Category: pondering

Shock Sells!…Or does it?

By the by, this topic was found over at the Bruce Daniels blog at the ABQjournal, though I’m going to take a different cut at it. His blog post is good, however, and worth the read.

Ok, so here’s the deal, the marketing folks behind the highly successful series of Absolut Vodka ads have been working on a new ad campaign, “Absolute World”. This has been rolling around for about a year.

Here are a few of the examples:
(sorry for the varying sizes, these were located in several places around the ‘net)

Ostensibly that we get “objective evidence” when a politician is lying.

The guy is preggers. The girl gets to look hot.

In case you can’t read the buttons, they say “looking”, “twisted”, “married” and “boring”

Times Square with famous art instead of advertising (ironic, no?).

Had to stare at this one a while…I believe it’s implying that every home in LA has a limo and a red carpet.

Ok. Fine. You get the idea. I believe what they are getting at is that “in a perfect world” there would be, uh, “justice”. That politicians are caught lying, that men have to suffer the indignities of pregnancy, that the games played in singles bars would be over, that art is more important than advertising (just SO ironic) and that everyone in Hollywood is a star.

Ok? Yeah, whatever. I mean, I’m not sure I’m totally onboard with this campaign, but I get what they are attempting to say.

Until I saw this one:

So what exactly are they getting at here?

No really, I’m asking, because I honestly don’t get this ad.

The object of any advertisement is to get people to do something. Usually to buy your product or service.

Bruce Daniels’ blog indicates this ad is running in magazines in Mexico.

So is the purpose here that we’re trying to stir up anti-American sentiment by invoking bad feelings following the Mexican-American War. For those, like me, who can’t stay awake in history class, that war took place from 1846-1848. Are we to understand that, hey, drink this vodka, feel a sense of national pride and let’s go get our land back?

Or is Absolut trying to inflame the anti-immigration people? Sure to be a hot topic in this year’s Presidential election. Do they think that people will drink their vodka and feel a sense of national pride and make sure that “they’ll never get my land”?

No really, I’m asking. WTF is Absolut trying to say here? And either way why does that make me want to drink their product?

The tone of the ad campaign seems to be about “justice”, righting a universal “wrong” (wrong being in quotes because I’m sure not everyone would agree on that judgment call made in these advertisements). So is there a “wrong” we’re trying to “right” with this new ad?

I really don’t know. I just don’t get it.

Probably for me, personally, the point is moot. I’d rather drink a jug of kerosene than Absolut. Then again, my very dear gang of Russian friends have helped me learn how to appreciate good vodka. Good meaning it doesn’t go down like, uh, kerosene and make my head feel like a punching bag.

But let’s not lose the point here…

What IS this ad trying to say? I can’t decide if I should be offended.

Oh hell, it’s Friday, why waste the energy. I’ll just go with a head tilted doggy “baroo” and move on.

And have a tequila drink instead.

Tastes Like Nuevo Mexico

I have been reading a book titled “Tastes like Cuba: An Exile’s Hunger for Home” by Eduardo Machado.

I picked up this little gem off the “new” rack at my local library. I liked the title. Plus I have a total fascination with Cuba. This passion in past years has been fueled by the movie “Buena Vista Socal Club” which I saw in the theater, and own and watch often. It’s an amazing movie.

What lay ahead of me in this book, Tastes Like Cuba, was not something I could expect. I was excited by the form the book took, discussing Cuba through the author’s memories of food. Each chapter ends with a couple recipes for the food just discussed (which is a really cool idea). It was like food porn, and since I’m a big fan of good eats myself, it immediately appealed to me.

As the book progressed, it went from mild interest to speaking directly to my heart. Eduardo goes through quite a transformation in his life. Born and raised in Cuba, at the age of 8, just as Castro took over Cuba, Eduardo was shipped out to Miami on the now infamous Operation Peter Pan flights. He went from a life of relative luxury and wealth, surrounded by his parents and grandparents, to being poor and parentless in a new country with the added responsibility of caring for his younger brother.

When his parents did finally arrive some months later, his father moved the family to Los Angeles, a wild and wacky place for a young, sensitive, creative Cuban kid in the 1960’s. He struggled to identify himself. He wasn’t a Chicano during the power and protest periods in LA. He was not a Caucasian American. He was something no one could identify, not even himself.

To add to this lost state of feelings, in America he couldn’t get the food from home, the tastes that made him feel whole. Through growing, becoming more of an American, and exploring his creativity, he found a dichotomy. A man without a country, without the touchstone of his family that turned out to be more dysfunctional than he’d ever imagined (his father boldly admits, to his face, that he never loved Eduardo. How’s that for a mind f*@k?), and without something to identify with, it sent him down a spiraling journey into low self-esteem and depression.

What finally rescued him was the theater. First as an actor, and then ever more successfully as a playwright.

He wrote plays about his life, his family, his darkest fears, the ugly parts, the pretty parts, all of it. And though it scared him senseless to put it all out there, he still did it.

I started thinking hard about why this book spoke to me so deeply. Now, certainly, I’m no exile from another country, but I, too, was raised in a very culturally deep place with food unlike anywhere else in the world. And yes, I miss the food from my home. Daily. Did you know you can’t find whole, fresh roasted Hatch green chiles in California? And forget it about Indian Fry Bread.

And I often feel misunderstood here in California. Culturally, artistically and all the rest. It was profound when I first moved and still is something of an issue, some ten years later.

But, much like Eduardo, it took me leaving my home to be able to plumb the depths of my own creativity. Living in California has become a means to help me learn who I am, why things matter to me, and to be able to write, paint, and photograph about them.

I am a woman of two places. Like Eduardo, I’ve learned to love them both, while being conflicted at the same time.

My transformation has been on a much smaller scale than Eduardo Machado. But I guess in reading his words, I wish I could just tell him, “I get it”.

Because I do.

Someone’s got the tidies

This is one of those thoughts, apropos of nothing. Or maybe not appropriate a’tall, but it’s one of those things that make me ponder, and so I thought I’d talk it over here.

This may be a uniquely female experience, so men, apologies if the content of this post just doesn’t compute.

This morning I had a, you know, “need”, and as such, made the trek down the long hallway to the ladies room.

When I entered the loo, one of my coworkers was in there at the sink. She was done washing her hands and was taking wads of paper towels and using them to dry up the water on the counter around all four sink basins in the bathroom. She had a quite determined look as she did so, too.

And I thought to myself…”why?” It’s the office bathroom. Why do you expend the calories to clean up at work?

We have a pretty good janitor who comes every afternoon and leaves the potty clean and sparkly. It’s not like they are falling down on the job.

I mean…cleaning up is a nice thing to do. Considerate of others and all that.

But why? I mean, I try to be tidy when I wash my hands and if I personally make a big mess, I’ll clean it up, but I don’t take on the role of cleaning up the whole place.

You’d be surprised to know I’ve seen a LOT of women do this both in the bathroom and in the kitchen/coffee area. I don’t know why.

I suspect, though there is no way for me personally to know, that men don’t do this.

The counter cleanup “feels” like a mom thing to do. The lady I ran across today is a mom to five kids and maybe it’s just intuitive to her, just happens without thinking. Maybe.

I mean…is this a good thing? Or weird?

I just don’t know. To be honest, I was a little afraid she was going to spit on a tissue and start wiping off my face.

I think this need to tidy is probably a harmless thing, but it seems to breed contempt, “Why are people SO messy! Harumph!”

I have enough to get the harumphs about at work. The water splashes on the sink are the least of my worries……

Head out for the highway

Yes, Monday finds me back at my same gray walled office. Back to work, slogging through emails and working up my expense report.

All in all, the trip to Florida was a good one.

I’m glad to be home. It was a long haul on Saturday, hopping a couple planes and ultimately arriving almost two hours later than I was supposed to. But I made it and a really cute boy was waiting for me when I came down the stairs to baggage claim.

I didn’t sleep well on the trip, so was glad to sleep in my own little bed, and sleep I did. Woke up Sunday morning MUCH refreshed. The Good Man fussed over me and that helped get me right, too.

Back to “regular” work today. While making the drive in this morning, I was thinking about what made the Florida trip fun, and I hit on a thought.

I got to drive.

Now, don’t gave me that doggy head tilt look. Let me explain.

“Back in the day” living in New Mexico, one of my best stress relievers was to get in the car and drive. Not always with a destination, sometimes just driving, watching the white lines roll by.

Since I went to school in Las Cruces and my folks lived in Carlsbad, I had a LOT of hours in the middle of NOWHERE, hum of the tires as my companion.

I got a LOT of good thinking done during those drives.

Meditation. That’s really what it is.

Well now living here in a densely populated area, just getting in the car and going isn’t all that meditative. With all the traffic, it is stress inducing.

When I lived in Albuquerque, I could drive for a half hour in pretty much any direction and be OUT of the city, humming along at 75 mph, and letting the stress float away.

Here, I can drive a half hour and be ever more mired in humanity.

So I enjoyed the fact that, last week, I got some road time. The ride on I-4W to Clearwater Beach took about two and a half hours all in. It was a little densely populated around Tampa Bay and that stressed me, but had moments of a peaceful ride. It got really good when I got off I-4 and into the small roads winding through Clearwater and over all the causeways.

The trip to Cocoa Beach was only about an hour and was PERFECT for highway meditation. (see, I still can find NOTHING wrong with Cocoa Beach). SR-528E is pretty rural, away from people, not heavily trafficked on a weekday. The tolls do take a bit away from that trip, but even they are manageable. You get a rhythm of hitting the various toll plazas and you know they’ll be there (kind of like having to stop at a Border Patrol station…so it’s all good).

And during those two drives a lot of thinking got done. Some useful (i.e. where should I emphasize success criteria for my team this year), some not (i.e. why do so called “80’s” radio stations only play the cheesy “hits” like “Jump” (both Van Halen and Pointer sisters), and not the deeper cuts from bands like Depeche Mode or The Cure?).

Getting all that thinking done is healing. I find I’m in a better mood today than when I left. Like I’ve grown from my journey.

I sure wish I could more easily hit the open road from where I live to think things out.

Oh well, just another reason to miss my fair New Mexico.

If still water runs the deepest…

…then what does Clearwater do?

Sits there and shimmers like the jewel of the Gulf that it is…

(This is not my photo but this is right where I was)

Gorgeous!

I was astounded that the white sand at Sand Key Beach was literally FILLED with seashells, mostly tiny scallop shells. Now, the bottoms of my feet are pretty well beat up from walking on all the jagged edges, but the effect, running hands through sand and finding shell after shell after shell was so very cool.

That’s the kick about warm, fairly calm water. Not only shells, INTACT shells.

If you’ll excuse the crappy quality of this iPhone photo…look at THESE little beauties! I personally snagged them from the floor of the ocean.

I think my eyes bugged out of my head when I saw them bouncing around in the sand. My cheap but effective goggles kept my eyes in my head as I paddled down to the bottom of the shallow sea floor and scooped them up. There were thousands of them down there!

These are coming home with me, a love gift for a certain wonderful man.

I’ll say this, the Gulf wasn’t as warm as I remember from my last visit at South Padre Island. It was pretty cold, actually. Much colder than the Atlantic. Though nowhere near as cold as the Pacific.

Oh, which reminds me…in the course of less than one week, I’ve visited three oceans.

Sunday, I was at Half Moon Bay, gazing at the beautiful but tumultuous Pacific. Tuesday I was at Cocoa Beach, at peace with the Atlantic and today, Friday, it was Clearwater Beach and the Gulf.

Cool, huh?

Clearwater was recommended to me by four separate locals, so that’s why I chose to run out there today. The choice of Sand Key Beach was because it was public and it was away from the main drag of hotels and restaurants. There were a LOT of Spring Breakers out, so that wasn’t fun.

All said, I prefer Cocoa Beach. It is just a lot more mellow and easy. But today’s journey to the west coast of Florida was truly amazing. A day to remember.

I didn’t end up taking many photos, sorry. This one will live on in my mind. Another happy place to escape to when work meetings drag on too long.

And now, to pack. While I had fun, I’m glad the week is over. I miss The Good Man and I miss the cranky feline too.

So tomorrow, with noise cancelling headphones in place, I hop a westbound plane and go back to the life I love. I’ll be happy to snuggle down in my own bed and sleep contentedly with those I love the most.