homeless, but also the voice of the Cleveland Cavaliers, NFL Films, NASA, FoxNews, Microsoft, the Playboy Channel and the Pentagon. Maybe some of those aren't true, but Mr. Williams has indeed turned his shit around. I, like everyone else, think this is great. But I can't help thinking that the only reason Mr. Williams is a huge sensation is because no one expected a voice like that to come out of a homeless dude standing on an off-ramp of an Ohio highway. A thousand dudes have the ability to do the (in Williams' words) "old school" VO. Just like Susan Boyle. Thousands of women can sing like Susan Boyle, you just don't expect a voice like Ms. Boyle's to come from a homely woman with a mustache.

And now Ted Williams has been made the voice of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese by CP+B, one more entity looking to make the most out of Williams' unfortunate/fortunate situation. I have to hand it to Ted. I was homeless once. And I've done professional voiceover work. But I never had the ingenuity to put the two together and turn my life around in a moment. I hope you all remember him when you're putting your Top Ten Awesome and Inspiring Stories from 2011 together in December.

So now, in the spirit of the moment, I have created a fake radio ad for Kraft Macaroni and Cheese in the old school voiceover style that everyone is now so in love with again. I don't have Williams' depth and resonance, but I figure a few more cartons of cigarettes and I'm on my way.



CP+B: call me.

What Business Is It of Yours?

I'm a little surprised by what has become a routine outcry among my friends in the design community. It's like every time a company comes out with a redesigned logo, they have to do it gingerly, carefully, calculatedly and nearly scared, knowing that a huge storm of criticism is about to be unleashed. Starbucks' CEO has to release a minute and a half video explaining the evolution of its iconic "siren" logo? Of course it didn't change the fact that designers the world over are up in arms. And I don't doubt for a second that Starbucks knew it was coming and welcome it. "This buzz is going to be great for us," someone said in Seattle.

Did The Gap suffer slumping sales after the online backlash that compelled them to drop their logo change? Did the people making all the noise even shop at The Gap? Gap showed extreme spinelessness during that uproar. I hope Starbucks doesn't yield.

If I had a company, I would change the logo overnight, without fanfare and without pandering. Not so much as a press release. Just send the sign crews out and get it done on the storefronts and swap out the in-store stuff as the old stuff runs out. Without focus-grouping and without crowd-sourcing. Starbucks is Starbucks. Your average Starbucks consumer might someday look at the cup and go, "Hmmm - they changed the cup a little," and then never give it a second thought.

(Click for bigger)

But we live in Insta-World^TM, in this consumer-driven, conversation-intense environment where the slightest misstep, or perceived misstep, is amplified and bounced around the world in seconds, where everyone's an expert and a company is nearly paralyzed with fear to make any move. And if they get criticized, they must hurry to the defense and engage a team of brand reputation management specialists to reply to negative tweets or blog posts or Facebook updates. Hurry! Scrub the wires for any negative mention that might hurt us.

You know what, big brands? They're just a bunch of noisemakers trying to make noise. For every whining baby out there making a stink about your products or service, there are likely a thousand loyal and satisfied customers you will never hear from. You go ahead and do what you can to alleviate legitimate gripes and resolve obvious issues. That's just smart business and wise customer service. Businesses were doing that long before social media came into relevance.

Brand loyalty is a wonderful thing. I'm not a Starbucks guy, but I know plenty of people in love with the stuff. They're not going anywhere. But if they want to chime in and tell you what to have as your company icon? That's when you tell them they might be happier with a cup of coffee from 7-Eleven.

You Can Tell A Lot From a Map

The football talking heads love to tell you that "on any given Sunday" any team can beat any other team. This is a lie. While the creation of new rules for the game has helped achieve the long-sought "parity*" that the league has pursued for years, it is clear from this playoff map I just created that there are some constants and consistencies. It almost looks like a map of the country's Westward Expansion.

• The Northeast is heavily represented in this year's playoff picture
• None of California's three teams made it
• None of Florida's three teams made it
• Both Texas teams are out
• Both Ohio teams are out
• Both Pennsylvania teams are in
• Bird mascots make up one-third of the playoff teams 

We can obviously infer from these facts the following:

• Warm weather teams suck
• Bill Belichick is a cheater
• Rex Ryan, despite his boasting, is not going to the Super Bowl
• The Seahawks, while having an awesome stadium, just plain don't belong here
• Everything is bigger in Texas, except football
• From the Great Plains to the Pacific Ocean, football is over
• The East Coast-West Coast debate is settled
• Pictures of Brett Favre's package will not be a part of Super Bowl coverage 

* The AFC has a combined win count of 130. The NFC's win count is 126. The best division in the AFC, the East, had 36 wins. The best in the NFC, the South, also had 36.

Weekend Shot

Mark Twain with reading glasses.

I can rarely read a book without wishing I was as good a writer as the writer writing it, and hopefully learn something about style and the craft, but Twain takes it to another level and makes me want to hang up writing altogether and maybe just study to become a riverboat pilot.