Pack Rat

While sorting through an old box of stuff in the basement, I came across heaps of mementos including a photo of my mom on a date in the 50s in a frame that says, "Souvenir of Moroccan Village: The Gayest Spot in the Village" and "Slumming in Greenwich Village." Inside that frame was also the front page of The AMBAssador 25th Anniversary Issue (October 1953) which I'm guessing was the internal newsletter for employees of Alexanders. My mom was apparently an Alexanderite (posh name for a salesperson?) and was pictured with four other women alongside an article that states, "Alexanderites strutting proudly down the aisles of our two Bronx stores and at White Plains recently had ample reason for thrusting out their chests and boasting a bit." You go girl!

Speaking of strutting themselves, I also unearthed a picture of my dad circa 1945 with a bunch of other guys in the Navy all dressed up like (I think) girls? They're lifting their skirts (yes, you read that right) to show their boxers but also are wearing hats, garter belts on their thighs, and scarves around their necks. I'm thinking that they may have fit in better at Moroccan Village than on the U.S.S. Richmond. What happens at sea stays at sea?

In the pile, I found a bunch of my old concert tickets including the Who, the Stones, Rush, Santana, the Dead, the Lounge Lizards, Elvis Costello, UB40, Joe Jackson, Janes Addiction, Simple Minds, the Call, Tom Petty, Cheap Trick, the Plasmatics and more.

And I found a receipt from Marine Midland Bank dated March 16, 1983 where I ran into the Thompson Twins at the ATM and they all signed my bank balance ($311.68)! I also have an REO Speedwagon ticket signed by Gary Richrath and Kevin Cronin. Ah yes, you can tune a piano but you can't tuna fish.

My least favorite ticket? The Cars. I'll never forget them singing, "Can I bring you out in the light?" and flooding the War Memorial with stadium lighting. Unbelievable buzzkill. Worst ending to a concert ever. Not just what I needed.

Lastly, I found a copy of Playbill magazine circa 1984 in which Aaron Sorkin (an SU grad with whom we used to stay on our weekend trips to the city) wrote, "It was great sex! Come live with us." Aaron S. For whatever reason, his S looks more like a backwards dollar sign. (Note to mom: We didn't really have sex. It was his roommate who hit on me at the time but I feigned death. It worked.) In any event, Aaron was convinced that he would be famous one day and I believed him. Back then he was a talented writer living in a walk-up in Hell's Kitchen; now he's a talented gazillionaire living presumably in some heavenly mansion in California. Maybe I'll take him up on his offer now?!

Image Matters

I've been interviewing senior-level marketing candidates for a position on the leadership team of a local firm. This individual will report directly into the President/CEO and will be responsible for guiding the organization's strategy and marketplace presence.

One candidate, who we liked immensely, sent gorgeous cards to both the CEO and me. Beautiful, gold embossed cards inside of which she inserted a nondescript, poorly written, two sentence, typed note on a scrap of paper that was literally ripped (i.e., not nicely cut) from a piece of white copier paper.

No time like the present to conserve paper. And time. It wasn't even personalized to us, the job or the company.

If we hired her, can we expect the Marketing Plan to be written in crayon?

I Found My Thrill

I just trolled a bunch of beer review sites (e.g., Beer Advocate, Rate Beer, The Brew Club) where I discovered that I may be the only person on the planet who likes Anheuser-Busch's Wild Blue blueberry lager.


(Image from JustBeer a fun little beer blog.)

Maybe because I don't normally drink beer? And I love Kool-Aid? Or perhaps my sudden attraction to (necessity for) Hall's cough drops and NyQuil are tainting my view.

Anything that's brightly colored with purple foam can't be bad . . . not to mention the antioxidants.

Perlo on Furlough

Okay, so I'm not trying to get into the business of restaurant reviews but my boss and I took some high-profile clients to a much touted Perlo's last night and -- oh, how do you say -- never again?!

When you're across the street from one of the city's best Italian restaurants, your decor is suboptimal and your food only marginally better, shouldn't customer service be your strength? Otherwise, how do you differentiate yourself (in a positive fashion)?

With six people ordering appetizers, soups and full meals, shouldn't one person be "allowed" to order a smaller (i.e., children's) portion of the ravioli, if so desired? Doesn't the customer come first? Our waitress not only said "no" but also checked with the owner who also said "no dice." Our client didn't order a meal at all. Somehow that's better than
a) pleasing the customer and b) generating more revenue?

Did I mention someone in the restaurant was smoking?

What's Italian for "ass backwards": àsino al contrario?

Ciao.

Why God?

"Life is like an onion, which one peels crying."

--French proverb

Dinosaur Jr.

Met some Simon school friends for barbecue ribs at the Dinosaur last night. It was sooooooooo good. Sooooooo good. Sooooooooo good. Loved the Drunken Spicy Shrimp Boil the most. And I really enjoyed my flight of beers -- a little strange since I don't even like beer. My favorite: The Arrogant Bastard.

When I just clicked through their site, I happened to notice their tagline (of course).

"You're Not Worthy."

Classic! (Although it shouldn't take a multi-million dollar ad agency to tell you that you don't need quotes around your tag; just a quick gander at other taglines or a dogeared copy of Strunk & White.)

Your Vote Counts

Apparently Obama went from a 70:30 favorite a few weeks ago to dead even in the Intrade prediction markets. This is likely more credible than my qualitative analysis with supplemental Facebook statistics. D'oh!



In tribute to the woman, the myth, the legend (and since a Sarah Palindrome is boring), I thought I would give you some Sarahnagrams instead.

HA IRAN SLAP
AH LIAR SNAP

And my favorite: I A RASH PLAN