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Oh La La

2009-07-11T00:48:00.003-04:00

Ah, French. The language of love. A colleague of mine had a French girl friend, and one day at work, I overheard what sounded like a provocative conversation in the Gallic tongue.

"Sounds romantic," I noted.

"Not really," he said. "We were going over tonight's grocery list."

Now it appears one French publication is also guilty of being lost in translation. A leading French newspaper, La Tribune, has decided to offer multi-lingual content on its web site. Unfortunately, rather than use human translators, La Tribune is cutting costs by relying upon Google Translate.

Let's just say this regrettable decision leads to some amusing and rather messy headlines, like this one regarding the late Michael Jackson:

Good-bye with the "king the pop one"

Or the somewhat curious:

Float automobile--Challenges of the car in corporation

And the downright unintelligible:

Crispations with the National Assembly on Sunday work

Fortunately, there is one French phrase La Tribune does not need to translate--faux pas.

It's a Family Affair

2008-02-18T00:00:00.004-05:00

I guess I'm a bit of a traditionalist at heart. I miss Washington's Birthday.

Since 1948, historians have consistently ranked three presidents among the country's best--George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and Franklin Roosevelt. Ironically, if FDR's mother delayed delivery for another 48 hours, all three men would have been born in February.

When I was a school boy, teachers spent most of February giving both Washington and Lincoln the attention they deserved. These were great men, who deserved their own holidays. Lumping them together with mediocrities, such as Benjamin Harrison, Franklin Pierce, and Warren Harding, just for the sake of a unified presidential holiday and countless automobile ads, seems to be a travesty.

In a lifetime filled with moments that defined the United States and its future, one of Washington's best decisions is often overlooked. He declined an opportunity to run for a third term. He understood the danger of dynastic rule.

American voters may be fascinated by political families, but very few have had any staying power on the national scene, because we remain deeply suspicious of them. For most of my adult life, two families have dominated the presidency--the Clintons and the Bushes--and Hillary is learning first hand the dangers of assuming tacit "inheritance" of the nation's highest office due to your last name (see Ted Kennedy's failed effort to unseat Jimmy Carter in 1980).

The legacy of the Bush-Clinton-Bush years has been a dynastic dynamic defined by division. Those voters who flock to Obama see a charismatic figure who trumps his shortcomings in experience with a message of unity and civility. Clinton tries to the frame the argument around competence, rather than pretty speeches. Dukakis tried that same message against George the First, and failed.

In his farewell address, George Washington, the only president not to belong to a specific political party, warned against the perils of partisanship. "The common and continual mischiefs of the spirit of party are sufficient to make it the interest and duty of a wise people to discourage and restrain it," he said. "It agitates the Community with ill-founded jealousies and false alarms; kindles the animosity of one part against another, foments occasionally riot and insurrection."

Obama views himself as the purple candidate. Washington, who devised the original Purple Heart medal, probably had a fondness for that color, too.

It's Only Rock and Roll To Me

2007-12-24T11:15:00.000-05:00

You could say my teenage son is a connoisseur of video games. Not only does he play them, but he also knows every detail about them--from voice actors to the individual histories behind the production companies that make them. As a result, in both conversation and deed, I have been exposed to almost every genre, and have personally watched my sons hijack cars, kill aliens, score touchdowns, and defeat the Nazis.

I'm now convinced one video game threatens the very fabric of life as we know it, and it should be banned permanently from all game consoles forever.

Guitar Hero.

OK, so maybe I'm being a little extreme, but consider for a moment the basic conceit behind this game. You spend hours in front of a TV screen pretending to be a rock star by accurately pushing the right buttons on your faux guitar.

What would happen instead if you spend that same amount of time trying to learn how to play a real guitar?

About a year and a half ago, I got an acoustic guitar for a present. I had always wanted to learn how to play a musical instrument, and now in my late forties I was trying to recapture a little youthful indiscretion. My boss at the time had played rock and roll with the same garage band since he was in junior high, and that provided some additional inspiration.

There is an old Cheech and Chong routine in which a heavy metal star named Alice Bowie proclaims proudly that he is a success even though he only knows three chords. You would be amazed how accurate that statement can be.

Little by little, I set aside part of the day to practice strumming chords, and going online to sites like Chordie.com to see how these chords formed the musical shape behind popular songs. My son was taking guitar lessons, too, and on occasion I would share a class to pick up a few pointers.

No one will forget Jimi Hendrix when they hear me play, but there is a special sense of satisfaction when you are jamming out a tune, and your teenage son yells downstairs that you are playing too loud.

Fighting off the forces of the Covenant is pure fantasy, but learning how to play an instrument is a personal pleasure that can last a lifetime. If your child really wants to pretend to be a rock star, maybe they should be encouraged to experience what it's like to make real music instead.

Get them a guitar, a set of drums or some other instrument. Just make sure to invest in some earplugs for awhile.

Warning Labels

2007-12-16T17:46:00.000-05:00

For me, common sense as we know it ended the day I saw a TV commercial in which a volcano spit out a Jeep. I didn't mind the fact that the Jeep drove away from the carnage after landing on the ground. I was simply amazed that the legal department forced advertisers to include a disclaimer warning people not to try this stunt.

If lawyers are worried their clients might be sued by Jeep owners who might say they drove into volcanoes because their vehicles failed to include a disclaimer warning them not to take this action, I suppose I should not be surprised that a Do Not Attempt disclaimer now appears in another series of TV advertisements for Toyota.

In this particular case, car and truck owners are so desperate to get their hands on a new Toyota Tundra truck that they go to any lengths to deliberately destroy their own vehicles in "accidents" of their own doing.

An attorney must be pretty desperate if they think they can free a client that destroys a car, collects the insurance money, and then spends it on a new car, because the person was unduly influenced by a television ad.

A disclaimer on a TV spot should not control behavior. Ethics should.

This week's revelations about the widespread use of performance enhancing drugs in baseball include recommendations for controlling a problem that is inherently uncontrollable. At the root of the problem lies the personal ethical code guiding each ball player who must decide if he will rely on his own talents or will he chemically enhance them.

Bending one's ethics to achieve a goal is an ancient challenge, but certainly a timely question to consider during the holiday season, when positive religious themes still manage to float through the din of holiday music.

Civilized society requires moments when ethics and law intertwine. For instance, murder carries both legal and religious consequences that deter us from taking such a dramatic step, no matter how angry we might get when someone cuts us off on the Garden State Parkway. But in a wide array of situations, ethical questions adopt a grayer hue, and in these circumstances, we must rely upon both our conscience and our intelligence to make the right decision.

Sports is an imperfect arbiter when it comes to ethics. The New York Daily News can put an asterisk next to the unblemished record of the New England Patriots for as long as they want. It won't help Jets fans feel better.

Instead, may I humbly suggests that if you are still looking for that perfect holiday gift for a child or grandchild, consider a few moments of putting the Mitchell report into the context of day-to-day life, and sharing your personal credo of ethical behavior with family members.

And if you get them a Tonka truck, just make sure they know to avoid playing around volcanoes.

Standing Pat

2007-12-04T23:06:00.000-05:00

Ms. Pat Russo
Chief Executive Officer
Alcatel-Lucent
54 rue la Boetie
Paris 75008, France

Dear Pat,

Happy holidays. I hope those French lessons are going well.

Sorry to bother you while you're spending all your time these days trying to save your company (and your job), but there is this little matter about a vacant building that used to employ some of the world's greatest research scientists and engineers.

You may have heard recently that Preferred Real Estate said au revoir and pulled out of a deal to purchase your property in Holmdel. Seems it ran into a little snag when it thought it could convince residents that it would be a good idea to put hundreds of a new homes there.

I hope you won't consider me too presumptuous if I offer a few thoughts, just in case you are still in the market for selling this 500-acre site. I'd hate to see you make the same mistakes twice.

I think you should know that most Holmdel residents would welcome new commercial development on the site. You should have seen the smiles over at the tax office back in the old days when they got ready to mail out your quarterly property tax bill.

At the same time, we have gotten used to the quality of life around here, and so you might want to share with any prospective buyers that we aren't too keen about changing existing zoning to allow the addition of any major housing developments on the site.

You probably understand how you can get used to things. Why, after a year or so of French cuisine, I bet those blue plate specials at your favorite New Jersey dinner have lost their allure.

How about taking the time to see how much it might cost to rehabilitate the old Labs building, so that it can house multiple business tenants? In a marketplace filled with other vacant buildings, wouldn't it make sense to preserve an existing asset with such strong brand equity, because of its technological and historical heritage?

I'm certain that if Alcatel-Lucent can do its part to help encourage new commercial development on the site, the Township Committee would show its gratitude by moving our annual community celebration to Bastille Day.

Joyeux Noel.

It's My Party (and I'll Cry If I Want To)

2007-11-24T13:16:00.000-05:00

In 1864, Abraham Lincoln, a Republican, took the unusual step of selecting a Democrat, Andrew Johnson, as his running mate. It was a cagey move. Lincoln had been impressed with Johnson's administration of Tennessee as a wartime governor, and he created a National Unity ticket with an eye towards a post-Civil War reconciliation with the Confederate States.

Given Lincoln's willingness to put partisan politics aside, I found some irony from a recent post in the Monmouth Country Republican Blog, which is managed by an anonymous editor who goes by the name of "Honest Abe." Abe was lamenting the recent results in Holmdel, in which only one of the two Republican candidates won a seat on the Township Committee:

Mayor Serena DiMaso was reelected, but her running mate, Jerry Allocco, was defeated by Democrat Janet Berk. DiMaso and Allocco were on opposing slates in the primary, but teamed up for the general election. Sadly, it is reported that some Republicans worked for the democrats, resulting in a close race and Allocco's loss.

The truth is actually a little more interesting. GOP candidates for state and county offices easily routed their Democratic opponents in townwide voting. Even the eventual Democratic winner in the Freeholder race, John D'Amico, trailed his nearest opponent by almost 400 votes. Holmdel's Republican proclivities remain solidly in place. In the face of this Republican landslide, it counts as a small political miracle that Janet and I collectively attracted 52 percent of the vote in the Holmdel Township Committee race.

Abe's sadness (which might be better described as ire) stems from his frustration that Republicans in Holmdel are not political robots. They can unite with Democrats and Independents around issues of common local interest without sacrificing their political loyalties on a national, state or even county level.

A healthy political discourse begins by replacing polemics with consensus building and problem solving, especially since party platforms cannot cover every contingency. Common sense usually fills the void. Or to quote from Lincoln himself--"Public sentiment is everything. With public sentiment nothing can fail; without it nothing can succeed."

Lincoln made that observation in 1858. Roughly 150 years later, it still offers a good guidepost for addressing the challenges of any community.

Friday on My Mind

2007-11-18T16:04:00.000-05:00

On the surface, Holmdel has probably seen better Fridays than the one that played out last week. In a hard fought contest, the Holmdel Hornets lost its semi-final match up with Rumson-Fair Haven, and earlier in the day, a spokesperson with Alcatel-Lucent confirmed that Preferred Real Estate had failed to close on its deal to purchase the old Bell Labs site in town.

However, the Holmdel Hornets did offer some interesting lessons for all of us to ponder. They had a magical season. No one would have predicted nine straight wins, but all the signs were in the place for success after the team's strong finish last year.

The Hornets reminded us that with planning, execution, and the right group of people great things can happen. And Holmdel residents do rally around those things they care about. A chilly fall night did not deter one of the largest crowds in memory to descend upon Roggy Field to watch the contest.

Our town leaders should keep both lessons in mind, as we consider our next steps regarding the future of the Lucent site.

I always saw this month's Township Committee race as a referendum for the future of the Lucent property, and apparently, Preferred Real Estate agreed with me. The make-up of next year's Township Committee will not be favorable for the zoning change they want, and so they walked.

They never really cared about the needs of the town, just their own.

So, on one hand, it's a win for the community, since it eliminates one source of angst that has been hanging over our heads for two years now--the potential of unneeded residential development that would have dramatically impacted the character of the town while failing to contribute sufficiently to our tax base.

However, it's a pyrrhic victory at best. The town would have been best served if the sale had gone through and that the property had been redeveloped by Preferred in compliance with the existing zoning of the office/lab use. The property has always been a large commercial ratable for our town and a delay in redeveloping it will only impede needed tax relief.

The town should communicate with representatives of Alcatel/Lucent directly, to reiterate our desire to retain existing zoning on the Lucent tract, our interest to retain the existing Saarinen-designed structure if possible and our willingness to work with them as they seek a replacement buyer for the property. These steps will help us avoid a repeat of our experience with Preferrred. The Lucent Advisory Committee may serve as a perfect conduit for this task.

It's a brand new ball game, and as the Hornets showed us repeatedly, you can control your own destiny when you show up to play.

Rocket 88

2007-11-16T21:30:00.000-05:00

In college, I spent most of my senior year growing a red beard, which I reluctantly shaved off to perform in a community theater production in Savannah, Georgia. Frankly, it was getting too hot to wear that beard anyway.

Roughly ten years later, I tried to grow it back, only to see to my dismay that my beard was now snow white. Not ready to be married to someone who looks like her grandfather, my wife uttered one of her famous ultimatums.

"You'll have plenty of time to look old," she said as she handed me my razor.

I have found that TV advertising has a way of making you feel old, too, or at least nostalgic. In the 1950s, the Oldsmobile and its Rocket 88 engine inspired early rock and roll songs. When I was a teenager, one of the coolest cars in the world was an Oldsmobile Cutlass, especially its muscle car variant, the 442. It was another one of GM's classic attempts to transform an ordinary sedan into a sports car, and it worked. The Cutlass was the top selling car in America in the mid-1970s.

It may have been your father's Oldsmobile, but it was more graceful than the homogenized version that GM finally retired in 1999. The sixth generation Cutlass was nothing more than a re-skinned Chevrolet Malibu.

So, imagine my surprise, when I was watching the latest TV advertising promoting the new Malibu as the car you can't ignore. To prove the point, the ad folks have a female jogger run into a parked car that she does ignore.

Just in case you did not get the joke, a second ad shows a group of bank robbers who escape detection by police because they were fortunate enough to select a bland, forgettable car.

The Malibu does look like a nice car, but I could not help but stare at the poor lamented automobile that served as the butt of all this corny humor. It was an Oldsmobile.

GM used to make buses, too, which is fitting. It just threw this once proud brand under one.

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

2007-11-13T22:39:00.000-05:00

During one of the final days of the campaign, after weeks of crisscrossing various neighborhoods throughout Holmdel, Janet Berk and I walked up a steep hill to ring the doorbell of a house. A woman answered the door and gave us a bemused look. "If the two of you were willing to climb up here to talk to me, you got my vote."

Campaigning is indeed hard work, and I'm so appreciative of the support that Janet and I received over the past year. Janet deserves a return to the Township Committee, and I know she will be a tireless worker for this community. Mayor Serena DiMaso and Jerry Allocco were worthy opponents, and while our viewpoints may differ on the issues, we all had Holmdel's best interests in mind.

I have been reminded that coming close only counts in horseshoes or in the use of certain powerful firearms, but one very positive thing did happen in this election that ultimately makes all the hard effort worthwhile. Hundreds of voters ignored party lines, and showed a willingness to focus on the issues and the candidates themselves, rather than blind partisanship. That's a positive thing for any community, and offers an admirable goal for the five members of the Township Committee to consider, as they seek to unite Holmdel around the challenges that face our town.

And to those people who so graciously donated their time, their energies, and their passion to our campaign, I encourage you to stay involved and continue the dialogue. The journey can be a little hilly at times, but you can always take comfort when you know you are traveling with friends.

The Reason Why

2007-07-02T09:56:00.000-04:00

At the height of his popularity and facing a flawed incumbent, Senator Ted Kennedy doomed his presidential quest when he could not offer a clear and coherent reason why he wanted to be president in a national TV interview with correspondent Roger Mudd in 1979.

Ironically, only eleven years before, in March, 1968, his brother Robert Kennedy offered this succinct summation of why he sought the presidency during one of the most divisive times in American history:

"I do not run for the presidency merely to oppose any man but to propose new policies. I run because I am convinced that this country is on a perilous course and because I have such strong feelings about what must be done, and I feel that I'm obliged to do all that I can."

Kennedy only needed about 50 words to sum up the principles that form the core of the American political system at any level--campaigns should be about ideas, not personal attacks, and individuals in a democratic society have a responsibility to participate in the political process, especially if they feel they can contribute and make a difference.

We often ask our political candidates what they plan to do. It is equally instructive to ask a candidate why he or she is running in the first place.

I have had long talks with my father on this subject. He and my mother have actively participated in community activities for roughly 40 years, and our discussions always end with the same observation. While both find the satisfaction they receive from helping others as its own reward, they also embrace the sense of duty expressed by Robert Kennedy.

I always admired Robert Kennedy as a political pragmatist who understood the need to find common ground between diverse viewpoints by focusing on solutions, not personalities. I always admired my parents' optimistic viewpoint that those who pursue community service and volunteerism benefit themselves only by benefiting others.

I believe in these principles, too. They guide how I will approach my candidacy for a seat on the Holmdel Township Committee, and equally important, they also provide voters with a clear explanation why I choose to run.

Act Naturally

2006-08-06T00:48:00.000-04:00

Sodas, like Coca Cola and Pepsi, are simply bad for you, even if they don't contain pesticides, as a recent news reports from India claim. So what about the so-called antithesis of cola beverages, the Uncola?

7UP began earlier this year an extensive marketing campaign emphasizing that it contains only five "natural" incredients, making it 100% natural.

You may wonder what those five natural incredients are. According to the 7 UP website, they are filtered carbonated water, high fructose corn syrup, "natural" citric acid, natural flavors, and "natural" potassium citrate.

You may notice right away two chemical combinations involving citrate. Citric acid does naturally form in citric fruits, such as lemons and limes, which offer the taste inspiration for 7UP. Citrates, like potassium citrate, can be very useful for reducing the risk of painful kidney stones. Potassium is also a natural mineral found in our bodies, but it can be quite a stretch to suggest that the folks in 7UP harvested natural versions of these two formulas, which were most likely produced in a chemical plant somewhere.

Curious indeed that 7UP hides behind the term "natural" flavors, rather than specifically indicate that it uses lemons and limes in its formulation. Hanson's Key Lime soda, a "natural" competitor, claims it uses the flavors of Colima lime and Yucatan lemons in its drink, and even takes the extra step of mentioning that it uses "natural fruit flavors of lemon and lime" among its incredients.

In fact, as NBC Today show Food Editor Phil Lempert points out, natural flavors are created by "flavorists" in a laboratory who must prove that at some point in the process they included a natural ingredient. He adds that there is no evidence to show that natural flavors are better in quality or even safer than artificial flavors. Malcolm Gladwell's New Yorker article on the taste of ketchup offers some indication how complicated and unnatural this whole business of flavoring really is.

There is nothing natural about high fructose corn syrup (which in fairness to 7UP also exists in Hansen's "natural" soda as well). It simply did not exist until the 1970s, when Japanese chemists invented it. It's so cheap to produce that it almost immediately pushed cane sugar out of cans of soda, as well as made all sugar laden products less expensive (which we might describe as the 'Big Gulp ' phenomenon).

As Kim Severson notes in the San Francisco Chronicle, HFCS causes a lot of anxiety among researchers and consumer advocates, partly because this chemical formula, unlike ordinary sugar, seems to wreck havoc with our bodies. Fructose apparently triggers the production of fat cells, and suppresses natural homones that control hunger. Eat too much sugar and your brain will tell you that you are full. Not so with fructose, which might also be linked to colorectal cancer.

7UP's efforts to convince you of its natural state (complete with images of trees that grow cans of soda) has been mimicked in part by the producers of the artificial sweetener, Splenda, which is derived by changing the basic chemical structure of sucrose (and therefore the tagline, Made From Sugar So It Tastes Like Sugar). Ironically, the chemists working on Splenda were actually trying to create a new form of pesticide, when one of the researchers accidently tasted the compound and found it 600 times sweeter than ordinary table sugar.

Considering that Coke and Pepsi use Splenda in some of their diet drink formulas, the suspicions of Indian officials might not be too far off the mark.

Radio Killed the Video Star

2006-06-30T23:45:00.000-04:00

Superman returned this week to a world in iconic upheaval. Bob Dylan delivers surprising coherence as a disc jockey spinning old cowboy and blues records, and failed radio star David Lee Roth sings bluegrass.

Dylan has been doing his radio gig on XM radio for about two months now. His legendary mumblings and aloofness have been replaced with a wry wit, impeccable taste, and a compelling muscial eclecticism (somehow, in one show, he managed to seamlessly include songs by Jimi Hendrix and Judy Garland). He's even a little silly, reciting the lyrics from the songs he plays and throwing off jokes that might have been discarded by Henny Youngman.

His hour-long shows focus on a single theme (weather, mothers and coffee, to name a few topics) that blend rock, country, folk, blues, gospel, and standards into a strange, but satisfying stew. In fact, his program on baseball, complete with a personal, a cappella rendition of Take Me Out to the Ballgame, was added to the archive of the Baseball Hall of Fame this week. Conveniently enough, he announced the next day his upcoming summer concert tour in minor league baseball parks around the U.S.

There are very few musical legends with the same eccentric genius to pull off a show like this. John Lennon, for instance, would have been a fascinating radio host, spinning alliteration after alliteration. John loved to show the world that he was a f***cking artist, you know.

Diamond Dave is a raconteur at heart, and surprisingly erudite, despite his bad boy, California surfer boy image (the guy is actually from Indiana). But the CBS programmers who thrust Roth on the radio failed to understand his deep passion for music, its nuisances, and its trivia. Stripped from being able to play music on his show, Dave rambled endlessly about music, throwing off unusual insights and turning off a generation of Howard Stern fans who preferred tasteless forays into sex and flatulance jokes.

In sum, Dave needed the same forum XM radio afforded Dylan, which in the ultimate irony, provided the radio talent (Opie & Anthony have been perfoming their own schtick on XM for years) that would eventually replace Roth. In an interview with CMT, he offered this observation:

"I think I've been voted most likely to be a diversion," he says. "Anybody who's gonna follow Howard is gonna take a beating. So what they needed was somebody with a great sense of humor and a real thick skin. They also needed somebody who could attract attention and kill a little time while they completed their contract with [air personalities] Opie & Anthony. I knew something was up when we didn't get any guests for the first two weeks--courtesy of my program director."

Roth was interviewed by CMT in the first place because of a new compilation CD released this month featuring bluegrass renditions of Van Halen classics (further accentuating the general weirdness may be the article's insistance of referring to Eddie Van Halen as "Edward.") Roth contributed two songs, including "Jump," which he performed on the Tonight show.

Sadly, the homogenized formats of terrestrial radio may not have a place for this bold musical experiment, but Dave can always hope that he catches the ear of Dylan when his next Theme Time Radio Hour chooses to focus on faded rock stars.

Release Me

2006-06-14T22:13:00.000-04:00

I was manning the assignment desk at a TV station in Texas, when I received a call from a public relations agency in New York City. The woman on the phone asked me if I had planned to cover a local event described in a press release she had sent me. I pointed out that my news crew would have to travel 2,000 miles to cover the story. I also noted that I received the release through the mail the day after the event.

I do not think she ever called me again, and according to a recent article in Information Week, she and her PR colleagues may soon be able to ignore the news media all together.

Apparently, a California-based research firm, Outsell, surveyed 7,000 "knowledge workers" and found that they prefer receiving their information directly from news releases rather than the trade press.

When IW reporter Thomas Claburn asked Outsell VP Roger Strouse why press releases have become so popular, he offered this response:

"It may be that press releases are easier for people to get their hands on," he says. "It may be that press releases are shorter and pithier. It may be that they're often times free and come right into an RSS reader."

Claburn dutifully noted that while IW is a trade publication, its parent company, United Business Media, also owns PR Newswire.

Of course, Roger's answer is somewhat ridiculous. As trade news observer and blogger Paul Conley notes , the blame lies squarely on the trade press itself, which often finds itself taking press releases verbatim and passing them off as journalism. Greg Jarboe of SEO-PR blames cutbacks in staffing at trade pubs, which forces the editors there to rely more heavily on press releases than home-grown reporting. Either way, I track industry clips on a daily basis and find it amazing how often our company's press releases end up within the confines of a trade publication without source attribution.

In sum, going to news releases directly just cuts out the middle man.

At the same time, Roger's analysis misses another equally interesting phenomenon. People will choose to read press releases only if they offer value, and many corporate news sites have the potential of becoming primary informaton sources. During the 9/11 terrorist attack, traffic on airline websites spiked significantly as web users sought out real time information about the hijacked flights and the passenger lists of those who were on board.

As corporations aggressively adopt communications strategies that involve both online newsrooms and blogging, they may change the reading habits of some highly targeted online audiences, but probably not broader, more general news readers. As a recent study by the Pew Internet & American Life Project points out, even those Americans who rely heavily on the Internet for news favor sites managed by traditional media outlets by a wide margin.

The Outsell survey still offers a sobering reminder for journalists. If they fail to generate stories based upon their own ideas and observations, plenty of PR professionals are ready to fill the information vacuum themselves.

Body Language

2006-05-19T18:15:00.000-04:00

I was away at college when my father rented space in his building to a martial arts instructor. As part of the deal, my brothers and parents received free karate lessons. I believe they stopped taking classes shortly after my mother caused one black belt student to collapse from an unintentional kick to the groin.

I never thought too much about karate until my oldest son enrolled in a local Tiger Schulman Karate school. I learned that sitting in the lobby of a dojo can be just as precarious as facing punches and kicks on a mat, especially when you have a charismatic and persuasive sensei eying you as a prospective student. Every father wants to share an activity with his son, and I acquiesced when I realized I had a better chance succeeding in karate than mastering the intricacies of his video games collection.

Back then, the idea of actually achieving a black belt seemed as dubious as paying three dollars for a gallon of gasoline. The last time I successfully completed an athletic goal occurred in tenth grade, when after years of failed attempts, I finally managed to climb the rope in gym. I basked in the glow of this achievement only long enough to realize that no one had showed me how to climb down. I still have the rope burns to prove it.

My tenure as a white belt confirmed most of my initial fears. I was simply awful. I had no stamina, strength or flexibility. I was clumsy. I punched like a girl (As an important point of clarification, I should add that most of the ladies in my class can disarm almost any man in seconds). I did find I had a talent for yelling pretty loud, which turned out to be a useful way for concealing pain.

Friends and family had a difficult time understanding how getting punched and kicked several times a week or breaking wood with my bare hands represented a great way to get in shape. My bosses kept worrying that I would show up one morning with a cast on my hand or crunches under my arms, a prophecy that became partly true after I tore cartilage in my knee.

I did have a few things working for me. Being a lifelong Red Sox fan taught me how to balance frustration with patience. I was too competitive to accept my limitations and too stubborn to quit. And I made sure there was always enough Advil nearby.

As my belts became more colorful, I found that hard work and consistent training could overcome limitations of age or athletic skill. I also realized that you're never alone when you're surrounded by other people sweating and grunting along with you. It felt good to get encouragement from fellow students. It felt even better when I could give encouragement to others.

One month shy of my 47th birthday, I stood in a crowded college auditorium before the three senseis who would decide if I deserved to receive a black belt. I usually rely upon PowerPoint to make persuasive arguments on my behalf, but on this day, the language would be more physical and direct-- a series of sharp movements and savage strikes accompanied by a loud cacophony of cries and shouts.

I fought off personal attacks, absorbed punches, and rolled on the ground with perfect strangers. It did not qualify as performance art, but I chose to make it memorable for anyone who cared to watch.

I have a picture on my desk of a smiling five-year old boy with the hopeful look that anything is possible. That boy is me. I thought I lost that innocent smile years ago, but on a recent Sunday afternoon, as I held a tightly woven piece of dark cloth in my hands, it appeared unexpectedly, like an old friend.

I always knew I look good in black.

Bumper Crop

2006-04-19T21:14:00.000-04:00

Researchers from the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration announced this week that distracted drivers cause 80 percent of all highway collisions.

The culprit--as usual--seems to be the poor lamented cell phone. It seems no one can talk into one of these devises without crashing into something. Other notable distractions--drinking coffee, applying lipstick, reading the newspaper, and practicing the flute (I'm not kidding here).

I noticed one glaring omission--drivers squinting to read the latest bumper stickers.

Every day, I travel 90 miles along one of the most congested highways in America, giving me ample opportunity to read a wide variety of bumper stickers during my morning and afternoon crawl.

Cynics see these mobile slogans as pithy signs of collective consciousness. Green Day once chastised those of us too satisfied or lazy to challenge authority to "get your philosophy from a bumper sticker."

The history of the modern bumper sticker is a bit sketchy. According to the Gill-Line corporate web site (and several other web sites that sell bumper stickers), Kansas City silk-screen printer Forest P. Gill invented the first modern adhesive bumper sticker around the end of World War II. I'm not sure what it said, but I'm betting it wasn't "Baby on Board."

I attached a bumper sticker only once in my life--to cover a dent caused when I crashed my first car into a guard rail on an icy road while attending college in upper state New York (I was returning from my early morning radio shift in Utica, confirming government researchers who say drowsy driving increases your risk of a crash or near-crash by four times to six times).

I have no use for bumper stickers, and I do not wish to risk marring an automobile that cost me tens of thousands of dollars with piece of paper confirming that I had once again supported a losing presidential candidate.

My morning commute suggests I am in the minority. Sigmund Freud could have stood near the Cheesequake Service Area all day monitoring ids, egos, and superegos in various fluroscent colors. Our taste in automobiles reflects our personalities. Our bumper stickers reflect our thinking.

Of course, I do wonder sometimes how much thinking really takes place. Often I find it more likely to see absurd or nonsensical messages than something clever or profound.

Recently as I was driving to New England for the holidays, I noticed one car with a bumper sticker boasting that their child had been invited to lunch by a school official. Apparently, someone must have decided it was unfair to give all the attention to only those high achievers who managed to get on the honor roll or made the varsity soccer team. I can imagine a school committee sitting around the table coming up with this portable ode to the value of table manners.

As researchers pretend to be shocked that so many accidents can be caused by drivers doing every possible activity but keeping their eyes on the road, one official does offer a voice of reason.

"I urge legislators not to interpret these results as a need for new legislative initiatives. It is simply not good public policy to pass laws addressing every type of driver behavior," said Lt. Col. Jim Champagne, chairman of the Governors Highway Safety Association.

Instead we need a good old fashioned publicity campaign to change driver behavior that cuts through the clutter, offers a catchy phase, and promises to be impossible to ignore.

Like a bumper sticker, perhaps.

Lost in Space

2006-03-16T22:53:00.000-05:00

While on his honeymoon, my father got lost and had to ask a state trooper what state he was in. The trooper was not clever enough to say bliss.

I rarely get lost while driving, or if I do, I have never been shy about asking the locals where I am, but according to a recent study, I may be in the minority. A survey released this week by the Royal Automobile Club Direct Insurance in the UK says that men waste six million hours a year driving around in circles before they ask for help.

The survey says that the average British male will wait 20 minutes before seeking directions, and even endure ten minutes of nagging from their wives or girl friends before admitting they are lost. Apparently, women are more sensible; they will wait only 10 minutes before asking for help.

At first, I thought I had been exposed to a cheap publicity stunt, but RAC Direct Insurance product manager Craig Martin assures us that his organization only has our best interests at heart.

"The anxiety, increased stress levels and road rage that can be caused by getting lost are unnecessary distractions on today's busy roads when motorists need to be alert and able to concentrate," Martin said.

I need to remember that quote the next time my wife nags me about my driving.

Before we place all the blame on male drivers, it might be instructive to spend some time on a web site called Pathetic Motorways, which with traditional British cheekiness, tries to identify all those UK highways that are former, secretive, unbuilt or simply lost.

In other words, sometimes you just can't get there from here.

I won't fault Mr. Martin for channeling the spirit of PR guru Edward Bernays, but doesn't six million hours seem a tad extreme? That figure translates into roughly 685 years of wasted time. This story appears all over the Internet and the British press, and yet I see no evidence of an editor taking a few moments to consider the accuracy of this bold figure.

Rather than worrying about the driving habits of men, we might be better off asking ourselves why editorial judgment seems to get lost from time to time.

Snap, Crackle and Pop

2006-03-04T20:52:00.000-05:00

I do a lot of the grocery shopping in the family. In today's monster sized supermarkets, you can lose yourself for a few hours, forget your cares, think deep thoughts and gobble up as many free samples as you can find.

Here I was standing in the cereal aisle, trying to be the good Dad, and pick out something healthy for the kids. General Mills wants to be helpful, too. Last year, as part of a major marketing campaign to its conversion to whole wheat flour, they introduced on their packages a "Goodness Corner" highlighting the health benefits of individual boxes of cereal. I picked up one General Mills product that boasts it is a good source of vitamins, whole grain, and calcium.

Who knew Chocolate Lucky Charms could be so healthy for you? This is in indeed a lucky day for college fraternity brothers everywhere.

Ironically, this renewed focus on health by the producers of "ready to eat" cereal represents a return to the industry's roots. During the later half of the 19th century, health advocates were lamenting the gastrointestinal impact of the hearty, meat-heavy breakfasts that were so common during that era. Let's just say that during the Victorian era, morals weren't the only things that needed a little loosening.

Dr. John Harvey Kellogg ran a sanitarium in Battle Creek, Michigan dedicated to restoring health (or at least regularity) through a steady diet of whole grains. He and his brother, Will Keith Kellogg, a former door-to-door broom salesman, accidentally discovered a process for making wheat and corn flakes.

Dr. John and WK disputed over how to best capitalize on this discovery. WK focused his attention on producing a steady stream of cash. Dr. John concentrated instead on promoting a steady stream of....well you get the picture.

C.W. Post, one of Dr. John's patients, actually beat WK to the punch, and introduced in 1897 Post Grape Nuts, one of the first nationally marketed 'ready to eat' cereals and the first to feature a manufacturer's coupon designed to get people to try the product. Kellogg's Corn Flakes appeared nine years later, and celebrated its 100th birthday this February.

Ironically, if you visit the home page of the Kellogg commerative site, you are greeted with the image of Tony the Tiger, who represents a much different heritage for the company. Within only a few years after the death of its founder, Kelloggs, like other cereal companies, had shifted its marketing focus to a brand new and rapidly growing audience--children--and with that change came a massive infusion of sugar.

Sugar Smacks, Apple Jacks, Alpha-Bits, and Cap'n Crunch made regular appearances in my cereal bowl when I was growing up, and I have eight fillings in my teeth to prove it. My mom banned all sugar cereals in the house after she got my dental bill.

The baby boomers who grew up on this stuff are the same people pushing cereal companies to shift their focus back to healthier alternatives, both for their own and their children's sake. Concerned by the backlash, especially when it comes to children's advertising, the big cereal makers have formed a lobbying group to protect their ability to promote their products while simultaneously taking steps to make their cereals as healthy as possible, or least for appearance sake.

Kellogg's own version of a Goodness Corner cheerfully notes that Frosted Flakes provides high energy. Buyers should probably heed instead the first words of advice found on the animation that opens the current Frosted Flakes site--Eat Right.

Girls Gone Wild

2006-02-15T22:33:00.000-05:00

In the days leading up to Valentine's Day, many major magazines, newspapers, and web sites participated in a publicity blitz to offer helpful hints to hapless men regarding the best gifts to buy the woman in their lives. Chocolates, flowers, and jewelry still dominate most lists, but today's Wall Street Journal offered something else she craves that I would have never considered.

Booze.

Apparently, the United States and Great Britain have experienced a dramatic upsurge in heavy drinking by women--a 33 percent increase among those between the drinking age and age 24 over the last half decade. The paper offers this example of one woman's typical intake after a night out with her girl friends on a Friday night in London:

She says she drank a bottle of red wine, two cocktails, a shot of vodka and a glass of Baileys Irish cream.

It was a typical night out, says the 26-year-old civil servant, who says many of her friends drink as heavily as she does. "That's quite a lot. But normally I'm absolutely fine the next day," she says. "It's just what we do."

Or consider the exploits of a twenty three year old insurance broker, who offered this justification for a typical night involving four or five bottles of Smirnoff Ice coupled with seven or eight drinks at the local pub--"Sometimes we overdo it, but it's what we do to have fun."

The article is filled with those pleasantly daft moments of unintended humor. British police report an exponential leap in disorderly conduct among women, including late night catfights over taxi cabs. British comedy clubs requiring "behavior bonds" because of an influx of rowdy bachelorette parties. A Manhattan editorial assistant insisting that drinking games just level the playing field between men and women competiting for cash prizes ("We can play football or baseball with guys, but we aren't going to be at the same level competitively. Playing a drinking game, it's more skill and not brawn.")

This competitive quest by women to compete with men through binge drinking suggests feminism gone awry (or maybe a rye.) Medical evidence indicates that women playing a drinking game with men are demonstrating stupidity, not skill.

A 2002 TIME magazine article on the rise of female drinking notes that women usually get drunk faster than men, because their bodies tend to have a higher ratio of fat to water, which means the alcohol is less diluted when it enters the blood stream. Most women also possess lower levels of a key enzyme designed to break down alcohol. Worst of all, women tend to develop liver disease more than a decade faster than men, even if they drink much less per day.

The Wall Street Journal lays part of the blame on advertising and other marketing activities by alcohol producers eager to take advantage of this new growing market, such as Anheuser-Busch bribing the editors of top woman's magazines with free manicures and facials just for sampling a new series of fizzy, alcoholic fruit drinks.

However, a stronger urge than advertising may be the root cause of this behavior. A 20 year survey by University of North Dakota professor Sharon Wilsnack determined that 60 percent of female drinkers feel less inhibited about sex. Dr. Wilsnack's conclusion--women drink to get in the party mood. Or as one Mount Holyoke student told TIME, "We are really shy when we go out. We are not confident. But if we drink, we put ourselves out there."

So if you really love that woman of yours, maybe chocolate is the best approach for Valentine's Day, unless it's a chocolate martini.

Time's Up

2006-02-08T22:02:00.000-05:00

With enough repetition, an old advertising slogan can become a source of comfort. Campbell Soup? Why, it's mmm, mmm, good. Oops. Did you accidentally spill that soup and need to catch the drip before it hits the floor. No problem. Reach for that Bounty paper towel, since it's the quicker picker upper. And don't forget to finish that cup of Maxwell House Coffee, since, of course, it's good to the last drop.

For twenty years, we could take comfort that if we reached into our wallet and produced a Visa card, we knew it would be accepted, since it's everywhere you want to be. But when the Olympics start in the next few days, this old tagline will be permanently retired, uncermoniously replaced with a new slogan, "Life takes Visa."

The folks from Visa say the old tagline no longer reflects the broad spectrum of credit cards services they now offer, such as commercial credit cards and high tech cards that carry radio frequencies. The real reason might lie closer to the fact that Visa recently dumped its old ad agency, BBDO, and replaced it with TBWA\Chiat\Day, which of course wishes to establish its own identify for its new client.

The old tag line carries a lot of brand equity. You would think that Visa and TBWA spent a lot of time studying the ramifications of their decision, and conducted hours and hours of research to make sure they came up with the right substitute.

Adweek must have had the same thought in mind. It asked Visa Chief Marketing Officer Susanne Lyons to describe the decision making process. Here's what she said, according to the magazine:

"The 'Life takes Visa' tag was chosen by TBWA\C\D creative chief Lee Clow," Lyons said. "He walked into a room in his sandals and shorts where we had hundreds of taglines posted all over. He pointed to 'Life takes Visa' and said, 'That's a good one.'"

I can only wish Visa and TBWA\C\D a lot of luck. Ingrained messages can be difficult to dislodge. When the good people of Boston finally tore down the Boston Garden, and replaced it with a new arena, Fleet Bank bought the naming rights, and called the building the Fleet Center. Folks in Boston still kept calling it the GAHDEN anyway, which may be why when Fleet merged with Bank of America, and the naming rights became available to the highest bidder, TD Banknorth showed the good sense of calling the place the TD Banknorth Garden.

All things must pass eventually. For instance, last month, Western Union finally retired the telegram, a communications fixture for more than 150 years, after sending out only 20,000 of these hand delivered messages last year. It will focus its attention on the more lucrative money transfer business instead.

Western Union will retain its old tagline, though. It's still the fastest way to send money. If Visa's new slogan works, customers will continue to rely on the card as the fastest way to spend money.

Extra Crispy

2006-01-28T20:31:00.000-05:00

It comes down to this. A breakfast cereal will patrol center field and the prodigal son returns. For a franchise that defines the term "Greek Opera," one would still be challenged to find another off-season like the one Red Sox fans have just endured. Mercifully, spring training begins in just a few weeks.

If we try to put the machinations and the media teeth gnashing into perspective, a few simple facts come to the surface.

The Red Sox got a lot younger, in almost every position. We'll always have a warm place in our hearts for Bill Mueller, Johnny Damon, and Kevin Millar, but nostalgia does not win championships, and in a free agent world, an unhealthy attachment to veteran players seeking long term contracts can also be a costly luxury.

The team also probably pulled off the two biggest trades of the off-season without sacrificing the young pitchers the organization coveted. Josh Beckett and Coco Crisp represent significant gambles, but both have enough upside to justify the risk. In fact, the Red Sox have had their eye on Crisp for about a year and a half (or so they say), an early indication that they had been leery about giving Damon a hefty long-term agreement long before his December departure to the Bronx.

Crisp is younger, cheaper, and heading into his prime years. Put into that context, the Damon signing simply reinforces a general consensus that the New York Yankees are still pretty good, but they are also an aging bunch, depending heavily on old workhorses, such as Randy Johnson, Mariano Rivera, Jorge Posada, and Gary Sheffield.

Free agent Alex Gonzalez could be an intriguing short-term fix at shortstop, while the Red Sox wait for twenty two year old Dustin Pedroia to join the club in a year or two. Pedroia is clearly ready to move out from under Hanley Ramirez's shadow, which may be why the Sox were less hesitant to let Ramirez go to Florida in the Beckett deal. I still wish the Sox never let Orlando Cabrera go after their World Series triumph, but like newcomers Mike Lowell, JT Snow and Mark Loretta, Gonzalez brings a strong glove.

The club now features a deeper starting rotation and bullpen, better team defense, and the best one-two punch in baseball with Manny Ramirez and David Ortiz. It can be dangerous to read the tea leaves when it comes to predicting baseball outcomes, but to these amateur eyes the Red Sox seem to have gotten stronger during Theo Epstein's leave of absence, not weaker.

The Crisp saga, as well as the entire off season, offers a cautionary tale about the interlocking relationship among information starved customers (namely us poor downtrodden fans with those unrealistic expecations), an aggressive media (to say the least) and a suddenly dysfunctional organization. Truth, expert commentary, and blog fueled speculations blended to form its own reality. At times, it made for great reading, but offered little enlightenment.

The true winners are public relations professionals who specialize in crisis communications. Now they can truly spend an afternoon in the bleachers at their client's expertise and write the whole thing off as research.

Showing Some Muscle

2006-01-18T22:15:00.000-05:00

One of my friends in high school once bought a 1970 Dodge Challenger. Most of these muscle cars contained a slant six engine capable of only 145 horsepower, but this orange monster must have packed a much larger powerplant, since I can still remember the loud rumbling noises that spilled out of its hood.

Once or twice a day, Steve would start up his Challenger in a parking lot located at the base of the hill where the high school was located. I swear that I could hear the car even if I was at the farthest end of the building. Since the vehicle only got about 8 miles to a gallon, he spent most of his time driving from gas station to gas station.

Over the last half of the 20th century, the muscle car may have been one of three most notable marketing innovations of the American automotive industry (the minivan and the sports utility vehicle would have been the other two). Whether you point its original lineage to the 1961 Chevolet Impala SS ("She's real fine....my 409," crooned Brian Wilson) or the 1964 Pontiac LeMans GTO, General Motors showed real genius in popularizing the idea of "souping up" basic sedans and making them powerful and sexy.

The teenage owners of those 60s and 70s hot rods have grown up (assuming they didn't wrap their cars around a tree), and their passion for automotive nostalgia appears to be growing. This week's North American International Auto Show in Detroit features three examples of muscle car deja vu--a Shelby Mustang, a Chevy Camaro, and an early hit, the new Dodge Challenger.

Retro cars don't automatically guarantee success (the recent 1950s inspired Thunderbird sold poorly before Ford finally pulled the plug), but in a world where US car makers lag in their ability to inspire excitement among car buyers, the "muscle car" triggers an emotional response that cannot be readily matched by Japanese competitors.

As Vance Packard might have noted, sex appeal can never be underestimated, especially when it comes to selling products. Datson B210s didn't have it, but a recent incident at the car show dramatically demonstrates that Dodge Challengers can still cause excitement. According to wire reports, someone managed to smuggle a woman into the exhibition hall early Monday morning; she was so inspired by the awesome macho design of this new automobile (or overcome by the heavy consumption of alcohol) that she flung off her clothes and posed nude for a few stunned witnesses before security broke up the impromptu exhibition.

A red-faced Chrysler PR man offered this accessment without any hint of irony. "We want people to love these cars, but not in that way."

Sweet Music

2006-01-08T22:02:00.000-05:00

In 1970, one of my childhood friends got the coolest Christmas gift I ever saw-- a complete Bruins hockey uniform with skates, pads, stick, and best of all, Bobby Orr's number 4 jersey. My favorite player back then was Gerry Cheevers, who used to draw scars on his goalie mask to show where all those flying pucks landed over the years, but Orr was viewed as a deity in the Boston area. Automobiles used to sport bumper stickers that said "Jesus saves, but Orr scores on the rebound."

Such a gift might seem a little quaint these days, given the electronically laden wish lists I received this holiday season from my sons (in contrast, one of my nephews asked for a cactus). But I did receive a pretty cool gift myself from my wife (bless her heart)--a satellite radio.

I've had a strong interest in radio broadcasting since I secured my FCC Class III license as a teenager (an old requirement for anyone who wanted to work as a disc jockey at my college station, since you needed this license to legally sign the station logs during your shift). My eclectic musical tastes do not coincide neatly with the conservative radio programming that dominates the New York City market, so my satellite radio promises to help reduce some of the drudgery of my commute.

One of my favorite stations comes from one of the strongest and most charismatic brands of the last ten years. Starbucks has redefined drinking coffee into a specific lifestyle experience. It has altered the drinking habits of millions of people, including residents of the United Kingdom, where even tea sales are dropping in face of the chain's rapid expansion on the British Isles. Lately, Starbucks has aggressively linked music to the coffeehouse "experience," and in July of last year, it reached an agreement with XM radio to broadcast its own station, labeled after the company's musical arm, Hear Music.

Starbucks Chairman Howard Schwartz has always sought to establish Starbucks shops as the "third place" in a person's life, following work and home. Music helps establish the atmospherics that attract regular customers to visit and buy that $4 mocha soy latte with the colored sprinkles. And at a time when record sales in general have been declining, the Wall Street Journal notes that Starbucks has proven to be a robust outlet for selling music, even at full retail prices, especially for new, unknown artists:

When Starbucks carries an album, its stores often account for 20% to 30% of the record's weekly sales, and sometimes as much as 50%, Starbucks and music executives say. EMI Group's Mr. Quartararo says every time one of his company's releases has been sold at Starbucks, the coffee chain has been among the top four retailers selling it.

Every twenty years or so, something comes along to shake up the music industry and provide outlets for new artists and new trends. In the 1950s, it was Top 40 stations playing that demon rock and roll on AM. In the 1970s, it was album rock formats on FM. By the mid-1980s, MTV led the way for promoting cutting edge music, such as New Wave and eventually rap. And now, Starbucks may have brewed a winning formula with caffeine and power chords.

For someone who likes his music a little bit on the adventurous side, I can drink to that.

The Irony of It All

2005-12-28T21:38:00.000-05:00

Somewhere in between all the self-congratulatory banter between Al Michaels and John Madden on the final broadcast of ABC Monday Football, it became clear to me that advertising agencies must be making a lot of money creating commercials that sell irony instead of products.

My father and I sat there literally scratching our heads, trying to figure out why a fellow in a Snickers commercial wore candy bars on his head to disguise his baldness. Was this actor supposed to be as nutty as a Snickers? And why did Snickers spend money on other commercials to confirm the obvious--that this snack food will be particularly ineffective in putting out a fire or hunting a deer.

Personally, I would have liked to have been in the room when the ad folks presented this concept. No reference to taste, price, value, or dozens of other factors that might convince me that a Snickers would be the perfect treat to curb my appetite. But at least I'm sure it satisfies my cravings better than Rogaine.

We were also perplexed with the latest campaign by Bud Light featuring a nebbish fellow named Bill Ferguson. Stuck in a dead end "customer service" job, Bill becomes a 21st century Walter Mitty, treating mundane occurrences as "stunts" that place his life in danger and force his rescuers to use Bud Light to revive him.

We're talking about real dangerous stuff here, such as listening to his girlfriend or staying two minutes past five o'clock at his job. Yes, it can be fun watching Bill go comatose listening to a John Tesh CD, but frankly, what's the message here? Drink Bud Light and become a real idiot like Bill Ferguson?

I call these ads "anti-commercials." Advertisers have lost faith in traditional methods of cutting through the clutter and respond instead with desperate parodies of commercials that make fun of themselves while hoping a jaded audience gets the joke (and buys the product).

Geico has practically turned this concept into an art form, stretching the limits of irony to a breaking point. Unfortunately, anyone who has suffered a fender bender will tell you that there is nothing funny about automobile insurance, which may be why I prefer the calm, sensible AllState spokesperson. If Geico is the teenage smart-aleck, AllState is clearly the adult.

Ironically, the funniest advertisement of the night did not intend to be. Three companies--Bayer, GlaxoSmithKline, and Schering-Plough--are promoting a web site called Mensfacts.com. In this latest attempt to make a buck off impotence, a cartoon animation pleasantly informs the viewer that anyone with diabetes, high blood pressure, and/or high cholesterol might notice a drop in his sex life.

When confronted with a series of ailments that may kill you, even a healthy sex life doesn't seem like a top priority here.

As far as the game itself, the final irony occurred on the gridiron. The New York Jets managed to lose 31-21 to the New England Patriots, the same score of the first Monday Night game broadcast on ABC 35 years ago, which the Jets also lost. Or as Howard Cosell might have said, "I'm just telling it like it is."

Idiot's Delight

2005-12-22T23:46:00.000-05:00

Our puppy fractured her shin a few days ago, and now she drags around a yellow cast on her back leg. Titina appears unaffected by this impediment, and when we take her outside, we spend half the time trying to keep her from running all over the place.

Titina ignores her plight, and gets on with her daily routine the best she can. She provides a fitting role model for long suffering Red Sox fans everywhere.

Johnny Damon is gone. Let's move on.

The pain might be a little diminished if Damon went to Los Angeles or Baltimore or frankly anywhere but those hated Yankees, who now feature a starting lineup with players making roughly $90 million next year.

In time, he might look back wistfully at his stay in Boston, just as Bruce Hurst once did, and rue the day he chased dollars rather than bask in the glow of his adoring fans. But as Alan Embree, Kevin Millar, and Mark Bellhorn learned to their collective horror, fans can quickly turn on their heroes when their performance starts to wane.

ESPN's Colin Cowherd described Red Sox fans as the little kids who loved the cat so much that they squeezed it to death. They love to beat up on their favorite superstars, and he correctly notes that time and time again, great players, such as Pedro Martinez, Nomar Garciaparra, Mo Vaughn, Carlton Fisk, Roger Clemens, and now Damon, all seem to leave on such a sour note.

Sadly, for real diehard fans, true joy only comes when the Red Sox saga resembles a Shakespearian tragedy, so I was glad to see that ESPN's Bill Simmons has taken a calm, rational approach to the whole matter. His summation is actually quite brilliant. "If you were Johnny Damon, would you have passed up $12 million to return to a team that didn't really seem to want you back? Didn't think so," he writes. "He's not Anakin, he's not Judas, he's not the Reverse Earl Hickey. He's just another businessman who followed the money and never looked back. In other words, he's a professional athlete."

Note that a certain championship driven organization just down road from Boston has been losing star players due to injury or free agency almost every year since it began its magical run of three Super Bowl wins in four years.

Bill Belichick is not an idiot. His players are not idiots. The self-proclaimed "idiots" on the Boston Red Sox likely adopted that pose as a defensive mechanism for the idiotic passion that infects the denizens of Red Sox nation.

Titina's leg should be as good as new in a few weeks. The hearts of Red Sox fans might take a little longer to heal. But I can also bet there will not be an empty seat in Fenway Park on opening day when the Sox face Toronto on April 11, 2006. In an age of free agency, the best phrase to describe all our star athletes also fits for the newly clean-shaven Johnny Damon.

Hair today. Gone tomorrow.

London Times

2005-12-17T06:57:00.000-05:00

I returned to London for the first time in twenty years this week, and once again remain fascinated by how two people can reconstruct a common language into uncommon idioms.

Linguistically, Americans and Brits resemble children who use the same set of Lego blocks to build identical toy towers with different colors. The accidental tourist may find just as much amusement reading and listening as he or she can have by seeing the sites.

I should note that the sites themselves are sometimes misnomers--the Tower of London is more castle than a tall structure, but that comes from a 21st century perspective of someone who worked in skyscrapers rather than that of the 11th century peasants toiling beneath it.

First, a common mistake is to assume that everyone in Britain speaks English at all. Walk within St. James Park and try to ask fellow tourists to take your picture standing next to points of interest or geese (which frankly are more numerous). Be prepared for blank stares or confused glances by Bulgarians on their first holiday.

Second, the British are both polite and helpful to the extreme, which might explain why they relentlessly warn about multiple hidden damages at every opportunity. Mind the Gap seems to be a national anthem, drilled repeatedly during all stops on the Tube. Mind the Stairs or Mind the Bump are close behind

The idea that we can avoid these dangers just by using our minds a little bit is both positive and refreshing, especially for confused or distracted Americans still trying to figure out why cars are traveling on the wrong side of the road.

Three, flat American accents fail to do justice to certain words that seem to flow much more naturally from the mouths of Brits, such as mad, lovely, rubbish, or my particular favorite, brilliant.

The names of several Underground stations also fascinated me. Members of Monty Python didn't need to look far for inspiration traveling beneath a city that features stops named Mudchute, Blackfriars, Cockfosters, Marylebone, and Goodge Street. I was tempted to travel to Elephant & Castle just to see what I might find there.

I particularly admire the apparently aesthetic bureaucrat who determined that signs near railway tracks should carry the warning Do Not Alight as if the average man or woman hovers near trains like a butterfly.

I was disappointed to learn that one of my favorite signs has disappeared from the London Underground. The British use the term Way Out as a substitute for Exit. The last time I visited London I admit I did experience a sense of disorientation for a few days until I realized the No Way Out signs simply meant No Exit, rather than a philosophical statement somewhat aligned with Sartre.

One station attendant told me that the Public Transport people took out all the No Way Out signs one night and replaced them with No Exit signs sometime ago. A sad moment for the lovers of irony everywhere.