Pee in the Bath

I've been on a bathroom kick lately. No reason I'm aware of. Something subconscious maybe?

I've had this cute Brazilian TV commercial in my bookmarks for quite a while and thought now would be a good time to share it. It's in Portuguese but the subtitles will make it all clear. If you think it's crude, that's okay. I think the Charmin bears with their leftover toilet paper pieces is crude too. At least this ACT-endorsed spot from South America has a grander point: To conserve water.

ACT stands for Advertising Community Together. Their website showcases advertisements and commercials that align with the statement, "Federating, promoting and inspiring responsible communication."

I can get behind that mission. (I won't tell you whether I can get behind their invocation.) Enjoy!

Invocation

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Like Therapy (Only Cheaper)

Laughing Horse by Ella Richardson

I love to laugh. I even laugh by myself, though I swear I'm not crazy. I've laughed in church when I wasn't supposed to, in meetings both light and heavy, during late-night comedy and at matinee movies. I've laughed in the woods, in card games, at TV commercials, and one time I laughed when my wife and I hadn't spoken to each other for days.

Laughter does my body good. This month I wrote about it at The High Calling (see the link above). I also edited a reflection by poet Jeanne Murray Walker on laughter in a cancer ward. Then today, a colleague and I launched a little writing project on laughter.

Deidra Riggs writes for The High Calling, (in)courage, and her city newspaper. She's a delightful woman and a friend...and she loves to laugh. She's hosting the project at her site.

Check it out and be sure to submit your entry by Friday, September 23:

Like Therapy (Only Cheaper)

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Where the Sun Don't Shine

Image from Respect the Roll.

As of late August, "Nearly 300,000 Consumers Have Signed Up for a Free Roll Cover at RespectTheRoll.com."

You've seen the commercials. The one where Eric, Amber and John discuss tp etiquette in defense of unsheltered rolls. And another, which I saw this past Sunday night, where an elderly husband and wife peep into a neighbor's bathroom, flabbergasted at the disrespectful practice of keeping their exposed roll on the back of the commode. (Not sure whether it's the neighbor's primary roll or the extra for when the primary runs out. Are we supposed to respect both? Just the extra? If both, what do you do with the lid on the primary roll when it's time to use it?)

TMI. Sorry. I know folks who find it grossly embarrassing to buy new toilet paper in the store, let alone talk about what we do with it at home.

I've never covered my toilet paper. We have a roll on the holder and extras under the sink. There you have it. And maybe because this has always been our practice, these commercials irk me. They feel a bit like bullying: "What?! You don't ______? You must be a caveman."

Cottonelle has created a site called "Where the Sun Don't Shine Tribune," patterned after an online newspaper. Videos, Letters to the Editor, Top Stories, Current Weather. It has the same gimmicky 50s feel as the commercials. And based on the numbers, the campaign is working, with "72 requests per minute on RespectTheRoll.com at the height of website traffic." Either consumers think the available patterns will compliment their bathrooms, or they're looking for novelty in otherwise utilitarian quarters, or they really believe tp should be respected.

Do you use one? Should I? Is this an emotionally manipulative ploy to woo germaphobes (I'm one of these) or a worthwhile purchase?
  

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No touchy.

"No touchy." This phrase from Kuzco, the high-maintenance ruler-turned-llama from Emperor's New Groove, resonates with me. I can't help it. I am a fringe germaphobe, dabbling in the art of knowing where my hands have been.

So when I watch the commercial for Lysol's No-Touch Hand Soap System, I'm intrigued. For a split second, I'm intrigued. And then completely disillusioned:

"You and your family will never have to touch a germy soap pump again."

So? I could see this as a problem if I had to touch the germy pump after washing my hands, but before? Before I wash my germy hands? This product has no logical usefulness. Fear alone will sell it if it sells.

I'm acutely aware of the before/after touching of germy surfaces. For example, it's a major faux pas to place public restroom door handles on the inside of the door yet it happens all of the time. What's the point of washing my hands (No-Touch system or not) if afterward I'm forced to share the exit door handle with so many guys who head out without washing at all? There is no point. It's like touching the soap pump again after my hands have been cleaned. When does this ever make sense?

It seems that bacterial scientists and designers are working on different pages. Talk with each other, people. Good work - the kind Christ followers should see as the standard - gets done when effective profession-level collaboration serves the public in useful ways. And both are needed: the collaboration and the usefulness. Otherwise, I either waste money on senseless products at home or feel tempted in public to knock on the bathroom door, begging someone to let me out.    

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Look After You Leap

Image by Craig (lincolnblues).

My contribution to TheHighCalling.org this morning reminds me of how superficial I tend to be when it comes to visual judgment. So why am I not like this when it comes to advertising? I think it's because I'm jaded. Too much crying wolf over the years. I've been conditioned to approach ads assuming the bells and whistles are hiding something. And the more bells and whistles, the more hiding.

I know there's good stuff going on in the ad world. I just need more of it.

I walked past our girls’ room yesterday and saw a book lying open-faced in the chair. On the earmarked page it read, “By the time he was 57, President George Washington was completely toothless.”

Huh. Didn’t know that. Twice I caught my grandfather without his false teeth – accidentally and only twice. It shocked me both times. I’d seen strangers and National Geographic photos of people with nothing but gums, but this was my grandfather who had convinced me he had a full set. And a toothless President? Unimaginable.  

The trivia page went on to say that Howard Taft weighed 350 pounds on his inauguration day. I think I knew this and vaguely remembered a story about him getting stuck in a bathtub at a college where I worked. I wondered how these men came to power. I assume it was their work ethic, leadership potential, articulation, social influence, political savvy…all the skills a public figure needs. It certainly couldn’t have been appearance because we’d never elect to President a man (or woman) with either of these physical characteristics.

"Love your neighbors for who they are on the inside," we’re told. "Don’t judge a book by its cover." Who really takes this advice? We’re a vain lot and research shows that nothing escapes our biases: gender, age, race, looks. Even as a follower of Christ, my narrow band of preference overrides what I’d like to think is Spock logic....

   
Read the rest here.


The High Calling is a site about work, life, and God.

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Level Up with Your Fries: Gamification in Advertising

The Escapist produces high quality videos on gaming and related topics and though I don't play much more than Monopoly Deal and Mille Bornes these days, I admire their work. The following episode covers the topic of gamification and how common video game elements can be translated into real life to make us more productive. But it also addresses potential evils when this concept gets into the hands of advertisers: 

The Escapist : Extra Credits : Gamification

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My neighbor and his washing machine fire pit idea

Since we moved into our house last summer, we've been loaded with projects. It had been a foreclosure filled with dogs, loose hamsters, wayward kids and a lazy father who never finished anything he started. Then it sat for months discarded.

We've been on clean-up duty ever since.

My next door neighbor is an unusual renter. He's fifty-something, single, and conscientious. He treats his apartment like it's his and mows, weed-whacks, trims, sweeps, welds, repairs, decorates and inspires. This last part is what makes me think of him as one of the Joneses. I like Tom. He inspires me to work hard. If he's working, it's difficult to sit around. When I'm working, it's difficult for him to sit around.

This morning he came over to share a magazine article about a clever chap who built one of those fire pits - you know, the kind you pick up at Lowe's or True Value? Except this guy made his out of the drum of a front-loading washing machine. Attached three legs, turned it so the hole faced upward, and burned away.

See, Tom and I share ideas nearly every day and when we discover something we both like, we jump on it. In this way, we've unintentionally yet clearly become the Joneses to each other.

This realization struck me a few days ago when I noticed that our last few yard projects seemed uncannily related. I'm not trying to keep up with him. He just informs me of things I hadn't thought of. And I do the same. We're both frugal and believe in reusing, so it isn't like we're picking up two of everything at the hardware store. But we say "wow" a lot. And, "Hey, that's a great idea!" Then we split to our respective garages and go to work.

It isn't always so cut and paste, but Keeping up with the Joneses gets a bad rap too often. I think. Maybe I should keep my mouth shut for the sake of getting the consumeristic end of this social phenomenon to swing its pendulum rightfully in the other direction, but I've caught a glimpse of the good end and I don't mind it one bit. 

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Not Unless I Have To

I've talked about the Good Samaritan story many times in talks with advertisers and advertising majors because of its comprehensive application. Imagining yourself, in your specific career, playing a specific role in this famous story, can be invigorating. This morning over at TheHighCalling.org, I wrote about it and some of my inadequacies as a servant.

One of my favorite adult-life maxims comes from the end of the parable of the Good Samaritan, where Jesus answers the expert in the law and says, “Go and do likewise.” I know he didn’t (and doesn’t) mean, “Go and become a paramedic,” or, “Go and become an inn keeper so that you can lodge infirmed patients.” He simply meant for me to go and do what must be done for folks whose needs I can meet.

To be fair, I do okay. I take out the neighbor’s trash because his disfigurement requires 20 minutes just to get to the alley. I donate to people. And at every chance given to communicate theology on the importance of work in the here and now Kingdom of God, I give it with conviction.

In other words, I get Go and do likewise. Unfortunately, it's a short list and I’m afraid that most of my going and doing is nice-guy personality - not a result of what Jesus said.  

Read "Not Unless I Have To" here.

TheHighCalling.org is a site full of conversations about work, life, and God.

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Cereal Fetish

Photo credit: Mebajason

Met a woman from Germany on Saturday. She grew up in former communist East Germany and we talked about decisions. I thought it was only American anti-consumerist critics like me who harped about the cereal aisle, but it was one of the first examples she mentioned. (Not that she hasn't adjusted just fine to this American life, having two kids and breakfast cravings of her own.)

Despite my complaints, I keep that particular aisle in business. I like the variety. I like cereal and I like having a greater chance of finding something on sale that my family enjoys.

And I like watching advertisers show off their creativity and strategy, sparring as they do shelves high and 75 remarkable feet wide on a veritable playing field of color and shape, crispness claims, offers of mailable-linkable-retrievable Free Stuff, sugar content, box and oat cluster size, fiber facts, artificial and natural ingredients, fruit bits or chunks or flavors, and Box Top for Education coupons. It's all part of a magnificent display of competition where the weaker brands die and the talented designers move their wares to more prominent positions.

I've shopped long enough to narrow the field; to do my own selection (natural, of course, as I don't care much for artificial), which makes the whole stimulation factor less distracting. In fact, I skip entire swathes of products because I've determined previously that I have no use for them. So on one hand I'm embarrassed that we need so many choices, but on the other, thrilled to have them. Beating the system and navigating the clutter alleviate my guilt enough to keep me from protesting.  

Maybe Tatiana was better off. Communist oppression is no viable option, but humans appreciate products in scarcity more than in abundance. We adapt just fine to having less and we show more gratitude when this is our lot. I know it from wilderness excursions where you carry the minimum on your back, and from being poor as a child. One of the most memorable experiences as a college freshmen was being walked into the cafeteria and shown where to get trays, drinks and any of thirty types of cereal. I asked our campus guide if we were allowed to have more than one bowl.

"Of course," he said. He looked surprised.

We had a half-bowl limit growing up. I spent the first semester eating cereal three meals a day (with salads and sides, of course!), sometimes 4-5 bowls in twenty-four hours.

Obviously, having abundance at my fingertips isn't necessarily healthy. Signs of decay (tooth and otherwise) appear everywhere self-discipline wanes and I too often end up in the display case like the mayor who gorged to a drunken stupor in the film, Chocolat. I need help. We all do.

Can cereal advertisers do anything about it? Should they? Would limitations or discouragement mutate our shopping freedoms into some sort of captivity? These are tough questions for me. Until I find answers, and as long as They send notable coupons, I'll probably keep enjoying the game.        

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The value of babies and stuff

I received a New Baby announcement in the mail this week. It came from good friends and I was happy to hear the news. In crude terms, the card was a simple advertisement. The family told us about their product: a beautiful child, a boy; and inferred the benefits of welcoming him into our lives: happiness, hope, reminder of new life...

Of course, I don't see their child as a product, and the card did not strike me as advertising in any of the disordered ways we may be influenced to consume. In fact, the following thoughts came to mind only after it sat on my desk for several days in a moment when I was reflecting on two general characteristics of advertising:

1) Declaration of value.
2) Invitation to enjoy this value.

I'm pretty sure all advertising performs these two basic functions. In a similar way, so does the baby card. What perplexed me was why advertising doesn't work more often like the card, or, more clearly said, why the card doesn't feel like an advertisement at all, even if it (generally) acts like one.

Here's a partial reason for the difference. Actually two. Advertising veers away from the beauty of my friends' announcement when it commits either or both of these offenses: 1) The declaration of value fails to match the delivery of value. 2) The values we are invited to enjoy fail at being valuable.

In the first, I'm mislead; in the second, mistreated.

Mislead
Years ago, I bought a camping tent that promised durability. I expected this value to come with the declaration. It didn't. I'm quite particular with my belongings and have made this tent work - without failure - for many years. However, sans meticulous care, it would have failed soon after we got it, and I think about this point every time I set it up and tear it down. I was mislead because of the conflict between declaration and delivery. The declaration of value failed to match the delivery of value.

Mistreated 
It's true that, in a sense, my poor tent value is a form of customer mistreatment. But I wasn't completely mistreated because I wasn't completely mislead. Do you follow? It has been a great tent and, though I've had to be extra gentle, it still does what a tent is supposed to do. I was only mislead on the one point about durability. So a more poignant example of mistreatment can be seen in this Nissan advertisement:

They're being partly facetious, but no copy editor would choose to write "Envy. Terrible to feel. Wonderful to provoke." if a significant percentage of car buyers wasn't actually motivated by insecurity. I've whined about bullying before and I'll do it again now. Companies have control over customer treatment, especially when it comes to the messages they use to declare and invite via advertising. Bullying always mistreats. It may, in a roundabout way, state a deliverable value, but the end doesn't justify the means.

In the case of this magazine ad, I'm mistreated as a customer because the value - making others jealous - is all chaff and no wheat. My insecurity may perceive this promise as worthwhile, but it really isn't. The value we're invited to enjoy fails at being valuable.

Obviously tents and sedans can't be compared with children, but a truth remains. We admire companies that exceed our value expectations and treat us with human dignity, which is exactly what my friends' New Baby card did. It pointed to value I can't possibly estimate and made me enjoy being human.

What if all advertising did this?

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