By John Y. Brown III, on Thu Feb 14, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
The economic way of thinking. (The Slinky Test)
There’s a sucker born every minute, PT Barnum famously said. Including the evening of June 2, 1963 (my birth date)
I saw a later version of this TV ad when I was a child of about 5. And I had to have a slinky. Had to. Watch the way it curiously flops hypnotically down a flight of stairs. Or flops itself along the declining platform.
It was the “sizzle” not the “steak” (so to speak) that mesmerized me and made me feel I had to have this shiny toy.
So I insisted and wheedled and cajoled (even though I didn’t know what those words meant at the time) until my grandmother broke down and got me one.
And here’s the genius (or cunning) of good ole American marketing. The slinky did exactly as it was represented in the ad. If flopped down the stairs. And flipped down an incline.
So I did it again. And again the slinky flopped and flipped–just as it did in the ad. I didn’t want to admit it but, frankly, I was starting to get a little bored at this juncture. So
I ran the slinky down the stairs and incline one or two more times. And then I realized, “I think I’m done with this toy. Now what?” And shortly after that the economic agony of realizing you spent (or your grandmother spent) $4 in real money for about 50c in thrills sets in.
You can keep playing with the slinky until you get in about $6 worth of play, so your grandmother will remember your wise purchase the next time you want something you see advertised on TV. Or you can do as I did. Go in the basement and pretend to play with the slinky for about $7 or $8 dollars worth of fun to impress your sweet grandmother (who also warned you about the limits of a slinky).
And don’t we do that with many new purchases?
So the test for us should NOT be, “Does the product perform as represented?” But rather, “Does what the product claim to do —for personal or practical reasons—justify the cost?”
And if the answer is no, remind yourself how many hours you’ll have to spend in the basement pretending to be playing with a slinky to preserve your ability to make your next irresistible purchase.
(Note: I know the slinky is a lot more complicated than I make it sound and an ingenious toy. But mostly for ingenious kids. I just thought it looked cool going down the stairs and failed to calculate how much that was worth to me).
By John Y. Brown III, on Wed Feb 13, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
My kind of rebel.
A friend was making his 8 hear old daughter attend the adult worship service which is an hour long and hard for a youngster to sit through without lots of restless squirming.
To cope the plucky little girl would stand and draw on the program. My friend got her to stop drawing where people could see what she was doing but couldn’t get her to sit without being firm.
Finally, he sternly , teeth gritted, said emphatically “Sit down now, young lady!”
And she did.
But two minutes later whispered to her dad defiantly, “I am still standing up in my mind.”
By John Y. Brown III, on Tue Feb 12, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
Identity management tool
I was asked by Apple iTunes a question to confirm my identity and allow me access to my account
The identity question ?
What was the first album you purchased?
I answered–after considerable thought –Puff the Magic Dragon. It was 45 years ago but I remember it well.
But I was told “no” that wasn’t the album.
How do they know?
Can I find out from Apple what the album was I first purchased?
May be they will say the Monkees….but that was my second album.
I will call tomorrow to protest this block to my account and I will have affidavits from my mom and two sisters that, indeed, it was Puff the Magic Dragon.
By John Y. Brown III, on Mon Feb 11, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
The difference between guys and dogs.
When a dog catches a car it pauses and looks genuinely confused….and saunters off knowing he miscalculated the payoff and feeling foolish (even by dog standards).
When a guy catches the equivalent of a car he has been chasing (so to speak), he seems uncertain for a nanosecond and then immediately projects the image of someone positively thrilled with his capture, of knowing exactly what he was doing and what to expect, and poses as if to say, “Seriously folks, have you ever seen such brilliantly successful car chasing before ? I didn’t think so.”
And then before any sliver of doubt emerges begins looking for the next car to chase (figuratively speaking) –as his audience watches on approvingly.
Other than this distinction guys and dogs are otherwise very similar.
By John Y. Brown III, on Fri Feb 8, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
Leave ’em speechless. My inner-Superfly. And vivid imagination:
Me: I really don’t think you would have sent that snarky text this morning if you’d known the truth about what song I’d just listened to. That’s right. What song (and video) I had just listened to and watched. And was feeling. Superfly! Curtis Mayfield. Uh-huh. That’s right!
Texter: I’m sorry Mr Brown. I didn’t know.
Me: You’re sorry alright. Don’t text me in that sarcastic tone ever again.
Texter: I won’t, sir. I swear.
I love cool comebacks that I have with others during imaginary conversations I have in my head.
Sure, it’s not quite the same as if I actually said it during an actual conversation to an actual person. But it still sends a message. Maybe a message no one but me is aware of. But it sends a message to me that I’m not as important or feeble as I feel at the moment.
And, yeah, I’m pretty good at it, too. Like Yogi Berra said, “It ain’t braggin’ if you done it.” And I do have a lot of great comebacks that shut down rude people in their tracks. (Imaginary comebacks in imaginary conversations with imaginary people).
But as these fantasy conversations go, they are impressive, and plentiful, and I always get the last word. Leaving my rivals speechless and ashamed–and hopefully a little wiser the next time they find themselves in an imaginary conversation with me.
By John Y. Brown III, on Thu Feb 7, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
Warning: Deep reflective personal questions can sometimes lead to an existential crisis–that moment you begin questioning the point and meaning of life and wonder if either exist for you or the world we live in.
It happened to me today.
I asked myself a ponderous question that everyone–eventually–probably wonders about themselves:
“If I were an iPhone app, what category would I be listed under? (See list below)
• Books
• Business
• Catalogs
• Education
• Entertainment
• Finance
• Food & Drink
• Games
• Health & Fitness
• Lifestyle
• Medical
• Music
• Navigation
• News
• Photo & Video
• Productivity
• Reference
• Social Networking
• Sports
• Travel
• Utilities
• Weather
And that’s when the existential crisis set in. There’s like over 20 iPhone categories!
And yet…..and yet…not one of them fit me.
I felt like the hole in the donut. The odd man out. The outlier. The runt. The defective toy. The ….well, you get the idea.
Does life have meaning? Is there a point to life? Even if you can’t easily imagine yourself fitting neatly into any one “life” category if you were an iPhone app?
By John Y. Brown III, on Wed Feb 6, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
“Live Fast. Die Young. Don’t take helpful parking advice.”
(Rebel without a cause….Just rebelling for rebellion’s sake.)
Ah, c’mon. Sure you do. Most of us have a deep down core spark of defiance in us that makes no sense. It’s part of what makes us cherish independence as Americans. We are a nation of immigrants whose ancestors were willing to sail across oceans to to come to America to be free and we take our freedoms seriously.
We are a nation of independent minded risk takers and entrepreneurs who want to be allowed to do our own thing and subscribe to Ben Franklin’s motto, “Don’t tread on me.”
But sometimes can take them too seriously—and even turn into a silly defiance that is taken to an absurd and pointless extreme. And that is not a helpful or enviable trait to have.
What does that look like? I’m afraid I may have inadvertently found out myself yesterday while joking with a friend. Because joking, you know, isn’t always 100% joking. It’s usually at least 10% true, which is what makes the absurd distortion funny. There is a grain of truth to it.
And sometimes it’s 15% true. Or even 50%.
Yesterday I was running late to meet a friend who was working with a new firm and he wanted me to meet with the firm and see if there were any opportunities to work together on something in the future.
To help me not waste more time since I was having trouble finding the location, I got a call when I was two minutes away helpfully explaining to me to “Park in the back. We are in the back so don’t park in the front.”
I arrived and, as you can imagine where this is going, I was seized with the same urge in me that causes me to “walk on the grass” and “touch wet paint” when I see signs telling me not to. Part curiosity, I tell myself, but certainly part rebel. And so I parked in the front. I tried going in several doors but none—surprise, surprise!—led to my friend’s firm. I called him and asked again for directions to the office explaining in golf language, “I’m on the green but don’t want to four putt.”
I walked all the way around the building, found the office and had a nice meeting. When I left my friend walked me to my car….And I kept walking and walked through the grass and mud as we had to walk around the hill on the side of the building to get back to my car which I parked in the “front” instead of the back as I was helpfully advised.
My friend started laughing and asked, “Did you really still park in the front? Even after I told you it was a pain to walk up here to the backside of the building?” It was a rhetorical question but I took the bait and thought I would have some fun trying to explain my inexplicable decision.
I went on a faux rant saying, “Look man, yeah, you told me where to park. But I’m 49 years old. Don’t you think I know how to park at my age? What are trying to say to me by talking to me that way? Do you think I’m an idiot or something? And, yeah, I interpreted the advice as you trying to control me. I don’t like being held down like that and controlled. I was sending a message by parking in the front against your advice. C’mon man, I’m not your monkey. I don’t roll that way. I park on my terms where I want to park for my own reasons and you need to get OK with that. Don’t be cramping my style by trying to micromanage everything about my life, like where I park.”
We were both laughing at the absurd childish rant I was pretending to have…and said goodbye. And as I drove off, I realized that about 50% of what I said (as a joke)—deep, deep down in my murky inchoate psyche—was had a trace (or more than a trace) of truth to it. Wow! And completely ridiculous. But there it is. And something I need to consciously battle against in areas of my life that are more consequential than deciding where to park.
So, my commitment to myself. Next time someone offers me helpful parking instructions, I am going to take them up on it. Maybe not ever detail but as a general matter if I am told to park in the back, I will at least park in the back or on the side of the road and not in the front. And tell myself that it doesn’t make me a “sell out….to ‘the man'” if I do that.
It will just make me 5 minutes earlier and keep me from getting mud on my shoes.
By John Y. Brown III, on Tue Feb 5, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
Why it is important to pay attention to detail –and spelling. And album covers.
Because the song doesn’t remain the same. Or even similar.
I was 17 and on a date with my high school buddy Maronda Buchta (now McKinney) and we were going to a rock concert –Rush.
We met early and had lots of time to kill and had listened to the latest Rush album enough times we already knew more about Tom Sawyer than we’d ever imagined.
So I suggested we swing by a record store off Shelbyville road and pick up the album by “That Neil guy” and added “You know. Who sings Cinnamon Girl. From the movie Rust Never Sleeps.”
Maronda was easy going and agreed. So I walked into the record store and asked for the two best cassettes they could recommend by the big rock star “Neil ….Neil something…”
The sales clerk and manager scurried to the back and grabbed two cassette tapes which didn’t seem quiet right when I glanced at them. but I didn’t want to debate and just said I’ll take them both and spent my last few dollars and was out the door.
We pulled out of the parking lot and headed to Freedom Hall. I had already furiously opened the cassettes outside the store and threw away the box and receipt.
And as we began cruising downtown I asked Maronda to put in the “Neil guy …the, uh, ummm, Neil. What did the sales clerk say his last name was? Oh yeah. Neil Diamond!”
Maronda looked deeply wounded and concerned for me. And speaking in what seemed like painfully slow motion, she explained”Neil Diamond doesn’t sing Cinnamon Girl.” And then started laughing hysterically at me, which people were wont to do then (and now).
Neil D had looked hip enough on the album cover to sing a few Neil Young songs —but Neil never sought that role and was never comfortable in it.
And after scouring both cassettes unsuccessfully for the the song Cinnamon Girl, I gave up and slipped in the cassette .
Has anyone ever chosen to listen to Song Sung Blue to pump yourself up before a concert? I have and it didn’t work well. I like Neil Diamond just fine but not before Rush concert. After all, Neil Young and Neil Diamond are as different as Cinnamon Girl and Cinnamon Butter.
And to this day, 32 years later, I still check 2 or 3 times when selecting to buy or listen to music by Neil Young.
===
Steely Dan versus Nicki Minaj —and my curmudgeonly moment.
My favorite band is Steely Dan. And that makes me lucky. Steely Dan emerged during my generation and creates gorgeous music with clever lyrics that have substance and meaning. But mostly they create extraordinary music that sweeps you away in the magical way that only great music can do.
So who is unlucky with music? At the risk of sounding old and crusty, I think today’s younger generation are being shortchanged. Too much of the music is mere shock and gimmickry. It reminds me of a stand-up comedian who has material that isn’t funny and elicits laughs by using over-the-top crude language. The weaker the material, the cruder the language becomes–until you eventually have merely a string of expletives that are barely held together by the semblance of a humorous story.
An unfortunate amount of the most popular music today seems to be similarly crafted. Instead of going for the cheap laugh, they go for the cheap lyric (that’s really not even a lyric at all). It’s musical but not really music. It’s edgy but too often empty—void of meaning. It’s catchy but not clever. It’s crude rather than creative. Today’s music doesn’t flow smoothly and transport us to a better place but rather stuns us with sounds that seem more like bullets that never hit their target yet were fired in anger.
I know I am vastly over-generalizing. But that’s something older people get to do. Young people have hip lingo. Older people get to rif generally without being a slave to the detail expected of younger writers and thinkers. No doubt about it, there is great music being created by the younger generation. But there’s too much what I’ll call Nicki Minaj “Did it on ’em” tirades that I dare call music.
Steely Dan and the music of my earlier generation is created by bands who love music and were drawn to music for what it could do to make life not only more bearable but more enjoyable. Today’s bands often seem like an unrepentant “Id”, as Freud called it, creating techno sounds reflecting uncoordinated instincts shouted in frustration—music that aims more at venting than creating. Its highest form of meaning may well be cathartic—leaving behind lyrics it’s hard to imagine will be appreciated 20 years from now.
Which brings me back to my point about sounding old and crusty. But remember, music teaches us that things aren’t always what they sound like. Maybe I’m not old and crusty then– but a little saddened that today’s musicians don’t ask more of themselves. And disappointed to see the magic that music can be to each generation diminished just a little and it’s raw and natural power ignored in favor of something different and, I contend, cheaper.
One of the many Steely Dan songs I never tire of is FM. A song about the shift from AM radio in the 1970s with the refrain “No static at all”, which symbolized the move to FM. And yet much of the music offered up today seems to celebrate static and, in terms of its persona, seems better suited for AM. Another is Caves of Altimira. I heard the song for the first time while in college and was drawn in by its irresistibly compelling sound. And after a while came to appreciate the lyrics and learned what they meant.
It was through a Steely Dan song that I learned about the famous cave in Spain with vivid and colorful cave paintings featuring drawings and paintings of wild mammals and Paleolithic humans. All set to a mellifluous saxophone solo that allowed me to escape into my curiosity and connected me with my past.
When’s the last time you can say something like that about a recent pop song?
By John Y. Brown III, on Mon Feb 4, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
A kinder, gentler Breaking Bad?
I love this series but it can be over-the-top with fringe plot developments and crazy characters as the mild mannered former high school chemistry teacher, Walter White, becomes a successful meth dealer.
I was wondered the other night what it might look like if Breaking Bad had been written with a more mainstream and gentler, kinder theme. Maybe call it, “Veering incautiously” instead of the rogue sounding “Breaking Bad.” And instead of making Walter White an ever-hardening meth dealer, write a more mainstream method for handling his personal crisis. What if, for example, instead of cooking and selling meth, Walter instead became a celebrated shoe cobbler (selling custom made and hand crafted suede shoes that become very popular in some circles)?
Sure the series may have a different feel and tone, but would it also be more plausible? Would it widen potential audience appeal since more people can identify with shoe-makers than meth dealers?
Here’s a video clip giving us a peek of what this series might have looked like as Walter sells a pair of blue suede shoes to internationally known shoe fashion designer Tuco Salamanaca. (Just imagine shoes and not methamphetamine is being transacted in this scene.) Tuco is renown for his exacting taste and relentless drive for perfection in his shoe line. Despite being skeptical about Walter at first—and being obviously flustered that the shoes he tries on are too “tight” —Tuco is still won over by Walter’s attention to detail and skilled craftsmanship. In fact, so much so, Tuco buys them on the spot (even though they are an unusual “blue” shade) and suggests future purchases for his shoe line in pink and yellow.
But there is still the critical question, Would the series work as well with Walter as shoe cobbler —or is something lost.
Warning: Foul language even though we are pretending they are talking about shoe design.
But remember, the high end shoe market is a brutally competitive business. So this scene may not be too far off the mark. ; )
By John Y. Brown III, on Fri Feb 1, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
“You look just like…”
I have never liked hearing this sentence and I suspect most people don’t. It means someone else out there in the universe is basically a carbon copy of you and, hence, one of your is unnecessary. Or at least you aren’t as special or unique, a feeling we all like to have.
I had someone tell me yesterday, “I can’t remember the person’s name….Oh, the name doesn’t even matter. But you (speaking to me) look so much like this guy…..(Pause)
Actually, it’s a silhouette of a generic male. I know that sounds nondescript and dull. And may even sound like an insult but I don’t mean it that way. It’s just whenever I see you, I think of that black silhouette image of a generic person. There’s just something about you that reminds me of this image….It’s so odd. And really uncanny”
OK. That really didn’t happen to me.
And I hope it never does.
I can deal with being told I look like a real person. But when I am ….it sometimes feels as uninspiring little like this imaginary interaction.
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