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Only You Can Prevent Obesity

“This is drugs.  This is your brain on drugs.  Any questions?”  Derivatives of this have become part of our cultural punch lines, but there was a time the blurb itself carried quite a punch.  You may remember your own reaction the first few times you saw the advertisement.  It was jarring in its unblinking visuals and straightforward message.  The brilliance of the campaign was its unflinching honesty and shock value.  It was a message that was heard loud and clear.  If memory serves, the previous public service announcement with similar impact was the single tear of the actor playing a Native American.  Throwing trash out your car window wasn’t so tempting if you thought it would make that nice silent man cry.

It’s been quite a number of decades since both of those campaigns.  During that time we have almost all our vices banned or black boxed.  Warning labels are printed on any and everything that might someday be used in a manner that leads to litigation.  You’d be hard pressed to come up with anything left for which to promote consumer awareness.  Awareness is at an all time high.  There is a different colored ribbon for every day of the week, and a rubber bracelet to coordinate.

So what is a city to do when it decides to combat obesity with an awareness campaign?   How far is a city willing to go?  Obesity, unlike drug use or littering, is rife with sensitivity.  That frying egg was not aimed at drug addicts, it was intended as a preventative message.  Littering was never seen as a morality issue, it was just time to do something about the trend.  But obesity?!  First off, the public service announcements are not targeting people who may be considering a life of obesity; they are aimed at the overweight.   People know they are overweight, and have a whole host of feelings about it.  Showing images (photo-shopped or not) of overweight people with moderately small text warning of future medical issues is one big yawn.   There is nothing shocking or even helpful about that messaging.  But it is safe, isn’t it?  Who could you possibly offend?

If you consider the health implications of obesity to be serious enough to launch a campaign, you might just have to offend a bit (or break a few eggs as the case may be.)  Perhaps more effective than showing a larger sized woman climbing up subway steps, would be showing her trying to fit into a subway seat?  Maybe an image of her getting acrylic nails and the tag line “wouldn’t it be nice to have more fashion choices?” Sexist?  Probably.  Instead of manipulating an image of a portly man to indicate limb loss, how about a campaign about libido loss?  Disease is one thing, but impotency is quite another.

How do you do this without offending?  You probably don’t.  But if the point of the campaign is to change behavior, a little bluntness might be just the ticket.  There was a time when our whole country smoked: in elevators and in movie theatres!  It took years, but boy have times changed.  Nobody ever quit smoking due to an advert of a smoker with the message; “smoking leads to disease.”  Why not emulate the success of the No Smoking campaign?  Black box processed foods, eliminate junk food in the workplace, mandate all weight loss systems to include the following declaration; “this is not an education or behavior modification program, effective only while using our product.” and develop jarring public service adverts.

If you believe that body size is too personal to discuss in a blunt and in your face manner, maybe it is in fact personal.

 
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Posted by on February 7, 2012 in Media/Marketing

 

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U.(nidentified)F.(acebook)O.(bjections)

How many times have you read “Facebook” and “privacy” in the same sentence?  It’s not just me, right?  So what exactly is stoking this anxiety?

For decades, I have been bristling (and acquiescing) to being asked for personal information at every turn.  Doctor’s offices, insurance companies, banks, jobs; you name it.  They all want one thing from me; my personal information.  Identifying numbers and dates have been flying around unprotected forever.  There was a time when college identification cards were emblazoned with the student’s social security number.  Personal checks often had the account holder’s driver’s license number printed on the front (to avoid that pesky step of a cashier copying down a customer’s most identifying number at each purchase.)  It was routine in many high schools and colleges to post test results in hallways with “only” the identifier of a social security number.

So what is it exactly that makes some people feel stalked by Facebook?  To establish an account you need to provide a name and an email.  That’s about it.  There’s no financial information and certainly no call for any identifying numbers.  You may choose to provide your birth date, but you needn’t.  I can only assume (and yes I am aware of how dangerous that can be) that the perceived invasion of privacy centers around the actual behavior while on Facebook.  All those “Like” buttons and photo sharing may result in some huge database of T.M.I.?  And then what?  Since data collection (of such mundane points) could only be useful from a marketing standpoint, is it a fear of adverts?  I don’t know about anyone else, but my (real) mailbox and email inbox have been brimming with adverts (tailored just for me!) for about twenty years.  My reactions range from annoyance, to hurt pride (“really, teeth whitening offers?”) to grabbing my coat and going shopping (hey, sometimes they do get it just right.)

To be clear, I am not a lover of pop-up ads or commercials (shout out for the DVR, you beautiful little genius, you!!) but like death and taxes, they’re going to happen no matter what.  Close the pop-up box, delete the message, avert your eyes.  Facebook is free, and free costs.  Think of the adverts as a pledge drive.

But then again, we know what happens when one assumes.

 
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Posted by on February 5, 2012 in Media/Marketing

 

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What A Swell Party It Was

Do you ever play the lottery game?  You know, the one in which you fantasize about what you’d do with the winnings?  At every turn of this game, over countless years, my fantasies always take the exact same form.  It involves the requisite good works (anything else would be indecent) and the party.  The setting for the party has suffered some blows over the years.  It had to be relocated from the QE II to the Rainbow Room to now destinations unknown.  The event details are always the same; a small group friends, fabulous food, champagne and first-rate musical performances selected for dancing and swooning pleasure.

The real point of the lottery game is that it allows one to consider what makes one’s heart sing.  The party I dream of will most likely not become a reality, but I can approach my most meaningful friendships in the same celebratory manner.  I can also dream of an intimate musical performance that feels as if it is being performed just for me.  And on one cold winter night that dream came true.

A few years ago I was at the Oak Room at the Algonquin Hotel to see Tom Wopat.  He is a remarkable performer; chock full of charisma and a love of ballads.  That winter night there were no more than 30 people in the audience and I was seated directly in front of Mr. Wopat.  As he sang his West Side Story medley inches from my table, my eyes filled and my mind raced; I was living part of my lottery dream.

My thoughts turn to that magical night with the news that the Algonquin Hotel will be shuttering the Oak Room for good.  When they docked the QE II I found it unsettling.  But when they closed the Rainbow Room and now the Oak Room, it was personal.  I know I don’t live in the most genteel of times, but when I step into these gorgeous time capsules I can dream.  And really, without a little sepia toned fantasy, doesn’t it all tend to get just a bit too dreary?

 
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Posted by on February 3, 2012 in Style

 

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We’ll Always Be Bosom Buddies

“Make new friends but keep the old, some are silver and the others gold.”  Did you sing this in music class too?  No doubt my little girl hand clutched my bestest (at that moment) friend’s hand, as we sang with all our might.  Once we enter the “adolescent years” friendships explode and burn like Jiffy Pop kernels.  Alliances and stand-offs occur at every turn.

But then things (hopefully) normalize as we get older.  We travel through adult life wearing many more hats than we did as students.  We are workers, alumni, community members, spouses and parents.  As we take new jobs or join new gyms, we shyly look for people with whom we might click.  It’s exciting to discover a kindred spirit, particularly as we become even more individually defined.  (Let’s face it, it’s a lot easier to find a classmate who shares your obsession with Harriet the Spy and Kit Kat bars, than it is an adult with whom you care to have lunch.)  Sometimes a work friend is just that; someone with whom to share frustrations and gossip and maybe an occasional lunch.  On the rare occasion a friend discovered in the workplace shares your sensibilities throughout your life.  The same is true for friends found at the school gate, house of worship, or neighborhood.  If you are lucky, there will be people in your life who transcend place.

Something most of us could never have foreseen is the impact of social media.  The generation that created it could not even have predicted how it would impact those of us long passed paying off our student loans.  Why would they?  For them it was a great way to connect with age and class-mates.  For those of us of a certain age it means our past has found us.  On our own terms of course.  If someone would had told me, ten years ago, that I would be in touch with the girl who taught me fractions, well, I would have looked at them as I looked at her when she tried to explain the difference between fourths and fifths.  There are friends I have thought of throughout the years.  Some I even Googled periodically.  But today, through the magic of Facebook, like a good military commander, I can report that almost every person is accounted for.  Almost without exception, most are doing wonderfully in their lives, and that is a joy to know.  I have been reminded of the longevity of intellect and creativity.  That girl who was so quick and so funny?  She’s gotten even better.  The woman at work who had more style than should be allowed?  Nothing’s changed, and her daughter seems to have inherited it.

But what about all those found friends with whom a mutual interest in Wacky Packs, Dr. Pepper lip balm and the claymation of Mr. Bill, were the ties that bind?  Is there much to discuss (on Facebook or in person) beyond, “Hey, there you are!”  After a few awkward versions of “So, you’re like a grown-up now” is there anything left to say?  Any connecting points whatsoever?  What if it’s worse than that?  What if through the public broadcasting of Facebook you discover your schoolyard chum is a bigot or invokes the name of their favorite deity far more frequently than your comfort level allows?  What if they post photos of babies dressed as flowers or puppies playing football?  Is the fact that you grew up within a mile of each other enough to sustain a friendship, even one in the virtual world?  For better or worse, “unsubscribe” is as effective as not returning calls.  I am almost never a fan of letting things go unsaid, but what is the point of a conversation that starts with; “I wish I never knew these things about you.”  Luckily those incidences are a just a tiny fraction of the larger friendship pie; their denominator being larger (see! I did catch on eventually.)  The vast majority of found friends are a gift I simply never could have foreseen.  It has created a fluidity and continuity of life for which I am so grateful.  When the very best part of your past can be part of your present; well, what a wonderful world it is.

 
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Posted by on February 2, 2012 in Cultural Critique, Media/Marketing

 

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Mama I’m A Pretty Girl

When the woman was asked why she covered her gorgeous freckled face in thick pancake make-up she replied; “I was teased about my freckles as a child.”  The woman is now in her forties.  Another woman when questioned about her militant avoidance of grooming and style, explained that no one ever complimented her until she was 9 years old.  She too was in her forties.  Habit, is habit.  We all have them, some are more charming than others.  Kissing the spouse before leaving the house?  Charming.  Leaving the bathroom door open and carrying on conversation, not so charming.  But enough about me.

The issue with behaviors that harken back to childhood is that they are rarely helpful in moving us forward.  That is not to say that our childhood and adolescence are not part of us, they are.  But I’m not sure we want to take our behavioral cues from our 9 year old selves.  The point of aging (and yes, I’m told there is a point) is that we presumably get a little smarter with each passing year.  We learn from our own mistakes and successes, we learn through our relationships with others, and we learn from witnessing life.  By the time we are in our late twenties we know what “I’ll call you” means and not to take a craigslist ad at face value.  Somewhere in our thirties we might discover that the operative term in “work friend” is “work” and we are all extremely expendable in the workplace.  We may also discover that we don’t in fact “have a type,” but goodness, love and laughter comes in all shapes and sizes.  In our forties, it is my fervent hope that we learn to block out all the internal criticism (well almost all.)  We see media for what it is; photo-shopped, laugh-tracked means to sell us something, and stop comparing ourselves to what we’re being shown.  We realize that we are never going to be as young as we are right this very moment.  We stop wasting another minute being stuck and silence the mental loop of childhood indignities.

Recently a friend shared a story with me.  During a work crisis, my friend kindly drove a colleague from the office.  During the trip the woman regaled my friend with stories of how her mother ruined her life.  In the dark of the car, held captive, he listened to tale after tale of maternal slights.  That colleague was in her late seventies.  Her entire life (thus far) has been dedicated to keeping that hurt alive.  If you believe that this life, the one you are in right at this moment, is the only one you get, I suggest not wasting another moment.  Choose happiness.  Grab it with both hands and don’t let go.

 
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Posted by on January 31, 2012 in Style, Well-Being

 

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