As the news of an American spy being arrested in Russia with an entire Maxwell Smart spy kit in his possession filled the Russian and American airwaves, I realized that sadly the CIA doesn’t read this blog. Just a few weeks ago I provided a set of instructions for the spy to survive in Russia undetected. Things like putting your feet up, sipping and enjoying cocktails, being too smart and hard-working, wigs, money and compasses will definitely get you found out. Or even a lost button from your pant pocket. Here is a song based on a true story, written in 1939 and performed by some kids.
httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bb_i_48TgpU
*very free translation mine.
A little brown button was lying on the road,
And no one had noticed it in tons of brown dust.
A bunch of bare feet was stomping on that road,
A bunch of tanned and bare feet by little button passed.
The boys walked in a crowd all from a distant village, Alyosha walked behind all and raised the most dust.
On purpose or by accident, he couldn’t tell for sure,
He stepped on little button, and stopped in place aghast.
“This button don’t look ours!” – cried out all the children.
“And weird foreign letters are written very large!”
To border patrol station they raced like wild horses
To show little button to someone who’s in charge.
“Please show me exactly,” – told them commander strictly
And opened map of border he right in front of troop.
He asked the name of village and brown dusty road
Where little boy Alyosha felt button with his foot.
Four days they wasted looking for man on every road,
Four days they looked for him, forgetting any sleep
On fifth day the had found the evil-looking stranger
And gave him very thorough search like very very deep.
They found button missing on enemy’s back pocket!
A button wasn’t present on foreign baggy pants.
And deep inside the pocket – a cartridge from revolver,
A map of Soviet border and other secret plans.
Patrolmen praised the children for bravery and courage
And then the border captain shook all of their hands
They gave the children rifle checkpoint had in storage
And little boy Alyoshka was given drum for bands.
That’s how it’s protected, the Soviet sacred border.
And no evil bastard will ever get inside! Alyoshka kept the button, because he is a hoarder.
A little brown button with praise and lots of pride!
These photos are interesting to me because my Father was going through the medical school about the same time (1963) and some of the situations are similar to what I have in our own photo albums.
About a month ago I posted my views on the “social media” and it became the most discussed post I ever wrote. Several people replied with comments and their own posts with their takes on the subject. So I thought it was only fitting that I write a short follow-up to the discussion.
The opinions split and I was happy that I am not alone in my dislike of the further intrusion of the annoying marketing into our lives. I realize that in the age when the dream of manned space flight an ability to skip TV commercials became our everyday reality, the businesses still need to find a way to influence consumers: product placement, sponsorships, online ads, viral infomercials and other venues are constantly being tested for their legitimacy and effectiveness. I feel that my responsibility as a consumer is to avoid these things as much as I can and, while enjoying the entertaining parts, completely ignore the marketing message. After all, the marketing people are not well-known for being concerned with the consumers, their job is to make any product look good from cigarettes, to fattening foods, to medicines that cause anal leakage and sleep-driving; I don’t feel the need or obligation to tolerate any marketing in my life.
After my post and the follow-up discussions I thought about the reasons why the social media marketing annoys me so much. Long time ago when my daughter was a toddler I used to take her to a nearby playground. On one of these days another guy was watching his kid play with mine and we had a usual playground conversation parents have – about the kids, about the weather, etc. Then for no particular reason® he started pitching some shady MLM business to me. I had to cut it short, tell him I wasn’t interested and leave to avoid further uncomfortable silence. That guy was not carrying a sign or handing out fliers, he created a personal connection with me and attempted to use it to sell something unwanted to me. This, in essence, is what’s wrong with the social media marketing: they catch you when you don’t expect it, they barge into a conversation, they pretend to be your friend while trying to influence your behavior; you have to cut your activities short and leave, unfollow, unsubscribe, add a spam filter, etc. Just to show that I am not making this up here is a quote from an email I got inviting me to a “free marketing webinar”.
Businesses now have the power to leverage the Internet – search engines, blogs, social media – to reach customers more effectively. This includes connecting with customers where they hang out online and engaging in conversations about the topics most important to them. Social CRM (Customer Relationship Management) is all about joining the ongoing conversations our customers and prospects are already having and not trying to control them. It’s realizing that people like doing business with people they like and love doing business with people they trust.
In other words: find people having conversations, barge in, sell, force the people to prevent you from intruding in the future. It was all fun when people just shared opinions online, now it’s all a “Social CRM”, the key word is “management”. To quote the rant-master himself:
*censored.
I am not saying that everyone is doing it, there are still plenty of independent and honest opinions to be found on the internet, but this trend casts a shade of distrust on many. Not that I was very trusting before.
In conclusion, here are some immortal words from George Carlin:
UPDATE: After this was written, I found another post (apparently private so it was an accident) on the subject discussing how my (and other’s) blogging caused at least one organization to try and become more transparent with their social media promotions. My issue was not with overall transparency or lack thereof; what I don’t like is a trend of creating positive coverage by stroking the “social media’s” ego, whether by preferential treatment, creating a feeling of exclusivity or giving away free stuff. I do realize that for many people being a part of an exclusive group is worth more than a free ticket or a drink.
Coincidentally, via The Food Section another thread discussing the conflict of interest and conflict in general between the wine industry, wine bloggers and professional wine critics. Many of the same sentiments expressed and the reactions range from agreement to ridicule, pretty much in the same way the opinions split in this case.
A little worm asks his father:
-Daddy, why do some worms get to live in apples and oranges and we live in a pile of shit?
-Because it’s our Motherland, son… Old Soviet Joke
When I was boarding a plane to Los Angeles last Wednesday I knew all about my destination.
It was full of aging hippies…
…who wear Birkenstocks year round…
…overrun with crime (I am pretty proud of this shot right in front of the Grauman’s Chinese Theatre)…
…chronic diseases…
…about to be washed out by a tsunami…
…infested with illegal tax preparers…
…where fat people are discriminated against while being taunted with snacks…
…and skinny people are being put on a pedestal.
But somewhere during my five days in LA, my American dream got kicked in the groin. For years I was arguing with my friends on both coasts that I live in a better place, full of parking and almost devoid of traffic, safe and with good schools, reasonable and affordable, while still having a chance to see recent Broadway shows and dine at ethnic restaurants. After every trip I returned home complaining about the crowding, overpriced real estate and horrible traffic everywhere I went, feeling good about the rush hour slowdown on the highway we refer to as “traffic” and my relatively minuscule mortgage payment.
LA made me realize how badly I was mistaken. My friends were right, I live in a Podunk town, in a boring provincial backwater where the foodies are taking turns revisiting the same 10 restaurants and 3 markets; where the same 6 women (and probably men) are at the top of all dating sites (albeit under different handles); where finding a date with at least two degrees of separation from your previous one is almost impossible; where any chain restaurant opening is an event worthy of TV news coverage and traffic congestion; where the only bragging rights are “at least we are not Tulsa or Omaha”. Indeed we are not.
At the same time there are wonderful magical places where it’s almost always warm and sunny but you can look up in the mountains and see the snow; where at any given time more women are dressed in heels and bikinis than the whole statistical female population of the KC Metro Area; where the people are always in a sunny mood and free of depression or PMS and are happily smiling even while being arrested; where the 52-week donut project would take 52 years and still will not be able to eat a donut at every one of them; where the restaurants from all over the world are open even in the areas that are not scary without bars on the windows; where the oranges and lemons grow in people’s backyards instead of the allergy-inducing trees that are planted here for some mystical reasons; where the produce is not an imitation food sold here; where fat people are magically drawn outside to ride bikes or walk or run so even their over-consumption of donuts or cakes from a Cuban bakery around the corner is not detrimental to their health; where driving up and down the mountain roads makes one feel like James Bond; where you “can take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile”.
So I told my daughter to pick a college in California, the only place where my American dream can make another run for it.
Maybe I can take a ride on the “Possibility bus”…
…or just mount my Focus on top of a school bus…
…I can trow down my magical money blanket on the sand…
…or pour my lifetime savings into a yacht…
…just so I can see this…
…or this…
…and this…
…and I will wait as long as I have to.
httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D4J0HD_82hw
P.S. I don’t need to know why it’s so great to live here and why it sucks in California. Trust me – I know. And learn about hyperbole.
Recently a set of photos taken at the Kansas City’s Wonderland Arcade in the late 1960’s made rounds on the Internet. These photos are stored at the National Archives in the file “Wonderland Inc. v. United States of America, 1968 – 1968”. The National Archives allows searches but not direct links or bookmarks, so you will have to enter your own search terms.
The Arcade located at 1200 Grand from the 1940’s to the early 1980’s was covered in the press numerous times, like this Billboard Magazine article: Wonderland Arcade Good Model of Well-run Amusement Center published in 1946, when The Billboard was still an amusement industry trade magazine.
Same magazine in 1947 informed about the time when the Wonderland Arcade was robbed of $150 in nickels, some of which was spent on a “new suit, shoes and a tour of the city by taxicab”.
