Archive for the 'Strange But True' Category

It’s true, you boys. I have been given the great honor of joining the team at In Search of Stuff, that beloved blog of search marketing wisdom that all the cool kids read.

You’re probably familiar with the story about Google‘s concern that their name — their trademarked name — was being genericized, like Band-Aid, Xerox, Rollerblade and many others before it. That is, the name was turning into a general term that wasn’t limited to Google itself. Both Merriam-Webster and the OED view the word as a verb.

Google’s response to this was initially to complain vociferously. I believe they sent out a few cease and desist letters, but that was before the word got added to the dictionary. Now they’re being a bit more conciliatory, asking us all, “Do You Google?“

Here are some hopefully helpful examples.

Usage: ‘Google’ as noun referring to, well, us.
Example: “I just love Google, they’re soooo cute and cuddly and adorable and awesome!”
Our lawyers say: Good. Very, very good. There’s no question here that you’re referring to Google Inc. as a company. Use it widely, and hey, tell a friend.

Usage: ‘Google’ as verb referring to searching for information on, um, Google.
Example: “I googled him on the well-known website Google.com and he seems pretty interesting.”
Our lawyers say: Well, we’re happy at least that it’s clear you mean searching on Google.com. As our friends at Merriam-Webster note, to “Google” means “to use the Google search engine to find information about (as a person) on the World Wide Web.”

Usage: ‘Google’ as verb referring to searching for information via any conduit other than Google.
Example: “I googled him on Yahoo and he seems pretty interesting.”
Our lawyers say: Bad. Very, very bad. You can only “Google” on the Google search engine. If you absolutely must use one of our competitors, please feel free to “search” on Yahoo or any other search engine.

OK, fair’s fair. It happened, and they realized that they really couldn’t stop it, so they’re playing along, but hoping you’ll only use it as a verb when you’re talking about them.

You know about all those Apple products: iPod, iMac, iTunes, iLife (which includes iPhoto, iMovie, iDVD, and even iWeb — “Internet Web”?) and soon (pleeeeeease) the iPhone. Apple says the i stands for “internet”, or at least that’s what they said when the iMac was released. I don’t have an iPod, but I’m pretty sure they don’t go online.

Apple’s not the only iCompany out there. In fact, somebody else is already using the name iPhone, and they’re using the i the way Apple supposedly intended to in the first place — this iPhone is a VoIP company. Internet phone. Get it? And of course there’s that women’s web portal, iVillage. Internet Village. Perfectly sensible. And I’ve no doubt that it takes an iVillage to raise an iChild.

Getting back to that Google-as-a-verb business, what about when a company makes it clear they want you to use their trademark as a verb? Have a look at this:

Isn’t that cute? I village, you village, he she or it villages. Come on everybody, let’s village!

Now I’m waiting for people to start to pod, mac, tunes, life, phone, etc. Yeah, yeah, I know they already phone. You get the idea.

Do you remember the episode of The Flintstones in which Fred becomes a scout master — the one where he goes to the big jubilee (or jamboree, or whatever it is scouts have) in Shangra-la-di-da Valley? No, this post is not about how the scouts treated prehistoric atheists and homosexuals. You’ll see where I’m going in just a moment.

Fred has been named the new leader of the Saber Tooth Tiger Patrol. He comes home wearing his usual schmatta, but with a difference: his tie is absent, and he’s got a hat, a kerchief, and a stick. Wilma sees him and asks, “Fred, what happened? Is there a war?” Fred chuckles and says, “No, this is a boy scout uniform.” Wilma makes some comment about how she’d thought maybe the army had gotten desperate and was scraping the bottom of the barrel, then does a double-take (or to be more accurate, her hair does a double-take) and exclaims, “A boy scout uniform???” If you watch the scene, you’ll hear how Wilma stresses the word “scout.” You’re likely to notice that it sounds a little odd.

That’s because, under normal circumstances, the phrase “boy scout” has the stress on the “boy” (ouch). I’m sure you’ve all heard numerous examples of this phenomenon. Every now and then, someone says something like “probably,” and it just rubs you the wrong way. It doesn’t feel right. It’s just not the way you’d expect it to sound. Whenever someone puts the stress on the wrong syllable (ahem — syllable), it’s called a Wilma, in honor of that modern stone age lady.

You’ll hear quite a lot of Wilmas if you watch shows on the eye of hell in which people are reading from cue cards or prompters, because they often don’t see a full sentence while they’re reading it, so they’re not always sure of where to put that little punch. Wolf Blitzer is the undisputed king of the Wilma:

A dozen years ago Republicans took control of the House and the Senate in mid-term elections.

So, what is the proper response to a Wilma? There are two, the more common being to shout “Wilmaaaaaa” the way Fred did in the closing credits of the show. My favorite, however, is to quote Wilma herself. I just love to say, “a boy scout uniform???” I say it rather a lot actually, especially when I’m in the Situation Room with Wolfie and the gang.

I don’t know if you’re familiar with the acronym WOM, but in marketing-speak it’s what we call “word of mouth,” which has become one of those marketing buzzwords like Web 2.0 and viral marketing. Sure, everyone knows what word of mouth is, but there are people who are paid to manage it for companies, or at least to try to manage it.

It’s the sort of thing that can get out of hand. After all, nobody owns the interweb tubes, and despite the efforts of some, public opinion is pretty hard to tame. That’s the situation the venerable Bank of America currently finds itself in.

BoingBoing is reporting on a huge customer service gaffe on the part of a Bank of America branch. As word has spread about it, people have been closing down their BofA accounts to express their disgust, to the tune of about $50 million.

And then there’s the video below, of a couple of BofA folks performing their version of U2′s “One,” with lyrics extolling the glory and wonder of their mastery of the world of credit cards (which BofA actually invented, by the way) as they absorb competitor after competitor. The headline of its page on YouTube describes it as “funny/terrible,” but I have to admit, the guy has a good voice. What’s funny/terrible about it is the concept of singing with passion about the credit card business, and the way these guys are dressed. It makes me want to shake them by the shoulders and angrily scream BANKER at them. It’s kind of like the way the space hippies called people “Herbert” in that Star Trek episode.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fhYg_7e3X54]

There’s one thing that it seems many people don’t know about BofA. That abbreviated version of the bank’s name is pronounced “B of A” by most, but some of us prefer the single word “Bofa,” and that just happens to be a word of celebration in the Zulu language. Just imagine a bar in Soweto, full of fans watching a World Cup match between South Africa and the hated Italians. Italy is favored to win, and moved ahead with three early goals, but the South Africans are making a comeback. Every time the goal tender makes a save, the crowd shouts “Bofa!” With each goal by the South Africans, the shouts of “Bofa” grow louder, until the game is won when a player from the Townships makes a miraculous penalty kick and the whole nation shakes with screams of “Bofa!“

It’s true. Would I lie?

I don’t know, but it kind of makes you wonder, you know?

Lynne Cheney…. Lon Chaney…
Lynne Chaney… Lon Cheney…

I bet you didn’t know about this.

In early 1961, Ella Fitzgerald, the First Lady of Song herself, was at a party being given by some record executives from RCA in Los Angeles. Fitzgerald was under contract with Verve Records at the time, and didn’t know many of the people at the party. After mingling for an hour or so, she was getting ready to leave when she heard someone playing the piano and singing in another room. She didn’t recognize the song, but she immediately loved it.

As the story goes, Ella followed her ears and met the young man at the piano. He taught her the song, called “Wonderful World” and they sang it together. He of course knew Ella — he was a big fan — and pretty soon they were entertaining the whole party with jazz standards and some current popular songs.

The party ended up lasting all night. The man at the piano turned out to be none other than Sam Cooke, and the song that had introduced him to Ella was one he’d composed and recorded.

As it happened, Herb Alpert was at the party, and in addition to being a good friend of Fitzgerald’s he was one of the co-writers of “Wonderful World.” It was Alpert’s idea that Sam and Ella put an act together.

Everyone at the party applauded the idea, and it was decided that they’d put together a collection of songs, some of his, some of hers, and some that they felt lent themselves to the combination of their talents, rehearse for a week or two, and, just for fun, do a show or two together.

They did a show at the Roxy in LA with very limited advertising under the name “Sam and Ella” and were such a hit that the club’s owner asked them to stay for a week. For the next week, they sold out every show and brought the house down every night.

The decision was made for the two to do a tour of the US together. The plan was for Ella to perform for 45 minutes, followed by Sam for another 45, and then the two would come on stage together and do duets for as long as they felt like it. The tour was booked into some 50 cities over a three-month period, and was to start with an invitation-only dinner show at New York’s Rainbow Room on April 29, 1961.

The night of the kickoff show arrived after a whirlwind press tour. The performance was to be recorded and broadcast live on numerous radio stations. The invited guests — including some of the most famous entertainers in the country — were seated at 8:00 and served Waldorf salad, followed by chicken marsala. By 9:15, the tables had been cleared, the lights dimmed, and out came Fitzgerald and her quartet.

At the end of her set, Ella left the stage and Sam Cooke appeared to do his set with the same backup musicians. The crowd seemed very appreciative, but some 30 minutes into the set a few of the people started to leave, and the number continued to increase to the point where, by the end of Cooke’s set, nearly half the audience was gone.

At this point, Fitzgerald came out on stage to join Cooke (who was worried that his music had somehow been bad enough to thin out the crowd), the band started “Wonderful World,” and the audience applauded in recognition, but without much enthusiasm.

Fifteen minutes into the duet set, the last of the audience was gone. Fitzgerald was completely shocked, and Cooke (a very sensitive man indeed) was in tears, apparently blaming himself for the whole debacle.

As it turned out, the audience hadn’t walked out because of any problem with either of the two stars. The chicken marsala was undercooked, and nearly everyone in the crowd had taken sick. The singers were told of this the next morning, and they were asked to hold off the rest of the tour and perform again in New York to get things off to a proper start. But the damage had been done. Cooke, who was also a bit superstitious, refused to perform, insisting that it was going to happen again even if they never served chicken at one of their shows again. The tour was canceled, and that was the end of Sam and Ella. They never performed together again, and Cooke was killed in a bizarre shooting some three years later.

There’s something I want to tell you about — a truth that’s been hidden from you for years. You may have trouble believing it, but that’s only because people in power have worked to keep you ignorant about it. It’s a conspiracy as insidious as the cover-up concerning the truth about Delaware.

If you’ve ever visited a nursing home, you’ve probably seen the beds there. To the untrained eye, they look just like hospital beds, but there’s a big difference. Nursing home beds are designed for a very specific, secret purpose in addition to the purpose they share with hospital beds.

Late at night, when all the patients are asleep (some of them have to be drugged to make certain they’ll sleep through this process), the beds in the nursing home first extend and fasten straps over the sleeping senior in order to hold them in place, then automatically move. One by one, they roll out of their rooms and into an elevator which carries them down to a secret sub-basement.

Upon reaching the basement, the beds roll toward a large round vat which is being gently warmed and stirred by automated equipment. Once the vat is completely surrounded by beds, the beds tilt forward, bringing the seniors up to a position of leaning over the vat.

Supervisors are present to make certain that no one awakens. They also check to ensure that all the mouths open in the tilting process, and open them manually if need be.

For the next two to three hours, the sleeping seniors drool into the vat. When the process is complete, the beds tilt back down, then travel back upstairs to the rooms and unstrap the sleeping seniors.

Back in the basement, the drool of the seniors is gently heated and mixed so that it thickens and congeals. After about eight hours of this process, the drool has been turned into a thick, whitish, semi-soft substance, which is then packaged and sent out to stores for purchase.

Consumers believe that the goo they’re spreading onto their bagels is a dairy product, but that’s only because they’re the unwitting victims of a terrible, disgusting lie. If people were permitted to know where their schmear really came from, there would be chaos in the streets. I know that it’s dangerous to reveal this truth, but I could never forgive myself if I failed to warn the world’s populace of what they’re putting in their mouths.

Written language is a collection of symbols representing sounds. Those sounds form words, which in turn represent ideas. Logos are images which represent entities of some sort — commercial, political, educational, religious, whatever. You might say they’re ideograms. Sergei Eisenstein dealt with this in “The Cinematographic Principle and the Ideogram,” found in his book, Film Form: Essays in Film Theory. Buy the book. It totally rules. So did Sergei’s hairdo.

Sometimes the connection between the image and that which it represents is pretty direct. The logo that represents la Vache qui Rit, for example, is… la vache qui rit. She’s a cow. She’s laughing. I understand it’s not zoologically accurate (in addition to the fact that I don’t think cows come in red, I remember reading somewhere, long ago, that only humans and chimpanzees laugh), but if you understand the words you can see them in the image.

Sometimes it’s a bit tougher to find the connection between the logo and that which it represents. That doesn’t necessarily mean that the logo is a failure from a marketing perspective. If the logo can be made to represent the image, it’ll do the job whether it looks like what it means or not. And a lot of the time, marketing people will announce that the new logo they’ve created represents some aspect of the company, the same way red on a nation’s flag supposedly represents the blood of those who have fallen in battle protecting that great land from evil. So you’ll see press releases stating that the big swoosh in the new logo for some insurance company represents their unique ability to initialize creativity and synergistic something-or-other. Look at the two logos below. Do you recognize what they represent? (Mousing over the images = cheating). Do you know why?

I sure as hell don’t know why. A rectangle and a slash inside a square? Bring back the laughing cow, I say.

We all know that the peacock represents NBC, right? We see and we think “NBC” or “the NBC peacock.”

And of course, by now we all get the idea of websites. If we’re watching NBC and we see “NBC.com” or “nbc.com” we think “OK, that’s where I’d find NBC’s website” the same way we think “NBC” when we see .

The question is, while the logo represents the company, and the letters represent the name of the company, does the logo… can the logo represent the letters that represent the name of the company? In other words (so to speak), does mean “NBC.com”? Does it mean “the website of NBC”? Can the National Broadcasting Company ditch the initials of its name and just use that picture? And for those that remember, would that stupid ugly gigantic N they used briefly during the 70s with a “.com” next to it also mean “NBC.com”? Would it mean “N.com,” or maybe “stupiduglygiganticn.com”?

Beats me.

…and I like to think that I am. Today I had to venture outside of my precious hovel to go to an appointment, and I observed some very interesting things. No, I did not see the cat detector van from the Ministry of Housinge. But as I was walking toward Massachusetts Avenue to catch the bus, I noticed a real estate sign in front of a house at the corner of Eustis and Arcadia Streets in Cambridge. The name of the realtor was Susie Hsu. Say that name aloud. Haven’t you been wondering whatever became of her? I know I have. I saw her perform with her band some 15 or 20 years ago at the Orpheum in Boston and she was pretty bad. She kept complaining about how hot it was on the stage. You’d think she’d have learned to expect that and accept it as a standard occupational hazard. I wonder if she brings Budgie along when she runs an open house. I wonder if he’s changed the spelling of his name. I suppose he could be “Bud Gee” and they can be a pretend Asian couple together, selling houses in Cambridge as Susie Hsu and Bud Gee of Ban Shee Realty.

Later today, on my way back from the appointment, I was right around the Lexington/Arlington border (still on Mass Ave) and I passed by a car wash. In front of it, a man was wiping down his car, presumably after running it through the wash. The man was a white guy, with white hair, probably in his early 60s, wearing khaki pants and a green sweater. The car was a Cadillac, with a vanity license plate that read MD4GOLF. Now, I don’t know if that was intended to mean that the man was made for golf, the car was made for golf, or they were both made for golf, but in any case, I think this proves the point I made last night.

I was coming out of a meeting earlier this evening and noticed that we’re pretty close to a full moon. That reminded me of something I’ve been wanting to tell you about.

We’ve all heard of the man in the moon, that pareidolia almost as famous as the Virgin Mary’s apparition on a wad of beef jerky heimliched from the throat of a NASCAR fan at Daytona (it’s always Florida). We all know the man in the moon isn’t real. If you believe in him, you probably believe in Santa, the Easter Bunny, and even Delaware.

What you may not realize is that there is a Woman in the Moon, or perhaps more accurately, a Chanteuse in the Moon. That’s right, the moon contains the face of famed French singer, Édith Piaf, she of Non, je ne regrette rien, La vie en rose and Ne me quitte pas.

How this happened, I can’t say. Is it fate? Did Piaf model her look after that face on the moon? Who knows? All I know is, it’s there and there’s no point in denying it. You see it, don’t you? Of course you do!