For the past two years (or somewhere in that neighborhood), Chase has employed the tag line "Chase What Matters" which always reminded me a little of the old American Express "Do More" campaign in that it felt aspirational. While it's a clever use of Chase as a verb, it's otherwise not quite as compelling to me. (Mind you, as an ex-Amex girl, I may be biased.) If I understand correctly, if I bank with Chase, I will have the right resources behind me to follow my dreams. Sounds good, right?
With that said, there is a Chase commercial on the air lately that drives me absolutely batty. I want to smack the smug ass ad agency executive who developed it. It features a guy who is trying to talk his wife/girlfriend into using their Chase points for a vacation for two. He's dreaming of walking along the French Quarter while a jazz band serenades them in the background, boating along a palm tree-laden coastline and dining in an elegant restaurant overlooking a panoramic cityscape. But nope: he cannot chase his dreams because his wife already blew through all the points on one, I repeat, one dress. (And I wonder: where the heck is she planning to wear that thing? Not to the Cub Scout camp out . . . )
In this case, the husband should chase what matters: divorce. Imagine the points he can accrue by charging all his attorney's fees to his Sapphire card. Imagine the trips he could take then!
I think Budweiser should follow up with this same man and film the empty 12 packs that begin littering his coffee table when he finally allows himself to get that stupid, I've-been-duped grin off his face and actually digest the fact that his wife would make such a selfish purchase without consulting him.
Enjoy the in-house "staycation" with your beautifully dressed wife, sir. And don't forget to thank Chase!
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Fly the Kid Friendly Skies
When we went to Aruba last month, we booked our tix at the last minute. As such, we couldn't select our seats. At every gate, we (along with countless other families) had to beg the airport personnel to be seated with our respective kids. With our family, we didn't all have to be together, but we felt that each kid should preferably have one adult next to him -- especially Son #2 who puked upon landing in FL last February. Not exactly fair game for a random stranger to have to deal with that mess; as his mother, it even grossed me out.
My mom and I were musing that, instead of having passengers pre-select their seats and forcing others to angle for better positioning, airlines could reduce the stress for both passengers and personnel alike by simply applying a seating algorithm based on a) individual preferences coupled with b) companion requirements (e.g., passengers that require assistance and/or parental oversight). By optimizing the variables that are fed into the computer, favorable seating can be assigned at the gate with negligable distress. Isn't that the benefit of simple technology? So why not employ it?
Instead, as my girlfriend Left Coast Mom shared on her Facebook page, British Airways has just instituted a "fly next to your children" fee. I love the opening line here:
Why, when airlines continue to post losses, are they determined to make flying more difficult for passengers? Blockbuster learned the hard way that imposing fee after fee after fee doesn't increase customer satisfaction -- it just erodes the base of loyal customers so that better products and services, when introduced, face little resistance when attempting to lure customers to switch. Duh.
More on this less-than-favorable change here. There's gotta be a better way.
My mom and I were musing that, instead of having passengers pre-select their seats and forcing others to angle for better positioning, airlines could reduce the stress for both passengers and personnel alike by simply applying a seating algorithm based on a) individual preferences coupled with b) companion requirements (e.g., passengers that require assistance and/or parental oversight). By optimizing the variables that are fed into the computer, favorable seating can be assigned at the gate with negligable distress. Isn't that the benefit of simple technology? So why not employ it?
Instead, as my girlfriend Left Coast Mom shared on her Facebook page, British Airways has just instituted a "fly next to your children" fee. I love the opening line here:
"British Airways has broken new exciting new ground in the race to make flying as awful as possible: they have announced a fee (ranging from £10-60 per passenger) for advance seat selection, explaining that this will be the only way that families and other groups travelling together can be assured that they'll be sitting next to each other. I wonder what happens if you don't pay it while flying with a two-year-old in her own seat; do they seat her at the other end of the plane from you and explain to the strangers on either side of her that they're responsible for her well-being for the duration?" (Source: Cory Doctorow for BoingBoing.net)Our sentiments exactly. Except that it's BA who I was otherwise fond of.
Why, when airlines continue to post losses, are they determined to make flying more difficult for passengers? Blockbuster learned the hard way that imposing fee after fee after fee doesn't increase customer satisfaction -- it just erodes the base of loyal customers so that better products and services, when introduced, face little resistance when attempting to lure customers to switch. Duh.
More on this less-than-favorable change here. There's gotta be a better way.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Every Precious Dream and Vision Underneath the Stars
After posting yesterday about reaching for the stars, I was singing The Whole of the Moon all day.
You stretched for the stars and you know how it feelsWhen I got in my car to go home, it was on the radio. What a great, great, great song.
To get too high, too far, too soon . . .
Thursday, September 24, 2009
I'm Still Reaching for the Stars
Thanks to my happy-go-lucky, 6' tall brother for more uplifting news!
A recent study published in the journal Economics and Human Biology indicates that tall people live better lives and are happier, on average, than their height-challenged counterparts -- which, for women, means those of us who are 5'4" or shorter (i.e., me).
Whoa doggie. Looks like I've inherited the disadvantaged, les miserables, shortie gene. Shocking. This may explain why I'm always searching for that elusive state of being called "happiness." It's right around the next corner, for sure, apparently killing time with my taller friends.
According to a related article on Bloomberg, "the findings support a hypothesis put forth in 2008 that tall people are more likely than shorter people to have reached their full cognitive potential." The research concludes that the findings are almost entirely explained by the positive association between height and both income and education.
Did I defy the odds with my super impressive graduate degree and highfalutin salary? Without them, would I be down-and-out, devoid of laughter and utterly despondent? Darn it all. If I were just a bit taller, perhaps I wouldn't have to think so hard on a routine basis and, instead, I could fill my days with glee.
Is it any wonder that Gary Larson picked the shortest guy in the class for the cartoon below?
To think this was published >20 years before the research confirmation. Ah well. Does this mean they have to lower the glass ceiling even further for me?
A recent study published in the journal Economics and Human Biology indicates that tall people live better lives and are happier, on average, than their height-challenged counterparts -- which, for women, means those of us who are 5'4" or shorter (i.e., me).
Whoa doggie. Looks like I've inherited the disadvantaged, les miserables, shortie gene. Shocking. This may explain why I'm always searching for that elusive state of being called "happiness." It's right around the next corner, for sure, apparently killing time with my taller friends.
According to a related article on Bloomberg, "the findings support a hypothesis put forth in 2008 that tall people are more likely than shorter people to have reached their full cognitive potential." The research concludes that the findings are almost entirely explained by the positive association between height and both income and education.
Did I defy the odds with my super impressive graduate degree and highfalutin salary? Without them, would I be down-and-out, devoid of laughter and utterly despondent? Darn it all. If I were just a bit taller, perhaps I wouldn't have to think so hard on a routine basis and, instead, I could fill my days with glee.
Is it any wonder that Gary Larson picked the shortest guy in the class for the cartoon below?
To think this was published >20 years before the research confirmation. Ah well. Does this mean they have to lower the glass ceiling even further for me?
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Deliver Us From Email
Our family's latest Sunday ritual involves whining the following line repeatedly: Do I have to go to church?
Last Sunday, I said to Son #1, "Maybe you could attempt this week to listen to the sermon because it's usually pretty interesting."
He responded, "I tried that last time. It was so boring that I began praying to God that he would knock me out. Hit me over the head. Anything so I could black out and then come to again when it was over."
It served as a nice reminder to me of why God doesn't answer all prayers.
Last Sunday, I said to Son #1, "Maybe you could attempt this week to listen to the sermon because it's usually pretty interesting."
He responded, "I tried that last time. It was so boring that I began praying to God that he would knock me out. Hit me over the head. Anything so I could black out and then come to again when it was over."
It served as a nice reminder to me of why God doesn't answer all prayers.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Ob-la-di, ob-la-da
I sent emails to everyone I know with kids in the Cub Scouts to see if any of the wives were going camping this past weekend. Responses ranged from "you couldn't pay my wife to sleep in a tent" to "no way, I use that night to celebrate the quiet house and drink wine with the other women." But every answer, bar none, said that lots of women go. It's just that no one could name any names.
Sure enough, there were a few women at the campfire -- namely the few that were with me to sign our kids up last week (i.e., all newbies). But alas, in the morning, there were none. They all friggin' left. All but me, that is. Was it because it was less than 40 degrees Faherenheit outside? So cold that it was impossible to sleep? Or was it because men can easily pee on trees and women have to go into a filthy, feces encrusted, stink-hole of a wooden shelter to go to the bathroom? Maybe it was because even after the kids went to bed, a few of the men stayed by the fire and sang campfire songs thereby rendering sleep impossible. Perhaps it was the thousands of geese that, unbeknown(st) to me beforehand, squawk all night long. Apparently it's just roosters and other little birds that awaken at dawn. Geese are partiers man.
The whole scene was surreal. Our tents were pitched in the forest. With the darkness and smoke, the experience took on a bit of a Lord of the Rings mystic quality. Missing: One Viggo Mortensen.
Dinner, on the other hand, was a culinary smackdown. Each kid placed whatever he wanted in a tinfoil pouch (e.g., hamburger, potatoes, mushrooms, corn, onions, taco seasoning), folded the ends and placed the pouch on the fire. Voila! A fully cooked meal with a minimal effort and a whole lotta fun.
I think the best part for the kids, in addition to being with their friends, was playing on a giant tree that had fallen in a storm. Its upended roots alone stretched a good 12' in the air so there was plenty of climbing to be done.
Ah well. Chalk the weekend up to yet another new, kid-related experience. Happy ever after in the marketplace . . . la la how the life goes on.
Sure enough, there were a few women at the campfire -- namely the few that were with me to sign our kids up last week (i.e., all newbies). But alas, in the morning, there were none. They all friggin' left. All but me, that is. Was it because it was less than 40 degrees Faherenheit outside? So cold that it was impossible to sleep? Or was it because men can easily pee on trees and women have to go into a filthy, feces encrusted, stink-hole of a wooden shelter to go to the bathroom? Maybe it was because even after the kids went to bed, a few of the men stayed by the fire and sang campfire songs thereby rendering sleep impossible. Perhaps it was the thousands of geese that, unbeknown(st) to me beforehand, squawk all night long. Apparently it's just roosters and other little birds that awaken at dawn. Geese are partiers man.
The whole scene was surreal. Our tents were pitched in the forest. With the darkness and smoke, the experience took on a bit of a Lord of the Rings mystic quality. Missing: One Viggo Mortensen.
Dinner, on the other hand, was a culinary smackdown. Each kid placed whatever he wanted in a tinfoil pouch (e.g., hamburger, potatoes, mushrooms, corn, onions, taco seasoning), folded the ends and placed the pouch on the fire. Voila! A fully cooked meal with a minimal effort and a whole lotta fun.
I think the best part for the kids, in addition to being with their friends, was playing on a giant tree that had fallen in a storm. Its upended roots alone stretched a good 12' in the air so there was plenty of climbing to be done.
Ah well. Chalk the weekend up to yet another new, kid-related experience. Happy ever after in the marketplace . . . la la how the life goes on.
Friday, September 18, 2009
We're Too Cool to Fool
My mom and I went to the Clothesline Festival at the Memorial Art Gallery last weekend. It's remarkable how a) the artwork doesn't really change year-on-year and b) a lot of the entries probably shouldn't be called art. (Note: I thought it was called the Clothesline Art Festival but it's not. Did they remove the "art"? Or was it always sans "art"?) Anyhoo, it's just fun to stroll around outside on a warm, sunny day with my mom and people-watch.
We came to a stall where a photographer was displaying pictures from all over the world. I commented on one and he responded, "That was taken right here in Webster -- where life is worth living."
I said to him, "Love that. Is that the only town in the area that coined its own tag line?" and he said, "No, Irondequoit has one: Home of the Irondequoit Mall."
Compelling. And no longer true.
As I was driving to a client this week, I noticed that the town of Chili is "Home of Little Guy Soccer." Wow. What on earth? With a big claim like that, it just has to be something that other towns don't have (i.e., like the 1,300 kids ages 5-12 in the Pittsford Mustang Soccer Club), so can it be (fingers crossed) midgets? Inquiring minds want to know.
I think I want to start working on a tag line for Pittsford.
Some of my initial thoughts include:
Pittsford. Puts you there where things are hollow.
Pittsford. What you like is in the limo.
Pittsford. What you get is no tomorrow.
Pittsford. What you need you have to borrow.
Pittsford. Nien! It's mine!
But I think my favorite is:
Pittsford. I reject you first.
Thoughts?
We came to a stall where a photographer was displaying pictures from all over the world. I commented on one and he responded, "That was taken right here in Webster -- where life is worth living."
I said to him, "Love that. Is that the only town in the area that coined its own tag line?" and he said, "No, Irondequoit has one: Home of the Irondequoit Mall."
Compelling. And no longer true.
As I was driving to a client this week, I noticed that the town of Chili is "Home of Little Guy Soccer." Wow. What on earth? With a big claim like that, it just has to be something that other towns don't have (i.e., like the 1,300 kids ages 5-12 in the Pittsford Mustang Soccer Club), so can it be (fingers crossed) midgets? Inquiring minds want to know.
I think I want to start working on a tag line for Pittsford.
Some of my initial thoughts include:
Pittsford. Puts you there where things are hollow.
Pittsford. What you like is in the limo.
Pittsford. What you get is no tomorrow.
Pittsford. What you need you have to borrow.
Pittsford. Nien! It's mine!
But I think my favorite is:
Pittsford. I reject you first.
Thoughts?
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