Stepping Down

Okay, so now this whole thing has just gone out of control crazy style.

The CEO of the Cartoon Network has stepped down!

An excerpt from his letter:

"To: Colleagues
From: Jim Samples

I am sure you are aware of recent events in which a component of an Adult Swim marketing campaign made Turner Broadcasting the unintended focus of controversy in Boston and around the world. I deeply regret the negative publicity and expense caused to our company as a result of this campaign.

As general manager of Cartoon Network, I feel compelled to step down, effective immediately, in recognition of the gravity of the situation that occurred under my watch. It's my hope that my decision allows us to put this chapter behind us and get back to our mission of delivering unrivaled original animated entertainment for consumers of all ages."

Way to take the piss out of unique promotions. This makes me so furious! (Not his letter, as it is of course courteous and gracious.) Is it the network's fault that the city of Boston created panic around something that a quick online search could've clarified in minutes? Are we seriously going to have to think twice, as per the mayor's earlier comments, about doing street campaigns? For the love of all things holy, Samples's resignation only positions this type of marketing as being inherently problematic -- I get that he ended up being the one to take the fall in what resulted in millions of dollars in damages, but were the millions of dollars in damages really necessary? It seems to me that the network should've stood up to these crazy reactionaries (who are, I'm certain, increasing the voracity of their distress about this stuff due to their supreme embarrassment at creating such a scene over nothing) with the fact that the promo was running all over the damn country without any bomb squads.

We're letting the terrorists win!

Bah.

My Ban

That's a burn + a tan.

After a day out of direct sunlight, it appears less speckled and more sun-kissed. Please note the apparent line, however, between the red bottom (which is still WAY redder in real life) of my back and my swimsuit -- I am pulling it just to show you. The things I do for entertainment, man.

Also, is my husband not the cutest thing in the world?

We had way too much pool bar fun last night and met a Canadian and two Manchester locals. Oh! And in exciting Canadiana news...

So last year when we were here, we saw Destination Fox Harb'r for the first time. It's a big crazy boat (I mean, any boat with its own website has got to be crazy), and its name sounded familiar. Indeed, with good reason. Fox Harb'r is a golf resort in Nova Scotia, owned by Mr. Ron Joyce, the Tim Horton's gajillionaire guy. In any case, when we arrived last week, we saw that it was here again. And last night, we saw Mr. Joyce (in the flesh!) at the yacht club happy hour -- as it turns out, he has a condo here as well and is regularly relaxing in the B-dos sun. I know, I know. He isn't a traditional celebrity. But he's an incredibly successful Canadian entrepreneur, and it doesn't get more celebrity-sighting than that for me.

And with that story good and told, we're off to play some 7AM tennis. Whee!

A Spotty Story

My favourite sunscreen for as long as I can remember has been the Coppertone Sport stuff.

With the fair skin of my Irish ancestors, I need real protection when I'm out there, and every time I've used this stuff, it's been an absolute dream. No sweat off, no stickiness, and -- best of all -- no burns.

When I went to Shoppers before this vacation, I went on my hunt for this beloved protector, only to find that they didn't have any of the lotion in stock. Faced with the option of the same brand in gel or spray format, I went with the gel. I mean, everyone knows the spray never goes on right anyway, right?

Mmhmm.

The first day I put the gel on, I was overwhelmed with the intense fragrance of pure alcohol. The stuff started evaporating within seconds as I frantically tried to rub it into my skin. Somewhat startled, I felt a sneaking suspicion about its potency. Nonetheless, I ignored my gut due to my conviction that Coppertone Sport would never let me down. Silly girl.

As of last night, I have about fifteen little red spots. (Will post a picture later today.) No, I don't have the allover sunburn that ruins a vacation -- so that's something. But I now proudly feature red marks on both shoulder, a rectangle at the top of my back, a streak across my right arm, a big oval at the bottom of my back, speckles all over my belly, thin lines across the top of each thigh, and a thumbprint at my ankle.

Coppertone Sport, how could you?

So what's a girl to do? I emailed Ange and begged her to become my Coppertone Sport lotion mule. I am so irritated by my leopard look -- while I don't mind getting only freckles, I was hoping for a little bit of sunniness to my look on this vacation. But the spotted thing? Not as hot as what I'd imagined.

(Yes, I know that if this is all I have to complain about, life is pretty good. I just didn't want anyone else to make the mistake of buying this junk.)

In other news, the vacation has been pretty continually dreamy.

We're playing 3-4 hours of tennis every day, which means I'm surely getting somewhat better, right? I love the running around, I love the hitting (every time the ball comes to me, I do an internal B-E-AGRESSIVE chant), and I love the sweat. We're also doing lots of floaty ocean swimming, and enjoying the local brew as much as one should when there's not much else to have to do. I would be uploading more pictures but, erm, they're kind of all the same. Me on balcony! Me on beach! Me at tennis court! Me on balcony! I'm nothing if not predictable. To calm your evident need for new photos, I bring you feet.

Mine:

Dave's:

Oh yeah! I almost forgot to share the weirdest thing that's happened since our arrival. So we were at the beach yesterday and this older lady was in an inappropriately skimpy swimsuit, but I thought my usual "Hell, if you're okay with it, I am too, lady." Anyway, we were set up near her and she was sunbathing her little heart out. Fine. A while later, this young (teenaged?) girl in a very skimpy bikini came by and said hi to her -- they appeared to know each other, but the connection was unknown. Anyway, they started chatting, then the young girl suggested she take some pictures of the older lady, so she's posing away and all is normal and fine. Then! The young girl asks the older lady to take pictures of her. Next thing I know, I'm witnessing the cheap digi-cam version of a photo shoot for the next flipping Sports Illustrated Teen. Seriously! This kid was posing on the water's edge in the most provocative positions, making far more than come-hither eyes, and the older lady was instructing her. This results similar to this, but with water everywhere.

What the hell was that about? Who was that lady? Who was that kid? What were the photos for? It was totally surreal and bizarre and I still can't figure out what the hell happened. Anyway.

Ange and Jason arrive tomorrow (!!!) and we can't flipping wait. We have plans to make nachos, enjoy numerous and varied mixed drinks, discuss Anna Nicole's death to death, and crash the Wednesday night party at the resort down the beach. There will be plenty of new pictures then, as Ange and I find ourselves altogether irresistible. Hah.

In that joyful spirit, I'm off to enjoy my 8AM coffee, overlooking the marina while catching up on the day's news. Yep, this is the life.

Oh, and PS: Blogger has recently introduced the custom domain option, that allows those quick easy updates they now do (no more loading page!) instead of your standard FTP. So this baby now has its own domain. I've been obsessed with buying domains for as long as I can remember. So rarely are .com domains still available that when I saw this one was, um. Yeah. I got it.

The Commodity Conundrum

I was thinking today about how products have changed in my lifetime. When I was a kid, it seemed like every new technological innovation was a big effing deal. Our first microwave cost over a thousand 1980s bucks. I was obsessed with my innovative Speak and Spell 'til my dad brought home the dreamy Commodore 64. I would follow the instructions, write little programs, and watch my machine type responses to me. Thrilling!

Today, technology just doesn't really get to be new anymore. Companies frantically rush out press releases about 2MP camera phones so they hit the journalists' hot little hands right away. Miss a beat, and your top competitor has gotten their attention first.

There used to be a time when product differentiation allowed companies to strategically position themselves in the marketplace. But now I wonder: Is everything becoming a commodity?

A computer is a computer. An MP3 player is an MP3 player. A cell phone is a cell phone. Sure, they all have new, exciting features when you buy 'em, but increasing competition makes for an unbelievably quick market.

So what's left to give you the upper hand?

Your brand.

Obviously, this doesn't mean your logo or iconography or the stitching on the back of your 7s. It's your vitality, your integrity, your sense of humour -- your personality.

I recently learned about a company that is currently number one in market share in its field, but not so in brand awareness. While it's wonderful to move into that top position, how do you stay there?

In a world where it's ever-so-time-consuming to learn about all the features, specifications, and technical mumbo-jumbo related to a product, it's the company's job to provide you with the most possible information to help you make your decision. This is not to say that companies shouldn't constantly be striving to create the best, most innovative products -- certainly not! Without those, they'd might as well just take their (old-school) ball and go home, because nobody wants to play. But information tends to be asymmetrical, and the company has more of it. The more they can help you to hear, the more you'll understand the product category, and the easier these decisions become. But what if everything still sounds a bit... the same?

They need to make you understand their brand. They need to help you find some connection -- emotional and real -- to make you think of them first. There are about a gazillion ways to theoretically make this happen and none are easy to pull off well, but creating a brand that has a real feel for its target's functional and hedonic aspirations is a necessity.

The more everything starts to feel the same, the less easy it is to be different.

Obvious, yes. But the point of differentiation is discoverable and key. So you know what age group your target fits into? Great. Dig deeper. Understand where they want to go, who they're trying to impress, whether they're willing to admit it, how unique they perceive themselves to be.

Psychographic data is without any doubt completely key, but interaction will push you over the finish line.

Get in there. Don't ride on assumptions or long-held knowledge about whatever game you're targeting. I'm not talking about focus groups here, I'm talking about real interaction. The kind that forces you to look beyond yourself, what the data is saying, and what you "know" to be true. Get on the web, look around, see the language they use, really listen to what they're saying. Hang out where they hang out, watch them, see who their friends are. Understand what they think is funny, figure out their political leanings, get a handle on who they mock. Get a sense of what is ultimately important to them. Build your brand as one of them.

So nothing is really new anymore. Your products are starting to feel like commodities to the unwashed masses. Is it really so hard to differentiate? Sure. But it's not impossible. It just requires a serious commitment to getting the behaviour of your most beloved consumers. It requires you to live it.

I Am Lazy

So I'll be honest. Today went as follows: Coffee, chat, coffee, chat, sandwiches, chat, beach, chat, walk to get water, beach, chat, pool, dinner, chat. We tried to add in tennis, but every time we booked a court time, it rained.

In any case, pictures are all I've really got. (Note that this trip is the first time in my life that I've worn a bikini, much less worn a bikini in public. Oh, my bravery just grows with age! Hah.)

9AM: Dave style.

I really love the beach...

And the boats:

No amount of sun will change the whiteness of my skin:

I loooooooove rainbows (and you can just barely see this one).

So that was our day. It both rocked and rolled. And now it's time for a few drinks, and much more chat.

Tennis is the New Darts

What a way to start the day. Throw on a swimsuit and a Tshirt and hang out drinking coffee and sunning it up. Ah, divinity.

After spending about two hours doing nothing, we hit the tennis court.

I have never played tennis in my life. I've always feared the running back-and-forth part, and the hitting, and the potential balls in the face (special occasions only, ladies). In any case, today I learned.

Every time we go to the cottage, Dave invariably becomes a dart aficionado. Basically, it's the only thing to do there, but he's rather compulsive about it. He'll play for four or five hours straight, getting annoyed with his failings and claiming glorious victory for his perceived successes. It's truly insane, and he is nuts for it.

Well, tennis is the new darts. Only I am turning into Dave.

No kidding, we played for 1.5 hours this morning (in the burning sun), then another three this evening under the court night lights. It was so ridiculously fun. I went from completely terrible to passably mediocre, and I can't stop talking about it. I can't wait to go back tomorrow. I referred to our vacation as tennis camp.

Here's me after the morning's round, red-faced and disgusting, but claiming glorious victory just the same.

Oh yeah, baby. It was that good.

Destination: Heaven

So after being up 'til 3AM last night (Dave had to madly finish work due to deadline confusion, oops), I was up at 5:15, as giddy as a schoolgirl, ready to hit the airport for our annual Barbados trip.

The getting ready was fast, we were all packed, and we went downstairs to await our cab. After ten minutes, I called -- and it was a good thing. They'd written 6PM instead of AM. Suffice it to say, there's no traffic on a Sunday morning anyway, and we made it there just fine -- despite a rusty cab and the very jerky driving of some poor man who seemed like he'd been awake for far too long in one day.

The lineups were a total mess, the staff seemed ever-so-dejected, and we (amongst many, many others) had to get pulled into a "fast lane", which seemed to take just as long as the regular lane. (I find it utterly baffling how Air Canada still has so many operational issues -- it's basic queue theory. Anyway.) We made it through the gate with time to spare, grabbed some water bottles, a banana and a honey cruller, and hit the skies.

During the flight, I spent my usual half-the-time feeling like my back was freezing -- 'til I discovered the joy of putting a pillow behind you. All iciness issues resolved, I listened to some music, tried to get some sleep, and watched The Prestige. (Speaking of which: GOD, those airline headphones are a nightmare -- I swear until right now I thought we'd watched The Illusionist and only discovered my mistake when I tried to IMDB it. I only heard every third word... though, to be fair, I was relatively focused on the dreaminess level of my boyfriend Christian Bale. Back to the headphones: why do these get thrown out after one use? I could have sworn they used to take them away, and I assumed they replaced the foam and reused, but this time they went right in the trash with food leftovers and the like. Quelle waste. Though I guess that does speak to the quality issue.)

After five or six hours (I invariably lose track of time when I change zones), we arrived. We took a bus from the plane to customs (here is where I saw our beloved and frantically waving accountant, Hot Diane), then spent two hours entering the country and collecting our bags. My favourite part of this experience was when a grumpy staffer asked us and two older couples on either side of us to "please don't slow down the line" -- in all honesty, we had all been discussing the joys of lollygagging to extend the airport experience, and she really got us. Crafty!

And then we were outside in the sun and all the annoyance of a day jam-packed with travel irritation was completely gone. Our driver found us, we jumped in, and enjoyed the scenic drive to Port St. Charles (from Bridgetown to just-by-Speightstown, above). Left-hand-lane driving always makes me the tiniest bit anxious, as I secretly suspect other non-local drivers to forget and attack us in a head-on -- particularly in those freaky round-abouts -- but we made it here safe and sound, Banks Beer and Herr's barbecued chips safely in hand.

We were in hot-weather-gear in about fifteen seconds, and spent the evening (a) lounging on the patio, drinks in hand, (b) enjoying a heavenly burger at the bar, or (b) sleeping on the sofa while trying to watch the SuperBowl.

I won't ever be coming home. Do you think it's too early to declare squatter's rights?

Fake Steve Jobs

Now this is just funny.

It's no Armisen's "Picania", but it's funny.

Getting the Spins

So it's been a month since I started spinning now. Can I just say that it is possibly the most fun workout ever?

The first time I went, I was completely wiped afterwards. Red faced, gaspy breathed, euphoric, the whole nine yards. A month later? Red faced, gaspy breathed, euphoric, the whole nine yards. But! I've been able to push the resistance in a major way. I'm tougher, I'm faster, and I can do third position as long as anybody else in the class. The awesome music (today included my family favourite, "Beat It"), the closed eyes (go, go, go, go, go!), the fiery feeling in my lungs and my legs (ahhhh!), and the totally inspiring, friendly instructors (especially the studio's incredible owner) make the hour fly by.

Miracle!

The reason I tried this new addition to the regime out in the first place was (a) to mix up my cardio routine, and (b) a vain hope that this might possibly act as lower body strength training, which I generally loathe. My legs have never been at all strong, no matter how many squats and lunges I did, and it's consistently been a real source of workout frustration for me.

So my endless gratitude goes out to the fine staff at Quad for making lower body strength workouts actually feel fun. I'm even kind of sad that we're going to be away for the next two weeks, as I think I'll miss my hill-climbing-sprinting-good-times. I guess the sun and sand will have to make it up to me somehow.

From the Underground

It's been a fun week in the world of underground marketing.

I read today that the "My Box in a Box" girl wasn't just some girl at all, but a girl hired by Agency.com to show off their madd viral skillz. While I found this video pretty much patently unfunny, I am nonetheless surprised to find out it was a publicity thing. That said, I don't know how much it really shows off -- the video is primarily boobies. Wow, those are popular on the web? Meh, interesting realization nonetheless.


Of course, by now, the whole world has seen the did-she-or-didn't-she fiasco now known as "Bride Has Massive Hair Wig Out". Now we all know the truth: she didn't. The girls are all Canadian actress wannabes. While I wanted it to be real for the sake of hilarity (and nobody will deny that this was awesomely funny, fake or not), it wasn't particularly shocking to find out that it wasn't the real deal (well, except for the hair chopping). Yet! I just read allegations this afternoon that the whole shebang was a guerrilla tactic created for Sunsilk (they apparently pulled out at the last minute, details surely to come in the next week) by Marketing's most recent Agency of the Year, Capital C Communications. Is this indeed the case? If so, why did they pull out? How were they connected? What would the connection have been? I'm waiting with bated breath.

And -- and! -- who could forget the Boston light bright crisis? CNN, Fox News, and journalists all over North America were giddily crapping their pants at the prospect of a true new terror alert, despite the fact that the Aqua Teen Hunger Force street-level campaign had been on the streets of cities over the US for weeks already. The fallout? Oh, y'know. Peter Berdovsky, 27, of Arlington, and Sean Stevens, 28, of Cambridge have been arrested by the Boston PD for "disorderly conduct" related to their role in placing these devices. Who are these dudes? Oh, you know, probably some guys who work at some agency who are -- the cynic in me suspects -- taking this minor legal hit for the sake of a really, really killer bout of crazy publicity for the Turner show. I mean, seriously -- after pleading not guilty and being confronted by reporters, the duo claimed to only be taking questions about 1970s haircuts. (Awesome.)

Boston mayor Thomas Menino was quoted as saying: "It is outrageous, in a post-9/11 world, that a company would use this type of marketing scheme." Wha? Really? It's really so shocking that a company would place little glowy billboards featuring cartoons giving the finger? Really? Oh, but dear sir -- isn't your fury the "proof that the terrorists are winning" that Americans so despise?

I love this stuff.