Death by Bargain

Food for thought: so far, 24% of Adrants readers polled think WalMart should be held accountable for an employee that was trampled to death in its Long Island store on Black Friday.

WalMart's suffered Black Friday stampedes, and potential lawsuits, before, which naturally leads to questions about why it didn't make a better effort to organize crowds. (Consider the painfully orderly iPhone launch.) New York Times writer Peter Goodman even went so far as to call the event a "shopping Guernica." (Oh, to see Picasso paint that.)

And while crazed deal-seekers did Friday's trampling, some bloggers -- like Adam Frucci of Gizmodo -- agree WalMart is at least partly responsible:

Why was there no line set up? Why didn't they let in a reasonable amount of people at a time? What kind of method is it to just allow hundreds of people to cram up against the doors, waiting for them to open? They may have wanted some photo op of people surging through the doors, but they willfully created a very dangerous situation.

Other cyber-spectators, like commenter Scott Crouch on the Dallas News Opinion Blog, suggest maybe WalMart and the holiday stampeders be held responsible.

Facebook, This Far is Too Far.

Well and good if you're gonna feed on my love handle complex, but whether I pass a razor over my Holy Grail is between me and God -- not me, God and your ad board.

Don't Wiki Too Zealously, Cyveillance Sees All

Cyveilliance normally trawls the Internet for data on behalf of clients seeking open source information in advance of a corporate acquisition, an important executive hire, or brand awareness. For example, an executive updating his Wikipedia page or resume on Monster.com may be an indication of that person's plans to change jobs, or even that the company is in financial trouble.

Heavy Wikipedia action on Sarah Palin's bio page yesterday. That's what you call "sculpting a WINNAR."

Why Does Ebay Still Exist?

Burn baby burn.

Some dude won one of my auctions on Ebay and refused to make payment in the allotted seven days. I can't file a complaint, because Ebay's site keeps timing out on me. (It does this all the time.)

And get this: I can't leave negative feedback, due to some new policy that they hope will make buyers feel better about closing purchases. (Hey, idiots. If you're going to admonish us to leave "honest feedback," why don't you empower us to file public complaints?)

Ebay, you have ceased to be a feel-good experience. And in case you think this is a one-time rant, I'd like to remind you of the last time I sold something on your site, when you blew up my inbox for days with an ostentatious bill without explaining in clear terms where I could pay it. (Here's a bright idea: how about PayPal, asshats?)

Ebay = ultimate fail. No wonder all your key people are leaving. If you were a person, and by some wild fortune also my next-door neighbor, I'd slash your tires.

You Wanna Blend Me a What?

In an ongoing quest to keep up with the non-luxury joneses, Starbucks goes into smoothies. Meanwhile, its stock plummets dramatically.

Update: actually, the stock's up 5.67 percent today (that's 0.77 cents). Maybe people like the idea of health smoothies at a coffee shop.

Then again, we already have one D*lush -- which has been doing coffees, blended drinks and smoothies for about seven years -- and it's got all the sex appeal SBUX left behind.

I first came across D*lush in San Diego around 2001. I totally dug the brand experience -- enough to buy a shirt -- but then again I was heavy into pink and blue. =P Plus, when you walk in for the first time, all the employees shout "WE'VE GOT A VIRGIN!"

They're so cute. And apparently they shimmied into Dubai this year. See D*lush promo stuff here.

Gold Foil, Creamy Middle, Dirty Fingers

I got to try a Starbucks truffle today. It came in an unmarked, shiny package and was pleasant taste-wise, but no grande of a turn-on. (Contrary to what the photo suggests, however, it does not have a creamy cottonball center.)

One thing I never understood about Starbucks: why hasn't it seriously tried exploring dark chocolate? If it wants to play up its "luxury destination" cachet, it ought to know nothing goes better on a cultured tongue than a frothy cappuccino melting over 70% cacao. 

Coffee "liqueur," loyalty program, Mickey-Mouse truffles, copies of Kite Runner. The topless mermaid isn't getting anywhere with her grocery store mindset.

Oh No, Oh No, We Pulled the Finger

So Leo Burnett did this objectively lame thing where it released an in-house announcement for its new company dress code. Nothing fancy, typical cog gear: collared shirts and cotton trousers for men, capris or long shorts made of dress pant material for women. Woo-flippin'-hoo.

It's a culture-of-the-industry type of story, so of course the ad bloggers covered it and in some cases tried generating debate over whether agency life merits a dress code. (An office is an office is an office, right?) 

Turns out the story was a (really, really late) April Fools. That's bureaucracy for you!

So here comes AdAge, which is, like, desperate to be in on some kind of Cool Kids inside-track, with this "Leo Burnett Totally PWNS Bloggers" story. It actually goes out of its way to quote the flyer's sauciest bits ("even you creatives!" "Dress for success!" "COTTON TROUSERS AND DRESS SHOES!"*) and then highlights a few blogs that "bought it hook, line and sinker, responding alternately with rage, consternation and even pensiveness."

Yeah, guys. LB really got us, thar. I don't know why anyone would legitimately think an agency might consider putting its beloved creatives in khaks. It's not like anybody's ever released a truly inane in-house memo and expected us all to take it seriously. Or anything.


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* Emphasis mine.

There's Melanin in My Drinking Water!

Here's a weird statement I've heard more than once:

"Wow. It must be awesome to have a tan all year 'round."

And if the person is just. Lame. Enough, she might even follow that question up with "How do you do that?"

That's the equivalent of me walking up to you and going, "Whoooa. It must be awesome to have Barbie hair. Did they put it in before or after attaching your head to your neck?"

Converse Shoots for Authenticity, Scores in Artifice

Converse, the quintessential anti-sports-shoe sneaker brand, recently tapped "anti-ad agency" Anomaly for some anti-advertising advertising. In one spot, the following words appear (à la Star Wars) against the backdrop of a just-crowned beauty queen:

"Why are we sitting and watching I Wanna Be the Galaxy's Best Supernova Diva Star? Dutifully phoning in our votes for the next big thing while we wait on our couches to die." It preaches on about democracy, thinking for yourself, seizing the day before you're dead, etc. See the other spot here.

Copyranter's not impressed.

The problem with this smarmy anti-ad stuff is it assumes advertising is inauthentic by definition. That's not true. Like a person, a brand has a dynamic personality with central values that consumers expect it to always reflect, no matter how often it changes its hair.

When a brand is fully confident in who it is, and that vibe resonates in the advertising, you've got what I'd call a truly authentic campaign. A confident brand doesn't have to pander for inclusion in a clique; it sets the bar, and the cool kids come running. Think Apple, Starbucks in the '90s and Ivy League sweaters.

Converse doesn't have to trash pop culture to look authentic. It has a long, interesting history and a product that resonates with lots of different people. Recent campaigns (1, 2) suggest Converse knows that. All it needs to do is stick with it and let the message evolve naturally.

Weigh in on Converse's anti-marketing ad campaign at this poll by Copyranter.

Oh, But We ARE Alarmed

Wikipedia isn't digging Modernista's siteless redesign. In fact, it's playing saboteur. (Ironic.)

Here's the story (gleaned from Adrants so I don't have to repeat myself):

For its latest site redesign, Modernista did away with elaborate imagery, hype-laced content and the notion of using a website at all.

Now users that run a search for Modernista -- and that click on the link to Modernista.com -- will be redirected to the search engine they used. In the upper left-hand corner they'll find a funky red nav bar.

Clicking on "ab.ou.t" will give you the option of bookmarking Modernista and visiting the agency's page on Wikipedia or Facebook. "wrk" drives users to flickr images of Modernista's client efforts, organized by client, category or medium. "n3wz" sends you to recent Google News stories about Modernista, and "cont@ct" will give you USA/global contact info to copy onto a clipboard, as well as a link to job and internship options.

Direct visits to Modernista.com now point to the Wikipedia article.

Okay. All that happened yesterday. Early today, Wikipedia tore down its listing for Modernista. Hours later, the Wikipedia results for Modernista (and thus, visits straight to Modernista.com) point to Los Sieste Modernista, a Mexican band.

The Modernista nav bar continues to hang pathetically -- but bravely -- above the article, assuring users: "Don't be alarmed, you are at the Modernista! site."

You'd think a crowdsourced encyclopedia would've have been the first to applaud the agency's attempt to surrender to the zeitgeist, warts and all. But noooo. Then again, you asked for it, Modernista. This is part of taking the good out there with the bad (and exposing potential clients to all of it).

Could the Othello Treatment Earn Hillary the Democratic Vote?

Hillary wins definitively in Ohio and Texas. That's pretty much that, isn't it? Unless something crazy happens, people are only going to congregate more readily around the safe choice as we draw closer to November.

Got this in my email this morning. I don't know whether or not it's true, and you can call it politics as usual if you want -- but I sure as hell won't put a President in office that uses my skin color to condemn me.

Even if she's a woman.

See the ad for which Camp Hillary is accused of darkening Obama's skin color to highlight ... what? Everything we already knew?

As If Microsoft Needed an Excuse Before

Intel: "Nyah, nyah, Microsoft. Now that we've got Apple's business, we don't need to take any shit from you. In fact, we're giving you shit. We're gonna force you to lie and cheat so we can meet our quarterly earnings."

Microsoft: "Hey guy, no need to twist our arms. We've got the 'Windows Vista Capable' stickers right here." Off to the side: "Ybarra, why don't you go over there and start some correspondence about how we're caving to Intel's machinations."

Rest Easy, Paul Tilley

I think it's dumb that people are blaming bloggers like Agency Spy and Adscam for the death of DDB's Paul Tilley.

Assuming Tilley killed himself, people don't just take their lives because their feelings get bruised a few times. It's something they mull over for months, sometimes years. And a whole constellation of personal problems factor in.

Paul Tilley had a long successful career that aspiring CDs would kill to have. And blaming his death on bloggers is stupid and irresponsible.

I didn't think Tilley's "get your shit together!" memo was all that bad, but pointing fingers at people who covered it can only hurt the industry at large. Are agency watchdogs supposed to suppress their thoughts about professional behaviour out of concern somebody's going to take things too personally? That's the worst kind of extortion, and it's not a burden anyone should be forced to carry.

You need tough skin to walk out into the world and make a mark; universal approval is a gift nobody gets. Not Carnegie, not Jesus, not Elvis, not Bob Garfield, not Tilley.

Your detractors -- of which there'll be many, the more visible you get -- can't take your will to live from you.

It is Not Your Friend.

See Bank of America.

See Bank of America wig out in the face of economic meltdown.

See Bank of America punish credit card holders* while niggling for one more hard, fast hit of green. (Naughty, naughty green.)

I got my "Important Amendment" letter two weeks ago. The verdict: a brand-new APR of over 19 percent.

After 5 years of on-time payments and happily-indebted loyalty! Come on.

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* Via Candace.

One Monkey to Berate Us All [video]

Dance, monkeys, dance!

Why Children Are Dangerous

I was thinking recently about how most of my relatives don't really understand what I do. A conversation with a dowager auntie typically falls something like this:

"You mean you make webpages?"

"No," I say. "I write ad and technology news for webpages that already exist."

"So if I am having trouble with my page, or if I want to put pictures on it, I call you?"

"No. I write and edit content. You know, like a magazine editor? Like that, except on the Internet."

"Oh." I can practically see the wheels turning: Magazine editor. Sounds successful. Dot com crash - not so much.

The cool thing about nobody understanding what you do is no one is ever really sure whether or not you can be counted among the successful. It's not like it's super obvious, like my cousin the doctor versus my cousin the car salesman.

So, reserving their surrogate proud-parent faces, my relatives just approach me with a look of polite perplexity. I can roll with perplexity.

But kids are trickier. They're not looking for bragging rights; they're looking for the meat of things. And it's their right: after all, this is the world they're about to acquire.

Last month before the move to Ithaca, I was sitting in my pyjamas at my parents' kitchen table, my ass welded there since five-to-the-AM and typing furiously. Around 8ish, which is when people chez Natividad start wandering out into the open, my 10-year-old sister Charysma appeared on the scene. She watched me tap, then dragged her little feet to the living room, where she typically waits for my father to wake up and make her garlic bread.

A break in the silence: "Angel?"

I stopped typing and turned to her. "Yes?"

"Why is blogging your job?"

Pause. Something in my brain was not clicking.

"What?" I said.

Charysma, patiently: "Why. Is it. Your job. To blog?"

This is one of those questions you should always be ready to answer. For some reason, I wasn't.

I faltered. She saw.

"I write about new things that happen in the world," I said stupidly.

Head-tilt. "Why?" she asked.

"Because people want to read them."

"Why?" she asked.

I didn't have a response prepared for that, either. Of course I know why, obliquely anyway. But point-blank like this, I need note cards or something. I just kept thinking, I don't want to be one of those adults who pushes a kid down a well for asking a valid question...

Any number of answers would have worked. Because it's useful to others' jobs. Because the material is interesting. Because even grown-ups need to hear stories.

"Because I want to," I said.

Pause.

"Oh," she said. Then, thankfully, Pops appeared. "I want garlic bread," she commanded, changing tacks immediately.

Sweet relief.

A Nation Asks Why

...with regard to the worst school shooting in America's history. (As far as fatalities go.)

Why ask why? We won't find anything besides meaningless (somehow mistaken for illuminating) tidbits about the boy's ethnicity (South Korean) and bad plays.

And despite insistence to the contrary, heated debates about gun control, gun possession or eyebrow-raising descriptions of the boy as "loner" or "question mark kid" do not answer a "Why" that in itself lacks adequate context to provide a framework for answers.

Life continues in the same way it always has:

"...my husband's a Leo, I know how to work with you three!" cries a playful feminine voice wafting out of the conference room behind me, amidst the smell of coffee and requisite controlled laughter that precludes another day of vacuous "relationship" development.

Condolences go out to those whose friends and family were taken at Virginia Tech.

A Little Help Here, Please?

One of my biggest pet peeves is bad spelling in the professional world. Words on an ad, in books, in official documents or on any other traditional media riding the wave of public view possess an element of sanctity that's totally obliterated when a typo is overlooked. I never forget it. It's like trauma.

I'm in Southern California for a conference. This afternoon in desperate pursuit of coffee I halted my sassy walk and choked on a cashew when I saw a large banner reflecting the day's break-out sessions.

I can't even quite remember what it said. All I recall is the word PROFFESSIONAL. All huge, all extra-extra, in all its pre-fab pop-up synthetic print glory.

Please spellcheck your creative before blowing up 20 copies and slathering them from end to end of a convention hall. Particularly if you're an education association that shall not be named because I am nice like that.

Ugh. No wonder high school students can't read.

Kaiser is the Devil, Ads are His Bait

Contrary to popular conception, I'm not the super-sexy, hyper-awesome, ad-livid hard-ass I make myself out to be. (I'm sure this goes against everything you've seen and heard.)

At heart I'm an impressionable consumer. A consistent campaign, or a sense of shared values, makes a big impact on how I feel about brands in the arena.

Ever since I was a kid I've had negative feelings about Kaiser. My parents plainly avoided them. And while their preferences about healthcare providers aren't topics one cares much about as a kid, one does inherit the prejudices. I admit I brought the bad vibes with me in my journey through time.

In the last year I began to re-examine those feelings. While I'd like to say it's because I've grown more mature and reflective about everything around me, that simply wouldn't be true.

The reason is its "Thrive" campaign, whose billboards are everywhere I go - mostly on BART, greeting me at the very beginning and end of my workday.

I like it. As a Responsible Adult In-the-Make, I feel it reflects many core values. Sweetness, purity and an underlying promotion of inner well-being just oozes out of the simple-things imagery.

So when I found out my company chose Kaiser as our healthcare provider, I was stoked. I felt I was embarking on an adventure. KAISER! I'm ready to fall into your clean clinical arms, nodding vigorously at any concerned assessments you'll (doubtless, thoughtfully) make.

Recently my whole body rebelled. I thought it was the flu but my parents, deathly concerned, conveyed me to the big pretty medical center Kaiser keeps near my home.

The first thing Kaiser did was hit me with a massive co-pay. That was cool, I could roll, the big guys cost more, I get it. Some girls brought me into the doctor's office and took my temperature.

"You're at 108," one said, tsk-tsking. I could believe it, I was not feeling cool.

After a few moments I heard jokes and loud laughter outside my door, then the doctor walked in. She couldn't have been much older than me. She looked at me, grinned, asked what my symptoms were, and feigned concern at my response. She seemed to be on the verge of giggles the whole time.

Finally she said, "I doubt you have it but I'm going to have you X-rayed for pneumonia. Head down to the basement."

I was appalled. I could hardly stand! Worse still, the basement was in another building on the other side of campus, where I was hit with another co-pay. And when I returned from the X-ray (all stumbly and shit), I was locked out.

This sucked.

A janitor eventually walked by and let me in with her spare keys. By then I was exhausted. I stumbled into the doctor's office, panting dramatically, world spinning, and collapsed across the counter. She walked in, burst out laughing and cried, "What's wrong with you?" Then she prescribed drugs for sinusitis and sent me on my way.

My parents, tight-lipped, spoonfed me back to life over the next few days. "We told you," they said about 67,000 times, shaking their heads and glaring. "We told you about Kaiser. Didn't we? Ever since you were small."

Ugh.

Great marketing that belies a horrible product or service is just as bad as lazy marketing. In fact, one could argue it probably hurts a company more over the long-term.

An awesome prospective ad for Kaiser:

A tower of made of splintered toothpicks, shooting high into the sky with the tagline: "We may not do our job, but we're pretty damn big, yo. Kaiser Permanente. Even inexpicably, thrive."