Marketing 101

So I'm walking through Giant Eagle the other day. Just picking up a few sundries for dinner -- lettuce, apple butter, Dawn -- from one of Consumer Reports' bottom 10 supermarkets in the USA. Walking through the aisles I heard one of my favorite tunes from 1998: "Closing Time" by Semisonic. Catchy little ditty, that.

And a confusing one for me during its release. For the longest time I was entranced not only with a well-put-together pop/rock song, but by the way it always sounded different every time I heard it. Well, I'm happy to report that I'm not crazy (at least for this reason). The song was different every time I heard it.

Several months after its release I recall hearing a report -- on NPR of all things -- how the music industry was targeting itself to different audiences. The report used "Closing Time" as a case study, with at least 3 versions released to various market niches.

First, and truest to the band's sound, was the album version. While certainly poppy, it had a grungy production quality and heavy tone; certain to appeal to the Nirvana/Soundgarden/Pearl Jam crowd prevalent at the time.

Second was the Top 40 edition, which featured a modified acoustic intro, more prominent vocals, and accent on the plinky-piano for a good hook. This version was directed at the mothers of the cohort above. In addition to MOR radio, it received heavy rotation in supermarkets and dentist offices.

Third, traditional rock stations got a more electric guitar-centric version, complete with overdubbed power chords. This track was aimed at the 20/30-somethings who weren't quite into the Seattle sound, yet rocked nonetheless.

Check out Versions 1 & 2 linked below. Cut & paste if the links don't work. You should know the drill by now...

Alt-Rock / Album

Top 40

Update - AOR ? - See, now I'm not sure anymore. Again. Semisonic! you bastards!

Memory Lake

So I decided to play hooky from work last week.

I had been slated to meet a customer near Toronto on Wednesday. But after 2 hours into the four-hour trek to Canada the afternoon before, my contact calls to postpone the meeting. For the 3rd straight time. I'm guessing this particular customer is still in development.

Now I still had firm appointments later in the week. But what to do with the newly open day? Being disgusted with the cancellation -- on top of the regular stream of nonsense & noise in these troubled times -- I resolved to bag the day completely.

Hmm, got a car. A night in a hotel is expected. Meals too. The boss just left for China. Freedom.

But where to go?

As it turns out, I've been having recurring dreams lately about a cabin my family owned back in the day. I recall it was great -- accessible only by boat across a lake in the Canadian wilderness, on a small bay nestled among the trees in solitude and peace. It lacked electricity and indoor plumbing and all manner of modern luxuries. But it was absolutely perfect for swimming, hiking, boating, chilling. I could still find it though I was entirely sure it wouldn't be nearly as good as remembered.

But hell! I suddenly had an extra 10 hours to spare for the round-trip drive.

And drive I did -- after kidnapping my father to ride shotgun. He loved the old place too. We got there just before 9 AM, after overnighting an hour & a half away and reminiscing the whole way.

It was two days after Labor Day. We found Aylen Lake deserted at the end of the summer season. The weather was glorious.

Dad & I rented a boat at the landing store from a guy with no other customers, who was simply excited to get an extra 80 clams -- more than he ever could have hoped to rake in that whole week.

When it all was over I found myself a little more at ease with life. The cabin and its surroundings turned out to be nearly identical to how I remembered -- aside from a hideous paint job and half-assed addition. A few less pines perhaps, but made up for with a bounty of white-bark birch, poplar and Canadian maple trees.

I was deeply struck by how little was had changed - from the natural serenity to the two-man saw hanging in the rafters, right down to the hinges on the outhouse.

It was perfect.

In fact, I'm going to get in touch with the owner (as it turns out, the same guy to whom my Dad sold) to see if he's interested in renting it out for a week next Summer.

Who's in?

Some candid photos below to entice and envy.

Landing Approach

Landing/Marina

I'm on a Boat!

Cabin Approach - 2 new / 1 old

35 Years ago vs. Today

Porch with a View

Through the window [very little different aside from most -- MOST -- of the furniture, some paneling and vinyl flooring]

Kitchen [I'm telling you, it is exactly the same from the propane fridge to the stove to the manual water pump (not seen) to the freakin' bread box!]

Bridge to Outhouse (that's right!) - today & yesterday

Shit House - Old School & New

Hey! Look at these!

I guess it's the day for this kind of stuff...

So my wife is browsing pictures on a friend's "Head Space" page. Her friend's daughter just returned to college to start sophomore year and she posted shots of a bunch of sorority sisters getting back together.

During said browsing, my charming & lovely wife called out: "Philbony! Look at this 19-year old girl's boobs!" To which I replied: "Okay honey. If I have to."

They were nice; a small tight package on an attractive girl. Apparently though they were pushed up too high for my wife's tastes. I had to intently study them for about 10 minutes -- there were over a dozen photos mind you -- before I could agree.

Though I'm still not sure and might have to look again. I'd post the photos here. But my wife won't let me back on her page.

Why does the world always give so freely, then take away so quickly only after the gift is so firmly appreciated?

Comedy in Another's Tragedy

I'm always struck by the inconsistencies in human behavior. This includes amusing quirks to downright ugly pathology. In between, we're treated to hypocritical talk, hollow promises, asymmetric reactions, willful ignorance...you know, people sucking.

As example, I offer the following exchange on a popular social networking site. Let's call it "Head Space".

An old friend from high school has used her status update to announce another former classmate is terminally ill. Just an update for people who, though out of contact for a quarter century, still have no animus toward each other and perhaps a warm memory or two.

The typical responses follow: "oh that's so sad", "tell her I'm praying for her and her family", "she's a kind person", etc. Personally, I found the news sad; a reminder of life's fragility and the good fortune I and my close ones have. She really is / was a nice person. So far no one's sucking too much.

Enter, uh, let's call him "Cleatus", who writes -- again, after nearly 25 years from 1000 miles away about a person with whom he had mere friendly childhood acquaintance: "What can I do...!!!??? Anything, thanks for letting me know."

I guess the reply should be obvious: "Cleat, you're welcome. A cure for cancer would be nice. Or a tray of brownies. Good to hear from you."

Now that's a symmetric response to an asymmetric reaction.

The Way I Am

...and it helps in itself to relieve

all this tension; dispensin' these sentences,

Gettin' this stress that's been eatin' me recently off of this chest

And I rest again peacefully

I don't know it's just the way I am...

- Marshall