Pow! Right Between The Eyes! Andy Nulman's Blog About Surprise

I'm Begging You--Please Help Me Ambush My Partner Gilbert on Twitter!

 

I haven't begged you for anything since the release of my Pow! book a year ago, but this is so dopey it's important:

I type this and plan this ambush as my great and good partner Gilbert Rozon boards a plane for a lengthy working sojourn in Edinburgh, Scotland. (That's him above if this thing works.) 

Here's the story--given the re-alignment of the Just For Laughs Festival, Gilbert and I have been in deep and spirited conversation all week. 

And, given its importance in our future, said conversation always ends up focusing on our digital strategy...to which his parting comment is always:

"Well what do you know?  I have more Twitter subscribers than you."

Yes, he calls them "subscribers."

Now, given his finely-honed sense of humor after three decades in the business, I thought he was kidding with that statement the first seven times he said it.  

But after the umpteenth verbatim repetition of it, I know he's wasn't.  He's dead serious.  He thinks that by gathering a whopping total of 2,800-some-odd Twitter followers, he's the digital love child of Aston (@aplusk) Kutcher and Diablo Cody (given that he knew who either one was...but I digress).

Truth be told, the reaping and sowing of Twitter followers has not been one of my obsessions.

Until now.

So, I'm not proud. 

I'm getting down on my knees and begging you to help me show him up. 

I'm begging you to please follow me on Twitter, and tell everyone you can to do the same.

I need you to help me return sanity to the conversation, and eliminate Gilbert's ridiculous blanket statements.

I promise I'll be worth your attention and time.  I'll Tweet more often, be witty, follow more of you, respond quicker, give you insider dirt...name your price!

As Bugs Bunny so profoundly said: "Of course you realize, this means war."

And war it must be.  Just look at Gilbert on his Twitter pic--wearing an army helmet, for Crissakes!  

Help me bring him down to size!

What's this shallow victory worth?  

One thousand charitable bucks.

Yup, I'll donate a buck to a worthwhile charity for every follower I have more than Gilbert, up to 1,000 of 'em, and post the receipt in this here blog.

I thank you.  Reason thanks you.  A charity thanks you.  

And so will Festival-goers throughout the ages.

See you, and about a thousand more, at www.twitter.com/andynulman

Spam Squared (Then Cubed)

This kills me.

Cleaning out spam on my Gmail Spam page, and what appears in the menu bar?

An Adwords link to a site called RecipeSource, which features, amongst a (and I use this term both figuratively and literally) shitload of other recipes, a whole slew of epicurean delights you can create with--yup, you guessed it--Hormel's majestic meat-esque product Spam.

The pot calling the kettle black?  A post-modern paradox?  Obvious overkill?  Brilliant subversive marketing?  Or a combination of all of the above? 

I'd be pissed off if it weren't so ironically humorous.

For those who don't feel like clicking over the links above, here's an example for a Green(-ish) Spam lunch, which appeared after I did.  Enjoy!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

SPAM VEGGIE PITA POCKETS

Recipe By: Carol Green, Austin, MN.
Serving Size: 8    Preparation Time: 0:00
Categories: Sandwiches

Amount   Measure     Ingredient -- Preparation Method
--------    ------------       --------------------------------
   1           can             SPAM Luncheon Meat, cubed
   1           c                Chopped broccoli
   1           c                Chopped cauliflower
   1                             Tomato, chopped
   1                             Carrot, peeled and chopped
   1/3         c               Chopped cucumber
   1/3         c               Finely chopped onion
   1/2         c               Italian salad dressing
   4                             Pita pocket breads, halved

STATE FAIR RECIPE:

In bowl, combine SPAM, broccoli, cauliflower, tomato, carrot,cucumber, and onion.

Toss with dressing. Cover and chill several hours.

Spoon salad mixture into pocket bread.

Punishing Loyalty For Dallying With The Competition

I am writing this from the Air Canada Maple Leaf Lounge, the ritzy executive enclave at Montreal's Trudeau Airport.

 

This place is like a second home to me.  I fly almost exclusively with Air Canada.  I am a Super Elite member--the top of top-tier fidelity program status--and even after depleting my account for family trips to Los Angeles and Denver, I still have about a half-million (yup, 500,000-) Frequent Flier miles at my disposal.

 

But even with an upgraded Business Class boarding pass in my hands for my 10:30 p.m., I am still seething.

 

Here's why:

 

I am speaking tomorrow morning at a Youth Entrepreneur Conference in Toronto.  Organized by students for students, I was supposed to be flying on Porter Airlines for two reasons-- convenience (the Toronto Island Airport is next door to the Harbour Castle hotel where I am speaking), and economy (to help save the students money, I agreed to the cheaper Porter ticket).  Now I've flown Porter before and it's a delight in every way...but my worldwide travel sked and Super Elite status always leans me towards Air Canada whenever I can.

 

Anyway, I get to the airport and the 9:00 p.m. Porter flight is long delayed due to fog problems at the tiny Toronto Island Airport.  No prob, I'll just phone the conference organizer and tell her I'll be late.  

 

But of course, for some reason, tonight's the one night I can't get a wi-fi signal on my Blackberry or Laptop, and the organizer's contact info is in my Gmail.

 

No problem, I think, I'll just head into the Maple Leaf lounge, use the Internet, and get her number.

 

And that's where the trouble begins!

 

So, guess which Super Elite member was refused entry to his second home?

 

And guess why?  Because I'm "Flying with a competitor" as I was told.

 

"Indeed," I agreed, "but these are extenuating circumstances.  And I just want to use the Internet for 60 seconds!"

 

"Too bad," I was told.  "No boarding pass, no entry."  

 

Now I can understand if I have no history with the company, and I'm trying to mooch my way in for a free drink or bag of pretzels.  But Airborne Mobile, my company, spends tens of thousands of dollars with Air Canada every year.  I am a charter member of Aeroplan, the aforementioned frequent flier program.  And when the world dumps on this airline, I defend it.  (At a recent Super Elite get-together with Air Canada execs, including my friend Air Canada CEO Calin Rovinescu, I was asked my biggest beef with the airline.  I couldn't think of anything that wasn't small-minded on my part; just get me there safely and on time, that's all I want.  Jeez, I wish they would ask me that now...but I digress).

 

So what do I do?

 

I BUY a one-way ticket to Toronto for $289 or so, get into the lounge, get the organizer's number, and tell her to cancel the Porter flight (there was no guarantee it was going to be able to land tonight, nor any that I could get on the 6:30 a.m. tomorrow).  

 

My polite and controlled fury at the desk resulted in an upgrade, which I appreciate. 

 

But here's what I don't:

 

When a loyal customer uses the competition now and then, don't treat him like a scarlett-letter-wearing, enemy-of-the-state traitor.  Yeah, we all want monopolies, and our customers to pledge undying faith only to us. 

 

And I also want to be 6-foot-5, 25 years old again, and have $100 million in the bank.

 

Wake up, Air Canada.  The world is different these days.  It's a big sandbox, and there are lots of other players in it.  Don't "punish" me for using the competition; invite me to learn why I shouldn't. 

 

Here's what I would do in this situation, or in any situation when I would be LUCKY ENOUGH to have a competitor's customer in my grasp:

 

"Hey, Porter may have funky ads and flight attendants in cool outfits, but our planes have no problem landing in a bit of fog.  In fact, if you change your flight to us right now, I will give you $100 off and an upgrade certificate for your next one."  Or something like that.

 

This is a touchpoint that could result in solidified loyalty and customer conversion.

 

Instead, it results in loosening the loyalty of one of the few hardcore Air Canada fans left out there, and has him biting the hand that feeds him in the Executive Lounge, instead of relaxing with a magazine or chilling with a glass of wine.

 

A true lose-lose.

Where Boredom Meets Why Bother

 
I must admit that I dig Tim Hortons.  Go there often, enjoy the coffee, enjoy even more the homespun atmosphere and hardwired interweaving into the cultural fabric of Canada.  You're never far from home when you're near a Timmy's. 

Like all Canucks with a more-than-modest modicum of national success under its belt, Tim Hortons is trying to crack the American market, and as a patriotic compadre, I wish I could wish them well. 

But I'm scared.  Here's why:

This one hurts, guys, as you have become a deserved and much beloved icon above the 49th parallel, but trust me, there is NO WAY you're gonna do it, not a Timbit's chance in a meatgrinder, with a namby-pamby, dull, say-nothing slogan like:

Tim Hortons: 

Where Quality Meets Value

I couldn't believe it when I first heard it, thinking that is was some sort of parody or Canada-bashing joke.  But no, there it was, confirmed in a somewhat biting article in Brandweek.

Not that "Always Fresh" is a work of creative genius, but "Where Quality Meets Value"?  That could be the slogan for 10,000 nondescript, dull, uninspiring businesses, from a corner shoe store to a wholesale meat packing plant.  This is the anti-slogan, one which must've been composed by a mole being surreptitiously funded by Dunkin' Donuts, Starbucks or Krispy Kreme...and being high-fived as I write this.

Holy jeez.  Someone PLEASE tell me this is some mistake.  In the meantime, I think I'll drown my sorrows and say my prayers over a single-single.

Book Opening Acts Lead To More Book Openings

Read with interest, and much envy, about Margaret Atwood’s book tour, christened by Maclean’s Mag as her “Traveling Salvation Show.”  Forget stodgy in-store readings or dreary “behind-a-table” encounters, the great dame of Canadian literature has taken to the road with a “show” that features singing, recitals, a full costumed choir and even some eye-popping dance moves (hey, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen Maggie get down) in churches and other non-traditional venues.

Surprise, Surprise indeed, but what was really impressive about Queen Margaret’s tour was that is was more old-school rock ‘n’ roll (tour to sell recorded music) than new-school bookselling (let’s do something different, for Christ’s sake!).

And this got me to thinking…
 
Like great rock tours of yore, when a headlining act would bestow its blessing on a newcomer and expose them to an audience much greater than they could possibly dream of reaching at that stage in their career, why don’t the elite power-authors (Dan Brown, J.K. Rowling, Stephen King, Mitch Joel et al) use their reach to “break” new writing talent?

Stay with me here.

Let’s say that each copy of Brown’s latest opus was appended with two chapters from a writer that he, and/or his publisher, is particularly enamored with.  Read those chapters, like ‘em, and you can download the rest of the book for a fee.  Or for free.  Or download a mega-deep discount coupon to pick up said new book in store, generating much-needed traffic and the possibility of picking up something else once you’re there.  Or, for a limited time, do a big mofo BOGO promo, where the Brown book is physically bundled with another one, or your choice of three, with a huge honking rubber band.

Anyway, you get the drill. This is more than Amazon recommendations or bookstore shelves proclaiming “If you like this (Harry Potter), you’ll like this (The Hunger Games)."  This is a sampling program with hard product…or at least digital versions of same.

Does it work?  Well, back in my teen days, thanks to the *generosity* of bands like Kiss and Bad Company (or, more likely record company pressure or greed, but I digress), I got to discover then-just-breaking bands like Cheap Trick and Lynyrd Skynyrd (yeah, I know…a long time ago).  More recently, without headlining Damien Rice, I would’ve never gotten to know The Frames.

Movies do this all the time, albeit at the "front of the book” with a series of trailers.  I think the book biz, one that’s in the doldrums, can benefit from seeding the marketplace this way...or some way like this way. 

Yeah, I’ve seen some “added bonus” chapters in books, but the follow-up was passive at best…if anything at all.  What I’d like to see now are the weight-carriers throw their weight around in a way more aggressive, uplifting and “discover this!” manner.

So if any mega-selling author is willing to take up the challenge, I’ve got a perfect book to start with…

Kill The Yahbot

Here's what's been driving me crazy lately:

The "Yahbot."

The Yahbot is a creature that's been infiltrating way too many of my meetings these days.  The Yahbot is a stone-deaf, loudmouth pain in the ass.   He looks somewhat like the creature below.

As oft-mentioned here, over at Airborne, we have launched a major new project and will launch an even more major one within months.  This necessitates countless meetings, pitches and dog-and-pony shows.  And the Yahbot has reared its ugly head at just about every one. 

The Yahbot, to better explain, is that time in a professional (or personal...it doesn't discriminate) encounter when the other side reacts to one of your statements with a sledgehammer:

"Yeah, but..."

I hate the damn Yahbot.

In essence it means "I agree with you, however..."

What it REALLY means though, is "I disagree."  Or more likely, "I don't care what you say.  Here's my opinion."

Now I'm a big boy.  I've been in business for well over three decades.  I can take criticism.  I can take a "no."  In fact, I kinda relish both; they bring out the fight, make me stand up for what I believe in, and show me another side that I wouldn't have normally seen.

But the Yahbot is way worse than criticism.  It's a dismissal of your point; a waiting game for the other side's turn to make theirs.  It's a "I kinda hear some noise emanating from your piehole, but I choose not to actually listen to it."

Now maybe I'm too anal when it comes to semantics.  But by actually listening to and taking an interest in the message, the Yahbot can be defeated by saying:

"I agree with your point...and here's a way I see to improve it." 
(If you agree, there is no "but.")

or

"I disagree...and think we should do (whatever) instead."
(If there's a "but," you don't agree.)

Walk down the path together, or face your crossroads.  Either way, you kill the Yahbot...

...which brings to life better communications, better teamwork and better decisions.

So, as you read this, I am off to Toronto for two days of meetings and presentations.

And Yahbot hunting. 

Will let you know how many scalps I return with. 

Blissed Off (Don't Get Me Mad On a Friday)

There's an old expression that goes "There's no such thing as bad publicity."

...so I trust that Jeanne Bliss and Mike Chapman will benefit from the following.

Now before I get started, let me say that I love Jeanne Bliss.  Not in a sexual or motherly way, but I dig her work.  A longtime proponent of doing right by the customer, she has parlayed a wealth of experience at megacorps like Coldwell Banker, Allstate, Microsoft and Land's End into her own successful coaching, speaking and writing business/career.  So when I get an email about/from her, I open it up immediately.

Now, as an author, I know that plugging a book is a tough slog, but this kind of stuff devalues the process.  I copy and paste and bring it to you verbatim...with some comments in red itals.

Hello, Andy. (Uhh...punctuation check, please!)

Jeanne Bliss – www.customerbliss.com -  who I’m working with, is about to have her new website completed and live (to coincide with the release of the book) (uh, what book?) and one of the things she’s really interested in doing is posting YouTubes (Congrats!  YouTube videos have become proper nouns!) on the site under a “Decision/Vision” section that focuses on customer service.

The idea is to capture that moment on video when companies decide to be a great (a great what?) by being great at customer service. Of course an interview or recap is most practical since we don’t know when those moments are coming. (Huh?)

I’m wondering if you would be interested? (Uh, maybe, but interested in what exactly?) In true social media fashion we’re trying to ask and not tell people what we we’re looking for so I’d love any ideas you have. (Whoa!  This really sucks.  This is in true LAZINESS fashion.  YOUR job IS to tell me what you're looking for.  It's YOUR job to generate ideas for Jeanne, not mine.  Don't try pull the wool over my eyes by playing the "social media" card.)

Also, would you like some copies of the new book to keep, giveaway, etc.? (Etc.?  Like what, use as firewood?) All I need is an address and I can get you 5 or 10. (Now there's a qualifier for ya! How about a pulse?  Or a knowledge of the English language?  Or an interest in the subject matter?  And only 5 or 10?  Come on, you piker!  Why not send a case so that I can return 'em to Borders and finance my weekend reverie?) 

Thanks a bunch,

Mike Chapman

Now I'm sure Mike is a nice guy, kind to kids, pays his taxes, etc.  But please, don't try to sell me a book about blissful customer experience with such a dreadful, error-ridden, sloppy and disrespectful (to both Jeanne and me) customer experience. 

Hmmm...unless this is some brilliant anti-marketing showing how NOT to do it.

Jeanne, good luck with "I Love You More Than My Dog."  I really hope it works and sells well.  So much so that I'll close off this rant with a picture of it...

...and a link, for Mike, about Seth Godin's latest ventue. You may need it.

The Moment. To Live It or To Capture It?

I get it, but I don't necessarily understand it.

Or perhaps it's the other way around...

Either way, the miniaturization of cameras and their insertion into virtually every handheld communication device has made us a nation of cyclopses.  The big screen of life as we now know it is increasingly viewed through the small screen in our palms.  

The result includes the rise "citizen journalism," and terrabytes of imagery stored and displayed on YouTube, Flickr, Photobucket, Facebook and the like.

That's the good news.

The bad news is that people are losing the emotional value of the live moment.

Tell ya what I mean--a couple of weeks ago, I took in the momentous "Walking With Dinosaurs" show when it rumbled into town.  While not without its flaws, the life-size, life-like re-creations of dinosaurs were staggering, and given their immense grandeur, literally "in your face."

Yet as I watched the show, I was distracted by a persistent glow throughout the arena--the glow of cameras and cellphones capturing the gargantuan action on teeny screens.  So transfixed were these spectators that most of 'em didn't even look up.

It wasn't just the dinosaurs.  At two concerts I attended over the past three weeks, people all around me did the same, from vantage points that reduced the on-stage action into little more than unrecognizable stick figures bathed in a colorful blur of light on their screens. 

As I said, I get it.  You pays your ticket, you wanna bring home a souvenir of the show...and share it with others.  But in doing so, something's gotta give. It's hard to clap with one hand affixed to an electronic device. It's hard to dance if it throws off the focus and stabilization.  It's hard to appreciate the emotion of the immediate when you are absorbing it for tomorrow through the filter of a camera lens. Ask yourself:

Are you enjoying?

Or merely capturing?

It reminds me of a parent of one of my son's gradeschool classmates.  He attended EVERY ONE of his daughter's recitals, plays, events, what have you, but saw EVERY SINGLE MINUTE of 'em through a video camera.  For six years, I never saw this guy's right eye.  So...while he can re-live every moment, the real question is:

Was he ever really there in the first place?

This is the problem. 

The solution?

If I were a band or a touring show, what I would do is give each fan a free DVD (I would say weblink, but most of the stuff ALREADY exists on the web) stocked with hundreds of photos, video clips et al, and tell 'em that why I don't mind if they take pix, I would rather they stay focused on the show itself. 

This way, they could have their souvenir cake, eat it too, and fully absorb the moments that build the crucial stage-to-fan bond.

Because once that goes...there will nothing left to take pictures of. 

Except, maybe, you and I.

Say Cheese...

Last Wishes

Last week, on a routine business flight to Chicago, I'm reading the most recent Wired (the one with Brad Pitt on the cover), and I'm interrupted by the flight attendant offering me a snack--a mini-can of Pringles.

I check the can's label and refuse politely. Holy Jeez--210 calories!  That's more than 10% of my daily allowance! (Faithful FOPs know my obsession with fitness and health and trying desparately not to eat junk food...but I digress.)

I continue reading the mag, more specifically a  piece about a Journal of Marketing Research study called "Remedying Hyperopia--The Effects of Self-Control Regret on Consumer Behavior" (nutshell summary: Regret over choosing the responsible alternative over the more hedonistic, selfish one diminishes over time)...

...and suddenly, we're hit by SEVERE TURBULENCE.

For those of you who have never experienced the sensation of SEVERE TURBULENCE (and I know it was because the pilot descibed it as such), consider the plane to be a cocktail shaker, with you being an ice cube. The violent, successive 45-degree sikde-to-side flops of the plane whiplashed my neck to the point where I'm still dealing with a pinched nerve from my right shoulder up through my head. 

While the whole thing only lasted about 30 seconds (cause: we were too close to the wake of a 767 ten miles in front of us), I truly thought--and probably said out loud--that the plane was going down, fast.

And the one thing that passed though my mind during that terrifying, bone-jarring, half-minute?

"Acchh...I should've had the Pringles."

There's a marketing message, and subsequent set of tactics, in there somewhere. 

And as soon as this damn pain in my head goes away, I'm gonna concretize it...and bottle it.

John Meets Paul (and it ain't The Beatles)

One of the honors that Just For Laughs bestows upon its top-level stars is the creation of a massive papier-mache likeness.  This effigy is presented to said star after his or her show, and lives long after their visit as a character in the Festival’s annual parade. 

Well, this year, Whoopi Goldberg, Martin Short and John Cleese were recipients of the giant heads. Whoopi’s was incredible; a true work of art.  Martin’s was almost as good, capturing his impish spirit, but a little rough transport left a sizable gouge under the mammoth mask’s left eye.  “Look, they even got my scar!” he kidded.

But when it came to Cleese, the giant head missed the mark almost completely.  It was a distorted grey-haired caricature, spotted with age spots and blemishes.  It was brought backstage while John was in his dressing room, and he caught a glimpse of it while making his way back to the stage.  He looked at it for a few seconds in bewilderment, and then went onstage to introduce an act.

Upon returning from the intro, a Just For Laughs exec asked him what he thought.  In all seriousness, John said:

“Who’s that supposed to be?”

When told it was indeed a sculpture of him, John laughed uncontrollably. 

“Me?  You’re kidding! I thought there’s some sort of strange posthumous tribute being planned for Paul Newman.”

Judge for yourself with the picture below as I pose with John/Paul.

No Mercy

So, as promised...

As previously mentioned in this post here, John Cleese came down with a particularly nasty bout of Prostatitis (an inflammation of the prostate gland...ouch and yowzah!) during this year's Just For Laughs, and eventually had to reschedule his Wednesday, July 22nd show into two of ‘em on Sunday, July 26th.  Due to his fragility, we tried to conserve his energy, and one such energy-conserving tactic was for John to switch roles with me during rehearsals, i.e. he watching the proceedings, the movements and the stage blocking as a director with me stepping into his role with the actors under the lights.  That's me on the right below:

One of the three sketches he was to perform in the show was to hold a Telethon to raise money to help him pay off his massive $20 million alimony debt (his divorce from Alyce Faye Eichelberger was the running theme of the night).  Here’s an excerpt from that sketch:

JC:
...and in case you need even more encouragement to pull out your wallet, I am going to do something tonight that I have never done before in my career – that is, I will take requests.  From you in the audience, and from those of you at home.

I’m sure many of you would like to see some of my famous routines.  Perhaps some Basil Fawlty.  Or the French Taunter.  I’m even willing to re-enact my dramatic scene with Keanu Reeves from ‘The Day The Earth Stood Still’… No?  All right… Anyway, as long as you donate, I will do anything you ask.

(Man in audience stands up)

JC:
Yes sir, what would you like me to do?

MAN 1:
For a dollar twenty five, I would like to hit you with this piece of plywood.

What would happen next is George Reinblatt, one of the show’s writers and annual role players, would climb up on stage an whack John across the back with a two-by-four.  Well, since I was now playing John, I had to go the distance and take one for the team.The menacing board was made of balsa wood and designed to “break away” on contact, so I braced myself for the assault.

Well, let me assure you that even made of balsa, being cracked on the spine with a truncheon hurts…especially when it doesn’t “break away” as advertised.  The crack sounded like Albert Pujols connecting with a fastball during a Home-Run Derby, and it sent me to the ground with a one-word curse instantaneously.

The 10 extras portraying telethon operators (those seated behind me in the photo above) looked on in horror as I writhed upon the stage floor, groaning, trying to rid myself of the blur of stars I was seeing. 

After a few simultaneous gasps from others in attendance, the whole theatre went silent for about 20 seconds.

And then, the silence was broken by a most familiar British-accented voice, albeit a little weaker than usual, which said, sotto voce from his seat in the front row:

“Come on…get up, you wimp!”

I've Been Delinquent!

I know.  Please stop reminding me.

Many reasons, most notably:

1. My father died June 30 and there was more than I expected to take care of
2. Had a week of vacation spent directing the Just For Laughs Galas
3. Some crazy action at Airborne Mobile, including a TV Network Launch, the rapid rise of Homes on Mobile Phones and the continual wheeling-and-dealing to land one of our biggest brand deals evah!

So, what does this all mean?

I'm off to Chicago tomorrow.  Maybe some Posting from the plane.  But if not, I'll be back in the Pow! saddle come next weekend.

Thanks for your continued support, oh faithful FOPs!

Not Funny, But...

Just back from my high school reunion, and as is the case at such events, talk turned to "Whatever happened to ______________?" (fill in the blank with classmate who hadn't shown up).

Well, very sad to say, in the case of one such absent classmate, he had recently passed away. 

But here's why this fits in this here blog--when I checked my classmate's  online obit, not only was I shocked with the fact that banner ads are sold atop the "Remembering" page, the selection of said ad was mighty unfortunate indeed:

If the name of the show wasn't bad enough, the accompanying visual made things even worse.  I know these placements are auto-generated, but with all the customization advances made over the past couple of years on and for the 'Net, you'd figure that this can be avoided somehow.

Poker About-Face

Spent a few days in Vegas last week at the CTIA conference, and one of the things that struck me was the extreme misery of poker players.

While waiting in a snaking line to pick up tickets for a show at Bellagio, I spent 15 minutes peering into the casino’s Poker Room, where a sizable tournament was taking place.  Now while I’m not much of a gambler, I do understand the need for a “Poker Face”…but when you see 'em en masse, the result is staggering, and quite hysterical.  Imagine playing cards on death row…without the camaraderie.

You gotta figure, in the tradition of Pow! Tactic #5 (“Look In The Rear-View Mirror”) and doing things backward, that there’s an opportunity for the next great Poker champ to swing things around and be uber-expressive; so much so that in the unabashed over-the-topness, he or she accomplishes the same objective of not letting opponents know what cards are being held.  (If the fashion world can have Beth Ditto, why can't the poker world have a Johnny Wildman?

Imagine the fun of televised Poker tournaments—now a cross between a funeral, a statistics class and a gunfight at OK Corral—if one of the players grimaced, made goofy faces, laughed, snorted, gestured and generally just lit up the room.

He or she may not live long, but the sight would most definitely be an entertaining one…for as little as it lasts.

No Fools Are You

Welcome to the Third Annual
Pow! Right Between The Eyes
April Fool's Let-Down.

STILL no jokes.  No pranks.  No "gotchas"!

And not because I'm a spoilsport or Springtime Scrooge. 

It's just that you expect Surprises on April 1st.

And expectations are the enemy of Surprise. 

In fact, it's a paradox.  You can't expect what you don't expect. 

So sorry to be a wet rag, but at Surprise Central, it's just another day.*

Uh...you weren't expecting this, were ya?

*(At the CTIA conference in Las Vegas though, things may be VERY different.  Check in here in a few days and see.)

Weekend Rant--Pick THIS You Vultures; My Brain's Off-Limits

People who know me say I'm a pretty nice guy.

I give to charity, treat my employees fairly and with respect, and am good to my family.  I speak to student assemblies at my old grade school and high school, and I'm kind to animals, most notably to dogs.

So keep that in mind as I prepare to rail against a breed of vultures who demand of my time by asking me if they can, arrrrggggggghhhhh, PICK MY BRAIN!

Three times in the last week-and-a-half alone some well-meaning but poor-delivering soul has requested "just an hour of my time" so that they could claw at my cerebellum for their exclusive benefit.

While not everything in life needs to be tit-for-tat, could someone explain where MY win is in having my "brain picked"?  The process sounds like a nefarious experiment from a Herschell Gordon Lewis bloodfest where the spoils go to the picker and spoiled leftover is me, the unfortunate pickee.

Now I'm no fool and I get it; there comes a time in life when one's collective accomplishments or mere longevity at doing anything makes them a candidate to dispense what one with fewer achievements or time-in-the-field will consider "wisdom."  That I can accept, understand, and in my case, even appreciate as a supreme compliment.

But there HAS TO BE a better way to ask for an audience with said person than with the insidious Brain Pick. The verbal equivalent of a silent burp after a meal of garlicky Portuguese sausage and dark Bavarian beer, this is an IMMEDIATE turn-off which results in a knee-jerk reaction of me constructing something akin to the Great Wall of China around my calendar. Pick my brain?  You're gonna need an industrial-strength jackhammer just to poke a pinhole in my Outlook.

So, as I sponge up the venom from my keyboard and desk and pop half an Ativan to calm down, let me provide you knowledge-and-advice-seekers with a little bit of it in advance: put away your pick-axes and cranial maps and use instead terminology like:

• "Would you mind giving me the benefit of your experience?" or
• "Would you be so kind to share your expertise?" or
• "There are a few things I would appreciate learning from you"

...or something else that establishes that you are asking for a favor, and not the opportunity to invade one's brain with a sharp, deadly weapon.

This is not saying you need to suck up or kiss-ass.  The goal is still the same: a sincere wish for a transfer of knowledge. But it's all about staying on message with a message that's a little more humble and positive.

This way, people like me won't feel like a victim.  Or see you as a predator. 

And, most importantly, have more of our brain left to share with the next person who asks properly.

Unbreakable. Play Loud!

With the popularity of Rock Band and Guitar Hero, this just had to happen. 

This from faithful FOP Chris Field, who I first met last year this time at the Shop.org event in Orlando (a place I wouldn't mind being right now given the recent deep freeze in the Northeast, but I digress):

Find out more and--heaven help us all--perhaps even buy some at AirGuitarStrings.com

Flying First Class?

Another note from last week's Sports Business Journal conference, where the Cliché du Conference seemed to be:

"A FLIGHT TO QUALITY"

as in "in these tough economic times, consumers will demand more; we'll be seeing a Flight To Quality."

Oh really?

Given Wal-Mart's Q3 surge (up 10% while the competition gushes blood), and the reality of job losses, fear in the marketplace and a suspended economy, I think the flight is more to value and necessity than quality at this stage of the game.

In fact, I wouldn't even call it "a flight" anywhere.  I think the proper term should be:

"A BUS RIDE TO SURVIVAL"

Feel free to use it at the upcoming conference of your choice.

Screwing Around With New Words

As a voracious reader and obsessive writer, I love words.  Like I am with clothes, I have a few favorites I sport way too often, and I'm always up to finding new ones.

Marketers are renowned--sometimes infamous--for creating new terminology, as an addition to the everyday lexicon, a la Malcolm Gladwell's "Tipping Point" or Chris Anderson's "Long Tail" (jeez, that's the second mention this week; the tail gets longer indeed) is perhaps one of the strongest sales tools around.

That said, my new pet term is

"Gastrosexual"

...a word examined in detail by Martyn Tipping and Robert Sprung of branding agency Tipping-Sprung (no relation to Gladwell's book) in this week's Brandweek. They explain that it describes a male demographic, aged 25-44, upwardly mobile, and the target for such products as "an action-packed Videogame featuring Hell's Kitchen chef Gordon Ramsey," "a kitchen designed by Porsche" and "$200 a pair Peugeot electric salt and pepper mills."

(Note: This is not to be confused with the term "Castrosexual," which I believe describes a demographic of people who like to fool around with Communists.)

I think it's time for me to make myself a peanut-butter sandwich.

Damn The Nickels and Dimes! One Price Fits All

I am flying while I write this.  Luckily, I was upgraded on this flight and am currently being offered snacks and drinks and food and blankets and pillows.  And smiles. 

Not so for my friends (and myself most often) back in economy. 

Now, I bitch and moan a lot about airlines, but the "cash grab" they have instituted is pervasive throughout the entire travel economy.  I just got back from a very fine stay at San Francisco's InterContinental Hotel, where I had to lay out $4.50 for a Clif Bar, $9.00 for a bottle of water (didn't; did the tap instead), $34.95 for three days of Internet and so on.  God forbid if I even TOUCHED something in the mini-bar; the sensitivity of it's hair-trigger motion detection system would ring up a charge if I even breathed on an item.

Doesn't that make me feel like a responsible adult...

Compare this to a recent stay at Santa Fe's Inn of The Five Graces. 

Granted that the per-night charge was rather elevated, but inside my room was a fully-stocked fridge of iced-tea, Perrier, cheese, chocolate and all sorts of other goodies.  Take what you please, please. (Never mind the bowl of salsa and chips upon my arrival, and the cookies before bed every night.)

Instead of nickel-and-diming me, they made me "feel" that all this stuff was free, but more-than-recouped it on my inclusive room charge.  I don't know what they pocketed, but it has to be way more than the InterContinental, or the Hilton, or the Marriott, or the Doubletree made off me my last six months as I munched on convenience store-bought energy bars and fluids that I schlepped into my room instead .

The lesson here?  Being petty gives people the chance--the RIGHT!--to bitch.  Being generous, even if it's a hidden generosity, Surprises people, generates a much more positive flow of words about you...and brightens your bottom line in the process.

 

Old Hates Die Hard

So here I am on Monday, flying home from Chicago, and I peek into the Business Class cabin in the Embraer 190 jet I am ensconced within, and I see that of the nine available seats, only one is being used.

Eight gaping holes.

Now the economies of air travel are frightening, and as an outsider I don't know all the reasons why, but here's what I do know:

Air Canada wasted
eight golden opportunities
to improve its image.

Almost two years ago, I ranted about this, and even offered some solutions.  But nothing has changed, except perhaps the level of my disappointment. 

So let's examine the scenario:  the flight was fine, actually arrived early, with one sole passenger in an otherwise empty Business Class section.  Chance of anyone saying anything--ANYTHING!--about the experience:

Less Than Zero

But let's say the Captain chirpily announced over the plane's PA system: "Folks, we know flying isn't always fun, but today it is.  We have a little Surprise for eight of you. You are movin' on up to Business Class!" and passed out new boarding passes to eight random seat holders. Or six.  Or even four.

Chance of these lucky people raving about the flight and the airline:

The Surest of Sure Bets

Chance of the other 70 or so passengers telling everyone they know about the Surprise upgrade:

No Less Than 100%

I'm sure there are 1,000 excuses why this can't be done; not enough meals, not enough coffee, not enough headphones, sets a bad precedent, diminishes the value of the seat, blah blah blah.

But the airlines should be focusing on "why" instead of "why not." 

Then maybe there'd be more blog posts that cheer and rave instead of bitch and moan.

And--heaven forbid--maybe even some more happy customers.

Passed On

Something arrived in my in-box sealed with the kiss of death. 

It was one of those notices for a "Friends and Family/Sample" Sale, with unimaginable deals, where the sender urges others to

"Pass It On!"

Well, given that it made it to my in-box, the sender can chalk up at least one little success. 

But that's where the wins end, because I ain't going.

These things are about as exclusive, and as hard to swing an invite to, as a Hilary Clinton rally.  Given the hard-fought bargain battles they spawn, they are for people with few friends and who hate their family. While the deals are indeed good, they ain't worth the hours standing in line, the fighting once you get into the less-than-ideal retail location (usually a factory or converted warehouse space), and the even-less-than-less-than-ideal opportunities to try something on (about as dignified as feeding time time at the zoo, but in your underwear).

All this aside, you know that just by urging someone to "Pass It On!" you are minimizing any type of "real" buzz these sales can generate.   Today's web-savvy consumers see through this type of hype. "Pass it on" is code for "uncool."

Wanna really spark a stampede?  Mark the next sales email with:

"PLEASE KEEP THIS TO YOURSELF!"

Putting The Airport Into Airport Hotels

Was at the Doubletree Airport Hotel in Toronto last week, and while the hotel chain is renowned for its warm chocolate chip cookie offering upon check-in, what was more impressive (and provided way more Pow!) was the presence of a flight departure/arrival screen in the lobby.

Maybe I just haven't noticed, but this is the first time I've ever seen this in a hotel, which begs the question:

"Why isn't this standard in every
airport hotel lobby
(or better yet, on our in-room
TV screens)?"

Airport hotels cater to two very specific market segments--the traveler, and the soon-to-be-traveling--so it seems that acting as an extension to the airport itself, with sensitive and important information such as real-time flight skeds, would make them even more valuable as a place to stay.

While Airport hotels are only a hop, skip and jump away from the terminals themselves, these screens would allow delayed passengers to skip a few hops and jumps, and make plan changes amongst the reasonable calm of a lobby or bedroom rather than within the middle of the airport maelstrom.

Or choose a rental car agency instead.

April Fuel

Welcome to the Second Annual
Pow! Right Between The Eyes
April Fool's Let-Down.

No jokes.  No pranks.  No "gotchas"!

And not because I'm a spoilsport or Springtime Scrooge. 

It's just that you expect Surprises on April 1st.

And expectations are the enemy of Surprise.  In fact, it's a paradox.  You can't expect what you don't expect.  So sorry to be a wet rag, but at Surprise Central, it's just another day.

Uh...you weren't expecting this, were ya?

Cheeses Christ Almighty!

Okay.  So you know I love Surprise in all its ways, shapes and forms.

But sometimes...sometimes...sometimes...

Case in point for my head-scratching is The Orange Underground.

I dunno.  There seems to be something wrong and way too forced when the Frito-Lay company is channeling the spirit of underground anarchy (including terminology like "Fight The Man!" and "Join The Revolution") to push--wait for it--Cheetos.

Random Acts of Chaos to sell cheesy snacks?  Abbie Hoffman, Jerry Rubin and the other five must be rolling in their graves.  (Ask your parents, kids.  Or click here.)

Maybe I'm old school, but tossing a handful of the orange poofs into someone's white wash load doesn't seem to be  the best way to make me wanna munch a bunch of the stuff, but maybe that's just the point...who said we have to eat it?

I guess if Q-tips can be used as a paint brush or "precision tools," then I guess it stands to reason that Cheetos can be used as a weapon.  Coming up: potato chips as a torture device and death by cotton candy.

The campaign apparently reaches a zenith on 04/01/08...better known as April Fool's Day.

UPDATE:  I ain't alone in my views.  Check this out from Advertising Age.

No It Ain't

So, the city of St. Louis--a city that I happen to love, by the way--embarks on an expensive marketing campaign to tout itself to tourists.  A faithful FOP (Friend of Pow!) sent example below along, the ad where the city labels itself as "Surprising" (see the badge, right side in the middle).

Okay, so when you think of St. Lou, what do you think of?

• Budweiser Beer
• The Blues (the music...and perhaps the hockey team)
• The Cardinals (and maybe the Rams as well)
• The Arch

So, what do they show in the ad?  A bar scene with two-piano blues, Busch Stadium (killing the beer and sports reference with one picture), and a generic picture of the Convention Center/Casino.  That's about as Surprising as Florida sunshine or Denver snow.

Take away the words St. Louis and the Bud logo, and this could be an ad for any major city on the continent. (And that wishy-washy headline?  Let's not even go there for sake of my blood pressure.) 

Jeez guys, if you really want to take us on a walk on the Surprise side, you've got to go AGAINST the grain, not so blandly with it.

Walking The Talk

Last week, I told you about a speech I gave at McGill University for its marketing students.  I wasn't gonna tell you about another McGill-related speech I gave the day before, but seeing the reaction it garnered--and how my ramblings fit the theme of this blog--I guess I should come clean.

The event was called "Are We American?", a look at Canadian Culture in North America.  Given my Just For Laughs heritage, I was conveniently placed in the Humour section with three others, and figured that this was one of those polite panel discussions where we would be asked questions and banter about happy things happily.

Well, less than a week from speak-day, I received an email with these instructions:

"For your formal remarks, however, please remember to speak into the microphone on the podium.  As this is not primarily an academic conference, your presentation need not be overly formal."

Uh, "Formal"?  "Presentation?"  Sorry folks, too busy, too late.  So, given the topic of the conference, instead of a dry, podium-delivered platitude, I decided to live up to the standards set by Surprise Central, channel my inner American, and rant. 

And rant I did.  About how "you get what you pay for," and since I wasn't getting remunerated, I wasn't putting out.  About how sick I am about being the polite Canadian, and being quiet all the time.  About how I wasn't just going to ignore the other speakers, but use my Blackberry during their presentations.  All this while sporting a "Proud Republican" t-shirt I had bought in Chicago on Super Tuesday.

Well, the room was indeed shocked.  And of course, being filled with Canadians, they politely applauded after being yelled at and insulted for five minutes.  The end result?  Perhaps it's best expressed by blogger Jenni Campbell, who said:

"Andy Nulman’s contribution to the panel was either profoundly subtle in its lampooning of Canadian’s perceptions of Americans, or in-your-face obnoxious. He got up when it was his turn to speak and announced that, because he wasn’t being paid to speak at the conference, he was going to shrug off the polite Canadian act and behave how an American would were he to be asked to give a talk and participate in a discussion without the appropriate remuneration...

"One reason why I found Nulman’s schtick to be so painfully funny upon reflection was because I spent most of it thinking what a jerk he was and how very uncivil and un-Canadian he was being."

Heh heh heh.  As George W. himself would've said, "Mission Accomplished."

American Express 1: A-mess

Just before I left on Christmas vacation last year, I received a little bill-stuffer from American Express touting its "Gateway Plus" program, their buyer-protection-plus plan...so to speak.  One of the features, and I quote, is that the plan:

"...protects eligible retail purchases made with the Card automatically against accidental physical damage and most theft for 90 days from date of purchase."

Simple enough.  Or so I thought.

One of my holiday Amex splurges was a $325 Gucci hat, which I shared with my son Hayes who, to be honest, looked a whole lot better in it than I did.  Which is why, when he wanted to borrow it for a night on the town, I was happy to lend it to him.

Well, four hours later, a somewhat upset Hayes came home and told me that said hat had been stolen at a bar.  He had taken it off to fix his hair, and when he went to put it on again, it was gone.

"No problem!" I beamed with confidence.  "We are covered by American Express's 'Gateway Plus'!  We'll have a new one before we know it."

Or so I thought.

The process to recover the three hundred bucks or so proved more difficult than applying for political asylum refugee status.  Here's what I had to provide:

1. A copy of the police report of the stolen Item

2. The original receipt

3. The American Express statement with the purchase shown on it

4. A written statement from me explaining exactly what happened

5. A statement from my homeowners' insurance indicating the deductible (if it is higher than the purchase price of item) OR a copy of the claim to my homeowners' insurance if the deductible is lower than the $341.85...the price plus tax. (Either way, they needed proof of insurance.)

6. The purchase protection claim had to be submitted with all of the above within 30 days of the incident

7. A blood sample, DNA test and title to my first-born grandchild

Okay, so I'm kidding about #7...but barely.

So here's the point.  I've been an Amex "member" for close to a quarter-century.  Last year on my Amex card, between personal and business use, I charged--and paid!!!--the equivalent of the GNP of a small nation (unfortunately, here I am NOT kidding). 

I understand there may be abuses of the Gateway Plus system, but a quick check would show the Amex folks that I had never used this in the past (and if I were trying to screw them, it would be for more than $325...).

Considering the many tens-of-thousands they have made off me throughout the years, and the fact they could check my insane purchase patterns instantly, you'd figure they could say: "Hey, sorry about the loss. We appreciate your business throughout the years. Here's a new hat."

Instead, they get this blog post.

And I replace the damn hat.

But charge it to my Visa card.

(Tune in tomorrow for Part 2 of this saga, as Amex pulls a Surprise 360-degree turnaround.)

Anti-Pow!

The ad below has been making the rounds of biz mags over the past month.  It's from the US Postal Service, and while I think its message is lame-o (so, they don't hit you with hidden shipping charges...yawn!), the image does personify anti-Pow!, the polar opposite of the wide-eyed look of we strive to create with this blog.

So take a note marketers everywhere: this guy's squash is what WE DON'T WANT to see.

Our friend says he doesn't like Surprises; he probably doesn't like a kick in the ass either, but I truly believe he would benefit from both.  In fact, this ad would be WAY more effective if flip-flopped; show a positive, upbeat, happy face SURPRISED that the USPS has no hidden shipping charges.

It succeeds at only one level--in the Post Office here at Surprise Central, this guy is atop our Most Wanted Fugitive List.
.

Late Pass

After over 30 years of business travel, shame on me for not figuring this out earlier, but here's the foolproof way of avoiding all those interminable line-ups at airport security:    

Arrive late. VERY late!

What a buffoon I've been all my life, following the rules, hitting the airport 17 hours before my scheduled flight, standing in an endless snake of humanity, only to be breezed-by by some hyperventilating slob--surrounded by a phalanx of uniformed airline staff, no less--who has a matter of seconds to make it to his gate before the doors close.

I lived this on my way to Denver and on my way back from Orlando.

No more.

So for Chicago on Tuesday, I WILL NOT pack an extra alarm, but will spray myself with water and huff-and-puff like an obese marathoner as I arrive at 11:00 for my 11:10 and make the Nexus Pass look like molasses.

See ya on board!

Say It Five Times...Fast

A little over a year ago, I kinda reamed the Korean car manufacturer Kia for expropriating the slogan "The Power To Surprise" for their uninspiring line of cars and the way they market them.

Well, seems like they sucked back a little Pow! kool-aid since then, as the buzz on the autoshow circuit has been humming around the Kia booth, particularly the Kia Soul crossover SUV concept car.  Check it out:

Only problem is--and I'm stretching back to my high school schoolyard hijinx and my early marketing case studies of unfortunate names for this one--the product's name.

KIA SOUL

Say it out loud.

Again.

And again.

See what I mean?

Well...at least I'm Surprised.

Positively Negative (or Vice Versa)

Here's something I don't get--why in conversation, when people concur with you, do they preface their concurrence with a contrary negative? 

In simpler terms, how many times have you heard people say:

"No, I agree..."

Must've heard it a dozen times since the Xmas break.  Now I'm no Noam Chomsky, but the more I hear it, the more I realize that the initial negative neutralizes the positive that follows, essentially null-and-voiding the agreement.

Think this is unimportant?  The power of simple negative/positive suggestion is astonishing. Try this next time you're trying to convince someone of something: nod your head yes if you want the person to agree (or no if that's the response you're seeking).  Works subliminally, works wonders and works often.

No, it does!

Air Raid

There are four certainties in life:

1. Death
2. Taxes
3. Every Greek song will eventually speed up
4. News reports from airports during winter storms will always feature someone exasperatingly complaining "We have no information.  The airline is telling us nothing!"

Yes FOPs, another flying beef. 

As I prepare for the roulette wheel that is Xmas-time vacation flying (yes, another Vail trip is in the offing), I watch the TV news in awe as the winter storm that is ripping through North American is yet again leaving a swath of frustrated, stranded travelers stuck at airports without a modicum of an idea of what the hell is going on.

You'd figure that after about 70 years, the airline/airport consortium would've figured out a process to deal with weather issues and the public it affects.  Yet every storm, the two react in tandem as if the arrival of more than an inch of snow was a once-in-a-lifetime freak of nature, kinda like the Comet Kohoutek or Paris Hilton.  Guys, despite my love of Surprise, this ain't one of 'em.

                  No Info--Traveling Worst Class

Here's what I don't get:  never mind a sophisticated, web-based system of alerts and re-bookings; why don't the airlines designate a live spokesperson to deal with this on the spot?  Set up a riser in the airport, pull out a mic and a pair of speakers, and alleviate frustration by giving a mini-press-conference of sorts; explaining the facts, and the options available, to the thundering herd.

If perhaps the airline/airport employees union is afraid that said representative would be torn to bits by merely appearing before the huddled masses, perhaps a system akin to the hockey player/referee relationship would be better.  Travelers would elect a representative, like the players who wear the C or A on their sweaters.  These reps--and ONLY these reps--would meet with the airline/airport folks somewhere quiet, private and safe, and THEY would disseminate the info back to their peers.

Either way, it would be a win-win; more info, less complaints.

The only loser would be the news organizations...who would have to find another clichéd story to bring us every storm.

Dry Cleaning (Speech Week #3)

I have a ritual before every speech I give. It's a simple one, really, based on both hygiene and vanity. 

In a nutshell, I hit the bathroom to wash my hands (important since I will be shaking countless others before and after the speech is delivered), brush my teeth (just like a clean car seems to run better, I think my words sound better coming from a freshly-brushed mouth), and check my frontal view for anomalies--spinach between my teeth, stains on my clothes, askew shirt collars or the like.  Once the checklist is affirmatively and positively finalized, I head back into the room, or backstage, for my intro.

That said, here's what I've taken away from my past six speeches:

You can't wash your hands
anymore without feeling guilty

While I know that washing them is imperative, drying them seems to be the issue.  In the past few month, in places as diverse as the Four Seasons Hotel to San Francisco's Moscone Convention Center, I've seen just about every method of removing excess moisture heavily chastised.

Paper Towels--wasteful and bad for the environment
Power Dryers--waste energy and (apparently) send germs airborne
Fancy Hand Cloths--re-usable yes, but waste energy AND pollute the environment via the laundering process

You can't win. 

And I can't deal with the guilt.

Which is why, from here on in, before every speech, I will wipe my freshly-washed hands on my pants...water stain be damned!

The Worst Surprise is No Surprise

Calm down.  Despite the huge headline and the classic wide-eyed, open-mouthed Surprise face (the inspiration for the Pow! logo), there's nothing to get excited about.

The worst cliché in retail marketing unfortunately (and one that sadly sullies the subject matter of this here blog) is the Surprise Sale.

Put frankly, perhaps the only thing Surprising about them is that after years of all promise and no delivery, people actually believe that there is some sort of shock waiting for them inside the pages of flyers like the ones above and below.

Inside, for those foolish enough (or in the name of blog research) to actually take a look, is more of the same ol' song and dance.  Don't pay until whenever; a certain percent off; a boring gift; run of the mill merchandise in familiar settings.  Too much copy, not nearly enough reason to read it.

Bad enough on its own, but worse still when packaged with a promise of Surprise. Worse even still when one thinks of how easy it would be to put something together that would actually shock/delight a consumer.

Instead we get this double-whammy:  Boring AND Misleading.

Ho-effin'-hum!

No wonder retail is in the doldrums.

 

Sock In The Face

This I don't get at all...

I'm staying at The Serrano Hotel in San Francisco; a quiet, friendly boutique hotel with great personal service.  I check into my room and hanging next to a leopard skin bathrobe (quite the departure from the standard white terrycloth, I might add) were two pairs of the fluffiest, most comfortable-looking socks I had ever seen. 

A little web research (see what I do instead of staying out late drinking?) tells me they're "Lounge Socks" from Karen Neuburger.

Now, if I'm the Serrano, or Karen, I want someone like me to try these on.  Lord knows, if I actually like 'em, I might buy a pair...or knowing me, a dozen.

But check out the tag I found just as I was about to...well, "break apart" the socks.   On one hand, it cordially invites me to enjoy these socks during my stay and at home.  Everyday!

However, then it goes on to inform me that this enjoyment will cost me 11 bucks.

Now I'm no piker, but how do I know if I like these things without trying them on?

And how the hell could I try them on, let alone "enjoy them" without "breaking them apart"? 

This is a big tease; the "playing footsie" equivalent of leaving that big bottle of refreshing water with the outrageous price tag.

I don't want or need your socks, Karen.  You have chosen to invade my space and try to sell them to me.  Good on you for that, but bad on your misguided marketing folks to convincing you to cheap out at the end.

I would think, given the relatively (pardon the pun) well-heeled clientele of the Serrano, it would be a wise investment to let us sample these properly.  If they're as good as they seem, you'll sell zillions.

But trust me, I ain't the only hotel customer leaving these things hanging in limbo in the closet.

I'm probably just the only one blogging about it...and doing so barefoot.   

 

 

Big Nose

Here's a little bit of corporate nastiness that comes as a treat to end your hard workin' week.

Can't say who, or where he/she works due to legal and other possible ramifications, but here's the way a friend of mine describes his/her two co-members on a board sub committee, one perpetually clueless and the other a blatant, butt-kissin' Yes-man:

"One never knows;
the other never no's."

Have a happy weekend.

I Tink, Derefore I Is

Catching up, catching up...

About a month (!) ago, Mark Goren of Transmission Marketing bestowed some kind words upon yours truly by naming Pow! as one of his five "Thinking Blogs" (for more info on what that means, click here).

In my comment thanking him, I mentioned that the last time anyone accused me of thinking was a hot shampoo girl and that was more than two decades ago...and promised to get around to telling the story when things calmed down around here.

Well, things have gotten crazier around here, so if I don't tell this story now, it may get lost in a pile of to dos and more important matters.  So without any further ado...

Before Airborne, before Just For Laughs even, I made my living as the sole proprietor of a marketing/promotion consulting business.  I had just graduated from McGill, and pounding the pavement looking for clients was an arduous and often fruitless task. 

Knowing that I needed to generate some cash flow to pay bills and eat, I somehow managed to connive Lasalle College in Montreal to hire me as a teacher.  And teach I did, Marketing, Sales and Advertising classes to kids in Retail and Hotel Management programs (most of whom were only a year or two younger than me) for over 22 hours a week at 25 bucks and hour. 

My busiest days were the Mondays.  In class from 8:30 a.m. until 1:30 p.m. straight, a two-hour break until 3:30 p.m., after which I returned to teach an afternoon and a night class.  By the end of the day, I had no voice.

One Monday, I rushed out for a haircut during the mid-day break.  I ran to Le Pascha salon about 20 minutes away, and plopped down exhausted into the tilted hairwasher's chair to get my mane cleaned.

"Ohhhhh," I sighed/complained.  

"What's wrong?" asked the more-than-beautiful hair-washer, a stunning, tall girl from Italy, who still spoke with a pronounced accent.

"What a morning," I continued to bemoan.  "I'm exhausted!"

"What did you do all morning to make you so tired?" she asked.

"I taught," was my reply.

Get ready for the clincher.

On one hand, it may come across as kinda dopey, but on the other hand, I was rather appreciative that someone thought I could be so tired by just using my brain.

"Oh really," she said in her accent.  "What did you 'tink about?"

Say it aloud if you still don't get it.  And have a nice, productive, thought-provoking Monday.

What You Want

So here's my Beef-o'-The-Week:

I speak at a lot of conferences, and inevitably, the day after (or often the same day), my inbox is filled with email from conference attendees trying to network and/or sell their services. 

One could look upon this as a minor inconvenience...or a major opportunity.  Being the open, optimistic type, I try to lean towards the opportunity, but the content of most emails I've been receiving lately makes it difficult to do so.

That said, here's a tip to all of us (I include myself in this group as I am frequently part of the askers):

If you're going to try to engage a busy person you just KNOW is being besieged by others, don't be coy.  Get to your point, and fast.  Do the ask, and do it clearly.  Don't play games and try to pique one's curiosity with oblique obscurities.

Here's what I mean.  Last week, I spoke for Visa at an Entrepreneur's conference.  Here's "the close" to an email I received a couple of days later:

"I would like to discuss various possibilities of business. 
We have several projects likely to interest you. 
I invite you to contact me for further information."

Huh?  I don't think so.  For to get me off my busy schedule, you had better let me know:

1. What ARE these various possibilities?  Give me a clue or two.
2. Why on earth WOULD they interest me?
3. Uh buddy, you emailed me.  You wanna sell, you do the contacting!

Compare that to a brief note I got after speaking to TV and film producers at the Playback Mobile Conference in Toronto a few weeks back:

"Hi there.  I loved your presentation and vibe at the Mobile Forum and wanted to get in touch and say Hello!  Do you ever need content or production?  Or do you do all of that in-house?"

Short, to-the-point and direct.(The compliment didn't hurt either, I must admit.)  The start of a conversation.  My quick answer was "Depends on what type content you have..." 

Today, the author of the second note is in discussion with Airborne Entertainment's video team, looking at potential collaboration.

The author of the first note had to be rescued from my Deleted Items to be part of today's post.

Unsolicited email can open up a world of discovery, and expand one's reach (I can't tell you the amazing number of relationships I've cultivated with previously-unknown souls who have reached out to me via this blog...and vice versa).  They can also be fast-tracked to oblivion.  It's a new world out there, but the basics of communication still rule as per whether or not yours if gonna get an answer.

The Mile-High Mini-Mart

As a follow-up to the previous post, here's the next sign of the impending apocalypse.

Commercial flying, a pain-in-the ass experience at the best of times, is now becoming chintzier as more and more airlines are charging for things that were once free.  Never mind having to reach into your pockets (correct change, please!) for food (or the reasonable facsimiles of), films, drinks and entertainment, Spirit Airlines is now charging for the right to check your bags ($10 for two online, $20 for two at the airport and a whopping $100 for a third bag). 

I know times are tough in the flight game, but jeez, to go about this and try to sell it as "liberating us from having to pay for services we don't use" is a tad insulting.

Coming soon, and I'm not joking, and not just from Spirit, will be charges for guaranteed overhead storage (to put the bags you didn't want to pay to check).  Can coin-operated toilets and emergency oxygen be far behind?

Maybe not, if you're named Ryanair.  According to Brandweek, the airline is:

"giving away one million free seats knowing that
it can still make money by upselling passengers
with food, duty-free goods and in-flight entertainment."

Commercial flying owes it future to King Gillette, who gave away razors to make money on the blades, or to the laserprinter folks, who almost donate their printers so that they can soak us on the ink cartridges.

Surreal.

That'll be $20 for the beers and $1,500 for the engine cover, please.

Cycle-pathic

It had to happen sooner or later.

Last night, on my way home from work, I was cut off by a cyclist...

...on a cellphone!

Another sign of the impending apocalypse, I guess.

Taxing Cabs

Wanna talk Surprise, folks?  Here's the Pow! moment of the month, perhaps the year: 

I am Surprised, shocked,
FLABBERGASTED
that more people
aren't KILLED in taxis.

I take cabs often. To and from airports. And other than L.A. where I rent a car to get around, cabs are my intra-city mode of travel while on the road.

Last week, to and from and within Toronto, my cab experiences solidified the calloused stereotypes that have formed within my ever-the-more-enraged psyche.

In less than 48 hours, I experienced...no, I ENDURED consistent tailgating, rapid crossing of double-white lines as if they were imaginary, all while being bathed in the ever-present glow of the "Repair Engine Now!" light. (Translation guys: "Repair Your Engine. Now!")

All this mayhem was made even more mayhemic thanks to the constant downpour of rain that accompanied each trip. Somehow, precipitation seems to bring out superpowers in cab drivers. Unlike most drivers who use such primitive tools as windshield wipers to see, like Superman, cabbies' X-Ray Vision can cut right through the opaque onslaught of water that coats their windows like Vaseline.  And when they actually activate the wipers, at my steadfast insistence, they do so on intermittent mode, and of course, on the longest delay between blade sweeps.

But the effect of mere rain alone paled when coupled with the fog that whitewashed windshields from the inside out. And when I asked "Don't you have a defogger?" all I got back, incredulously, was the single word answer "Yes."  (Ambiguity is indeed the Devil's volleyball; next time, I will rephrase my question as a sentence and demand it turned on.)

Perhaps cabbies are bred with better eyesight and reflexes than mere mortals. But despite my admiration for these impressive superhuman gifts, I truly believe that these guys should be closely observed by anonymous Road Marshalls, "secret shoppers" if you will, who will report any or all misdeeds to the Cab Company owners, the media, the government, and to Satan...who obviously made a lucrative collective bargain with these lunatics to keep them alive. 

If I make a call to Visa or Dell, it's monitored for security and customer service reasons. Well-intentioned, but overkill in most cases.  I say monitor less credit cards or computers and more menaces to society!  Bring the boys and girls home from Bangalore and set them loose in the back seats on the mean streets of Canada! 

If there is any consolation, it's that cabs are marked by an illuminated sign atop their roofs. Like a modern-day Scarlett Letter, these dome lights signal "Here Drives An Idiot!," allowing the more sane on the road to keep their distance or stay home.   The one piece of advice I gave my sons during Driver's Ed. was:

"There are three certainties in life:

Death, Taxes..and that the taxi driver
next to you on the road will do something stupid.

It's a given, not a maybe.

Know this, stay away from 'em and stay safe."

If pigeons are "rats with wings," then cab drivers are "pigeons with cars." 

From here on in, I wear a suit of clear plastic spikes.   

 

Ding Dong

As mentioned a couple of weeks ago, I spoke at The Millennials Conference in L.A. on Wednesday, and the event's shining moment had nothing to do with what was going on up on stage.

Just to the left of the moderator's podium was a giant screen which displayed questions that participants in the room texted to the panel assembled on the dias.  I've seen these screens at many conferences lately, but at this one, it was uncommonly busy and peppered with pertinent and intelligent queries (oh, those keener Millennials!). 

Six rows in front of said screen sat a blonde woman. Throughout the day, her cellphone kept ringing a chirpy-bells tone, prompting her to leave the UCLA meeting room each time, but not before starting her conversation, and quite crisply I may add, before she reached the door.

After the fourth or fifth call, instead of a question, the following popped up on the screen, much to the delight and guffaws of the assembled crowd:

Darling, it's called 'vibrate'

There were no further interruptions.

Coke, With Nuts

Okay, if one is an event, two is a coincidence and three is a trend...

Then it stands to--and I hate to use the word in this case, but--reason that the next trend in soft drinks is "Health ," particularly if you're the Coca-Cola Company.  Obviously, dieting is not enough, because the same people who brought you the Japanese thirst-quencher Love Body (which, to quote Brandweek, "claims to not only burn calories, but contains an ingredient rumored to increase bust size") are about to unleash two new soft-drinks in North America:

1) Diet Coke Plus, a no-calorie drink loaded with vitamins B3, B6 and B12, out now

2) Lumaé, in conjunction with L'Oréal of all people!, which is a tea-based drink which is "expected to contain ingredients that will help women care for their skin" (no mention of their busts here), out in '08

Now I don't want to be a spoilsport, but isn't this stuff supposed to be BAD for you?  Is nothing sacred when soft-drinks suddenly become a health food?  Doesn't that defeat the purpose of drinking them in the first place? 

Gotta give Coke credit though; these guys are taking their swings (see their exhaustive--and I do mean that in the most breath-catching way--brand list here). 

But if three is a trend, in this case, four is utter insanity.

I need a glass of water...

And The Oscar For Lamest Surprise Goes To...

Wonder why this year's Oscar telecast was unanimously lambasted, despite a 2% ratings bump over last year?

Well, in an EW.com poll in this week's edition of Entertainment Weekly, the magazine's readers were asked to vote on:

What was the biggest Surprise of the night?

And the rousing winner, weighing in with a whopping 42% was

Alan Arkin wins Supporting Actor

Be still my beating heart!  Close behind was the fact that "The Lives of Others" beat "Pan's Labyrinth" as Best Foreign Film.

Still awake? Double espresso, anyone?

No one-armed pushups from an aging Jack Palance.  No Sacheen Littlefeather accepting on behalf of Marlon Brando.  No Roberto Benigni climbing over seats to get to the stage.  No streakers, dancing Snow Whites or Best Actress winners saluting their parents in sign language or gushing "You like me!  You really like me!"  No wonder people are bored with the Oscars.

Familiarity breeds contempt, particularly in marketing, and with the Oscars, Hollywood is ostensibly marketing its industry in what was once a wondrous bash. 

You can't plan spontaneity, but viewers deserve more than what the Oscars--well, Awards Shows in general--seem to be pumping out these days: bland, formulaic showbiz sausage.   The cream of the creative crop should start drinking their own Kool-Aid.  Or better still, some Tequila shots.

Next year, somebody had better take some sort of a chance, or "Jack Nicholson wears a midnight blue tux" may be tied with "Clint Eastwood has trouble reading the TelePrompTer" as EW.com's biggest Oscar-night Surprise 2008.

Photo Finish

During my stay in Vancouver, I had breakfast at some Italian bakery café which greeted me with this welcome on its door:

The café, which will remain nameless since it seems to strive for anonymity, was okay...but nothing special. In fact, other than this sign, there was not one element of its experience—the food, the coffee, the service, the décor, the design, the pricing—that set it apart from the countless other Starbucks, Blenz and mom-and-pop coffeehouses that line this bustling burgh’s streets.

The big Surprise was
that there was no Surprise.

So what was Café Stealth trying to protect? Even if they did provide mega-tonnage of Pow!, if someone really wanted to rip them off, they’d find a way to do so. And in the age of Flickr, YouTube et al, by establishing this camera-Verboten policy, the café is cutting itself off from millions of dollars of free publicity.

If this were my place, I would promote photo-taking. I would insist on it, frankly. I would provide digital cameras to my staff, and get them to pose with clients and immediately send send off the pix via email to their cellphones or inboxes at home.

Then again, if this were my place, there’d be a REASON to take pictures.

 

Claire, You Should Know Better

Claire Macdonald, publisher of Strategy Magazine, I am sad to say that you have become a pain in the butt.

Twice in the past week, you have spammed my office voicemail with a lame-o recorded message inviting me to your Understanding Youth conference.  Now I may not understand youth, but I most definitely understand when I am being disturbed, and that is when I have to listen to your messages.

Now I love your magazine; I have been a subscriber for years (starting way, way back when it was a tabloid on newsprint) and have cited its content countless times amongst colleagues at Airborne and here at Pow! 

What's more, I have actually attended (spoke at, even!) your conferences...which I suppose is why I am now being besieged by an electronic you who chooses to call me only after hours, and does so with cheesy, canned "enormous discount" and "you only have until Friday!" offers.   What, no Viagra or stock tips?

Claire, as Publisher of a progressive Marketing magazine, you should know better.  This stuff sucks, and does you a disservice. (If you MUST do something like this, at least acknowledge the awkwardness of it; tell me that instead of recording your debut CD of cover tunes, you decided to use the studio time to record a conference pitch instead.  Or that you're calling people on Canada's "No Call List" asking them to re-consider.)

I understand the economics, my dear Claire; I'm in the biz of selling stuff, too.  It ain't easy reaching out and pitching to a big, lucrative database in an unobtrusive manner (in fact, we in the mobile space are busy grappling with that conundrum on a daily basis).  But surely there must be a more appropriate way to deal with Strategy's sharp-as-a-tack, marketing-savvy audience than these unreasonable facsimiles of a phone call... 

Uh, next time...why not ask the people you write about for a bit of help?

Submission Marketing--A Love Story

In honor of St. Valentine's Day, I bring you this story of relationships, trust, truthfulness...and talking behind people's backs.

So I'm at an event out of town and there's this "photo op" sponsored by Dodge, where you can pose with a Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robot.  Normally, something like this would clash with the debonair image I try so desperately to project, but since the battling 'bots were an icon of my childhood, I take the picture. 

Unfortunately, they don't give it to me on the spot (where is Polaroid when I need them?); instead, I am handed a slick plastic card, Dodge-branded, with instructions how to pick it up online in 24 hours.

A  bit of a drag...but simple enough, right?

Wrongo.

Next day, I log onto the site to retrieve the snapshot, but before I can get it, I have to "register." 

I don't want to register.  I want my dopey photo.

Burn #1.  And it's not over.

Then I have to answer a series of questions about how I feel about the company, about the promotion itself, about my opinion and how it has changed, blah blah blah... 

Burn #2. All I want is my damn picture, and I want it less and less with each passing query. 

After I answer enough questions to pass my GMAT, I finally get to download it.  Here it is, in all it's glory.  (Given that most people took the aggressor stance in the picture, my position of defeat was almost foretelling.)

The point here, particularly on this day of love, is that Dodge took the glow off what could've been a beautiful relationship.  This ain't Permission Marketing a la Seth Godin; it's what I'm coining as Submission Marketing, and it's the type of marketing being practiced in places like Abu Ghraib, Guantanamo Bay and Amsterdam's basement S&M clubs.  It's the type of marketing where you'll say whatever, confess to anything, just to get to the carrot (or glass of water, or piece of stale bread, or digital picture with oversized plastic robot) being held in front of your nose.

Do any of us tell the truth in these forced surveys?  I think not. We lie through our teeth just to jump over the hurdles the companies put in our way to get to what we have really come for.  The worst part is that the "data" gathered is taken as "fact," and used by the survey-makers to score brownie points with their bosses...and to spawn the next such intrusive, obstructive program since this one worked so well.

I didn't learn much in my McGill University computer programming classes, but one adage that has stayed with me is: "Garbage In/Garbage Out." Now I have nothing against Dodge.  I'm sure they're a fine bunch of folks, I like their Viper a lot and I think their new Nitro is a cool vehicle. But this program, and countless others like it, undermines the tender company-client relationship and sends it spiraling down a compost heap.  Garbage out, indeed.

It's not that we can't tell the truth.  Oh, we can and we do, but choose to do so on blogs, on community feedback websites, to each other in chat rooms, school cafeterias, office watercoolers and coffee shops. 

In other words:

We only tell the truth
behind marketers' backs.

I used to say that "True power is controlling what people say behind your back."  That's a near-impossible challenge these days, but the way for marketers to increase their odds is to treat the ones dear to them--we the customers--with respect and trust.

So if you wanna give me a gift,  give it to me first.  THEN ask me a bunch of questions.  If I ignore you, so be it; believe me, you wouldn't have wanted my answers anyway. 

But perhaps your kind offer of a goofy picture or what have you has softened my heart, and my response to your face will be the same ones I would've given behind your back.  Then this is how things would transpire:

I get a gift.

You get real feedback.

I get to speak my mind. 

We start a relationship. 

Everybody wins.

And we all live happily ever after.

Awww...now isn't that a heartfelt sentiment on Valentine's day?

Swim Sinks

Note to self--never check your inbox before going to bed.

It's just about midnight, and I've been besieged by email about the Cartoon Network's Boston debacle, where snarky digital billboards for its Adult Swim Aqua Teen Hunger Force show were mistaken as terrorist-planted explosive devices.  Click here for more details if you need 'em.

So, the question every ping asked: "Great Surprise marketing, or what?"

My answer:  Or what.

While I think everybody's kinda overreacting and should pop a Valium or three, the fact remains that this was Stupid, not Surprise.

Surprise marketing should delight, not incite.  While indeed delivering Pow!, this dopey stunt did so with the force and subtlety of a kick in the nuts; the definition of Surprise to a sadist, perhaps.  And while I'm certain it will drive puh-lenty word-of-mouth, the words driven may not be part of a marketer's dream vocabulary.

Look, I'm sure this was relatively well-intentioned (Christ, I sure hope it was), but severely backfired.  In a jittery USA, nobody would be that dumb as to promote a cartoon show by scaring the crap out of a metropolis.  There are better ways to Surprise than to jokingly cry "Fire!" in a crowded theater.

Somewhere in a cave, carved into a deserted mountain range, Osama Bin Laden is chuckling.

I'm going to sleep.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

UPDATE: 

They'll only answer questions about their hair?   Two arseholes.  The less said about them, the better.

Huffing and Puffing and Blowing (Part 2)

Following up on the blog-bugging marketing syndrome rant started yesterday...

I say "syndrome," because it's obviously part of a growing trend.  My darling Nikki's employer is a company called m80im, (pronounced em-eighty-im, or em-eighty-eye-em, or meighty-im as in medium, or...) which describes itself as a

"...unique Entertainment and Lifestyle Marketing company specializing in online grassroots marketing, online publicity and promotion, creative services, lifestyle and offline marketing, fanclub services, market research and consulting."

And all this before lunch.  (Note to self: does "specializing" in seven or eight different fields somewhat negate the meaning of the word?)  m80im must be doing something right though; its client list includes the likes of ESPN, Comedy Central, Urban Outfitters, Wal-Mart and a whole whack of record companies.  So where's the swag offers from those guys?  I could use some music and new clothes for my Kmart workout!

Then there's SponsoredReviews.com, in Beta stage at the moment, but it plans to "connect advertisers with bloggers willing to write honest reviews about their services and products."  All through a meet-and-greet online marketplace, a pseudo $-Date service.  It keeps going.  There's PayPerPost, FlogYourBlog and even WhoreYourselfOutLikeAnAgingBankokTransexual.

And all this blogosphere matchmaking ain't limited to insipid promo offers, either.  Also last week, in his MiddleZone Musings, Robert Hruzek mentions as a throwaway that he's "rounding second and heading for third" and is leapt upon by a group called MLB Bloggers looking "to bring Major League Baseball bloggers closer together."

Now, I'm no Marketing Snob.  I'm a major proponent of the Word-Of-Mouth/Consumer-led type (as the glowing reviews of the Sernovitz and McConnell/Huba books at left will attest), and believe strongly in companies seeding bloggers.  But the matchmaking in which Kmart, MLB Bloggers and I suspect so many others are now partaking in is akin to setting up a Colorado cowboy with a Chassidic Rabbi just because they both wear big, black hats.

As I have always said, particularly when I taught the subject at the college level a number of years ago: 

All marketing is merely courtship

Marketing's ultimate goal is the bonding of two individual parties into a mutually-beneficial (and hopefully long-lasting) relationship.  And to do that successfully, you need true communication and a real common ground.

In other words, if you want me to hop into bed with you, get to know me first.  Listen to what I have to say.  Show me you care.  Respect me.

Then shower me with gifts, bay-bah!