Taglines Revisited

If the handful of you who actually take the time read my blog (thank you!) know of any interesting taglines, I would love to hear about them.

I was trying to find interesting or noteworthy tags for a client and came up woefully short. Which leads me to the same conclusion I posted about recently: people just don't get it!

Here were a few that I found funny mainly from sites I've mentioned in the past:

someecards: “when you care enough to hit send”

The “blog” of “unnecessary” quotation marks: “misinterpreting bad punctuation since 2005”

Gizmodo: “so much in love with shiny new toys, it’s unnatural”

And last but not least --

The Crack Team (concrete repair specialists): Mr. Happy Crack says . . . “A dry crack is a happy crack”

Please tell me there are actually some valuable taglines out there somewhere. Bueller? Anyone?

Stupidity

A few weeks ago, my brother sent me an article from Scientific American entitled, “The Secret to Raising Smart Kids,” which states, in a nutshell, that the key to success in school and life isn’t intelligence or ability but drive (i.e., a focus on effort and achievement).

The article goes on to say that parents actually do a disservice to their kids when they tell them that they’re smart because intelligence becomes an innate and fixed belief which “makes them see challenges, mistakes and even the need to exert effort as threats to their ego rather than as opportunities to improve. And it causes them to lose confidence and motivation when the work is no longer easy for them.” Longer term, this leads to managers/employees who discourage constructive criticism, don’t value feedback and don’t see themselves as works-in-progress
(i.e., learning and growing).

I keep thinking about these findings as I watch my kids attempt to learn how to play guitar, tie their shoes, rollerblade in the kitchen, etc. And I talk about success with them when they’re reluctant to try new things out of fear of failure. I’ve begun trying to get them to change their phraseology from “I’m not good at ice skating” to “I’m not good at ice skating – yet.” Subtle difference but I hope it gets them into a lifelong mode of striving.

Then, last weekend, I picked up a December copy of the New York Times Magazine that was headed to the recycling bin and read an article entitled, “Quitting Can Be Good for You” which cites research that “suggests that success — or more specifically, the persistence required to achieve hard-to-reach goals — may not be worth it.” Specifically, “teenage girls who are unable to disengage themselves from trying to attain hard-to-reach goals exhibited increased levels of the inflammatory molecule C-reactive protein (C.R.P.), which in adults is linked with diabetes, heart disease and early aging.”

Huh. So what’s it going to be?

As W.C. Fields is quoted as saying, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Then quit. No use being a damn fool about it.”

Or, more vividly, as the December page from the Despair calendar that my sister gave to me (which hangs proudly next to my desk at work), depicts, “Quitters never win, winners never quit, but those who never win and never quit are idiots.”

Could You Keep It Down Up There?

Whispered in church, with a tone of annoyance, earlier today:

Son #2: "I'm trying to fall asleep but Pastor Rob is talking way too loud."

Surprise Visitors

Over 20 years ago, my sister and I took a water aerobics class at the YMCA. During one class, we were in the pool for little while when it suddenly felt like there was something rather large and uninvited in my bathing suit. I whispered to my sister but I wasn’t sure what to do about it. Worse than having a fuzz ball on your eyelash that you can see but cannot seem to rid yourself of, I had an intruder between my spandex and skin but couldn’t imagine what it was. I asked myself, should I ignore it until class is over? Or, better yet, should I stick my hand nonchalantly into my crotch in the middle of class and see what’s in there? The answer to the latter question was, somehow, “yes.” Of course you can stick your hand down there while in public . . . why not?

So I did. And what did I pull out? A toilet bolt cap – the heavy, porcelain kind that covers the bolts at the base of the toilet. I showed it to my sister and we began laughing our heads off. With everyone looking at us now, I didn’t know what to do with it. So I just kept doing my exercises with it in my hand. To this day, I wonder, how on God’s green earth did it get in there without my noticing?

Hmmm, what (you may ask) made me think of this just now? Well, yesterday morning as I undressed to get into the tub, a package of Smarties flew out of my cute little pink leopard underwear and onto the bathroom floor. Once again, what the . . .? How . . . ?

Another surprise visit from the lingerie fairy, apparently. My how I’ve missed her.

Swinging from the Rafters

Have you ever wanted to see a grown woman cry? Or, more specifically, sob?

If so, don’t put me in front of a sappy movie; I’m likely to be annoyed at the lame acting/storyline/characters/etc. Instead, just let me tune into the Rangers retiring one of the numbers assigned to a star player: Messier, Richter, and last night, Leetch (2). Buy stock in Kimberly-Clark. And get me some cucumber slices for my eyes in the morning. Oy vey.

Not only are these men unbelievably talented but they’re shockingly nice people--not to mention eloquent. (And in the case of Richter, funny!) I am in awe of them as was everyone in MSG and those glued to their TV sets across America. What an amazing life moment for Leetch, his family and friends. Truly impassioned. Inspirational. Touching. Breathtaking.

Deep, deep breath.

See you soon Adam Graves.

elgooG

Is this just an example of programmers with too much time on their hands?

No comprendo. Make that "odnerpmoc on."

Too Much TV?

Me (hanging up the phone after checking on the kids' school day): "Bye guys, see you later when I get home."

Son #2 (in cheesy voice): "Disco Stu says 'bye to you.' "

MLK Jr.

Me (on the way out the door this a.m.): "Hey guys, have a fun day off."

Son #1: "You, too . . . if you ever get one."

Huckle Up

What happens if you weigh the election issues that are important to you and then vote on a five-point scale of "strongly opposed" to "strongly support" according to topic-related statements?

Let glassbooth do the work for you.

Apparently I should be voting for either Obama (70% similarity) or Huckabee (69% similarity) . . .

What this survey mechanism doesn't account for is my level of confidence in any candidate's ability to actually accomplish what s/he is touting in his or her platform.

True Inspiration

As a second time Weight Watchers member and a genuine believer in their product, I am still amazed at many of the Success Stories that are posted on their website. Knowing I really don’t have too much weight to take off (comparatively) makes it beyond inspirational when I view these pictures and realize that there are strong and beautiful people out there who have the motivation and drive to lose more than I weigh! It really puts things into perspective for me.

While I realize the system doesn’t work for everyone, I know that it definitely works for me. Like Bridget Jones, I used to spend Saturday mornings while in college mentally tallying the number of cocktails and cigarettes (ugh!) I had the night before. (I also hoped beyond hope that if I screamed “Hey Kool-Aid,” a giant, frosty pitcher of cherry drink would come crashing through the wall and I wouldn’t have to get out of bed – but that’s another story altogether.) Computing my intake was a de facto weekend pastime so, 20+ years later, counting food points comes naturally to me.

It’s now week two and I’m about five pounds lighter with only ten more to go. Thanks to the No Pudge brownies I made last night and the Skinny Cow flying saucers the hubby bought for me, I don’t have to give up the chocolate that my body craves. I just have to meter it out slowly! And I have to also give thanks to Jennifer Love Hewitt for reminding us that -- even if you’re super rich and can surround yourself with the best dietitians and trainers in the world -- sometimes it’s still okay to have some curves.

Amen sister.

Tested on Dermatologists

Left Coast Mom asked last week, “Does ‘Dermatologist tested’ mean ‘Tested on dermatologists, not rats’?”

Funny question but actually something I ponder from time to time when using the products in my bathroom that explicitly state, “Not tested on animals.” Er, you testing on me?

My dad was a brainiac by nature and a toxicologist by trade. He conducted tests on animals to ensure consumer products were safe. My sister and I, avowed animal lovers, grew up in a household where sick bunnies would come home (presumably to be watched over) and die. It’s truly a horrifying thought but, as my father would contend, a necessary evil.

If an unsafe product was sold to the masses, the manufacturer would face serious liability issues and dire financial consequences not to mention a long-term lack of consumer faith based on presumed ethical wrongdoing – which further translates into even greater revenue losses.

No reliable firm would risk endangering my safety, and the health of their company, with inadequate product testing. Right?

Which means to me that, “Not tested on animals” is an appealing yet empty marketing statement. The company must be relying upon previously published research conducted on animals perhaps by an independent third-party, in a university setting or even by a competitor who isn’t capitalizing on such claims.

I’m sure, somehow, my logic is flawed. It wouldn’t be the first time. If anyone wants to educate me on how to commercialize a safe consumer product without testing on animals, I’m all ears. But please don’t start by telling me that all “natural” products are safe. That I'm not buying.

Camp Jingle Hymer Schmidt

Rochester has so many beautiful lakes from Lake Ontario to the Finger Lakes . . . so why don't we have a family friendly, waterfront, destination resort? A place where you can rent standalone cabins or a rustic suite in the main lodge. A place with highly trained camp counselors (a la Club Med) and kids activities galore. The kids can have heaps of supervised fun while their parents get massage treatments and facials, attend yoga classes, learn to salsa, watercolor, etc. There would be family activities, too, like swimming, ping pong, bingo, and arts and crafts. At night there could be bonfires and sing-a-longs. There could be outdoor cookouts and mess hall meals in the lodge.

I think it's time to resurrect the halcyon days of the Poconos and the Catskills right here at home -- especially since gas prices are through the roof. With our proximity to other major cities, including Toronto, it would be an easy drive for thousands of families.

Given the seasonality issue, it could house corporate off-sites in the winter months. Or bring in speakers of its own to drive off-season revenue.

I don't need Patrick Swayze to have fun. I just need time with my kids and some downtime for myself at a price I can afford.

Inspiration sans Motivation

I always run across executed versions of ideas I had ages ago. Serious kudos to the founders for getting these businesses off the ground. I’m still sitting on my butt waiting for something that really screams my name; otherwise, the effort isn’t really fun. Nine times out of ten, I just want the product/service – I don’t want to be the one to actually do it.

I was thinking of this when I came across Angie’s List a site where homeowners can rate service companies such as landscapers, painters and roofers in their local areas. What a fabulous concept if I may say so myself. I wanted to develop this almost ten years ago when I heard the ongoing saga a girlfriend in Little Falls, NJ was recounting regarding her plumber. I even contacted my data nerd/website development friends who asked, “How do you plan to make money?” At the time, my response was, “I don’t know. Online advertising?” They laughed at me. Ha. Still funny today? Not so much.

I used to carry a little spiral notebook to capture great concepts but long ago gave up on it. I had a vague inclination to try to find it to see what else is in there so I took the time to dig it out of a box in the basement two weekends ago. I cannot believe the number of ideas it contains – some of which are okay, others very outdated and so many others which have come to fruition that I can hardly believe they didn’t exist at that time. Was I just clueless?

Following are some examples:

• Mystery shopping but for local area retailers, bankers, restaurants who want unbiased, third-party feedback
• Branded, drive through, healthy, fast food franchises (e.g., fresh spring rolls, chicken satay)
• Roamin’ Gecko: an untraditional travel agency specializing in off-the-beaten track vacations
• A music kiosk in the mall where you could select from a huge database of singles and burn them to CD (clearly pre-Napster and iTunes!)
• Spas in the airport (Hello! Very glad this was done.)
• Personal shoppers and errand runners for time-sensitive professionals
• Mug wipes: handy like baby wipes but non-toxic so you can wipe out your office mug if there’s no kitchen nearby
• Tupperwine: in-home parties that sell what women actually want and educate us on grapes, vintages, etc. Hey, we’re drinking wine at these parties anyway, why not focus on it?
• Rentable small movie theaters with comfortable couches/seats and fully stocked bars in which to hold intimate parties
  
• City-specific, personal tours where you could select gender, age, reason for visiting, etc. and, depending on price range, the site would arrange the typical (e.g., hotel, restaurants, car service) and atypical (e.g., bridal shop tours, trendy bars) tours
• Corporate offsite/day spa with guided meditation, brainstorming sessions, massages, breakout working sessions, etc. designed to relax/inspire yet professionally facilitated to drive results
• A series of children’s books entitled, “So my best friend is . . .” each of which gives engaging, fun facts about a given religion, race, disability, etc.
• SlamDate: an online service a la Angie’s List where you could actually rate, by name and location, your weekend dates, long-term romances and one night stands to warn innocent others (which, in retrospect, goes against my core values but what the hey – my friend Mary and I even went so far as to secure the URL for a year)
• Ann Taylor bridal (brand extension): which in 1993 would have been a fabulous market entry – before Vera Wang became a household name and after I had all of the sequins removed from my gown much to the consternation of the sales lady who said, “You are the most conservative bride I’ve ever encountered.” Yeah, and I don’t have the requisite “big bangs” to be in this shop
• A local wine bar to cater to the after-movie crowd who just wants to chill in a quiet environment, have some cheese and crackers and be with friends (which, when I called on a waterfront property on Schoen Place in my hometown in the mid ‘90s, the developer briskly dismissed me with a “that’s a stupid idea” and hung up on me. Thanks buddy.)

Someday the perfect idea will hit me . . . and perhaps then I'll muster some energy. Until then, off to work.

Ah Yes, Banter

What's Your Sense of Humor?

My Result: Banter

Like a king of pinball, you've made an art of playing off of people because your sense of humor is all about banter. Like many great comedians before you, a roundtable of friends, or a roomful of targets, is the catalyst for what makes you laugh. It brings out the wit — and sometimes the nitwit — in everyone.

It's quantity, not quality that matters as you and your friends alternate outbursts like the riffs of a hit single. Here's the bottom line: You're a social creature. Other people's inside jokes even strike you as funny. You manage to gravitate toward people who can appreciate a tall tale and you've probably never hesitated to fire off a zinger — even in a roomful of strangers. So keep it up with your bantering methods. Laughter, after all, keeps the world going 'round.

Take this test >

Surfin’ Safari

Melissa, one of my awesome, sweet and beautiful college girlfriends, has invited me to join her and her friends at Pura Vida yoga/surf camp in Costa Rica in March. It’s a dream come true (i.e., something I have always wanted to do) and fairly inexpensive as far as exotic vacations go but cost prohibitive for me . . .

Bad Gift Emporium

Hey hon, here’s a site where you can sell back the never-to-be-worn red velvet, white fur trimmed boxers with black velvet belt and matching Santa hat that Son #2 bought for you!

I’m sure someone would love to parade around in those on Christmas 2008 . . . but it's probably not you.

Mommy's Alright

Recap of a conversation with Son #1 after picking him up from Sunday school at church a few weeks ago.

“Mama, did you enjoy the sermon today?”

“Yes, it was about surrender.”

“Pastor Rob talked about Cheap Trick??”

Bad Day: #3

Last but not least . . .

A couple of years ago, I went to a birthday party with my kids. The wife, my cherished long-running friend Melinda, asked me if I would like a piece of cake and, before I could answer, her husband (who I also love) said, “Of course she’d like cake, look at her.” Uh, did I just hear that correctly?

Instead of letting it ride, she asked him, “What’s that supposed to mean?” and he responded, “Well, she used to . . . well she’s now raising two beautiful boys and that’s her priority.”

She then turned to me and said, “Don’t listen to him; he’s an idiot. If it’s any consolation, I ran into someone at T’s recently who said to me, ‘You’re Melinda? What happened? You used to be hot.’”

If only it ended there. Her husband said, “Well Melinda, that’s true for her, too. Don’t you remember when she used to be hot?”

Thanks. I think I’ll pass on that piece of cake and just go straight for the vodka.

Bad Day: #2

When I was in grad school, I drove to Buffalo in a blinding snowstorm for a job interview at a management consulting firm. I had heinous snow boots on but when I pulled up in front of the beautiful mansion that housed this company, the first space, right in front of their door, was remarkably vacant. As always, the parking gods were shining down upon me: this was going to be a fabulous day. So I turned off the car, switched into heels and got out.

Alas, when I slammed my door shut, a giant, black mountain of NYS Thruway car sh*t fell off my front wheel well, crashed into the ground and splattered all over me. From my feet to my face and hair, I was covered. And I was approximately one minute late already.

I entered the building, told the receptionist my name and who I was there to see, and immediately hit the ladies room where I took what felt like an hour washing myself up as well as I thought was humanly possible.

After I met the man I was interviewing with, he began to take me on a tour of their building. It was gorgeous. Chandeliers. Persian rugs. But I couldn’t concentrate on a word he was saying because I could feel something dripping down my leg. I looked down and I was creating a huge, black, tar-like stain on their rug. I had to interrupt him and explain my debacle. I’m sure he was horrified but he remained calm, sweet and understanding. We went to his office where I took off my shoes and he handed me paper toweling to get the rest of the muck off my legs. What I still didn’t realize (and to this day I’m not sure how this enormous realization escaped me), the biggest chunk of icy black gook was still lodged under my skirt and beginning to thaw.

As I interviewed (poorly I may add), I knew that my legs felt wet. But I kept going, answering all of his questions, and listening with feigned interest to the details of the position. I didn’t dare look down. Big mistake.

When I went to stand up, there was a giant, thick, filthy puddle below my chair on his Oriental rug and I began repeating profuse apologies.

Needless to say, I didn’t get that job.

Bad Day: #1

When we first got our cat, I packed quickly in the pre-dawn hours for a meeting in Houston. The next day when I went to put on my suit, mere moments before heading to my client’s corporate headquarters, I realized that Stinky had used it as a scratching post. It answered the “How on earth did she get up there?” question I had asked when I saw her on the top shelf of my closet but posed the “How on earth can I be seen in public without making a fool of myself?” question that I’ve been known to ask myself throughout my life.

I took scissors to my suit and cut off the million and one frayed strings hanging from it. Deep breath: everything is going to be okay. Famous last words.

That morning, we entered the boardroom where we were to present. I was the only woman in a room full of men with the exception of my key client who was the lead on this project.

I sat down at the long mahogany table, opened my binder, and in a blindingly fast instant that will forever be seared in my mind, a tampon that had somehow nested itself in my binder edge, came flying out at the speed of light, skyrocketed across the table, hit my client’s chest with a thump and landed in her lap. She didn’t even flinch. I just about died. Inexplicably no one else at the table saw a thing.

It wasn’t until we got into the car to head to dinner that she and I began to laugh so hard we could barely speak. We had suppressed it all day. My coworkers were having a field day. Who notices a pockmarked suit when there are flying tampon diversions? Thank God it made a beeline for her and she handled it so well; otherwise, I think I would have seriously considered never leaving the house again.

Snow White

While I don't have a New Year's resolution, per se, I joined Weight Watchers yesterday to take off the 15 pounds I gained over the last two years. I also began taking my vitamins again and added, per my acupuncturist's request, TwinLab's Cod Liver Oil with Mint which she claimed was like a tablespoon of whipped dessert but I think tastes, oddly enough, like cod liver oil with mint. This in combo with my DDR "workout," should leave me feeling less stressed and on top of my game once again.

So cheers to 2008 being the year where little birds sing at my shoulders and bunnies come to rest at my feet. Where the sun is always shining and my step is light and breezy.

And my fingers jump for joy at the sound of my keyboard gloriously typing business and marketing plans . . . or, better yet, a money tree begins to grow in my yard and bear fruit.

Yep, this'll be the year.

Because I'm Worth It

To embrace fully my inner-Britney Spears, I skipped the shaved head phase but got my hair professionally colored. Given that I've been fairly blond for 40+ years, to me, my hair looks black. My hairdresser insists it's only a five on a scale of 1-10. Regardless of shade, I think it's fun. I'm just glad my arm hairs don't match.

The kids in the neighborhood, who are now sporting blond Hannah Montana wigs, are aghast. "Why did you DO that?" the girl across the street asked. Adults are much more polite but apparently it takes some acclimation. My girlfriend Liz was very complimentary the other night but then a few hours (and a glass or two of wine) later the truth came out. She was still nice (as she always is) but a little more honest. "Okay, I have to say, I'm just now beginning to get used to it." Her husband, on the other hand, remained speechless.

I asked my hairdresser during the process, "Is it true that people always look best in their natural hair color?"

His response, "I don't know who started that rumor but I know this much: it wasn't a f*ing hairdresser."

Yeah, probably not anyone at L'Oreal either. Anyhoo, thanks Robert! I feel like a million bucks.

Happy New Year

May all of our dreams come true in 2008!