Monthly Archives: May 2012

May 9, 2012 · 9:04 am

Punchless

Yesterday at a traffic light I stopped alongside a tractor trailer. I don’t recall the name of the company, but the tagline stayed with me:

Ahead of the curve in refrigerated logistics.

Ooh, a clichéd metaphor matched with an esoteric phrase. Is this the latest trend in brand marketing?

I’ve been thinking about taglines lately, wondering if my little company should have one. I’ve long felt that I don’t need a tagline for the sake of having a tagline. After a brief online search of commentary on the matter, it seems most experts agree. In fact, there are plenty of arguments against.

Once, after completing a project, I received a note from the client, complimenting my work and saying that what I produced made her “comfy.” My firm’s president jokingly suggested our tagline should be “Making clients comfy since 2002.”

It strikes me that the Dish network’s “Let’s watch TV” or Delta Airlines’ “We get you there” were ripped off by their marketing firms, which set the bar as low as it could possibly go. No imagination, and no particular reason to choose one company over another.

On the other hand, these oversimplified slogans might be superior to over-jargoned technical gobbledygook, which might fit on the side of a semi but not on a business card.

Quick – what’s your nomination for:

Most creative tagline?
Most ambiguous?
Funniest, without intending to be?

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May 7, 2012 · 8:51 am

Family versed

Day Two in the re-exploration of family heirlooms and personal relics being exhumed from the crypt:

I am honored to be in possession of a very special book–written, illustrated and hand-assembled by my Aunt Linda. I am not sure what I did to deserve this treasure, but I’m sure glad to have had it for nearly 50 years. The cover is made of sturdy cardboard, covered in amber-colored burlap. The pages inside are typed on onion skin paper. The pictures are drawn in black felt-tip pen.

Every two pages there is a story, and a drawing that goes along with it, written lovingly about someone in Aunt Linda’s life. I’d like to share two here.

The first one, I presume, is about her daughter, my cousin Lesley, whom you met here about a year ago.

Good morning, dear Jesus, this day is for me.
It’s time to be up and about.
“Morning time, Mommy!”, “Morning time, Dad!”
That’s what I’m going to shout.
There’s a number of things that I’m hoping to do
And things that I’m planning to fix,
So wake up, you sleepyheads, get me some juice,
It’s almost a quarter to six.

This one’s about her Goddaughter, me:

I met a girl names Monica (a very pretty name),
And since I’ve talked with Monica I’ve never been the same.
Though she is only five years old she knows her ABC’s,
Can count to ‘most a million, and always uses “please”.
She has a dog called Gretchen who is unlike any other,
And next to Gretchen she loves best her father and her mother.
I like to listen to her jokes – we have a lot of fun –
And she often helps her daddy when he just can’t think of one.

This project helps me realize how amply I am blessed. Now on to digging deeper into the treasure chest.

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May 3, 2012 · 7:55 am

Sign here

I’ve hit the mother lode (note, not mother load) of mementos.

My husband has been cleaning out our attic, and my box of collected treasures has emerged from the clutter. I’ve scooped out just the first layer, so let’s call this post the first in a series. There are sure to be more.

In this tranche were all those charms I thought I’d lost, some religious relics, including my First Holy Communion book, an Immaculate Conception medal and an honorable mention certificate from Saint Dominic’s Catholic School in Shaker Heights, Ohio. There were a few old pictures, lots of cards and letters and my photo album from summer semester in Spain.

My favorite relic to be unearthed was an autograph book I got as a souvenir of Disneyland when my father took me there in 1969. I scored no celebrity autographs, unless you count that of the five-year-old daughter of the TV comedy writer with whom we stayed in L.A.

I didn’t wear a watch on that trip. I do remember asking my Dad what time it was about every 10 minutes. When I let him sign the first page of my autograph book, he wrote, “It’s twenty after ten.”

My Uncle Henry made note that he signed it on the weekend man first walked on the moon—which had nothing to do with the poem he penned:

Saint Monica, Saint Bernadette,
Her patron saints, don’t give up yet,
For though you’ve seen the demon’s taint,
You’ve seen the promise of a saint.
Imp or angel, bad or bonnie,
In equal portion, that’s our Monnie.

The other pages hold what we all know as autograph book rhymes. Things like:

Don’t worry if your pay is small, and if your jobs are few.
Remember that the mighty oak was once a nut like you.

Remember the girl in the city. Remember the girl in the town.
Remember the girl who ruined your book by writing upside down.

See you in the ocean, see you in the sea.
See you in the bathtub. Oops, pardon me.

When you’re in heaven and it gets hot,
Pepsi-cola hits the spot.

When you get married and live in a hut,
Send me a picture of your first little nut.

When you get married and you have twins
Don’t come to me for safety pins.

It tickles me and makes me laugh
To think you want my autograph.

Never kiss by the garden gate
Because love is blind but the neighbors ain’t.

When I turned 50, my father gave me his mother’s autograph book, which is dated 1927 — 42 years before I had christened mine.

Allow me to share a few ditties from my grandmother’s crackled pages:

Lock up thy heart, keep safe the key,
Forget me not, til I do thee.

I wish I were a bunny with a little tail of fluff.
I’d climb upon your bureau and be your powder puff.

Some write for money, some write for fame,
But I write for the honor of signing just my name.

Down by the river there lies a rock,
And on it is printed, “Forget me not.”

If you get married and live upstairs,
For heaven’s sake, don’t put on airs.

It’s now 43 years after Disneyland and this place is my autograph book. Won’t you please sign it?

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